He’d seen the toys change over the years – knowing that the staff often switched them out when new (or old depending on the look they were aiming for) toys arrived. The ones taken from the vault, he believed, were donated to charity.
The legend may well have just been a lure for tourists, but it worked for the purpose it was intended – he knew lots of visitors came to see this very vault. He knew it would be well attended on Christmas Eve morning, and that all of the tourists would be in for the biggest shock of their lives.
He was actually tempted to come down and pretend to be one – to experience first-hand how they reacted. That would be the icing on the proverbial cake.
Smiling to himself, Duke drew the blade out of his leg sheath and cut through the ropes tied around the rug. Grabbing both exposed corners, he yanked hard and the rug unrolled, eliciting much more noise from Lee as he rolled with the rug.
Duke’s next step was making sure that the cable ties holding Lee’s wrists and feet were still secure – the last thing he wanted was for Lee to get the better of him and escape. They were still tight against Lee’s skin – both locations now showing welts from where Lee had tried to struggle.
‘Poor lad, you don’t look well.’
‘Cos I’m injured, you fucking prick,’ said Lee, his voice hoarse. Duke knew every tiny movement jarred either the pain at the points Lee had been hit, or the seeping hole in his back where the hook had held him suspended.
‘Swearing… is… fucking… rude!’ with every pause, Duke kicked Lee. There was no reason for it other than it made him feel good. And powerful, a feeling he wasn’t overly used to at the Romani site. For all his family was prestigious and high in the ranks of the community, it wasn’t enough that they were thought of well. Duke had an innate need to be the best.
Fresh tears fell down Lee’s face. His voice cracked – all evidence of false bravado flickering away. Lee knew his fate – as did Duke. Lee would be dying in the vaults tonight – there was no getting away from it. And when the police arrived, they’d have no choice but to look Francis up for a good chat.
Duke smiled grimly in the darkness of the vaults. The police would get their man – as long as he allowed enough time to get everything sorted. That bit required a little precision but Duke knew he’d be able to pass it off easily enough.
22nd December, 0105 hours – vaults under The Royal Mile
Duke was almost done – he glanced around. Lee was unconscious at his feet, just how he liked his victims to be before he killed them. He almost wished he had longer – he’d thoroughly enjoyed getting Lee to this point and would’ve liked to eke it all out for much longer.
The room basked in the glow from the torch and headlamp he’d put by the archway to illuminate the room. It felt almost – surreal. Duke stepped back, revelling in the moment. He was so turned on his dick felt like it was going to finish itself off. There wasn’t another feeling in the world like this one.
Killing was a definite aphrodisiac.
The room suddenly went cold – much colder than it had been and Duke shivered, the hairs on his neck standing to attention. A whisper of a noise flew through the room – he couldn’t quite place what it was, but it put him on edge. He needed to finish this and leave.
He pulled Lee round so that the young man faced the melee of toys behind the guard rail and leant him back against his own knees – this position was definitely the most preferable. Quick, painless. For him anyway.
Duke knew he was going to come again – the second he drew his knife out he would feel his orgasm draw even closer. He was glad he’d thought ahead today and stuffed his underwear with bog roll – that should prevent it dripping down his leg this time at any rate.
Lee moaned under his grip – give him his due, the lad had fight and spark, even now he struggled weakly against Duke’s grip.
‘Well done, Lee. It’ll soon be over, lad, don’t worry.’
Lee groaned again, adding pressure to Duke’s legs.
When Lee suddenly leant forward Duke realised something was up – the lad was still tied hand and foot with the cable ties – it wasn’t like he could go anywhere. Indulging him for a second, Duke rocked back on his heels and smiled.
Lee jerked backwards and Duke felt something incredibly sharp slide through the leather on his boots as if they were butter and enter the top of his foot.
Then the pain came.
It still took him a second to realise that Lee had managed to get Duke’s own knife out of his sheath, and, even with hands secured, he’d managed to drive it into Duke’s foot.
‘Aaarrrggghhh,’ Duke screamed, stumbling backwards and falling on his arse. ‘You fucking little bastard,’ he spat. He ripped the sleeve of the thick overshirt he was wearing. He’d need something to tie around the boot to stop his blood going everywhere when he took the knife out. His face turned a little green – I have to pull it out. He couldn’t stop the shudder as it made its way down his spine.
Grabbing the handle of the knife sent needles of hot pain shooting through his foot and up his shin. ‘Fuck. Jesus, that hurts.’
Lee cackled, his laugh echoing round the room. ‘Serves you right, you prick. Figured if I’m going to die anyway, I might as well leave you something to remember me by.’ His voice was shallow, rasping in the dim glow of the concrete room.
Duke, his hand still gripping his knife’s handle tightly, grunted and pulled up hard. The pain was incredible – far worse than he’d have thought it would be, and he gritted his teeth together, grinding deeply as he fought the compulsion to shout and scream like a baby.
His hard-on had definitely gone now, too – there wouldn’t be a release today.
Carefully, he placed the knife on his knee. There was no need to leave the police any evidence of him being there. The plan would continue – albeit with him now in agony. Anger descended over him as he tied the shirt sleeve over the top and underneath his boot. Fuck that really hurts. Well played, Lee – but you’re going to fucking pay for this.
Standing was hard – hot razor-like pain shot up his leg and into his groin – the pressure on his foot just from standing was almost unbearable. Grimacing, Duke focussed on the job at hand. It was time for Lee to die.
Without pause, he sat Lee back up, ignoring the low cackle that he emitted once more. Duke wanted to make Lee suffer – he really did. But he knew he couldn’t stay here all night – he needed to get out while the getting was good. It was going to take him hours now to get out of the vaults.
Leaning Lee against his legs added pressure to his sore foot again, but he needed the blood to go the right way – this was art after all and he didn’t want it to go all over him. He’d held his knife as he’d stood so it was still snug against his palm.
Smiling now, he pressed the blade deep into the side of Lee’s neck and drew it across. It squelched satisfyingly and he felt some resistance as it went through Lee’s windpipe. Warm, gushes of blood flew, adorning the large number of toys behind the guard rail and as it finally ebbed to a trickle, he let Lee fall where he landed.
Now he’d have to clean up – that alone would take some time today. First things first, though, he cleaned his knife on the edge of the rug near the entrance and shoved it into the sheath – it was nowhere near perfect and he knew he’d need to invest in a new sheath – this one would have too much blood drying inside it even now.
He drew the postcard out of his pocket and placed it on top of the body, and carefully, he withdrew his final bits of evidence.
Opening the small envelope, he drew out a pinch of red fibres and scattered them on Lee’s clothes, knowing they would soak in the blood just like they had last time. The second envelope he had in his pocket had a few greying hairs inside. They hadn’t been easy to get – he’d painstakingly picked them off Francis’s wool coat when he’d visited the men’s room when they’d had coffee. Finally, Mark McKay’s warrant card flittered from his fingers and onto the floor beside Lee’s corpse. Let McK
ay believe it was Wright who’d hit him – that it was Wright who’d done everything.
Grinning he remembered the text he’d sent Francis earlier from Lee’s phone. Everything was pointing towards Francis being the killer. When he left the vault, he knew he’d call in an anonymous tip: the newspapers needed to know that he’d struck again.
Working quickly but methodically, he removed any sign he’d even been there, brushing over any footprints visible in the dust with the strap of his headlight, obliterating anything that could point to him. He rolled everything except the headlamp in the rug, mounted the lamp on his head, and limped from the room.
Duke had barely gone two feet into the corridor, when he felt something tug on the bottom of his jacket. Fair to say he pretty much shit himself, and everything he was carrying fell from his hand as he spun around, flicking his head from side to side to illuminate the corridor. There was nothing there. He noted the excessive cold again, and his hairs stood to attention. What the fuck? He shook his head, half grinning at his stupidity. What did he think it was? A ghost? He didn’t believe in such crap. He was so hyper he was imagining things. Or so he tried to force himself to believe as he gathered up the items on the floor and quickly wrapped them back into the rug.
He grimaced as he tried to pick the pace up, heading back the way he’d come.
22nd December, 0155 hours – Toni’s flat, Harrison Gardens
Toni was floating – she was outside of her body and looking down. The young boy was hiding behind a cart selling material. He was dressed in trousers that were too short and filled with holes, and a shirt three sizes too big hung off his small form. His face was filthy, muck covering everything but his eyes. His brown hair was long and unruly, and looked like it hadn’t seen a hair brush in forever. His blue eyes were sharp, as he scanned the crowds in the thin street, eagerly looking for something. His next meal.
Toni could hear his stomach grumbling from her position in the clouds. It was surreal – she knew she was floating, looking down on events from when? Early 1800s at a guess. This is so weird.
She followed the boy as he scooted around the edge of the crowd – whatever it was he was after, she knew he would find it. His move was fast – so fast she’d have missed it if she wasn’t focussing so hard – his tiny hand tugged at the coat-tail of a well-to-do man in a hat. The man knelt down in front of the boy, smiled at him and put his hand in his pocket, drawing out a silver coin. It was pressed into the palm of the young boy who smiled widely, accepting the coin, and running off.
Toni followed as the lad ran through the street and ducked through an archway into a room. Through the room he ran, and out the other side, into what felt like an alley, then through another archway into a small, dark room. She felt an ominous presence – someone else was in the room and the boy didn’t know. Toni tried to warn him, but she wasn’t able to make a sound.
A shadow approached the young boy from behind as he knelt in the corner, making a hidey-hole in the dust for his prize. The boy swung round, and the shadow leapt forward, pinning him to the ground. Toni heard the squeak as he struggled against the full-grown man. She felt the knife at the boy’s throat which suddenly morphed into her own. She felt her skin tear as the blade sliced through flesh and muscle as though it was butter, and her throat gurgled as she tried to breathe. The panic was overwhelming and Toni couldn’t breathe.
The shock was enough to draw her from the dream with a long scream, her hands flying to her throat as she sat bolt upright in bed, tears streaming down her face as she gasped, still feeling the blade cutting into her own throat. It still felt real – like it was happening to her even now as Mark’s hand appeared on her arm, trying to calm her.
‘You okay? What happened?’
‘Dream.’ It was the only word she could get out at that precise moment. Her breath caught in her throat, tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried.
‘Vision dream? Or nightmare dream?’
What the hell does it matter? Stop asking stupid questions. Her heart was pounding in her head as she tried to make sense of what she’d seen and felt. Closing her eyes, she drew in a long, deep breath, held it for several seconds then released it slowly. She repeated the breathing exercise several times, focussing on calming her addled brain.
‘What you felt was real – another has died tonight.’ Sam’s voice was both reassuring and brought immense sadness.
‘Vision mixed with a dream,’ she snapped at Mark, then turning to face him, she realised how sharp she’d sounded. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.’ She blinked as she realised that at some point since waking, he’d turned the lamp on.
Mark stroked his hand down her arm, silent and waiting for her to expand.
‘It was weird. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I was in the 1800s, I think – not sure exactly when. There was a little boy who tugged people’s coats to try and get some money – he was a cheeky chap with a big grin and he got money because he was cute. I think he might have been an orphan. He took his money to hide it in a room. And then the dream morphed into a vision, I think.’ Toni paused, shuddering, the feeling of the blade embedded in her neck sitting just on the peripheral of her consciousness. ‘I think someone else has been killed in the vaults.’
‘You’re kidding? Which vault? When? Tonight?’ Mark’s questions were short and abrupt as he leapt out of bed and pulled his boxer shorts on.
Toni shook her head. ‘Truthfully, I don’t know. When it morphed into a vision, it was like the killer was killing me, I can still feel the knife in my neck, Mark. I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. Whoever the killer is, he’s got pure evil running through his veins. Based on the strength of the vision and emotion, I’d guess it’s happened tonight but I don’t know which vault or what time.’ Fresh tears started falling from Toni’s eyes as she relived the horror again.
Mark didn’t speak. Toni let him wrap his arms around her and pull her in close to his chest, felt his thumb run soothing circles on her back.
She knew neither of them would get any more sleep tonight, so when she felt calmer, Toni pulled herself reluctantly from Mark’s embrace.
‘Let’s have coffee – I’ll jot down anything I remember that might be useful. Then when you go to work, you’re at least forearmed. I presume you are going to work, even though it’s technically your day off?’
Mark nodded. ‘I have to – I need to work that case when it comes in. They’re all linked in. I need to find who’s killing these young men.’
‘Well just stay open-minded. I know you think you know who it is, but sometimes things aren’t exactly as they seem.’
22nd December, 0545 hours – South Cantow Travellers Site
Duke grimaced as he sat on the edge of his bed and tugged the bloodied boot of his foot. It hadn’t stopped burning since the knife had gone in and was incredibly painful to walk on. It had taken him much more time than normal, but he’d made it out of the vaults in one piece, with his stuff neatly rolled in the rug. By the time he’d got back to the van, he’d been starving despite the pain from his foot. He’d called at McDonald’s and taken his time over a couple of burgers with fries that he got from the drive-through.
He’d driven past the entrance to the site a few times to ensure there was no cops milling about before entering using the secure code. He probably shouldn’t have returned yet, but he had no choice. He needed to clean the wound and he couldn’t see his aunt Carmen being much help and not bitching at him.
Judging by the acid he now felt winding its way up to his throat, McDonald’s had been a bad idea.
Gingerly, he peeled his sock over the ball of his foot and off. The wound on the top was about an inch and a half in length. Touching gently, he felt his sole, and sighed as pain shot up his calf. The blade had gone right through. The wound on the bottom of his foot was smaller, but really sensitive. God only knew what nerve and muscle damage he might have. It nee
ded stitches for sure.
He’d paused at the kitchen to grab the first aid kit and a bottle of Gaviscon from under the sink on his way through to his room. His kids were all asleep at his mother’s – it had been the way since they were small. They stayed with her four nights a week while they were at school and with him the other three. The static caravans were next to each other but it meant he wasn’t disturbing anyone when he came in late from whatever he was doing.
Taking a swig from the Gaviscon bottle, he ground his teeth together as he went over both sides of the wound with cleaning wipes, hissing as the alcohol touched the exposed flesh. His hand shook as he tried to thread the needle with the surgical line. He never went to hospital for any injury he’d incurred. If he couldn’t do it himself, his mother was a dab hand at first aid. It came from years of living independently.
Eventually the thread was through the tiny hole in the needle, and he ground his teeth together as he pulled the flesh together with his thumb and forefinger on his right hand and pushed the needle through the adjoining sides. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he continued the stitching, counting as he went. Because feet don’t have an awful lot of room for flesh on the top, it was slow going and he had to pause three times just to regrip the edge together. Finally, he pushed the last stitch through and tied the thread off. Sewing the bottom was trickier – he didn’t even know if he could manage it. The sole was exceptionally tender and sensitive. The cut on the bottom was only about half a centimetre and Duke figured it wouldn’t hurt to try and glue it rather than stitching. It shouldn’t open, though the sole is one of the hardest used parts of the body – as long as he took it easy.
He sat for several minutes while the glue dried and then wrapped his foot in a thin bandage.
From the Dark Page 18