The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "Okay," she says, finishing her cocktail. "Sorry. It's just that you really don't seem very happy. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Wanting to be happy?" She tilts her head back and waits while the last drop of drink trickles into her mouth. "Well," she says eventually, "I'm all out of Cosmo, so I guess it's time to hit the bar again". With that, she turns and hurries back to the door and into the apartment.

  I wait for a moment, feeling as if the apartment itself is some kind of pressure cooker. At least out here on the balcony, I can relax, and I'm finding myself spending more and more time here every evening. After a moment, however, I feel a chill run through my body as I once again contemplate the possibility that the police are keeping Mark, and by extension me, under surveillance. I hurry back into the apartment, where I at least feel a little safer from prying eyes.

  "So where is he, anyway?" Jess asks as she pours herself another drink. "Where's Mr. Billionaire? Out making more billions?"

  "He'll be back soon," I say, glancing at my watch and realizing, with a twinge of guilt, that I'm actually not looking forward to the moment when Mark gets back. He always seems so stiff and constrained around Jess, which in turn makes me worry that he only really wants to be around me when we can be alone and have sex. Maybe Jess is right after all; maybe my whole relationship with Mark is about money and sex after all?

  "I guess those billions won't come pouring in by themselves," Jess says, grabbing my glass and giving me a refill. "You've barely drunk anything," she says with a nervous smile. "Don't tell me you've gone off alcohol, just when you've got it on tap".

  "No," I say, although I can't help thinking back to Isabella Raynard's death in Zurich. She seemed to have found a way to drown her unhappiness with alcohol, at least for a while. Since bearing witness to her tragic death, I've kind of flinched from alcohol a little; the odd glass here and there is okay, but it's as if some kind of deep-rooted self-defense mechanism has kicked in and is telling me not to become like Isabella.

  "So do you think you'll marry him and have kids?" Jess asks suddenly, out of nowhere.

  "What?"

  "Do you think you'll marry him and have kids?" she asks again, staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  "I don't know," I reply. "It's kind of early to be thinking about that".

  "But you must have an idea," she continues. "I know you must have thought about it".

  I pause for a moment. The truth is, I've been carefully avoiding thinking about the future with Mark, and I guess that avoidance is, in itself, kind of an answer.

  "The look on your face," Jess says slowly, with a look of quiet understanding, "is very revealing".

  "It's just a bit soon," I say, trying to cover my discomfort. "That's all".

  "I guess you're still learning the rules of the game," she continues.

  "Something like that," I say. When Jess mentions 'the game', she means the normal game between two people, but since she arrived, I've been toying with the idea of telling her about the real game. I feel as if I'm having to bottle up all my fears and doubts, and Jess is the perfect person to ask for advice. I can just imagine how she'd react if I told her about Mr. Blue and Lady Red, and about the fact that sometime soon I'm going to have to go and submit to the demands of Mr. White. She'd probably tell me to get the hell away from these people, and she'd probably be right, and that's before you consider the fact that Mark's ex-girlfriend is still missing.

  "There it is again," Jess says with a smile.

  I look over at her.

  "That look in your eyes".

  "There's no look in my eyes," I reply, getting a little annoyed by the way she's started to constantly analyze my facial expressions.

  "But if he -" Jess starts to say, before we hear a key in the door. Seconds later, there's the sound of Mark entering the apartment, and finally he comes through to join us. He looks tired, and as he places his briefcase on the chair over by the desk, it's hard to think that he's the billionaire owner of a multi-national, multi-industry company; he looks, in a weird way, like a tired office worker who's just got back from a late shift shuffling papers and being harangued by his boss.

  "How did it go?" I ask, immediately flinching as I realize that I already sound like a dutiful, caring wife.

  "It went fine," he says, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in one go. "The Americans are interested, but of course they don't want to pay the going rate".

  "What are you selling them?" Jess asks.

  "Skin," Mark replies.

  Jess looks over at me.

  "Skin for aircraft," I explain. "It's what my father was working on when he..." I pause for a moment. "It's like this coating that gets put on planes and it makes them move faster, or something".

  "Not just faster," Mark adds. "More quietly. They're completely invisible to radar and any other tracking devices". He walks over to the bar and starts pouring himself a whiskey. "With the right skin, you can move without making a noise, and no-one'll ever know you were there. It's the smoothest thing you could possibly imagine, and it's strong, but it's also thin".

  "And the Americans want to buy it, huh?" Jess asks, taking another sip from her drink.

  "Of course they do," Mark replies. "They think they can get anything they want if they spend enough money". He pauses. "They're right. Everything's for sale at the right price".

  "Not everything," I reply.

  "Everything," he says firmly.

  "Not everything," I say again. "Stuff, yeah, but not people".

  Mark frowns.

  "You know what I mean," I continue, realizing that I've maybe taken the conversation down an unexpected detour. "I'm just saying, money can't get you anything in the world".

  "I believe it can," Mark says, before turning to Jess. "What about you?"

  "Well," she replies nervously, "I guess it can buy most things. Just not..." She looks over at me. "I mean, there are some things you can't buy".

  "I believe you can get anything you want," Mark continues, "if you just offer enough money. If you get rejected, just make the offer more attractive. You can even get people to do whatever you want". He glances at me, and I can see a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Put it like this," he says, turning back to Jess. "What wouldn't you do for a million pounds?"

  Jess's eyes widen at the question.

  "Seriously," Mark continues. "Everyone has a line they wouldn't cross, or at least they like to tell themselves they have a line. It's how they sleep at night. But for a million pounds, in cash, what would you refuse to do?"

  "Well, I wouldn't kill anyone," Jess says nervously.

  "What else?"

  "I wouldn't..." She pauses. "Well, I wouldn't, like, torture anyone or really hurt them".

  "What else?"

  She opens her mouth to reply, but it's clear that she's struggling. "I wouldn't steal".

  "What else?"

  "I don't know!"

  "Interesting," Mark continues.

  "It's alright for you," Jess says with a nervous smile.

  "Why's it alright for me?" Mark asks.

  "Well... I mean, you've already got money, so if someone comes along with a million quid and waves it in front of you, it's not gonna get you to cross any line, is it? I mean, you'd be the one doing the waving".

  "Good point," he replies, looking over at me again. Something's ticking away in his mind, and it's making me nervous. "Oh, Elly," he says after a moment, "I spoke to Mr. White today. He'd like to see you on Monday. I hope that's acceptable to you?"

  I swallow hard. The mere mention of Mr. White's name is enough to send a shiver through my body, especially when Jess is standing right here.

  "That's fine," I say, trying not to let my fear show.

  "Who's Mr. White?" Jess asks.

  I wait for Mark to explain, but he doesn't say anything.

  "A friend of Mark's," I say eventually. "He wants some help with something".

  "Huh," Jess says, but I can see from the look in her eyes that
she knows I'm not being entirely truthful.

  "I need to change," Mark says, finishing his whiskey, "and then we should probably find a way to entertain your friend, Elly, since it's her last night with us for a while. Perhaps we can find a game to play".

  "Are you sure?" I ask, feeling my chest tighten a little. "Don't you think we already play too many games?"

  "Games within games," Mark replies with a smile. "Anyway, I'd like to continue our discussion. Jess seems to have some interesting ideas about human behavior". With that, he heads through into the bedroom, leaving me standing awkwardly with Jess.

  "Sorry about that," I say. "Sometimes he -"

  "Don't apologize!" she replies. "He's kind of cool. I feel like there's a double meaning to everything he says, but he's definitely cool". She pauses for a moment. "Dangerous, too". She smiles as she sees the look on my face. "Don't tell me you don't see it. There's a hint of danger in your billionaire boyfriend. A kind of darkness. You must have noticed, or haven't you managed to draw it out yet?"

  "I need another drink," I say, handing her my empty glass.

  With a knowing smile, she heads over to the bar. Looking across at the bedroom door, I suddenly find myself starting to worry about what Mark has in store, and about the fact that Jess seems to be picking up so much about his dark side. What's worse, however, is that I can't shake the feeling that somehow Jess seems more at home in this kind of place, and in Mark's company, than I could ever feel. It's like I'm the cuckoo in their nest.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  "Move!" the guard screams, kicking me hard in the small of the back and sending me flying into the brick wall. Bouncing back into the corridor, I lose my balance and slam onto the filthy, muddy ground. With my wrists cuffed behind my back, I try to get up, but it's too late; the guard aims another kick at the side of my face, knocking out several teeth as he sends me spinning back into the wall.

  "Are you being intentionally disobedient, Mr. Pope?" the guard sneers in clipped, estuary tones. "Is that really how you want to introduce yourself around here?"

  "Shove him in with me!" shouts a deep voice from the shadows. "I'll teach him!"

  Turning, I see a dark figure loitering at the back of a nearby cell. I can't make out his features, but there's something about his bulk that makes me feel I wouldn't last too long in there with him.

  "Not today, Bob," the guard says as he grabs the back of my collar and hauls me to my feet. "This one's going straight in the tank with one of the weasels".

  "What?" I mutter, barely able to focus.

  "Don't ask questions!" the guard shouts, before slamming my face against the thick iron bars on Bob's cell. "I don't give a shit what your life was like outside," he continues, "but in here, you're nothing. Got that? There's three levels of hierarchy around Sodmarsh. At the top, there's the guards. In the middle, there's the rats. And at the bottom, festering in the mud and shit, there's the prisoners. You understand, Pope?"

  "Yes," I gasp. "I understand".

  "Pope?" Bob asks, leaning forward from the shadows just enough to let me see his large, round, bald face. "What kind of a name is Pope?" he continues with a demented grin.

  "It's the name of a murderer," the guard says, pulling me away from the bars and pushing me along the corridor. "It's the name of a man who killed the woman who was carrying his child".

  "I didn't kill her," I mutter, stumbling forward, desperate to avoid another beating. "I didn't kill her. I swear to God -"

  "You'd do better to come to terms with your sins, Mr. Pope," the guard says, keeping pace behind me. "Do you think God'll look kindly on a man who refuses to acknowledge the evil deeds he's done?"

  "I didn't kill her," I say again, reaching out to steady myself against the stone wall. I've spent the past week locked in a small, dark cell, while being periodically taken out and swilled down by guards who add a few kicks and punches just for fun. "I didn't kill her," I repeat. Those four little words are all I've been able to say for the past few days.

  "That's not what I've been told," the guard says, pushing me to keep walking. "I've been told that you broke into a nice lady's home and slaughtered her and her husband, just so that you wouldn't have to face up to the fact that she was in the family way".

  "I didn't kill her," I say the guard grabs my shoulder and pulls me back, before he turns and starts unlocking a cell door.

  "No-one believes you," he says as he swings the door open. "No-one in the whole fucking world believes you, Mr. Pope, so you might as well stop lying. Every time you deny the truth, you're taking one step further from God. Do you know that?" He pauses for a moment. "Then again, once a man ends up here, it's safe to say that he and God are probably never gonna be on speaking terms again. Isn't that right, Gregor?" He turns and stares into the dark cell. "Gregor? Are you dead yet?"

  "I'm not dead," says a deep, old voice from the darkness. "Sorry to disappoint".

  "You've got some company," the guard says, smiling as he manhandles me and pushes me through the door. "Don't get too used to him, though. Mr. Pope's gonna be taking a walk to the gallows tomorrow, and he won't be coming back". He slams the door shut and turns the key in the lock. "If I were you, Mr. Pope," he continues, peering at me through the bars, "I'd spend my final day on my knees, making peace with the world. It's not like God's gonna forgive you, but you might as well at least try to show some remorse. You never know. It might help you feel a little better when we put the rope around your neck tomorrow morning". With that, he turns and walks away.

  Standing in the darkness, I can hear someone breathing nearby. I turn, but there's nothing to see. It's pitch-black in here, and it stinks like a pig farm.

  "Let me guess," the voice says after a moment. "You're innocent. You didn't do what they say you did".

  "I didn't kill her," I mutter. "I didn't kill either of them!"

  The voice laughs. "I'm sure you didn't. The guard referred to you as Mr. Pope. What's your first name?"

  "Jonathan," I say, my voice feeling harsh and rough. "Who are you?"

  "In this life," he replies, "they call me Gregor. In previous lives, I have had other names, but I forget them, as I shall undoubtedly forget the name Gregor once I have slipped this earthly body".

  "Tell me how to get out of here," I say.

  He laughs.

  "Tell me!" I shout, stepping forward into the darkness before realizing that I have no idea where, exactly, this man is to be found. "There has to be a way out! I'll pay! I'll do anything, but there has to be some way out of this place!"

  "Do you have money?"

  "No," I say, "but -"

  "Then how do you think you're going to pay your way out?" he asks. "Sure, the guards'll take the shilling of any man, but only in substantial sums. A few coins here and there are never going to grease enough palms". He pauses. "You don't strike me as the kind of man who's likely to have much in the way of bargaining power. To put it bluntly, what the hell do you have that anyone around here might want?"

  Sighing, I realize that he's right. After I was arrested at Henrietta's home, I was taken straight to a police station and then I was brought here to Sodmarsh, one of London's most notorious prisons. My 'trial', such as it was, ended up being rushed through in a matter of days, with everyone from the investigating officers to the judge himself being keen to wrap the case up as quickly as possible. Stripped naked and then given the dirty attire of another prisoner who had recently been hung from the gallows, I was clad in irons and brought down here to await my fate. Tomorrow morning, they are going to lead me to the common and hang me in front of whatever pitiful crowd happens to have gathered, and the world will believe that I was responsible for the death of the woman I loved.

  No, I most certainly have nothing to offer anyone. My entire life, as wretched as it was, has now crumbled completely. I'd hoped, naively, that perhaps I might be able to start a new life with Henrietta and our child, but of course that dream was brought to a violent and brutal
end. I've fought back from disaster before, but this time I feel as if I've reached the endgame. I don't mind dying, but I want to take Harrison Blake with me.

  "Why did you do it?" Gregor asks.

  "What?"

  "Kill her".

  "I didn't," I say firmly. "As God is my witness, I was going to take her away to safety. It must have been..." I pause for a moment, feeling a familiar anger start to course through my body. Every time I think of the man's name and his grinning face, I'm filled with a rage that will surely still burn long after I'm dead. "There's a man," I say darkly. "A well-known man who, despite being highly esteemed by society, has left a trail of death in his wake. I thought I could steal my love away and escape his wrath, but I was just a day too late".

  "Such is the way of the world," Gregor replies. "It was always thus. Society venerates intelligent and wise men, but violence always lurks in the background. The finest men in Westminster are free to speak of civilization only because they know they can send in the thugs behind the scenes. You and I, Mr. Pope, are sin-eaters. We live in the deep, dark underworld that must thrive in the shadows in order that the civilized world can continue in the full light of the sun".

  "I swear," I continue, "I will find a way to bring Harrison Blake down before I am dead. Even if it must be from beyond the grave, I will get that man's neck in my hands and I will ring the life from his body. After what he did, I'll have no hesitation in making sure that the bastard dies in agony".

  "Harrison Blake?" Gregor says, sounding as if the name has struck a chord. "The politician?"

  "The very same," I reply.

  "The man is a sinner," Gregor continues. "Perhaps one of the greatest sinners in all of London, but of course he hires others to eat his sins once they've been committed. You're correct, Mr. Pope, when you say that he has a dark side. Among my associates, he's known as a man who will pay handsomely for the life of a female, whether or not she is willing to accompany him. Of course, they're never seen again. They just disappear into his home and it's understood that no questions are to be asked. If you were able to get out of this place, I could get you in touch with men who have every reason to despise that man and who would surely help you in bringing him to his knees. As it stands, however, I'm afraid you have no recourse. Blake is a careful man, and he has sent many to the gallows ahead of you".