Dark Games:

by Taylor Leon

  Vincent was the only connection to all the targets. At first the murders would appear random, but if the police ever did get close, then he would find a way of pointing them in Hargreaves’s direction. After all, he’d known Elias James and had worked with a couple of the same girls. More importantly, his computer was now and forever linked to all their profiles.

  He was living on borrowed time, he could keel over and die any moment. He had needed to set a time limit to be sure it was all done before he croaked. So, he invented The Game, and made himself THE GAMES-MASTER.

  Everything had worked almost perfectly. Targets one to five had been eliminated. Yes, he had had to step in and dispose of BABYFACE, but that had been a sideshow. He’d formed a separate relationship with THE CHAMELEON because she was a crime reporter and getting her to set Hargreaves up had been a doddle. Things had worked out so well that he’d had no qualms about adding Erin Dark to the hit list. After all, he needed to settle the draw between FRIGHT-NIGHT and THE CHAMELEON.

  That last thought brought him out of his reverie and back to the here and now.

  FRIGHT-NIGHT should have arrived. The fact he hadn’t slightly bothered Vincent, but only slightly because whatever happened, this all ended tonight.

  He bent over and gave Louise a final kiss on the forehead. He had put her to sleep so she wouldn’t feel any pain when the time came.

  BOOM! And then that it would all be over.

  Whether he or FRIGHT-NIGHT completed the final task, Keith Hargreaves would be released from jail tomorrow as a widower, his boys would be motherless children, and he, Vincent Vaughan-Jones, would be with his love for all eternity.

  There was a noise downstairs.

  Was that FRIGHT-NIGHT?

  Or someone else?

  He held his gun tightly as he descended the stairs into the darkness.

  There…he heard it again.

  It came from the dining room at the back of the house, where glass doors led out into the garden.

  He pushed the internal door open and flicked on the light.

  He saw a frumpy middle-aged woman first, coming in from the garden.

  Then behind her, Detective Dark, aiming a gun at him.

  No! No! No! How could this be happening when he was so close to the end?

  He held up his own weapon. ‘Don’t move,’ he warned them.

  ‘Where is Louise?’ The detective said.

  ‘Turn and run,’ he snarled.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ she said calmly, ‘and take me to Louise.’

  His mind was in a state of confusion. He couldn’t think where FRIGHT-NIGHT was, why Detective Dark was still alive, and how she had made it here.

  But now wasn’t the time for questions.

  He took aim and fired.

  53

  IT WAS UNFORGIVABLE. I could have got us both killed. I just never imagined Vincent would have a gun.

  I’d re-loaded the Taser after I left the fairground, but I couldn’t fire it now because Moira was in the way, charging towards Vincent before his finger could pull the trigger. For someone as unwell as he was, he reacted fast, swinging Moira away from him and then bolting out of the room.

  ‘You okay?’ I said as I ran past her.

  ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ she muttered, following me out into the darkened hallway.

  We could see his shadow racing up the stairs. If Louise was up there then I could only hope Bella had got to her first through the upstairs window, whilst we had caused the diversion down here.

  Moira was a blur, reaching the stop of the stairs one step behind him. He swung round, surprised that she had made it up so quickly, but then gave her a hefty push back down the stairs. Coming up in the opposite direction, I was able to shorten her fall.

  I gripped the bannister and pulled myself past her as Vincent moved into the bedroom on the right-hand side. I heard him cry out as he entered, and when I reached the top of the stairs I saw why.

  Bella had got inside, undetected. Now she was on the far side of the room, lifting an unconscious Louise Hargreaves off the double-bed.

  Vincent lifted his weapon to shoot, but Bella, still holding Louise under her right arm, suddenly ducked down. When she rose, she tipped the bed up with her other hand and dropped down behind it as it toppled and crashed against the back wall, creating a protective barrier between them and Vincent.

  I had my Taser on him. ‘Put down your weapon, Vincent,’ I said. ‘It’s over.’

  He held the gun by his side and turned to face me, all flushed and sweaty. He was a sick man, hardly fit enough to put up a fight like this.

  ‘Tell Louise, I’ve always loved her,’ he said, and I noticed tears forming in his eyes.

  ‘The gun,’ I said. ‘Put it down, please.’

  ‘He took her from me, you know.’

  ‘Who’s he? Keith Hargreaves?’

  ‘Arrrrghh!’ he yelled, ‘Don’t even say that name!’

  I held up my free hand, motioning him to calm down.

  ‘She was the only one I ever loved,’ he continued, and his voice was breaking with emotion. ‘She wasn’t like the others.’

  ‘Who were the others, Vincent?’ I asked softly.

  He tried to force a smile, but failed. ‘You know who,’ he said. ‘Melissa, Jennifer, Amy, Oriane.’

  ‘So, you had them all killed?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and now his voice rose, almost sounding triumphant. ‘Them and that sick bastard, Elias James. All of them killed by my wonderful employees.’

  ‘What was the point of the game, why not get one person to kill them all?’

  ‘Because if I spread the tasks amongst three of them then they would be completed quicker and time was of the essence.’

  ‘Because you are dying?’

  He tilted his head. His hand was visibly shaking now and I thought he might fire that gun at any moment.

  ‘I should have been dead a year ago.’ He laughed. ‘I defied the odds.’

  ‘And you framed Keith Hargreaves out of spite?’

  He shrugged. ‘It was an insurance policy in case I needed to buy myself time during the game. I stayed here to recover after some treatment and set up social media accounts under his real name and linked them to the targets.’

  ‘And then you made me a target?’

  He smiled at that. ‘That was for breaking into the PLAYTIME program. I thought that was impossible. How did you manage it?’

  ‘I have a good team.’

  He pondered that for a moment. ‘I thought I did too. But you’re here and they are not. You could still win the million pounds for yourself, you know?’

  ‘Put the gun down Vincent.’

  ‘Don’t you want to play?’

  ‘There’s no prize money, we both know that.’

  He lowered his weapon. ‘You’re right,’ he sighed, ‘the prize money doesn’t exist.’

  I frowned. ‘So, what was going to happen after the winner killed Louise Hargreaves and then found out there was no reward?’

  ‘This,’ he said.

  He turned the gun under his chin, pressed up hard and pulled the trigger.

  Part Four

  A CASE OF THE MISSING

  54

  THE PHONE DIDN’T wake me, because I hadn’t slept.

  I took the call, lying on top of my covers still fully dressed, with Sampson by my side.

  Then, the usual morning routine. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, catching myself in the mirror as I wiped myself dry. My hair needed a good wash and there were heavy bags under my eyes. I couldn’t be seen like this.

  I washed my hair, and spent longer than usual on my make-up, determined to hide the creases that had sprung up on my face overnight. A glass of orange juice and then I took Sampson for a quick walk.

  The call from Cade had been urgent, but I didn’t want to get there yet.

  I didn’t want to get there at all.

  No sirens, and no rush. I drove at a
regular speed the whole way.

  The road had been cordoned off, and the entrance to the Hargreaves’s long drive had already attracted a small crowd of on-lookers. It was just a matter of time before we were hit by the tidal wave of news teams.

  I flashed an officer my badge and he waved my car through. Down the drive, I parked up behind Cade and walked over to the small gathering outside the front door.

  I couldn’t see Cade or Vranch, but Arnie was there and broke away when he saw me.

  ‘One dead body,’ he said. ‘Suicide. Vincent Vaughan-Jones.’

  ‘He worked for Keith Hargreaves. What’s he doing here?’ I tried to find the right tone between shock and over-dramatic. The key was to look and sound natural, and pretend I knew nothing.

  ‘He was a close friend of the family and made them dinner last night, although we now think he drugged them. When Mrs Hargreaves woke up, she found him dead inside her bedroom.’

  I looked past Arnie at the forensics team inside the hallway.

  ‘Any sign of intruders?’ I asked.

  Arnie shook his head. ‘Looks like a straight-forward suicide.’

  We’d worked quickly cleaning the place up, removing any trace of us. I hoped to God it all stood up against the forensic examination.

  ‘Does Keith Hargreaves know yet?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s just been told.’ He turned and faced the house. ‘I’ve just sent a team over to Vincent Vaughan-Jones’s house. What do you think they are going to find there?’

  ‘What are you expecting?’

  Arnie continued to stare at the busy scene in front us. ‘A lot more than we’re seeing right now.’

  I started towards the house when Arnie called me back. ‘I got a call ten minutes ago, there’s a dead body inside a fairground, just a couple of miles from here.’

  He showed me the postcode on his phone. ‘Let John and George clear up here because I want you to drive down there and meet Wills.’

  ‘Did you say they found one body?’ I asked him.

  ‘One body,’ Arnie said. ‘White male, stabbed in the neck.’

  One body? There should be two!

  I nodded mutely and then quickly backed away to the sanctuary of my car. Once inside I dialled up Frankie.

  ‘When you tidied up the fairground last night, how many bodies were there?’

  ‘Bodies, as in plural?’

  ‘Shit- I told Jessie there were two.’

  ‘I only saw one. The guy who took me. You knifed him in the neck, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ I said. ‘She did.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘There was another body next to his.’

  ‘No,’ Frankie said. ‘There wasn’t. I was still a little flaky after being drugged, but I’m telling you there was only one body there.’

  Cade was standing outside my car door and so I had to hang up on her. He and I had unfinished business from last night.

  My hands were shaking. Meredith was still out there.

  The window slid down.

  ‘I came by your place last night,’ Cade said. ‘You weren’t in.’

  ‘I was out,’ I said.

  ‘Dark by name, dark by nature,’ he said.

  I knew he was joking but nevertheless I felt very uncomfortable. He leaned in, and asked, ‘Were you deliberately hiding from me?’

  I swallowed hard. I really liked him. He knew that now as well. Yesterday evening proved it. But I looked around me, at what I did, the double life I was leading and the tight-rope I was walking. Victoria and Moira were right. It took a certain type of person to be able to lie and hide this from their loved ones.

  I wasn’t that type.

  ‘I’m sorry John,’ I said.

  He straightened up and looked away, over the roof of the car into the middle-distance.

  I waited for him to say something, to argue with me, fight with me, remind me he was transferring out.

  But instead he gently slapped the roof, turned and walked away.

  ‘Be seeing you,’ he said over his shoulder.

  Epilogue

  A HOUSE OF CARDS

  55

  EDGAR MANSARD HADN’T moved from his bed in three days. Victoria had sat dutifully by his side, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. It was all she could do for him now.

  Frankie, Jessie, Bella, Moira and I sat around the dining room table with our hot mugs of coffee, tea and hot chocolate. We had been taking it in turns to carry drinks and food into Victoria. She was refusing to come out of the room without Edgar.

  I suspected he would only leave the room one more time.

  Victoria had called us all to the cottage, so she could explain in person the significance of what would happen when Edgar passed away. How the witch-spirits, good and bad that he was holding in purgatory, would be set free. It was the bad ones heading this way we needed to worry about, until another Guardian was assigned to gather them back up inside a cell.

  She told them that I was a Watcher, evidenced by the fact that I could see Desiree in spirit form. She said when the bad spirits came back we needed to rally round and send them on their way. She didn’t tell us yet how we were supposed to do that. I guess that was for another day.

  There was no TV in the cottage, so we spent the rest of the day talking. Inevitably, we discussed the recent case. Vincent Vaughan Jones had left a note in his home to be read on his death in which he confessed to being THE GAMES-MASTER, and organising the murders of Melissa, Jennifer, Elias, Amy, Oriane. He also said he was going to spend eternity with Louise, although of course The Coven had saved her. Arnie and the team assumed he had just been unable to go through with it and kill Louise in the end, because she was his “one true love.”

  Vincent didn’t give away his killers’ real identities. We knew Marcus Simms already, and FRIGHT-NIGHT had now been identified as Gary MacKenzie. His murderer was still officially unknown. Meredith remained missing, and there was nothing I could do to officially draw attention to her. Jessie had done her research over the last couple of days, to complement the limited information I had. Meredith had resigned from her job by e-mail, paid the rent on her flat and bills to date, and then disappeared. There was no list of friends, and no relatives we knew of. Everyone thought her name was Meredith Jones, but it seemed that had been a fake identity. We hadn’t been able to find out yet who she really was, or anything about her background. That would have to come in time.

  We all slept badly that night. We let Moira have the spare room upstairs, and then Bella slept in Victoria’s bed, as she was staying in Edgar’s room. Frankie, Jessie and I slept on old inflatable mattresses we’d brought with us and laid out across the downstairs floor.

  Sampson found his usual spot at the bottom of the stairs. I was kept awake by the constant groans coming from Edgar’s room, each time thinking, this is it.

  As soon as the sun came up the next morning, I got up and took Sampson out for a walk. It was a beautiful chilly morning, the sun hovering in the clear sky tilted its rays across the mountains to my left.

  ‘Hello, Erin.’

  Desiree was standing right behind me. Sampson, who wasn’t fazed by her anymore, wagged his tail in recognition.

  I nodded towards the cottage. ‘I don’t think he has long left.’

  I heard a woman’s cry from inside the cottage.

  Victoria.

  ‘It is time,’ Desiree said, reached forward and gripped my hand.

  56

  ALAN GREGSON WAS pissed off. He had been ready to go home at a decent hour for a change. As one of the top bods in MI5 that was a very rare luxury. But then he’d got a call from upstairs, asking him to wait around.

  He’d shut his computer down and popped into the office next door to ask Bob Franklin if he’d had the laptop back from their IT boys.

  ‘You mean the one that Arnold’s girl handed to us?’ Bob said rhetorically, and he clicked on some emails. He took out the unlit cigar that always seemed to be clamp
ed between his lips. ‘They should be done with it in a couple of days.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I doubt it’s going to tell us much more than they indicated yesterday.’

  ‘Drax?’

  ‘It’s his program, for sure.’

  ‘You saw Arnold Shenker’s merry-men made that terminally ill suicide the crime-master?’

  ‘I think he called himself THE GAMES-MASTER.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Gregson said. ‘How does someone like that get involved with someone like Drax?’

  ‘If we ever find Drax,’ Bob said. ‘We’ll be sure to ask.’

  ‘Funny guy,’ Gregson said.

  ‘Have you spoken to Arnold?’

  ‘I try to avoid him.’

  ‘I thought you two might have made up, after what happened to his brother.’

  ‘Too much water under the bridge,’ Gregson said, then looked down at his phone as a text summoning him upstairs came through. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.

  As he headed towards the lifts he suddenly had an awful thought that maybe he was about to be given the chop. Wasn’t that what happened when you were suddenly summoned to a late-night meeting like this, with no agenda?

  He exited the lift on the third floor and followed the carpeted corridor round.

  Sir Charles Lowe’s secretary was at her desk and he gave her a brief smile as he strode past her desk.

  ‘He’s not in there,’ she called to him.

  He jerked back. ‘I thought-’

  ‘In there,’ and she pointed at a meeting room across the corridor.

  He frowned at her, crossed over, knocked on the door and went inside.

  Sir Charles Lowe, beautiful white hair, and smart three-piece striped navy suit was seated at the head of the meeting table. There were three men sitting with him.