by Amy Cross
With adrenalin coursing through my body, I brace myself as the table tips over. Reaching out and grabbing the bone-saw, I use it to cut the ropes, and finally I'm free. I try to stand up, but the pain in my pelvis is too strong and I drop to the ground, screaming in frustration. There's blood pouring from the wound, but as I turn to Gazade, I see that he's starting to get up. In a split-second decision, I launch myself at him, plunging the spinning blade into his shoulder. As he screams, I let go and struggle over to the door. I need to get away from him, and away from this place.
The pain in my pelvis is overpowering, but I force myself to stand up. As I open the door, I glance back at Gazade and see that although he's badly hurt, he's staring at me with that same crazed expression I saw when he was trying to decide which part of me to cut first.
"Clever girl," he whispers, with blood pouring from his wound.
Struggling out of the room, I find myself in what appears to be some kind of tin shack. I spot my uniform over on a nearby chair, and to my relief my mobile phone is still in one of the pockets. I quickly turn it on and wait while it powers up, all the while hearing the sound of Gazade's screams from the next room. He's clearly hurt, but I'm starting to think that I should have killed him. Then again, I want that bastard captured alive. I want to hear him explain why he butchered all those women, and I want him to know that I beat him.
"It's me!" I shout breathlessly as soon as a voice answers my call. "Track this location! I've got him!"
"Jo?" Dawson asks, sounding shocked. "Where are you?"
I try to answer, but the pain is too strong and I let out a gasp. Looking down, I see that a small pool of blood is slowly getting larger and larger beneath my body. Every time I try to move, I can feel my damaged bone cutting into the muscle of my hip, and I'm worried that even if Gazade doesn't get to me, I'll end up bleeding out.
"Jo," Dawson says firmly, "where the hell are you? We've been looking for you everywhere!"
"The signal," I say quietly, wincing at the pain. "Follow the signal."
"I'm working on it," he replies, "but you have to tell me where you are!"
I try to take a step forward, but the pain is too much and I scream with frustration as I drop to my knees.
"Jo, what's happened?" Dawson continues. "Stay with me. I'm still working on tracking your signal. Are you hurt?"
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"Jo!" Dawson shouts. "Are you still there?"
"If I die before you get here -" I start to say.
"You're not going to die," he replies firmly. "I've got your location. I'm coming, and I'm bringing back-up. Is Gazade there?"
"He's down," I whisper, "but -" I turn and look at the door, and I can hear Gazade moving about in the next room, knocking things over as he tries to get up and come after me. "I didn't bring him down properly. If I don't make it, you should probably marry that bitch Elaine." I pause for a moment. "She's got a big crush on you, you know."
"You'll make it!" he says firmly. "Stop saying that! You're going to be fine! Come on, Jo, I know you. You're too tough to let some asshole take you down."
"That's..." I pause, feeling as if I'm being dragged deeper and deeper down into darkness. I can hear the desperation in Dawson's voice as he tries to get me to stay conscious, but my mind is flickering in and out of darkness. "That's possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever..."
"Jo!" he shouts. "Snap out of it! Help's on the way, so just stay calm. You'll be fine. Hell, you'll be better than ever! How badly are you hurt, Jo? What did he do to you?"
I shake my head. It's as if I can't even talk.
"Jo!" Dawson shouts. "Talk to me! Stay awake!"
"I don't know," I reply, as tears start falling down my cheeks. "Find me! I've got him, but I'm hurt and..." I pause as I realize that the blood-loss is making me light-headed. I can still hear Gazade screaming, and I'm suddenly filled with the realization that if I pass out, he might be able to recapture me. "Find me," I say to Dawson, my words starting to become slurred as I struggle to stay conscious. "I'm here. I'm... here. Track me. Find me. I've -"
Dropping the phone, I pause for a moment, listening to Gazade's continued screams. Finally, despite fighting the sense of exhaustion, I close my eyes and slip down onto the concrete floor. The last thought in my mind, as I lose consciousness, is that I can't handle the pain. It's as if the agony is ripping through my brain, turning me inside out and exposing my heart to the light. I don't want to ever feel pain again. Not like this. I'd rather die.
Today
Paula Clarke
"Are you ready?"
I stare at the tools on the workbench. There's a set of pliers, and various knives, and three different hammers of varying sizes. My eyes are drawn, however, to the bone-saw; with its serrated round blade, it's the most horrific thing I've ever seen. The noise it makes when it cuts through bone is horrific, like something from hell, and the mere thought of using that thing again is filling me with fear.
"Paula. Are you ready?"
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. I'm not sure how long I've been standing here like this, but I know I'm delaying the inevitable. I'm in far, far too deep now. According to Dr. Huston, I've already killed four people, even if I don't remember doing it. I wish my memory was more reliable. Other people can remember the things they do, but I seem to be blocking the recognition of my crimes. Still, Dr. Huston has told me in great detail about every murder I've committed, and I have no reason to doubt her. I guess I just have to get on with this and make sure I don't make any mistakes. The last thing I want is to let Dr. Huston down.
"Paula. Look at me."
Turning, I see her standing nearby. She has a concerned, almost motherly look in her eyes; it's not an expression I've seen very often in my life, at least not on people who are looking at me. The truth is, Dr. Huston is the first person who's ever really seemed to understand me, and she's certainly the first person who's ever cared. She's clearly putting herself in danger by being here with me, but she wants to help me and - without her - I'd probably be in an even bigger mess. I need to ignore my own thoughts, and focus instead on doing what I'm told. Dr. Huston's smart. She'll make sure that everything's okay. I trust her implicitly.
"Do you realize that you're on the verge of something exquisite?" she asks. "You're going to finish the murder that Sam Gazade started twelve years ago. Joanna Mason has had twelve extra years of life that she should never have been given. Most people, when they copy the murders of another artist, are forced to aimlessly mimic the things that have already been done. You, though, have turned this into the most wonderful experiment, and now you're going to fuse your own deeds with those of Gazade. He's your inspiration, and you're going to complete the job that he started all those years ago. Aren't you proud, Paula? Don't you feel as if you've been called upon to perform a great service for the world?"
I swallow hard.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"I don't understand," I say after a moment, trying not to let her realize that I' m close to tears. "I don't get why we're doing this."
"But you trust me, don't you?"
I nod.
"You trust me with your life," she adds. "Don't you?"
I nod again.
"Say it."
"I trust you," I say, even though my voice is trembling. "I trust you with my life and all my heart."
"Don't be scared," she continues, stepping closer. "The first cut will be easy. You just have to find the scar from where Sam Gazade cut her, and re-open it. Your master has literally left a mark on this woman's body, showing you where to cut. Do you see what I mean, Paula? It's almost as if he knew you'd be coming along eventually." As she stares at me, her eyes seem to be alive with excitement, as if she's keenly anticipating the moment of truth. "You know he's still alive, Paula? Sam Gazade will learn that you've finished his job for him. Can you imagine how proud he'll be, as he waits for his execution? He'll never be forgotten."
I nod, even though I'm starting to feel nauseous. Dr. Huston keeps telling me that I've done this kind of thing before, but if I don't remember it, I can't draw on that strength. It's as if this is my first time all over again. I still don't feel like a killer; it's as if that switch hasn't been flicked in my heart. Still, Dr. Huston says that's exactly what I am: a killer. I guess she knows best.
"You want Sam Gazade to be proud, don't you?" she asks.
I nod.
"Is that what you want?"
I pause, wondering whether this is a trick question. "Yes," I say uncertainly, even though I immediately realize that I'm not quite sure what she wants to hear.
"That's the wrong answer," she says with a sigh. "Paula, the man is a misogynistic pig. His pride will quickly be swept away when he realizes that the person who completed his work is a woman. You know Gazade's views on women, Paula. He hates us. He thinks we're inferior. And yet a woman is going to do what he couldn't. It's the ultimate repudiation of his view views. His pride will be replaced by a kind of blind fury." She places a hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Be brave, Paula. Just a little longer. I wouldn't have brought you to this moment if I wasn't absolutely certain that you've got what it takes."
Even though my hands are shaking, I gather up the tools and allow Dr. Huston to lead me over to the door. In the next room, Joanna Mason is tied to a table, still unconscious. It's hard to believe that I'm the kind of person who could ever do something like this, and yet according to Dr. Huston I've done it many times before. I've stepped over the line and into the darkness, and I've already got blood on my hands. Besides, this is all part of Dr. Huston's work. She's my teacher, and I'm her student, and together we're conducting the most important study into criminality and sociological response that has ever been dared.
"Does that have to be on?" I ask, looking over at the video camera that's recording every moment of these events. The little red light seems to be staring at me, and I can't help feeling uncomfortable as I imagine the image being recorded at this very moment.
"Of course," she replies. "We need to be able to go over the footage, Paula. This is a scientific study, and we'll need to examine these events repeatedly. Besides, we'll also need to include the footage when we write up the reports. There'll be people out there who won't believe that we were capable of doing all this, because we're women. We'll have to show them that they're wrong." She pauses. "Don't worry, though. I'll be watching from the other room. I'll just be a few meters away, ready to step in if you need me."
"You're not coming in with me?" I ask, turning to her. I was just about getting used to the idea that I could do this with her help, but the thought of not having her by my side is shocking. There's no way I can do this alone.
"Sam Gazade worked alone," she replies calmly. "We have to replicate his methods as much as possible, don't we? The camera's hooked up to my laptop, so I'll be with you every step of the way. You can do this, Paula. The only thing to fear is your own sense of doubt. If Sam Gazade could do something like this, then so can you." She pauses. "Do you still not remember all the other times you followed in Gazade's path? Do you not remember your other victims, Paula?"
I shake my head. The truth is, even though I've tried hard to remember what it's like to kill someone, I wouldn't even know about those murders if Dr. Huston wasn't constantly reminding me. Apart from Harry Gillespie, at least; I remember killing him, but that's probably just because Dr. Huston's hands were on mine, helping me to drive the blade into his body.
"She's dreaming," Dr. Huston says, as Mason makes a slight groaning sound. "The chloroform will wear off soon. You need to get on with this, Paula. Just remember to look for the scar and cut in the same place. After that, you need to use Gazade's notebook and follow his original plans step by step. Complete his work for him and make him see that a mere woman can do everything that he couldn't. Take his crimes away from him."
"Can't you stay?" I ask.
"Don't be weak," she replies firmly. "You're not a scared little girl, Paula. You're a strong, independent woman who can do this without having someone to hold her hand. I'll be watching from the next room."
I open my mouth to tell her that I'm scared, but at the last minute the words catch in the back of my throat. As Dr. Huston heads through to the next room, I stare at Mason's prone form and realize that I have to face up to my responsibilities. I'm not the kind of person who turns and runs from a challenge. Dr. Huston's right: I'm going to prove that a woman can get the job done, and I'm going to make that misogynistic asshole Sam Gazade see that a woman has done the one thing that he was never able to do. I'm going to kill this Joanna Mason woman, and then...
And then...
I guess I'll have to wait and see what Dr. Huston thinks I should do next. For now, I just need to focus on the task at hand. With the bone-saw in my shaking hand, I walk over to the table and look down at Mason's unconscious face. Twelve years ago, Sam Gazade came within seconds of killing her. Today, I'm going to go one better.
Joanna Mason
When I wake up, the first thing I realize is that my head is pounding. I open my eyes, but it's as if someone's running a jackhammer through my brain. There's also a strong metallic taste in my mouth, which I immediately recognize as the tell-tale sign of a certain type of chloroform. I've tasted it before, a long time ago, and it sends a wave of panic through my body. It's the same stuff that Sam Gazade used to knock me out. Trying to stay focused, I sit up, but something's hold me down.
My hands and legs are tied down.
Just like before.
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm even though I can already feel the panic taking hold. So far, this is exactly how things were twelve years ago. Staring up at the ceiling, I see a corrugated tin roof, as if I'm in some kind of shack. I pause for a moment, hoping against hope that this might be a nightmare, but as I struggle with the ropes, I realize that this is no dream. Still, there's no way it can be happening again. Sam Gazade is still in his cell, which means...
I hear a sound nearby.
It's not loud, but it's definitely there. It's as if someone is shuffling across the floor, and despite the daze from the chloroform, I'm immediately on alert, my mind racing as I try to work out how the hell I'm going to get free.
"Hello?" I say, my voice sounding frail and scared. It's been a long time since I sounded like that. "I know you're there, so..."
Silence.
Trying to stay calm, I pull at the ropes, but they're tied securely and I seem to have been tethered to some kind of table. I try again, but there's clearly no way to get loose. This is exactly the same as before. It's as if someone has created a kind of tribute to Sam Gazade's barbarity, and I'm the main part of the recreation.
"What are you waiting for?" I ask, hoping to get some answers. There has to be a way out of this situation. I found a solution twelve years ago, and I'm going to find a solution this time too. Sam Gazade wasn't able to kill me, and this copycat sure as hell isn't going to do any better. In fact, as I wait for the bastard to reply, I feel my panic being replaced by anger. How the hell does someone figure they have the right to do this? Pulling harder and harder against the ropes, I finally let out a gasp of frustration.
After a moment, I hear someone coming closer. Seconds later, a cold hand lifts my shirt before slipping the side of my trousers down. It's as if they're trying to find the scar from where Gazade cut into my pelvis. I try to twist away, but it's no use.
"What do you want?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I try to look down at whoever's doing this, but my neck is tied to the table and I can't get a proper view. "Sam Gazade talked, you know! He didn't tie my neck, either. You're doing it all fucking wrong! Do you realize that?"
I feel the cold hands brushing against my scar, before a single finger traces the line. I've never let anyone touch my scar, but this time I'm powerless to resist.
"You need to at least let me see your face," I continue, desperately trying to b
uy some time so that I can think of a way out. "Gazade was a hell of a talker. What's wrong? Haven't you got that in you?"
Seconds later, there's the unmistakeable sound of a bone-saw starting up. It's a sound that has haunted my dreams for more than a decade, and the thought of that serrated circular blade spinning near my flesh is enough to tighten my chest with fear.
"No!" I shout, trying to pull free once again. "Stop!"
As I continue to struggle, I brace myself for the incision. I know it's coming. I still remember, like it was yesterday, the feeling of that spinning blade as its teeth ground into my bone. All I can think about is that I have to get out of here, but as each second passes without the blade entering my body, I feel my fear being ratcheted up a notch. This bastard is taunting me, teasing me with the prospect of my own pain. I've spent the past twelve years trying to get past this horror, and now some lunatic is about to send me straight back to hell. This can't be happening.
"Stop!" I scream, finally losing the battle to keep myself under control. "I'll do anything! Just stop! Please!"
I wait.
No reply.
Just the spinning of the blade.
"You don't want to do this," I say finally, figuring that my only chance is to try talking this person out of what they're about to do to me. "I can tell. You're not like Gazade. Not really. He enjoyed killing people. He lived for the moment when he could take another life. I saw his eyes as he was working on me, and I could see the ecstasy. I can't see your eyes, but if you let me, I'm certain I won't see the same hatred." I wait for a reply. "At least let me see your face. If you're really determined to kill me, and if you really want to copy Sam Gazade, then you have to do what he did. You have to look me in the eye."
