Perfect Day

by Kris Lillyman

  The German and his friends eyed Sam murderously for a long moment, sizing him up, appraising him, all wondering if the four of them could take him down.

  Then, almost as one, decided they could not. For the sake of just four more drinks it would, in fact, be much wiser to do exactly as advised.

  Sam sensed the mood changing. “It’s a good decision, boys. One you won’t regret in the morning I can assure you.”

  Amid much chuntering, the four of them slowly filed out of the bar towards the exit, their eyes downcast as they passed Sam and Natalie on the way. Indeed, only the German attempted eye-contact. However, as he drew level with them he cast his eyes down, too, unable to meet Sam’s unsettling gaze.

  The four marched through the lobby and out through the hotel’s front doors, Sam watching them all the way.

  As soon as they were gone, Natalie rushed to close the doors behind them. “Thank you,” she said, crossing the small lobby, back to Sam who was still standing at the entrance to the bar room, “I suspect that could have turned out somewhat differently if not for you.”

  “Hey, no problem,” he replied. “Listen, about what I said a moment ago - about you coming to my room - I’m sorry, it was the drink talk—“

  However, before he could finish, Natalie leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered huskily. “Give me a few minutes to tidy the bar and I’ll meet you up there shortly.”

  It was an impulsive decision and one which could prove very wrong, but at that moment she wanted Sam more than she had any man. Yes he was a soldier and yes he might be dangerous but he had also just saved her. Furthermore, she had learnt to trust her instincts and they were currently screaming at her to throw caution to the wind.

  Indeed, before common sense could get the better of her and she had a chance to change her mind, she ushered Sam out of the bar and set about clearing up as swiftly as possible.

  As for Sam, he made his way to the elevator in a state of complete shock. Yet before he had reached his room that feeling had turned to elation.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  They lay naked together on the bed, both glistening with a light sheen of perspiration in the warm room as the inadequate ceiling fan whirred silently above them.

  Each of them were breathing hard from the exertions of sex which had been passionate, wonderful and exhausting - a long awaited release for both which had been much-needed.

  Natalie’s long, graceful legs were still entwined with Sam’s as she lay spent beside him having just achieved a shattering climax.

  She had come to Sam’s room fifteen minutes after shepherding him out of the bar; a light knock on his door signalling her arrival.

  The moment she was inside they kissed once more, but this time it was long and heated, the fire between them burning intensely.

  He guided her to the bed, their mouths still pressed together and their need frantic.

  A moment later they were both naked, her soft, darkly curvaceous body undulating rhythmically beneath the tanned hardness of his.

  Without clothes, Natalie was even more wondrous than Sam had previously imagined; her silky smooth skin shining like polished mahogany in the dimly lit the room.

  “My God but you’re beautiful,” Sam breathed as she wrapped her long legs around him.

  “I might say the same of you,” she whispered in reply, relishing the delicious feel of him inside her.

  However, she was not blind to his many scars and it occurred to her that he had been through much.

  Yet before she could consider it further, a wave of intense pleasure swept over her and suddenly she was lost, gloriously distracted by his skilful attentions.

  ***

  Sometime later, when they had both suitably recovered from the throes of their lust, Natalie slipped out of bed to get some water.

  As she crossed to the bathroom to run the tap, Sam admired her magnificent derriere. However, as he lifted his gaze, he noticed for the first time a thin white scar running across the full width of her back; a long line followed by short dash, which resembled a shooting star. Sam said nothing about it but suspected that whatever had caused the wound must have been extremely painful.

  A few seconds later, Natalie was back in bed beside him, her head resting on his chest and his arm around her shoulders.

  It was way into the early hours by now and even though Sam had switched the bedside lamp off sometime before, the room was illuminated by the ambient light of the vibrant city; what is more, with the balcony doors flung wide in the sweltering heat of the Kinshasa night, the bustling noise of the restless streets below was clearly audible even five floors up.

  In Sam’s room, however, all was peace and tranquillity as they revelled in a closeness that neither of them had enjoyed for many years; appreciating it even more because it had been so unexpected.

  Yet they were not fools. Each of them knew that they were just a temporary comfort to the other, a brief and welcome respite from lives so different that they could never possibly be together. But it did not make their union any less meaningful or what they shared in that moment any less intimate.

  Indeed, as Natalie looked up and gazed dreamily into Sam’s eyes she felt as if she could see into his very soul.

  She raised a finger and gently traced the minute web of scar-tissue above his right eye which would have been almost indiscernible if not for his deep tan.

  She could also see other signs of previous injuries; old scars in his hair line as well as on the bridge of his nose and on his chin, too; evidence that seemed to be consistent with a beating - or several beatings - and she was one to know. Yet Sam wore these marks well and they served only to give his handsome face a more rugged, masculine appearance.

  However, his body was badly scarred too - with similar marks on each of his forearms and thighs as well as a particularly visible one on his side.

  It was obvious to Natalie that these were the result of stab wounds. She had seen hundreds of such scars as a consequence of the war in her country so knew them for what they were. But Sam’s scars were not fresh - nor did they tally with the decent, gentle person her instincts told her he was. Indeed, her own body had just received ample proof of his inherent tenderness.

  So how did he come by these dreadful injuries?

  As she contemplated this, she moved her hand down to his sculpted torso and lightly stroked the scar next to his clearly defined ribs.

  “Someone stabbed you?” She said absently, the question spilling from her mouth before it had been properly formed in her head. Then, suddenly mortified by her lack of tact, added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

  “It’s okay,” Sam interrupted. He placed his hand gently on hers, which was directly above the scar. “Yes, I was stabbed a long time ago.”

  Natalie looked at him quizzically, “You were fighting another war?”

  “No,” Sam replied, instantly taken back to the glade on that fateful afternoon and his eyes filling with a sadness that could not quickly be disguised. “I was attacked. It’s a long story.”

  She immediately saw the emotion her question had caused and felt a pang of guilt. “Please forgive me - it was not my intention to cause you pain.”

  Sam smiled wistfully. “I know. It’s okay - bad memories, that’s all.”

  “The other scars, too - are they from the same time?”

  “Yes - or most of them. But I was lucky, I think.”

  “Lucky?” Natalie asked, her voice conveying her amazement at his appraisal of such injuries. “How do you figure that? These scars do not look lucky to me.”

  “I’m lucky because I survived,” Sam replied, his tone suddenly bitter. “But my girlfriend - my fiancé - did not.”

  He did not know why he said it. Indeed, Sam had not told anyone in all the years since it had happened, yet with Natal
ie it just seemed right. Maybe it was because in some small way she reminded him of Claudette; her dark chocolate eyes and lustrous brown skin. Whatever it was, the words came out and it was almost cathartic.

  “Oh my God, Sam! I’m so sorry, I had no idea - if I had known I never would have—“

  “It’s alright, Natalie. I’m glad you know. It’s the whole reason why I’m here in The Congo, the reason why I’m posing as a soldier - the very purpose of me being in Africa for the past four years.”

  “Posing as a soldier? I don’t understand,” Natalie replied, her voice soft but inquisitive, “what do you mean?”

  Sam looked hard into her eyes, struggling for a moment as he considered if it was wise to tell her, but the compassion he could see in her told him to take a chance; instinctively knowing that whatever he said would not be repeated.

  “It was ten years ago,” he began. “I was a student living in England - Cambridge - you’ve heard of it?”

  Natalie nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s famous - the university.”

  “Yes, exactly. Well I was there with my girlfriend - a beautiful girl from Africa, like you. We were in love, going to be married, she was even pregnant with my baby. Then one day, for no reason I have been able to fathom, six men attacked us. We were in a secluded spot - had just made love, as you and I did a moment ago - then suddenly they were upon us. I was knocked out, badly injured - helpless to do anything and they—“ suddenly Sam choked. To speak of it brought it flooding back.

  “It’s alright Sam,” Natalie consoled, her voice kind and soothing. “I understand, you don’t have to.”

  “No, it’s okay - it’s just that I’ve never spoken to anyone about it before.”

  She placed her hand on his and squeezed it to comfort him, her heart breaking at his sorrowful tale.

  “They raped her. All of them - two at a time - brutalised her whilst holding a chain tightly around her neck,” Sam felt the bile rise in his throat and his hatred of them burn as he thought of each of their faces once more - just as he had a thousand times before. Every night, every day, at almost every moment. “Then they hung her naked from a tree and drove a knife into her belly - murdering both her and my unborn child.”

  Tears were streaming down Natalie’s face, although it was not hard for her to imagine the horrors of what Sam had witnessed as she, too, had suffered at the hands of evil. Indeed, such horrors were commonplace in The Congo, yet it made his tale no less shocking, no less tragic.

  “Before her killers left,” Sam continued, “when she was dead and they assumed I was too, one of them carved a swastika into her chest and laughed as he did it. I have never witnessed a sight more grotesque.”

  “Dear Lord, I’m so sorry, Sam. It must have been horrific.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, no longer able to look at her for fear of her seeing the tears in his eyes.

  They were both quiet for a long moment, the weight of what Sam had told her hanging heavily between them as the sound of the streets below played through the silence of the room until finally Natalie spoke.

  “You said the attack was your whole reason for coming to Africa. What did you mean?”

  He looked up to face her once more, his gaze now full of resolve. “Since the day Claudette died I’ve been tracking the men who murdered her. I told you earlier that I did not get off on violence - well that was a lie.”

  “A lie?”

  “I’m sorry, but yes. It’s true, I am not a violent man - or at least I hope not - but those men needed to be punished and I have sworn myself to the task.”

  “You intend to kill them?” Natalie was somewhat taken aback by his confession.

  Sam nodded. “I have already caught up with four. Now only two remain.”

  Natalie glared at him, her eyes wide.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sam. “I know that must shock you - does it?”

  She stared into his kind blue eyes for a long moment as she considered all he had said. “No,” she said finally, “it does not shock me. In fact I understand precisely.”

  “You do?”

  “Five years ago I was also attacked,” she said solemnly. “My mother and brother were both murdered and my father left so badly injured that he could no longer run the hotel. I was beaten and raped but spared death because they thought me beautiful and wished to use me for sport - which they did, many times. But I survived nonetheless and I am still alive to tell the tale.

  Sam shook his head with sympathy and disbelief. “Christ, Natalie - that’s terrible. The scar on your back - is that from—“

  She nodded silently.

  “Sorry, I noticed it earlier, I had no intention of mentioning it but—“

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind telling you. Such things are common in Africa - murder, beatings - they’re just a part of daily life, something that you either get used to or go crazy thinking about. The scar was made by a belt - the long line by the leather strap and the shorter mark by the buckle.”

  She hitched around and turned her head, pointing to a bright pink scar on the back of her scalp. “This, too - made by his belt buckle.”

  “Jesus - I hope the bastard got what he deserved.”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” she replied, “that’s not the way of things here. No one pays for their crimes except the victims.”

  “Who was he?” Sam asked.

  “He was a soldier - a mercenary - like you.” Then quickly she corrected herself.” Sorry, not like you. Nothing like you. In fact, as far from you as it is possible to be. I’m not really sure what you meant when you said you were only posing as a soldier - but this man definitely was one - and an evil one at that.”

  “Is he still around? Does he still do those things to you?”

  “No. Fortunately he left here long ago and I have not seen him in many years. But the thought of seeing him again still terrifies me more than I dare admit. In fact it still gives me nightmares.”

  “Hopefully, that won’t ever happen now,” Sam said, trying to offer her a shred of comfort. “All foreign troops have been ordered out of The Congo. Everyone’s being evacuated in the next few days - me included - along with the man I came to Africa to find.”

  “What’s he look like, this man?” Natalie asked, “perhaps I’ve seen him.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said. “You would certainly remember him if you had. He’s got a gold tooth and a curved scar on his cheek that looks like a crescent moon.”

  Natalie suddenly went cold, a feeling of dread crawling up her spine and into her belly.

  “Yes, I have seen him,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Indeed I know him well.”

  Sam glared at her with astonishment. “You do?”

  Natalie looked at him, her face grey with shock. “Yes,” she replied, pointing to the scar on her back. “For he is the man who did this to me.”

  Sam was aghast. He could not believe what he was hearing, the rage surging through him once more. “Tell me, do you know this devil’s name?”

  “Yes”, she replied, her bottom lip quivering slightly. “His name is Darius Purcell.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sweat ran in rivers down the back of his neck and onto the collar of his khaki T-shirt. But it mattered little as the shirt was already soaked through; his back and underarms drenched with perspiration and the cloying smell of body odour lost to the breeze as the jeep sped into the city, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

  But soon there would be no more sweat or dust or unbearable heat because Darius Purcell had, at last, been ordered out; his time in this God forsaken part of the world finally at an end.

  Once, however, Purcell had loved Africa as it was a place where he believed himself to be a king amongst savages. Indeed, in his barbaric, self-righteous reign he had been free to rape, torture and murder at will - and had gorged
regularly on a banquet of such evil pleasures.

  In this endeavour, he had employed many varied and imaginative methods of butchery and punishment in a bid to satiate the ravenous hunger for violence that continually rumbled in his belly.

  Furthermore, he believed these acts to be his rite as conqueror; the spoils of another man’s war which he could not give a damn about.

  But little by little, Purcell’s paranoia had been growing. With increasing regularity these acts of barbarism came back to revisit him at night; his dreams haunted by the many people he had killed; men, women and children all baying for his blood and clawing at his limbs in an effort to drag him into Hell.

  As a consequence, he came to believe the ghosts of those he had slain were out to get him. He saw the threat of danger around every corner and behind every tree; assassins waiting to murder him as payment for the thousands of gallons of blood he had spilled on Africa soil. Now he felt that very soil turning to quicksand beneath his feet; sucking at his boots and steadily pulling him under.

  What is more, the longer he stayed in Africa, the more convinced he was of the danger - terrified by the prospect of being finally overwhelmed by it; the bodies of those he had killed piling endlessly on top of him as he was dragged further and further below the surface.

  His already heightened state of paranoia had seriously intensified upon hearing the fate of those men he had been with on that afternoon in Cambridge in 1993. Four of whom were now dead, including Brendan Williams, one of his closest allies - all finding death at the hands of Sam Beresford who Purcell knew, in his heart, to be responsible.

  He now felt Beresford breathing down his neck, too; relentlessly hunting him down, ready to strike at any moment. Yet this was no fearful delusion but cold hard fact.

  Word had reached him that a white man calling himself Ryder had been asking after him - which was the same name that Williams, his old military buddy, had mentioned in a letter sent from Siberia the day before he was killed.