Kill List

by Vicki Fitzgerald

  I fumble every surface of the chair behind my back in search of a jagged edge to break the cord threads. I can’t sit here and wait to die.

  My shoulders lock in pain, as I grate the cord against the rusty surface, my skin searing with friction burns.

  If I escape, I won’t punish her. She has clearly suffered enough. I just want to be free from this nightmare. I deserve to be free. I don’t deserve to die, not like this.

  83

  EMILIA

  MONDAY 21 NOVEMBER 2018, 8.20 AM

  I’ve pretty much killed my own mother. My selfish actions put her in a hospital bed fighting for her life.

  I’m paralysed by shock and grief, fearing that I’ll lose my own mum forever. This was not part of the plan.

  The truth is going to come out. A volcanic explosion will follow, burning my relationship with Tom.

  Mum’s vicious attack has already come between me and Dad. A wall separates us. We were indestructible, Lois and Clark. Nothing would ever break us. But it has.

  Cipher has torn us apart, knowingly shoved a wedge between us, separating the murderous duo.

  Cronwell wanted to end my game. This was a heinous warning. But they don’t get it, do they? I will never stop. It can never be over. And now they’ve upped the ante.

  How dare they hurt Mum after what they did to me? It was meant to be an eye for an eye. They’ve gone too far.

  If I felt enraged before, that is nothing compared to how I feel now. Attacking Mum was a monumental mistake. One they will come to regret.

  There’s an old saying, that there’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal. They wounded me, left me for dead. But now, they’ve twisted the blade, and that makes me more dangerous than ever before.

  Dad’s part in this is over. He’ll never forgive himself for taking my side and failing to protect Mum. He should have been with her last night, not me.

  Never has Dad looked at me with such utter contempt, eyes savage fires. Their wrath burned my soul.

  Now he won’t even allow me to visit Mum. I must accept that he despises me and won’t ever forgive me.

  Mum and Dad have been inseparable since they were teenagers, like peas in a pod. I’ve effectively cut him in two. If Mum dies, this will be the end of him.

  Perhaps Dad will even kill me with his own bare hands. Who could blame him? Then he’d kill himself. Poor Tom would be left alone.

  Dad will only ever have bitter memories of me now. Every time he looks at me, it will be with hatred. I’ll carry blame for the rest of my miserable life.

  I must be brave but I’m afraid I’ll fall. The last time I deviated from our plan, everything fell apart.

  I was strong, determined, and capable on the surface, yet weak underneath. I will end this game once for all. And I will do it without Dad.

  There are only three targets remaining; two, if Carmichael has made the right choice. He will; he won’t throw Annabelle to the animals to be slaughtered, surely?

  Carmichael has seen the depravity of Cipher, what she’d endure if the game starts. He won’t let that happen.

  I no longer care if I’m caught in the process. Not now. I deserve to die for allowing them to get to my mum. I will find out who hurt her. And the answers I’m given will determine how the game ends.

  84

  RICHARD

  MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 9 PM

  Emilia is unaware of my intentions – to kill Annabelle.

  Annabelle is a pawn in Emilia’s game, a means to an end, to lure Carmichael into killing Hamilton, destroying himself in the process.

  It was my idea, a way to distance us from yet another killing by making him commit murder for us; genius.

  I never intended for any harm to come to Annabelle, but they’ve changed everything. How can they not expect me to retaliate?

  I will have retribution. I’ve nothing else. They are coming for us and once they discover I’ve killed Annabelle; all hell will break loose. I’ll start a war. Oh, who am I kidding? The war has already started. And all is fair, in love and war.

  The door remains bolted. Emilia hasn’t returned. Annabelle stares with pleading eyes, like a caged puppy, desperate to be freed.

  I place my bag on the floor and pull out a forensic suit, zip it to my neck, before snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

  Annabelle thrashes at the restraints. She knows why I’m here, what I intend to do.

  I pull on shoe protectors, my suit hood, and a facial mask to prevent any blood freckles.

  She spits the gag from her mouth, face aflame with anger. The Cipher psychopaths can’t have her to play with. She’s mine to do with as I please.

  “Please,” she begs, legs tugging to free her ankles.

  “Don’t speak. Let’s get this over with quickly. I’ll grant you that.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t do this!”

  “Emilia made that promise. And I’m sure she meant it. But that was when we were a team. I’m alone now.”

  Blood drips from her wrists, the binds digging into the skin surface through the bandages.

  “Please, I’m begging you! Don’t hurt me.”

  “You have your fiancé to blame. If he and Cipher hadn’t assaulted my wife last night, I wouldn’t be here. You see, they’ve destroyed me. She was my world, and now she’s hooked up to a ventilator in a coma, fighting for her life!”

  Her mouth falls slack.

  “They came to my house. Beat her in our own hallway. Can you imagine coming home to that? My wife was an innocent party in all this.”

  “So am I!”

  “Innocent people always get caught in the crossfire. If your fiancé had acted sooner, you’d be free. But instead, he chose to go after my wife. He and his sicko cop pal fucked up and they’re going to have to pay for that.”

  “Please! I know you’ve been through hell, helping your daughter to commit murder. But you know in your heart and head that it’s immoral. You wife wouldn’t want this.”

  “How the hell do you know what my wife would want? Don’t claim to know her or anything about her,” I hiss.

  “My death can only bring you more suffering, not relief. It will haunt you forever.”

  “I’m aware of that. But I’m certain my wife would want me to end all this and make those responsible for her onslaught pay. They cannot get away with it.”

  “Please! I’ll do anything. I’ll even help you get to Ben and Cronwell. I can act as bait, lure them both out.”

  “It’s too late. I’m going to destroy him. I’m going enjoy seeing him suffer. Let him watch me slit your throat live on camera. Then his turn will come!”

  I step closer, clutching a knife so tightly that my knuckles turn bone-white. The blade glistens like a trophy. I feel possessed by the devil, willing me on, spurring me into committing murder.

  85

  EMILIA

  MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 9.17 PM

  “Drop the knife Daddy!”

  Dad turns, wearing full forensic gear from head to toe, with the clear intention and mindset of committing murder.

  He stares, eyes raging, mind feeding on revenge. I barely recognise him. I’ve created a monster.

  This game has turned him; made him bad, like me. I never wanted that to happen, ever.

  “This isn’t you! You’re not a killer, Dad. Please put the knife down,” I beg.

  “No,” he muffles.

  Annabelle is frozen, Dad inching closer with the blade.

  “Dad, please stop. Listen to me. Your mind is broken, you’re in shock. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  He swings around, waving the knife at me, eyes leaking inexorable tears.

  “They hurt my Claire. That wasn’t part of the plan! She was never meant to be part of this damned game!”

  “This is all my fault. I never meant to put our family in danger. I’m so sorry, I thought we were in the clear after I’d killed Goulding. I’m so, so sorry Daddy.’

  ‘This has gone
too far, Emilia. I could lose your mother.”

  “I know. I’m heartbroken too. I never wanted Mum to get caught in the crossfire. I’m sorry. She’s completely innocent. So was I. And so is Annabelle. Hurting her was never part of the plan.”

  “That was before Carmichael or Cronwell smashed their fists into your mother’s face and put her into a coma,” Dad shrieks, turning back to face Annabelle.

  I witness a stampede, steps hammering the ground, knife pointing like a fencing sword.

  “Please!”

  Annabelle screams, screwing her eyes tight.

  “Daddy! Stop!”

  “I need Carmichael to know how it feels.”

  “Carmichael didn’t do this! Cronwell attacked Mum. He’s the vicious brute, not Carmichael!”

  Annabelle’s eyes peak open, glare fixed on the blade, now paused inches from her.

  “Please drop the knife. You’re not a murderer.”

  “Neither were you. Look how you’ve turned out!” he screeches, face gritted with repulsion.

  Dad walks behind Annabelle, presses the blade taut to her neck. He’s going to slit her throat in front of me.

  “Stop, Dad, please. I don’t care about my life, but I do care deeply about yours. I don’t want you to turn into me. What I’m doing is inhumane, but for good reason.”

  “They left your mum to die, alone. I should have been at home protecting her. I broke my marriage vows.”

  “It’s my fault, Dad, not yours. I begged for your help, remember? This was all to save me and make me better. I’m to blame. I accept that, and I’ll have to live with that on my conscience for the rest of my life. You were protecting me, your only daughter, from Cipher. We weren’t to know they’d hurt Mum. Don’t do this. Annabelle doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Neither did your mother but that didn’t stop the bastards.”

  “Killing Annabelle for something Cronwell did makes us no better than Cipher. And we ARE better than that, Daddy. We have killed those who deserved to die out of revenge. But Annabelle did nothing to Mum. And neither did Carmichael. Killing Annabelle will destroy you.”

  Silence lingers.

  “Mum’s beating was barbaric, and I will have vengeance, I promise. I’ll make Cronwell suffer, Dad, so very much, but let’s leave Annabelle out of it. If you kill her, you’ll lose your mind, like me.”

  His eyes fix on mine, absorbing my words. He lowers the blade, dangling it by his right side. Annabelle’s shoulders sag, her face saturated with tears.

  “Emilia, I lost my mind the moment I watched you cut Piers’ corpse into bits and pieces. Your mother is the only thing keeping me sane.”

  “Mum wouldn’t want this. She’d be horrified, you know she would. I can live with my barbaric actions, but you can’t.”

  Annabelle’s stare drifts from me to Dad. Her hands and feet tug at the restraints.

  Dad drops the knife; it clatters against the concrete. It’s as though he’s back in control of his own broken mind.

  He yanks off the mask, rips away the forensic suit and crumbles to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Let’s go home, Daddy. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Please, let me go,” Annabelle interrupts.

  I pluck a cash-bought, untraceable ‘pay-as-you-go’ phone, with pre-paid credit, from my pocket. I hit dial and put the call on speakerphone.

  “Beg for your life, Annabelle, and make it convincing, if you want this to be over with.”

  “Hello,” Carmichael answers.

  Annabelle stares. I nod, willing her to speak.

  “Ben. Please help me, do as they say,” she howls.

  “Anna! Oh, thank God. Are you OK? Have they hurt you?”

  “No, but I’m scared Ben, please do whatever they ask. Do whatever it takes to get me out of here and home.”

  “I’m so sorry for putting you through all this. I never meant to put you in danger. Where are you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Annabelle?”

  “Please, Ben, hurry! They will hurt me if you don’t do as they ask. They threatened to slit my throat.”

  I hold my fingers up, indicating how many hours remain before his time is up.

  “Time is running out. They’ll kill me if you don’t do as they ask. Please! If you ever loved me, you’ve got to help me.”

  I end the call abruptly. Annabelle’s voice will spur him into action now he knows she’s still alive. I’ll grant her freedom once I’ve had confirmation that Hamilton is dead.

  I replace Annabelle’s gag, retrace my steps to Dad to console him. He’s back on his feet, forcing an arm out, firm palm directing me not to step closer.

  Dad turns his back and walks out the door; out on me. I’ve lost him and have torn my family apart. No good could have ever come of this. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I was dead.

  86

  ANNABELLE

  MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 9.58 PM

  I’m alive and I’ve evaded slaughter in an insane twist of fate.

  She was my captor but now is my saviour, sparing me from the blade that would have killed me.

  I stare at her, tears caress her cheeks, having witnessed her own father walk out on her. How could he abandon his damaged little girl?

  I understand he’d lost it, having found his wife battered, but he’s an old man, not a killer.

  She, on the other hand, is fragile, like a porcelain doll, but underneath, revenge festers in her guts, wanting payback, demanding retribution.

  I understand why I’m here and I now truly believe she will set me free once Ben has met her demands.

  No one should ever experience rape. They were vicious, the footage sickened me.

  I imagine her body is littered with scars. Every time she sees them, she’s repulsed; reminded of their crimes.

  No one can be expected to live a normal life after that, it would change you. She’s feeding on revenge to keep her heart beating. Now it has been broken by betrayal.

  Blood ties are strong and hers have been severed. Either she’ll find the strength to go it alone, or she’ll crumble.

  She paces in silence. Her mind is a mess. I’m thankful that despite still being held prisoner, I’m alive.

  87

  DI CARMICHAEL

  MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 11.35 PM

  Cronwell is barbaric, a black-hearted, merciless villain with no morals – an ideal candidate to commit murder.

  He won’t even blink an eye; he’s excited at the thought of killing Hamilton to save Annabelle.

  I despise him, now more than ever, for bringing Cipher into mine and Annabelle’s lives.

  The clock is ticking. Annabelle will be sold, tortured, raped, or murdered, unless I obey Emilia’s demands.

  I’ve no alternative but to kill him and Cronwell has taken the lead and lured Hamilton from his posh pad in Bath to an abattoir in Chew Magna for a private game.

  Cipher rules state members can share their own material to climb the rankings and become a VIP. Bonus points are awarded to players using imaginative actions.

  The setting, a bloody abattoir, is perfect, packed full of meat hooks, cutting saws, and barbarous machinery that can dispose of a body with ease.

  Hamilton is lagging on the leaderboard, desperate to compete. Cronwell has sent him a picture, acquired online, of a pretty Asian girl, bound naked, with a message: ‘Want to play?’

  He responded like a mouse to cheese, believing he’s about to sexually torment the victim, before slaughtering her with his bare hands.

  Hamilton longs to inflict atrocious violence. Only, there is no girl. By the time he realises what’s about to go down, it will be too late.

  Hamilton is a ‘hard nut’, not the stereotypical image of a cardiology consultant. He likes having people’s hearts in his hands, having the power to let people live, or die.

  Perhaps that’s why he got involved in the game in the first place. He wanted to release tension outside of his rol
e; take lives, instead of saving them.

  I recall his tattooed knuckles pounding Emilia’s face, his shoes stamping on her as though he was flattening a cockroach nest. Violence is his trait. And it will be the death of him.

  The sickly stench of carcasses is suffocating, as is the sight of pigs hanging by their trotters from hooks, cut from the rectum to the snout.

  Each of them slaughtered and disembowelled in an intensely personal way, ready for butchering. That’s how Hamilton will die. Like the pig he is.

  Emilia demanded despicable violence and that’s what Cronwell has planned for his execution.

  Hamilton is single, he has no wife or lover to miss him. Both his parents died in a car crash.

  He chose the dark side, instead of living a conventional life. He will vanish to a pile of palatable, minced meat.

  The humane slaughter process involves ‘stunning’ a pig, passing 40-volts through it with electrical tongs. Its throat is cut within 15 seconds to ensure a painless end.

  Emilia would not approve; she wants pain and suffering.

  We’ll knock him out, render him unconscious, long enough to get his bound body strung on a hook.

  Getting us to do her dirty work is pure brilliance, I must admit. He’ll be murdered but without any blood on her hands. There’s no going back. I’m sickened by what I’m about to be party to. But then, I’m doing this for Annabelle. I have to save her.

  We await his arrival in an eerie silence, amongst the decaying carcasses, and machinery.

  A bolt of terror strikes me. What if Emilia has abducted Cronwell’s wife, and is blackmailing him, too, into killing me? I can never trust him. And I have no doubt that he would turn on me in an instant.