by E. S. Carter
He scoffs in disgust and tugs me towards the small enclosed front, pushing open the rusty looking gate with a shrill squeak.
“This is work, not play. Only roaches live in hovels, and you’re about to see how your father deals with an insect who steals from him. Watch and learn. This is going to be a lesson you would be wise to remember.”
He tugs me up the three low steps, and it’s then I notice a broad shadow emerging from the narrow passage between this house and the one next door. The shadow merges into the form of a man, his large frame and scarred face indicating how comfortable he feels lurking in the darkness, ready to pounce.
Cole glances at the stranger and stops on the top step, tugging me roughly into his side.
“Grim, all set?”
Grim. Never has a name been more appropriate. He wears the moniker like skin. It covers his muscular frame and spills from his pores in wisps of dark green smoke.
“All set.” A sinister smile pulls at his mouth, stretching the ragged scar that arcs from his cupid’s bow, over his pockmarked cheek to the corner of his left eye. He catches me staring, and his eyes gleam in the lone streetlight, “Taking the little lady to a show and tell?”
Cole doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, he steps forward and rings the bell, his six foot four frame filling the doorway and blocking my view. The door opens moments later, and I can only hear the person on the other side, not see them. I don’t need the visual to catch the surprise in their voice, nor can they disguise the fear that causes the single syllable of my husband’s name to quiver from their lips.
“Cole.”
My husband takes another step forward, breaching the threshold, and I hear the scurry of feet as the male, who I have yet to see, retreats on panicked legs.
“Billy Williams, aren’t you going to invite us in? Where’s your manners?” Cole’s voice is relaxed, but mocking, and he tugs on my hand, dragging me through the open entrance into the grimy darkness within.
“Turn on some fucking lights.” Grim barks out from behind me, close on my heels. Then he slams the door shut with unwarranted force and despite my best efforts to remain unaffected, I startle and bump into Cole’s broad back.
“Of course, of course.” The man mutters before calling out, “Cindy, we have guests. Get the lights baby.”
“Get the fucking lights yourself, you lazy twat,” comes the mumbled response from the room ahead. In the murky darkness, I can see that the narrow hallway we are in, leads to a doorway with no door. A shabby curtain is pinned on the battered frame in a rudimentary attempt at privacy, and dim light filters down the gaping sides, but not enough for me to see anything clearly.
“Baby, do us all a favour and hit the fucking light switch.” The sentence starts off as a request and ends up a bellow the closer we approach.
Curses and grumbles, followed by something crashing to the floor in the other room precede the lights finally being turned on, filling the dingy space with a harsh fluorescent glare and highlighting just how much of a shithole I’ve entered.
“Invite us in to see your wife, Billy.”
Cole’s request leaves no place for refusal, and I get my first glimpse of the man, who, I am pretty certain, is about to lose his life.
Greasy brown hair is slicked back from his forehead, emphasising his widow’s peak, and his dark beady eyes flick back and forth between us as if he is frantically looking for an escape route and finding none. If this man were an animal, he would be a rat. His aura flickers around him in varying shades of wrongdoing, the most prevalent being a sickly yellow, like thick English mustard; a colour I could attribute to sexual deviants, those who targeted the very young. I had encountered many men like Billy Williams over the years and had thankfully avoided most of them.
“You know why we’re here Billy, let’s get this over with.”
Cole’s words came out in a drawl as if he was already bored with this game of cat and mouse and wanted to fast forward to the main event.
“I… I… never took the money. I… I… told George that. It wasn’t me, Cole. Let me speak to Mr. Craven and tell him myself. I’d be a fucking idiot to steal from a man like him.”
Cole laughs sardonically, “Do you think Mr. Craven would ever entertain an audience with you, Billy? Besides,” he lets go of my hand and takes a menacing step forward, “I know you took that money,” another step forward until Billy is pressed up against the far wall, “I know everything about you, Billy. Everything.”
In one quick move Cole’s hand whips out and tears the tatty fabric from the doorframe, but, before Billy can protest he uses the fabric to cover the smaller man’s head and upper torso, bundling him up and dragging him through the unobstructed doorway into the living room.
Grim side steps around me and follows Cole eagerly. The excitement pours from him, even as his face remains stoic.
“What the fuck? Get outta our house! Who the fuck are you?” The woman’s words are slurred but angry, she’s either drunk or high, maybe both, and foolishly does not appreciate the gravity of the situation. I stare at the peeled and stained woodchip paper on the bare wall to my side, trying and failing to retreat to the safe place in my mind.
“Faye.”
Cole’s summons thwarts my attempt to disappear into my head and brings my dour surroundings back into sharp focus.
“It’s show and tell time, Mrs. Hunter.” Grim’s head appears around the edge of the doorframe, his coal black eyes dancing with anticipation.
“Come, Faye. Don’t make me wait and don’t make me tell Grim to fetch you.” Cole’s words hold no discussion, and I can see from the small smile on Grim’s lips, he hopes I disobey.
I shock myself as much as him when I walk with purpose towards the door and Grim steps back, motioning me in with a flourish of his extended hand as if he’s inviting me in for dinner.
Both Billy and his wife slump on either end of a ratty sofa that is ten years past going to the dump. Billy is sweating like a pig, the greenish tinge to his white skin almost glows under the strip lights. His wife, Cindy, sits staring at the muted images flickering across the widescreen television mounted on the wall. I guess their priorities were on high-end electrical goods when decorating, and not on furniture because it’s the only thing of worth in the entire room.
Drug paraphernalia lies haphazardly across the battered coffee table, with remnants of takeaway food boxes discarded on the floor.
“I’m not here for a confession, Billy. I’m here for payment.” Cole leans casually against a high mantelpiece that surrounds an ancient gas fire, the elements long burnt away, the white plastic melted and stained brown.
“I…I don’t have…” Billy starts but Cole silences him with a raised hand, nonchalantly checking his nails once he gets the quiet he desires.
“I know you don’t have the money to pay back what you owe, so I’m here to take it in blood.”
He speaks the threat with so much indifference that the effect of his words is even more chilling.
Billy panics and lurches out of his seat, his arms flailing as his eyes frantically scan the room, landing first on the window before dismissing that option and landing on his wife who is practically comatose.
“T…take her.” He points to the shell of a woman sprawled not a foot away and pleads with his eyes for Cole to see her as a viable trade.
Cole tuts and shakes his head before his eyes flick to Grim, who is still standing in the doorway. Billy notices the move, and once again he assesses the room looking for anything else of worth with which to barter. His eyes light up with relief, and he raises a shaky hand to the corner of the room, poking a nicotine stained finger in that direction.
“Him, take him. Do with him what you will. He obeys, he’s well-trained.”
I swivel my head to the right, and my eyes land on the huddled form of a small boy. He can be no more than about six, maybe seven. It’s hard to tell by the way his body is folded in on itself and how his bony limbs struggle
to wrap around his small frame.
I swallow a gasp. My instincts are calling on me to protect, to cover the child and absorb the stares of the monsters that reside in this room.
The boy doesn’t move. His head remains bowed, his forehead touching his knees but I know he is listening from the way his small body trembles at the attention he has garnered.
My eyes sweep quickly from the boy back to Cole, and I want to protest, to beg for this child’s life, but I am rendered speechless at my husband’s reply.
His eyes lift from the child to me, then move slowly back to Billy.
“Oh, I will take him, but he’s not enough to cover your theft. You’ve been a greedy boy, Billy, and greedy boys need punishment, or they keep taking and taking and taking.”
Billy swallows before opening his mouth to plead some more, but Cole dismisses him with another flick of his hand and strides towards Grim, who is opening a large rucksack on the floor at his feet.
I watch in horror and confusion as Grim slowly pulls out a large, frozen leg of lamb. Cole bends gracefully and plucks the plastic wrapped meat from Grim’s hold, wrapping his hand around the narrow boned end and standing to full height. His arm sways loosely at his side, his fist tightening almost imperceptible around the frozen meat as he cracks his neck from one side to the other, stretching his muscles and rounding his shoulders.
Then, slowly, almost too slowly, he stalks towards Billy Williams, who wears the same look of confusion that I can feel on my face.
The air in the room chills and Cole’s aura sparks bright red right before he lifts his arm above his head and brings the leg of meat crashing down on Billy’s face, not once, not twice but three times. The crack of his skull reverberates through the room, and I am unable to keep the scream in my chest from escaping my lips.
After the first strike, Billy stumbles to his knees, a look of shock and horror morphing his face into a gruesome version of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. The second blow sprays crimson from the gaping wound on his forehead; I can see each minute speck of blood floating through the air, like beautiful, macabre dust motes and I watch in immobile terror as the third blow causes him to crumple to the floor. Blood immediately pools on the filthy rug, seeping into the already stained fibres and frames him in a dark, thick river of gore. His mouth gapes wide, foamy red liquid dribbling down his chin, while piss stains his jeans and puddles on the scarred floorboards. The next blows are furious and sickening in their accuracy, the sounds of bones cracking and the deep thuds of the frozen meat pounding against flesh thump in my ears, creating a buzzing that threatens to burst my ear drums. Until Billy Williams lies a congealed and mangled mess on his living room floor.
His face is unrecognisable, the back of his head caved in exposing brain matter, while shards of his skull lie like loose teeth around his face, his blood slowly seeping across the floor to swallow them up. One eye stares blankly into nothingness, the other hangs down his cheek, resting against his open lips. His eye socket is smashed to smithereens, and the orb is barely hanging there from its optic nerve.
“Fuck! That was epic!” Grim’s thrilled exclamation hits me hard, and I double over gasping for air, dragging in lungsful of the bitter copper stench flooding the room, and struggling not to expel the contents of my stomach.
“Can I do the bitch?”
I heave in the bitter, grimy air, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself not to crumple as the sickening thuds begin again. The noise of the blows is interspersed with feminine whimpers until the room falls silent once more. Silent, except for the heavy breathing coming from Grim as he recovers from his violent exertion.
Between exaggerated pants, he laughs, “Did you see that? Her head popped like a melon. Damn, I wish I’d recorded it. That shit deserves a repeat performance.”
Expensive black shoes mottled with blood appear in my line of vision. I’ve yet to move from my doubled-over position in the middle of the room, and a red-stained hand extends palm open.
“Come, Faye. Billy has paid his dues.”
In a perverse way, I crave the contact he offers, needing him to anchor me. My hand slips into his effortlessly even as my stomach twists at the touch of his tainted skin on mine.
“Take the boy to Anne’s,” Cole instructs Grim, pulling me up straight but offering me no comfort other than his hand in mine.
He tugs me towards the door, stopping abruptly to add as an afterthought, “Oh, and bring the lamb with you. My new wife will cook for us tomorrow. We’ve both worked up a hearty appetite; I’m thinking a roast with all the trimmings.”
I make it back to the car before I can no longer hold in the horror I just witnessed, and I vomit all over my elegant gown until bile burns my throat and stains my nostrils.
Cole chuckles darkly, watching me intently as I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. The stench of puke rife in the confines of the small space sets me off into a fit of dry heaving.
“The night is young, wife. There is much more fun to be had.”
William Williams, or ‘Billy the Butcher’, got what was coming to him.
Watching his head crack open like an egg, his yolk spilling out all over the threadbare carpet, was the fitting end to a shitty day.
I take great satisfaction in my work; I take even more satisfaction in ridding the world of parasites like Billy.
Did Billy steal from Alec Craven?
Probably.
Did Billy deserve his end?
Definitely.
You see, Billy is, was a cockroach.
He worked in one of Craven’s semi-legitimate money laundering ventures, an abattoir. While he may have been an expert at filleting meat, he also had a predilection for carving up young boys; after he’d fucked them half to death.
Seeing Billy meet his fate not only soothed the beast inside, but it was also felicitous. Such a shame my new wife did not seem to enjoy the occasion. Surely living with Craven all these years, she’s seen far worse? Or maybe it was because it’s our wedding night and she expected hearts and flowers.
I’m not a hearts and flowers man. If I ever offer her a heart, it will be warm and still beating after carving it from Alec Craven’s chest cavity.
She will learn.
Soon.
The scenery outside the car window passes by in a blur. Try as I might, I can’t get my brain to latch onto anything. My usual method of escaping into nothingness fails me when I need it the most.
I hear every sound he makes, from his quiet, even breaths to his fingers near silently tapping on his phone screen. With each second that passes, my nerves become more frayed, my empty stomach churns and the bitterness in my throat burns with every swallow.
I’m unaware of time or how far we’ve travelled but the crunching of gravel under the car’s tyres is near deafening.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Hunter.”
His voice is mocking, the velvet tone seductive with an underlying smirk that sends goose bumps over my frigid skin.
I daren’t look at him. Instead, I lift my eyes to the view beyond the heavily tinted glass, but all I see are the dark silhouettes of trees. The car slows and the trees are replaced by a high brick wall, as tall as the one that surrounds Craven Hall. Heavy wood and embossed steel gates swing wide, and we travel slowly past a manned guard hut. The two muscular security men chin nod at the car as we drive by, both holding semi-automatic weapons.
This place is a fortress and a prison. It is not the definition of home that most people have. But, I am not most people, and Craven Hall is ten times more protected than anything I’ve seen so far. It makes no difference, I’ve been captive all my life, and the only thing that’s changed is my cage.
And my master.
An image of my mother infiltrates my mind, and I close my eyes briefly, struggling to hold onto her kind eyes and warm smile. If I can stay in my memories with her, I can get through anything that happens tonight. I may not survive until morning, but I can do so with very little awaren
ess of my demise.
The car halts.
The image of her fades and I want to sob from the loss.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
A harsh bark of laughter cuts into my thoughts and my eyes snap towards Cole. His smile is not like the gentle one of my mother that I tried and failed to keep at the forefront of my thoughts. It’s pure evil.
“Are you thinking of ways to escape?” His laugh is mocking. “You will do this, wife. You have no choice. You belong to me now. Daddy isn’t here to save you.”
Anger bubbles up through the bile in my belly and pours out of my throat without thought.
“You think my father protected me? You think my life has been one of privilege and comfort? You’re fucking delusional. My Daddy is a bigger monster than you, you…”
Pain slices through my cheekbone from a brutal backhand and my head ricochets off the seat. Before even a whimper has left my mouth, his hand ensnares my jaw, savagely squeezing my face until tears fall unbidden from my eyes.
“Look at me.”
I keep my eyes downcast, not even blinking in the hopes of halting my weakness from trailing down my cheeks and betraying me.
“I said fucking look at me.” He shakes my face roughly in his merciless grip, and I raise my wet eyes to his.
He looks from one eye to the other, searching their mismatched colours, diving in deep and searing my brain with his perfect blue gaze.
“Your Daddy may reign over his kingdom with a crown of blood, but I do not fear it. Blood soothes me; blood is the drug I crave.”
He loosens his grip slightly and forces his thumb between my parted lips, running the soft pad over my bottom teeth almost like he’s testing their sharpness. Instinct moves my tongue, urging me to taste and as I slowly lick across his skin, he stills, his icy gaze once more meeting mine and burning a trail that skitters straight down my spine.
Smirking, he pushes his thumb in deeper, and I all but shiver with the need to suckle it. Even as my mind tells me he should repulse me, my body acts with wanton abandon. I’m pathetic in my quest for touch, for comfort and for any contact I can get. I’m sick. This need that bubbles inside me is sick.