by West, Sam
“Leave Belle alone,” she whispered, the knot of panic in her chest for her daughter’s safety more sickening than anything he could ever do to her.
“I don’t think so. It’s called karma.”
He hauled her to her feet with hands hooked under her armpits and she flopped against him, still wobbly from gas poisoning.
“Leave. Her. Alone,” she heard Mike gasp from the floor.
“Fuck off,” Edward said.
Bethan heard a dull crack, and when she twisted her head round to look she saw that Mike had managed to crawl towards them, a trail of blood extending behind his shot leg like a human slug. The side of his face was now also bloody where Edward had kicked him with his Dr Martin boot and he was out cold.
Before the strangled sob even had a chance to escape her lips, Bethan found herself once more bent over the cooker with her face pressed against the hob. One hand held her down, and the other roamed her body.
“You’re fat, you’ve really let yourself go, haven’t you? Still, I guess your saggy, flat old arse will have to do.”
“No” she cried, the sharp edges of the detachable hob digging into her cheek.
She heard his fly zipping down, and felt cool air on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs were her black slacks had just been.
The agony of him shoving into her virgin arsehole was shockingly sudden and absolute. Her inhuman howl was instantly cut off by the gas being turned back on and his hands round her neck. She gasped for air as he strangled her, gas instead of oxygen filling her aching lungs when he let up for the briefest of intervals to let her breathe. The hissing of the leaking gas in her ears was the most terrifying noise she had ever heard and she realised in a strangely detached way that she was going to die.
Just when she thought it could get no worse and that her head was about to burst like an overripe fruit, he ignited the flame. His hand moved to the back of her head where he fisted her hair and shoved her face over the open flame.
The fire instantly seared the flesh of her face. The smell of burnt pork was strong up her nose and she opened her mouth in a silent scream. The blue flames licked inside the gaping cavity of her mouth, melting her lungs so she was no longer able to draw breath. She could hear the pop and sizzle of her own flesh cooking, and in her dying moment she felt her eyeballs catch fire and burst, the fluid they contained fizzing on her cooked cheeks.
Her dying thought was a single word:
Belle.
Belle stiffened in the shower, her body suddenly covered in goosebumps despite the steaming heat of the water.
What the hell was that?
It couldn’t have been her mother screaming.
She turned off the water and just stood there with the steam swirling around her. Another squawk made her jump.
Now that was definitely a shitehawk. It was that time of year again and the little bastards were nesting on the roof.
Council needs to get their arses round here to prick the eggs…
The cawing of the seagulls accompanied her as she hastily stepped into a little denim skirt and a tight white t-shirt with ‘I Surf Therefore I am’ emblazoned across her chest in big black letters. She didn’t bother with a bra. Hell, with her figure who needed one?
Something still didn’t feel right. Figuring that she must be out of sorts from arguing with her mum, she padded barefoot downstairs.
The smell of cooking meat was strong as she neared the kitchen. Ugh, she hated sausages. Never mind. She’d eat with her mum and Mike, and after her mum met Edward and saw what a great guy he was, maybe she’d be cool with telling her what her problem was with this other dude called Edward…
Belle wandered into the kitchen, speaking as she went.
“I hope there’s a salad, I hate sausages and chips…”
The words died on her lips at the sight which greeted her. It was beyond her realms of comprehension and she could only stare slack-jawed and mute at her mother who was slumped against the cooker on her backside with her head tilted sideways.
Her head…
Her mother’s head was smoking. Smoke curled up in the finest wisps from her open mouth, nose and eye sockets.
Where are her eyes?
It looked as if her god-damned eyes had exploded. Her face, where the shiny white of her skull didn’t show through, was a blackened, bloody mess and her mouth was twisted open in a silent scream with far too many teeth on display. Her shoulder length, bleached hair was gone from her hairline yet was still there in the back, fanning over her shoulders. Belle could only take in the sight on the most superficial level.
This had to be a joke. Or a nightmare. If she closed her eyes and opened them again her mother would be alive and well, taking the tray of food out the oven…
Alas, this was not so.
“Hello Belle.”
Her head swivelled to look at her boyfriend Edward. Oh, he’s early, she thought stupidly. Still nothing made sense and she stared at him blankly.
“Told you I’d meet your mother.”
At last, her survival instinct kicked in. She turned around and ran back through the kitchen door and into the living-room. A few short strides later she was at the front door, pulling at the handle.
It didn’t budge.
Fuck!
She rattled the handle a few more times, sobbing as she did so, only stopping when he roughly grabbed her from behind.
“Do you really think I’d leave the door unlocked, you dumb bitch? Get your sweet little arse back in the kitchen right now.”
Then she screamed, banging her fists against the door.
“Stop that! Jesus wept.”
His arm snaked round her head, his hand clamping down on her lips. His palm stunk of barbequed meet and her stomach roiled. Her cheeks puffed with the effort of screaming into the unmoveable wall of his hand but she was in the throes of blind panic and nothing could have stopped her.
Edward bodily picked her up and dragged her kicking and screaming back into the kitchen. He let go of her mouth for a second to grab a wet dishcloth off the draining-board and stuff it in her mouth. It tasted of washing-up liquid and potato peelings and then his hand was back over her mouth, effectively stifling her screams.
“You really need to shut the fuck up.”
He threw her to the ground and she landed with a painful thump on her side, her arm twisting awkwardly beneath her. Only then did she properly notice Mike, who was lying next to her on his side. One half of his face was drenched in blood and his eyes were half-closed. His leg looked a funny shape, bent at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled around his shin and streaked the floor in a glistening trail.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother.
“Mike,” she screamed around the dishcloth.
She was gratified to see his eyelids flicker in response. At least he wasn’t dead.
Not like Mum.
Hot tears sprung from her eyes, her panicking terror giving way to a vast ocean of sadness. When she looked up at Edward who was towering over her, it was like she was looking at him through a rainy window. He was pointing something down at her.
A gun, she thought numbly.
Knowing she was risking her life but right then not caring, she pulled the dishcloth out her mouth.
“What have you done to my mum?” she whispered through her tears.
“Have you done screaming? Because if you are I won’t flay your mother and make you wear her skin as a gag.”
“What have you done?” she repeated, louder this time.
“What does it look like I’ve done? I’ve fucking slaughtered her like the pig-whore that she is.”
Belle still wasn’t getting it. This was Edward. Her boyfriend Edward, the guy she had fallen in love with. The guy she had giggled with when a seagull stole their chips, the guy who had made love to her so tenderly. The guy who had told her silly jokes and held her hand and said how beautiful she looked…
This wasn’t him. This was an im
poster in his body.
“Mike,” she said, “wake up. Please wake up.”
“He might wake up if you suck his cock.”
Belle raised her trembling head once more to look at her captor and tormentor. Again, none of what was happening made a dot of sense.
“Here, let me help you,” Edward said, leaning down to unzip Mike’s jeans. He pulled out his flaccid cock so that it stuck out through the opening of his jeans like a bloated worm. “I expect you’ve already fucked him anyway. A pretty little whore like you and a randy old goat like him? How could he not want to fuck you, stuck with that fat slag that is your mother? Correction, was your mother.”
Mike opened his eyes. When he spoke, his speech was slurred and thick:
“Let us go.”
“Er, let me think about that for a minute. No.” He waved the gun at Belle. “Suck it, bitch.” Belle’s tears intensified and Edward had to raise his voice slightly to be heard. “Would you rather suck your stepdaddy’s cock, or would you rather I shoved this gun up your cunt and pulled the trigger?”
Now Mike was crying too. “Bethan, oh God, what have you done to her?” he moaned, as if noticing her slumped body and smoking head for the first time.
Edward glanced at the wall clock in agitation. “Oh, fuck this, and fuck you pair of whinging sad-sacks. I’ve got a woman waiting for me at home, one I love very much. She’ll be wondering where I am.”
He began to open kitchen drawers, rummaging through their contents. When he turned round, Belle saw what he was holding and her screams started afresh.
“Well, I guess this will look better on the film anyways. More dramatic, and all that.”
He came over to them and in one fluid motion he sliced the serrated edge of the bread knife across Mike’s neck, and then Belle’s neck. Belle clutched the wound, staring up at him in disbelief as blood dripped through her fingers and she gargled wetly.
“That should do it. Not deep enough to kill you instantly but certainly enough to shut you pair of fuckers up. Well, here goes. Good job I had my Weetabix this morning…”
Belle raised her hands, but it did nothing to protect her from Edward’s stabbing frenzy. The knife stabbed through her upraised hands and thrust into her face, slicing open her cheek from nose to ear. Next hit was her stomach, and she convulsed in unspeakable agony when he twisted the blade in her lower intestines. After that it was impossible to tell where she was being stabbed. The agony was a blinding white light that consumed her, holding her in its thrall before it slowly dimmed in time with the blood pulsing out of the puncture wounds.
As the life drained out of her and the workings of her brain faded to black, her mum’s charred face was the last thing she saw.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hazel awoke to someone softly calling her name and gently shaking her shoulder. Dehydration and delirium had set in and she groaned thickly. The noise of it surprised her, and her puffy, sticky eyes opened. Bright light hit her retinas, making her moan again. She realised that the overhead light was on, which meant it was probably night time.
The gag has gone, was her second thought as she tentatively rotated her aching jaw. This was swiftly followed by the realisation that she was sitting up, plump pillows protecting her bare back from the sharpness of the metal headboard.
And my hands are free.
Her feet weren’t however, they were bound together at the ankles with tape. It hurt her eyes to see the mess that was her body, and she looked away in disgust. And she was still in that awful bedroom with Jazmine Sullivan’s body lying next to her. The smell emitting from her wasn’t getting any better either. Or maybe that was her. Whatever, she had gotten kind of used to it. It was the pain that ate away at her mind and body. Her body was stiff with it, like an old lady. It hurt to breathe and she wished she could just stop. Neither could she stop shivering, but whether from cold or heat she didn’t know.
“Here, drink this.”
Edward was holding a glass of water to her cracked lips. Gratefully she took the water, forcing it down her parched throat that was the size of a pinprick. It soothed her insides a little and her head felt less foggy, but it reignited the pain in her body, which she acknowledged with a groan.
“Take this pill, it’s Codeine, it will help.”
He shoved that in too, and she mindlessly swallowed.
“How long have I been here?” she managed to croak out through swollen and sore lips.
“Not long. Less than a day. When I came back from meeting Belle on the beach, you were sleeping so I left you. I’ve since done what I’ve had to do, and now I want to share it with you.
Belle? Who the fuck is Belle?
It was then that she noticed the laptop tucked under his arm. He sat down next to her on the bed.
Propped up between a serial killer and his dead mother, she thought with the blackest of humour.
He settled down next to her and opened the computer on his lap.
“I finished editing the documentary while you were sleeping. I hope you like it.” He turned to eye her warily. “You’re not going to try anything funny are you? Do I have to tie you up again?”
Meekly, Hazel shook her head. She really wasn’t. She hurt so much it was all she could do to breathe. Plus her feet were tied. No, he had her exactly where he wanted her and she was well and truly fucked.
“Good. We’re not going to watch all of it, I don’t know how much time we have left, and it’s quite long. I thought we could just watch the final part, so you can understand everything a bit better. How does that sound?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer and pressed a few buttons on the PC.
What did he mean, they didn’t have much time? Was he going to kill her after they were done watching the closing chapter of his film? Hazel was suddenly weary, weary of the pitiful existence that was now her life.
The screen flickered into life. With a feeling of utter inevitability, that her entire life had always been leading up to this one point, she watched the closing chapter of Edward’s film:
Image after image of brutality filled the screen. The images flowed together, each no longer than five seconds. Some scenes were horrifically familiar, some not. Edward raping Megan. Edward hacking up Megan’s body. Edward sawing off Ryan’s head with a hand-held saw. An image of herself, bleeding, naked and lying on a bed next to his mother’s corpse.
Then there were people she didn’t know in a kitchen she didn’t recognise. Edward was raping a middle-aged woman bent over a cooker and smoke was pouring out of her head while a middle-aged man lay on the ground, out cold or dead. That savage image cut to a pretty, tanned girl with long blonde hair in a tight t-shirt with ‘I Surf Therefore I Am’ plastered across her ample chest. Edward was carrying her as she writhed and flailed and kicked. The next scene cut to her lying on the ground next to the middle-aged man while Edward stabbed each of them repeatedly in turn.
All through these chopping and changing images, Edward narrated:
“This documentary will become the stuff of underground legend. It will probably be illegal to own, illegal to share, illegal to google. I will become the bogeyman. This documentary will change hands to the tune of thousands of pounds. It will take pride of place in rich people’s snuff collections. Books will be written about me, documentaries and movies will be made about me. I just hope that they pick Elijah Wood to play me.
“Because this, people, is art.
“I have killed for revenge. I have killed to satisfy my blood lust. But above all, I have killed because I am a killer. I need to kill like I need air. And no matter how clever I am, or how careful, I will one day be caught. I couldn’t imagine a life in prison, I’m far too pretty, as I’m sure you appreciate. Psycho or not, I’d be arse fucked into Kingdom Come. This documentary is my way of taking control of my own destiny. Because I’d sooner die than live in prison, to have my basic human rights taken away from me. I couldn’t imagine a life without blood on my hands.
; “So this is why I’m taking my own life. Everyone on this documentary you are looking at is dead. I am dead. So fuck the lot of you.”
Hazel gasped when the gruesome imagery disappeared to be replaced by a close-up of Edwards handsome, grinning face. He held an imaginary gun to his head and pulled the trigger and the screen went black.
Edward shut the lid of the laptop. “So what did you think?”
She looked at him in confusion, too tired and in too much pain to understand fully what she had just seen.
“Okay, I get you’re confused, sweet Hazel. The fact is, I love you, and you are carrying my child. After my death you will go on to raise our son. Just promise me that you will love him more than my mother loved me.”
Despite the pain she was in, Hazel could only stare at him incredulously. “You’re nuts. If you let me live, and if I was pregnant, I’d get an abortion. And how do you know I’m not on the pill?”
He shrugged. “I don’t. I just have faith you’re not.”
She wasn’t; she and Ryan used condoms and her heart fluttered at the possibility that he was right.
“You only raped me once Edward.”
As soon as it was out her mouth she regretted it. It was like she was inviting him to rape her again.
You idiot, Hazel…
“It only takes once, doesn’t it?”
Like I say, I’d get an abortion anyway.”
“You say that now, but you won’t. I’ve taken everything away from you. Your only friends. Your dignity. Your old life is gone forever. You have no one and nothing except for the life growing inside of you. Your parents are dead. Your only set of grandparents will wish I had killed you. And you couldn’t face them anyway, you couldn’t stand to see the silent accusation in their eyes. No man will ever want you again, your body will be hideously scarred for good. I think it’s time you saw.”