Broken White: The Complete Series (All 8 Books)

by Amy Cross

  He nods.

  "History will absolve us," I reply. "We might be seen as common murderers at first, but if you have the evidence ready to go public, we'll be hailed as heroes. The notoriety of the game will live on in history, but the deaths will stop".

  "Then we must strike," he says. "We'll move for him tomorrow. All being well, the game will be over in less than twenty-four hours and no-one will ever have to suffer again".

  Elly

  Today

  "Are you okay?"

  The words drift past me, as if they're intended for someone else. Blinking a couple of times, I imagine for a moment that I can actually see those three little words - Are you okay? - floating in the still air, slowly curling around and then banging, one by one, into my face.

  "Elly, are you okay?"

  "Yeah," I say quickly, before I even have time to consider a proper answer. I pull the dressing gown a little more tightly around my sore and tired body as I hear his footsteps coming closer. I'm standing in Mr. White's brightly-lit kitchen, with a slowly-cooling cup of coffee in front of me. It's 8am, but I can barely even remember what day it is, and all thoughts of time are out the window.

  "If it's any consolation," he says, filling a glass of water and then taking a drink, "your reaction is perfectly normal. What you just experienced was unusual, by any standards. Mr. Blue told me you'd be a tough cookie to crack, and he wasn't kidding, was he? You're sturdier than you look, Elly". He pauses for a moment, his eyes fixed on me as if he's an animal hunting its prey in the wilderness. "By my reckoning," he continues, "you had eleven orgasms during our five-hour session. Would that be correct?"

  I nod. The truth is, I kind of stopped counting after a while. Even now, half an hour after I was taken out of the contraption and brought through to recover, I'm still feeling kind of giddy. Besides, while the first orgasms were strong and powerful, after a while my body began to get sore and the final few rushes of pleasure were kind of slightly painful.

  "I like giving pleasure to women," Mr. White says. "I know it might sound strange, but in sexual situations, giving pleasure to others is actually more important to me than my own needs. You might have noticed, for example, that I failed to achieve orgasm. The truth is, I didn't even try. Such things are no longer of paramount importance to me, and I no longer feel the need to pretend. I hope you understand that this doesn't mean that I failed to enjoy our session".

  I nod. Words seem too hard right now. The idea of taking a thought, arranging it into words and then saying those words out loud... Until I recover from everything that just happened, I can't even contemplate the act of talking.

  "I'm impressed that you didn't ask me to stop," he says. "There were a couple of moments where you seemed as if you were on the verge of backing down, but to your credit you kept going. That's very good, Elly. I have to admit, you surprised me a great deal today".

  I nod again. Right now, nodding is about all I can manage.

  "Take off the dressing gown," he says suddenly.

  Without really thinking about what he's asking, I slip the gown off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I wait as he comes over to me and examines a bruise on my shoulder.

  "I hope you're not feeling too battered," he says after a moment.

  I shake my head. The truth is, with most of my body feeling numb, the few patches of bruised pain are actually a relief. In a way, I wish I was upset, but I'm slowly starting to realize that I actually liked what happened in that room. Sure, I'd rather it had been Mark who'd been in there with me, but I still feel as if I discovered something new about myself today; I discovered that I have a dark side, a side that likes a little pain sprinkled in with my pleasure. It's almost as if I've been introduced to a strange version of myself, and instead of recoiling in horror, I've embraced that duplicate and allowed it to become a part of me.

  "You're slightly torn," he says, suddenly placing a finger at the edge of my vagina. "I'm not sure when it happened. Nothing too much, but it might be sore for a few days".

  "It's fine," I say quietly.

  "Tell me what you're thinking," he continues. "It's an important part of the game, Elly. I need to know how you're reacting to everything that's happening".

  "I like it," I say.

  "You do?"

  I nod.

  "So you'd do it again?"

  I pause. I feel like a normal person would decline, but I'm starting to realize more and more that I'm not normal. My desires, the things that turn me on, the things that get me to orgasm... I've always thought I was a normal, vanilla kind of girl, but it's as if I'm slowly being turned to face my dark side, and my dark side is smiling at me and promising untold pleasures yet to come. Apart from the fact that my body feels wrecked and ruined, I think I would do this all again. That's how weird I seem to have become.

  "This was just one part of what I have to offer," he explains. "There are other devices, other rooms, other methods. You've had a taster, but if you're to win the game, I'm afraid you're going to have to venture much further into the dark with me. Do you understand, Elly?"

  I nod.

  "And are you okay with that?"

  I nod again.

  "Do you..." He pauses. "Do you enjoy it?"

  I nod.

  "Does it turn you on to think that we're going to try other things?"

  I nod. It's true.

  "Do you like the fact that it turns you on?"

  I pause. The truth is, I don't know.

  "Some people find this kind of thing hard," he continues, "because they don't like it. Other people, like you, find it hard because they do like it, and because they think that they're becoming someone else in the process. It's tempting to think of yourself as a butterfly, emerging from a cocoon and becoming something completely new, but that's a rather banal metaphor. You can't divide the two instances so easily. These desires have always been within you, Elly, and that's the reason you've always found the normal world to be so unsatisfactory. Whereas other people are easily thrilled, you've always felt a little numb. Or am I wrong? Have I completely misunderstood your personality?"

  "You're right," I say, forcing myself to smile.

  He pats me on the shoulder. "You know, you're lucky. The game has changed, but in the past, former holders of the Mr. White title were much more vicious. There are some real horror stories from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. There was one man in particular, by the name of Harrison Blake, who went too far. He was, by all accounts, a depraved and dangerous man. Also a respected politician, which may or may not explain a few things. Anyway, everything we've done today has been tame by his standards. He'd leave blood on the walls, Elly. He was an unrefined, uncivilized monster when it came to the game. Fortunately, things have changed a little. Not a lot, but definitely a little. I hope that gives you some satisfaction".

  I nod, before glancing over at the clock. I'm tired, and I kind of hope that Mark comes and picks me up soon.

  "Do you love Mr. Blue, Elly?"

  I turn to Mr. White.

  "It's a simple question. Do you love him?"

  "I..."

  Silence.

  "You're scared of giving the wrong answer," he continues with a smile, "but there's a part of you that doesn't want to deny love completely, isn't there?"

  "I don't know what love is," I say after a moment.

  "Well, that could also be a problem". He pauses. "It's okay, Elly. Love isn't a part of the game, but it's by no means banned. There have been instances in the past where players fell in love with one another. Of course, it has always ended badly, but that doesn't mean it can't work out eventually. Do you think he loves you in return?"

  "I don't know".

  "Of course you don't. Mr. Blue is a very complicated man, Elly. Do you know much about his past?"

  I shake my head.

  "Have you ever asked about his parents? His siblings?"

  "No".

  "It's a very sad story," he continues. "Obviously it's not f
or me to tell you the gory details, and I doubt that he'll will ever open up about it. Let's just say for now that he went through some horrific experiences when he was younger, and I'm sure that even the most casual psychiatric examination would bring up a whole host of deep, dark wounds. A man like Mr. Blue, at least the current Mr. Blue, can never be healed, Elly. If you're the kind of girl who wants to make her man happy, you should be aware that you have no chance with him. That sadness that you see in his eyes... It's never going to go away. It's there for good, and the more you try to help him, the deeper he'll sink into the mess of his memories".

  "He's coming to pick me up," I say.

  "Later," Mr. White replies, his tone suddenly becoming a little darker. "We have the second half of our session to complete first".

  "Second half?" I say, starting to panic.

  "You didn't think we were done, did you?" he asks with a smile. "I'm sorry if I gave you that impression, Elly. This little chat is just a breather at the halfway point. I'm going to take you into one of the other rooms and really show you what I can do".

  I smile weakly, but the truth is that my body already feels extremely weak. I don't know if I can handle another session with Mr. White right now.

  "Or do you want to quit?" he asks.

  "No," I say firmly, despite the tightening sensation in my chest. It's as if someone has reached through my ribcage, grabbed my heart, and started slowly turning it.

  "Brave girl," he says, putting an arm around my bare shoulder and leading me over to another door. "What you're about to experience," he continues, "is something so extreme, that only one girl has ever lasted the whole hour, and she was a mess by the end. I don't mean to frighten you, Elly, but I feel you should be warned. If you think the first part of today's session was a challenge, I'm afraid you're about to have your sense of reality pushed back. You'll have orgasms, of course, but they'll be just a by-product of the greater experience. If you're the girl who's destined to win the game, this next room is going to change you forever. Are you ready?"

  I nod.

  "I hope you enjoy it," he says. "I've come to like you, Elly, and I feel that it'd be a damn shame if you dropped away at such a late stage. If you get through the next hour, Mr. Blue is going to be seriously impressed".

  "Let's do it," I say, reaching out for the door handle.

  "That's the spirit," he replies.

  Pushing the door open, I stare straight ahead and for a moment I'm not really sure what I'm seeing. I take a step forward, trying to make sense of all the conflicting images and sounds that are suddenly rushing at me. It's as if my senses are under attack, and my mind can't make sense of the scene before me. It's impossible to understand how I can possibly fit into this scene, but as I hear the door shut, I realize that somehow I've got to find a way. Looking up at the vast shape that's coming toward me, I instinctively drop to my knees. My heart is racing and threatening to leap out of my chest. Somewhere nearby, Mr. White is laughing.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  Standing in the small, poorly-lit room deep within the basement of New Scotland Yard, I stare at the pile of books. There must be thirty at least, and it's almost as if they've been left to rot down here in the bowels of the building. Water drips from the ceiling, and I can hear rats scurrying nearby, while the books themselves are resting on a desk that looks like it might collapse at any moment.

  "Diaries," Laverty says, stepping past me and walking over to the table. "I collected them over the years from various cases I was investigating. Each of these diaries belong to a girl who went missing, and each of them makes some kind of reference, either direct or indirect, to an element of the game. I was supposed to have burned them a long time ago, but Matthews and I managed to hide them away. Captain Elton wasn't keen on us investigating, but we slipped the whole thing past him. Until Matthews died, anyway. That's when things become more serious and I had to be a lot more careful".

  "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 l
isten, 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".