‘Shhh. I’ve got a little something to make you feel better,’ he said, grabbing her arm. The syringe only had a small amount of brown liquid inside, but as soon as it entered her system, Nita felt like she was swimming with the evil shark. She couldn’t stop him now if she tried.
And she did try.
‘Noh,’ she muttered, flailing her arms in his direction. But he pinned her beneath him easily. He held her still with one arm, and used his other to pull down the zipper on his trousers. Nita tried to wiggle from his grasp but this made him angry. His hand around her throat made her gag, she couldn’t breathe. Her small hands grabbed at the hand round her throat, and even through the drug-induced haze, she felt searing pain as he pushed into her. Nita was seeing flecks of black in her vision; tears fell from her eyes as he pounded at her mercilessly. He grunted loudly, his hands squeezing her throat even tighter as he suddenly stilled and juddered with a cry.
Unable to fight the black spots any more, Nita sank into unconsciousness.
Chapter Five
3rd November, 2045 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland
As he opened the door to the room, he could hear her crying. That would stop soon, usually within the first couple of weeks the girls cried less. He would be glad when she did: he hated people crying. It always reminded him of her. The one he tried his best to forget when he was in this room. The one that had caused him all the pain he felt then, and still felt now. The one who made him do what he did.
He watched as the girl looked up, her face swollen and bruised with blood crusted down her chin and onto her neck. She held her left hand to her chest as she watched him warily, and he knew she was silently begging him to leave her alone.
He couldn’t though.
It was how it was. ‘C’est la vie,’ as his dearly departed mum used to say.
It was almost as if he had woken up one day a completely different person. One minute he had been normal, then the next he had been… this.
He had a compulsion to find out what made people tick, to help them become immune to the pain of life so they wouldn’t have to suffer like he had. So they wouldn’t have to make the choices he had to make.
Frowning, he realised the girl had defecated in the cage, and there was a strong smell of urine.
She would have to clean that up. He wouldn’t tolerate a dirty cage.
Unbolting the cage door, he reached inside and grabbed her spindly arm. The right one, not the left. She whimpered, but allowed him to pull her forward, and he heard the scrape of her backside on the bottom grate of the cage.
His thoughts wandered, and he didn’t take the care he should, startled as she let out an agonised scream. Glancing down he realised her injured foot had caught on the side of the cage. She turned to a lead weight in his arms, and he felt his back twinge in response as he struggled to hold onto her.
Half-dragging, half-lifting, he pulled her from the confines, and placed her into the chair. Her ankle was now bent at an odd angle: bent like that it would catch every time he needed to move her. Making sure she was unconscious, he pushed it back into place and methodically tied a bandage round to hold it in position. He felt it crunch under his fingers, and heard the fluid built up inside squelch.
Going to the workbench, he placed a few drops of antiseptic into a bowl and filled it with cold water. Turning the camera on, he turned to face her.
Taking great care, he said ‘It’s time to play,’ and proceeded to wash the dried blood from her face and neck before continuing. ‘Day five. Subject six passed out today. This is the fourth time a subject has fainted after catching the broken foot on the cage. It may be time to review my storage methods. She is still being resistant and vocal, though less today than on day three. Today I will give her pain relief, the next stage will occur after the weekend.’
He felt her start to stir as the cold cloth caressed her face, and slowly she opened her eyes. He watched as confusion turned to terror as she registered him close to her. ‘Shhh, it’s time to play,’ he soothed.
He felt an intense pain surge through his groin as the girl’s knee connected with as much force as she could muster. Belatedly, he realised he had forgotten the restraints.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he dropped to his knees, his hand cupping himself as he struggled to breathe through the melee of stars now invading his vision.
He felt more than saw the girl get off the chair and hop towards the door, and pushing his pain to one side, he leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her head backwards with a hard yank. She screamed as her weight adjusted and she landed on her bad ankle.
No longer gentle, he shoved her back into the chair and deftly applied the restraints.
What girl wants to escape playtime? Doesn’t she realise I’m trying to help her? She needs to be able to cope with the pain.
He was confused, he’d been nice. He’d been washing her face ever so gently when she’d come around. Now she would have to be punished.
As her eyes finally focussed on him, he said, ‘I don’t tolerate naughtiness. Escaping is naughty. Now you will have to be punished.’
He unclipped his belt buckle and pulled the leather free from his trousers. Seeing her eyes widen and her head shake, he understood what she thought. It was what she knew after all, all the girls in the brothel he’d got her from did.
But raping her wasn’t his intent.
Twisting the buckle end of the belt around his hand, he extended his arm and swung it round with force. The leather strap connected with her thigh with a resounding slap and she gasped loudly. He repeated the motion another four times, surprised that the most noise she made was a whimper.
That’s good, she’s learning to cope with it.
Finally, he removed her from the chair and put her back in the cage, putting a couple of sandwiches inside, along with a bottle of bleach and a cloth.
Happy she would be fine, at least for now, he locked the cage door and replaced his belt before leaving the room with a smile.
4th November, 0620 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland
He had just enough time for a quick check on her before he had to leave the house. Normally he would leave it longer, but there was a bad feeling burning in his stomach that no amount of Alka-Seltzer was settling.
He knew the minute he entered that something was wrong.
She wasn’t crying, and the smell of bleach was so powerful it almost overwhelmed him. Pulling the neck of his jumper over his mouth, he walked further into the room.
The girl was inside the cage, her red eyes open and glassy, obvious burn marks to her mouth and around her nose. Her head sat in a pool of vomit and her skin had blistered on her arm where it had been laid. The screw top from the bleach bottle was clutched inside her hand, and the bottle lay on its side next to her, obviously empty.
I can’t believe she did this. She’s a coward. After a week of teaching, I thought she was stronger than this.
As he made his way closer to her, he realised she had also managed to get a tool off the workbench. The screwdriver was tucked under her, the open wounds on her arm congealed with blood as it had seeped from her.
She was definitely determined. What a waste.
He didn’t understand. Why would anyone choose this option? He was teaching her how to deal with life, that it was painful but that she could become immune, and this was how she repaid him? By killing herself in his room, with his bleach?
Now he would have to clean up, find another girl, start from scratch. He sighed loudly. Why does everything I touch turn to shit?
He felt himself drift off in his mind, trying to remember when everything actually had turned to shit.
It had been years.
He barely even recalled the exact moment. Not anymore.
Slowly he hung his head, and just for a moment he muttered a quick prayer for the girl. However she had chosen to die, it probably would have been the end result anyway. He had helped her all he could.
He glance
d at the clock on the wall; he’d have to deal with the mess and the body later. For now, it was time to leave or he’d be late.
4th November, 0645 hours – Car park, Dive Team HQ, South Shields
‘Marlo, wait up,’ came Connor’s voice from behind her as she made her way towards the front entrance of the building.
For a moment she was tempted to just ignore him, but that wasn’t her style. Hopefully he’d pulled his head out of his arse now anyway. He’d been quiet as a mouse the day before during the training exercise, and had been gone by the time she made it back to the office from the nick in Sunderland.
She was already beginning to regret her decision to pop into the centre on her rest day to grab her kit bag. She’d left it there accidentally last night and it had her personal dry suit in, which she needed for the day’s dive. She’d fully expected to pop in without seeing another soul.
‘Connor,’ she greeted coolly, turning to acknowledge him. Immediately though, she felt guilty. The lad looked torn up and guilty as hell. Not one for prolonging torture, she added, ‘You OK? What’re you doing here today?’
‘Left my mobile last night. Thought I’d grab it before Bravo Team came in. Need it in case something happens to my mum. She’s erm… well, she’s not too good. You OK?’
Marlo noticed him falter when he mentioned his mum, but she didn’t ask about it. It was obviously something he wasn’t keen on talking about. ‘Am fine, just picking up my kitbag. I’m off up to the Farne Islands to do some diving. You ever been up there?’
‘Once, years ago. Listen, Marlo. About the other day –’
‘It’s fine, we all have bad days. Don’t worry about it.’ Apologies always made her uncomfortable, and she knew that’s where the conversation was headed. She held the door open for him and motioned him through.
‘OK, thanks,’ he nodded at her. ‘If you ever want a dive partner, I wouldn’t mind diving up that way. Heard the wrecks are amazing on a good day.’
‘There’s not much of them left to be honest. On a good day you can see a few joists and belly rails in the sediment, but it’s been a while since it’s been clear enough for good views. I’ll get my shot one day. You’re welcome to come next time I go if you like though.’
‘Great thanks, Marlo. And I really am sorry for snapping. I’ll see you Monday.’
She watched after him thoughtfully as he made his way up the stairs towards the locker room. He’s a funny soul that one, young in age, but he has old eyes.
Reading people was something she did well; she’d grown up having to be able to read the moods of others and understand things children shouldn’t need to know. Foster homes and care homes had a tendency to do that, you practically slept with one eye open. She knew Connor had been genuinely sorry, but she also knew he’d been hiding something. Hate it when people do that. Why can’t they just be honest and say what’s bugging them.
Her mind taunted her with its reply, ‘You should know. You do it.’
Guilt flashed over her: yes, she did hide things. Every day, in fact. Things no one on her team knew about. What right do I have to judge Connor when I hide something so awful? Jutting her chin outwards in defiance, she retrieved her kitbag from the wet room, got back into her car, and turned the music up loud.
Anything to drown out the screaming.
4th November, 0905 hours – detached house, outskirts of Hetton-Le-Hole
Elvie strained, her ear to the door, listening. She had heard voices outside her room a few minutes before and wondered what was going on.
Suddenly the key turned in the lock, and she leapt backwards to the bed, curling her knees to her chest as the woman entered.
Elvie sat silently. She knew the woman was from her home land, could tell by looking at her. The man who had kicked her was there also, following the woman inside. The other driver was there too, his face looking shameful as he glanced up at her and shuffled on his feet.
‘She needs to be taken to Wear Street. Rocko has man there wanting to pay for this one. He pay much. He come at ten o’clock. She must be there before then and she must remain pure.’ The woman sidled a hateful glance at the man who had kicked Elvie.
The woman walked to the bed and sat down beside Elvie, not suspecting for one moment that the girl had understood every word she had said. Reverting to Filipino now, she spoke to Elvie. ‘Shhh, child, it’s OK. These men will take you to your new home. You will meet your husband there. He will teach you to be a woman and take care of you.’
Elvie knew a response was required, and she knew there was no way in hell she was going home with a man to be his wife. She was only fifteen; even at home it wouldn’t be forced on her like this. But this woman couldn’t know that Elvie knew what she’d said to the men. Forcing tears to her eyes, she nodded slowly at the woman. ‘But why must I go, I want to stay here? This room is bigger than my whole house was at home. Can’t you look after me?’
‘No, child. But you will be fine, I will check on you soon.’
As the woman stood to leave, Elvie heard one of the men snigger. They didn’t have a clue what the woman had said, that much was obvious. But they knew it was a lie.
Wherever they were going to take Elvie, it wasn’t going to be a good place. Suddenly she remembered that they’d mentioned the street before; it was where they had taken Nita. She would get to see her friend again. Nita would help her. She just knew she would.
Chapter Six
4th November, 0840 hours – Connor’s parent’s residence, Sunderland
Connor had been sitting in the car for almost half an hour. He’d purposely parked behind the hedge that surrounded his parent’s property so he could take a minute to prepare himself. But the minute had turned into more before he even realised.
He loved his parents, he really did. And he felt so guilty over what his mum was going through that it tore him apart at times.
Like today.
He sat in the car not wanting to go in and face his mother, or his dad for that matter. His dad had called him half an hour ago. I can’t even spend an hour in the gym without interruption. This sucks. Why won’t Dad just let me put her in a home? I’d choose a nice one, she’d be way better off. Hell, I’d be better off.
Frowning, he realised how selfish he sounded. His mother had carried him, cared for him and raised him into a good man, despite the family trying to intervene. Who was he not to want to care for her now she needed it. But she would be better off; that’s not selfish if it’s true.
Shaking his head he pulled the car key from the ignition. He’d been battling with himself over this for months now and half an hour in the car wasn’t going to make it any clearer, or easier. Sighing, he got out of the car and carefully shut the door, knowing if he didn’t concentrate on it, then his mood would cause him to slam it out of frustration.
When he entered the house, all seemed calm. There was no screaming, no shouting. Just peaceful quiet.
His suspicions instantly aroused, he yelled out, ‘Dad? I’m here.’
The kitchen was empty so he made his way upstairs.
This is weird; he called me cos she was kicking off. Doesn’t sound like she’s kicking off.
He thought he heard something and cocked his head to one side, listening. Eventually the sound came again, a whimper or soft cry. Focussing on the sound, he made his way towards the bathroom.
‘Dad? Mum?’ he said when he reached the door. He heard the sound again, but this time it sounded more like a groan than a whimper. Reaching for the handle, he twisted it and pushed the door open, not quite knowing what to expect.
His father was lying on the floor by the bath, a towel draped over his shoulder and a large cut and bruise to the side of the head.
‘Shit. Dad? Are you OK?’ His first aid training kicked in and he checked his dad’s vitals while pulling his mobile phone from his pocket and dialling 999.
‘Ambulance please, 41 Wainwright Grove, Sunderland. Adult male with suspected head injury, bre
athing but not conscious.’ Connor hit the loud speaker button and put the phone down beside him.
It must have been a relatively quiet day, as the ambulance arrived within minutes, by which time his dad had started coming around. The crew took him to the hospital, but Connor had to stay at the house, he had bigger problems. Where the hell is Mum?
His dad had babbled about his mum hitting him over the head with a vase before the ambulance crew had arrived, and stoically remained silent whilst the crew asked him the relevant questions. The only thing he told them was that he’d slipped on the bathroom floor.
Connor did a quick house search, room by room. He was sure she wasn’t inside. He made his way out into the rear garden. The large shed at the bottom was locked, and she wasn’t seated on the decked section.
Why didn’t I just get out of the car? Instead of sitting there like some kind of loser while my mum hits my dad then runs off. I’m such a bloody coward.
A noise sounded from inside the house, and turning he ran back inside.
‘Mum,’ he yelled loudly, ‘You here?’
He pushed open the kitchen door and made his way into the hall, then paused, his mouth dropping open slightly.
His mum stood before him, wearing only her nightie, and next to her stood a cop.
‘Mum,’ he said, making his way towards her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Where’s my son? He’s a police man you know. He’ll arrest you both for being in my house without permission.’ Her voice sounded shaky, scared even.
Connor walked until he was right in front of her, ‘Mum, it’s me, Connor. You remember me, right?’
Narrowing her eyes at him, she screamed in his face. ‘You’re not my boy, you’re not my boy…’ She reached out her hand and went to slap him, but the police officer beside her caught her wrist and stopped the motion.
Connor knew he must look desperate. I don’t even know what to do now. This is ridiculous.
Time to Play (North East Police) Page 5
