by Chris Carter
‘No, I’ll be OK, besides, last time you offered to help in the kitchen you know what happened.’ She poured two glasses of orange juice and handed him one.
‘Yeah, you’ve gotta point. I’ll just wait in the living room then,’ he said, giving her a quick kiss.
‘How do you like your eggs?’
‘Umm . . . scrambled, I guess.’
‘Scrambled it is.’
Hunter walked back into the living room and sat at the table. For the first time since the new killings began he’d managed to disconnect.
‘You forgot these in the kitchen,’ Isabella said, coming into the living room and handing him his very old-looking pair of shoes. ‘How long have you had these?’
‘Too long.’
‘Yeah, it shows.’
‘I’ve been meaning to get a new pair,’ he lied.
‘You should. In Italy it is a known fact that you can tell a man from the shoes he wears.’
‘Damn. So I’m old and . . . dirty?’
She laughed a contagious laugh. ‘Anyway, breakfast will be just a couple of minutes.’
Hunter had just finished his orange juice when Isabella walked back into the living room carrying a breakfast tray. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, brown toast and freshly made coffee.
‘Coffee? I thought you’d said you only had tea.’
‘I did, last week, but somehow I had a feeling you’d stay the night, so I bought some yesterday. I hope it’s OK, I’m not really a coffee person. I’m not sure if this is a good brand or not.’
‘I’m sure it will be just fine . . . it smells great,’ he reassured her.
‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing to the piece of paper in front of him.
Hunter had unconsciously started fiddling with a pen and paper while waiting for breakfast. Amongst the several meaningless doodles he’d drawn, he’d reflexively sketched the double-crucifix symbol.
‘Oh, nothing really.’
‘That’s funny.’
‘What’s funny?’
‘That thing you’ve drawn. I’ve seen it before, I thought it meant something.’
Thirty-Six
Los Angeles is a great party town. Rock stars, movie stars, celebrities, politicians, super rich, it doesn’t matter, one thing they all have in common is their love for parties, their desire to be seen.
Martin Young was a thirty-six-year-old entrepreneur who made all his millions in the property business. His company, Young Estates, specialized in properties for the super rich – Beverly Hills, Bel Air, Malibu and Venice Beach mostly. He’d rubbed shoulders with famous people from all walks of life. Madonna had sold one of her LA properties through Martin’s company before moving to London. It took Young Estates only six months to bring its owner his first million in profit. Two years after he started his company, Martin could’ve retired if he wanted to, but he’d been bitten by the money bug and the more he had, the more he wanted. He became a ruthless businessman with most of his life revolving around his company, except for the weekends. To Martin weekends were for partying, and he liked to party hard. Once a month he’d hire some extravagant-looking house on the outskirts of town, invite a few close friends, pay several prostitutes and fill the place up with every kind of drug imaginable – just like last night.
As Martin opened his eyes, it took him a while to realize where he was. The effect of whatever he’d taken the night before hadn’t properly worn off yet and he still felt dazed. He looked around the room taking his time to absorb the strange medieval decoration. He blinked a few times trying to clear his vision and slowly his focus started to come back. Over on the far wall, above a magnificent marble fireplace he could see a knight’s shield positioned over two crossed swords. To the right of the fireplace a full-size suit of armor. The floor had been lined with Persian rugs and the walls plastered with tapestries and paintings of English Dukes, Lords, Kings and Queens.
With great effort he sat up. His head felt heavy and a bitter taste lingered in his mouth. Only then he realized he’d been sleeping in a four-poster bed surrounded by silk sheets and pillows. Damn, I fell asleep on the set of King Arthur, he thought to himself with a little chuckle. Over on the bedside table, several pills lay scattered together with a small cellophane bag – some sort of white powder inside it.
That’s what I need before the comedown hits me, he thought. Without knowing or caring what they were, Martin picked up a couple of pills from the table and popped them into his mouth. He looked around searching for something to wash them down with. A half-full bottle of champagne was on the floor next to the bed. He took a large swig of it and shook his head, allowing the stale liquid to run down his throat. He waited a few minutes for the pills to start taking effect before getting up and slowly making his way out of the room.
From the landing Martin had a clear view of the living room downstairs. He could see another nine or ten people spread over the ancient-looking furniture and rug. One lonely body had fallen asleep over the grand piano. Two naked hookers on the floor next to it. Everyone seemed down and out. Martin stumbled over to the staircase passing another empty room to his right. This is definitely the entertainment room, he thought as he peeked inside. Holding on to the balustrade, he made his way down to the room below, one slow step at a time. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he realized how hungry he was.
‘Where the hell is the kitchen in this horrible place?’ he said out loud, scanning the exotically decorated lounge. He heard noises coming from a room at the end of a small corridor to the left of the staircase. ‘Someone is up.’
Staggering as if drunk, Martin made it to the door. He tried to push it open but it barely moved. He wasn’t sure if it was stuck or his effort just hadn’t been enough. He took a step back and tried again, this time throwing his right shoulder against the door and putting every last ounce of energy into it. The door swung open and Martin was catapulted onto the floor.
‘Hey, man, are you OK?’ Duane, Martin’s best friend, was sitting at the kitchen table with a two-liter bottle of water in front of him.
Slowly Martin picked himself off the floor. The kitchen was very spacious, and unlike the rest of the house, decorated in a pleasant modern style. The black Italian marble worktop contrasted beautifully with the gleaming, polished, stainless-steel double-door fridge positioned at the north end of the room. An overwhelming collection of pots and pans hung grandly above the table where Duane was sitting.
‘Are you the only one up?’ Duane asked, sounding a little too animated.
‘I haven’t seen anyone awake apart from you, but then again I only surfaced a little more than ten minutes ago.’
‘Have you looked around this place? It’s awesome. It’s more like a museum than a house, except for this kitchen. Whoever owns this place is totally obsessed with medieval England, it’s everywhere like a rash.’ Duane’s words came out fast and in a steady rhythm like a machine gun.
‘And you think that’s awesome?’ Martin’s expression clearly indicated that he didn’t share Duane’s thoughts.
‘Well, it’s very different.’
Martin wasn’t very interested in Duane’s house review. His eyes roamed the kitchen looking for something. ‘Is there any food around?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, man, truck loads of it, just check the fridge.’
As Martin opened the fridge door he was greeted by an enormous variety of junk food. From donuts to marshmallows, hot dogs to fried chicken – a hungry man’s paradise. He quickly grabbed a jar of peanut butter and one of jelly together with two cans of soda and a bag of marshmallows. ‘How about bread?’ he asked, facing his friend once again.
‘Right over there.’ Duane pointed to a bread dispenser on the kitchen worktop.
Martin wasted no time in retrieving a couple of bread slices. Using a knife he found in the sink he smothered the bread with enormous amounts of peanut butter and jelly.
‘Damn, man, easy on the jelly,’ Duane giggled. ‘What are you on, h
ash?’
‘I have no idea. I took a couple of pills that were on a table upstairs,’ Martin said in-between huge bites. A blob of jelly ran down the left side of his mouth.
‘Tripping?’
‘Hell yeah. How about you?’
‘No, man, I’m on dust. Haven’t slept since we got here, I’m still buzzing like hell, man.’
‘When did we get here?’ Martin asked, looking confused.
‘Shit, dude, you are tripping. On Friday night,’ Duane responded with a laugh.
‘And what day is it?’
Duane’s laughter grew louder. ‘Early hours of Sunday morning.’
‘Damn, you’ve been awake for two nights and a day.’
‘Hell yeah.’ Duane looked proud.
Martin shook his head in disapproval, grabbed a handful of marshmallows and walked back to the bread dispenser. ‘Would you like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?’ he offered.
‘No man, I’ve got no appetite, but knock yourself out.’
Martin made himself another sandwich, this time with even more jelly.
‘Hey, Mart, remember I said I had a surprise for you?’
Martin looked at his friend curiously. ‘No, I actually don’t remember that at all.’
‘Well I did. Would you like to see it now?’ Duane sounded excited and Martin couldn’t tell if it were the drugs talking or his friend was really happy to be able to show him some sort of surprise.
‘Sure, what is it?’ he said casually.
‘It’s a DVD. I’ll go get it while you finish that jar of jelly,’ Duane said, pointing to the almost empty jar on the worktop.
‘A DVD?’ Martin questioned unimpressed.
‘Trust me, you’ll like this one.’ He dashed out of the kitchen leaving Martin to finish his sandwich. A few moments later Duane stormed back in holding a slim DVD case. ‘Here it is.’
Martin checked the case. There was no front or back cover. The disk inside it had no printing on it either.
‘Where can we watch it?’ Duane asked, sounding even more animated.
‘I seem to remember a room with a huge flat-screen TV and surround sound system upstairs.’ He drank the last of his soda down in huge gulps. ‘But what the hell is this DVD all about, Duane?’
‘This is gonna be cool, man. I know you’re into bondage, right?’ He sounded like a character out of Wayne’s World.
To his closest friends it was no secret that Martin enjoyed bondage and rough sex.
‘This is a bondage DVD?’ A tingle of interest in his voice now.
‘This, my friend, will probably freak you out. This is supposed to be some extreme bondage shit.’
Martin stared at a hyper Duane. ‘I’m game, the rougher the better.’ He stuffed the last of the marshmallows into his mouth.
‘So where’s this room with the flat screen?’
‘Upstairs somewhere. We’ll find it, don’t worry. Let me just grab a donut.’
Martin went back to the fridge and grabbed a box with three chocolate donuts and another can of soda. They both left the kitchen.
It didn’t take them long to find the entertainment room with several spacious and very comfortable-looking leather chairs facing the biggest flat-screen TV they’d ever seen. The surround sound system together with the DVD equipment was state of the art.
‘Now this is cool,’ Duane said, jumping onto one of the leather chairs like a little kid in a bouncing castle. ‘And that’s sweet.’ His eyes had rested on the impressive TV set.
‘Give me that DVD, and stop acting like a stupid kid,’ Martin ordered. Duane handed the disk over and made himself comfortable.
The first thing Martin noticed was the amateurish quality of the images; this was definitely not a professionally made film. The opening scene showed a young woman, no older than twenty-five, already tied to a metal chair. Her long blond hair disheveled as if she’d just woken up. Her white blouse looked dirty and drenched in sweat. Her denim skirt had been ripped to expose well-toned and tanned legs. She’d been blindfolded and gagged and her running mascara was a clear indication she’d been crying. Her lipstick had been smudged off her lips and she seemed scared and exhausted. The room she was in was about thirty feet by twenty-two with holes in the walls as if someone had used a sledgehammer on it. Besides the chair she’d been tied to, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a small metallic table.
There were two other people in the room, both male, but the camera never focused on them. In fact, they were only seen from the torso down. Martin was instantly intrigued and his grogginess started to subside.
‘This is different,’ he commented. ‘Forget about having a plot, they just go straight into the action here, don’t they?’
‘I knew you’d like it, man.’
One of the two males approached the scared-looking woman with an erection bulging in his black trousers. He tried running his fingers through her hair, but when she felt his touch her head jerked back violently, her frightened scream muffled by the gag in her mouth. Her reaction angered him. His blow landed on her left cheek, the impact so powerful it lifted her off the chair.
‘Don’t fight it, bitch,’ he said in a menacing voice.
The man turned and faced the other person in the room who handed him a switchblade. He slowly ran it over the girl’s right cheek. As she felt the cold metal against her skin she gave a petrified cry, tears running down her face through the blindfold. He turned the blade towards her blouse. In a quick movement he tore it off her body. A small speck of blood formed in between her breasts where the tip of the blade had scraped her skin. She emitted a frightened moan and was instantly slapped across the face once again.
‘Shut up, whore!’ he commanded.
The second male approached the terrified woman and forced her legs apart before slashing through her miniskirt revealing a pair of see-through red panties. They seemed moist and that aroused Martin who shifted his position on his seat in an attempt to get more comfortable.
The film proceeded with both males touching her, rubbing their visible erections against her body and getting more and more abusive. The violence at times seeming to get out of hand. Martin, nevertheless, was enjoying every second of it, until the last scene.
One of the two males had positioned himself behind the young woman, who by then had been freed from the chair, stripped naked and raped by both men several times. Her blindfold was suddenly torn from her face forcing her into a blinking frenzy as her eyes struggled to get used to the light. As they did, they focused on the second man standing directly in front of her. First a look of recognition, then terror took over. Her horrified expression was reproduced in Martin’s face.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he breathed, quickly jumping to his feet. His body now shivering with fear.
With no warning her head was pulled back exposing her neck. The gleaming knife came out of nowhere. Her eyes saddened as she realized what was about to happen, there was no point in fighting anymore.
‘You’ve gotta be shitting me!’ Martin’s eyes widened in horror. His excitement evaporating into repulsion.
The knife slash was clean and swift, ripping her neck open from left to right. Her dark and warm blood first gushed out and then streamed down onto her body. Martin and Duane had never seen so much blood. The man behind held her head back while the camera zoomed in on her dying eyes. Laughs were the only sound track.
‘Holy shit . . . What the hell?’ Martin yelled hysterically.
Duane had now jumped to his feet as well. His horrified eyes were glued to the screen.
‘It’s a snuff movie? You got me a fucking snuff movie?’ Martin turned to face Duane.
‘I didn’t know,’ he replied, taking a step back. ‘They told me it was extreme BDSM, man,’ he said, feeling faint, his voice unsteady.
‘Extreme?’ Martin shouted. ‘She’s dead, Duane. Murdered right in front of our eyes. Yeah I’d say that qualifies as fucking extreme.’ Martin brought his shivering h
ands up to his face rubbing it as if trying to wipe away what he’d just seen. ‘Who are they?’
‘What?’ Duane looked confused.
‘You just said they told you it was extreme BDSM, who the hell are they? Who did you get this from?’
‘Just some contacts I have. You know the kind of people you can score drugs or girls from.’
‘Not my kind of people,’ Martin shouted nervously and walked over to the DVD player and retrieved the disk. His hands still shaking.
‘Why are you so fucking messed up about it anyway, man, it’s got nothing to do with us. Let’s just get rid of the disk and forget about it.’
‘I can’t, Duane.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I know who she is.’
Thirty-Seven
‘What? What do you mean you’ve seen it before? Where? When?’ Hunter’s voice rose a few decibels above normal.
‘I’m not sure, maybe three, four months ago,’ Isabella said casually. ‘Aren’t you gonna eat your breakfast?’
Hunter’s appetite had vanished. ‘Forget the breakfast. I need to know where you’ve seen this symbol before. I need to know when and I need to know now.’ He held her by the arms.
Isabella stared at him with fear in her eyes. ‘Robert, you’re scaring me. What the hell’s going on?’ She shifted her body trying to free herself from his grip.
Hunter let go of her realizing how crazy his actions looked. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, lifting his hands.
She stepped away from him as if moving away from a stranger. ‘What’s this all about? What the hell’s gotten into you?’ she asked scared.
Hunter paused and ran his fingers through his hair, taking his time to calm down. Isabella stood waiting for a reasonable explanation.
‘Please have a seat and I’ll explain it to you.’
‘I’m fine standing, thanks.’
Hunter took a deep breath. ‘I lied about the symbol meaning nothing at all.’
‘Yeah, I guessed that.’
Hunter proceeded to tell Isabella about the significance of the double-crucifix, being very careful to reveal only what he deemed necessary. He told her about the two latest killings, but none of the previous murders were mentioned. The symbol, according to Hunter, had been drawn into a piece of paper found at the scene of both crimes. There was no mention of it being carved into the victim’s flesh.
