His two best friends were the only ones in his social group who didn't even raise an eyebrow once the news leaked out. Looking back, he wondered how he could have possibly been so naïve to think that nobody would cause a fuss just because he wanted to marry a girl from outside his class. What shocked him down to the core wasn't his own family, but how Jodie's father and older brother reacted when they found out that their young girl was going to marry a toff.
Narrowly being run over by a twenty-year-old Ford Focus was one moment that he wouldn't forget in a long time. At the insistence of Jodie, he hadn't pressed charges, but Michael had made it perfectly plain to the pair of them that he had friends in high places, and if they so much as looked at him in a queer way, the pair of them would end up in more trouble than they could possibly imagine.
Even now, after leaving that place, he still hadn't been able to prise exactly why his young wife so feared those two. He had his suspicions, and the private investigator whom he'd hire to run a background check on the pair of them had given Michael a very good idea as to why they wanted to keep a tight rein of the very pretty girl.
Michael drained the glass and reached down to get another can. All that was ancient history now. They had lived in a large town, about ten miles from this one for over five years, staying in a couple of rental places, just waiting for that perfect house to come onto the market. Yet despite all the seemingly perfect places, none of them had felt right to Michael.
A pleasant walk into town to view the houses up for sale was now part of their daily routine. They could have quite easily checked online, but as Jodie always used to tell him. They could end up spending the rest of their lives in their next house. This meant that the first view needed to be special. It had to be something they'd always remember.
She'd been right on that score. Holding her hand whilst simultaneously gasping at the four photographs in the estate agent's front window certainly was one of his cherished memories.
“The future's so bright...”
Trevor looked up from his phone screen. “I gotta wear shades.”
3
“Here we go!” announced Jodie, walking out of the kitchen, holding a silver platter in both hands.
Michael shot out of the chair, hiding a smirk when he saw Trevor desperately trying to push his phone back into his pocket. His stomach rumbled at the sight of over a dozen sandwiches, all cut into triangles, neatly stacked in the middle. Thin slices of cucumber, interlaced with tomato slices surrounded the sandwiches and to complete the display, Michael saw four half domes, wrapped in foil, full of cocktail sticks, with an assortment of nibbles pushed onto the ends.
It truly was a work of art. He knew art collectors who'd pay seriously money for that platter. It almost seemed a shame to ruin it. His stomach disagreed though. Because of the huge amount of food, Michael hadn't had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours.
“I sure hope you guys are hungry!” Jodie gently laid the platter in the centre of the dining table. “There's another two of these to come in here. There should have been lots more but it seemed a bit silly to lay everything out. Maddie and I chilled the rest of it.”
Right at that moment, Michael fell in love with the beautiful woman all over again.
“That looks fantastic,” said Fern. “Come on, I'll help you get the others. Guys, plant your backsides on the chairs and don't you dare touch anything until we come back.” Trevor's wife chuckled. “No cheating. Just remember, we have the rest of your booze in the kitchen.”
So much for this being a long drawn out night. He had no idea what Maddie had said to his wife but whatever it was, it did the trick. He hadn't seen the woman this relaxed for months. As he pulled back the chair, Michael decided to have a quiet word with their babysitter at a later date. God, that food really did look yummy. He never had never eaten anything like this until meeting Jodie. It reminded him of sneaking into Mum's recreation room as a kid and sitting in her chair, to watch the soap operas on television. It was his first experience on how the common folk used to live.
Michael had plenty of parties but the catering arrangements were always a sitting down affair with cutlery, maids, and regimented courses. His father would have regarded all of this as worthless peasant food, only fit for animals.
“I'll give you twenty pounds if you steal a sandwich,” whispered Trevor. “Go on, I dare you to do it.”
“Don't be ridiculous. We're not nineteen anymore, and this isn't university.”
The setting and age may have change, but you haven't.” Trevor reached across the table, picked off the topmost sandwich and slid it under a napkin. “You were a big cowardly custard now and you still are.”
“That's not very fair.”
Trevor shrugged. “Then prove me wrong. By the way, you now owe me twenty pounds.”
“It doesn't count. We never shook hands.” Michael pressed his hand against his guts, wishing they'd hurry up with the food, if they took any longer, he might have to start eating parts of his own body.
Trevor slid his chair back.
“Are you going to see what's taking them?”
“That and rescuing the beer. I don't want my liquid life support ending up gurgling down the plughole when one of them spots the missing sandwich. I can't exactly blame you for stealing it, Mickey. Even the girls know that you're a cowardly custard.”
He watched him disappear into the kitchen. Did the clown really call him that? Unreal, the guy was tipsy after one can. His alcohol tolerance had certainly altered in these past few years. Back in their uni days, that guy could drink him and the rest of their pals under the table with ease. It wouldn't surprise Michael to see Trevor dance a Turkish jig, wrapped in a curtain, after he'd drained his second can.
Michael stood up and leaned over the table. He'd show that joker exactly who was boss around here. He picked off a quarter slice and rammed the triangle into his mouth, moaning with joy as the rich taste of tuna mayonnaise detonated in his mouth. Father could keep his eye poppingly expensive caviar and smoked salmon. This stuff was to die for.
He paused in mid chew. Something was seriously wrong here, why hadn't any of them come back to the table? Michael swallowed the last chewed up mouthful. “Guys, are you alright in there?” He received no answer.
4
It took Michael less than ten seconds to run into the kitchen, his heart hammering against his ribs. What he saw in the middle of the kitchen floor took his breath away. Their babysitter lay on the floor, her body jerking like she'd was holding a live wire. The Sanderson's crouched at either side of the girl. His wife was above her head, holding a rolled up tea towel in her mouth. What made him doubt his own eyes was the fact that their babysitter was totally naked. Her shredded clothing was scattered across the kitchen.
“What the hell is happening?” His own voice sounded alien. Michael gazed at each of them in turn, expecting at least one of them to answer him. Why was any of them speaking, he didn't understand any of this.
Jodie broke the silence by letting out a quiet sob. “Please, Michael, call the doctor!” She looked at the others who both nodded, before she slowly removed the makeshift gag.
Maddie lifted her head with top half of her body following. The movement was so smooth, the girl moved like an oiled machine. Her head swivelled from left to right before stopping in front of Michael.
“You think your insides are all soft and squidgy like jelly and ice cream.” The woman switched her attention to Michael's wife. “They're not, Jodie. You know what I mean. They crunch. They're hard and brittle. SNAP!” she howled out.
“Christ, shut her up,” Mickey.”
Fern shot her husband a dirty look before grabbing the sides of Maddie's head. “Come on, girl, snap out of it!” She attempted to lie the girl back on the floor. “She's having a fit. The poor thing has no idea what's she's saying. Jodie, help me get her into the recovery position.”
Maddie opened her mouth and released a harsh sounding noise that sounde
d like a cross between an old car setting off and nails been dragged down a blackboard. Michael slammed his hands over his ears, it did no good, the inhuman noise still drilled into his brain. This was not fit, no human voice was capable of creating such a terrible sound. He staggered back, desperate to get away from the girl.
Both the women whipped away their hands, each one letting out a shocked gasp. Michael managed to reach the door. As he crawled across the threshold, he risked a look back and saw both Fern and Jodie had let go of their bladders. The pools of urine spread across the pale blue tiles, following the grout lines.
The inhuman noise erupting from the girl's mouth lowered in volume and tone, until only incoherent whispering penetrated Michael's head. He joined in with the chorus at the sight of a wet patch rapidly spreading out from his crotch.
The girl slammed her mouth shut. She snatched a sandwich from one of the silver platters and squashed it in her hand, mushed up bread and cheese squeezed out through the gaps in her fingers. “Soft and cold,” she muttered. “Soft and cold.” Her eyes found Michael again. “We're all stuffed full, Michael.”
He backed away until he reached the far wall. Without taking his eyes from the girl, Michael edged along the wall. The girl's gaze continued to follow his movement, until he reached his sobbing wife. Michael dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her.
“Jodie had life inside her. I can hear the echo. Daddy wants to know why you killed it. It shrieks out all the time. It crunched when it came out as well. Crunched it real good!”
“SHUT UP, YOU HORRIBLE BITCH!”
Jodie pushed Michael away, ran up to the girl and slammed a tight fist into her nose. Michael was able to grab Jodie's arms before she was able to inflict any more damage. Maddie fell back, the back of her head cracking on the hard tiles. Michael winced. In the background, he heard Trevor talking to someone on his phone. He guessed it would be the emergency services. He wanted to tell his best mate not to bother, after all, how were they going to get an ambulance up here in this weather?
“You'd better take your Jodie into the other room,” said Fern. She gently pushed the pair of them towards the door. “I'll get the girl sorted out.”
5
Michael bought the tea up to his lips, sipping the lukewarm liquid was an automatic motion, like idly gazing at the television. Trevor had turned it on about an hour ago, with the volume turned low. He said that the background noise would help the girl come around.
It had been two hours since Maddie had her episode in the kitchen. Right now, she lay on the sofa, Jodie's old sleeping bag laid over her still body. The girl had regained her senses a minute before Trevor had finished trying to get in touch with the emergency services. In the end, the heavy rain and the impassable road hadn't mattered, Michael's friend hadn't been able to get a clear signal. Apart from a bruised nose and lump on the back of her head, Maddie seemed okay. She had no memory of the incident but looked genuinely distressed at the upheaval that her fit had caused.
Michael watched Daffy Duck turned his beak the right way around after Elmer Fudd shot him. Trevor had quickly changed the channel from the football to a children's channel when his wife shot him a dirty look. Both the women sat on the edge of the sofa, each one talking in low voices as the girl slept.
“Remember when Ernest Hamilton had a fit in the canteen?”
Michael did remember that incident all too well. Unlike Maddie though, the boy had yelled out something intelligible before falling off his chair and convulsing on the ground as over a dozen students formed a circle around the boy. Some guy had even filmed it. “Yeah, I remember. The old lecturer from Media Studies, sorted him out.” He shifted his gaze to Trevor. “You think that's what it was?”
“Had to be.” Trevor pulled out his phone. “Oh, now you're working. “What is she, seventeen?”
Michael nodded. “I think so.”
“All those hormones and chemicals and whatnot that's messing about with her body. The chances are that it's probably just a one off, that they've overloaded her head or something. Then again, it really could be the start of epilepsy. Even so, we'd still better get the girl to the hospital, run some tests. You know, just to be sure.”
“The rain's stopped, but there's no way an ambulance will make it up to the house.” Michael stood up and walked over to the window. “We can carry her down to the main road. It'll only take five minutes. Get the ambulance to meet us there, Trevor.”
The idea that their babysitter just had a fit wasn't washing with Michael, and he didn't think any of the others believed it either. There's no way on this planet that some girl having a seizure can somehow make everyone in the vicinity piss themselves. There was also the incident with those words Maddie uttered. The girl had somehow known that Maddie had an abortion. Nobody knew that, apart from him and Jodie's close family.
He massaged the back of his neck and listened to Trevor make that call. Michael didn't think that any of them would forget their house warming party anytime soon.
Chapter Three
Looking Back
1
The sole owner of Richmond Point rolled a fat cigar between his fingers while waiting for the four microwaves to finish their cooking programmes. He hadn't lit the cigar, that would wait until he'd finished his present task. Lighting up a cigar in his kitchen would break over a dozen health and safety regulations. Kevin was a responsible hotelier.
Kevin's upbeat mood had not dipped, despite his rather distressing encounter with his previous younger self. The memory, or vision, had not stayed locked up on this occasion. Again, this didn't affect as much as they used to. Oh, the images shook him up, pretty badly too, he would at least admit to that. The man now known as Mr Morris, did not enjoy looking back at his time, locked up in that cellar, with only his lying sister for company.
In the first few nights after the First Change, he would lie on the carpet in his new bedroom under the window. Kevin Morris tightened his now clean fingers around his new pale green bed sheets, and stare at the pale fat moon, hanging heavy in the night sky. His parents had promised many things once his body had become used to the new diet and the increased light. They were to actually allow him to leave the house, they were to show him all the new things, as well as introduce him to the many strange people currently sleeping in the other rooms. Most of all, his father promised to show him how to make the girl in the cellar touch his thing.
He saw her face in the moon, the boy now called Kevin remembered closing his eyes, his mind drifting off. Before sleep took him, the face in the moon changed to show him a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. She was always crying and calling out the name of Andrew.
The first microwave pinged, announcing that it had done his bidding. Kevin shook himself out of his muse and pulled open the door, releasing the tantalising vapours of meat cooked to perfection.
He carefully lifted out a small white plate and placed it on the counter. The dozen thin slices of thigh reminded him of pages from the books that his mother used to let him play with during his education.
2
This dish, as well as the other three still cooking, were the last thawed pieces of his last kill, a lovely young thing who had announced herself as Rebecca James. The chances of that being her real name were pretty slim. In his experience, the young runaways believed that a name change was the first step in creating a new life, that telling a complete stranger a new name was the first step in creating a new identity. The man once born Andrew Collins so wanted to tell the poor deluded souls that no amount of name changing would stop their life-train pulling in at the Richmond Point Terminus.
Two more microwaves pinged.
Oh yes, that girl really had come to the end of the line when she'd walked through his door. He had been on the desk when that pretty blonde thing had walked right up to his desk, acting like she did this kind of thing all the time. Kevin Morris, who had an uncanny skill in reading people, knew for a fact that this girl would not see anoth
er sunrise.
He gave her his most disarming smile, whilst breathing a sigh of relief. There wasn't much left of dad now. Although looking back, there hadn't been much decent meat on the old bastard to start with. Most of his soft bits needed stewing for at least a couple of days, not the best idea whilst trying to run a hotel.
A number of guests had commented upon the meaty aroma clinging to the furniture like wet glue. Kevin had told the most inquisitive that he'd been preparing a dish for his Eastern European grandmother who was due to visit next week. It was her ninetieth birthday, you see and – (He'd confided in their ears) the old bird wasn't expected to last the winter. Cancer, you see. Kevin could quite easily think on his feet. One of the guests had even put a collection together.
This young thing wouldn't need stewing at all. Mr Morris mentally jointed her as she gave her name and signed the register. It took significant effort to calm himself down and to lose his rather prominent erection. He got over that hurdle by reminding himself that he still hadn't perfected the art of using the wood chipper. Kevin had almost lost his own arm when he fed his dad's de-fleshed bones into the very scary machine. Still, looking at this delicate frame, he could probably crush her bones with one of his dad's mallets.
The remaining microwaves finished their cooking cycle. He removed the plates one by one and stacked them onto a tray, ready for transport. He knew that using up all the store would be a big risk, but Mr Morris believed it would be worth it. The scheming girl might have got one up on her brother (He still wasn't sure how that had happened) but this meal would be a timely reminder that she still needed him to continue living.
He had to admit, Rebecca James had been an absolute delight. Well, she had once Kevin had ended her life.
Just like Jeremy Dale, and the countless others before him, Kevin had sat the girl down in the 'killing chair' offered her some wine (Rebecca James wasn't one to refuse wine) In fact, she had three glasses. With precision gained from plenty of practise, Kevin struck her below the ear. Looking back, it might have been a mistake to have allowed her so much wine. Cleaning up her bright red vomit had not been a fun chore. Also, despite knowing she was out cold, Rebecca James still managed to utter a few random words as he loaded her body onto his trolley, ready for transport.
Depravity Page 3
