by Amy Cross
"This is your proof?" I ask, somewhat disappointed by such a paltry haul. When Laverty told me that he could prove the existence of the game, I was hoping that he'd have something a little more substantial. I hardly think that the highest officers of the land are going to accept these diaries as evidence of such a vast conspiracy. Who, in their right mind, would accept the testimony of so many women?
"It's enough to link everything together," Laverty continues, taking one of the diaries and opening it. "There are names in here. Names that I've already linked to the game in other ways. David Adams, Nathaniel Pelter, Edward Lockhart... They're all here, and I've come up with my own account of the history of the game". Setting the diary down, he hurries over to another desk and opens a large, leather-bound volume. "You, Mr. Pope, are the nineteenth Mr. Blue. Harrison Blake, meanwhile, is the ninth Mr. White, and Lady Henrietta deHavilland was the twelfth Lady Red. It took me a long time to straighten the whole mess out, but I've got almost all the names for the past hundred years listed in here, with just a few gaps. It's -"
"It's nothing," I reply. "It's just conjecture. It's fantasy. There's no way to prove any of it. These might as well be the ramblings of a bunch of half-wits, or a group of tales written by women who happened to use some of the same names for their characters. There are a thousand ways in which these diaries can be dismissed".
"There's also your testimony," he says.
"I'm hardly a man of honor," I tell him. "You know my history. My very involvement will cast doubt on the whole thing".
"Once we've got Harrison Blake down," he continues, with an air of desperation in his voice, "we can go through his offices and his houses. There has to be something else out there. The game is vast, Mr. Pope. It can't just vanish. The only reason no-one's found any of its elements so far is that no-one's known to look. We do know where to look, and I'm certain that we'll find more than enough evidence to back up every claim made in these diaries". He pauses for a moment. "These women weren't mad, Mr. Pope. They weren't stupid, infatuated girls. They were women who were promised great things, and who recorded their hopes and dreams and fears in their diaries. I'd wager that every word in these books is true. No embellishments. No lies. Just the plain, unvarnished truth".
Sighing, I pick up one of the diaries and flick through its pages. I see nothing more than a series of entries detailing minute details of the woman's life. It's hard to believe that anyone is going to pay much attention to the claims of a few excitable young women, especially now that they're no longer around to make their own representations. The word of a woman, even in this day and age, is generally regarded as having less weight than the word of a man, and with good reason; women, with a few exceptions, tend to be both more histrionic and more prone to flights of fancy, which makes them unreliable witnesses at the best of times.
"Trust me," Laverty says eventually. "I know how to do this, and I know that we've got enough to bring Blake down. It's just a shame that we have to kill him first, but at the same time, he's too dangerous when he's alive. We can't let him get a sniff of what we're doing, or he'll have us dead faster than you can sneeze. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already got a man working on the case. That's why we've got to get this done quickly, Mr. Pope. If we wait, if we delay and try to come up with more evidence, Blake'll be onto us and he's too powerful to fight. A man like him knows how to make men like us disappear without any questions being asked, if you know what I mean".
"He's already tried to have me killed twice," I reply. "So far, he doesn't seem to be having much luck".
"Don't count on your good fortune holding out," Laverty says. "He'll get you eventually, unless we get him first".
"We'll be treated like murderers," I say. "We'll be written off as common criminals if we just go and kill him".
"At first," Laverty replies, "but eventually they'll understand. I'm an officer of the law, Mr. Pope, and I've got connections. No-one's gonna believe that a man like me would just go and get involved in a conspiracy to kill Harrison Blake. When I explain, they'll listen, and when they listen, they'll start to see what's really happening. The game might be hidden, but it's vast. When we peel back the covers, the world is going to be stunned by what they find. It's going to be the biggest scandal in history".
"You make it sound like we'll be seen as heroes," I say with a sigh. "My dear Mr. Laverty, you seem to be under the unfortunate impression that the powerful members of our society would want such a scandal to be revealed. Even if they don't like what Blake has done, they'd rather push it under the carpet, and I have no doubt that they'd be happy to silence us in the process. You can't rely on law and justice, not in this land, not today".
"I'm a man of the law," he says firmly, "and I do believe that justice will be done. I'm not a cynic, Mr. Pope, and I never will be. When the full extent of this conspiracy is brought to the attention of the higher-ups, they'll have a moral duty to act, and that's exactly what they do".
"You're naive," I reply, unable to stifle a laugh.
"I'm a man of principle, Sir!" he says, raising his voice a little, as if he's offended by my doubt, "and I expect others to be the same. With one or two unfortunate exceptions, I believe that this world is filled with good men who do their duty, and I'm most certainly not going to sit back and do nothing. These women were murdered, Mr. Pope. Their throats were slit and their bodies were dumped, probably in some marsh or quarry -"
"The river," I say. "They were dumped in the river. I can show you where".
"We'll drain the whole Thames if we have to," he continues, clearly filled with a new sense of enthusiasm. "This is about justice. It's about finding the people who killed these women and ensuring that they can't hurt anyone else, and that they pay for what they've done!" He pauses for a moment, his eyes burning with righteous desire. It's clear that he cares deeply about the case, but I'm not sure he understands the extent to which we're going up against not only Harrison Blake, but potentially the entire establishment of the country. "Each of these women had a life that was snatched from them," he continues. "They each died in fear and pain, and for what? For the amusement of people who wanted to play a game. That's not right, Mr. Pope, and I refuse to believe that there aren't others, even in positions of power, who'll recognize the evil that has been committed".
Shrugging, I turn and head back over to the door. "I've never been one to shy away from a challenge," I say, glancing back at him. "Even if the odds are against us, I know we have to go and take Blake on. Running's no good. If I run, he'll find me, and if I'm to die, I'd rather take that bastard down with me". I pause for a moment. "I don't really care about all those women whose diaries you've stacked up so neatly," I say eventually. "I'm sorry, but I don't. They mean nothing to me. There's one woman I care about, though, and she was beaten to death while she was carrying my child. I want Harrison Blake to know true pain, and that's why I'm going to help you, Mr. Laverty. But I know full well that I'll die in the process, and I have no expectation of ever being seen as a hero".
With that, I turn and walk away. Laverty's constant optimism is becoming tiring. So long as I get to see Blake's face as he dies on agony, and as he sees that I'm the one responsible, I care about nothing else in this entire world.
Elly
Today
When I wake up, there's a pounding sensation in my head, and for a moment I struggle to remember who I am or why I'm here. I sit up and find that I'm naked on the floor of a large, bright white and completely bare room. I feel as if there's something hammering away at the back of my mind, demanding to be remembered, but I can't quite...
Elly.
That's my name.
Elly Bradshaw.
Getting to my feet, I stumble naked to the door. My legs are like jelly and my whole body is trembling, and as I emerge into the next room, I start to remember where I am. This is Mr. White's apartment, and I've been...
I turn and look back at the door.
For a second, just a second, I f
eel as if I'm starting to remember something. I was in that room and there was something on me, something reaching around me, touching me with what felt like a thousand different fingers. I was flat on my back, and I was tensing my body as the fingers caressed every inch of my flesh. A shiver passes through me for a moment as I try to remember more, but the memory fades.
"Do you know the most dangerous thing in the world?" Mr. White's voice asks, from the other side of the lounge.
I turn to see him sitting fully-clothed in a large, leather armchair. As usual, he seems to be serenely confident, as if he knows that he has everything under control.
"Pure pleasure," he continues, taking a brief drag from a large cigar. "Everyone always seeks out pleasure, but the truth is, pure pleasure is one of the most dangerous and most intoxicating experiences known to man. It doesn't matter how you achieve it, but the result is always the same. Pure, absolute, unadulterated pleasure is powerfully transformative, and I'd go so far as to say that anyone who experiences such a sensation ends up being changed forever". He pauses. "How do you feel, Elly?"
"I'm fine," I say, limping toward him. I don't even care that I'm naked anymore. He's seen me, and examined me, enough already, and I've got nothing left to hide.
"You don't remember what happened in that room, do you?" he asks. "The whole of the past two hours is completely wiped from your mind".
"Two hours?"
"The first hour was the experience itself, and then you were unconscious and recovering for the second hour". He smiles. "Pure pleasure often knocks people out, and the mind struggles to organize its experiences into coherent memories". Reaching to the coffee table, he grabs a tablet computer and starts it up. "Fortunately, I took the liberty of recording the events that took place, because I thought you'd probably want to be reminded. It's all here, video and audio, should you decide that you want to pierce the fog in your mind".
"I feel kind of weird," I say, clutching my left arm.
"That's natural," he replies. "Your body is reacting in perfectly normal ways to an unusual experience. If you didn't feel weird, I'd be worried".
"It's hot in here," I say, glancing across the room.
"I'd say it's about normal," he replies. "Don't worry. Your body is probably firing off in all directions, trying to recover its equilibrium. It's not a quick process, but you'll get there in the end, and that's what matters. Now, do you want to see a snippet of what happened to you in that room?"
"I guess," I say, even though there's a part of me that's kind of nervous. I feel strange, stranger than ever before, and I'm not sure I buy Mr. White's insistence that it's just a natural part of my body's way of dealing with things. As well as the pain in my arm and the slight dizziness, I'm feeling kind of sweaty and a little panicky. I want to believe that everything's going to be okay, but deep in my gut there's this ball of fear that keeps warning me that there's a problem.
"Are you scared, Elly?" Mr. White asks.
I nod.
"Of what?"
"I don't know". I look over at the door. "When's Mark coming?" Suddenly I feel as if I need Mark; I need him to come and take me back to the normal world. Even if he doesn't show me the affection I want, I need him to make everything okay again.
"Who?" Mr. White asks.
"Mark".
"Never heard of him".
I pause for a moment. "Mr. Blue," I say eventually. "When's Mr. Blue coming?"
"Ah," he replies, "I see. I believe he'll come when I call him and let him know that everything's finished".
"And is it?" I ask. I wait for a reply, and as each second passes, I become more and more fearful that there might be another room. "Is it over?" I ask eventually, unable to completely hide the desperation in my voice.
"For now," he replies. "There are other rooms and other things to try, but not all on one day. I'm afraid the strain might kill you". Smiling, he brings up a video on the tablet screen, and he takes a moment to fast forward through to a certain spot. "Are you ready for this, Elly? Do you want to see yourself experiencing such pleasure, such absolute sexual perfection, that your mind couldn't handle the memories?"
I nod, suddenly feeling very cold.
He taps the screen, and a video starts to play. The first thing I notice is that the camera is focused on me. I'm on my back, with my spine arched and my breasts raised into the air. I have a look of absolute abandon on my face, as if I'm intently focused on my own body. The image doesn't show the lower part of my body at all, but some kind of long, winding metal thread seems to be curling up past my belly and running across my breasts. Slowly, as I moan with pleasure, the camera pulls back a little and I see that there's a mass of twisting wires between my legs, some of which are slipping in and out of my vagina, while a few of the wires seem to be curling like tentacles around my bare legs.
"What the hell is that thing?" I ask, watching as I writhe on the screen.
"Welcome to the twenty-first century," Mr. White says. "Mankind has made incredible advances, and sexual pleasure is no exception. You're looking at a device that was specifically designed to deliver maximum pleasure to a woman's body. It raised you to a state of intense arousal and then it kept you there for more than fifty minutes, learning from your reactions and adjusting itself accordingly. I could only run it for an hour today, because no-one could stand much longer at their first attempt. The record, set by a previous Lady Red, is more than half a day of pure pleasure, delivered by a device that is designed to be perfectly in tune with your every need. It took her a long time to get to that point, though, and I'm sure that after her first sessions she was a trembling wreck. So don't worry. You've got a long way to go, Elly, but I really think you have a good chance".
"And that's the game?" I ask, staring at the screen and watching as the wires continue to manipulate my body. I certainly seem to be enjoying it, even if right now I can't remember any of this. Still, after all the build-up from Mark, it's strange to think that the game boils down to some kind of squirming sex toy.
"It's part of the game," Mr. White continues. "An important part, but only a part. Successive generations of men in the Mr. White role have sought to perfect such devices, with varying degrees of success. I'm rather proud of myself for coming up with this, although the project was begun by my predecessor. Eventually, Elly, you'll be able to spend much longer in that room, and you'll be able to remember your experiences. The plan is for you to become an expert at using the tools in these rooms". He turns to me. "You're shivering. Are you cold?"
"I was a moment ago," I reply, "but now I'm hot again".
"Don't worry," he says, reaching across and cupping one my breasts, before flicking the hard nipple with his thumb. "Your body is still adjusting. Don't under-estimate the incredible pressures and strains that you experienced, even though the ultimate sensation was pleasure. The human body has to be trained to endure such things, just as it has to be trained to endure any kind of exercise. True pleasure is an art that has to be learned over a period of time, and it requires a body that is highly-tuned to the level of a professional athlete".
I nod, but I'm starting to feel a much sharper kind of pain in my shoulder. I don't want to appear weak, though, so I decide to just ignore everything and hope that it goes away. I keep focusing on the fact that I want Mark to be pleased with me; I want to show him that I can handle everything that's thrown at me. Damn it, I don't even know why I care so much about Mark's opinion, but I'm determined to make him see that I'm better than the average girl. I want him to know that I'm different.
"Your orgasm," Mr. White continues, "when it eventually came, was something to behold". He speeds through the video until he reaches a point near the end. It's shocking to see the force with which my body is convulsing, while I scream in a series of loud gasps. "It's almost like it's not you, isn't it?" he continues. "You must be struggling to recognize yourself".
I nod, unable to take my eyes off the screen. I watch as the wires begin to retract from my body, an
d finally the camera pulls back to show me naked and alone on the floor of the room, having apparently passed out. I look like a rag doll that's been tossed to the ground.
"I decided to let you sleep," Mr. White explains, shutting off the video. "Well, I'm not sure that 'sleep' is the right word, but I didn't want to disturb you. I knew you'd come around eventually. I came in and checked on you a couple of times, of course, just to be sure that you were okay".
Turning and walking over to the table, I grab my glass of water from earlier and drink what's left in one go. The pain in my shoulder is getting much worse, and I'm not sure how much longer I can pretend that I'm okay. I set the glass down and pause, and after a moment I realize that I'm sweating profusely. In fact, it's getting so bad that the sweat is pouring down my chest, running over my breasts and onto my belly.
"Elly?" Mr. White says, and there's a different tone to his voice this time, as if suddenly he's worried about me.
"I'm fine," I say, but in truth I can barely even speak. As the pain in my shoulder starts to spread down through my left arm, I feel a tightening sensation in my chest. I try to turn and walk over to the sofa, but my legs give way and I drop to my knees. Something's wrong. Something's definitely, definitely wrong, and I'm finding it harder and harder to breathe. I've never had a panic attack before, not a proper one, but this feels like something more serious. Overcome by a sense of panic, I feel a wave of pain slam through my body.
"Fuck!" Mr. White says, rushing over to me and checking my pulse. The fear in his voice is alarming. He's always seemed so calm and in control, but it's clear that this wasn't part of his plan.
"What's..." I start to say between big, deep gulps of air. "What's wrong with me?"
"Get over here," he says firmly, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me across the floor until I'm leaning against the wall. He checks my pulse again. "Elly, do you have any family history of health problems?"
