by Amy Cross
“Ordinarily, yes,” he tells her. “Unfortunately, sometimes... Ways are found to keep things going.” He takes another bite, while his gaze drifts down to the hint of cleavage that's visible behind her uniform.
“I just wanna stuff cotton in my ears,” she continues, putting her head in her hands, “and drive away from Pine Ridge until this is all over. I don't think I can take it much longer. I know it's only been a couple of hours, but still... It's driving me insane.”
“Well...” Chewing, he stops suddenly, still watching her cleavage before finally looking up and seeing the fear and pain in her eyes. After a moment, he sets the burger down and stares at it for a moment, before spitting out a mouthful of burger into another napkin. “He did it again,” he whispers, with an expression of pure shock. “He distracted me, just like in Amsterdam. I almost fell for it again, too. After everything that happened last time, I almost walked right into the same trap.”
“She's almost howling with pain,” the waitress points out. “It's not even as if the scream is constantly the same, it's more like whatever's happening to her, it keeps changing.”
“I thought I was stronger this time,” Roake continues, staring at his trembling hands. “I thought I could resist the temptations of the flesh, but evidently I was wrong. Still...” He pauses for a moment. “At least I saw through it this time. I can console myself with that, at least.” He turns to her. “M'am, do you mind telling me your name?”
She hesitates. “Janine,” she tells him finally. “Janine Day.”
“Janine Day?” A faint smile crosses his lips. “That's a fine name, you're very lucky. Would you like the rest of my burger, Janine Day? It's very nice, very...” He eyes it with suspicion. “Tempting.”
“You're a priest,” she continues, “right? So can't you do something about what's happening?”
He stares at the burger for a moment longer, before turning to her. “Soon,” he whispers. “It's really not that simple. If it was, I or someone like me would have ended this madness a long time ago, before it even reached your fine little town.”
She dabs at the tears in her eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I may be a man of God, but I am still just one man.” Glancing at the window, he watches as several locals hurry past, no doubt on their way to continue their search for the scream's source. “The scream is something bigger. It's something that one man can't hope to stop, not on his own. Plenty have tried. Believe me, I'm far from the first who has set out on this path, but God willing maybe, just maybe, I'll be the last. Still...” Getting to his feet, he steps back from the table. “Distractions. That's how he stopped me last time, that's how Amsterdam became such a disaster.”
“You make it sound like you know what's happening,” she replies, sniffing back more tears.
He turns to her.
“Do you?” she asks, her eyes widening with shock.
He shakes his head. “No. Not really. Well...” He pauses, not wanting to lie but also keen to reserve as much of the truth as possible. “It's a very complicated thing, Janine. Smarter men than I have studied it at length, and only scratched the surface of the scream and its associated nightmares. Let's just say that it's no coincidence that I happened to come here today. I've been following this thing for quite some time now, always hoping to catch it at the right moment, but until Pine Ridge...”
“What do you mean?” she asks. “How can you follow a scream?”
“I can't,” he replies, “but what causes the scream... That is something I can follow. Or try to follow, anyway.” He blinks a couple of times, as if he's trying to get a thought out of his mind. “Perhaps I shouldn't have come and eaten. I allowed myself to become distracted, but that's something he always does to those who get close to him. It's one of his greatest defense mechanisms, it's his way of making sure no-one can even try to stop him. I thought I was stronger this time, I thought I'd learned after Amsterdam, but clearly the flesh is still weak.”
“You talk a little funny,” she tells him. “Even for an English guy.”
“Don't you think it's odd,” he continues, “that no-one from this town has gone to get help? That no-one has called or emailed anyone, that no-one has taken videos and uploaded them online to show the world what's happening here?”
“Well...” She pauses. “I guess... I think the phones...”
“Always an excuse,” he continues, with an expression of pure disbelief. “That's another of the ways in which he works. No-one will go to get help, they'll just stay right here and try to find the source themselves. As for the phones, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone has taken out their SIM cards without remembering. That's the kind of subtle little trick that he likes to use.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” she asks.
“There's nothing you can do.” He pauses for a moment, before turning and heading to the door. “Fortunately, I...”
Pushing the door open, he stops for a moment and listens as the scream continues. He takes a series of deep breaths, as if he's trying to drink in as much as possible, and slowly his eyes widen with horror.
“She's in so much pain,” Janine continues. “Whoever she is, you can tell, it sounds like... She's in real agony, isn't she? I can't even imagine what that's like.”
Roake pauses, before turning to her and nodding. “You shouldn't try to imagine it. Please, promise you won't.”
“Maybe it'd be better if she died,” Janine replies. “I know that's an awful thing to say, but if no-one can find her, maybe it'd be better if she just... didn't suffer anymore.”
“I'm sure it would,” he mutters, “but I'm afraid that's not how it works, not on this particular occasion.” He pauses again, before heading outside. “Thank you for the wonderful food.”
Left alone, Janine makes her way to the window and watches as the priest makes his way across the town square. She wants to run after him, to ask what's really happening, but somehow the thought of going outside is too much for her to handle; after all, she figures the scream will sound even louder out there, so instead she heads over to the counter and switches the radio on, turning the volume dial to maximum. Music fills the air, almost drowning out the sound of the scream but...
But not quite. She can still hear it. When she turns and looks back out the window, there's no sign of the priest.
Chapter Fifteen
“Jessica!” Judy Cluny shouts, as she stands on the edge of the movie theater's roof and looks out across the town square. “Can you hear me? Jessica!”
She waits, but all she hears is the continuing scream and, in the distance, other voices calling Jessica's name in different parts of the town. Looking down, she sees a couple of people searching a nearby alley, and a little further along there's a man in a dark brown leather jacket making his way toward the church. Squinting, she realizes she doesn't recognize him, but she tells herself that she has to focus on finding the missing girl.
“Jessica!” she shouts again, with her hands around her mouth this time, before turning to find her brother Jason making his way over to join her. “This is hopeless,” she tells him. “There's no way she can hear us, not while she's screaming.”
“She's probably out of her mind with pain now,” Jason replies, with a faint smile. “Like, beyond the point of no return. Wouldn't surprise me if he's torturing her with some pretty heavy-duty stuff, like maybe clamps and electrodes on her nipples, or spikes in her -”
“Jason!”
“What?”
“Can you just not say things like that? Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you?”
“Are they even sure it's her?” he asks. “Everyone basically sounds the same when they're screaming. The further a person is pushed toward pure pain and panic, the more they just sound... Well, almost like an animal. As pain increases, screams converge until they all sound the same. That's just, like, common sense.”
“Are you serious?”
“I've read up on the theo
ry of pain,” he continues. “The closer you get pushed, the more you lose of yourself. I'm not saying that just to poke your buttons, dumb-ass. Do you really, honestly think you can recognize the scream as Jessica's?”
“Just shut up,” he mutters.
“Is it her?” he asks again. “Come on, just try to tell.”
They stand in silence for a moment, as they hear the scream rising all around the building, filling the air. At times it sounds closer, but it quickly shifts around them, as if it wants to be everywhere at once. After half a minute or so, the sound actually seems to become more abstract, as if it's barely even a person at all, but finally – with a sudden jolt – Judy feels a flash of recognition in her chest.
“I think it's her,” she says cautiously, with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “I mean... I don't know for certain. I've never heard her scream before, dumb-ass.”
“But you know her pretty well, don't you?”
“I guess. We talked at school a few times.”
“So did she ever say anything that might help?”
“Like what?”
“I don't know, maybe...” Heading over to another side of the building, he looks out for a moment at a different part of the town, before turning back to his sister. “Maybe she was into something dark, you know? Something no-one else knew about, maybe devil worship or some kind of kinky sex game. Maybe she kinda brought this on herself by pushing the darkness too hard. Maybe it finally pushed back, or...” A grin crosses his lips. “God, maybe she's actually enjoying it! Maybe it's some kinda masochistic thing and she's totally getting off on the pain!”
“You're sick,” she replies, turning to her. “You know that, right? You've seen way too many gross horror films.”
“You're just too naive to imagine the possibilities. Come on, what do you really think they're doing to her?”
“Jason -”
“I'm serious. There's no point being squeamish. If we know what's causing her to scream, then we can maybe work out where she is. If certain equipment is needed, that might narrow things down. Come on, at least try. What could make Jessie Barton make such a horrible noise, and for so long?” He pauses, allowing himself a faint smile as he watches his sister's discomfort. “Put yourself in her place. You're the same age. What would it take to make you scream like that? What would someone have to do to make you scream your lungs out for almost three hours on a Tuesday morning?”
“I don't want to think about it!”
“Try!”
Sighing, Judy listens for a moment, as the horrific sound continues. Every few minutes, the scream seems to come close to a kind of uncontrolled sobbing sound, and occasionally it's as if there are almost a few attempts at words. The overwhelming sound, however, remains the terrified, wretched howl of pure, unadulterated pain that has now been filling the town since the sun rose.
“I have no idea,” Judy says eventually. “It could be anything.”
“I think she's being tortured,” he replies.
“Jason!”
“I do! There's no point pretending stuff isn't happening when it is! The only explanation is that someone's torturing her! There are some sick assholes out there, whether you like it or not.”
“Maybe she had an accident.”
“Then why doesn't she just cry for help and say where she is?” He pauses. “Anyway, if she was bleeding, she'd be unconscious by now. This sounds more like someone's hurting her but keeping her alive. You know, controlling her pain level, that kind of thing. If you think about it, that'd take a fair bit of skill.”
“Who the hell would torture her?” Judy asks, with a hint of desperation in her voice. “This is Pine Ridge, for God's sake! There's no-one living here who'd ever dream of doing something like this!”
“Maybe there is,” he replies, “and we didn't know it 'til now.”
“But Robert Leary said Jessica's the only person missing, right?”
“Right.”
“So whoever's doing this to her, they must be from out of town! Otherwise they'd be missing too, 'cause they'd be too busy doing whatever sick things they're doing!”
“Unless they set up some kind of machine and they were able to leave it to run automatically,” he points out. “You ever looked on the dark-net? Some of the things people build...”
“Now you're being ridiculous.”
“It's ridiculous whatever way you look at it,” he continues. “Physically, how long can someone scream like this before, I dunno, they just collapse or faint or something? You can barely even hear her stopping to take a breath now and then. Hell -” Taking his phone from his pocket, he taps at the screen. “No service,” he mutters, tapping a couple more times before turning to his sister. “I'm gonna record the damn thing, and then later on at home I'll put it on my computer and I bet it'll turn out the whole thing's looped. This is gonna turn out to be some kinda major disappointment, mark my words.”
“I don't think it's looped,” Judy replies, looking down at a nearby street as some men emerge from one door and then hurry into another, continuing their desperate search. “I think it's real, I just...” Putting her hands up to her ears, she takes a deep breath. “If it carries on much longer, I swear my ears are going to start bleeding.”
“Don't get melodramatic.”
“Thanks. That advice really helps.”
Sighing, Jason turns and listens to the scream for a moment longer, really focusing on the variations in tone and pitch.
“You know what I think?” he says finally. “I think someone has her tied up somewhere, or restrained, something like that, and they've come up with this really ingenious way of making sure the pain just gets worse and worse. I mean, otherwise she'd scream for a while but then she'd start to master the pain and she'd find a way to let us know where she is, but she's not doing any of that. Instead, she's just crying out as if the agony is getting worse all the time, like it keeps changing so she can't ever get used to it. He must have...” He pauses again, trying to imagine the most horrific thing possible. “Maybe he's cutting into her spinal column or something, or slicing her nipples and her clit with razors, or he's found a way to directly stimulate the parts of her brain that -”
“Don't say stuff like that,” Judy snaps.
“You can't hide from it,” he continues. “We've gotta try to think like someone who'd do this to Jessica.”
“I can't do that.”
“Well, we have to. If you were going to capture and torture Jessica Barton, where would you do it?”
“I don't know! Jason, I can't think like a monster!”
“You've gotta try!”
“Can you?” she asks, with tears in her eyes.
“Sure, if it's just, like, an exercise in logic. Everyone can.”
“Go on, then,” she continues. “Think like a monster. If you were the one doing this, where would you be doing it?”
“I'd be using razors,” he replies. “I'd have her naked, and I'd be slicing her nipples piece by -”
“Not what!” she shouts, starting to lose patience with him. “Where! Where is she?”
Taking a step forward, Jason looks out over the town. He stays silent for a moment, as he tries to imagine all the permutations, all the places where someone could get away with something like this without being caught, at least for a while. He imagines Jessica naked and chained, with blood everywhere, and some kind of maniac digging nails and saws into her flesh, cutting through her bones, causing her to scream and scream and scream. In his mind's eye, he sees Jessica's teeth being twisted out, and her eyes being burst open with hot pokers, and he sees thick, spiked objects being inserted into her body and then twisted around and ripped away. He sees needles being slid through her spine, and pieces of her flesh being carved away and left splattered on the ground along with puddles of blood and other bodily fluids.
“Well?” Judy asks. “Did you come up with anything yet, Einstein?”
He pauses for a moment longer, before turning
to her. “The gas shed,” he says finally. “It's the perfect place to torture someone. If it was me, I'd have her tied up in the old gas shed.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Forgive me, for I have been weak and vain. I thought myself to be stronger, I thought I had learned the lessons of Amsterdam, but no sooner had I arrived in this town than I allowed myself to be tempted once again.”
Kneeling in the church, Roake has his eyes tight shut and his hands against his face in prayer. Ahead of him, there hangs an image of Christ on the cross. The scream can still be heard outside, although the church's cavernous space and high ceiling mean that it sounds different now, echoing all around Roake as he tries to clear his mind and focus.
“I lost two years last time,” he continues, his voice barely rising above a hurried whisper. “Two years of fornicating and drinking and indulging myself in the pleasures of sin. When I finally emerged from that nightmare, I swore I would never let him distract me again, but I came so very close.”
He takes a deep breath, his whole body shuddering as he thinks back to those awful days. For a moment, he sees himself stumbling drunkenly down an Amsterdam side-street, bathed in red lights from the windows on either side, and then he sees himself in one of the booths, his trousers around his ankles as he thrusts into another girl. After that, he sees himself with a needle in one hand, sitting under a bridge on a cold morning and slowly injecting heroin into his arm. Then he sees himself fighting, punching police officers and running. Then more fornication, with whole groups of men and women, and a bottle of whiskey being poured down his throat, and flames...
Opening his eyes suddenly, he realizes it was about to happen again. For a brief moment, he actually felt as if he missed those years he lost in Amsterdam.
“Not this time,” he says firmly, looking up at the image of Christ. “This time I will force myself to stay strong. This time, I will not waste the opportunity, not now that I've almost found him again. I will finish your work.”
