CRUEL JUSTICE
By Mel Comley
Published by Mel Comley at Amazon Kindle
Copyright 2011 Mel Comley
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is dedicated to my rock, Jean.
Thanks to Tania for the wonderful cover, you're a talented lady.
Other books by Mel Comley are.
Impeding Justice
Final Justice
A Time For Change
A Time To Heal
High Spirits
A Twist in The Tale
Keep in touch with the author at
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mel-Comley/264745836884860
http://melcomley.blogspot.com
http://melcomleyromances.blogspot.com
Prologue.
Friday August 30th, 2007
The pain from the welts on the woman's naked back intensified. She had no concept of time, no idea how long she'd been tied up. Her hands had lost all feeling from being tightly bound to an old wooden chair.
Is this how her life would end?
It had taken a while, but her nostrils had finally grown used to the vile stench permeating her temporary cell.
Time, all she had was time. Time to think, time to ask the same question over and over. Who was he? And why was he holding her captive? What unspeakable thing had she done in her life to make a complete stranger treat her this way? I'm a kind and caring person, aren't I?
What type of person kept a woman locked up in a hellhole like this?
He tortured her with silence when he brought her food, if you can call week-old bread food. She had tried different ways to get a reaction out of him, shouting, reasoning, even her pitiful attempt at begging had fallen on deaf ears. His sneer, and the way his dark eyes roamed her naked body in response, made her skin crawl.
Now her own thoughts had started torturing her. Her aching limbs cried out for warm lavender-oil filled baths, if only to wash away the urine stinging her legs and the faeces clinging to her behind. She felt utterly degraded. It was a far cry from her usual opulent lifestyle.
Every waking minute dragged into agonisingly long hours. Please, when will this nightmare end? How will this nightmare end? She asked her maker, repeatedly.
Water dripped constantly in the corner adding to her torment. She blocked the noise out by reminiscing happier moments, hoping it would help prevent the craziness threatening to seep into her mind. Fearing her life would soon come to an end, she prayed endlessly that her dead husband would be there to greet her when she finally passed over. How wonderful it would be to feel his comforting arms around me now.
Her heart leapt into her throat when the hatch door swung open. The sudden rush of daylight hurt her eyes, causing them to water. She winced and was swiftly reminded that her right eye was swollen from the beating she had received a few days earlier.
The man gingerly made his way down the precarious ladder, followed by another person.
The imprisoned woman's pulse accelerated, furiously gathering momentum. He crossed the stone floor and stopped in front of her.
"Please … please let me go," she pleaded, in a childlike voice.
The man stared at her for a moment before the vilest of laughs escaped his lips. "Why? Tell me why I should let you go?"
"I beg of you, please, tell me what I have done?"
He smirked, and circled her chair in a menacing manner. "Ah, ignorance is a blissful thing."
Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it back down. "Please, I'm begging you. Please tell me what I've done wrong?"
Through clenched teeth he said, "If only you had done something. Helped in some way, but you didn't, did you? It was far easier to just leave us there. To let us rot in that shithole for years. Well, now you know how it feels."
The man's words and aggression made her flinch. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you mean. Do I know you?"
"You're all the same. You avoid helping those who cry for help. Your kind makes me sick." As though filled with a terrible venom, his lips turned down, then he jerked his head and spat on her face.
"You and your ilk think you're all so mighty. But you're no better than the shite you're sitting on. You're all full of it!"
Tears ran over the bruises on the woman's cheeks as he ranted at her.
"You're a filthy, whimpering, bitch! What are you?"
She bowed her head.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
She held up her head.
"Now what are you?"
"I'm a filthy..."
"Yes? You're a filthy what?"
Snot ran into her mouth as she said, "I... I'm a filthy... whimpering, bitch..." Her throat tightened for want of a sip of water. She needed to wipe her nose.
His laughter filled the room.
"Please, could I have a drink of water?"
"Oh, madam would like to quench her thirst?"
"Please?"
"And how about something to eat? You must be hungry. No?"
"Yes."
The man pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped his hands into them. He then moved to the back of the chair.
She couldn't figure out what he was doing but when he stood in front of her again he smiled. She gulped at the sight of what he had in his hand. Her heart pounded.
"Open your mouth."
"Please don't..." Her brow furrowed.
"But you're hungry. Right? You said you were hungry. Now open your mouth. Wide."
Eyes stinging, she opened it, and the wider she did so the more her already-chapped lips cracked.
"Yes, your kind are full of it."
He moved closer and shoved a handful of faeces into her mouth.
"Now chew and swallow it!"
Between gagging and sobbing, she consumed her own filth.
He looked at her pubic area. "You really are a filthy bitch." He removed the gloves and tossed them on the floor.
Between bouts of hysterical laughter, he continued shouting obscenities but his words seemed jumbled to her already confused mind.
Still very much amused, he turned and walked towards the ladder.
Oh, thank God he's leaving. For a moment, she closed her tired eyes, but when she opened them he was on his way back. It was then she noticed the metal bar in his right hand.
Oh, God, Is this the end?
"You disgust me!" He shuffled closer.
Covered in goose-bumps, and teeth chattering, she peered up into the evil, black, eyes angrily eating through her flesh.
"Did you hear me?"
"I … I don't understand. What have I done to deserve this?" she mumbled, through cracked, soiled lips.
"I have had enough, you stuttering, smelly, bitch."
The bar raised, the woman's piercing scream filled the tiny room, but her screams were lost in his madness. The bar crashed down and in one blow smashed her skull wide open. Her life's blood ebbed away.
He continued hitting her as images of his childhood ran through his crazed mind. Strike after strike, he punished her, unaware that her last breath had left her body five minutes before.
Satisfaction overwhelmed him.
A large saw lay in the cellar
corner, and as though about to reach an orgasm, he grabbed it and positioned it on the woman's lifeless neck. Back and forth, back and forth, he pushed it, faster, faster, and as he cut through the tendons and bones he clenched his teeth until her head fell onto the floor.
The third person had silently observed the proceedings and stepped out from the shadows.
Turning to look at her, he could tell by the way her face lit up, she was pleased with the precision and the eagerness of his actions.
"The first part of the puzzle is now in place," said the man.
"Yes, and we both know there's no turning back, now."
"Yes. This is just the beginning..."
Chapter One
September 30th
Lorne pulled the large scatter cushions off the sofa and onto the floor, while Tom threw another log on the open fire. They both sighed with satisfaction as they sank into the cushions.
So far, the evening had gone according to plan. It had been months since they had shared a meal together, and even longer since they had shared any form of intimacy. She poured a couple of glasses of wine on the side table next to the sofa and felt the excitement build inside.
Tom pulled her back and hooked an arm around her shoulders.
"We miss not having you around," he whispered in her ear.
Sighing contentedly, Lorne swung her legs over his lap and nestled her head into his shoulder.
"I know. I miss Charlie and you, too. I also miss sharing romantic evenings with the man of my dreams. It feels like years since we've done anything like this." She touched the cold wine glass against her cheek to cool it. Was she really blushing, or was it the heat from the crackling fire? "I kinda feel like a naughty teenager."
"Do you remember what we used to get up to as naughty teenagers?" Tom asked seductively, his hand playfully stroking its way up her slim thigh.
His long awaited touch sent thrills shooting through her usually tense body. "We didn't know each other when we were teenagers, you idiot. You mean before Charlie came along?"
"Point taken. Do you regret having her?"
Shocked by his unexpected question, she sat up and frowned.
"Of course not. Do you?"
Tom had been in a funny mood with her for months now — she had put it down to her working more overtime than usual. But maybe she was wrong and their problems ran deeper than that.
In thirteen years of marriage, they had never really discussed how their lives had panned out since having their daughter, who was away for the night on a sleepover at a friend's house. Now she couldn't help wondering where the conversation was leading.
He reached up and gently repositioned her head on his chest before saying, "No, I don't, but …"
And that one simple word appeared to linger dangerously between them like high-voltage electricity.
Again Lorne tried to sit up, but Tom's hand clamped her head like a vice. "Tom, let go of me." She exhaled a frustrated sigh and tried to suppress the uncertain feelings bubbling inside. With one forceful kick of her legs she sat upright and glared down at him, shifting position slightly to prevent him pulling her back into a cuddle. "What the hell does that mean? But…?"
His arms formed a blockade across his broad chest, his lips pressed firmly together as he refused to answer her.
Sucking in a deep breath, she bolstered herself to demand, "Tom, if you have something you want to get off your chest, let's have it?"
Oh God, please don't spoil things and fly off the handle. I can't cope with a week of your sulking at the moment.
"Come on, sweetheart, you obviously have something on your mind," she coaxed, smiling.
"Okay, I'll tell you what's going on with me. But remember, you asked," he replied, reaching for his drink. He downed the contents of his glass in one noisy swallow and looked as if he was trying to summon up the courage to continue.
She nodded, she'd never seen Tom like this. His chocolate brown eyes showed signs of worry that unsettled her stomach.
Clinging onto the now empty glass, he stood up and paced round the room.
"It's not easy to say this."
His hesitation annoyed her. "Just spit it out, Tom."
He ran a shaky hand through his thick black hair. She could see how painful it was for him to find the right words. This is it, he's going to confess to having an affair. She braced herself as his lips opened and the words tumbled out.
"I'm fed up with being taken for granted. Your job means more to you than we do. I'm fed up making excuses when Charlie asks what's keeping you at work. Which you have to admit, happens frequently lately."
Tears sprang to her eyes as relief overwhelmed her; he wasn't having an affair after all. "Oh, Tom. Honey, we knew how much our lives would change when I accepted this promotion. We discussed it —"
"I seem to remember it being a one-sided discussion that began with, 'I've been offered promotion' and ended with 'I've accepted it'. What choice did I have in the matter? None, zilch, nothing, fuck all. Some discussion that turned out to be."
"That's not fair. What was I supposed to do? Turn down the promotion? Do you realise how the force would have reacted to that? I would've remained a sergeant for the rest of my career," Lorne said, scrambling to her feet ready for further confrontation.
"At least Charlie would know who her mother was," he snapped back, childishly.
"I don't see you complaining when you're spending my hard earned money," she mumbled.
"Oh, it's your money is it?" he retaliated, his eyes wide with anger.
"You know I didn't mean that," she said frustrated, beating a clenched hand against her thigh. "I appreciate what you've given up to look after Charlie, but that was a decision we made together years ago. Or are you going to throw that one at me next?"
The long drawn out silence was deafening.
"Perhaps I didn't bank on Charlie being so difficult to bring up," he stated quietly.
Guilt wrapped around her like a tight bandage. She kicked herself for not appreciating his loneliness sooner. "Baby, I'm so sorry …" she walked towards him.
It shocked her when he turned his back and stood by the window. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off.
"I don't want or need your sympathy, Lorne," he said, pulling back the curtain. He placed his hands on the windowsill and gazed out.
"What do you want then?"
After a few minutes silence he mumbled pitifully, "I want my fucking life back."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry, Tom, I just don't understand what you mean by that? You have a life. We have a life. We have a very good life in fact—"
"No, you're the one with a life. I'm the one who's merely existing. You leave the house at eight and get back around seven-thirty, when you don't bother doing any overtime, that is. While 'good old Tom' looks after our child's needs and cleans the house. Christ, do you have any idea how bloody mundane that is, five days a week?" he said, his voice rising along with the colour in his cheeks.
Lorne could imagine the same conversation going on in thousands of households all over the country, except it was probably the wives complaining to the husband when he came home from a long day at work.
She blew out a breath she had been holding in, and asked, "How long have you felt like this?"
"Months. Only you've been too busy to notice."
Henry, their Border Collie was sitting by the kitchen door, whimpering at their raised voices and Lorne couldn't help being distracted for a moment.
"Come here, boy, it's okay." She patted his head reassuringly. "Go lie in your bed."
The dog trotted back to the kitchen, his head hung low. Lorne had bought him as a pup, five years before, as a present for her husband. Tom had named him after his favourite footballer Thierry Henry. But the dog seemed to regard Lorne as his master, not Tom, which in itself had caused problems between them.
"Huh, even the dog gets more attention than me."
"Grow up, Tom." As
soon as the words left her lips she regretted saying them.
Tom turned to face her and grabbed her by the shoulders, "So that's what you really think of me? That I've failed to grow up along the way? Right, you can bloody well put your resignation in at work tomorrow, because this time next week lady, I'm going back to work. Do you hear me, Lorne? Then we'll see how long it takes you to crack looking after our angelic daughter day in day out. Just remember one thing, it's taken twelve years for my sanity to diminish. We'll see how long you last, shall we?"
Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one)) Page 1
