by Amy Cross
Finally, wrapped up in one another's arms, still messy from our love-making, we fall asleep together.
Jonathan Pope
1901
The screaming continues for hours.
Unable to bear the sound of Henrietta's agony, I retreat to the bar. Although I would dearly prefer to remain in the room with her, I know in truth that there is nothing I can do. Were I to have remained in the room with her, I would surely have ended up pushing John the Pig away and, in the end, prolonging Henrietta's agony. It took all my strength to leave the room and come down to the bar, but from somewhere I have managed to summon up the courage to resist the cries of pain that, even now, continue to ring out from the room upstairs in which John the Pig is still attempting to save the child.
"You look troubled," Darius Wolff says, setting a second pint of beer on the bar in front of me. "Something on your mind?"
Staring at him, I see a smile starting to curl on one side of his mouth.
"If you're bothered about the woman, there's no need," he continues. "It's a well-established fact that women have a very low threshold when it comes to tolerating pain. They wail and moan at the slightest splinter. I know it sounds like she's screaming blue murder up there, but I doubt John the Pig's doing much more than a few cuts in strategic spots". He pauses. "Women aren't like men. It's best to view them as a different species".
Without saying anything, I take a sip of my beer.
"Mind you," he adds, "it's taking him a long time, isn't it? I've never known him to spend so many hours on one operation. Then again, I've never known him to do work on a woman before. Maybe he's got a bit lost in her bits. The inside of a woman is totally different to the inside of a man. According to John the Pig, the inside of a woman is more like the inside of a horse. I'm not sure how he knows that. He must have read it".
"Enough," I mutter, taking another sip.
"What's wrong?" he replies. "Am I not helping?"
"You -" I start to say, before flinching as Henrietta lets out yet another cry of pain. "What is that butcher doing to her?" I continue, poised to go and stop him. "Surely enough is enough?"
"I don't hear the sound of a newborn baby yet," he replies. "Don't they start making a noise almost as soon as they're out?"
"If he's not done soon," I say bitterly, "I shall go up there and..." I pause, realizing that there's no way I can ever go charging into that room. Whatever has been done to Henrietta, it must surely have left her in a total mess, and I couldn't stand to see so much of her blood spilled across the floor. I would prefer my last image of her to be a little calmer and more peaceful. "She cannot stand much more," I continue. "She will surely pass soon".
"You'd think so," Wolff mutters, "but apparently women don't need blood. They don't actually have hearts, you see".
I stare at him. "Women... don't have hearts?"
"I read it," he replies. "Instead of a heart, what they've got in the middle of their chest is an extra lung. It's very small, but it allows them to shout a bit louder than a man. That's why they shriek and moan so much".
I continue to stare at him. Of all his half-baked claims about women, this is surely the most ridiculous.
"I know," he continues. "I was shocked too when I found out, but apparently it's true. The ironic thing is, women are always going on about hearts, aren't they? I'm not sure most of them know they haven't got one. Maybe it's best not to tell them. Still, it's a physiological fact. At least they've got brains, although some of them act like their heads are hollow".
"Henrietta has a heart," I reply slowly. "I have felt it beating".
"That's just -"
"She has a heart," I say again, this time more firmly. I'm not in the mood to hear any more of Wolff's drivel. "I have felt her pulse".
Wolff sniffs derisively. "I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree," he acknowledges eventually. "I mean, granted, I've never poked around inside a woman's body, so I don't have first-hand knowledge, but I read a lot, and I hear things. John the Pig agrees that -"
"Dear God," I say, suddenly filled with the realization that I might have made a terrible mistake. "What kind of a butcher have I let loose on my dear Henrietta?"
At that moment, as I'm poised to rush upstairs, I suddenly hear the cry of a newborn child. I stand completely still, trying to make sure that I'm not imagining the whole thing.
"You hear that too, do you not?" I ask, turning to Wolff.
He nods.
"The child lives," I continue, barely able to believe that such a miracle could possibly have taken place. "Against all the odds, the child lives!" Running from the bar, I make my way up the stairs two at a time until I reach the door to John the Pig's makeshift surgery. Sure enough, the sound of a newborn child is coming from within, but as I place my hand on the door handle, I realize that I dare not enter. For one thing, there is the possibility of blood. For another, I have only just recognized that the child's cries came at the expense of Henrietta's screams. She has fallen silent, which can only mean one thing.
After a moment, the door opens and John the Pig steps out of the room, holding a wriggling, squirming newborn baby in his arms, wrapped in a blood-soaked towel.
"This is it?" I ask, unable to take my eyes away from the child's face.
"You have a son," he says, his voice sounding a little cowed, almost as if the act of birth has stunned even this depraved beast.
"And Henrietta?"
He shakes his head.
"A son," I continue, reaching out and taking the child. "A child born of the game".
"You don't want to talk like that," John the Pig points out. "The walls have ears around here, remember".
Staring at the child's face, I feel myself becoming overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment. After everything that has happened, I have finally reached the point at which I can hold my son in my arms.
"He shall be known as Thomas," I say after a moment. "Thomas Pope, son of Jonathan Pope and Lady Henrietta deHavilland".
"I'd better get back in there and clean up," John the Pig replies, turning and heading back into the room.
"Can I -" I start to say, before spotting a dismembered hand on the floor. Immediately, I realize that it would be hopeless to ask if I might see Henrietta's body. As John the Pig pushes the door shut, I realize that this miracle of life has occurred at the same time as a horrific death. It's clear that Henrietta was damn near hacked apart in order to have the baby retrieved, and I can't help but feel that this is no way for a child to enter the world. Still, he's here now, and although I would dearly love to have Henrietta here to share the joy, I can at least take solace in the fact that this child has the brightest of futures. I swear to God, he will never know the kind of pain that his mother endured.
The game will not have him.
Elly
Today
When I wake up, it's dark and we're still naked. At first, I don't move. I feel as if Mark and I are bonded together, and any movement might ruin everything. All I want to do is feel the warmth of his skin against mine and hear the sound of him breathing. I might be wrong, but I can't help thinking that maybe this is what it's like to have a 'normal' relationship; this is what normal people do when they're together. They don't play elaborate games, they don't try to push each other to extremes. They just spend time together, sharing their warmth and enjoying one another's company. In a way, this is a primal experience. This is what it's like to be with someone you love.
Eventually, realizing that I need a glass of water, I carefully slip out from Mark's embrace and quietly leave the room. The apartment is dark and quiet, and it's hard to reconcile the tranquility of the place with the drama of some of the things that have happened here over the past few months. Standing naked in Mark's kitchen and pouring myself a glass of water, I find myself thinking back to that first night here, when I accepted Mark's challenge and slept with him for the first time. Even in my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd end up living here, engaged to him, facin
g a future that might not be quite as shitty as I'd always feared. For the first time in my life, I feel as if things are going to be okay.
After finishing the glass of water, I close my eyes and listen to the hum of the air-conditioning unit.
"Are you sure?" asks a voice suddenly.
I take a deep breath.
My father's voice.
"What if you're being a naive idiot?" he continues. "What if you're being unbelievably stupid? What if you're making a decision that's so ludicrously blinkered, you'll one day look back on this moment and tremble with fear at the very idea that you could be such a fool?"
"You don't know Mark," I whisper.
"Don't I?" He laughs. "And who do you think I am?" He pauses. "Come on, Elly. If someone else was doing what you're doing, you'd rip them to shreds. You think Jess is crazy to fly to India with some guy she knows fairly well, and yet look what you're doing".
"This is different".
"Why? Because of the money?"
"Fuck you".
He laughs again. "You don't know that Jess is in India. You've only got Mark's word for it. And you don't know that his ex-girlfriend is still alive. Do you really think the police would be tailing him if they didn't have some kind of evidence?"
"Mark's not a killer," I reply.
"How do you know?"
"Because I know him".
Standing in silence, I wait for my father's voice to contradict me. He sounds so real and so close, I'm tempted to fear for my sanity. After all, most people don't start hearing the voices of dead relatives. Still, I keep reminding myself that it's all just my way of talking to myself. I don't believe for a second that he's actually come back to talk to me. I thought I'd stopped hearing his voice after his funeral, but I guess that maybe this is always going to be my way of dealing with stressful situations.
"Are you still there?" I ask after a moment.
Silence.
I walk over to the window and stare out at the city. With so many lights blazing in the darkness, it's hard to believe that night has really fallen. There are two Londons, one that lives during the day and one that lives during the night. Right now, I feel as if I belong to both of them.
"Why are you still here?" my father's voice asks.
"I belong here," I reply.
"In this penthouse?"
I nod.
"Is that what you think?"
"I'm going to marry Mark," I tell him. "I want to marry him. The game's over now. He's sorting it all out -"
"Do you have any idea how naive you sound right now?"
"I'm not naive". I pause for a moment. "Why are you even here? If you haven't got anything useful to say, you might as well just leave me alone". I wait for his reply. "I don't need to listen to you. Not now. I'm not a kid, okay? In case you haven't noticed, I'm an adult. I don't need to have my father's voice whispering in my ear every five minutes".
"You had a heart attack".
"And now I'm fine".
"Are you sure? Haven't you felt any vague tremors? Not even a slight buzz?" He pauses. "Are you sure you haven't been telling little white lies every time Mark asks if you're feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," I say firmly.
"Whatever. You can say what you want, but it doesn't change what's happening inside your body".
"Why are you still here?" I hiss, starting to get annoyed.
"Why?" He pauses. "I guess there are two options. One's that your mind is so divided, so troubled, that you've resurrected my voice so you can bat the pros and cons around a few times. The other is that you're making such a monumental fuck-up, I've returned from the dead to whisper the truth in your ear. I don't give a damn which of those you believe, Elly. I just need to know that you're listening to what I'm saying. You only get so many chances to make a decision before the result sticks".
Silence.
After a few minutes of mindlessly staring at the city, I turn and hurry back through to Mark's bedroom. I grab my phone and head to the kitchen, where I bring up my mother's number and try calling her again. To my surprise, instead of going through to voicemail, I suddenly hear the sound of the phone being answered.
"Elly?" my mother asks wearily. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I thought you were on holiday," I stammer. "I thought you were in a different timezone".
"We had a weekend in Brighton," she mutters, "but I'm home now. What do you want? Is something wrong?"
"No," I reply, "I just..." Pausing, I realize that I want to tell her about my engagement, but it's clear that I can't do it over the phone. "Do you mind if I come over?" I continue. "There's something I really want to tell you. It's good news. It's, like, the best news. Is it okay if I drop by tomorrow?"
"You can come home any time you like," she replies, sounding as if she's still half asleep. "You know this is still your home. Just because I've got a gentleman friend, there's no reason for you not to come over. In fact, I'd like you to get to know Bob properly". She pauses. "Are you sure everything's okay? It's so late, Elly".
"I'm fine," I reply, feeling strangely buoyed by the sound of her voice. It's as if the thought of telling my mother about the engagement somehow makes it more real. It's not just a private thing between Mark and myself; it's a part of real life, and it's actually going to happen. "I'll drop by in the afternoon," I continue excitedly. "I won't be alone. I'm going to bring someone".
"That's nice, dear," she mutters. "Can I go back to sleep now? It's been such a long day".
"Goodnight," I reply, before ending the call. As I stand alone in the kitchen, I'm overcome by the feeling that this is all real. My life with Mark has been a secret so far, something to be hidden and denied, but now I can feel it starting to explode and become much bigger. Tomorrow I'll tell my mother about the engagement, and then we'll have to start planning things. Hurrying back to the bedroom, I know I'll never be able to get back to sleep, but I -
Before I reach the bed, a hand is clamped over my mouth and I'm pulled back against the wall.
"It's me," Mark whispers. "There's someone in the penthouse".
I try to get free, but he's holding me too tightly.
"You have to stay in here," he continues. "It's going to be okay, but stay out of sight. I'll deal with it. I'm going to let go of you, but you have to promise not to make a sound. Okay?"
Slowly, he moves his hand away from my mouth. I turn and see that's he's still naked, but the old fear has returned to his eyes. After a moment, I realize that he's carrying something in his right hand, and finally I see that it's a gun.
"Mark," I whisper, "you -"
He puts a finger to his lips.
My heart racing, I step back toward the bed.
"I was in the kitchen," I hiss. "You heard me! There's -" Before I can finish, I realize there is a noise coming from the next room: a kind of creaking sound, like someone took a step forward.
Still naked, I stand and watch as Mark makes his way slowly toward the bedroom door, and finally he steps out into the main part of the penthouse. I can hear my heart racing as I see Mark's figure moving through the shadows. It's hard to make anything out, but all I can do is wait and hope that everything's going to be okay. I can't help thinking that somehow Mark has got this all wrong. There can't be someone else in the apartment. I'd have heard them, for one thing, and for another... Why would anyone want to break in? After a moment, I realize that the question of 'why' is kind of redundant. I should have known it was too easy. I should have known that the game would never let us get free so easily. If only the -
Suddenly there's a gunshot, ringing out through the dark apartment. Seconds later, I hear the sound of a body slumping to the ground. I step back, my heart pounding as I desperately wait for Mark to come back and tell me that everything's okay. Whatever just happened -
A figure walks to the doorway and stands staring at me.
I stare back.
It's not Mark. It's too big. Whoever this is, he's taller than Mark an
d wider, more sturdy. The first thought that hits me is that Mark might be hurt. The second thought is that there's no way anyone's going to hear me if I scream.
"I..." I start to say.
The figure takes a step forward, raises a gun and fires.
Ducking down, I hear the bullet slam into the mirror, smashing the glass. I hide behind the bed, but I can already hear the figure walking around to get at me. I try desperately to think of something I can do, but it's too late and the figure is already standing over me.
"No!" I shout. "You can't -"
Another gunshot runs out.
I stare up at the figure.
I wait for the pain.
Silence.
It takes several seconds before I realize that I haven't been shot. In the confusion, I don't notice at first that the figure has slumped down onto the bed. It's hard to see much in the darkness, but as I lean closer, I realize that the side of his face has been blown away, and blood is pouring out of the wound and seeping into the bed-sheets. I open my mouth to cry out for help, but at the last moment I realize that I can't even make a sound. My mind is blank. All I can do is stare and stare.
Silence.
I wait.
Nothing.
"Elly..." Mark calls out from the other room, his voice sounding weak. "Elly, please..."
Getting to my feet, I race out of the room and find Mark on the floor by the window.
"Elly..." he whispers, trying to get up but quickly collapsing back into a heap. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
I kneel next to him and immediately see that there's a wound to one side of his neck, with blood pouring out. I know I should try to staunch the flow, but I don't know where to begin. I lean over to the writing desk and fumble with the lamp, until finally I manage to flick the switch. Turning back to Mark, I see the true extent of his injuries: part of the left side of his neck has been completely destroyed, with mangled pieces of flesh and meat trailing down, and there's a huge patch of blood already soaking into the carpet.
