by Amy Cross
He smiles. "Quite a fairy story, Inspector, but tell me... Do you really think you'll be allowed to do all of those things?"
"The law's the law," I point out.
"Well, yes, for most people," he says, "but I have far too many friends who'd step in and sort things out."
"It doesn't work like that," I reply.
"Oh, Inspector," he says, smiling, "I'm sure you're smart enough to know that, as a man with good connections, I'm more than capable of pulling some strings. Why, I could make a phone call right now and be put through to Downing Street. I could have you fired within the hour, and probably locked up for harassment as well. Shall I do that? Or shall I let Lady deHavilland call in the troops? Face it, Inspector Matthews, you don't have a chance. Men such as myself are a special breed, and we do not take kindly to being opposed by middling little police officers suffering from class envy."
"You're wrong," I reply. "You might think you're above the law, but you're not. Maybe you have a few privileges, but that doesn't mean you can get away with murder. I'm going to drag this whole sorry saga out into the cold light of day, and then we'll see how you fare. Trust me, your political friends will drop you so fast, you won't know what hit you."
"Perhaps," he says. "We shall see, I suppose."
"Jonathan Pope was right about you," I say. "You're insane. You don't even feel any remorse for these girls, do you? You just bring them back to this penthouse, have your way with them, and then... How do you do it? Do you cut their throats? Do you strangle them? Do you put a bullet in their brain? What?"
"Jonathan Pope?" he replies, raising an eyebrow. "I've heard that name before, although I'm not quite sure where. It's certainly a very disagreeable name, though. Almost sacrilegious."
"Perhaps he was another of your victims," I say darkly.
"Perhaps. It's so hard to keep track. I'm afraid the bodies do rather pile up." He refills his brandy glass. "I'll tell you something that might shock you, Inspector. When I'm with one of these girls, I immerse myself in her completely. I live and breathe her. I lure her closer and closer, manipulating her and becoming intricately involved in her life. And then she dies, and she's thrown into the water, and as soon as she disappears below the surface, I forget all about her. I mean, I can be reminded of her, but she drifts from my consciousness and I wait for the next girl. It's a marvelous skill."
"There's no room in the world for men such as yourself," I tell him. "Come on, we might as well get this over with. You've got a fairly short walk to the gallows, Mr. D'Oyly, and it starts with you accompanying me to the Yard. This game of yours ends tonight."
"I suppose so," he replies, finishing his brandy. "I must say, this is certainly not how I expected my evening to turn out." He walks over to the door and gathers his coat and cane. "I was expecting to sit alone for a while and read, and perhaps write some letters. Instead, I find a rather disagreeable oik such as yourself standing in my suite."
"I hope I didn't give you indigestion," I reply, opening the door. "Maybe the journey to the Yard will help you feel better."
"Of course," he says, stepping out into the corridor.
We walk in silence to the elevator, where D'Oyly rings the bell and we wait for the chamber to come up to us. There's something remarkably calm about this gentleman, almost as if he lacks the ability to truly understand the enormity of what has happened. From his demeanor, one would think he is off to a party, or perhaps to a bridge game. Perhaps he still believes he can wriggle out of this situation, and I have no doubt that he will try. He thinks his well-connected friends will save him, but I'm determined to prove him wrong. I'm not a man who usually relishes death, but in this case I will not rest until D'Oyly and his co-conspirators are hanging from the gallows.
"After you," D'Oyly says as the elevator doors open to reveal the smiling bellboy.
"No," I say, pushing him inside. "After you. And don't try any tricks. Believe me, I'm itching for any excuse to land a punch on your smug face."
"We're going up," D'Oyly says to the bellboy.
"Up?" I smile. "You're madder than a fish's armpit, D'Oyly. We're at the penthouse, there is no up."
"Going up, Sir," the bellboy says, closing the door and turning the handle. To my surprise, I feel the chamber start to rise.
"Where the -" I start to say, but suddenly D'Oyly grabs me by the neck and slams my face into the wall, almost knocking me out. He hauls me across the chamber and crunches me face-first into the other wall, breaking my nose and several of my teeth, and then he shoves me down onto the ground. With blood flowing into my mouth, I try to get up, but I succeed only in rolling onto my back. Looking up, I see D'Oyly raise his boot over my face.
"Nobody talks to me the way you talked to me tonight," he spits, clearly filled with anger as he slams his foot down into my face. "You disgusting piece of shit! Don't you know who I am? I'm someone, and you're nobody. How dare you even look at me?"
"Help me," I splutter, looking over at the impassive bellboy.
"Stop begging," D'Oyly says, smashing his foot down into my face again. I feel my cheekbones shatter, and the boot is lifted up for a moment before he crunches it down again, this time cracking my eye sockets. With blood pouring into my mouth, I try to call for help, but I can't even breathe. I make one final attempt to get to my feet before D'Oyly kicks me for a third time, and this time everything goes black.
Part Six
One Night
Elly
Today
Mark gently places me on the bed, before reaching over and switching on a small lamp. Completely naked except for the white underwear still covering my crotch, I look up at him and see that he seems to be lost in thought.
"Hey," I say, reaching out and touching his arm. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he replies, standing up and lifting his shirt over his head to go topless. As he turns back to me, I see his firm, toned body. I've been waiting so long for this moment, it's almost a shock to find that it's finally arrived. I've dreamed of Mark, and fantasized about him, and now my naked body is exposed to him. Shifting my position on the bed a little, I turn onto my side and move my knees up a little, making sure to keep my legs together.
As I watch him, Mark unbuttons his trousers and drops them to the floor, and then finally he pulls down his underwear and exposes his big, hard penis. Feeling my chest tighten with anticipation, I sit up face him, with his crotch at eye-level. I reach out and place my hand around the girth of his penis, feeling his hardness. Without waiting for a signal from him, I run my hand gently up to the circumcised tip, feeling the hard, shiny skin of the dome, before moving my hand all the way back down the shaft until I can feel his balls against my wrist. Smiling, I wrap my fingers around the shaft and give him a gentle squeeze.
I slowly lean forward and open my mouth, extending my tongue and licking the end of his penis. Keen not to rush things, I extend my tongue again and run its wetness around the tip, before finally taking the entire dome between my lips and giving him a gentle, teasing suck. I move my hand down the shaft until I'm cupping his balls, using my thumb to caress his scrotum. Eventually, I use my teeth to very gently apply a little pressure to the dome of his penis before I slide the whole thing into my mouth. I feel the tip passing down to the back of my throat until finally my lips are around the base of his shaft. He's so big, I can barely fit him inside. Easing my tongue to one side, I use it to stroke the side of his penis before slipping the whole thing back out of my mouth.
"Is this how you like it?" I whisper, smiling as I look up at him.
He nods silently, and I decide to start doing this properly, taking his penis in and out of my mouth with a slight slurping sound. Although I've given a couple of blow jobs to guys before, I've never been sure whether I'm very good at them, and I've never liked it when the guy ejaculates in my mouth. With Mark, though, I feel like I actually want to feel his semen erupt into my throat, and to feel his penis throb as he empties his load. For the first time in my life
, I'm actually enjoying doing this to a guy and although I'm trying to pace myself, I can't help but speed up a little, buoyed by the sudden feeling that he just got a little bigger and a little harder.
After a few minutes of this, I take his penis out of my mouth and use my hand to gently rub him. I stare at his hard, glistening manliness and watch as my hand glides up and down the shaft. Every so often, I lean closer and suck on the dome, and I'm starting to wonder how long it's going to take him to reach orgasm. When I was briefly with Rob, he'd start squirting within a minute or two, but I feel like I've been doing this to Mark for a while now. I guess some guys take a little longer.
"Get on your back," he says suddenly.
I look up at him. "You don't want me to continue?" I ask, trying not to sound disappointed.
"I want to return the favor," he replies.
Taking a deep breath, I sit back and slip my underwear down, finally exposing my bush. Mark climbs onto the bed, puts his hands on my knees and smiles as he slowly moves them apart, and finally he looks down at the lips of my vagina.
As I watch, he lowers his face to my crotch and I feel his warm breath against my skin. He uses a single finger to massage the area around my clitoris, gently getting closer and closer until finally he puts a little pressure around the base. Supporting myself on my elbows, I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling as I finally feel the tip of Mark's tongue brush against my labia and then dip down and between the lips. Taking deep, measured breaths, I wait as he slowly makes his way up toward the clitoral head. Sometimes I find it a little too sensitive when pressure is applied directly to the clitoris itself, but Mark seems to understand this as he runs his tongue in gentle, pressured circles around the base rather than over the top itself.
After a moment, I realize I've been accidentally holding my breath. I let out a heavy gasp and look back down my body, seeing the top of Mark's head as he continues to go down on me. He briefly slips his tongue deep inside my vagina before he goes back to focusing his attention on my clitoris. I open my legs wider, hoping to help him get closer, and I feel him shift his position a little. Taking a series of slow, deep breaths, I realize he's starting to speed up, and I'm edging closer and closer to an orgasm. There's a part of me that wants to tell him to slow down, or to stop altogether, so I can savor this moment, but I can't bring myself to actually say the words. Instead, I let out another low moan as I feel him apply a little more pressure on my clitoris and his tongue flicks around the base. It feels as if he's increasing the pace pretty constantly now, and I start to tense my body in anticipation of reaching orgasm any second now. I've crossed the point of no return.
"Fuck," I gasp, laying flat on my back and starting to tilt my hips a little as he licks harder and faster around my clitoris. To stop myself from squirming too much, I reach out with both hands and grab hold of the bed-sheets, as if to anchor myself in place. I can't help but let out more gasps and moans, and eventually I start to arch my back as I grip the bed-sheets harder and harder. It feels as if the pleasure is building against a wall, and any moment that wall is going to break and the pleasure will flood through my body. I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, squeezing my eyes tight shut. Mark is really going harder and faster now, and I keep my breath held for as long as possible, my whole body tense and trembling as I feel the orgasm getting ready to explode at any moment. It's hard to keep from squirming, but I don't want to do anything that might interrupt him. Normally, I'd be embarrassed to make any kind of noise, but right now I can't help letting out a brief grunt. Still holding my breath, I try to control the heavy trembling sensation running through my heavily-tensed body until finally I realize it's about to happen.
Gasping for breath and letting out a loud moan, I finally reach orgasm. The pleasure, which has been building and building in my crotch, bursts free and floods through the rest of my body. I arch my back, thrusting my breasts into the air as I grasp the bed-sheets and emit a series of deep gasps, and I feel the tip of Mark's tongue gently flick the head of my clitoris. The pleasure throbs through my body in a series of powerful waves before eventually starting to subside, and after a while I find myself starting to become less tense. Utterly breathless, I let go of the bed-sheets and reach down, placing my hands on the top of Mark's head. His tongue is still caressing the area around my clitoris, and it still feels amazingly good, and there are echoes of the pleasure still swimming through my body. Feeling totally calm and fulfilled, I stare up at the ceiling for a moment before I feel Mark's face move away from my crotch. I take a deep breath and look down just in time to see him wipe my wetness from his lips. He moves up my body and stares into my eyes for a moment before leaning closer and kissing the side of my neck. I reach down and run a finger between my legs, realizing that I'm wetter than I've ever been in my life. My heart is racing as I place my hands around his hard cock and start to jerk him off.
"Your turn," I whisper, smiling as I break from the kiss.
"I don't want to cum yet," he replies.
I grin. "You don't have a choice."
He kisses the side of my neck again. "I should have told you sooner," he says, "but I actually find it quite hard to cum. Don't worry, it'll happen, but it takes a while. I prefer not to rush it." He kisses my collarbone. "It's not a bad thing. It's good. It means things can last longer." He places a hand on my right breast and gently cups me for a moment, before rubbing his thumb against my tingling nipple.
"Are you sure?" I ask, trying to hide my disappointment.
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he says with a smile, leaning closer and kissing me again. As his tongue slips into my mouth, I run my hands over his rock-solid chest, feeling the contours of his muscles as I gently move my fingers down to his waist. As we continue to kiss, I feel him move his hips a little closer to me, and finally the tip of his penis brushes against my leg. I want him inside me right now, but I know I have to wait. It's clear that Mark likes to take things slowly rather than rushing, and that's fine by me. We have the whole night ahead of us, and although I was fairly confident that Mark would be good in bed, I'm starting to think that I could be in for the most amazing experience of my life. Even though I only just came a few minutes ago, I'm ready to go again. Still kissing, we writhe on the bed-sheets, running our hands over one another's skin as I slowly get into position to wrap my legs around his hips and pull him tight into my body.
Jonathan Pope
1896
The fool.
The damn fool.
Standing in the shadows of the park, I watch as Inspector Matthews loiters outside the Castleton Hotel. I always knew he was a hotheaded son of a bitch, but I never thought he'd be this stupid. How can he possibly think that it's a good idea to come here? I warned him to sit tight, stay calm and wait for me to contact him. I guess he thinks he's waited long enough; after all, it's been more than a year since he last heard from me, but I tried to explain to him that it would take quite some time for me to get the information I need. I hoped that maybe he'd have a little damn patience and do what I asked him to do, and to his credit he was pretty good for a while; he's obviously cracked now, however, and here he is, conducting his own little surveillance program of the Castleton. God knows what he expects to achieve, but the most likely outcome is rather simple: he'll end up dead.
I can't warn him. The only thing keeping him alive right now is the fact that they don't know the identity of his confidant. If they saw him with me, they'd immediately know what's been going on, and they'd kill us both. No, we have to stay separate until we're ready to make our attack. Or that was the plan, at least. Matthews is threatening to ruin everything. Still, I always knew this was a possibility, so I prepared a back-up plan, one that doesn't involve his help at all. At this rate, that back-up plan is going to have to be pressed into service pretty damn soon. I really thought Matthews would refrain from doing anything too dumb for a while.
After a moment, I spot a familiar figure emerging fro
m the hotel. Vincent D'Oyly, aka Mr. Blue, steps onto the pavement and pauses for a moment to light a cigarette. The man is a vile, snakelike individual who slithers through high society, hiding his venom as he seeks out young ladies around whom he can slowly wrap his slippery body. You can tell with one glance that the man is up to no good, but he has two things that make him irresistible to the opposite sex: wealth and power. Men like Vincent D'Oyly him are the epitome of everything that's wrong with this world. The natural order should see his type struck down by the stronger specimens; instead, he uses the trappings of his privilege to shield himself. The human species is doing itself no favors by prolonging a social structure that allows men like D'Oyly to not only survive but actually thrive and reproduce. I watch as he climbs into a waiting carriage, which then carries him away from the hotel.
Seconds later, Inspector Matthews emerges from his hiding place and walks quickly toward the hotel's entrance. Sighing, I realize that he's even more stupid than I'd imagined: he actually believes he can sneak inside and go up to the penthouse. God knows what he expects to find up there, but apparently he's determined to poke his nose around. There's a part of me that wants to run across the road, grab his collar and drag him away, but I know that would be too dangerous. There are eyes and ears all around us in the dark, and I have no doubt that Mr. Blue and his associates would be very quick to learn of our association. I wait a couple of minutes and then, sure enough, I spot D'Oyly's carriage returning to the scene. He climbs down, waves the carriage away, and is then approached by another man, who I recognize immediately: Harrison Blake, the well-known politician and lesser-known serial killer, also known as Mr. White. By day, he's a campaigner for social justice and labor rights, but by night he's a part of this cruel game.