Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller (25 page)

32

‘If you want to live stay down,’ she
said.

His panting breath was
making it hot and damp and difficult to breathe behind the mask. He clutched
between his legs not daring to move and cursed himself for getting into this
situation. The pain was incredible and he could feel whatever it was she used
to attack him with was still lodged inside him.

If you want to live stay down.

The wounds she inflicted
weren’t fatal but he couldn’t move, there was no escape; the police would be
here soon and it was time to accept that this was the end of the road.

The idea of spending the
rest of his life behind bars brought back memories of his mother and Uncle
Derek and the things they did to him. He thought how his mother would threaten
him with castration if he didn’t do as she said and it had become one of the
things he dreaded most. Now this woman next to him had done exactly that and it
was as if it was always going to happen. Had the dark angels orchestrated it?
He could tell she had damaged him beyond repair and he would love to finish her
off but surely she didn’t have long left.

He had should never have
taken her too, he should have been content with the one he already had but he
had become overconfident, it was one of the things he had always tried to
avoid, as he knew it could easily lead to his downfall. And now it had, a rash
split second decision had got the better of him.

He never expected her to
put up any kind of fight after he had hunted and attacked her but she had been
full of surprises. He had been right when he thought she would be a fighter and
she had fought harder than he ever could have imagined. She had taken him down
and he never saw it coming.

Had he failed the dark
angels? He didn’t think so, they were constantly on his mind and everything he
did was almost as much for them as it was for him;
even
the mask he wore was a homage to them.

He had made mistakes; he
knew he should never have allowed the black girl to get the better of him, but
he refused to believe the dark angels would subject him to his greatest fear
and desert him; leaving him bleeding on the floor and awaiting capture. Surely
this wasn’t the case, not after all he had done for them.

Once captured the truth
would come out and he suddenly felt an emotion that had eluded him his entire
life: guilt. The only people that had ever been kind to him were his foster
parents, and they only wanted to look after him and love him.

What would they think
when they found out who he really was and what he had done?

They still lived in the
same house – got a new dog too, the old one was on its last legs even
when he was a kid.

He had followed them many
times on their evening forays in the woods, Rupert and June James, their dog
Chester and their blanket. They let him watch. Did they know it was him? He
very much doubted it, he was careful to always keep his face covered. He had
given her his most prized possession as a way of thanking them for saving him
from the home for fucked up kids, looking after him and protecting him. He
slipped Angela Baily’s tooth into June’s jacket pocket when they weren’t
looking. Had she understood the value of the gift? He hoped so.

When he left home he
never went back and never contacted them again, he had his own agenda and now
that was soon to be even more newsworthy than his mother’s story.

If he could tell them
anything he would want to let them know that it wasn’t their fault, they did
the best they could with what they had. He was broken beyond repair well before
they brought him into their lives.

He
doubted anyone would understand the things he had done; only he knew what it
was like to be a god.

The
copper had untied the other one; Sylvia, and sent her to fetch help. It would
be over soon but he knew he could spend many a long hour reliving what he had
done and the sensation of feeling like a god as he watched them cry before
taking their final breath. When he saw them at the church and chose who would
be next, their lives were in his hands as the emotion literally poured from
them. Such power he had; no wonder he felt like a god.

On
the day he chose Sylvia he watched them grieve. The tears ran rivers and into
damp tissues they flowed.
Some caught his eye but none excited him. A fat girl sobbing,
trying to cover her eyes, how old was she, eighteen, twenty? Who had she lost
brother, sister, father, friend?

When
he saw the tall, middle-aged woman whose elegance radiated from the crowd he
knew he wanted her. People gathered around her giving kind words and comfort,
and while they made their touching gestures of friendship and love he looked at
her legs and how they were wrapped in thin black tights, her shoes were conservative
but what of the treasures they held. He noticed her slender fingers and painted
nails as she dabbed her sore eyes and the familiar feelings of rage built
inside him. He wanted to see her naked, he wanted to see her without skin.

He
had the power to get what he wanted.

He
followed her from the churchyard to the wake, it was a small affair at a local
pub and he waited outside until people began to leave. When she came out she
was among the last to go, he watched the final hugs as the closest to her said
goodbye and caught her name:
‘Goodbye
Sylvia.’

He
whispered it to himself. ‘Sylvia.’

He
followed her home and watched her enter the silent house, the door snapped shut
behind her. She was so alone now.

He
had all the information he needed; all that remained was to study her routine
and to pay her a visit in the dead of night.

He
looked at the earthy ceiling of the labyrinth. The mask was damp with the
moisture from his sweat and breath and it clung to his face like a death
shroud. It was the end of the road. The authorities would be here soon.

The
dark angels would be waiting for him when he died, he was sure of it, just as
he was sure he had done enough in their honour for them to accept him as one of
their own. It was what he had always wanted; to be with them, to be one of
them, for the dark angels to hold him in their arms and swallow his soul.

But
he needed to die and only one person could help him now.

33

Simone lay on the floor and tried to
stay awake but she was so cold and so tired it was becoming impossible. The man
beside her whispered, ‘Kill me,’ between desperate gasps and she would have
loved to have obliged but it was he who had killed her and she was slipping
away.

She heard him move beside her, he
grunted with the effort and began to drag himself across the floor. She hoped
he was just trying to escape because she knew she wouldn’t be able to do
anything if he was coming for her; if she moved to protect herself she would
die.

He moved again and she had to know
what he was doing so she tried to turn her head towards him but it was so
heavy, it felt like a cannon ball on a neck of watery muscle.

She could hear his breathing getting
louder; closer, and could tell he wasn’t trying to escape, he was edging
towards her. She was so tired and knew she couldn’t hang on much longer but
somehow managed to move her head just enough to see where he was.

She struggled to focus but managed to
recognise his outstretched, bloodied hand was only inches from her face and was
just in time to see him snatch at her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and
started to pull her towards him. She was defenceless and struggled to keep her
arms in place, knowing that any movement would cause whatever blood remained in
her body to drain into the dirt.

He let go of her hair and she felt
his hand slide across her face and onto her chest. At first she couldn’t
understand what he was doing when he touched her breast but then she realised
he was going for the knife that was still clutched in her hand. If he pulled at
it he would tear her arms away from her stomach and open her wounds.

She held on as tightly as she could
while his fingers probed her arms, trying to locate the knife. His fingers
pushed through the crusts and the jelly of congealed matter as they searched
for the knife and she could hear his breathing; heavy and desperate but she
could also hear more sounds that were harder to locate.

Death was staring her in the face but
the sounds were becoming more distinct now and she could identify it as
movement from somewhere inside the tunnels.

She heard shouting and the thunder of
many feet but the sounds were distant and confusing.

His probing fingers were becoming
more desperate now but room was filling with shadows and movement and she knew
they were here.

She felt his hand pulled away and
heard the distant ratchet of handcuffs snapping shut.

Help was here and the thought of
being safe and warm was so comforting Simone finally began to slip away, her
eyelids fluttered and the misting darkness began to swallow her. She felt like
she was sliding into a vast cold ocean and was sure she heard Nathan say, ‘Stay
with me Simone. Stay with me.’

A hand softly lifted the back of her
head and she could feel the warmth of the touch though her hair. ‘Simone, it’s
Nathan, you’re going to be okay just hang in there.’

Nathan. He’s here, she thought, and
he’ll be with me at the end. A feeling of relief washed over her, not because
she believed she was now safe but because she was no longer alone. She had been
hanging on for so long but the efforts to stay awake and to stay alive had used
every reserve she had and now Nathan was here it was time to let go.

‘Stay with me,’ he repeated.

‘I’d love to,’ she replied but as she
sank further away from him she wasn’t sure if she had actually spoken the words
or simply imagined them.

34

Simone’s body pulsed with pain. And the
pulse was accompanied by a repeated bleep.

Bleep – bleep – bleep –

It was dark and she listened to the
bleeping noise and felt the pulse of pain over and over. They came in perfect
unison and it was a sensation to behold.

Bleep – bleep – bleep -

She lay in the sanctuary of darkness
and it felt safe and warm but that pulse of pain was disturbing her peace. She
tried to ignore it but it stayed with her, twinned with her heartbeat –
connected somehow. Every heartbeat was accompanied by that single pulse of pain
and every pulse of pain was accompanied by a rhythmic bleep.

Bleep – bleep – bleep -

She concentrated on it and used the
pulse like sonar to map her body in the darkness. Emitting from her chest and
out to her extremities in throbbing waves she used the pulse as tool for
sensory exploration to feel her hands, her arms, her legs, her torso and face.
As she assessed the differing degrees of pain emanating from her many injuries
a realisation reared from the murky depths of confusion. If she could feel pain
she must be alive. Alive!

Bleep – bleep – bleep –

She swallowed and felt something
smooth in the back of her throat.

Bleep – bleep – bleep -

When her eyes opened it wasn’t a
conscious decision, and as her eyelids pulled apart she could feel gummy matter
separating and she was confronted with nothing but blurry whiteness. She
blinked her sticky lids and her vision slowly began to clear. There were tubes
everywhere and they were all coming out of her.

Bleep – bleep – bleep -

She wanted to rub her eyes but when
she tried to move her arms she could only lift them into her line of sight and
she could see that they were wrapped in bandages as thick as oven gloves.

Her movement caused a nearby shadow
to move and come quickly towards her. When it came into focus she saw it was
Nathan. He snatched at something close by and clicked it repeatedly. His face
came into view and he looked down at her like an angel. He kissed her forehead
so gently she barely felt it. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be okay Sim.
You’re going to be okay.’

Then there was movement from the
other side of the room and activity all around her. People were asking
questions, they sounded kind and yet strangely serious but she felt sleepy and
struggled to answer. She tried to stay awake but it was futile, she was safe
now and she allowed herself to drift away from the reassuring bleep, the pulse
of pain, and the image of the only man she ever truly loved.

She liked it when he called her Sim.

Walk Through Fire:

Nathan watched the lad come out of the
house and hurriedly fix the magnetic L-plates into position on the family car
before darting back inside.

Nathan was breaking the rules; rules
laid down by Martin outside the church just under a year ago. When Nathan
thought about it, it reminded him of a scene from a western - This town ain't
big enough for the both of us ol' hoss. Nathan had done as he was told and kept
away but now he was back. He just needed to see something and then he would be
on his way.

Nathan sat in his beaten up, mark one
Ford Fiesta, his first car and one he’d picked up for less than five hundred
quid. He was a good distance from the house and he sipped from a can of Coke
while he waited for the lad to reappear. Nathan guessed the boy was a couple of
years younger than himself and when he came back out he was followed by his
mother who looked the car over while he paced up and down the driveway with the
typical impatience of a teenager waiting for a driving lesson.

When the front door opened again
Nathan saw what he was really waiting for. The man called to his son and tossed
him the car keys and in the blink of an eye, the lad snatched them from the air
and let himself into the driver’s side of the car and started the engine. His
mother shouted a word of warning to him and told him to wait. She went to the
man at the door and kissed him. He put his free hand around her waist, the
other held tightly to the walking stick that held his weight. She said goodbye
to the man of the house. Husband, father and ex-fireman, survivor of the fire
at Home Farm that left him in a six-week coma fighting for his life in
hospital.

Nathan had followed the fire fighter’s
progress from afar waiting for the news that he was out of the coma and on the
road to recovery. He was hailed as a local hero and following his progress
wasn't too hard, even from miles away. The fire-fighter was called Barry Smith
and his recovery had become more of a story than the fire itself. This was of
course bad news for Nathan as the more high profile the case the greater the
pressure became to catch the deviant that committed the crime.

To see Barry Smith, alive and well
and with his family brought a lump to Nathan’s throat, and as he watched the
man he nearly killed wave goodbye to his wife and son Nathan felt guilt and
relief in equal measure. Barry watched them drive away and limped inside the
house.

Nathan started the engine. He had
seen what he came for and now it was time to leave but there was one more thing
to do. It was small and pointless but he couldn't help himself. He drove past
Simone's house just to see if he could catch a glimpse of her leaving the house
or standing in the window, but of course she wasn't there and all he saw as he
slowly passed was just bricks and mortar.