Even as she’d shook her head at her gran, tears welling up in her eyes, her gran had passed. Leaving her behind, all alone in a community that should have been looking out for her and keeping her safe, but that suddenly felt like a very dangerous place. She’d waited until after the funeral, unable to bear leaving before then, but she’d heard rumours that as soon as her gran was laid to rest, Duke would be bringing forward their pre-arranged wedding.
Leaving had been the best thing she could have done. It had done what her gran wanted, it allowed her to be the person she was born to be, and not some broken, deformed piece of that person under Duke’s control. The money her gran had left her had been substantial – enough for her to obtain a fake ID and rent a flat back then, and later it was enough to put the deposit down on the flat she lived in now.
Despite the rain that was still falling steadily, Toni sank to her knees on top of her gran’s grave.
‘Hi, Gran, it’s me. I needed to see you today. You wouldn’t believe all the things that have happened…’
Toni poured everything out, and when she’d finished she leaned forward and place her forehead on the wet ground.
‘I love you, Gran. I miss you every day. Please guide me. What am I supposed to do?’
Hairs suddenly prickled on the back of her neck, and she shifted, uncomfortable in the presence of something, or someone. She wiped her eyes, only now realising she’d been crying. Listening to the sudden warning of danger being near, even though she couldn’t see anything, she got to her feet and started walking quickly towards her car.
18th December, 1400 hours – Dalry Cemetery
Duke stood in the tree line behind her, close enough to observe her but far enough away that he couldn’t hear what Toni said. He wished he could get closer, but he knew if he did she’d become aware of his presence. Seeing her rise to her feet, he slunk further into the copse so that he wouldn’t be seen, and he wondered what she’d been saying.
He knew she wouldn’t come back willingly, but she would come back. He would see to it. Seeing her today was a stroke of luck. Or kismet, his mum would call it.
He knew he needed a plan. He would have her in his bed if it killed him.
Chapter 9
18th December, 1500 hours – abandoned abattoir, Leith, Edinburgh
He’d been coming to this place now for several years, navigating past the fence surrounding the exterior. The fence that had signs saying ‘Do Not Enter, Building Unsafe’. It had stood empty for as long as he could remember.
The floors were covered in dust and pigeon shit and it smelled sour and rancid. Occasionally the scratch of rat claws could be heard as they moved easily around the interior.
Back in its glory days it had been a flourishing abattoir, and there was still a lot of debris left behind from those days. Rusty chains swung from joists hooked to the ceilings, troughs were laid alongside the gutters – originally used for draining blood from the dead animals before they went to market. Even meat hooks remained – attached to some of the rusty chains, now black in colour from years of decay.
In one of the rooms off the main hanging section of the factory, he’d discovered several large knives. They’d been blunt and virtually stuck to the wooden work surface with all the muck and grime that had accrued in the twenty years since the abattoir had closed. It had broken his heart seeing precious knives left to rot like that, so he’d set about cleaning them. Now the knives were sharp and shiny. He’d installed hooks on the walls to lay them on. In fact, the whole of the back room now was spotlessly clean and smelled of bleach.
Over the years he’d used the knives several times – he felt attached to them. They’d been used to kill beasts originally: now he used them to kill whoever he felt deserved it.
None were as precious as the one he kept sheathed at his ankle, though – that knife was special. And he only used it on a select few. Soon, it would be used on the delectable Lee. He shuddered in anticipation then pulled himself from his reverie. That time wasn’t now. Now he had someone else to deal with.
The young man currently swinging in the centre of that back room was most definitely not worthy of placement in the vaults. He’d had some fun since forcing the man into his van – large welts covered his torso, his head hung to his chest and his eyes were swollen and bruised. If he didn’t know better, he’d have actually thought for a moment that the man was dead. He wasn’t though – injured definitely, passed out from being tortured and hung on a meat hook most definitely.
But absolutely, unequivocally not dead.
To prove the point to himself more than anything else, he punched the man hard in the stomach, eliciting a loud grunt and groan.
He really shouldn’t have been so rude in the nightclub: it was the lad’s own fault he was in this predicament.
Pausing, he filled a glass of water from the bottle on the side, took a small sip, and then threw the rest in the lad’s face as he swung in the centre of the room.
The man gasped, moving his face away from the cold blast of water, and causing himself to swing to and fro.
He knew that motion would have caused the meat hook to dig even harder into the lad’s back.
‘You need to learn to keep still. How am I supposed to have fun with you if you cause yourself pain and pass out again?’
‘Please…’ muttered the lad, his lips swollen and cracked. The result of a mix of freezing temperatures and being tortured.
‘Please what? Please let you go? Please don’t hurt you anymore? No chance. What I will do, though, is put you out of your misery. You’re boring me now. And you stink – no one ever tell you to take a shower? Or teach you what a toilet is? You’ve got dry piss and shit all over you.’
He chuckled softly at his humour – the lad couldn’t get off the hook if he tried. And taunting amused him.
‘Okay, it’s time. Any last words? Not that anyone will hear them of course. Except me. And I don’t really give a shit. But I’ll let you speak.’
‘Fuck… you…’
The lad’s voice was muffled, congealed blood in the back of his throat no doubt. But he got the meaning well enough.
He placed the large, shiny blade against the neck of the lad, standing well to the side so he didn’t get covered in blood, then drew the blade across sharply.
Just one slice was all that was needed. Blood burst from the young man’s throat, spurting for a while then easing to a slowing seep. His head lolled forward, his chin touching his chest, and within minutes, the light went out of his eyes.
He was glad he’d had the foresight to put a trough underneath the lad – most of the blood had ended up in there just like he’d planned. Whistling, he started his clean up. This lad was the fourth one he’d killed in this very room – there was something satisfying about stringing them up and watching them bleed out. It wasn’t quite the same level as satisfaction as doing them in the vaults, but it still dampened the need inside him a little.
He knew it wouldn’t be long before the blond Lee would be down there in the darkness, not the darkness of the abattoir but the utter black in the vaults. He shuddered in excitement, sure that Lee would try and fight. He loved it when they thought they could win.
This one never had that spark – supporting the weight of the corpse, he yanked the hook out of his back and unceremoniously threw the body into the wheelbarrow he had waiting. The wheel squeaked under the weight as he pushed it from the back room, through the main section of the abattoir where the animals had been hung, and out into the corridor to the rear. This led to an incinerator room – not that he ever fired the incinerator up, but it was a room set well out of the way, where he stored the food for the rats.
That’s all this lad was now – food for creatures with sharp teeth and an evil glint to their eyes.
He paused at the open doorway, knowing full well there was no floorboards left intact – just a deep, dark hole that went all the way down to the foundations. He hefted the wheelbarrow up, th
e dead body slipping from it with ease into the darkness that was all-encompassing. There was a thud as it hit the bottom, probably landing on one of his other feasts for the rats.
His whistling echoed now, loudly throughout the whole abattoir. The wheelbarrow squeaked again, though less forcefully now, as he made his way back to the small room. Grabbing the bleach and the five-litre water bottle, he set about cleaning.
There was something to be said for taking pride in one’s work.
18th December, 1520 hours – Edinburgh City Police Station
Mark drew in some deep breaths, trying to ease the wave of dizziness that was washing over him. He took a sip from the Diet Coke bottle that was perched on the edge of the desk next to him. All it did was force bile up from his throat and into his mouth and he gagged, spluttering and coughing, trying to maintain the weak hold he had on his late lunch of half a sandwich.
‘McKay – you look like shit. Go home. All this will still be here tomorrow.’ Mark hadn’t even noticed McPhee coming into the office.
‘I think I’ll take you up on that, boss, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘Go. Do I need to get someone to take you home? Perhaps via the hospital? You look as green as that plant on the windowsill.’ McPhee’s hand swept towards the window and Mark nearly hurled.
‘No, it’s okay, boss. Annie finishes in a bit, I’ll head downstairs and wait for her in the CSI office.’
‘No rushing back – last thing I need is to explain to professional standards why I let you work in the state you’re in. Rest up. If you need tomorrow off, just let me know.’
Mark waited until McPhee had left and then slowly got to his feet. He was definitely feeling ropey now – an early finish wouldn’t hurt. And seeing Ma won’t either. He knew already she’d be fussing over him as soon as she saw him. It was one of the things he loved about her. She never showed her worry – she always just seemed to make everything alright again. He did wish he wasn’t in the predicament that would cause her worry but that couldn’t be helped. It was that or not go, and he wouldn’t miss the family dinners for anything.
He found he had to grip the bannister on the stairs extra tightly on his way down to the CSI floor. Should’ve used the lift.
The crime scene investigation office was deserted – not even the supervisor was there. Figuring it wouldn’t be long until Annie returned from wherever she was, Mark sat at her desk, put his head on his arm and promptly fell asleep.
18th December, 1640 hours – Greendykes Road, Niddrie, Edinburgh
He’d been waiting for Lee now for some time, alternating between standing under the bus shelter and seeking shelter in his van. No one knew he was there – no one that would have cared anyway. He’d hardly seen a soul for the last hour – the rain that had been drizzling on and off all day now a steady heavy stream.
Even with his all-weather coat on, he was soaked. The driving rain came down practically horizontal. Seeking shelter hadn’t stopped it seeping in through the seams on his jacket. Not that it mattered, really. He’d wait here all night if he needed to. He was intent on learning more about Lee’s routine – there had to be more to it than the local gay club. And knowledge was power – power he could always use.
Giving up the bus shelter again as a bad job, he jumped into the cab of his van and peeled the sodden coat off him. His checked shirt clung to him like a second skin and turning the key in the ignition, he cranked the heating up.
The radio crackled to life, Forth FM playing one of the latest hits. He presumed it was anyway – he wasn’t really one for listening to the modern pop everyone called music.
The heaters kicked in and he sighed as the warm air blew over him. Slowly his windows starting demisting again, and he leaned back in the chair, wanting to close his eyes even just for a minute. He didn’t though, knowing if he did, he’d never wake up to notice Lee walking past.
A bus approached the bus stop and indicated to pull in.
Will he be on this one? Without acknowledging the movement, he sat a little straighter, focussed his gaze a little more.
There you are, Lee. Hate to tell you this but I’m here too. Very soon you’ll be painting the walls in the vaults of the very city you live in. A smile glanced over his lips – more of a grimace really.
Lee was walking straight towards the van, his head hanging low, rain pounding down all over and around him.
For a second he said a silent prayer: thank you for making it rain – it makes them rush faster.
Lee wouldn’t even see it coming. All he wanted to do in that moment was climb into the back of the van, wrench open the doors, grab the bedraggled blond man and throw him inside. He’d make such a stunning contribution to the vault art, after all.
He didn’t though, he closed his eyes as Lee approached close enough that he could see the glint of desperation in Lee’s eyes.
Well, well. What do we have here then? Wonder what’s got him so upset.
Changing his mind about grabbing Lee there and then, he waited until the young man had passed, observing in the wing mirror which way Lee was heading. As he turned the corner, he pressed on the accelerator and his engine roared to life. Reversing, he executed a three-point turn any driving instructor would be proud of.
Lee turned the corner to his home and dipped out of sight. He could wait outside, get further information on the young man’s routine.
Glancing at his watch, he acknowledged that further recon would have to wait for another day – he had somewhere to be. If Lee hadn’t turned up when he had, he’d have made some calls and sacked it off, but now he had Lee’s address he could continue as planned. Gunning the engine, he left the estate and Niddrie behind and made his way back home.
18th December, 1905 hours – Gogarloch Haugh, South Gyle, Edinburgh
Mark felt his troubles lift the second he walked in the door to his mam’s house. It was always that way – she had a calming effect on him and the rest of the family. He could already hear the kids talking in the kitchen-diner and he pushed his way through the heavy oak door.
He knew his mum would be shocked – he’d rang her and prewarned her he had bruising to his face after a mugging, but she had no idea how bad it looked. Instinctively he kept his head lowered as he entered, not wanting everyone to freak and run to his aid.
Annie followed him in and put her hand on his arm in silent support – she knew he didn’t want the attention that having a battered face brought but he knew the family would give him it anyway – their bond was part of what made them all so close.
His mum glanced up as he entered and he saw her eyes narrow and she winced, but then she did what she always did and turned on ‘mam mode’.
‘Sit. Tea’s in the pot – mug’s on the table. Pour me one while you’re on, Son.’
Mark smiled at her, grateful she hadn’t pointed out the obvious. No such luck from Alex, though, who looked up, glared at him and said pointedly, ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘I was mugged last night. Nicked my wallet and warrant card. No, I didn’t see who it was, no, there isn’t any CCTV of the area, and yes, I’ve reported it to the force.’ Mark kept his answers short – he loved Alex but sometimes he ran forward, all guns blazing, without considering his words first.
‘Well that sucks. You okay?’
‘Yeah – chipped cheek bone, bruising but otherwise I’m fine.’
‘And a concussion and broken nose,’ mumbled Annie from beside him. He glared at her and she shrugged, leaving him to sit at the table and getting up to help their mum with the meal.
‘Hospital?’ asked Alex, obviously not content enough with Mark’s answers yet.
‘Aye – they discharged me last night. Been to work today. It’s fine, honest, Bro.’
Alex nodded once and got to his feet. ‘Okay then – gunna go and find Cass. She was looking for somewhere quiet to get the baby to sleep. Keep an eye on Izzy for me?’ He motioned towards his older daughter, who was conten
tedly playing with his sister Mary’s kids on the floor beside the table.
The kitchen-diner at his mam’s house was large – there was more than enough room for the big family table, the kids’ smaller table and the substantial number of cupboards having such a big kitchen allowed.
Mark glanced round, looking for Mary – if her kids were there then she must be here somewhere with Hamish, her husband.
‘Mary’s not here – Hamish isn’t too well today so I told them I’d plate them some food up and to leave the kids. They’re having a sleepover with Izzy tonight. Mary needs a wee break.’
Mark nodded. He knew Mary had a lot on her plate. Hamish was disabled and in a wheelchair after a motorcycle accident a few years back that had resulted in partial paralysis and having part of his spleen removed. This had made him more prone to picking up infections and reduced his ability to fight them off – a bit of a nightmare when they had four kids who were constantly bringing stuff back from school. His baby sister had aged so much over the last few years – he really felt for her. The whole family did.
All of them did their bit to help out and try and make it less of a struggle for her. He knew Ali and Alex sent her money to cover bills when she was short. He himself paid for and completed all the DIY in the house. Annie often babysat one or more of the kids. His mum or one of his other brothers, Joseph, James and Max, always picked the kids up from school. Most of his sibling’s kids went to the same school, or one that was close by. Families mucked in for each other, it was just how it was.
Mark resolved to visit Mary the next day and check in on her. It gave him a jolt when he realised he hadn’t actually seen her for almost two weeks. That wasn’t on, he knew. He should’ve made the effort before now.
From the Dark Page 8