by Ty Patterson
But he could kill quicker.
He could. But he wouldn’t.
This is big for him.
He’ll take his time.
He’ll introduce The Ghul.
The two will work together.
He’ll build it up.
‘Tell me about the remaining addresses again.’
She recited them. Melrose, East Tremont, Concourse, Baychester, Pelham Gardens and a few more.
‘Where are you stuck on these?’
‘Most of these seem to be owned by single men. No families. However there isn’t enough data to rule these guys out. We are trying to contact them, but none of them are answering. In one case we aren’t even sure who owns the property. Layers of companies.’
A flash behind him.
Bwana’s phone, as he did something on it.
Phone.
Search engine.
‘ISP.’ He shouted.
He felt two pairs of eyes on him.
‘Go back to the ISP search records. Look up for Sarah Howell.’
He turned his attention to tarmac, to Tenth Avenue, merged into Amsterdam Avenue, and got stuck at a light. Looked left, right, and blasted past. Ignored the pickup truck that nearly careened into him, the driver shouting obscenities as he braked hard and blue anger and horns filled the air.
Bwana placed a hand on his shoulder.
Calm down.
Zeb was calm. The beast wasn’t.
It paced and raged with impotence. And then a thought struck Zeb and the beast went quiet.
Another finger jab, Meghan’s voice came. Thin and strained.
‘We’re checking. Got nothing yet.’
‘That address with untraceable owners. Where’s it?’
The Ghul had turned back the moment the Flayer joined traffic and locked the doors.
He pointed a gun at the women.
‘I’ll take your phones.’
They looked at him blankly and then their eyes widened.
‘Trent, what’s this?’ Howell shouted.
Beatty grinned widely, but brought out an apologetic tone.
‘Ma’am, those people you mentioned. Unfortunately we are two of that kind.’
He glanced behind quickly and the grin split his face at the dawning horror on her face.
Kirsten suddenly kicked out and grabbed the door handle.
‘Let us out,’ she screamed. ‘Mom, try the other door.’
The Ghul watched them silently as they jabbed buttons and twisted handles.
‘They are locked. You can’t escape.’
He reared back as Kirsten reached out with her nails, her intent clear.
The gunshot sounded loud and sudden silence fell in the car. Sarah Howell looked unbelievingly at the hole in the seat between them and back at him.
‘The next bullet goes in her knees if you don’t behave.’
The older woman looked stricken, licked her dry lips and appealed to Beatty. ‘Trent, why are you doing this? Let us off please. We’ll never tell anyone.’
The Flayer kept quiet.
She tried again, her voice breaking. ‘There’ll be people looking for us. My co-workers. Her friends.’
‘They’ll find you, ma’am. But not right away.’
He hit a clear patch of pavement and settled easier.
‘You see, ma’am. You both are required for a show we are putting up.’
He could see the question in her eyes. He could see she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to hear the answer.
‘You might have heard of a couple of such shows, ma’am.’
He shifted in his seat, tried to contain the rising tide of euphoria.
‘One show by the Flayer dude, the other by this guy, The Ghul.’
He chuckled as one of them moaned and the other one screamed.
‘That’s right, ma’am.
‘My friend’s The Ghul.
‘I am the Flayer.’
The Flayer reversed his vehicle and backed it up on his drive. Right till the rear fender kissed the single step at the door.
The Ghul had taped and cuffed the women with some difficulty during the ride. Both women had put up a fight and he had slapped them repeatedly till their faces were swollen and their lips bled.
A hard blow to each of them had made them dizzy, to the point of unconsciousness.
‘Dude, we need them alive!’ The Flayer had shouted from the front.
‘They are,’ The Ghul replied shortly.
The Flayer got out, stretched casually, and surveyed the neighborhood. Not a person on the street or at any window. It was office time, school time.
He unlocked the front door, and kept a watch as The Ghul dragged the women in. First the mother, then the daughter. He dumped them unceremoniously and looked at the Flayer.
Beatty unlocked the basement, helped the women down, returned, got into the vehicle, and drove it away through several streets and backed it up against a van.
He spent several minutes wiping it clean and left the keys in it.
Yo, hoods, a gift for you.
He knew he was smiling stupidly, the enormity of what lay ahead was making him light headed.
We’ll break the internet. Did any killer in history ever do that?
He headed back home, ran back ten minutes later, slid the rear door open and removed the women’s bags.
Dumb, dumb, Beatty. You almost left that behind. Focus on the job.
He riffled quickly through the contents. Their phones had long been disposed of.
Lipstick, tissues, sanitary napkins, chocolate bars, water bottle, keys, pads, pens, an iPad, more cosmetic gunk.
He shook his head. Women.
He ran back home, slowed, forced himself to walk normally.
As normally as a man could while carrying two ladies bags.
The Ghul looked at him questioningly, where’d he been, and he briefly explained.
The Ghul nodded, ignored the rest of his explanation, and pointed to the women.
‘Which one will you have?’
‘I want the mother.’
A thin smile cut The Ghul’s face.
Perfect. The daughter had more shock value.
The women were hyperventilating. Their eyes were wide as they took in the basement, the tanks, and the bodies in them. Kirsten looked at the jars on the rack and retched. A dry heave.
They started shouting unintelligibly from behind their tape when The Ghul’s words sank into them.
He slapped them.
They struggled, kicked, the daughter managed to stand and rammed into him.
She shuddered when he twisted her arm brutally and rained blows on her.
Sarah Howell made furious noises, rage, terror, pleading.
The Flayer ripped her tape off and the bottled up words fell out.
‘Don’t,’ Sarah Howell shouted. ‘Please don’t hit her. Don’t kill us please. We’ll do anything for you. Please, please, please.’
‘Sorry, ma’am. No can do.’ The Flayer grunted as he struggled with her and somehow got her on top of the table. He ducked a kick, a head butt and swiftly threw a securing belt over her middle.
‘Look at the upside. We aren’t raping you.’
Fifteen minutes later, the women were secure.
Sarah Howell on the operating table, her legs and arms spread out and belted down. Her middle tightly bound. They yelled intermittently, hoarse sounds that echoed in the room and died.
The Flayer ripped the mother’s clothes off to the accompaniment of louder sounds of rage and terror.
The Ghul bound Kirsten Howell to a chair.
Her eyes were wide, glazed over. A continuous moaning came from her, her body jerked as if she was receiving shocks.
The Flayer checked his recording equipment, tested it, and then nodded at The Ghul.
They both donned masks and gloves and after a shared glance, they picked their knives.
The Ghul held his butcher’s knife to the light and began cha
nting in Arabic.
He ignored the Flayer’s look of surprise but switched to English.
He delivered a monologue of hate against America, said this would be just the first of the Americans he would kill on U.S. soil.
He went behind the girl, looked straight at the camera and lifted her hair contemptuously.
‘Watch this, America. You can only watch. See how powerless you are.’
His knife drifted to the white neck.
The Flayer’s scalpel tickled the mother’s hand.
He grinned behind his mask.
Waited for the right moment so that they could draw blood together.
And then the roof collapsed.
Chapter 32
February 19th-25th
The Ghul watched open-mouthed as a portion of the roof above the descending stairs caved in a loud explosion.
Dust filled the basement, something moved in it, a ghostly figure.
The figure approached, resolved into a man wearing a black combat suit. Brown haired. Dark eyed.
A man pointing a gun straight at him.
The dark eyes cut through the dust particles in the air, scattered them and lasered The Ghul.
Shock turned to rage. Blinding rage that made him tremble and see red.
So close. I was so close.
I will not be captured. I will go through him.
‘Stop right there. I will kill her.’ he roared. ‘Throw your gun down.’
The anger mushroomed when he noticed the second man, his gun trained on the Flayer who was open-mouthed and appeared to be dazed.
‘Both of you. NOW.’ The Ghul screamed and his knife pressed against the girl’s throat.
She moaned in terror.
The first man approached, close enough for The Ghul to read his eyes. They were pinpoints of light, no expression in them. The man hesitated, moved slowly and threw his gun away.
The Ghul reacted instantly.
He hauled the girl up, threw her at him.
She will burden him. Slow him down. No cops yet. My escape is clear.
He slashed at the girl’s back, but the man moved faster than The Ghul anticipated.
He wrapped his hands around the girl, twisted, his back to the killer.
They fell, but not before The Ghul’s knife cut through his suit, tore a slice off it.
The Ghul thought he cut through skin too, but he couldn’t be sure.
The man fell, rolled, thrust the girl away and rose to his feet, a single move like a snake gliding and raising its hood.
The Ghul sprang at the man and slashed. He ducked.
But before he could finish his move, The Ghul’s left hand flickered and a second knife stabbed the air.
A Silat Mubai move aimed at tearing into the opponent’s stomach as he ducked the first blade. The Ghul had learned the almost forgotten fighting skill from an Indonesian HOF fighter who had trained him rigorously.
The man twisted away from the flashing blades with ease, took a step back and then forward as he moved away from the fallen girl.
The Ghul attacked again, silently, furiously, turning the air into flashing steel.
Thrusting and slashing, the man ducking, dodging.
Till his foot slipped on the plastic underneath and The Ghul sprang on him.
The Flayer recovered quickly, saw The Ghul dealing with the first, saw the second man drop his gun.
No, he shouted silently.
All my planning has come to this.
He felt the second man’s eyes on him, weighing him up. The man was handsome, his eyes dancing with mirth despite the grim surroundings.
I can still cut her and escape. Through my tunnel.
He hurled a blade with his left hand at the second man who ducked easily. Enraged, the Flayer leaned forward and slashed down on Sarah Howell.
His scalpel didn’t touch her.
Even as she screamed, the Flayer’s hand was stopped by an iron grip as the man leaned across from the other side of the table and gripped his wrist. The Flayer threw his weight on the blade as the two men strained above the woman, the scalpel dancing a couple of inches above her naked belly. The Flayer stared at the man, at the beads of sweat that dripped down his face. At the fierce eyes that tore through the air at him.
‘You can’t stop me.’ He said between clenched teeth and braced himself against the table and forced the knife down.
An inch.
The man didn’t reply, he seemed to freeze, all his focus on stopping the Flayer’s wrist, his free hand gripping the side of the table.
No give.
Suddenly, incongruously, the man grinned, his eyes flicked to Sarah Howell.
‘Gimme a few moments, ma’am. I’ll deal with this pest and then free you.’
A red mist descended on the Flayer as the man drawled. He placed the accent. Texan. Asshole thinks this is a game.
He shoved the table forward and rammed it into the man’s middle.
The Ghul’s blades sought out the supine man, who reached through his seeking hands and, in a blur of motion, punched the killer in his abdomen.
The Ghul went numb initially and then fire spread through him as he gasped agonizingly and his world went dark momentarily.
Another flash of movement and he turned his head just in time for the man’s fist to sail past his throat.
The Ghul followed the movement and slashed at the man’s arm, a sliver of blood appeared.
Another slash met empty air and a third slash got his right hand trapped in a wrist lock.
He thrust with his left hand and the eyes below him seemed to mock him as that thrust was parried.
Empty hands. He’s fighting bare handed.
Rage swept through The Ghul as he pulled fiercely, got his arms free and bent over the man to renew his attack.
Mistake.
The words echoed dimly through him as a hard leg slammed into him and swept his feet away. The Ghul fell, shouted in rage and humiliation. He scrabbled away just in time to dodge a glancing blow to his temple. He thrust himself up and faced the man who flowed to his feet too.
Movement caught his eye.
The Flayer’s move didn’t work.
The table cut into the Texan, but he just went with it and took a step back.
His grip tightened on the Flayer’s wrist and hauled him right along with the table.
Caught by surprise, Beatty couldn’t stop himself in time and the hard metal side rammed deep into his abdomen. His breath left in a burst of anger and above Howell’s moaning he heard a sound.
A chuckle.
His eyes flashed to the attacker’s, found a smile in them.
The red mist darkened.
His left hand reached back, found the tray and another scalpel slid into his hand. It pierced the air and sped straight to the captive’s neck.
The Texan saw the move, slammed back the steel table and simultaneously released Beatty’s wrist.
The Flayer’s feet slipped, he fell.
He sensed a slither of movement. His attacker bending down, sliding underneath table.
Heading at him.
Beatty whirled round in a flash.
Time to escape.
He stumbled upright, took two steps and pushed aside racks.
His collection of jars fell and burst, spilling their contents. Broken glass and liquid spread on the plastic.
The Flayer pushed at the hidden door. It opened.
One foot inside.
Another and it would shut behind him.
He would be free.
Then he was falling.
The Texan launched himself at Beatty’s legs and the two men went down.
The Ghul spotted the open door.
Tunnel.
He feinted a move toward Kirsten, his knife rising.
His assailant moved to intercept.
The Ghul broke off and flew to the open door.
He saw the Flayer brought down by the other man.
Leap over t
hem.
His right foot came down, prepared to spring.
His assailant hurtled into him and the two men went crashing into a rack. Bottles rained on them, some broke on their heads.
He twisted to take the impact on his shoulder, lost his knives, brought an elbow down hard on his attacker’s head.
A grunt, but the grip around The Ghul’s waist didn’t loosen.
Another blow.
Another grunt.
The man trapped his right wrist, twisted it, and bent it back.
Fire and ice raced through The Ghul.
He looked around wildly, his eyes lighted on a glass jar.
His left hand reached out.
Glass broke over the attacker’s head.
The Flayer kicked out at the hands grasping his ankle.
He was sprawled across the entrance to the tunnel, half in, half out of the tunnel, the Texan’s hands on his legs.
The tunnel was three feet wide, seven feet high, enough room for one person to run through, but not enough space for a fight. That worked to his advantage.
But only if he was free.
He kicked back savagely and caught his attacker in his face. The Texan grunted but his grip didn’t loosen.
The Flayer reared and rained blows on the man’s head and neck, the pointy ends of his elbows digging deep.
He felt the attacker’s grip loosen.
Two figures went crashing down next to them.
The Flayer ignored them, scrabbled on the cold concrete for purchase, moved forward a foot, and then another, almost crying with the effort.
The hands around his legs fell off and he crawled forward swiftly and when fully inside, turned back to shut the door.
A hand blocked it firmly; the same chuckling sound emerged from the Texan.
The Flayer cried with rage and frustration, lashed out at the man with his feet.
Mistake!
A hand caught his leg, dragged him outside inexorably.
Then the Flayer remembered the knife in a scabbard around his waist.
The Ghul’s lips thinned in satisfaction as his aggressor’s wristlock eased. He appeared to be dazed as blood poured over the man’s face, a shard of glass protruding over his right eyebrow.
The Ghul punched him in the throat, on his neck, on his eyes, swift, hard punches that had felled many an infidel.