The camera lifted, framing Milly and Alexandru once more.
‘This is a game you have to play, you have no choice in that. You do, however, have the choice as to how you play.’ There was silence back from both terrified people. ‘Good, I’m glad you comprehend. As The Host in this Game, I want to make sure you understand correctly.’
Milly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, Alexandru rubbed his sweaty hands down his jeans leg. His breathing was sharp as the realisation set in. The Host lowered his gaze, to a small clock in his hand. Carlson watched as he wound it to four minutes.
‘Tick. Tick. Tick.’ As the Host spoke, neither person moved.
‘I won’t do it. You can’t make me do it,’ Alexandru said.
‘Can’t I?’
‘Fuck you. Get out of my club.’
‘Three minutes forty-two,’ the Host replied calmly.
‘If you don’t leave I’ll—’ Alexandru stood and picked up the bat.
‘I would think about what you are doing, Alexandru. The next few seconds might seal your fate.’
Carlson watched as Alexandru started to come towards The Host, squaring up to him. Behind, Milly began to cry.
Alexandru shoved The Host, shouting at him to get out, waving the bat at him, and for a moment, The Host was complicit.
‘Go, fuck off,’ Alexandru said, assuming he was scaring The Host away.
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,’ The Host shot back, stepping towards him.
Alexandru wildly swung the bat, not to hit The Host, but to startle him. As the bat passed the camera, Alexandru could be seen turning away, driven by inertia. The Host stepped forward and with a small baton in his left hand, struck Alexandru on the back of the head, sending him crashing to the floor.
‘Please,’ Milly screamed. ‘Stop.’
Alexandru moaned as he pulled himself to his hands and knees, blood dripping from the wound.
‘Three minutes.’
‘I won’t do it,’ Alexandru said from the floor.
‘That’s your choice,’ The Host replied.
‘Then get out,’ pleaded Alexandru, still unable to get to his feet.
‘You know what will happen if I do.’
‘Please, why are you doing this?’ Milly asked, shifting, looking from the intruder to her employer.
‘Two minutes fifty-one,’ the voice stated, ignoring the plea.
Milly looked at the terrified Alexandru across from her, fixed her gaze on him until he met her eye.
‘I can’t,’ she said quietly.
‘Let me make this clearer, Milly. The only choice you have is whether you live or die. If you refuse, I will leave, go to your beloved mother at 17 Cherry Bloom Close in Gunthorpe, and I will slit her throat.’
‘Please, no.’
‘And Alexandru, Alexandru – look at me.’
Alexandru managed to pull himself to his knees, his eyes barely able to focus.
‘I will then pay a visit to your three-year-old child.’
‘I’ll give you whatever you want, I have money…’
‘Two minutes seven seconds.’
Alexandru tried to get up, but he couldn’t – the injury to his head made it impossible to stand. Carlson and Bradshaw watched as Milly picked up the crowbar.
‘What are you doing?’ Alexandru asked, his voice slurred, his hands raised in front of him protectively.
‘I don’t want to die,’ she repeated, tears beginning to fall. She raised the crowbar above her head and began to shift towards him. Alexandru tried again to get up, but failed. The Host kicked the rounders bat towards him, and he picked it up.
‘Please, don’t come any closer, Milly,’ he begged, and for a moment, Milly did as he asked.
‘Less than two minutes,’ The Host said, prompting her to move again.
‘Stop!’ Alexandru shouted, pulling himself up onto one foot before falling.
‘Sir, should we stop it?’ Carlson asked.
‘No, we need to watch.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Milly said, tears streaming as she hurled herself towards Alexandru, the crowbar swinging wildly for his head. If she made contact, it would surely be enough force to crush his skull, but she missed – adrenaline and her total inexperience in smashing someone’s head with a crowbar meant her aim was off. With her weight thrown forwards, she fell into the wall, hitting her shoulder, knocking herself to the ground.
‘Don’t do it again,’ Alexandru shouted at her as he finally managed to pull himself upright, his legs wobbling like a boxer’s after twelve rounds. ‘Or – or I’ll have to defend myself. Milly, are you listening? Stop.’
She didn’t respond and looked at the clock. He did the same.
‘One minute forty-one,’ The Host said.
‘He’s fucking enjoying this. Sick bastard,’ Carlson said quietly.
‘I don’t want to do this,’ Alexandru said directly into the camera as he backed away from Milly as she rose to her feet.
‘Then die,’ the automated voice replied, matter-of-fact.
‘But…’
‘I know what you are trying to do, you are trying to find a different way out of this. There are only three options. You fight and win, and live, you fight and lose and die. Or if you don’t fight, you stand to lose it all.’
‘Why are you doing…’ Alexandru began, but his words were cut short as Milly crashed the crowbar into his ribs. The clatter of bone snapping temporarily paralysed him before he let out a guttural sound and fell to the floor. The colour drained from his face, his eyes hollowing as shock took hold.
The video focused on the impact site; you couldn’t see any damage from the outside, but Carlson knew his ribs would have been badly broken with such force. It was confirmed to him when he heard Alexandru start to wheeze. His lung was punctured. Carlson had heard that wheeze before.
Alexandru touched his side, and tried to scream as pain flooded in. Milly stumbled backwards and threw up over herself.
‘Oh God,’ she said, wiping her mouth. She looked at the camera, crowbar in hand and for a moment it looked as if she would try to attack The Host. The video shook from side to side.
‘Not just your mother Milly, think of Christy also.’
‘Who is Christy?’ Bradshaw asked.
‘It’s her niece, her older sister’s baby.’
‘Just over a minute, I’d get a move on if I were you,’ The Host said.
Milly turned back to her boss, who had somehow managed to pull himself to his feet once more. He swayed from side to side, like a drunk, his skin washed out, the colour of sea foam. He wheezed the warning that he wasn’t going to die before lunging at her. She tried to swing the crowbar again but it was heavy and she only managed to get halfway round when he connected the end of the wooden rounders bat with the side of her head. Her left ear exploded on impact. She crumpled like a house of cards.
Alexandru dropped the bat, stumbled backwards, gasping for air, then turned, assuming Milly wouldn’t get back up and staggered towards the bar. By the force with which he hit her, Carlson would have assumed the same. Somehow she got up, staggered side to side, and as Alexandru turned, she hit him around the head with the crowbar.
Carlson knew he was dead before he hit the ground. Milly stumbled backwards and fell. She landed where she was discovered by the first responders.
As Alexandru lay dead, and Milly Hallam dying, the video continued long enough for Carlson and Bradshaw to see the third person behind the camera use Milly’s thumbprint to unlock her phone and dial 999 on her behalf.
The screen faded across to the motorbike helmet once more.
‘You cannot stop what I am doing, you cannot bargain with me. If you are picked you have to play.
‘The Third Game is in motion, and will be played at 8.15 tomorrow night, when the day is done.’
The video finished and neither Carlson nor Bradshaw spoke for several moments.
‘This t
hing is going to spread like a wildfire,’ Bradshaw eventually said. Carlson didn’t reply. ‘We need everyone in on this. If we are to believe him, we have less than twenty-four hours until he does this again.’
Carlson left the office and ran to his desk, discovering quickly that the video had been posted everywhere. YouTube, Facebook, Twitter. It had already been seen thousands of times, and the view count was quickly rising.
‘Shit. This thing has gone viral.’
Without giving it any thought, he dialled Karen’s number. He needed her to watch the video, and help in the way only she could. It rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. He knew he shouldn’t, but he left her a message anyway.
Day 3
5 February 2019
PETERBOROUGH TERRORISED BY THE HOST’S WICKED GAMES
Ross Cooper for the Peterborough Post
Shocking footage has appeared online of a violent fight in a nightclub in Peterborough City Centre, which is thought to be orchestrated by ‘The Host’.
A video posted online – the second in two days – appears to show another orchestrated fight, filmed by a third party wearing a crash helmet and using a device that alters the wearer’s voice.
And in a chilling moment, The Host warns that his ‘Game’ will be played again.
Millions of people worldwide are thought to have watched the video across social media.
To date, police have denied the first video’s authenticity, but have yet to comment officially on the latest development.
Are you involved? Get in touch: [email protected]
Emily Curtis > Peterborough Free Discussion
Don’t know if anyone is awake, I’ve just seen there has been another video. I don’t think this is fake. What the fuck is happening?
159 Comments
Johnny Ormo
I feel sick, but I can’t stop looking at it.
Emily Curtis
Those poor people. I couldn’t watch it all.
Claire Turner
It scares the shit out of me.
Johnny Ormo
It’s horrific. Can you believe they had to do that?!
Emily Curtis
No, God, could you imagine…
Claire Turner
I don’t know what I’d do.
Marky Markson
Isn’t it obvious?
Emily Curtis
No one asked you, Marky.
Johnny Ormo
Fucking terrifying.
Amanda Belkin
It’s like something out of a horror movie.
Jack Anderson
I thought that about the first. But this is real. Do you really think he’ll do it again?
Claire Turner
Do it again?
Jack Anderson
At the end of the video he says it will happen tomorrow evening at 8.15 p.m.
Claire Turner.
Emily Curtis
First a Chinese, now a nightclub in the middle of the day. It’s like nowhere is safe.
Johnny Ormo
Yeah, I was at work when this happened. Like, 100 feet from it.
Jack Anderson
Shit, that’s scary. And you didn’t hear anything?
Johnny Ormo
Not a thing. Until the police and paramedics arrived.
Emily Curtis
There is no way I’m going to be out any later than 6 p.m. tomorrow.
Johnny Ormo
Me neither.
Emily Curtis
Stay safe, everyone.
Chapter Sixteen
7.19 a.m.
I was woken by Sam planting a kiss on my temple and I smiled before I had the chance to open my eyes.
‘What time is it?’ I asked sleepily.
‘Just gone seven.’
‘Wow, I slept.’
‘Like a baby. That drink with your work colleagues must have been one hell of a drink.’
I sat up, rubbed my eyes and as the room came into focus I saw Sam in the doorway, dressed for work. She smiled at me.
‘What?’ I asked, half covering my face with the bedding. Even after all these years, she still could make me blush.
‘Later, shall we go out for dinner somewhere?’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I realised when you were out last night that all I’ve done recently is work. And that’s not fair on you. Let’s go for a bite, and maybe even a drink or two?’
‘On a school night?’
Sam approached, sat on the bed beside me and took my head in her hands.
‘Yeah, on a school night.’ She kissed me and as she headed towards the stairs, she called back that she would book us a table somewhere for eight.
The thought of being out, in a crowded place, made me feel uneasy. At first, I didn’t know why. But then it dawned on me that the last time I went out for dinner was with Howard, the night before the Grayson James arrest.
Jumping out of bed, I dashed to the banister and looked down at her.
‘Actually, I’d like to cook.’
‘Again?’ she called up to me.
‘Yeah, again.’
‘I feel special.’ She smiled.
‘You are.’
Sam didn’t reply but looked at me in that way she had.
‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Yeah, see you later.’
‘Will you let me know how your session goes today?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Love you.’
As the front door closed, I padded back into our room and flopped on the bed, the good night’s sleep – the first good night’s sleep since it happened – had worked wonders. I ached less, my head felt clearer, and for a while, I just lay looking at the ceiling, imagining a romantic evening ahead. I wish that I could have stayed like this for the whole day, lost in my own thoughts of Sam and me. I wish that I hadn’t rolled over and seen my phone, and picked up the voicemail message from Howard. But I did.
‘Karen, I know it’s late, I know you don’t want to be involved in this. There’s been a second video from inside the nightclub. It’s everywhere. In the video, he tells us we have just over twenty-four hours, and he is going to do it again. Ring me back when you can.’
I wish I hadn’t immediately gone online and seen the video posted.
But I did.
I knew I should have stayed in bed, this wasn’t my fight, and yet, 8.15 p.m. was just over twelve hours from now, and from how Howard sounded in his message the police didn’t know where he would strike.
I shouldn’t do anything, I told myself. Legally, I wasn’t allowed to investigate anything; personally, I wasn’t ready to get back into a case – my pathetic attempt to talk with Michelle Reed last night was evidence enough. And yet… people were dying. And my partner needed me. Howard had been there for me when I asked him to help me off the record last year. It could have cost us our jobs, it nearly cost me mine. He was there without me needing to ask twice. So I needed to try.
Besides, I was a police officer, a detective, but it wasn’t just a job, it was who I was. Just as much a part of my personality as any other aspect of me. I couldn’t be hands-on, but I could, at the very least, be there for my friend.
Rolling out of bed, I went downstairs and watched the video again as I made a coffee. I tried to take in the scene beyond where the eye was naturally drawn. Then I rang Howard – he was busy, he would ring me back. Until then, I would watch the video, and I would write down everything that I saw.
By the time Howard called back, I had seen it six times. I was both transfixed and horrified in equal measure.
‘I take it you’ve seen the footage?’ he said as I answered his call.
‘Yes. I assume there is going to be a press conference. Who is lead?’
‘Rawlinson. No press conference, he told us to keep quiet.’
‘Of course he did.’
‘Think he’s wrong?’
‘If he doesn’t talk, peop
le will panic. If he does, they’ll know we have no idea what’s happening. So he’s screwed either way. Bradshaw and higher up will make the decision. I think they have to say something, and as Rawlinson is lead…’
‘Yeah, almost feel sorry for the guy – almost.’ He sounded like he was trying to smile. ‘Have you seen what people are saying on Twitter?’
‘I have it, but I don’t use it.’
‘People are really afraid, saying they won’t leave their houses. This thing is gonna cause mass hysteria.’
‘Sounds like it has already.’
‘And they’re talking about whether or not Michelle Reed is a killer or victim.’
‘She struck first,’ I said, rubbing my eyes that were feeling tired all over again.
‘Only because she had to.’
‘I agree. But I think she’ll be charged regardless.’
‘It’s really messed up. Karen, I hate that I left that voice message last night. I just wanted to pick your brain, even though I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know what to make of anything. I mean, good people are hurting each other—’
‘Maybe that’s the point, though? Maybe that’s exactly what this Host wants to happen. It’s clear he’s not motivated by money, so maybe it’s an ideology that inspires him.’
‘An ideology?’
‘Maybe he wants us to know that good people are capable of doing bad things?’
‘Why, though?’
‘To make ordinary folk think about what they would do?’
Howard didn’t reply. Despite The Host specifying the exact time of the attack, there were no leads, no lines of enquiry, nothing. He could drive around and hope that they got lucky. Peterborough wasn’t a huge city, but with a population of just under 200,000 spread over a 132-square mile area, the odds of stumbling upon the scene in time were slim. The Host knew that and was taunting everyone.
‘I wish you were here with me on this.’
‘Howard, you know we’re a team and I want to be there helping you, but I can’t be involved. There’s too much at stake with the investigation. Going to the hospital last night was a risk I shouldn’t have taken. It achieved nothing and I’m not rea—’
I stopped myself, too embarrassed to tell anyone about the panic attacks, to admit I wasn’t coping well. ‘So what are you going to do?’
The Players Page 7