by Riley Banks
Frank pressed his eye to a tiny tear in the fabric, watching her reflection in the mirror.
The child was sick. Her face flushed, her eyes glassy with fever.
Over and over, she pleaded for her father.
‘I want Daddy. Why can’t I see Daddy? Where’s my Daddy?’
The mother filled the glass of water, lifting it to her daughter’s lips.
NO. The child wasn’t part of the plan.
The strychnine coating the glass was meant for the mother, never the child.
He could still stop it. Step out of the shower, startle the woman into dropping the glass.
It would make the woman’s death messier than he had intended but at least Frank wouldn’t have to live with a child’s death on his conscience.
Funny that he had no reservations about killing the mother.
He was on the verge of shifting to Plan B when the little girl pushed the glass away.
‘No. I want Daddy,’ she cried, not interested in being placated with water.
‘Victoria, Daddy can’t come right now,’ Helen said, holding the blonde child against her own pale, golden hair.
‘Daddy. I want my Daddy.’
Exasperated, the mother took the full glass of water, drinking it down in one gulp. Setting the glass back on the counter, she carried her daughter into the adjoining bedroom.
Phase one of the mission was accomplished. Now all Frank had to do was wait.
He crept out of the shower, peering around the corner of the bathroom, a part of him wanting to see his handiwork in action.
There was no risk of being caught.
Helen Baker was as good as dead.
Her death would be swift.
Quick but in no way painless.
She laid her daughter on the small, twin bed, singing a lullaby to the child, her breath becoming ragged and throaty as the poison took effect.
The child was curled in a ball, her thumb in her mouth and her eyes closed.
Did she ingest some of the lethal poison too?
No. She was just sleeping.
The song was haunting and beautiful but with her imminent death, it became a funeral dirge.
Satisfied that her child was at peace, the woman lay down on the second bed, her body beginning to curl in on itself as her muscles convulsed.
She clenched her jaw tight, the muscles in her neck straining, her back arching as the poison coursed through her veins.
She was a beautiful woman, but her face was contorted in an ugly grimace as the spasms gripped her tight.
White spume bubbled from her lips and she began to shiver, her teeth chattering together with such intensity she bit through her own tongue, brilliant red blood streaming down her chin.
Tears filled her brown eyes but she did not cry out, even though the pain had to be excruciating.
Frank never intended to watch her die but somehow he couldn’t turn away, drawn closer and closer to the bed.
And then he noticed her eyes were open.
She was watching him.
Alert, aware, knowing she was about to die.
Another convulsion shook her body; this one so strong it broke a rib.
She forced her fist into her mouth, cutting off the scream, her frightened eyes travelling to her daughter, as if she was afraid to wake the child.
For the first time, Frank doubted why he was doing this.
Just like Vietnam, he was fighting a war he didn’t belong in.
A war he really didn’t care who won.
Frank stepped between them, shielding the sleeping child from the horrors of death.
‘No.’ She misread his intention, thinking he had something more nefarious in mind. ‘Please don’t hurt her.’
Frank shook his head. He had never planned to hurt the child.
‘Promise me,’ she said, gritting her teeth in agony as she fought to hold death at bay.
Frank would never understand why he agreed.
Maybe he was weak.
Maybe it was a belated attempt to salvage a piece of his soul.
Maybe he just wanted to send her to her death with some tiny solace.
Whatever the reason, Frank nodded, agreeing to honour her dying wish.
‘I promise. The child will not be harmed.’
Satisfied that she had fulfilled her motherly duty to protect, Helen Baker’s eyes rolled up into her head, succumbing to death.
But the end had not yet come.
Every muscle in her body contracted and convulsed, the spasms breaking more of the poor woman’s bones.
She opened her mouth and screamed - the sound drowned out by an avalanche of Black Death that exploded out of her mouth.
Only then was she still.
Frank’s hand trembled as he scattered pills across the torn bedspread, the stench of her vomit overpowering the tiny room and causing a wave of nausea to blur his eyes.
As he rifled through the woman’s handbag, he noticed that the little girl was sitting up in the bed, watching him, her brown eyes – carbon copies of her mother’s - searing into his mind.
Frank just made it through the door before the child’s screams started.
He was barely able to contain his own sobs as he called the police from the phone box around the corner, making sure they knew there was a child on the scene.
The phone call hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was the best he could do to keep his promise to a dying woman – even if he had sent her to her grave.
Campagni tore himself from the past; angry that his continued memories revealed a glaring weakness he was determined to overcome.
No other kill had ever quite affected him the way Helen Baker’s did.
Chapter Fifteen:
‘Holy shit Sof,’ said Fiona, her voice so loud she drew a number of eyes. ‘What the fuck is this place?’
‘I told you. Le Jardin de l'Amour.’
Two men sidled up beside Sofie, stroking her breasts as if asking permission for more.
Sofie’s headshake was imperceptible; Charlotte would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking directly at her.
But the men got the gist, moving on to another woman further down the bar; a woman with no problems allowing the stroking to develop into much more.
‘Yeah, I got the name,’ Fi said, her tone sarcastic. ‘I meant what is this place? The emphasis being on what. Is it another sex show?’
‘If you want it to be, it is a show. You can just watch if you like. Or you can take part.’ Sofie brushed her fingers across Fiona’s nipples, an eyebrow raised as if to say ‘I’m game if you are.’
‘What do you mean take part?’ Nancy’s eyes were wide open as she stared at a woman give one man a blowjob while a man had sex with her from behind.
Poor Nancy. She was like a child seeing a horror movie for the first time and unsure how to react to the experience.
And while Charlotte wasn’t quite the novice Nancy was, she shared her distaste.
She had seen a lot of things in her life but this was out there. Way, way out there.
‘I think we should go,’ she suggested. ‘This is so not my thing.’
Another two guys approached the bar, one laying a hand on Charlotte’s thigh.
She fought the urge to punch him, gently pushing his hand away instead. ‘No thanks,’ she said, forcing a smile to her lips. ‘I’m just here for the champagne.’
Why be angry with him when it was Sofie who had got them into this mess?
‘I want to stay,’ Penny said, blowing a kiss to a muscle-bound North African in extremely tight underwear that left nothing to the imagination. He-Man took her action as an open invitation, strutting across the room towards them.
‘Fine. You stay. But I’m going.’
Penny had her tongue down the guy’s throat, her hands groping inside his underpants.
Horrified, Charlotte scooted away. She had no desire to watch someone she knew have sex.
Sofie pouted, looping her
arm through Charlotte’s as if they were life-long friends, not women who had only met yesterday.
‘My dear Charlotte. I brought you here because I have a very special surprise for you all.’
‘Well I’m surprised. Can I go now?’
‘No silly. Not the club. There is someone I want you to meet. She used to work for the Harvey family. I thought perhaps you could interview her.’
Charlotte was sceptical. Why would anyone conduct an interview here?
The majority of the patrons were naked and in the throes of some sexual act. Men with women. Women with women. Men with men. Couples. Threesomes. Group sex. Straight sex. Oral sex. Anal sex. Even some light BDSM.
The eight of them (seven really, given Penny had already retreated to one of the sofas with He-Man) were the only people not participating and if the hungry looks they were getting were any indication – from men and women – that wouldn’t last long.
Another three men approached, stroking their arms and legs hopefully.
‘We’re not interested thanks,’ Charlotte said.
But Miranda was already giggling, biting her lip like a naughty schoolgirl as one of the men moved his attention to her breasts, another moving his hand up her leg to brush his hand against the lace of Miranda’s panties.
‘Miranda,’ Charlotte said, shocked her friend was allowing it to happen.
Her friend shrugged. ‘You only live once. And as they say, when in Rome…’
‘We’re not in Rome,’ Charlotte pointed out.
‘I like the Paris way even better,’ Miranda said, moaning as suitor number three bent down and pressed his lips to her crotch.
‘Can you at least move it somewhere else? We’re friends but not like that.’
Yet despite her protest, she was becoming aroused, almost giving in as one of Miranda’s suitors stroked her breasts.
Charlotte’s brain screamed at her to slap his hand away but her body cried out for more, responding in a way that made her feel ashamed and betrayed.
He took her lack of action as permission and moved his hand between her thighs, his fingers stroking across the front of her panties. Electrical currents of pleasure arced back to her brain sending an explosion of wetness between her legs.
Stop it. This is not me at all.
But if it wasn’t her, why was she responding as if it were?
Sofie spoke to the men in French and one scooped Miranda into his arms, covering her in kisses, carrying her to a plush, velvet sofa.
Charlotte shuddered, wondering how many people had shagged on it and how much bodily fluids it contained.
She wouldn’t be caught dead sitting on it, let alone doing anything else.
It was just the wake up call she needed to push the hand out from between her legs.
‘So where is this person you want us to interview?’ Charlotte asked, determined to stick around only for that, and then she was out of there.
‘You’re in luck. She is coming this way.’
The two women greeted each other in a way far too familiar and romantic for Charlotte’s comfort – their kiss speaking of lovers not friends.
Her real surprise, however, came at the woman’s complete unabashed nakedness.
She wore shoes but that was about it.
Again, Charlotte’s body betrayed her, causing her to be aroused by both the woman’s nakedness and their passionate kiss, even though she’d never had a lesbian fantasy in her life.
She found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss such a beautiful woman. Would it feel the same as kissing a man?
‘Girls, this is Laurine. Laurine, this is Charlotte, Nancy, Fiona, Veronica and Courtney. There were a few more but they are otherwise occupied.’
‘Sofie said you used to work for the Harvey family,’ Fiona said.
‘Oui. I was, how you say this, au pair to le Harvey famille.’
‘You mean the Harvey’s. As in the famous ones accommodating us?’ Veronica asked, trying hard to keep her eyes on Laurine’s face and not stare in awe at her beautiful breasts or further down, at her bare crotch.
‘Ah, my English is not so good. Oui and non. This is the same Harvey famille but deux generation.’ She held up two fingers, signifying she was speaking of a second generation.
‘So far removed huh? Like my aunt Betsy and her disgusting son Charles?’ Nancy said, unsure of where to look.
‘I am not knowing your Charles but this Harvey – Gustave Harvey - he is nephew to Monsieur Bill.’
‘Damon’s cousin?’ Courtney said. ‘Cool. Give us the goss then.’
Courtney flashed Charlotte a smug grin, like a thirteen year old girl with a teenage crush.
‘Goss? Je ne comprends pas,’ Laurine said.
Sofie translated.
‘Ah, Monsieur Gustave sees me, he like me. He give me travailler.’
‘What’s not to like?’ Charlotte said, immediately embarrassed by the outburst.
‘That’s work, right?’ Nancy said, raising a questioning eyebrow at Charlotte.
What the hell is happening to me?
‘Oui,’ Laurine said. ‘They vacance en Barbados for summer. I go with them.’
She began to describe Barbados – the country and the house – in great detail.
‘We want details on the Harveys, not Barbados,’ Veronica said, scribbling notes on a paper napkin with a pen borrowed from the bartender.
‘There is not much to tell. Gustave become my lover -’
‘You had an affair with Gustave Harvey?’ Fiona said.
Charlotte found herself thinking Gustave was one lucky guy.
‘Oui. And Madame Harvey as well.’
‘Oh my God. You were fucking them both?’ Veronica said, looking up from her notes.
Laurine nodded. ‘Yes. I have both. This is not how you say, big deal?’
She placed a hand on Charlotte’s thigh, releasing a thousand butterflies inside Charlotte’s stomach.
‘No bloody big deal?’ Nancy all but shouted, watching Laurine’s hand creep up Charlotte’s thigh with something akin to jealousy. ‘Oh my God, even The Post would go mad for this story. This isn’t off the record is it?’
‘Off record? Je ne comprends pas?’
Again Sofie explained the English term. ‘She doesn’t really care whether you tell or not. She has nothing to hide.’
Laurine’s hand had now reached a critical level – the point of no return.
Again the fight between body and brain, Charlotte’s brain crying out to stop it while her body begged for more, actually shivering in anticipation as Laurine’s fingers crept across bare skin.
‘So what did they say when they found out?’ Charlotte asked, her eyes meeting the beautiful French woman’s.
‘They both think they be… hmmm… clever? Hiding me from each other.’
‘And they didn’t find out?’
‘Yes, they find out. They each have idea to have…’ she looked to Sofie for help, saying ‘ménage a trois’.
‘A threesome,’ Charlotte said, knowing full well what the term meant, horrified at how appealing it suddenly sounded.
Goosebumps broke out along Charlotte’s skin. She could no longer hide her arousal from Laurine who smiled knowingly, her fingers softly stroking the front of Charlotte’s panties.
Charlotte couldn’t understand how something so unwanted and unnatural could feel so wonderful.
‘Oui. They approach me and I tell them I have this threesome for months on my terms. They have big fight. I have no job.’
‘They fired you because you were having it off with both of them?’ Fiona asked, appalled.
‘No, after they find out, I still refuse threesome. I say to them I sleep with les hommes et les femmes but never at same time.’
‘What?’ Nancy asked. ‘You like both guys and girls but you have a problem with a threesome?’ A second later, she turned beetroot red. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean that to sound… God that sounded terrible.’
‘I like femmes et hommes les deux.’
‘I think what she’s trying to say is she is bi but not confused. She’s either with women or men. Right?’
‘That is true, Charlotte,’ Laurine said and Charlotte whole body melted at the way her name rolled off Laurine’s tongue.
She bit her lip, aching to kiss the beautiful French woman but terrified by what that said about her.
‘Excuse me? I have someone I need to go and see,’ Sofie said, disappearing through a metal gate that Charlotte had thought was purely decorative.
‘What’s through there?’
Laurine leaned in close, her hand now stroking Charlotte’s breast.
‘The dungeon,’ she said, her fingers sending an electrical current racing through Charlotte’s body. ‘Would you like me to show you?’
She wanted to scream no but when Laurine leant in and kissed her, Charlotte’s whole body screamed yes, answering the kiss with a hunger and desire Charlotte had never experienced before.
‘Hey, isn’t that the chick you were just with?’ Hank said, elbowing Zac in the ribs as the two of them drank a refreshing beer at the bar.
Zac didn’t need Hank to point out the action. Ever since Laurine had made a beeline for Charlotte No Lays, he’d been watching the two of them get their flirt on. And true to Laurine’s word, she was showing Charlotte the pleasure of a French woman’s tongue.
Charlotte No Lays might be trying to act all shocked and moralistic, but he noticed she wasn’t fighting too hard. In fact, any blind Harry could see the two girls were getting hot and heavy, tonguing each other like lesbians with their own liquor licence.
Oh the action hadn’t moved south of the Mason Dixon line yet – but it was only a matter of time before the naked Laurine was tearing Charlotte’s underwear off.
By the looks of things, Charlotte No Lays would probably let her too.
‘You must be the unluckiest bastard on earth,’ Hank said, his loud guffaw seconds away from having a fist shoved in it.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I thought you said she was doing the rich dude?’
‘She is,’ Zac said, not at all happy with the prospect.
‘Well now she’s giving it away for free. You think if I get in line, she’ll do me next?’