by Leona Deakin
This time, Beardsley must have held on for at least thirty seconds. Only now did he feel the heat of the injuries to his cheekbone and elbow. He hoped neither was broken.
But his physical pain paled against the shock of Sarah’s deceit. He knew that somewhere in the world there were at least three women who would delight at the idea that when Marcus Jameson had finally fallen in love it was with an illusion, nothing more than a projection of his own fantasy. He also knew that the sick anger he felt now was only the beginning. The depression would follow. If he made it out of here alive.
There was movement above him. Chairs scraped the floor and shoes clipped against the concrete. He took a moment to check his body, flexing the muscles in his feet, ankles and legs, and, when all seemed well, repeated the process in his arms and torso. His right elbow sent a searing dagger of pain through his bicep and into his shoulder. He bit his tongue and counted to five. The heat dissipated. His elbow was probably broken. He lifted his head a fraction, releasing the pressure on his face. His cheekbone hurt, but his elbow was far worse.
There was something shiny nestled in a groove between the cobblestones in front of his face. It was a small silver L-shaped pendant. From a necklace. And not just any necklace. He was sure he had seen it around Lana’s neck. Could that be right? There must be hundreds of similar silver necklaces, worn by hundreds of women, any one of whom could have dropped it here. Yet he was sure Lana had been in this room.
‘Wakey, wakey, baby-facey.’ He saw Seraphine’s feet in their high heels. A few hours ago, those feet had been snaking up his thigh. And man, had he loved that. The disgust came again in a fresh wave of sickness. She stooped and her face came into view. ‘Hey, baby. You OK?’ The concern in her eyes looked so authentic that for a micro-second Jameson’s brain read it as real.
‘Back off,’ he said as his senses recovered.
Seraphine tilted her head as if studying a cute puppy. ‘You know that circle of psychos, as you so fondly christened us? Well, we just got one link stronger. So I’d be careful what you say.’ She stood up straight before he could respond. ‘Get him up.’
Beardsley and Rose-Butler lifted him and righted his chair. Jameson’s elbow screamed at Beardsley’s grip but he gritted his teeth and took the hit. Once upright, he noticed that Augusta had been untied and was now sitting in one of the velvet chairs, beside the older chap in cream slacks. She wouldn’t look him in the eye.
‘Augusta?’ he said, but she didn’t turn. What was that? Shame? Embarrassment? ‘Augusta?’ He kept his voice low and quiet, as if they were the only two people in the room. ‘What are you doing?’ Slowly she moved to face him, and for the first time since they’d arrived in this dungeon he felt a jolt of fear. ‘Augusta?’ he said again. Her eyes were dead.
‘How much fun is this? Finding that two women have had you fooled all this time?’ Seraphine was so gleeful and self-satisfied. ‘So where were we?’ she said to Bloom.
‘This is not a game, is it?’ said Bloom. ‘It’s a cull. A sterilization.’
Seraphine looked delighted. ‘You see! The fact you clocked that just proves how much of an asset you’ll be. The truth is, if we’re going to convince the world that high-functioning psychopaths have every right to be here – more, even, because we’re superior in all the ways that matter – we can’t have those who let the side down muddying the water.’
‘You can’t play with people’s lives like that,’ Jameson said. Bloom and Seraphine both looked his way.
‘Well, technically, they’re the ones playing with their lives. Not me,’ said Seraphine.
‘A man died. Children lost their father,’ said Jameson.
‘Only one family.’
Jameson shook his head. ‘No, not just one family. What about the families of the players who never return? What about Lana and Jane?’
‘Jane is fine, as you well know.’
Jameson looked down at the silver pendant on the floor. ‘But what about Lana? She wasn’t up to your high standards, was she? You used her to get to us. So what happens to her?’
‘Don’t pretend you care about Lana. You told me she was an irresponsible parent.’
‘That doesn’t give you the right to take her from her child.’ He’d never thought he’d be standing up for Lana.
Seraphine smiled at the rest of the group. ‘Did you know that almost all of the world’s secret societies, from the Illuminati to the Freemasons, have been dominated by people like us? You could say we like to steer things from behind the scenes.’
‘So why all the theatrics?’ asked Jameson. ‘Why have us investigating Lana and Jane? Why have us doing your challenges? If your cause is so great, why not come directly to Augusta?’
‘Because she needed to appreciate its scale and feel its elegance. I needed her to know how powerful it is.’
‘You mean how powerful you are,’ Jameson said, amazed at how his feelings towards this woman had changed so drastically in the space of one conversation. ‘So why do you bring people in here? … Because you do, don’t you?’
Jameson watched Seraphine’s brow furrow and then relax. ‘What makes you think that?’
He pondered the pros and cons of mentioning Lana’s pendant.
Bloom responded for him. ‘I expect he’s referring to the set-up. He’s observant about that kind of thing.’ She tapped the base of her chair with the palms of her hands. ‘These are heavy oak. They were brought here for more than one gathering.’
‘Some meetings require absolute privacy.’
‘I’ve been in the sort of meetings that require absolute privacy,’ said Jameson. ‘What do you do to people in here?’
‘Oh, we’re people now, are we? Not psychos or monsters?’
He ignored her. ‘You bring your players here? Players like Lana? Was Lana here?’
‘This has been a lot of fun, Marcus, darling, but now I have what I need’ – Seraphine gestured to Bloom – ‘I no longer need you.’
‘What are you planning to do with him?’ asked Bloom. ‘I take it you won’t just let him go.’
Jameson tried to catch Bloom’s eye, but she wouldn’t look his way. Was she really going to sit there and let this crazy woman do whatever she wanted?
‘Don’t worry. It won’t hurt,’ said Seraphine.
Bloom nodded as if that made it all right. ‘I am impressed with your game’s elegance and its scale,’ she said. ‘But surely you can’t have managed all this on your own?’
‘I’m not on my own,’ Seraphine said, looking around the room.
‘But the technology alone must have cost a fortune.’
‘You could say I’m independently wealthy. You know how easy it is for us to take their money, don’t you, Augusta?’
The smile Bloom gave her protégée turned Jameson’s stomach.
‘Fascinating,’ said Bloom. ‘And you profile them by their online activity?’
‘It couldn’t be easier, what with the popularity of social media today. Everyone is so desperate to reveal themselves and to be seen. It’s quite tragic, really. But that’s just the beginning. We then have to test if they’re worthy.’
‘How do you test them? How do you find out who’s worthy?’ Jameson said. He figured it was incumbent on him to get some answers, even if the chances of walking out of here alive were looking slim.
Seraphine turned to him. ‘First, we just test their character. Are they really impulsive? Are they prepared to walk away from their lives, even if they are about to become a father?’ Seraphine glanced over at Stuart. ‘Then we push a bit more. Are they willing to do something dangerous in order to beat the competition? Will they steal, speed, get a tattoo on a whim, or remodel themselves into someone new?’
‘And if they do?’ said Jameson.
‘You know what comes next, don’t you, Augusta?’ Seraphine’s voice was syrupy sweet.
Bloom answered without a beat. ‘Once the traits of impulsivity, risk-taking and rule-breaking have been estab
lished, the next step would be the social traits. So you have to make them manipulate others, use them or even harm them.’
‘Exactly.’ Seraphine turned to Jameson. ‘We test if you’re good at playing with others.’ She tilted her head and a patronizing smile touched her lips. ‘You know. Like I did with you.’
‘You total—’ He stopped. It would be stupid to lose his temper. ‘Is that why Faye killed her husband?’ he asked instead.
‘That was unfortunate. Their final challenge is to pick someone they know and destroy them. Most functional psychopaths read this as destroying their relationship or their career, but Faye took it a little more literally.’ Seraphine shrugged. ‘With our kind you’re always going to get the odd one with violent tendencies.’
‘You’re sending these sickos out there to destroy innocent people’s lives? For what possible purpose?’
‘It’s simple,’ said Bloom. ‘If she’s designed a good enough test, it will show whether the players are truly worthy of the label.’ Bloom looked impressed; she actually admired Seraphine.
Seraphine responded to Bloom’s appreciation with increased confidence. ‘If done well, it can not only identify the high-functioning psychopaths, like Bloom and myself, but also be used to remove the weaker strains.’
‘Christ, you really are cold,’ Jameson said. ‘You’re turning the country into a playground for psychos.’
‘You do have a lovely turn of phrase, Marcus. But let’s face it, society is already our playground.’
He ignored her self-satisfied smugness. ‘And if they excel at your challenges, and prove to be high-functioning, what then?’
Seraphine turned back to Bloom.
‘They re-enter society,’ said Bloom. ‘But working alongside you. I met Clive Llewellyn, by the way,’ she said to Seraphine. ‘I take it he’s one of us? And the rest? You remove them from circulation.’
‘Clive is an absolute darling. He was very impressed with you. He said you were elegantly authentic. To be honest, I think he might have fancied you,’ said Seraphine.
‘No one else goes home,’ Jameson said.
‘Oh, we give them the chance to go home,’ said Seraphine. ‘But they always pick the other option. The problem with tasting freedom is that you just want more. So that’s what we give them … just not here.’
‘You send them away? That’s … an elegant solution,’ said Bloom.
‘And then what happens to them?’ said Jameson.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Seraphine. ‘We don’t want or need to know what happens to them.’
‘But they’re people like you,’ said Jameson.
Seraphine’s expression flashed with disgust. ‘Absolutely not.’ She reached under her chair and Jameson heard the tear of tape being removed.
He looked at Bloom and Bloom looked back at him. Her eyes were expressionless. He was on his own here. And there were six of them. He didn’t want to die. Not here. Not like this. It was insulting and pathetic. He closed his eyes and told himself to man the fuck up. When he opened them, Seraphine had placed a small tin the size of a pencil case on her lap. She took out a syringe and a vial of clear liquid.
‘I suppose there’s no point promising to keep quiet,’ he said.
Seraphine’s lips curled as she filled the syringe from the vial. She held it up to the light and flicked it twice with her index finger.
He thought about offering to join forces with them. He had skills. He could offer something of value. But he couldn’t do it. ‘At least tell me what that is.’
‘It is the most logical course of action, Marcus,’ said Bloom. She turned to Seraphine. ‘I expect this thing only works if no one knows what’s going on. The general public need to be oblivious to who we really are and what we’re doing. So we can’t have a witness walk away with this knowledge.’
‘Indeed,’ said Seraphine. She pulled her chair close to Jameson’s and with one hand began to roll up his right shirt sleeve. ‘Certainly not one with all those government contacts.’
It was pointless trying to move his arm away. The ropes were too tight. ‘Why the calling cards? Surely that risks exposing all of this?’
Seraphine’s brow furrowed. ‘It was a risk, yes, but a temporary one.’
‘The cards were for me,’ said Bloom. ‘So I’d try to solve the mystery.’
Seraphine pushed his shirt sleeve higher. His injured elbow protested. She twisted his forearm to get to the veins. A groan passed through his gritted teeth.
Seraphine stopped and met his gaze. ‘I can use the other arm if you prefer.’ Her tone was caring, a doctor looking after her patient.
He said nothing. He was not going to discuss with her which arm she should use to kill him.
After a beat she shrugged and gave his forearm a firm twist.
Shards of pain radiated from his elbow straight into his brain. He swore loudly.
‘You said no pain.’ Bloom’s words were detached, a comment on a technicality rather than his distress. But when she glanced at him, he was sure he saw something. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but he knew he hadn’t imagined it. He had worked with the woman for five years. She might have fooled Seraphine, but not him. He knew her better than anyone else. He had seen her ability to read people, assess a situation and make good decisions. And he knew she’d be relying on him to remember that. That’s what he’d seen. A message meant only for him. Brief but clear. A message that said, Trust me.
‘He wanted me to do it. He enjoys being the macho hero, don’t you, Marcus?’ Seraphine tapped his arm to lift the veins, then selected a plump one running diagonally across his skin. ‘I never took you for the strong, silent type. You were always very vocal with me … especially in the bedroom.’ She looked at him briefly before refocusing on the vein and moving the needle close to his skin. She sighed. ‘I’m really going to miss that.’
Jameson felt the needle make contact with his skin. What if he was wrong? What if he’d imagined that look? The mind could be a great conjuror when you really wanted to see something.
‘What did Libby call your boy, Stuart?’ Bloom’s question was so out of context that every pair of eyes fell on her, including Seraphine’s. Bloom continued to look at Stuart, her eyebrows raised slightly, expecting an answer.
Stuart shook his head gently. He looked from Bloom to Seraphine, then back again.
Seraphine sat upright, the syringe tilted away now from his vein. Jameson studied it in her hand. The taut rope binding his wrists to his ankles restricted his movement, but if he moved his left foot and left hand together, maybe he could reach the syringe?
‘Isn’t that what your text message was about?’ asked Bloom.
‘How did you know that?’ Stuart’s thick black eyebrows bunched together.
Jameson hoped his partner knew what she was doing. This was not a group to fuck with. In the past, he’d sometimes suspected that someone might be a psychopath – the agents on both sides, for instance, who walked away from a killing without looking back. But he’d never been sure. They might simply have been good at compartmentalizing. But these people in this room were self-confessed and validated psychos. The real deal. And he could feel it in the air.
‘I expect you instruct your players to dump their phones and acquire pay-as-you-go versions so they remain incognito,’ said Bloom. ‘Is that something you relax once they’re in your pocket?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Stuart.
Seraphine sat back further and the syringe moved a little further away. Jameson needed to grab it soon, before she moved again.
‘This morning at around ten fifteen, you texted Libby Goodman from your new phone and asked her what she’d called your child,’ Bloom said to Stuart.
‘So?’
Jameson squeezed his legs together from the thigh to the ankle. His feet and hands had to move together.
Seraphine spoke up. ‘So you revealed your new number to your ex and your ex gave it to Augusta, who did
what with it, I wonder?’
Bloom looked at Seraphine and smiled.
Jameson took his cue. Time was up. Whatever Augusta had done, Seraphine wasn’t going to like it. He swung his whole body towards Seraphine, his feet and hands rotating exactly as planned to bring his right hand up above his left to where Seraphine still held the syringe. He grabbed it, feeling the smooth plastic fit satisfyingly into his palm. And then, as Seraphine protested and tried to seize it back, he stabbed the needle deep into her forearm and plunged its entire contents into her. ‘Better in you than me,’ he said. Only that morning he’d woken up hoping to spend the rest of his life with this woman.
‘That all depends on your point of view.’ Seraphine pulled her arm away and removed the syringe that hung limply from it.
A second later, Jameson saw Beardsley’s fist coming. He didn’t have time to move his head before his second heavy thud against the concrete.
‘Leave him,’ Seraphine said. ‘There’s not enough time. How long do we have, Augusta?’ Her voice was as calm as ever and Jameson realized how badly he had read her. He’d thought her so composed and brave. But she was simply detached.
‘I couldn’t say for sure, but I expect we’re talking minutes.’
‘Stuart, untie Marcus. The rest of you go,’ said Seraphine.
From his position on the floor, Jameson watched Beardsley, Denise and the old chap who hadn’t spoken open the large door and leave.
Stuart knelt on one knee and deftly undid the ropes around Jameson’s ankles and wrists. ‘What’s going on?’ he said as he stood and pulled the rope away from Jameson.
‘You took our phones today so they couldn’t be tracked,’ said Bloom to Stuart.
Stuart nodded, understanding. ‘But you had my phone number.’ He stood over Bloom as he spoke. He was a good six foot. Jameson rose to his feet as fast as he could. He didn’t fancy Bloom’s odds if this psycho took a swipe.