Purgatory

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Purgatory Page 4

by Hayley Smyth


  I’d dealt with stiffs before, I’d seen the grisly aftermath of a corpse found unburied and left to rot, but nothing could have prepared me for experiencing it with her.

  The hallway was as it should have been. Neat, tidy, clean, and the walls bore the faces of two people who I’d have given my life. A new picture had been hung just above the stair case, a beautiful black and white shot of Amy, cradling her tiny, barely-there bump, and Carter beaming with pride beside her. My fucking eyes welled up, the saltiness stung, and I was unease at having my emotion wetting my cheeks.

  Murdoch men didn’t fucking cry even if their best friend had been murdered.

  My feet carried me farther into the house, my ears pricked up upon hearing the quiet, solemn tones of the men already inside and dealing with the scene. Their voices were too soft for me to make out what was being said, but I could have taken a guess.

  As I rounded the doorway, which led to the living room, a sight I’d never, ever forget greeted me, and the sob that choked me broke all kinds of Murdoch rules.

  Fuck the Murdoch rules, I thought.

  Four pairs of eyes flashed my way as they stood beneath the mutilated corpse of Amy Blackburn. If it hadn’t have been for the heels on her feet and the unique golden color of her hair, there would have been no way in Hades to know who it was.

  Carter was right. They’d taken her face. Her gorgeous face hacked away at the sides, the skin on top had been peeled from her muscles, revealing pink flesh and the sockets of her eyes. Her arms were strung above her head, secured in place on the beams with a thick, unforgiving rope. I couldn’t fucking look, yet I couldn't look away, my morbid eyes hovering over the slight swell of her stomach.

  A tension in my chest threatened to break each bone in its proximity, my nose flared, and all the blood my body contained rushed to my face as I burst into the room, roaring until my throat wanted to bleed.

  “Fuck!” I bellowed, stumbling into the living room, my arms swung around me, knocking ornaments and pictures and fuck knows what else to the floor. The guys jumped out of the way, but none of them stopped me, knowing full well I’d knock them into next week if they tried.

  I don’t know what I wanted to gain from lashing out; the human mind is a complicated thing. All I knew if I didn’t let it go, I’d die. I’d fucking die.

  Sweat covered me as I continued to throw my hands around, ignoring all the pitiful eyes that were staring at me.

  Unaware of anything but how I felt and preoccupied with thoughts of what I’d do to the person who did this, I didn’t see my foot step into Amy’s blood. My foot slipped from under me, leaving me a slump of rage in the stuff that kept us all alive.

  The room was quieter than a fucking morgue as I looked at the red liquid pooling around my ass. My chest was uncontrollable, moving up and down far too quickly for my lungs to keep up with, I was acutely away of Amy’s body hanging above me, I couldn’t fucking look. Not this time.

  “Jax…” came my father’s sullen voice.

  My head snapped up, and my eyes focused on the man who stood in the doorway. “What the fuck is this?” I demanded. I demanded an impossible answer to, at that moment in time, an impossible question.

  My father looked grim, his clean-shaven jaw ticked. “Jax, come with me, please.”

  “Not ’til someone tells me who the fuck did this,” my voice was dark, shadowed by the truth of this world.

  “The guys are working on it. Come on, come have a drink with your old man.”

  I laughed. No. I fucking cackled. “A drink? A fucking drink won’t fix this.”

  My father shook his head. “No, but neither will you sitting on the floor screaming for answers, my boy.”

  My ass was sticky with Amy’s blood. I remember wondering how long it takes blood to dry. I remember staring at the men stood by the bay window, men I had grown up with, looking at the floor instead of at me. I remember getting to my feet, hands soaked in blood, and cursing the day Amy moved to our small town in New Mexico.

  She had been destined for so much more.

  My father’s outstretched arm greeted me at the door, pulling me into his side, and he walked us into the kitchen, closing the door with a gentle click behind him.

  As I entered a room, which was full to the brim of happy memories, I could have sworn I saw Amy dancing around the island, drink in hand, howling along to the radio. I had to shake my head to rid my mind of ghosts. Ghosts I had never, ever wanted to see.

  From no-where, as if my father had turned into Houdini, a bottle of scotch emerged on the counter, and he wasted no time in pouring us each a generous amount. The noise of glass on marble caught my attention, and I snatched the drink, downed it, and ordered him to pour another in a matter of seconds.

  “Son, take my word for it when I say we’ll do everything we can.” I swirled the drink around the glass, listening but not quite hearing. No. This was nothing but a bad fucking dream. I’d wake up soon. “Jax, please. Say something.”

  Looking up, I looked into eyes that comforted me a hundred thousand times as a child, and here they were. The same eyes. Unable to put a big enough band-aid on this wound. “Does Vladimir know?”

  Father nodded, straightening the tie around his neck. “He’s on his way.”

  “I don’t want them pricks sniffing around her, dad. It’s our men and no-one else.”

  “Jaxon, you know I can’t keep this quiet. Please, my boy, let’s do this right way. You know I won’t rest until I know who done this and why.”

  We were quiet for but a moment. Two generations of men, grieving over old Scotch, damning the Chrobak’s to hell for tempting my dad into the business.

  Archibald wasn’t a bad guy. Hell, he was one of the best, but he, too, at one point was a young, impressionable man with a family stuck on his hip and not a dollar to his name.

  “Carter won’t be the same after this. You should have seen him tonight; he was so fucking happy.” I paused to swallow away the massive ball of emotion wedged in my throat. “They’d been trying for years, did you know that?”

  My father didn’t need it spelled out to him what I meant by that, and his face paled, his hand reaching for the scotch. He took several gulps, his dark eyes scrunching as it burned his throat before he spoke. “Why don’t you take him home, son? He doesn’t need to wait here for this to be over with, I’ll contact you."

  I sighed, feeling the weight of the damn world settle over my entire being, crushing me with such force I could barely breathe.

  The nights’ alcohol should have eased the nerves, confusion, anger, and grief, and yet all it did was ignite them all, scorching flames licked at my vision, my head was thumping. How did we go to celebrating new life to nothing but blood?

  One thing was for certain: whoever the fuck was responsible would meet an untimely demise. I’d make fucking sure of it. Their end would be so goddamn brutal their soul would forever be trapped in a Hellish Limbo.

  Sighing once more, I nodded. “Okay. But you phone me as soon as everyone has left, not a minute later.”

  I walked towards the kitchen door, bracing myself for the sight beyond, and it was as my foot stepped into the hallway when I heard the mighty roar of Carter. His screams were followed by grunts and then his desperate protests.

  My father and I ran from the kitchen and bolted into the living room. Carter was on his knees before Amy’s lifeless, skinless body, fat tears streaming down his face, while Mike and Olly held his arms.

  “What the fuck is going on?” My father asked, directing his question towards his best friend, Graham, who was standing by the window, watching the scene with a grim expression.

  “He’s asking where it is,” Graham replied, crossing his arms over his chest. His navy suit speckled with blood; I shuddered.

  My father looked my way and raised an eyebrow, “Any idea, Jax?”

  “Not a clue,” I shook my head, dumbfounded like everyone else.

  “Let me go!” Carter bellowed.
“Where is it? I gave it to her.” His voice cracked, rendering it unrecognizable. Long, high pitched wails shot through the air.

  Fuck. “Fellas, let me talk to him, huh?” I said, approaching the guys and waving my hand for them to let go of Carter. They nodded and stepped aside, allowing me to crouch down beside my buddy, mindful of the blood underneath our feet.

  His sad blue eyes gazed up at Amy, and his shoulders trembled with as much violence as the scene before us. “Carter, buddy, come on. Let the guys do what they need to, I’ll take you home, and we can talk, or do whatever you need to.”

  Carter turned his gaze towards me, his lip curling. “Whatever I need to do?” He croaked. “What I need to do, Jaxon, is find the cunt who killed my woman and kid and spill his guts on to the ground while he’s still fucking breathing!” His hands pushed against my chest, and once again, my feet slipped, leaving me a drenched mess in Amy’s blood.

  Carter rose and regarded us all, individually, with a glare that could have killed. “Now, where the fuck…is it?”

  My mouth opened to ask what it was when a crescendo of noise and male voices came from the hallway. Heavy boots pounded the wooden floors, and all of our heads snapped towards the sound.

  The footsteps grew louder, you always heard him before you saw him, and even Carter became silent. Vladimir Chrobak and his right-hand man, Jozef sauntered into the room, the stark contrast between Vlad’s tacky as hell Hawaiian shirt and Jozef’s Purgatory uniform made them stand.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Vlad clasped his hands together, surveying the scene with dead eyes, “What a mess we find ourselves in, eh?” The boss man cast a look towards Carter, who had turned his back on everyone, his hand gripping Amy’s calf, and he tutted. “Jax, why is he still here? The poor man does not need to be here for this.”

  “Fuck you, man!” Came Carter’s distressed voice. He moved quickly, at speed, and his nose was pressed against Vladimir’s before anyone of us had a chance to react. “I bet you had something to do with this, didn’t you? Fucking tell me!”

  Vladimir did not move. He did not flinch, and the smirk on his lips unsettled me.

  They stared at each other; seconds felt like an eternity. Vladimir looked past my friend and at me again, tilting his head and giving a sigh. “Jaxon, take him home. We have a lot of work to do here.” Nodding at my boss, I was surprised when Carter allowed me to lead him from his home and back into the waiting SUV.

  It was as we were driving back to my condo on the outskirts of town, when the rage set in, seeped into my bones. I wasn’t a vengeful man, not really, but I’d be damned if I let Vladimir fucking Chrobak take the lead on finding out what happened. If I owed Carter anything, it was this.

  Chapter Four

  Ella, Thirteen Years Ago.

  Mama is sad again. I know this because she’s got that dress on. That gray, threadbare dress and the bruises on her legs are back.

  It’s so cold; I dare not complain, though. Instead, I curl my feet under my bum and gaze out the window, watching as the snow falls from the sky, blanketing the floor.

  Daddy should be home soon with money. And then we can afford to warm the house and have a hot cup of something. He’s been gone longer this time, and I know mama needs her medicine, the medicine she sticks into her arm when she’s sad. She’s on the sofa, scratching, and clawing at her fragile skin; her eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them before.

  Mama says Daddy leaves for so long to get us money. I’m not sure what she means by this, as I know he doesn’t have a job like Marsha’s parents do. And even when he does return, he has enough for their medicine, some bread and maybe, if we’re lucky, some milk. It’s never enough to warm the house, but I’m hopeful, this time, he’s succeeded.

  “Ella, go to bed, you’re irritating me, girl.” My mama’s voice is thick with annoyance for her only child, her eyes never once looking my way, their gray stare focused on the fuzzing picture on the television.

  “But I want to wait up for Daddy,” I protest.

  Without hesitating, she screams and flips the coffee table in front of her, sending the old thing flying, its glass smashing into pieces. Her voice wails, making me jump and retreat into a ball, my eyes slamming shut so fast they ache.

  “Why don’t you ever do as you’re fucking told?” Mama screeches storming my way.

  I cry, a whimper rippling through my chest. “I’m sorry, mama, please don’t hurt me,” I plead with her.

  Her skinny, bony fingers fist my nightdress at the collar, she is a frail woman, not much bigger than I, but sometimes her strength comes from no-where. “Hurt you? You ungrateful brat! You’re lucky I don’t kill you!” She screams now, her sunken face filling with boiling blood as she chucks me across the floor. My back smacks something hard and sharp, the pain radiates from my spine straight down to my toes and straight up to my neck.

  Mama does not care, though. She is yanking on the net, stained heavily with nicotine, and throwing her glare outside, manic eyes searching for her husband.

  I’m rubbing my sore back when Mama gasps, flinging a hand to her mouth. And then she’s laughing, throwing her head back and giving me a deadly smile. “Run, run, run as fast as you can…” she sings, her voice haunting, menacing.

  “W-what?” I stutter, each movement I take almost leaves me crippled on the floor.

  Mama laughs again, pulling a cigarette from the carton. It dangles from her lips as she searches for her lighter, my back screams and I scramble to my feet. “Run, run, run as fast as you can,” she repeats, and this time, I don’t argue. My weak, shaking legs carry me up the stairs, and it’s as I’m collapsing on to my mattress when I heard the door open, and several unfamiliar male voices erupt throughout the property. I can hear Daddy. He sounds happy. He speaks, and a man laughs, and then my Mama is squealing in delight.

  “She’s upstairs,” I hear her say, and then footsteps are thumping on the stairs, each one creaking under the heavyweight.

  Terror takes hold of me, and I empty my bladder, what is going on? I’m soaked and crying silently, and then my bedroom door flings open. Four men stand in the doorway, and I scream. I do not recognize them, but the dark looks, evil smiles, and guns at their hips, have me trembling.

  “Ella, my, my, my.” The biggest man says, stepping into the room. I look at his chunky body, the gold rings adorning each finger and vomit gurgles at the back of my throat. “Your Daddy didn’t do you justice; you are far prettier than he gave you credit for.”

  “W-who are y-you?” I stammer, holding the thin sheet against my body, my pee turning cold and making me shiver.

  The dark-haired man laughs and reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls something out, a needle of some kind, and I push back towards the wall, my eyes darting everywhere, in search of some way to escape.

  “My name, sweet girl, is Vladimir Chrobak, and you now belong to me.” He says, reaching my bed, and his huge weight makes the bed sink as he sits.

  I hear his words, but I don’t understand. “What? What do you mean?” I’ve been hit so many times, I know the sting of my parents’ hands better than the feeling of their comforting embrace, but his slap knocks the soul from me. His enormous rings cut into my skin, ripping open flesh on my cheeks, and my head collides with the wall beside me. No noise escapes my mouth, my vision swims, and the pain is so potent I cannot even cry.

  “One thing you need to know before we live this shit-hole, sweet Ella, is that you do not question me. You do not speak unless given my permission. Understood?” He yanks the sheet from my body and sneers as he sees the mess underneath. My eyes are fluttering shut, and I’m fighting to stay conscious, wholly aware that he’s ripping the clothes from me, and yet too weak to protest.

  Where’s my Daddy? Why isn’t my Daddy stopping this man?

  His big fingers probe at my legs, pushing my thighs apart, and on instinct, I bat his hands away.

  SLAP! Another, almost deadly blow to my face, and this time, I cannot see.
My eyes close, but still, my body does not give up, it does not give in to the need to fall asleep. I slump backward, my mind a whirling mess, giving Vladimir the perfect opportunity to continue what he was doing.

  My legs, now no longer controlled by me, flop open, and I heard the four men groan. A weird noise, an unsettling sound. And still the stars dance in my vision.

  Sweat pools at the base of my spine, its coldness almost soothing the bruise I know is forming, and I try my best to gain some strength, anything to remove this man’s hands from my body.

  “Perfection, docela pussy,” he murmurs. He has a funny accent, it’s strong and not one I can place in the world.

  With my vision black, I can only make out the movements of the men intruding into my life. There’s movement on the bed once more as Vladimir’s weight shifts. There’s a small prick in my neck, I can only just feel it, and then I’m weightless, floating in his arms. The panic swells within my stomach, and all I can smell is strong aftershave and smoke. It’s a sickening smell, and I want to fight. I want to kick and scream, but my limbs have become burdensome, my eyes glued shut.

  Voices echo around the room, distorted and scary. I hear the click of a lock, and then I’m floating down, spiraling towards a new kind of hell.

  A cold breeze blows across my face. A woman laughs and lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

  Mama? Open your eyes, Ella, I plead with myself.

  We stop for a brief moment, male voices speak once more, and fighting against the overwhelming urge to succumb to sleep, my right eye flicks open. Through a haze, I see Mama. Her body sprawls across the couch; Daddy is next to her, unwrapping a strap from her arm. She’s got her medicine now. Things will be okay now. Mama will be happy again.

  My eye shuts, far too much of a weight for me, and darkness takes me. A darkness I’ll come to know very, very well.

  Chapter Five

 

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