by Karen Long
Eleanor was confused but aware that she was in terrible danger. It was difficult to understand why the man was smiling at her and gesturing at the walls and images surrounding her. She moved cautiously feeling a stab of pain from what she assumed were broken ribs. Her left leg felt wet and numb and her jaw and ear throbbed. A light was slowly rising on the scene. She was Eleanor Raven and this man was Lee Hughes and he was here to murder her. She tried to stand up but her feet and hands were cuffed and chained together. She tried to speak but could only form a sort of grunting sound. At this Hughes smiled indulgently at her and nodded. Where the hell was she? She scanned the room but the only thing she could think of was that she had found herself in some sort of cartoon ghost train ride from her childhood. As she tried to work out what was happening Hughes stepped behind her and began to push the trolley towards an arch, which was obscured by skeins of cotton-like gossamer.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said. It’s safe. I tried it myself last night. He giggled coquettishly and gave the trolley one final violent thrust along the warped tracks and through the arch. What she saw made Eleanor begin to shake uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered and her body kept shuddering. A large metal hook had been attached to the central wooden beam and from that a length of industrial chain had been threaded through the hook and attached to a metal pulley on one end and two meat hooks at the other. The hooks were exactly the same as those used to display Lydia Greystein and Cassandra Willis. A small table illuminated by several tea lights held a lipstick and a neatly folded transparent plastic bag. Eleanor began to yank at the cuffs her grunting sound developing into a monotonous scream.
Laurence sat in the front of the car yelling instructions at Timms as he flung the car round the tight street corners. “Take a left there!”
Timms cursed as the car skidded and clipped the kerb. The wet streets were a reflective kaleidoscope of red and blue flashing lights as numerous cars followed in their wake.
“There,” he screamed. Monster began to bark steadily in the rear seat.
“Where’s the fucking entrance?” yelled Timms as he peered at the hedging and intermittent broken fencing that divided the roadway from the fairground.
“Stop, let me out!”
Timms braked and let Laurence jump out and race towards the hedge. Before he could stop him Monster had followed and they had both pushed their way through the hedge.
“Fuck!” shouted Timms. He grabbed the radio. “Units three and four, follow Whitefoot. Find a way in!”
Laurence ran through the wet and overgrown grass falling once as he slipped on an old metal frame. Barking maniacally Monster raced ahead instinctively heading for what looked like an old ghost train. As he staggered to his feet, Laurence saw what looked like a candle flickering inside the entrance and the silhouette of a figure sitting behind the counter. Already twenty feet ahead of him, he saw Monster bound up the steps of the ride and race around looking for a way in.
Eleanor fought Hughes with every last ounce of strength she possessed, but her body was too broken to beat him off. After lifting her from the trolley he had pulled the plastic bag over her legs and arms and it was now folded over just beneath her throat. His knee placed on her chest and his left hand on her forehead he began to paint her lips with a dark red gloss. Eleanor had pinched in her lips but Hughes had merely laughed at her, increasing the pressure on her broken rib until she succumbed and allowed him to do it. He let go of her head and sat back still straddling her waist and admired her. “You will change the face of Art in this country forever.” He sighed and then gently pulled the plastic over her face and sealed the bag closed with transparent tape. Eleanor screamed but the sound seemed to be trapped inside the bag with her.
She watched in horror as Hughes manipulated the hook and secured it at the wall. He gave it an experimental tug to make sure that it would take her weight. Satisfied, he turned to Eleanor and smiled.
“It’s time,” he said calmly. But before he could lift her he stopped. The sound of barking accompanied a desperate scratching sound. Hughes set his jaw. This wasn’t right; he needed to position her before his audience arrived. The barking was intensifying and now human yells were accompanying the dog. Decisively, he grabbed Eleanor and lifted her to her feet. She struggled and pulled her feet up in an attempt to overbalance her killer and bring them to the ground but Hughes held her tighter, his frenzied determination giving him strength. A battering sound could be heard from outside. Hughes had placed two wooden planks across the entrance preventing the door from being broken down before he was ready. As suddenly as it had started the battering and barking stopped. Hughes nodded at Eleanor and reached for the hooks. He backed her towards the hook and positioned it behind her finding an appropriate spot with his fingers before plunging into her left and then the right shoulder.
Eleanor stared into his cold, dead eyes. She’d considered pleading for her life but there was no point. She saw that hers and those of Lydia, Cassandra and all of his other victims meant absolutely nothing to him. She said nothing. Hughes grunted loudly as he twisted the hook into Eleanor’s back. He looked at her shocked expression and hoped she would find some inner strength to soften her features into one more indicative of a muse. Letting go of her, he had been surprised that she hadn’t fallen forward. The others had. None had made any more attempts to remain alive after the hook had been inserted. He shrugged and turned to the chain, which needed to be hoisted. He gave an experimental pull noting with satisfaction that the ratchet-action locked the chain off cleanly and without dipping.
Hughes had just repositioned his hands and tensed his muscles, as he prepared to lift the canvas higher, when Monster’s weight hit him. As he fought off the dog he managed to catch sight of a man lifting his beautiful muse in his left arm and pointed a gun at him. This couldn’t be happening. Aiming a vicious kick at the dog’s head he lunged towards the man. The first bullet made little impression on him and although he felt his right arm drop he still kept up a forward momentum.
The next bullet turned off sight, sound and meaning for the artist.
Dropping his weapon, Laurence wrapped both arms tightly round Eleanor and held her rigidly in position.
“Help me! Now! In here!” Laurence screamed, his voice choking with emotion as he stared into Eleanor’s dulling eyes. He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t try and tear the plastic, couldn’t give her words of comfort, he could only hold her and pray that help would hear him.
He felt Monster barge past him, barking wildly and jumping through the hole he’d made in the tarpaulin that Hughes had used to create the back wall of the ghost ride.
Suddenly there were hands and lights all around them. Exclamations of horror all interspersed with the cacophony of barking dog. Not daring to shift his eyes from hers, Laurence screamed his orders.
“Release the chain from the wall. Don’t touch her!”
With one officer holding the hook carefully in position between her shoulder blades, Laurence lay Eleanor gently on the ground and tore open the plastic bag.
“Air ambulance thirty seconds to landing!” bellowed Timms from the newly opened entrance.
Eleanor opened her mouth slightly and spoke. At first it was incomprehensible to Laurence who moved closer to her lips to catch the two syllables. “I can’t hear what you’re saying Eleanor,” he said trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He placed his ear virtually on her lips, holding his breath in an effort to hear her.
She tried again, “Ca-leb.”
Laurence cradled her tightly, feeling his throat tighten as he recognised the word and its meaning.
“You’re safe now,” Laurence whispered back into her ear. “You are safe.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mo snored steadily and deeply, his feet propped up on a stool. Thoughtfully, a member of the medical team had wrapped a blanket round him and had provided him with tea and biscuits.
“Don’t wake him,” Eleanor whispered from the bed.
“He won’t go home until I do and I believe he’s getting more visitors than me.”
Laurence smiled and pulled a chair over from the corner of the room so he could sit close to Eleanor. “How’re you doing?” he asked, picking up the clipboard from the base of the bed and skimming though her notes. He was pleased to see that the graft on her left thigh was healing well and that her fractured ribs, scapula and punctured lung were stabilised and on the mend.
“Which hat are you wearing Whitefoot?”
Laurence smiled and replaced her notes. “I’m here as your partner… and friend.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. “Because I’ve got all the doctors I need here.”
“I need to discuss something with you,” he said quietly.
She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to one side, meeting his gaze with something like her old strength. “I had hoped you didn’t,” she said coldly.
“You were… selected by someone for Hughes. It wasn’t random,’ he moved towards her, reaching for her hand with his. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
For a second Laurence thought she looked afraid and he held her hand more tightly. “But you’re safe now. Mo, Timms and myself are the only ones who know and the only ones who ever will. I give you my word.”
Eleanor stared at him, “What are you confessing to?”
“I…” Laurence was confused. “I had to tell Mo, who made me tell Timms. It was the only way we could get to you… if they knew.”
Eleanor snatched her hand back. “Hughes told me that someone contacted him and arranged for him to get me. They gave him my address.”
“Yes. You didn’t cover your tracks and it made it easy for him to…”
“Him? What the fuck are you saying Whitefoot,” she hissed. “He told me it was a colleague or a friend… was it you?”
Eleanor kept her eyes fixed on his.
Laurence was silent for a moment and then reached inside his jacket pocket. He handed her a folded piece of paper. Slowly she reached for it and held it up to read. Her lips twitched as her brain focused on what the implications were. “The Safe Word,” she whispered.
Laurence nodded. “He arranged it as a… I don’t know why. To broaden your horizons I guess.” He turned away from her. “His name’s…”
“I don’t want to know his name!” she interrupted loudly. Mo snorted and there was a tense few moments before Eleanor and Laurence resumed their conversation.
“How did he find me?”
Laurence shook his head. “How the fuck should I know? You must have allowed him access to your purse or something when you met him at the motel.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, embarrassed and hurt. Eleanor ran quickly though the events of that day, trying to work out when and how the man could have accessed her bag.
“You thought it was me?” he said disbelieving. “You fuck strangers in motel rooms, allowing them to tie you up and abuse you and you thought I had arranged to have you murdered?” He stood up, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry… I was frightened and needed to blame someone. It was stupid of me,” she said quietly. “You saved my life Laurence. I couldn’t fight any more. I’m alive because you worked out where I was. Forgive me,” she spoke quietly.
Laurence stared at her for a moment and then opened the door walking quickly out of the room. The door swung closed behind him and she strained to hear his footsteps disappearing.
The silence was overwhelming.
“It’ll be ok,” said Mo quietly. “You’ll see.”
About the Author
Karen Long is a British novelist who taught English and Drama for several years before becoming a full-time writer. She lives in the North Midlands with her husband, children, dogs and raven.
This is Karen’s first novel and it would be wonderful if you would consider leaving a review on Amazon to let others know what you think of The Safe Word. It doesn’t have to be long, but it would be much appreciated.
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