American Devil

by Oliver Stark

  Denise couldn’t bear any more. ‘You’re nothing, you know that? You’re nothing.’

  Sebastian reached up and held her throat. He watched her twist and panic. Outside, a door screeched against concrete. Then footfalls rushed along the corridor.

  ‘Harper’s here,’ said the killer. ‘He’s come to save you. Do you know about the judgement of Solomon?’

  ‘Yes,’ Denise whispered.

  ‘Which one of us wants you the most, do you think?’

  The footsteps stopped outside the door. ‘Endgame,’ whispered Sebastian.

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen

  The Lair

  December 4, 1.25 p.m.

  A group of rats scuttled across the path and disappeared through an open drain. Harper’s small flashlight bounced from wall to wall. His nerves were wired. He was alone, but somewhere above the ground the task force was going in hard. He felt like every sense was heightened as he darted along the tunnel and reached the heavy door. He held his Glock firmly in his hand. Sebastian would be ready for him, he knew that. He kicked the door open and stood back, his gun raised, his body tense. Down the corridor was a barred door. Two bars had been removed. Harper moved towards it slowly, looking out over the barrel of his gun. The light was dim in the room. It was lit only by candlelight, but Harper could make out a figure standing on a small stool. He reached the bars and staggered back, shocked.

  Denise stood in the centre of the cell, naked, bruised and bloody. There was a noose around her neck. Was this Sebastian’s final joke? To give him Denise, like this? To take something good and destroy it? Had he just killed her?

  ‘Denise?’ he called out, peering through the bars, looking left to right across the cell. No one else appeared to be there.

  He heard a response. A muffled, low, cracked voice. He put one foot through the door and glanced left and right. No one. ‘Where is he?’

  Denise shook her head. She couldn’t speak. Tom could see that Sebastian had wrapped something round her mouth. He shoved himself through the bars. The room was silent. He moved cautiously, aiming his gun, but he saw no one. The room was a simple box, and there was nowhere to hide. He moved quickly across to Denise and almost died inside looking at her. Her face was discoloured and swollen, but she was alive. That’s what mattered. Alive. He removed her gag. She was trying to speak, but her mouth was so dry couldn’t get the words out.

  Tom was momentarily confused, then he looked above him. There was someone holding on to the concrete mesh that crossed the ceiling. A set of strange twisted eyes bore down on him. The moment he looked up the body fell on him, taking him to the floor.

  Something heavy landed across Harper’s right shoulder, cracking bone as he hit the floor, causing the gun to fall and skid across the ground. The metal bar rose again above him. On his knees, Harper cried out. He felt the metal strike his back as the American Devil hit him again and again. His head caught a blow and blood ran down the side of his face.

  Sebastian wanted pain, not death. Pain and plenty of it. He could’ve killed Tom Harper with the first blow but he wanted him to feel the pain. That was his first mistake.

  Harper flicked his elbow back hard against the killer’s jaw. It was enough of a blow to make Sebastian step back. Tom turned, his fists clenched. He stamped his left foot into the ground and his punch rose from deep below his waist. His fist struck Sebastian’s jaw so hard, he felt the bones in his hand shatter. Sebastian flew off the ground and landed a few feet away. Harper moved across and leaned down to pull him to his feet. He found himself facing a long filleting knife. It touched his neck. Sebastian rose, holding the knife tight to Harper ’s skin.

  ‘I’m not going to kill you, Detective. I’m going to sacrifice you. You ready to be sacrificed?’

  He pulled Harper’s head up by the hair and exposed his throat.

  ‘This the man you care for, Dr Levene? This pathetic specimen?’ He pushed Harper closer to Denise, searching for the artery with the point of the blade. He just wanted a small hole. He wanted this death to be slow. Real slow.

  He smiled. He whistled. Denise felt saliva collect in her mouth.

  ‘You ready to taste his blood?’

  Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen

  The Lair

  December 4, 1.35 p.m.

  Within the dark cell, Harper ’s neck strained under Sebastian’s heavy arm. He gritted his teeth and his neck muscles started to shake. Sebastian pricked Harper’s throat with his knife. A small line of blood ran down Tom’s neck.

  He stared up into Denise’s eyes. They were closed. He saw her eyeballs move under the lids. It was enough. Denise was thinking. What? Harper pulled his head round so he could see Sebastian.

  ‘I’m going to let her watch you die,’ Sebastian said as he looked at Denise. She was trying to draw spit into her mouth. She let the saliva gather and roll around her tongue.

  ‘Look at him, Dr Levene.’ The knife tensed in Sebastian’s fist.

  ‘You’re no one!’ Denise shouted. She drew a breath and spat hard into Sebastian’s face. His eyes shut and his face turned away automatically, covered in her saliva. His arm rose to wipe his eyes. So that’s what she was thinking. A distraction. It was enough.

  Harper had less than a second to react. He twisted away from the knife, let himself drop away from Sebastian and spread himself flat against the ground. In one fast movement, he looped one foot round Sebastian’s heel and rammed his other foot hard into the knee, trying to bust it right open. The killer ’s body kiltered backwards and fell to the floor.

  Harper had no idea what he was doing in the semi-darkness, but hearing Sebastian’s body hit the floor had given him the impetus he needed. He pounced across the floor and climbed on top of him and raised his fists. His knuckles felt no pain as they ripped into flesh and bone with pent-up ferocity.

  Sebastian felt the blows rain down on his face. He was just letting the pain reach him. Pain was a curious phenomenon. People tended to overreact to it. He smiled. His jaw broke and hung loose. His teeth cracked in his mouth. Then he lifted his shoulder and out of nowhere plunged a short-bladed knife into Harper ’s arm. The punching ceased. Harper stifled a cry. Sebastian threw him aside and laughed through his bloody teeth.

  ‘Detective Harper!’ said the voice of the killer. ‘Angry, aren’t you, Tom? Were you angry when you killed my little Mo? You fucking asshole.’

  Harper stared around the room looking for his options. ‘Why don’t you run?’ he said. ‘The cops’ll be crawling round here any minute.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think they’ll get me.’

  ‘They’ll kill you. They want you dead. You understand?’

  Sebastian moved to Denise. ‘She wants to taste your blood, but if she has to die, so be it.’

  Her hands were tied behind her back and she trembled on the old stool. Her head was pulled at an angle, the rope biting into the soft skin of her neck. The stool moved from side to side as she shifted her weight.

  Denise was badly damaged, but her spirit had not been broken. She was still ready to fight.

  The monster smiled. Harper looked at him, struck by Sebastian’s normality. He looked like everyone and no one.

  Sebastian’s foot was on the stool. He kept pushing it and letting it fall back.

  ‘Tom, my old friend.’

  ‘I don’t know you.’

  ‘But I know you, Tom. I know you all too well.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You don’t know anyone.’

  ‘You took my brother away.’

  ‘Mo?’

  ‘Love of my life, Tom.’

  ‘I didn’t take anyone. You killed him.’ Harper kept his eyes fixed on Denise. They didn’t know the way out of this one.

  ‘You took him and left me with nothing.’

  ‘You killed him, Sebastian.’

  ‘You were investigating his case, Harper. Chasing the poor guy. You knew he was simple. He was the victim, Harper, and you killed him - frightened him to deat
h and let him die. He never killed a soul. That was all me.’

  ‘Leave Denise. Let her go. If it’s between us, then let her go ...’

  ‘Very well,’ he said.

  The killer kicked the stool away. Denise’s body dropped a foot and the noose gripped her neck with a sudden jolt.

  Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

  The Lair

  December 4, 1.40 p.m.

  The light from the candle was filtered through the motes of dust that had risen up from the floor. Harper felt the jolt physically in his own neck and leaped up to grab hold of Denise. His body ached from the beating and the wound in his arm but he managed to lift her to take the weight from her neck.

  She choked and spluttered. But she was still in the game. He pulled the gag from her mouth.

  ‘How tight is it?’

  ‘Tight,’ she replied with a low groan.

  She wasn’t dying, but Harper was holding her with both arms. If Harper dropped her, she would swing again and the noose would tighten around her arteries and starve her brain of oxygen. In a few seconds she’d lose consciousness.

  Harper was helpless and so was she. Like stuck pigs.

  Sebastian turned. ‘Do you want to save her, Tom? Do you even know how you feel? I bet you think of what you’d like to do to her, hey?

  ‘I want you to suffer, Harper.’ The killer was circling his prey. Harper was feeling the weight of Denise’s body. His clavicle felt like it was broken and he was bleeding badly from his wound. Denise was listening. She had to try something. Something different.

  ‘Your blood is making a mess of the floor, Harper. How long can you hold her up and keep her alive, Tom? How strong are you? Big fucking hero!’

  Harper didn’t know how he was going to get out of this. Denise would die if he let her go and he couldn’t catch the killer unless he did so.

  Sebastian stood behind him. ‘How much pain can you take for her?’

  His knife drew across the back of Harper’s knee, deep into the flesh. Harper cried out and felt his leg buckle. But he held it.

  ‘Let us go or you’ll die here,’ he gasped.

  ‘Or you will,’ Sebastian countered.

  The knife sliced through Harper’s right arm. The cut went deep to the bone and Harper grimaced and let the pain be part of someone else. He held tighter to Denise.

  ‘Tom,’ she said. ‘Let me go or we both die.’

  ‘No,’ Harper said. ‘No one dies here.’

  ‘If you take him on, you’ll win. If you don’t - he’ll kill you and I’ll die anyway.’

  ‘Touching sentiment,’ said Sebastian.

  Harper was working something out. He could drop her but not for long. If he got into a struggle with the killer, she would die. He had to drop her and incapacitate Sebastian within a few seconds. How?

  ‘Perhaps you will respond to her pain,’ the killer said with menace.

  His knife drew across her thigh. She screamed as her flesh opened. Harper was staring into the killer’s eyes. Emotion pulled at him and wanted him, but he had to control it. He remained still.

  Sebastian’s hands ran between her legs. ‘She likes it, Tom.’ Sebastian was enjoying himself now, watching his grotesque statue to love bleed and die. He wanted more sensation, though. Harper could see that. Sebastian always wanted more.

  The killer held the blade up against Denise’s breast. He scored a line and watched the blood begin to run down her white skin. He was almost transfixed.

  ‘You raped and murdered your own sister!’ shouted Harper suddenly.

  The killer stopped. ‘I didn’t touch her. I never touched her.’

  Go cold, Tom said to himself. His heartbeat dropped, his eyes narrowed. He had one shot.

  ‘You killed Bethany. You raped her and killed her,’ he said desperately. ‘You held her down and killed her. Didn’t you? That’s what this is all about.’

  The killer’s eyes widened. ‘You ask Ned Hummel what happened to her.’

  It was enough of a distraction. Go cold, Tom. Now.

  Harper lowered Denise’s body to the full extent of the rope and then he released her and wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s knife hand instead, moving through Denise as she hanged. His left arm smashed Sebastian’s shoulder as his right arm jerked, and the killer’s arm snapped. A sharp crack echoed in the small room and the knife clattered to the ground.

  Sebastian bent forward and Harper landed an almighty kick in his jaw. He keeled over with a great cry of pain.

  Harper had seconds to act. Denise was choking. He sprang round and grabbed the knife, then jumped and scored the rope. He slashed once, twice, three times until the knife cut through. She dropped and Harper had her in his arms - in his arms, alive.

  He kissed her forehead once and then turned to Sebastian.

  He stared in disbelief. The killer was gone.

  ‘Where is he?’ Harper panted. ‘Where the fuck?’

  Suddenly, the candle went out and Harper and Denise clung to each other in the darkness.

  Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

  The Lair

  December 4, 1.50 p.m.

  The FBI arrived at the elevator shaft en masse, geared up and ready. The HRT team was led by Special Agent Baines. The whole team gathered at the elevator and the elite crammed into the lift shaft and made their way underground.

  In the vast dark atrium of Sebastian’s lair, fifteen gun lights cut lines through the darkness. They saw the sickening contents. Hearts, eyes, costumes.

  The team moved through without a word. There were over sixteen tunnels leading from the central atrium at the Mace Crindle plant. The men split up. Two teams, one north, one south.

  Baines travelled south, moving quickly through the tunnels. In the distance they heard the shouting of the other team. ‘Sewer six clear. Sewer eight clear.’ Baines listened. He and his team approached the end of the large drain.

  Baines signalled. He was here in this hell. Baines could smell him. The team of seven agents crouched and made their way down the dark corridor towards the cell.

  They found the heavy steel door and heaved it open. There was a narrow corridor leading to another door. They padded through and stopped at the entrance to the cell.

  Suddenly, on the signal, the team burst into Sebastian’s cell. A rope from the ceiling. In the corner, Baines saw Harper and Levene, lying together. The harsh lights hit their faces.

  ‘Where is he, Detective?’

  Harper shook his head. He had no idea. Sebastian had cut the light. Baines handed Harper a shotgun and a flashlight. ‘We’ve gotta keep searching. Hold on.’

  Baines pointed to a small sluice grate in the floor. The men went across to it and shone torches through. It was big enough for a man, but not a man in gear or boots.

  Baines didn’t speak. He took off his gear, helmet, night visor, webbing, boots, body amour. The team followed suit.

  Baines dropped to the floor and with difficulty slipped through the gate. He dropped down five feet and then crouched. He signalled for the team. One by one, the hostage rescue team slipped into the sewer in bare feet, vests and combats.

  They crouched and shone their powerful torches down into the darkness. Seven separate beams of light flickered around a large arched tunnel. There was a narrow ledge either side of the central stream.

  ‘How deep?’ Baines asked.

  Agent Santana didn’t wait. He jumped in and stood up. The level was at his knees. ‘Couple of feet.’

  Baines nodded. ‘We got to move quick. He’s got a lead on us and he knows these sewers. We want him alive.’

  They moved out in single file, like a team of marines in a jungle river. Rats scuttled by on each ledge, sniffing the air and moving on quickly. The tunnel ran ahead but they couldn’t see how far. Baines set up a fast pace and the cavern echoed to the sound of the team driving through the sludge.

  Within five minutes, they spotted something ahead. The shrill call of the leader went up through the
tunnel. Something turned and stared, its eyes glinting in the dark. They followed it deeper into the tunnels.

  They came to a narrow channel thick with rats, hundreds and hundreds of rats - small mountains of them, crawling across and over each other, writhing and twisting. Their tiny eyes stared, their whiskers twitching in the torch light. The stream was a glossy surface of matt wet fur, rodent snouts held high above.

  The team began to follow. Santana, Bodie, Jessel, Warnock. They moved through the pool of rats, slowly now, the rats investigating, swimming all around them.

  The whole team were a hundred yards into the rat tunnel when they came to a dead end. Baines stared into the darkness. The men shone their torches ahead. No go. Baines looked back up towards the cell. The tunnel was a mistake. Sebastian wasn’t there.

  Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

  The Lair

  December 4, 2.04 p.m.

  Harper clasped Denise in his arms as they walked through the corridor back to the main atrium. They heard the distant calls from the HRT team echoing throughout the sewers but they didn’t seem any closer. Sebastian had disappeared. Harper waited for a shot. Nothing but shouting. He held Denise closer. Sebastian had always managed to escape capture. How?

  Suddenly, Harper stopped and pointed his torch up the wall. They’d reached the main atrium. Harper’s torch picked out the clothes belonging to the dead girls. They both stared. Then the light spun sideways and they saw the glass vitrine. Shrunken green objects floated in the tank. Then the big sodium lights came on. Harper and Levene looked around. ‘Who’s there?’ shouted Harper.

  Then he appeared. Sebastian. He was standing behind his sculpture of body parts.

  ‘Welcome to my museum, Detective Harper. Welcome. You like what you see? This is my masterwork - The Progression of Love. Seven women. I love them all.’