Painted Skins

by Matt Hilton

  Lucy looked at Maria. ‘I never saw his face. He always made us turn our backs to him, then he hooded and gagged us.’ Maria nodded to agree that was what she’d experienced of their captor too. ‘But,’ Lucy went on, ‘he was big. Muscular. Very strong. A monster.’

  Pinky exhaled loudly, and went to fetch his pipe. ‘Let’s see how strong the bastard is,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘There were other girls …’ Tess prompted.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy said, the more talkative of the two. ‘There were three others.’ She stopped, swallowed hard, and Tess saw regret wash over her features.

  ‘The bastard murdered a girl the first day I was here,’ Maria announced. ‘But I don’t know who she was; I only heard.’

  Carrie Mae Borger. Tess could have spoken her name, but decided to keep it to herself for now. She didn’t want either woman to dwell on who had failed to escape this hellish prison, but on who now was safe.

  ‘The other two?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Jasmine and Elsa,’ Lucy nodded, and Maria joined in.

  ‘We were forbidden to speak, but Elsa told us her name, and so did Jasmine. They were punished …’

  ‘We heard somebody screaming earlier,’ said Tess.

  ‘That was Elsa,’ said Maria. ‘She escaped her cell and ran away. She was wasting her time. There’s no way out of here and she was caught.’

  ‘We’re getting you out,’ Pinky promised, and Tess thought she’d never seen him so adamant.

  ‘What about Jasmine?’ She felt a pang of guilt, because none of the girls was more important than another, and yet Tess had pledged she’d do everything to bring Jasmine safely home.

  ‘He took her away,’ said Lucy and pointed down the corridor, ‘but that was yesterday, and she wasn’t brought back.’

  Tess slowly closed her eyes.

  ‘OK,’ she said, coming to a decision. She turned and looked up at Pinky. ‘We have to split up. You take Lucy and Maria out to the car, I’m going to keep looking for the others.’

  Pinky shook his head. ‘Uh-nuh, Tess. Nicolas will never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.’

  And I’ll never forgive myself if I let anything happen to those girls, Tess thought. ‘The police are coming, Pinky. They’ll be here soon enough. Get Lucy and Maria safely to Detective Ratcliffe, I’m going to help Po bring out the others.’

  Pinky searched the plaintive faces of the two girls, and finally nodded. ‘I promised I’d get you out, and I’m a man of my word, me.’ He turned to Tess with a scolding look. ‘But don’t you dare get yourself hurt, you, pretty Tess.’

  She held up her gun, and tapped it against her head in salute. ‘Brains win over brawn every time. Don’t worry, I won’t let the bastard get his hands on me.’

  The looks Lucy and Maria aimed at her didn’t do much for her confidence.

  As Pinky ushered the girls before him, back the way they’d come, Tess turned and peered down the corridor Lucy had indicated. She could swear that the walls were closing in on her.

  She glanced back, but Pinky and his wards had disappeared from sight. She shuddered out a breath.

  ‘OK, Tess,’ she said out loud, ‘this was your idea.’

  Before she could change her mind, she set off.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The presence of an old Ford truck with a rigid plastic canopy on the back confirmed that although she might have been wrong about his process for selecting victims, Tess was spot on when she’d identified Jesse Randall as the likely perpetrator. The truck was rusty, at least fifteen years old, but was still a formidable beast. It had bull bars over the front grille, and when she peeked in the back there was a small motorbike lying on the flat bed. She assumed that Randall used the bike to get to the abduction sites so he could collect the vehicles of the women he’d snatched, and bring them here to dispose of them in the huge troughs. The bike was small enough that a man of Randall’s strength could throw it into the back of a car for the return journey.

  Finding her way to the cavernous room had been no mean feat. But once she’d negotiated a room crammed with ancient machinery, chock full of ducting and pipes, she’d discovered a passage unlike any other she’d walked since entering the ancient structure. It had largely been cleared of debris, and there were even weak bulbs strung along the ceiling, so it was a route that Randall must use regularly. Finally she’d found her way out on to a balcony-cum-platform of sorts and directly below her was a trestle table, recently collapsed if the fresh splinters that poked from the broken ends were anything to go by. She found some steps leading down, and almost missed the curtained doorway to her left. She considered taking a quick look inside, but her gaze was drawn to the distant truck, and she went towards it instead, comparing the licence number with the one she’d checked against Randall’s ownership details.

  She saw the submerged cars, and they numbered five in total, for which she was mildly relieved. In her search for a predator she had only missed Maria Belfort off the list of his possible victims.

  There was a huge roller shutter at the lakeside end of the room. She wondered what kinds of machinery were once housed in the troughs to require such a large door, but couldn’t begin to picture them. Best she kept her mind on the task at hand.

  With no idea where Randall was, she’d tried to be as quiet as possible. Stepping on grit and crunching it underfoot was unavoidable, but the noise from the teeming rain and the wind straining the shutter covered most sounds she made. But evidently she hadn’t stayed undetected.

  She was stunned when two hands suddenly thrust through a slot in a nearby door, and a female whispered, ‘Help me, please.’

  Tess stood still, her gun grasped in both hands, as she stared at the tattoos that extended all the way to the woman’s knuckles.

  ‘Jasmine?’ she asked, barely above a whisper, because she could barely believe she’d almost passed by the girl she’d been seeking.

  ‘Who are you?’ Jasmine replied.

  ‘I’m here for you,’ Tess replied, and trotted forward.

  ‘Who are you?’ Jasmine asked again, but this time her voice shook with emotion.

  ‘My name is Tess Grey. I’m here for you, Jasmine.’ There was emotion in Tess’s voice too.

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  Tess touched Jasmine’s fingers and the girl held on.

  ‘H … how did you find me?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter; I’m here now and I’m going to take you home.’ She gently extricated her fingers from the girl’s hands, and tested the lock. There was no nearby handy key box. Could she shoot off the padlocks? She’d only six bullets, and a very dangerous sexual predator lurking nearby: could she spare even a single round?

  ‘Are you chained up inside there?’ she asked, recalling how Lucy and Maria had been secured within their cells.

  ‘No, it’s just the door keeping me in, but that bastard has the key.’

  Tess glanced back at the truck.

  ‘OK. Here’s what I’m going to try to do,’ said Tess and told Jasmine her plan.

  ‘What if he has the key to the truck on him?’

  ‘It’s an old truck, I’m sure I can get it started.’

  Back when she was a girl, her grandfather had an old Dodge pickup. He’d lost the keys, but bypassed the ignition with the help of a few extra bits of wire and a screwdriver. He’d taught Tess how to hotwire an engine, although, being a NYPD cop, had also warned of severe punishment if ever he caught her joyriding in someone else’s car. She was positive he’d forgive her now.

  She went to the cab and opened it. Randall had left the keys in the ignition. She ran back to the locked room, as she shoved her gun in a pocket. ‘Jasmine, get as far back from the door as you can.’

  ‘I don’t hear the truck,’ Jasmine answered.

  ‘Give me a minute. Oh, and there’s a change of plan, I’m not going to try to pull the door off its hinges.’

  Returning
to the truck she clambered inside, and twisted the ignition key. The engine roared. She threw the gear stick, let out the clutch and hit the gas. The truck responded with a lurch, and she fought the steering, having forgotten for a moment what it was like to drive an old truck without the luxury of power steering. She missed the nearest trench by a whisker, hauling down on the steering wheel and plunging directly at Jasmine’s cell.

  The bull bars smashed into the door. The locks couldn’t withstand such force, and ripped loose as it was smashed inward, against the jamb. The truck’s engine stalled, and Tess sank back in the seat, stunned by the violence of the collision. She shook to clear her head, and then reached for the ignition again. The engine turned over but didn’t start, and for a second Tess feared she’d only placed another impenetrable barrier between her and Jasmine. She pulled the choke, tromped the gas a few times, tried again, and this time the engine roared to life. She tasted the fumes, found the reverse gear, and backed away. The bull bars were jammed in the ruined door, but they helped wrench it open. As Tess halted the truck, the door fell free and she was happy to have torn the entire thing out of its frame.

  Jasmine, tattooed and scarred, but every bit alive, stepped out of the room towards her. Tess jumped out the idling truck, pulling at her shirt to offer to the girl, because she had a T-shirt beneath, but Jasmine shook her head. ‘My clothes are in there,’ she said, pointing at an adjacent room.

  ‘Grab them quickly,’ Tess urged her and took out her revolver. ‘We’re getting the hell out of here.’

  Jasmine was only seconds inside the room, and emerged again clutching a bundle of clothing to her scarred abdomen.

  ‘Get in the truck,’ Tess said. ‘You can dress inside.’

  ‘I’m OK here,’ Jasmine assured her and began to sort through the clothing.

  ‘That’s not what I meant. Quick, get in.’ The noise of the rescue could bring Randall running.

  Jasmine joined Tess in the truck and slipped into a pair of denims, while Tess checked over her shoulder and got the truck moving.

  There was no way she was going to lead Jasmine all the way back through the old water works when a much closer exit beckoned. She reversed at speed into the corroded roller shutter, punching their way to freedom.

  Tess would have preferred to drive them both back to the Mustang, but the road went in the wrong direction. If she’d had only Jasmine’s welfare to worry about then she’d have taken it, but there were Pinky and the other girls, and most importantly of all, Po. She’d been so engaged in the hunt for Jasmine that she’d put the welfare of her lover to the back of her mind, but now she’d saved Jasmine, her concern for him avalanched through her.

  ‘OK, now get out. We have to run,’ she told Jasmine, who was still shocked by the way she’d been catapulted backwards from the factory into the middle of a storm.

  Jasmine climbed out, started pulling on a T-shirt. She was soaked within seconds, her dark hair hanging loose around her face, but even one layer of clothing made her look less vulnerable.

  Tess was about to join her, but if Randall had heard their dramatic escape and came running, she didn’t want to leave behind anything he could use to aid his own escape. She rammed the truck into gear, released the brake and then jumped from the open door. The truck barrelled through the metal curtain it had so recently torn to pieces. Tess heard a satisfying splash as it went into the nearest scum-filled trench.

  Jasmine was still barefoot, but she didn’t care. When Tess urged her up the overgrown path alongside the derelict buildings, she ran exactly as one who’d dreamed to do so for too long. Tess jogged after her.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Sudden death didn’t come to Elsa as she’d hoped. No massive coronary, or embolism to the brain, to save her from prolonged suffering. Dripping blood from his torn chin and throat, the monster knelt on her stomach, grinding her so hard she felt her innards were about to erupt from her orifices. His fingers dug at her face and throat as he repeatedly slammed the back of her skull into the ground. Starburst flashes scorched through her mind with each smack against the floor, but each time she remained cognizant and prone to further agony. Her strength had failed her, and she could do nothing to save herself except paw at him with her fingers, ineffectively.

  After all the effort she’d put into fighting back and escaping, there was nothing left in her. No, that couldn’t be true. Because lucidity was both a curse and a splinter of hope as he finally rose from her, and stood touching the freshest wounds on his face. Elsa lay still, feigning unconsciousness, and she was gratified to hear him moan as he traced the edges of her bite mark.

  Where there’s a will there’s a way, Elsa thought. It was one of those old sayings that rolled glibly off people’s tongues, and she was certain she’d used it in the past when referring to trivial problem-solving, but now she held on to the thought.

  Unlike the brutish monster she’d once fancied he was, he wasn’t unstoppable. He could be hurt, and not only through physical retaliation.

  She snapped open her eyes and stared up at him.

  His one good eye twitched as he returned the look.

  ‘You thought you were ugly before? Think again, mister,’ she said, and laughter bubbled from her.

  Her burping giggles stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘Look at you! You’re so fucking pathetic!’ Her giggles grew stronger, uncontainable. ‘Not only can’t you get a girl like a normal man’ – she guffawed – ‘you can’t handle them when you take them by force. How freakin’ ridiculous is that?’

  He shook with rage, but there was also indecision – maybe even trepidation – in the stoop of his shoulders and the way his bottom lip trembled.

  ‘You’ve beaten the crap out of me,’ Elsa crowed, ‘but what exactly have you achieved? Nothing, that’s what! A big fat fucking zero … just like you are!’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Shut up yourself. I’m sick of listening to your whining voice!’

  Elsa pushed up on her elbows.

  ‘Don’t move or …’

  ‘Or what? You’ll hit me again? Ha! Like I’m afraid of you?’

  ‘Bitch!’

  ‘So now it’s name-calling? Don’t make me laugh, you momma’s boy.’

  ‘Shut up!’ he bellowed, but he didn’t advance. He stood bent at the waist, his fingers flexing in and out.

  Elsa sat, drawing in her chain. Her manic laughter had faded, but not her disdain. ‘Oh! So momma didn’t like you either? That’s why you have to hurt girls, right? ’Cause your momma didn’t love you enough?’

  He swung away from her, clubbing his knuckles into the wall. A depression was left in the crumbling boards. ‘Shut up, shut up, shuuuutttuuuuppp!’

  ‘And if I don’t, what the hell are you going to do? Whisper me to death?’

  When he rounded on her again, his teeth clenched, his deformed lips twisted in an agonized snarl, Elsa stood.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ she warned him.

  His hair squirmed over his scalp as he tried to comprehend her command.

  Before he could react further a boom went through the corridor, and Elsa could have sworn the ground shifted underfoot.

  The man glanced back the way they’d just come from.

  He looked back at Elsa, and she recognized fear in his gaze now. He must have realized that he had lost control not only of Elsa, but of everything. He took a step towards her, but flinched, and looked back again. There was a roaring sound that Elsa recognized as a straining engine. Another rumble shook the corridor.

  ‘Ha!’ said Elsa. ‘It sounds as if your favourite girl just got away. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand aside and let me go too.’

  He was caught by indecision – grab Elsa and finish her, or rush back and check on Jasmine?

  Elsa took a surreptitious step backwards.

  The engine roared again, and moments later there was a metallic shriek, the rending of metal. The man started towards the source of the rac
ket, and Elsa tensed to run. He spun around and aimed a finger at her. ‘No! You’re coming with me.’

  Ordinarily she would have spun on her heel and run for it as she’d hoped to seconds before. But if she was correct and help had arrived, she should run towards it not away. She feigned acceptance, and held up the length of chain to him. After a brief pause, he reached for the proffered chain. She let it drop. Air snapped from him in annoyance and he grabbed for the trailing chain. It was the moment she’d been waiting for: she dodged past him, and ran shrieking down the corridor towards the cavernous room they’d come from. With a bellow, the man hurtled after her, again trying to stamp on the trailing chain, but missing.

  Elsa slapped through the plastic curtain and was again on the raised platform. Daylight flooded through the hole in the roller shutter. She thought she spotted movement, and hoped it was Jasmine running for her life. But in the next second the old truck hurtled back inside, and almost somersaulted into one of the deep pits. Scummy water gouted over it, but it didn’t fully submerge, stopped by a sunken vehicle beneath.

  The yawning hole in the shutter beckoned her, and Elsa started for it. To her left the man burst through the plastic curtain, and he stopped momentarily, stunned by what he saw. His gaze slipped from the hole, to his wrecked truck, to where a gap had been punched into the room where he’d confined Jasmine.

  Elsa couldn’t go for the stairs down. He would easily cut her off, so she vaulted off the platform and landed on the broken trestle she’d earlier demolished. Her legs were so weak they gave under her, and she spilled over the pieces, earning another graze when a broken end jabbed her ribs. Her pursuer charged down the steps, but she was unsure if he was coming for her or Jasmine. She scrambled up, and hobbled away. She was jerked to a halt: the trailing length of chain was wedged in the broken trestle. No! Not now! She yanked her wrists, but the hold on the chain was resolute. The man turned towards her. He glanced at the bolthole in the shutter, then at her and his mouth turned up in a facsimile of a smile when he spotted her bad luck. He began edging round, to block her escape route, watching as she strained to loosen herself. He stooped and picked up a leg from the broken table, wielding it like an ogre in one of those dark fantasies she used to picture. This time he was determined to smash in her skull.