by Haywood, RR
‘Get his phone,’ she says to me. I pat his pockets down and drag the phone out. ‘Here,’ she takes it from me and activates the screen. ‘Pin locked,’ she shows me the nine numbers on the screen waiting to be keyed for the correct code. Then she shows him and when he doesn’t reply instantly I start slapping him again. He whimpers and tries to twist his head away then shouts something out. She tells me to stop and presses the numbers then nods. ‘I’m in,’ she glances at me. ‘Contacts….Williams…got him.’
‘Check the messages and emails,’ I speak low and quickly with a glance about to make sure we’re still alone, ‘and we need Williams’ home address.’
‘I’ve got it,’ she replies while reading through the phone. ‘Only a couple between them,’ she shows me the messages displayed in French, ‘Verhoeven asking if they can meet and talk. Williams replies he’ll call him later.’
‘Happy about the address?’ I ask her.
‘How are we going to know? He spat it out instantly with no hesitation.’
‘Fine…’ I look back down at Verhoevan, ‘translate for me…tell him he’s going to die now…tell him he’s going to die really slowly…tell him it was me who killed De Smet…’ I pause and wait while she talks down at him. I would have thought that in terms of facial expressions he was at the maximum display of fear. Apparently not. Deathly pale apart from the red welts forming on his cheeks and the blood still pissing from his nose. He whimpers as tears stream from his eyes.
‘Tell him I’m going to hunt down every member of his family and do the same to them…tell him there is a god and a devil and tell him the devil is waiting…’
She speaks rapidly, enunciating the words so he can understand clearly. I reach one hand up and gently take hold of his throat. His eyes widen at the touch and he flinches. I grip softly then clamp hard. He gasps as Elizabeth shoots a hand out to pull my hand away. ‘Let him go,’ she orders.
‘What?’ I glare at her, ‘you saw what he did…’
‘Oh I saw it alright,’ her face is a mask of rage, ‘and that’s too quick for him…let…him…go…’ she growls with a ferocity that has me instantly releasing him. ‘Hold him,’ she moves off back to the car and opens the boot before bending in to rummage about.
‘We’ll have to burn the car now,’ I call out.
‘I know,’ she replies, ‘fibre traces right?’
‘And we’ll have to put him in it.’
‘That’s alright,’ she stands upright holding a long metal tyre lever. ‘You’re strong,’ she walks towards us swinging the iron in her hand. ‘Turn him over and pull his trousers down.’
‘No,’ I reply firmly.
‘Move then,’ she doesn't look at me but keeps her eyes glued on him. ‘Move!’ She barks. I slide off and immediately his arms come up with the palms facing out in supplication. She speaks in French, pointing the tyre iron at his groin. He shakes his head, refusing to do whatever she’s ordering. She tuts and slams the bar down on his knee cap. He screams and rolls to the side and she speaks again. When he doesn't move quick enough she hits him on the elbow.
That gets him shifting and his hands scrabble to undo his belt and start tugging his trousers down.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask slowly.
She barks another order and hits him when he doesn't instantly obey. He rolls over onto his front sobbing fast enough to make me think he’s hyperventilating. She drops down onto the back of his legs and reaches up to tug his boxers down exposing his pasty white backside.
‘Oh shit…Elizabeth…no…’
‘Fuck off, Mike,’ she snaps and gently pushes the end of the bar between his arse cheeks. ‘This is what they did to me,’ she whispers and repeats it in French, ‘this is what Williams did to me,’ she probes the end of the bar back and forth almost lovingly, ‘I was eight years old,’ she continues, ‘I had to have stitches.’
‘Fuck,’ I turn away at the thought and any sense of mercy I had left evaporates. Her face is placid, almost dreamlike. She smiles evilly and pushes a bit harder on the bar and her expression changes. Every ounce of emotion she has suppressed from what they did to her shows now. She grunts with an explosion of effort and shoves the bar deep into his anus. He lets rip with a scream but she drives harder and harder, the fury wild on her face, the rage evident in the way she pounds the bar and stands up to use her boot to slam it in harder, stamping down again and again. Blood spurts and oozes from his arse cheeks and his hands claw at the rough ground.
She stops suddenly and stands over him with the bar wedged in his arse.
‘Finished?’ I ask gently.
She looks over at me and shakes her head. ‘One more thing,’ she bends over to tug the bar free but it doesn't slide out. She tugs harder. Still it remains. She levers back and forth to free it from whatever is holding it in his backside. She grunts and strains before stepping away with a curse. ‘It’s stuck in his arse,’ she points out needlessly.
‘I can see that,’ I incline my head to the side.
‘Can you get it out?’ she asks like she’s asking me to unscrew the lid on a jar. I step over and grasp the bar, giving it a gentle tug and twist. It’s firmly in there alright and judging from the way he screams wordlessly I can only assume it’s got jammed into a bone. With both hands I give it a big tug and copy her motions of levering back and forth. Finally it pops out with a loud sucking sound and the warm air is filled with the stench of shit and blood.
‘Thanks,’ she holds her hand out for the bar.
‘Anytime.’ I hand it over and watch as she moves up to his head and kicks him gently in the head while ordering him to do something. The pain is too much and he just about clings to consciousness. With impatience she drops down and heaves him over onto his back. With his mouth right below her she pushes the shitty end of the tyre iron between his lips. He bucks and writhes but she slams it down breaking teeth and forcing the faeces covered end to the back of his throat. The stench is disgusting and I can visibly see the bits of shit stuck to the bar. She pushes down until he gags and starts to heave. Puke and bile gush up and out of his mouth but she stays clamped on leaning left and right with the motion of his body to keep the iron in there.
‘That’s what they did to me,’ she grunts, ‘that’s what Williams did to me…how does it feel?’ she asks him in English, ‘what does your own shit taste like? Is it nice? Are you enjoying it? Yeah, course you are…I bet you’re loving it really…don’t worry,’ she spits with near hysteria and spittle flies from her lips, ‘I’m doing it because I love you…this is what people who love each other do…but hey,’ she stops suddenly and leans down, ‘don’t tell anyone though, this is our little secret.’ She rips the iron out, twists and slams the bar down into his groin. She does it again. And again. She keeps going until his testicles are no longer part of his body. Until his dick is a lump of mashed flesh and she keeps going even when he passes out into thankful oblivion.
‘Enough…Elizabeth…ELIZABETH!’ I have to shout to penetrate the bloodlust. She stares at me, not recognising who I am and for a second I swear she’s about to attack me next but I stand my ground and stare deep into her eyes. Slowly she descends back to this plane and looks down to the ruined man between her legs.
I guide her away and gently prise her fingers from the tyre iron. While she stands there staring dumbly at the body, I throw the iron into the car and go back to drag him over. She watches me as though from a great distance. I sit him up and unthread his tie, dumping it on the ground before I heave and manipulate his heavy form into the car.
Opening the petrol cap I take the tie and feed it down into the fuel cap, pushing the material in until it will go no more. When I turn round she’s opening my rucksack and removing the can of lighter fluid. ‘Now?’ she asks quietly.
I nod and watch as she pulls the spout open and sprays it liberally over his body, on the seats, the back seat and into the foot wells. I draw the tie out slowly and let the petrol soaked end hang limp from the
fuel inlet.
Together we undertake a thorough search of the ground, removing any visible trace of our presence.
‘Not enough,’ I shake my head and point at the blood, shit and filth marking where she pulverised him.
‘What then?’ she asks simply.
‘Heat,’ I shrug and head back to the car. Leaning in I release the handbrake and make sure the gear stick is in neutral then I move round to the front and push the car back a few metres.
‘Got it.’ She heads over and while I head to the back of the car, she leans in and turns the steering wheel. It takes a few turns but we get the car right over the blood soaked ground. ‘Okay there?’ she pants from the exertion of helping me push.
‘Fine, move back…more,’ I indicate further away and wait until she’s a good distance off, ‘got everything?’
‘Think so,’ she looks down at the bag and pats her pockets before smiling up at me, ‘yep.’
Using my lighter I hold a small quivering flame to the tie. It ignites instantly and I’m off, jogging to join Elizabeth as we start running down the track back towards the road. The car doesn't explode, not like in the movies anyway. It ignites and the heat builds until the fumes from the lighter fluid catch alight and there it is. One blazing car roaring flame into the air. The smoke comes later when the engine fluids, seats and tyres start burning. The tank does burst apart but not with a detonation. More of a muffled whump and a sudden denser fire that rages bright as it eats every scrap of forensic evidence. Maybe not every scrap, not with today’s scientific methods but all we can hope for is that the Belgian police are as strapped for cash as the British police and do a basic crime scene examination only. Either that or they’ll sub-contract it out to The Carlisle Group.
A buzzing sound and she stops to tug out Verhoeven’s phone that vibrates in her hand. ‘Message,’ she nods at the words on the screen.
‘Read it,’ I urge. She enters the code and casts a quick look about before pressing the text message icon. Her face is flushed from the exertion and heat but even so it flushes a deeper red and her hand starts shaking.
‘What?’ I crane my head to see the screen and the message displayed in English.
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
I snatch the phone from her grip and stare down at the screen, at the same words I uttered just a few minutes ago and the name of the message sender, John Williams.
The phone vibrates in my hand as another message appears on the screen.
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
The phone vibrates again.
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
Tell Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…
My heart hammers as the phone buzzes with each same incoming message filling the screen. I swallow and look round. ‘Come on,’ I whisper and start walking again. Elizabeth stays close to my side staring down at the phone as the message repeats over and over. Then it stops and the silence is only broken by the crunch of our boots on the unmade road.
We don’t speak but we do walk faster. The trees either side seem suddenly oppressive, dark and too close. I turn round to see the plume of smoke clear above the tree line but it looks like any normal bonfire. We speed up again as I hold the phone in my hand like it’s something fragile.
‘What…’
I cut her off. ‘Nnot now. Sssshhh,’ I whisper, ‘we need to keep listening.’
‘Is he here?’ She spins round defiantly.
‘Move!’ I hiss, ‘we need to get out of here.’
‘Why? If he’s here we’ll do him too,’ she boasts and stops still with her feet planted wide. I grab her arm and pull her on.
‘If he’s here he’ll call the police,’ I snap.
That gets her moving and she stays quiet as we both strain to hear any approaching car engines.
She breaks the silence as we near the road. ‘Mike, there’s no way he could have heard you. I could hardly hear you.’
‘Just keep moving.’
The phone vibrates and I look down but the screen is locked. She reaches over and keys the code.
Tell me, Elizabeth. What does your own shit taste like?
Tell me, Elizabeth. What does your own shit taste like?
Tell me, Elizabeth. What does your own shit taste like?
Tell me, Elizabeth. What does your own shit taste like?
I’m doing it because I love you…
I’m doing it because I love you…
I’m doing it because I love you…
I’m doing it because I love you…
‘Mike…’ she whispers with a terrified look.
Did you and Mike have a nice evening? Did you enjoy fucking a killer?
Did you and Mike have a nice evening? Did you enjoy fucking a killer?
Did you and Mike have a nice evening? Did you enjoy fucking a killer?
Did you and Mike have a nice evening? Did you enjoy fucking a killer?
‘Straight across,’ reaching the road and I guide her across her the empty highway and into the fields on the other side. The town is roughly back in this direction and we can’t afford to be on the road.
‘He wasn’t there,’ she gasps, ‘there’s no way anyone followed us and watched…and…and he couldn’t have heard what we said anyway…Mike?!’
‘Be quiet,’ I snap and focus on getting away from here as fast as possible. Williams could have bugged the car in fear of Verhoeven grassing him up. He bugged the car and heard every word we said. The bit about Elizabeth fucking a killer is a lucky guess.
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
Poor Mike you closed your eyes and imagined it was Tessa
‘What does that mean?’ Elizabeth asks, ‘last night?’
‘Forget it, he bugged the car.’
‘Did you think of Tessa last night?’
‘He’s playing with us,’ I snap.
‘Did you think of Tessa last night?’
‘No!’ I lie partly to deny him the victory and partly because who would ever admit to that?
‘Mike, I’m not bothered if you did but tell me the truth…how does he know that?’
‘He doesn't know anything. He bugged the car so he’d know if Verhoeven ratted him out, he heard what we did and…’
‘But he doesn't know we fucked last night,’ she counters, ‘or the other stuff.’
‘Other stuff?’ I ask her and it’s her turn to deny him the victory and avoid the admittance she was turned on by fucking a killer. ‘He’s trying to freak us out.’
‘It’s working,’ she mutters.
‘He’s a clever fucker, always was…he knew the cameras were there when I caught him…he knew where I would catch him and he knew where I would take him to wait for the transport…he was prepared to take that beating knowing the consequences…’
Tell me Mike did you enjoy watching me? Did you and Elizabeth enjoy my fun with the little girl?
‘Fuck,’ she stammers, ‘how does…’
‘I just told you! You are not listening to me. He’s worked it out. He’s figured out we must have recorded the room he rented. He knows De Smet was killed and he heard us with Verhoeven.
‘That doesn't connect him to me,’ she snaps, ‘how would he know who I am?’
I look at her and shake my head. ‘We used each o
ther’s first names.’ I soften my tone and take a breath. ‘Elizabeth,’ I swap the phone to my left hand and take hers in my right as we walk to the side of the field, ‘he’s playing us to buy time so he can get away. We need to move fast and not get…’
What does your own shit taste like Miss Bouvier
What does your own shit taste like Miss Bouvier
What does your own shit taste like Miss Bouvier
Right. This is fucked up. Completely fucked up. Really completely fucked up. ‘Someone sold you out?’ I suggest quickly, ‘someone from your firm?’
‘There’s only one person that knows anything about this,’ she looks completely terrified, shaken to the core.
‘Must be him then.’
‘Her,’ she cuts me off, ‘and no, she wouldn’t.’
‘How do you know? She must have told him…or made contact or…’
‘My sister?’ she asks scathingly, ‘my sister who was also abused by him? No, I don’t think so.’
Really really fucked up.
‘Is she the one you called in the café earlier?’
She nods. ‘She works for me, has done since I started the company.’
‘Elizabeth, I’m really sorry but assess the facts and make an informed decision. How would Williams know you’re here? He wouldn’t. Unless someone told him.’
‘She wouldn’t!’ she hisses, ‘not ever. She hates him more than me. She’s a fucking recluse because of what he did…she never goes out, never dates, never…’ she trails off into a silence of memories. ‘She wouldn’t…’ her words snap off as her own personal phone rings. Digging it out from her pocket she casts me a worried look before answering the call. ‘Alison? Calm down…Alison! You have to slow down…what? Hang on…’ she puts the phone on loudspeaker, ‘Alison, Mike is here, he’s listening.’
‘He’s texting me,’ the female voice from the phone is sobbing audibly, ‘he’s fucking texting me, Elizabeth!’
‘Alison,’ Elizabeth forces a calming tone into her voice, ‘just slow down and tell me what he said.’
‘He said…he said ‘I missed you.’ She sobs again before taking enough breath to keep going, ‘he said, ‘Tell Liz and Mike there is a god and a devil and the devil is waiting…’