“I’m bait to lure him here, aren’t I? So you can kill me in front of him and make him watch as payback,” I snap.
“As I’ve already said. Ben will be spared death, as will you. Ruining his life, ensuring he spends the rest of his days living in tortured torment, is far more satisfying for me. Taking his life would end his suffering too quickly. I want to destroy him because he destroyed me. I want him to suffer, and hurt, like I have suffered and hurt. I’m simply returning the favour, giving him a taste of his own medicine. Karma serves what you deserve. The clock is ticking.”
78
CLAIRE
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 2.12 AM
I cannot scream, cannot move, or I will die in my own bed.
Crazed, demonic eyes stare from beneath the stranger’s black balaclava, his face inches from mine.
A cold gloved hand seals my mouth and nose. I can barely breathe beneath the suffocating grip.
I snatch breaths as he presses a knife to my throat, the steel cold against my skin. I fumble for Richard; he’s gone!
My panic intensifies, fearing he’s left the house, left me alone, to attend a crime scene in the dark of the night.
The alarms haven’t activated. The intruder must have seen Richard leave, assumed the house was unoccupied, and broken into our home to rob us.
My chest is tight, fighting to draw air as his grip intensifies, delving into my cheeks.
After what feels like minutes, he pulls his hand away, and I gasp, snatching breaths in rapid succession.
He towers above, blade dangling loose in his hand.
“Take what you want,” I whisper.
“Anything I want?” he answers, in a coarse voice.
“Yes, anything. Please, don’t hurt me,” I beg.
The stranger offers a disturbing rattling laugh which makes every hair stand on end and every bone shudder.
“I have money. Inside the safe.”
“I’m not here for money, I’m here for you,” he whispers, casually skulking to the foot of the bed.
His words terrify me. He doesn’t want our possessions, he wants me. He’s going to violate me in unimaginable ways.
I cannot identify him in any way. The figure is dressed from head to toe in black, camouflaging with the nightfall.
He paces back and forth, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his chin in deliberation.
Survival instinct kicks in. I flip the duvet, bolt towards the bedroom door, and run for my life.
“Stupid bitch! Get back here!” he screeches.
I run through pitch black, bare soles slapping the oak floor, hands fumbling in search of the banister. I need to get away and find a weapon.
Thunderous boots pound behind, hitting every creak in close pursuit. If I don’t stop running, I will die, and I’ll never see my family ever again.
I teeter at the stop stair as he yanks my nightie from behind, the neckline pulls taut, strangling me.
Fabric tears as I pull away, over balance and topple forwards, crashing down the stairs to a crumpled heap.
Laughter echoes as his footsteps near. I blink to refocus my vision, impaired by the excruciating blows.
His jagged silhouette emerges.
“Now that was silly. You should never run!”
“Get out of my house! I’ve triggered the emergency alarm. Leave before the police arrive.”
“Liar. There isn’t an alarm.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you, I’m here for you.”
A fist smashes into my right eye, and again, and again, hitting my mouth and cheeks. Blood spurts from my lips.
“If you want to know why I’m here, why I’m doing this, ask your darling daughter. Or your dutiful husband. It’s a daddy- daughter family secret that brought darkness to your door.”
I feel another fist and slip away into darkness.
79
EMILIA
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 5.35 AM
Annabelle’s annihilation begins in 24 hours. Carmichael must choose to commit murder to save his fiancé.
Dad was astute. We don’t need blood on our hands. Carmichael can be part of our killing game.
Annabelle remains our gagged prisoner in the bunker, sealed with a heavy-duty padlock and chain.
The wheels are now in motion. I’ve set a weblink to Carmichael’s mobile to the Cipher feed.
Cat welcomes me home from my extra-curricular activities, with the usual fuss. She swaddles against my chest, rubbing her head against my chin.
As I snuggle her, I notice a blank, hand-delivered envelope resting on the doormat. Fear ricochets up my spine.
Shaky fingers tear at the paper, exposing a black card adorned with three, contrasting, white lilies, alongside calligraphy lettering; ‘With Sympathy’.
It’s too late! They’ve identified me and have come for my family.
I stagger through darkness, clutching Cat to my chest, finger pawing over my rubber car key fob.
My ankle overturns. I teeter on the verge of a fall, desperately stabilising myself before yanking the car door handle.
I collapse into the driver’s seat, turn over the engine and examine the rear seat in the mirror for company.
Perhaps I’ve lost it and my mind is smashing to pieces. It isn’t, this is real. The threat is concise. It’s either already been acted upon, or they are coming for us.
Dad warned me this would happen. I wouldn’t listen and now the game has come full circle.
Vomit spews over my lips, splattering the steering wheel as I encounter police at Mum and Dad’s house.
I count three squad cars and an ambulance. Cipher has already come for my family, an eye for an eye.
Carmichael doesn’t want to play my game, he’s ended it. He’s chosen to mutilate my parents, rather than save Annabelle.
I push open the door, step out on hollow legs and walk towards the cordon. Sick remnants cling to my hair.
Lightheaded, I stagger, drunk on shock. The world around me spins and I fall flat, cracking my nose.
I crawl to my knees, edging closer, blood gushing over my lips. A police officer assists me back to my feet.
Beyond her, I witness forensic and police commotion. She tries to hold me back, but I push her, duck under the tape, and run.
Paper suits crouch in the hallway, cameras snapping. I see outstretched wayward legs, and lashings of bloodsplatter all over the floor and walls.
My heart shatters as I haul myself through the doorway. A firm hand grabs my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.
Mum’s head rests in a pool of blood, her face beaten. But she’s still breathing and being treated by paramedics.
I look away and encounter Dad’s wretched face. I collapse into his chest, wailing, his heartbeats mirroring mine.
Only, he doesn’t respond. There’s no loving embrace, no ounce of comfort. No interaction whatsoever.
Stunned by his rejection, I push my palms against his chest, inching myself away to encounter his face. It’s like I’m staring at a stranger.
Livid, scarlet eyes scorn me, mouth set in a grim clench. The feeling returns, of being dead inside. He dips his head in disgust.
“You did this, Emilia; you nearly killed your own mother,” he whispers.
“No, Daddy, WE did.”
80
DI CARMICHAEL
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 6 AM
Jagged glass glistens on the floor, a sinister chill in the air. Danger lies ahead.
I run, pulling myself upstairs, expecting to find Annabelle’s mutilated corpse, but she’s gone.
They’ve taken her. This is all my fault; I’ve put my own fiancé in jeopardy because of my own sick actions and I’m going to lose the best thing in my life.
I’ve nowhere else to turn. I call Cronwell. I can’t call it in officially; questions will be asked, and both myself and Cipher will be exposed. If that happens, they will kill me.
A text envelope pops up on scr
een, pulverising my insides before I hit the call button: ‘Watch Annabelle Annihilated’.
I click the weblink, horrified at the direction to Cipher. Its familiar black and red screen emerges with the warning strapline: ‘If you don’t know what lies ahead, you are already in the wrong place.’
Emilia has somehow hacked into the forum and posted a video. A live countdown clock rests in the right corner, a still image of Annabelle bound and gagged below.
Her terrified eyes bore into my soul, shattering every part of me. I don’t know how to fix this. Emilia is always one step ahead of the game: she’s brilliant and deadly.
It should never have come to this. I should have handed myself in, no matter the consequences. It was selfish of me to lie and not to expect repercussions.
Karma always comes back to bite you. Emilia wants me to suffer and what better way to cause agony than to cause me heartache.
With reluctance, I click the ‘play’ arrow on screen. Tears stream down Annabelle’s face, petrified eyes staring into the camera lens.
What have I done?
She grapples against cords that bind her wrists and ankles. Live comments appear below, the feed attracting mounting attention. ‘Kill the skinny bitch.’
I’ll end this. I don’t know how, but I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes. I won’t let Cipher destroy Annabelle.
A second text bleeps. I swipe the screen.
‘Kill Hamilton, or Annabelle’s game goes ahead. I’ll sell her to the highest bidder. You’ve 24 hours. Only one requirement; death by extreme violence.’
I dial Cronwell. He answers on the first ring.
“It’s over. I’ve put an end to her game,” Cronwell ejects, before I’ve chance to speak.
“How? Do you have Emilia?”
“No. I taught the bitch a lesson to demonstrate she’s fucked with the wrong people. I’ve shown her who’s boss; I beat her mother to a pulp. It will put an end to all this.”
“It’s too late. She’s taken Annabelle!”
“What?”
“Annabelle’s gone. Emilia has her. There’s a live feed on Cipher with a countdown clock!”
“What?”
“Aren’t you fucking listening to me? She’s created her own red room with Annabelle as the star trophy! What the hell did you do? She’s retaliated to her mother’s death.”
“Hardly, I only paid her mum a visit two hours ago!”
Silence.
“She’s putting Annabelle on the market to the highest bidder, treating her like cattle.”
“This is messed up. You should have listened to me. I wanted to take the bitch out.”
“I’ve got 24 hours to save Annabelle.”
“How?”
“Murder. An ultimatum: kill Hamilton or the game goes ahead.”
“Let's stay calm.”
“Stay calm? Annabelle’s life is in danger!”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to think.”
“I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to her.”
“You’ve got no choice. Do it!”
“What? I’m not a murderer. I can’t kill.”
“Grow some balls, Carmichael. Do you want Annabelle to endure Cipher? She’ll be tortured, raped and killed!”
“But murder?”
“End this or it’s you and me next! Harper called from the lab with Goulding’s autopsy results. Emilia’s fucking deeply disturbed. She pumped Goulding full of sulphuric acid and cooked her alive. The only way to end all this is to work together. We make Goulding’s death disappear, forge an autopsy report, and kill Hamilton; together.”
81
RICHARD
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 7.30 AM
My beautiful wife. If I’d known the last time, I held you in my arms could be the last time I ever embraced you, I wouldn’t have let you go.
Light has been replaced by pitch darkness, weaving a suffocating fog around me. I’m so afraid you are going to die.
The doctors and nurses are doing everything they can, and you’re fighting with every inch of your life.
You always told me not to cry, if you die before I do, but even though you’re still here, this pain is unbearable.
I want to turn back time. But I can’t. I’m hollow, I’ve failed as a husband; I did not protect you. I’m sorry.
If you die, which I pray to God you don’t, not a day will go by where you won’t be in my thoughts and dreams.
You are the beat of my heart, the spring in my step, every breath that I take. It’s all for you. And now I could lose you forever.
I encase your hand in mine. You’re so cold, hooked up to machines and monitors, to keep your heart beating.
We were meant to grow old together, still as much in love as the day we married. This is so wrong.
I stroke your cheek, admiring the wonderful woman who has shared my life. You are my rock, my best friend, my wife, and soulmate. I don’t want to be here without you. I’d have nothing to live for.
I’ve never known emptiness until now. I long for you to open your eyes, see your beautiful smile, and tell me that you’re ok.
Remorse eats away at me. I should have taken better care of you. For that, I will never forgive myself.
We accept that death will come for all of us at some stage, but not like this: execution. I keep picturing your terror, the moment you opened the door and were confronted with vicious, brutal fists.
I should have been at home protecting you from Cipher, instead of playing deadly games with Emilia.
I need to be free from violence and the vultures who knocked at our door. They’ve torn out my heart, shredded it, and left me riddled with enduring sadness.
Our family is falling apart. It will never be the same again. The love I had for Emilia has been replaced with bitter resentment. She brought violence to our door.
If only she had listened to me, you’d be fine. But no, not Emilia. She always gets her own way and convinced me that killing them was the only way to save her.
It hasn’t saved her; it’s changed her beyond recognition. I was a fool for ever thinking that I could bring back the old Emilia. She’s dead inside, feeding on revenge and now I am too.
I cannot find peace. I’ll never find it while those monsters continue to walk the streets. I’ve finally understood how Emilia feels; destroyed.
I’ve failed Emilia, as a father. And that breaks my heart. But even worse than that; far, far, worse than that; I’ve failed you, my love.
Will you ever forgive me?
Will I ever be able to forgive myself?
While you recuperate, I will continue the game; I must, now, because it has become so very personal. And that’s why I’m changing tactics.
Emilia believes it is her game, and that she makes the rules. But rules were made to be broken.
Bad things happen, and it tips you over the edge. Carmichael hurt you, my dear loving wife; I’m going to take his, plain and simple. Annabelle must die.
82
ANNABELLE
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 8.15 AM
I’m cold and afraid, awaiting my own execution.
I hear the ocean, waves crashing and the wind howling. I can only assume I’m being held in an abandoned site.
There’s an open suitcase on the floor. She must have treated me as luggage, and dragged me here after drugging me; the bitch.
I remember a sharp jab in my neck and falling. I woke in this shit hole, bound and gagged.
You think horrible things only happen to other people; those who deserve it. I don’t.
I understand that my captor has endured a horrific ordeal and has lost her mind as a result. But abducting and holding me prisoner is despicable.
I did nothing to her. I have no idea who she is. I’m innocent. In doing this to me, she is becoming as evil as those who attacked her.
She should have gone after Ben and left me the hell out of their argument. All the love I had for him has been shattered.
Ben should be made to pay. He deserves to die, or at least be severely punished for his crime. Or is it crimes? I don’t know.
But why should I have to suffer, too? Why should I be made to endure torture for that bastard’s crimes?
I’d yank off my engagement ring if I could and launch it as I spat in his face. I’ll never marry that monster.
While I feared my male captor was going to rape me, I no longer feel scared of that fate. He’s no predator wanting to violate me; he’s her father.
I’ve replayed the scenes over and over. He refused to listen to the footage; shielded his ears. The only thing I cannot figure out is why she involved her own dad. Surely, you wouldn’t want your father to know you are committing murder?
No child wants daddy dearest to look at them disapprovingly. Yet there is an unsettling, unbreakable bond between them.
Despite her reassurances, I still fear she wants me dead, to punish Ben, and she will make him watch, to add insult to injury.
The video of her attack keeps pounding my mind on repeat. How could he do it? How can he live with himself?
To think that we’ve been intimate makes my blood boil. I want to scrub my skin and wash every grimy touch of him off me. If I do get out of here alive, how am I ever going to explain any of this to my family?
I study the Fire Exit at the rear of this barn as a potential escape route. Its interior vandalised, exposing inner panels with rimmed knots which stare like eyes.
Sockets and wires hang off the walls. There are signs about goggles being warn. It’s as though scientific experiments once took place here.
The sound of the ocean means I’m still by the coast. Ben should have come for me by now. Why am I still here, alone?
Kill List Page 18