by Amy Cross
"Not properly".
"But you understand that there are three levels, don't you?"
I nod.
"The first level is Mr. Blue. You've passed that level by demonstrating to Mark that you're willing and able to push your boundaries and develop your sexual identity. The second level is me. I'm here to push you further. Not many girls get this far, and of those that do, the vast majority get no further. They think they can handle extreme sexual acts, but they can't. I'm talking about bondage, things like that". He pauses. "If you pass this level, you then move on to the third and final level. Lady Red is a considerable challenge, and no-one has ever got to the end of the game. No-one has ever won. If someone eventually does win, the game will end and the prize will be given".
"What's the prize?" I ask.
"No-one knows," he replies. "It's kept in a small box. It was put there almost three hundred years ago by the inventor of the game, a man named Benjamin Edgewood. Whatever's in that box, Edgewood obviously considered it to be of great value, and he felt that it could only be opened by a girl who had proved herself. That's why the game was created. There's a point to what's happening, Elly. It might seem trivial at times, but it's a very serious endeavor. Some people think that the box contains..." He pauses again. "Well, I'm sure you can imagine that there have been all sorts of elaborate theories".
"Maybe someone should just open it and get the whole thing over with," I suggest.
"Lady Red thinks you have a chance to win," he continues, ignoring what I just said. "She doesn't often advance an opinion of such optimism, so I have to concede that she might be right. She's a woman of very fine judgment, and it would be a foolish thing indeed to ignore her views. If she's right, Elly, you have a real chance of ending a game that has lasted for many centuries. Is that something that interests you?"
I nod.
"Come," he says, reaching out a hand. "It's time for me to show you the room where we'll be spending the next few hours".
I take a sip from my glass of water, before getting up and allowing him to lead me by the hand over to a double-door at the far end of the room.
"I'm sure Mark has told you this," he says, pausing as he prepares to turn the handle, "but you must remember at all times that you're free to leave. You can just tell me to stop, and I'll do so immediately".
I nod.
Pushing the door open, he leads me into a large, square, bright white chamber. The first thing I notice is that there's some kind of contraption hanging in the very middle of the room, with wires running to the walls and some kind of seat in the middle. To be honest, it looks like a medieval torture device, complete with what appears to be a metal crown. Glancing to the sides of the room, I see an assortment of cabinets, some of which have been left open to reveal whips and other devices.
"Is this how you imagined it would be?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Remove the gown".
I pause for a moment, before figuring that I've got no reason to be shy. Letting the robe drop to the floor, I stand completely naked as Mr. White slowly walks around me, making no attempt to hide the fact that he's examining my body. I feel as if his eyes are studying every inch of my flesh, and he occasionally stops and seems to take a closer look if something interests him. After a moment, he reaches out and gives one of my breasts a firm squeeze, as if he's analyzing the consistency of my entire body.
"Show me your teeth," he says.
I open my mouth and do as I'm told.
"Any fillings?"
I shake my head.
"And no piercings anywhere on your body," he continues, before looking more closely at my ears. "Except your ears, but they look to be closing up. Don't you wear earrings?"
"Not really," I say.
He walks behind me, and a few seconds later he gives my left buttock a squeeze. After that, I feel his finger brushing against a small mole on my back.
"Have you thought about getting this removed?" he asks.
"Why?"
"Oh, don't panic! It looks perfectly fine, but it might be a good idea to have it sliced off as a preventative measure". He walks back around to face me, and finally he smiles. "Not everything I say has a loaded meaning, Elly. Sometimes I'm just trying to be nice". He pauses. "You're a very attractive young woman," he says eventually. "You have a firm, tight body. How old are you again?"
"Twenty-two".
"You look very good for your age," he says, starting to unbutton his shirt. "I'm afraid I can't quite say the same for myself. I'm pushing on a bit, Elly, so you'll have to excuse the fact that I've got the body of an old man. There's not much I can do about it, although I try to keep in shape". He pulls the shirt away to reveal a barrel-chested physique, and it's noticeable that he has well-defined muscles, even if his skin seems to be sagging a little. He still doesn't attract me at all, but he doesn't repulse me either.
"Have you never seen an old chap naked?" he asks.
"Actually," I reply, thinking back to my unexpected encounter with Bob in my mother's kitchen earlier tonight, "I saw one not that long ago".
Without any further warning, Mr. White pulls down his trousers and his underwear, revealing a fairly large penis. He smiles as he neatly folds his clothes and places them over in the corner.
"You might be relieved to know that I won't actually be putting this withered old thing inside you," he says, as he opens a nearby cupboard and takes out a pair of handcuffs. "I don't fuck the girls I bring here, Elly. I use things on them. It's a much more convenient experience, as far as I'm concerned. I'm afraid I'm too old for all the huffing and puffing, and I doubt either of us would get much enjoyment out of it. Sorry if that sounds unromantic, but I feel it's best to be upfront about these things".
"So what are you going to do to me?" I ask.
"Plenty," he says with a smile. "Don't worry, you won't be bored, not for a moment. Come over to the middle of the room and I'll show you how it's all going to start".
Joining him over by the metal contraption that hangs down from the ceiling, I can't help covering my crotch with my hands. I feel very exposed, and despite the fact that Mr. White and I are about to engage in some extreme sexual practices, I'm still feeling kind of embarrassed.
"Don't be shy," Mr. White says. "Hold your hands up to the curved metal bars". He waits for me to comply. "Elly, you can say no and leave, but your involvement in the game will be over. Do you understand?"
Nodding, I hold my hands up as instructed, and he quickly uses the handcuffs to secure me to the contraption. Looking up at the twisting mass of metal poles and tubes, I still have no idea how this whole thing is going to work, and my chest is starting to feel tight with anticipation. All I want is to get this over with, so that I can go back to Mark and prove to him that I'm not some little scaredy-cat.
"This might seem strange at first," Mr. White says, stepping over to a laptop that's already running in one of the corners of the room. "Just go with it, and please be assured that nothing in this room is going to put you in any physical danger. You're completely safe". He makes a few adjustments on the laptop. "Okay, Elly. Are you ready?"
I nod.
Seconds later, as he presses a button on the keyboard, there's a loud whirring sound from above. As I look up, I realize that the metal bars are moving up, and suddenly I'm lifted several inches off the ground. Instinctively, I struggle against the handcuffs, but after a moment I realize that my best bet is just to wait and see what happens next.
"Are you comfortable?" Mr. White asks.
"Sure," I say, although it's a lie. Hanging by my arms, my bare body completely exposed, I'm starting to wonder whether I've got myself into something I can't handle. Still, I force myself to focus on Mark, and to imagine how good it'll feel when I've got through whatever Mr. White's got planned for me.
"I'll begin," Mr. White says, and suddenly the room is plunged into darkness.
"Is that supposed to happen?" I ask.
"Of course," he say
s, as I hear his footsteps getting closer.
"Okay," I mutter, my body tingling as I wait for him to touch me. This is already way beyond my comfort zone, and I've got no idea what's about to happen. Hanging from the machine, I keep expecting to feel his hands on my bare flesh, but so far there's nothing. Twisting a little as I hang in mid-air, I take a deep breath and wait. Just when I think that maybe he's going to ignore me, I feel his hand gently brush against my hip.
Jonathan Pope
1901
Stirring from the deepest of sleeps, I open my eyes and look up at the high, gray ceiling. For a moment, I struggle to work out what I'm doing here, but finally I remember being led across the prison yard and forced to climb up onto the scaffold; I remember the noose being hung around my neck, and I remember seeing Henrietta's ghost watching me from afar; I remember the stool being kicked away, and I remember my body dropping until the noose tightened around my neck, and then...
And then...
Sitting up, I find that I'm completely naked, except for a white sheet that has been laid across my body. Feeling a kind of dull, sore pain around my neck, I reach up and find that the skin is rough and worn. I hold my hand up in front of my eyes and flex the fingers a few times, trying to work out what the hell has happened to me. I must be dead, yet this doesn't feel like death. It feels like...
"You're a lucky man, Mr. Pope," says a voice nearby.
Turning, I see Inspector Laverty standing in the doorway, staring at me with an implacable look on his face. Stepping into the room, he keeps his distance, as if he's worried that I might strike out at him at any moment.
"If this is Heaven," I say, my voice sounding rough and croaky, "I don't consider myself lucky at all".
"Heaven?" He smiles. "Oh, right... No, you're not dead, Mr. Pope. Far from it. You had the very good fortune of being hanged by a man who was willing to accept a few shillings in return for loosening the knot. Not much, of course. After all, we had to make it appear that you'd been killed. Nevertheless, the knot was loosened enough to make the whole thing eminently survivable, even if there was still a little risk involved. Don't worry, though. As far as the world is concerned, and as far as your enemies are concerned, you've already been buried in an unmarked grave just outside the prison walls. A fitting end, I might suggest, for a man such as yourself".
Taking a deep breath, I try to work out what's happening. Laverty is the man who had me arrested at Henrietta's house, and he's the man who pushed my case through the courts with the vigor of someone seeking quick justice. At all times during the process, he seemed certain of my guilt, and he pushed hard indeed to ensure that I would be sent to the hangman's platform. It seems strange, therefore, to find that he is now the one who intervened and ensure that I would be saved.
"You're an unpopular man," Laverty continues. "Quite apart from this nasty little business you're involved with, there are plenty of people all across the London underworld who'd like to see you dead. I even hear that your name is despised as far afield as Bristol and Newcastle. It takes a special kind of man to make so many enemies, and I suppose it requires a certain degree of skill to incite such rampant hatred in the hearts of so many".
"I've always tried my best," I reply cautiously.
"Don't get me wrong," he says. "I have no particular interest in keeping you alive on a personal level. I've read the files on you, Mr. Pope, and I think this city would be a much better and safer place if men like you were removed permanently. However, it seems that you have some rather unique knowledge on a subject that interests me greatly". He pauses for a moment. "Would you like me to call you Mr. Pope, or would you prefer that I refer to you as Mr. Blue?"
"Blue?" I ask, feigning ignorance.
"Come on," he replies with a smile, "let's not bother with that little dance. You, Jonathan Pope, are Mr. Blue. Harrison Blake is Mr. White, while Lady Henrietta deHavilland is, or rather was, Lady Red. You see? I know a great deal about the game. Not everything, of course, but certainly more than I should. It's really a fascinating subject, and I've long hoped to gain first-hand access to one who has played the game. I'm sure you'll understand, therefore, why I couldn't let those ignorant fools hang you, especially when it's clear that despite all your other crimes, you most certainly did not murder Lady Henrietta deHavilland or her husband".
"Of course I didn't," I reply. "I loved her!"
"That's as may be," he says, "but my belief in your innocence is based not on some sympathetic faith in the power of love, but on the sheer knowledge that the victims in this particular instance were killed by someone who had been hired by Mr. Blake. Now, ordinarily, as an officer of the law, I would naturally have pursued my suspicions with Mr. Blake directly, but since he's a rather high-up gentleman, I have to be a little bit more careful, and that is why you find yourself sitting here with me this evening".
I stare at him for a moment. Despite his round, ordinary face and his general countenance of guileless efficiency, Laverty seems to have stumbled onto the very heart of the conspiracy surrounding the game. To say that I'm shocked would be an understatement, and I can't help but wonder if somehow this could all be part of some elaborate extension of the game. Is Laverty just another actor on a stage that's been controlled by shadowy figures?
"It was my boss, Mr. Matthews, who first got me onto the whole thing," Laverty continues.
"Matthews?" I reply, thinking back to events that took place a decade ago. "Matthews of Scotland Yard?"
"I believe you had some encounters with him," he says.
"He was a good man," I say. "An irritation, for sure, but a good man. I was there the night he died, but there was nothing I could do to save him. The game already had its claws in his back, and I merely had to watch as his body was dispatched to the depths of the river".
"I suspected as much," Laverty replies. "He was getting too close to the truth, and he underestimated the lengths people would go to in order to keep things hushed up. Our superior at the time, Captain Elton, was keen for him to keep out of the whole business. It didn't seem like there was much point protesting at the time, and then of course a couple of years later Captain Elton himself was found dead. Suicide, apparently, although not many believe such a ridiculous claim. The point is, dark forces are seeking to protect the core of the game, and after what happened to Matthews, I'm not going to take any unnecessary risks".
"Then why not walk away?" I ask. "Why subject yourself to this danger?"
He pauses, clearly feeling uncomfortable. "A long time ago, I was called to the scene of a murder in Whitechapel. This is going back ten, eleven years. It was one of the Ripper killings. This young woman had been opened up and parts of her had been removed. You should have seen the look on her face. Her mouth was wide open, like she was still trying to scream even after she was dead. I tried closing her eyes, but they kept re-opening. I don't mind admitting that the look on that girl's face affected me a great deal". He takes a deep breath. "And then years later, I was looking into an apparently random complaint against Dr. Cecil Harlingham, and I was looking through some of his papers, and I realized that his handwriting matched the handwriting in the letters sent by the Ripper. As I continued to look into it, I discovered that Harlingham was linked to some kind of game, and I kept going from there".
"I've heard similar claims about Cecil Harlingham," I reply.
"If even some of my theories are correct," he continues, "the game has been responsible for scores of murders over a period spanning nearly a century, possibly even longer. Girl after girl, slaughtered because she didn't pass a test administered by psychopaths. Killers usually work alone, but this trinity..." He pauses again, clearly overcome with anger. "I'm willing to put my life at risk if it means that the game will finally be stopped, but I'm going to need your help, Mr. Pope".
"Harrison Blake must die," I say firmly.
"It must be by the sword of justice," he replies.
"That won't work," I say. "He's too well protected. The man
has connections in the highest offices of the land".
"But if the weight of evidence is sufficiently great -"
"It'll be burned," I reply, "and you'll be killed. These people deal in violence, and it's through violence that we must get back at them. The only thing that'll stop Harrison Blake is a bullet to the head or a blade to the heart. We must act quickly, while he's still working to find a new Lady Red and a new Mr. Blue. If we give him time to get his act together, we'll have no chance. He's weak at the moment. Not very weak, but perhaps enough for us to get close". I pause for a moment. "Are you sure he thinks I'm dead?"
"Absolutely," Laverty replies. "There aren't many things I'm sure about right now, but I put a lot of effort into making your death seem as realistic as possible".
"Then we have one advantage," I say. "Blake will be on the lookout for a lot of things, but a dead man is unlikely to be in his thoughts. At the same time, we must be cautious. I know you're confident, but there's still a chance that he suspects I'm alive. If that's the case, he'll come looking for me, and you can bet he'll be onto you as well". I pause as I realize that although I can't absolutely trust Laverty, he's already done enough to make me think that perhaps he'll be a useful ally. After all, he's saved my life, and I can hardly see why Harrison Blake would frame me for Henrietta's murder and then arrange to have me plucked from the gallows. "We must move fast," I add. "Time is not on our side".
"What do you suggest?" he asks.
"We must kill Blake," I say. "It's the only option. Right now, he's the only player. Henrietta's dead, so there's no Lady Red, and obviously I'm no longer Mr. Blue. Blake's going to be looking to recruit new associates, but it's not an easy matter. Surely, if we kill him, the game will have lost all three of its participants and will be over".
"We can't simply murder a man in cold blood," Laverty replies, with a look of horror in his eyes.
"You can't," I say, "but I can. After everything he's done, I'll be only too glad to sink a dagger into his chest. I'll need to get close, though, and that's where you come into the equation. I got into Westminster once before, but this time I need to slip in unnoticed. Can you get me past the guards?"
