The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "I see," he replies, staring at me.

  "So..." After a moment, I stand up and walk over to his chair, kneeling in front of him. I wait for him to say something, but he just seems to be content to look at me. Deciding I should perhaps give him something to look at, I reach up and slip the dress-strap off my left shoulder, lowering it until the left side of my bra is exposed. After a moment, I slip the bra-strap away as well, and then I put my hand under the fabric in order to cup my breast. Finally, I drop the bra away, so that the entire left side of my chest is exposed, with the breast covered only by my fingers. I wait for him to do or say something, anything, and then I move my hand away so he can see the breast. Looking down, I see that my nipple is rock-hard.

  "Are you going to say anything?" I ask after a moment.

  He doesn't reply; he merely looks down at my breast.

  Taking his hand in mine, I brush the tips of his fingers against my nipple. I gently force him to feel how hard the tip has become, and after a moment I take one of his fingers and run the tip around my areola before once again brushing the very tip of the nipple. I feel an intense tingling sensation in the skin, and I want nothing more than to feel his lips on my breast. Unfortunately, when I let go of his hand, he stops touching me.

  "Okay," I mutter, deciding to try another approach. I stand up and climb onto the chair, straddling him as I carefully slip my dress all the way down to my waist. Removing my bra and dropping it onto the floor, I finally sit topless on his lap, my breasts right at his eye-line. I squeeze his waist between my knees and put a hand on the back of his head, tousling his hair. Finally, starting to wonder if he's ever going to respond to my efforts, I lean close to him, burying his face in my cleavage. I feel his hot breath against my skin, and I wait for him to start doing... something... anything. Shifting my weight a little, I feel a bulge in his trousers. It's clear that he wants me, but at the same time he seems to be holding back. Maybe I've underestimated Mark; maybe he's far more messed up and damaged than I ever realized.

  "We don't need a contract for this, do we?" I ask after a moment.

  He doesn't reply.

  I sit back a little, so he can see my breasts again. Turning slightly, I present my hard right nipple to him, keeping it just an inch from his lips. "I really like having my nipples sucked," I say quietly, feeling myself get wetter and wetter. "Not too hard," I continue. "Just start gently." I reach down and use my fingers to softly squeeze the nipple, stretching it just a little. "I like to feel a guy's tongue against the tip," I continue, running my finger over the very end of the nipple. "I like to feel it in a guy's mouth." As if to prove my point, I give the tip a gentle flick, and a shiver runs through my body. I don't think I've ever been so aroused, and I feel as if Mark is going to respond at any moment. To give him another hint, I lean forward a little and carefully let the tip of the nipple brush against his soft lips.

  "Elly..." he starts to say.

  "It's okay," I whisper. "Do you have any idea how wet I am right now?"

  "You haven't signed the document," he says.

  "I don't need to," I reply, staring deep into his eyes. "We've gone beyond all that."

  "You need to sign the document," he says firmly.

  "No," I say, leaning closer. "Just fuck me." I try to kiss him, but his lips don't move. Sighing, I climb off the chair and kneel next to him, reaching out to unzip his trousers.

  "You need to sign it," he says, pushing my hand away.

  "Why?" I ask, sitting back. "Mark, what's wrong with you?"

  "You need to sign," he says. It's almost like he's a robot, stuck on a loop.

  "I get it!" I reply, grabbing the document from the coffee table. I quickly read it again, starting to get angry at the way he's fixated on this damn thing. The last thing I want to do is sign anything and capitulate to his demands, but at the same time I don't want this visit to end in defeat.

  "Sign it," he says.

  "Or what?" Suddenly I rip the document in half before placing the two pieces back on the coffee table. "It's just a piece of paper," I continue. "It's not important. What's important is that I'm willing to do this on your terms. I don't need to sign a piece of paper to prove anything to you."

  "It's one of the rules," he replies. "You have to sign."

  "What rules?" I ask.

  "Just sign."

  I stare at him for a moment. "No," I say finally.

  "This is non-negotiable," he replies.

  "It sure is," I say, standing up. I'm still topless, my bare breasts showing over the tip of my hitched-down black dress. "You need to get over this piece of paper, Mark. We could already be in the bedroom by now. Please, just forget about everything else." I reach out a hand, waiting for him to come with me. "I'll do anything you want," I tell him. "Let's just go through to the bedroom -"

  "You need to sign the document," he says.

  I sigh, turning and walking over to the window. I stare at my own reflection for a moment. How the hell did I end up in this situation?

  "You need to sign the document," Mark says yet again.

  "No!" I say, turning to look at him. "I'm not signing anything!" As my anger builds, I pull my dress back up, covering my breasts, and then I walk quickly over to the door that leads back out of the penthouse. "If you can't get over this stupid document," I say as I pull my coat off the hanger, "I might as well just go." I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he just remains in the chair. Is this really happening? Is this guy about to let me walk out of here simply because I won't sign a stupid piece of paper? I'm almost trembling with anger at his arrogance and stubbornness.

  Standing at the door, with my back to him, I wait for some kind of sign, but there's nothing.

  "Mark?" I ask after a moment.

  "I've already told you what you need to do," he says calmly. "It's a rule."

  "What rule?" I ask, placing my hand on the door handle. I'm this close to walking out of here and going back to my mother's house. "You make it sound like it's all a game."

  "The word game can mean a lot of different things," he says. "Everyone needs rules and boundaries."

  I turn the handle and open the door, stepping out into the corridor. I can see the elevator door at the far end, but I still can't quite bring myself to leave. "There's no way I'm signing that document," I say, my voice faltering a little. "Why can't you just -"

  "It's the rule," he says again.

  I pause for a moment, almost trembling with rage. "Fine," I say suddenly, surprising even myself as I walk back into the room, pushing the door shut behind me as I hurry across the room and kneel by the coffee table. I grab the two halves of the document and take a pen from the table, hurriedly signing my name. "Done. Are you happy now?" I say, pushing the document back over toward him. Sure, I just caved and gave him what he wanted, but I guess it's his turn now. He has to cave and give me what I want.

  "Thank you," he says, standing up and taking the pieces of paper over to the writing desk.

  "Now what?" I ask, getting to my feet.

  He carefully places the pieces of paper into a folder, before turning and walking back toward me.

  "Mark, now -"

  Before I can finish, he pushes me back against the wall and kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and pressing the bulging front of his trousers against the crotch of my dress. It's as if all the passion and intensity he was holding back has suddenly been unleashed. Unable to control myself, I kiss him back, our mouths moving as one. I feel his hand on my shoulder, and he quickly pulls my dress back down to my waist, once again exposing my breasts. The kiss continues as he runs his hands over my nipples, and I can't help wondering whether I can handle his passion. Suddenly scooping me up into his arms, he carries me across the room. He doesn't turn on the lights as we walk through the door at the far end. He simply carries me into the darkness and sets me down on the bed.

  Inspector Matthews

  1896

  I wait outside the hotel for almost an
hour, but finally I spot the familiar figure of Vincent D'Oyly emerging into the night air. He pauses for a moment to light a cigarette, and I can't help but note that he cuts a rather serpentine figure: a tall, thin man with greased-back hair, he has vicious eyes and a cruel, determined stare. I keep out of sight, making sure he doesn't spot me, and finally he climbs into a waiting carriage. Stepping further back into the shadows, I watch the carriage pull away and head along the street. With no time to lose, I hurry over to the hotel's door and enter the lobby, making immediately for the elevators at the far end. Although I have every right to be here, as an officer of Her Majesty's Constabulary, I would prefer to attract as little attention as possible.

  "Penthouse," I say as I step into the elevator.

  "Very good, Sir," says the bellboy as the elevator doors close and the chamber starts to rise. "Penthouse coming up, Sir."

  There's a moment's awkward pause. I'm quite sure the bellboy knows that D'Oyly just left, in which case he must be wondering why I am here. Fortunately, he has clearly been taught to not ask questions, although I must be careful to ensure that he does not inform the hotel's management of my presence.

  "Penthouse, Sir," says the bellboy as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors open to reveal a short corridor.

  "Thank you," I reply, stepping out of the chamber. I turn to the boy and hand him some money. "For your discretion," I tell him, before showing him my police insignia.

  "Of course, Sir," he says. "For your information, I'm not sure that there is anyone in the room at present. I believe Mr. D'Oyly has gone out for the evening."

  "Very good," I reply, turning and heading to the door. As I hear the elevator descend, I retrieve a small knife from my pocket and get to work on the lock. It takes but a moment for me to spring the mechanism, and the door opens with a satisfying click. Taking one final glance along the corridor to make sure there's no-one around, I step into the penthouse suite.

  The place is stunning, like nothing I've ever seen before. I'd always heard that the upper classes lived in luxury, but it's something else to actually experience such things. There are numerous striking items of furniture, including a rather large golden eagle on a pedestal. No wonder these people lose touch with reality; after all, they live in such gilded cages, they have no idea what it's like to be part of the real world. A man who lives in a place such as this is probably able to look at common girls and think of them purely as objects. As I walk across the room, I try to imagine what it would be like to live in this kind of world. Eventually I reach the large window at the far end, and I open the door before stepping out onto a balcony that overlooks a stunning view of the city.

  Although it's a little cold up here, I stay on the balcony for a few minutes, shocked to see so many lights down below. It's hard not to feel as if I'm above the entire world, and somehow detached from the people in the streets. Even Her Majesty Queen Victoria cannot possibly have such a wonderful view. Far, far below, people move through the street like ants. No wonder men such as Edward Lockhart and Vincent D'Oyly have developed such an awful disregard for the value of human life. From up here, everyone looks exactly the same, and the death of a fellow human being might seem no more important than the death of an insect.

  I head back inside and start carefully going through the papers on D'Oyly's writing desk. I try to avoid causing too much of a disturbance, since I aim to leave no trace of my search. Unfortunately, all I'm able to find is a series of invoices from local merchants. I go through the draws, and finally I check the shelves of the bookcase, but there seems to be nothing of interest at all. While it was always unlikely that D'Oyly would leave out something damning for me to find, I had hoped to find an item that might at least lead me toward some new avenue of investigation. As it is, I feel as if I'm coming up blank, and I know that I don't have long to search. There has to be some kind of document in here that will show, without a shadow of a doubt, that this conspiracy of murderers is not just a figment of my imagination.

  Finally, I go to the cabinet by the bedroom door, and I find a small stash of papers in one of the compartments. At first, it seems as if I have once again found nothing of interest, but after a moment I realize that some of the papers seem to be contracts. The detail of the contracts seems to concern some kind of agreement regarding sexual activity, but the most interesting aspect is that the signatures provide a substantial link to some of the missing girls. It takes me only a few seconds to leaf through the papers and ascertain that the likes of Sophia Marchant and Elizabeth Cavendish have both signed such contracts. Perhaps, despite all logic and rationality, Edward Lockhart was telling the truth. Even if the highest powers in the land are keen to prevent my investigation, these papers are irrefutable proof that -

  "Find anything interesting?" asks a voice from behind me.

  Turning quickly, I'm shocked to see Vincent D'Oyly standing in the doorway. He has a wry smile on his lips, and his stare tells me that he's not entirely surprised to find me here. I have no idea why he came back so quickly, but it would seem highly likely that someone betrayed my presence.

  "I am an officer of the law," I tell him, "and as such, I am -"

  "I know, I know," he replies dismissively, setting his cane against the wall before removing his coat and hanging it on the nearby stand. "Relax. I am fully aware of your identity, Inspector Matthews. If you'll recall, we met some time ago at the home of Lady deHavilland, and of course I was also following you for a while. I think we can safely assume that I know exactly who you are, and that you know who I am, and that we both know why you are here." He opens the drinks cabinet and takes out two glasses. "Brandy?"

  "No," I reply, walking toward the door.

  "Gin? Sherry?"

  "I'm not staying," I tell him.

  "Is there nothing you want to ask me?" D'Oyly asks. "I can assure you, Inspector Matthews, that I'm a very honest man. I will answer all of your questions with complete candor."

  "I find that hard to believe," I reply, placing one hand on the door handle before turning back to him.

  "Test me," he says, sipping from his glass of brandy. There is a terrible sense of smugness about this man, as if he feels he is in complete control of the situation. He probably believes his high-powered friends can still swoop in to save him. I look forward very much to wiping that grin off his face when I bring the full force of the law crashing down upon the activities of this obscene little group.

  "Did you kill Eve Langley?" I ask.

  "Probably," he says. "I'm afraid I'm very bad with names, and I've killed so many girls since I started playing the game. Something like ten or eleven, in fact." He pauses for a moment. "Yes. Eve Langley. I remember the name now. A very pretty young woman with curly blonde hair and diamond tits. She died in this very room. Most of them did." He sniffs. "Make of that what you will, Inspector, but at least you can be assured of my honesty."

  I stare at him, astonished that he would make such a glaring omission of guilt. "Did you kill Elizabeth Cavendish?" I ask.

  "No," he says. "Elizabeth Cavendish was before my time. I believe my predecessor, Mr. Edward Lockhart, was responsible for her death. It's all recorded in excruciating detail in the book on my desk, and those papers in your hands should also help sort out the dates."

  "On whose orders were these girls killed?" I ask.

  He smiles. "It's not quite as simple as that, Inspector. There are no orders, there are merely rules. One learns the rules, and one adheres to them while one plays the game. I admit it must seem a little strange from the outside, but once you've been inducted, it all makes perfect sense. However, if you're asking who bears the greatest blame for the deaths, I must say that the three of us are more or less equally guilty. Regardless of who actually wields the dagger in each particular case."

  "Why did they have to die?" I ask. "Why not just let them go?"

  "Because they had proven themselves to be unnecessary," he continues. "They failed. The nature of the game is such that it
was impossible to just let them walk out of here, so they had to be silenced permanently. I can assure you that none of us gets any kind of kick out of the whole unpleasant business. Well, not as far as I'm aware, anyway. I can only really speak for myself, and..." He pauses. "Oh, who am I trying to fool?" he adds with a smile. "I do get a kick out of it. I rather enjoy all the killing."

  "Where are the bodies?"

  "In the river. Where else would one put bodies?"

  "In hallowed ground," I reply, disgusted by the casual way in which he is able to discuss such hideous acts.

  "Hallowed ground," he replies with a smile. "Such a childish concept. For immature minds, I think. I have to admit, it worries me a little that an officer of the law would believe in such things. Should not a man in your position be more concerned with the material world? With things he can see and feel?"

  I stare at him for a moment, filled with an urge to grab this miserable piece of human garbage and deal him a beating he won't ever forget. I'm not a violent man, not by any means, but true evil makes my blood boil. I certainly don't take kindly to receiving lectures on morality from a man who has just admitted to killing several women.

  "You look angry," he says. "You don't hide your contempt for me very well, do you? Or perhaps you just don't care. Perhaps you feel I deserve your hatred."

  "I'm not trying to hide anything," I reply. "Any decent man would feel the same way."

  "So what are you going to do? Throw me over the balcony?"

  "I'm going to arrest you," I tell him, "and I'm going to take you to the Yard, and I'm going to get the full truth out of you. And then I'm going to go and get Lady deHavilland and whoever else is implicated, and I'm going to bang all of your heads together until this whole thing is over. Then I'm going to come back to this penthouse and rip it apart for evidence, and then I'll have everything taken away and destroyed. And then I'm going to line the three of you up in a row, with nooses around your necks, and I'm going to stare into your faces as the executioner throws the switch, and I'm going to watch as you die.""