by Neal Davies
No sooner does Sebastian get off the phone to Cynthia then he is on the phone to Jim and asks him for a couple of favours. Sebastian’s mind is ticking over like a well-oiled machine, as everything begins happening in quick succession and immediately after getting off the phone to Jim, he receives his message from Cynthia and then jumps in his car again and speeds off.
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Meanwhile, at the gym, it has been another day of Paul working his way around the complex while talking to people and trying to get as much information as possible. He spies Joe Devonport near the weights and feels this might be a good time to delve a little deeper. “Hi, Joe. How are things? I thought you were going to help me meet people today, what happened?”
Joe’s mouth contorts slightly and his pupils glare upwards from below a crinkled frown. “Sorry, I got busy with deliveries. Work has to come first you know.”
Paul gives a gentle nod of his head and smiles with closed lips. “Fully understand, pal; we all have our priorities.” Paul moves to the exercise bikes which are right next to where Joe is shining up some of the gym equipment. “Hey, Joe? Someone over there was telling me that another guy from the gym was murdered the other week; did you know him?”
Joe looks at Paul out of the corner of his eye and continues cleaning. “Yes, I knew him. Why?”
Paul starts peddling a bicycle he has just mounted and continues to dangle the bait out to see if Joe will bite. “Just curious, that’s all. It’s not a common occurrence that someone from the same Gym you attend is murdered; now is it?”
Joe, still polishing, seems reluctant to respond. “Guess not.”
Paul continues obstinately, “What was he like?”
Joe swings his head around and glares at Paul with piercing eyes but before he can answer, Kate comes over to join in on their chat. “Hi, boys. I brought you over a free drink each because I’m closing the shop early today and taking the next couple of days off.”
“Going anywhere in particular, Kate?” Paul asks with a smile.
She glances over at him while handing the drinks to Joe. “Yes. As a matter of a fact I am, Paul, I have an interstate seminar to attend and I have to be at the airport in a couple of hours, so I better get a move on.”
Joe smiles, “Safe trip, my friend.”
Paul follows suit. “Yes, safe trip, Kate. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Kate looks back over her shoulder as she begins to head off. “Thanks, boys. Enjoy your drinks and I will see you in the not so distant future.”
Paul begins pedalling again and Joe moves a machine further over and continues his cleaning. After awhile Paul has worked up a sweat and decides to hit the showers. “Hey, Joe. Do you have that drink that Kate left me? I’ve had enough and it’s getting late.”
Joe scurries over with Paul’s drink. “There you are,” he says as he extends his hand out with the KateEnergy in it.
“Thanks, I needed this,” Paul replies as he takes a large swig of the elixir and then continues, “You never told me what this guy that got murdered was like.”
Joe glares at Paul as he did earlier. “Not now! I’ll have more time to talk about it tomorrow; as you can see I have to finish cleaning this machine and then I’m heading home myself.”
Paul gets off the bike and peers over his shoulder at Joe. “Alright, Joe, I will see you tomorrow.”
Paul realises that time has got away from him, so he throws down a good wash of the drink that Kate left and then quickly heads back to the change rooms to ring Sebastian and let him know he will catch up with him in the morning. Just as he is about to call he realises he had forgotten to charge his phone the night before and his mobile is dead. “Shit! Oh well, he would have left by now anyway,” he mumbles to himself but unknown to Paul, Sebastian is still at the station and is trying desperately to contact him. Paul showers before leaving the gym and as he’s getting dressed he loses balance and almost falls. “Wow, really must have overdone it!” he says out loud, and then gingerly works his way out of the gym and into the street.
Even with the street lights above the pavement, the area is dim, as the last speck of sun sets below the horizon. The further he goes the more lightheaded he becomes and he begins to feel as though one of the huge weights he was lifting earlier is resting on his chest. Paul is now struggling desperately to breathe and he finds himself overcome by tingling emotional spikes of paranoia and starts to believe he is being followed. “Who’s there?” he calls out as his head swings frantically one way, then the other. The dark shadows of the posts are now swaying under the florescent spotlights as if they are dancing eerily to the beat of Paul’s own heavy breathing. His clear and acute mind is now eclipsed with a nauseating haze that makes him want to throw up but he can’t. Paul takes another swallow of his sports drink to rid himself of his dry mouth and the strange taste that regurgitates from the back of his throat, but instead of feeling better he’s now feeling extremely ill and his light-headedness almost brings him to the point of collapse.
His instinct alerts him to the obvious. “The drink! It had to be the drink!” he slurs as he cups his hands over his eyes and rubs them vigorously. At this point he is doing all he can to remain conscious as his awareness is deteriorating rapidly and as he shakes his head from to side he loses his balance and almost falls, so he hunches over and balances himself by placing his hands upon his knees. “Pull it together, man!” he says to himself as desperation and overwhelming fear begins to set in. Like a prize fighter who is out on his feet, he continues his struggle but everything around him becomes distorted as he makes an effort to straighten up again. He staggers his way up the street like a drunk after an all-day session at the bar and the night becomes a blur of colourful lights that are smudged into shades of grey and pitch black. All of a sudden a van miraculously appears from nowhere and pulls over to the curb, so close its tyres rub on the embankment, emitting a screeching sound. All Paul can hear is a muffled voice echoing in and out of his head and as hard as he tries he can’t keep his balance any longer and he topples while still semi-conscious, backward toward the pavement. Yet something behind him breaks his fall and that’s the last thing he senses before complete unconsciousness.
As Paul slowly regains a vague semi-conscious state from his drug-induced sleep, he finds himself with a new nauseating discomfort and a frustrating haze covers his eyes like cellophane. He is now sitting upright and mobile with the sensation of being in the midst of a dream that lacks any clarity. There’s no longer any sign of the blurred street lights or the sound of distant traffic, only darkness, the crackling of twigs and dried leaves below him and it’s not long before his paranoia returns. Paul also hears a distorted heavy breathing of something behind him blended with the rustling of bushes as the cool evening breeze flutters through them. He desperately wants to shout out but he has nothing; he can only sit there shaking helplessly with the movement of the carriage supporting him. There is still no clearness of mind at this point, only instinct driving his will to survive. He tries desperately to adjust his vision by tiredly squinting but even the chilling cold breeze hitting his face is doing little to help his plight. It’s almost the same sensation he felt when he was once on a drinking binge with his pals in the Special Forces only worse, much worse, his eyes are blurred and he feels saliva trickling down his chin. He attempts to wipe it but finds he can’t move his wrists or legs. The sound of footsteps and breathing seem to be intertwining behind him and he wants to turn his head but it feels so heavy and there is something around his neck that is cold, thick and restraining any flexibility he has left.
The sky becomes slightly lighter as the moon momentarily eases its way out from behind a cloud and Paul can just make out the silhouette of a large building that seems to be moving like a drying towel in the wind.
As the drug continues to slowly breakdown in his system, he gains a little clarity and feels like he’s riding on something but there’s no sound of a motor, just a soft voice reverberating in
his head; it sounds vaguely familiar but his mind is so absent from reality, it’s difficult for him to be absolutely sure who it is.
“Well, I see you’re on your way back to the real world.”
Paul feels his carriage come to an abrupt halt almost in unison with the ceasing of the cool ghostly breeze that was whispering through the bushes. This creates a tense sharp silence but it also presents him with some relief from the drug induced paranoia, which sent his senses tingling each time he heard a bush shiver or a twig break. His relief is short-lived when the soft voice from earlier flows around him in confused sound waves, “I’ll just leave you out here for a bit longer until we can be assured that you’re fully alert when we begin the procedure.” The voice’s echo fades in and out of the still of the night, until there is an eerie silence, apart from the sound of his pulsating breath.
Paul then squints as a ghostly figure walks from behind his carriage and squats down at the front of him; all he can make out is the figure of a woman with short blond hair. Paul forcibly slurs his first words since the gym “Is that you, Kate?”
A contorted rapid reply reverberates back at him, “Of course, who else do you think it is? You will soon learn not to compare me to others!”
Paul tries hard to understand her meaning but the soft spoken voice continues to taunt him, “I just want you to know that you’re not as special as you think you are and you’re no different to all the others! So high and mighty, building me up and pretending you have feelings for me and then cutting my legs from under me. Do you know how much that hurts?”
Paul sits there silently, just staring directly and hypnotically at a blurred figure of a woman. He knows if he says anything at all it could only serve to inflame her emotions further. Beads of sweat run down his forehead and into his eyes and even when it stings like an ant bite, his special forces training has taught him to hold fast and show the enemy nothing. He’s awoken from his trance like state when the shadowy figure screams at him, “Well, do you! No? Well you soon will!” The voice continues echoing through his head, like something he has only heard in his most frightening nightmares. A war rages within Paul as he becomes torn between the drug induced paranoia and the Special Forces training that lingers in his subconscious telling him to never to give in or give up.
“You’ve never really been cut down to size; have you Mr High and Mighty? Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you squirm like all those who went before you. Their eyes would bulge as they howled in terror. To some people this may seem horrific but to me it’s dramatic and wonderful, just like a scene from an opera. So once that saw is halfway through, I’ll listen and smile to the sound of your screaming. The others are no longer in control and nor will you be. When all’s said and done, it will be me who decides when to end it, not you.” Even with blurred vision, Paul gazes directly at his captor unflinchingly to remind the hazy figure standing in front of him that there will be no sadistic satisfaction received from his fear. The figure stands there in silence as if waiting for Paul to crack but soon realizes that he is much stronger willed than those that have gone before him, so the form switches on a flashlight, turns toward the barn and moves smoothly and quickly into the building.
It’s not long after an almost inaudible, yet still recognisable sound of a chain passing over cogs and the muffled groan of something heavy being hoisted from its resting place fills Paul’s mind with an unnerving curiosity. Gradually and in unison to the sound within, a stream of rectangular light slowly lurches its way forward out of the building and falling just short of where Paul sits awaiting his fate. Moments later, an eerie high pitched voice, musically flows from the barn, “Coming, ready or not” which would send bitter chills down the spine of even the most hardened men. Whatever it was that had been mixed in his drink earlier is now beginning to wear off and he can see a grey furtive form, materialising from the deep recesses of the barn while casting a long eerie shadow out and onto the open ground. The circulation in Paul’s hands, fingers and feet has become so poor that even the pins and needles he felt earlier have turned to an uncomfortable numbness but that doesn’t stop him from struggling to free them from the straps that hold him in their vice like grip. This ordeal has been a gruelling test of Paul’s stamina, both physically and mentally; yet his will remains unbroken as he puts in a determined, super-human effort to break his bondage. Most others would have resigned themselves to what seems like a foregone conclusion but even with his brute strength, it has little impact on the leather straps that remain unyielding.
Just as the figure fully emerges and moves toward Paul, the barn illuminates from high powered lights hitting it and the surrounding area. Paul’s instincts tell him it has to be his colleagues and it isn’t long before his gut feeling is proven right. His heart warms further, when firm voices from the shrubs beyond the break echo out in the dark of night, ordering his captor to surrender, bringing a jarring end to Paul’s isolated nightmare, “Are you okay, Paul?” Sebastian hollers with concern.
Paul’s voice croaks back, “What do you think?”
There, in the glaring lights, stands a blonde who is forced to conceal blinded eyes behind a slender, horizontal, outstretched arm but like a startled rabbit inevitably decides to make a dash back inside. The assembled body of policemen move forward in a coordinated manner breaking the stillness of the night with rapidly moving boots and their demands for the culprit to halt but even the two burly policemen who merge from either side of the building can’t grasp the nimble footed villain as the killer moves with shrewd athleticism, by rapidly shifting one way then the other and eventually disappearing into the cold dim recess of the barn. The officers wait cautiously outside with their pistols drawn, not knowing if the suspect they’re pursuing is armed or not but they change their tactics when they hear a loud thud and the interior of the building turns pitch black. The two pursuers turn their high-powered torches on and slowly advance with apprehension into the depths of the darkness and after awhile they return empty handed with puzzled looks on their faces.
Charlie Betts, who is the officer in charge, has already read the faces of his two men leaving the barn and takes appropriate action. “Colin, Harry, take a couple of men with you and check the sides and back of the building for any trace of holes, doors or any other exits! Darren, Steve, guard the front of the barn and make sure no one comes out of there!”
Charlie stands back from the entrance with the rest of the group. The two officers who have searched the interior of the barn return to Charlie with their negative news. “There’s no trace, Sir!”
Charlie’s eyes light up. “What do you mean, there’s no bloody trace, where is she?” he barks back at them.
“I don’t know, Sergeant; we’ve searched every square inch of the interior but can’t find anything. There are no gaps in the walls to squeeze through, nothing!” Charlie gives the go ahead for the other two officers guarding the entrance to go in and see if they can find the culprit but they come back empty handed as well.
Sebastian sees the dilemma the Police are having and strides briskly across the clearing to the Sergeant. “I think I can explain, Charlie.” The Sergeant’s brows come together like a hawk on the dive and his eyes are just as focused. “Someone better be able to, or I’m going to assume we’re dealing with a bloody ghost!”
Sebastian puts his hand on the Charlie’s shoulder, “No, nothing like that at all; without knowing what to look for or where to look for it, the hidden cellar is practically impregnable.”
“Cellar? What cellar?”
“It’s a long story but if you get one of your men to climb up the wooden ladder to the loft, and heave on the chain that dangles near it, he will find a trap door will open beneath him and a ramp will lead you down to where your culprit should be hiding. It is of the utmost importance that you tell your men to proceed with caution as the person they are seeking is extremely dangerous.” The Sergeant gets one of the officers to open the trap door while a group of his peers
move cautiously and silently down the ramp to the unknown below.
The moon eerily appears as the navy blue and purple clouds break their lock on its silver beams and Sebastian turns on his heels and lopes at a pace to where Paul sits helplessly bound and he quickly unbuckles the leather straps that bind him. “Don’t move, Paul, ’til the ambulance gets here. It won’t be long,” Sebastian says in a concerned manner.
Paul smiles wearily but also proves to be headstrong and despite his discomfort his instinct is telling him to get to his feet; so he firmly pushes down on the sides of the wheelchair and Sebastian can see the intensive strain when his whole body begins to shake but as soon as he is upright he begins feebly struggling to maintain his balance and Sebastian helps him back into his seat. Paul, still feeling nauseous, finds Sebastian a comforting sight. He wearily looks up at him and huskily asks, “You wouldn’t have something cold to drink, would you?”
Sebastian, with determined eyes and his cane held high, looks toward one of the policemen standing with the Sergeant and yells, “HO! YOU OVER THERE, CAN WE GET PAUL A DRINK?” he yells persuasively with his eyes thrashing from squinting lids. The Sergeant jolts his head to the side in Sebastian’s direction to indicate to the officer to go ahead and the smaller fellow scurries over, passes an icy bottle into Sebastian’s outstretched hand and Sebastian in turn holds the bottle out to Paul.
He shakily grasps and lifts the vessel with its liquid relief to his dry lips and swallows the soothingly cold stream down his raspy throat. “Shit, I needed that!” he croaks as the sound of ambulance sirens grow louder. They had been on standby and arrive minutes later.
Once Paul is taken away Sebastian squats down and is amazed at how ingeniously the old wheelchair had been converted into an instrument of restraint and torture to suit the killer’s sadistic whims. He notices that the wheels and footrests can be easily removed at any given time and the high neck and head rest is made of solid timber. The backrest and seat don’t separate, making it simple for the victim to remain strapped in while being hoisted onto the operating bench. There is also an adjustable screw with a sharp end that penetrates through the neck rest, so if the victim were to push back with their head in order to avoid watching the procedure, the screw would ensure they couldn’t.
