by Amy Cross
"Elly," Mark says, "we should -"
"I don't care," I reply firmly, almost breathless as I slip the t-shirt over my head.
"Elly -"
"I don't care!" I scream, turning to him. "What the fuck's wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with your fucking head?"
"I warned you that tonight might be a little extreme," he continues. "I told you there was a danger that you might not like what happened."
"Yep," I say, still getting dressed. "You warned me. You definitely warned me."
"So really -"
"I didn't think you were going to turn it into some kind of fucking voyeuristic spectacle," I say as I finish getting dressed and finally step back into my shoes. "I thought you'd have some kind of limit."
"It's all part of the game," he says. "I thought you might even like it."
"I bet you fucking did," I mutter, quickly tying my shoes so that I can get the hell out of here. "There'd better not have been a fucking camera in there."
"There was no camera," he replies.
"Great," I say. "So it was just an intimate moment between me, you and some random old pervert, huh?"
"You seemed to like it for a while," he adds.
"Excuse me," Mr. White says, stepping toward me. He has a very calm and settled manner, and a cut-glass public school accent.
Instinctively, I step away from him as he opens the front door. "I can see that you two need some time to talk," he says calmly, turning to me and smiling. "It was very nice to meet you, Elly."
"Pervert!" I shout at him.
"Young lady," he replies, "I think you misunderstand the nature of my interest."
"I misunderstand the nature of your interest?" I ask, unable to hide an incredulous smile. "I misunderstand the nature of your interest?" I stare at him for a moment, my mind racing as I try to work out what exactly is going on here. It's as if I've stumbled into the middle of some kind of weird, perverted set-up. Does Mark make a habit of bringing girls back to his penthouse so he can fuck them while some weird old man watches? "You're just a sweaty, slimy old fuck," I say, my chest tightening as I try to contain my anger. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but..." I pause, and suddenly I'm overcome by a feeling of total embarrassment. This man saw me in my most intimate moments. He saw me with my legs wide open, and he saw me as I came; he saw me swallow Mark's semen; he saw Mark gently biting on my nipples; he saw me experience the most powerful orgasm of my life. I open my mouth to tell him how much I hate him, but no words come out. Instead, I feel as if I'm being rapidly enveloped by an icy chill.
"I can explain everything," Mark says quietly.
"I doubt it," I reply, taking a deep breath so I can be sure I'm not going to vomit. I just want the ground to swallow me up right now.
"Elly," he says, "I warned you that the game would be extreme."
I turn to him, and for a moment I see in his eyes that same lost, wounded look that attracted me to him in the first place. There's clearly something dark and sordid going on in the depths of his soul; I used to think he was exciting, and that maybe I could help him, but now I see that he's far more depraved than I could ever have imagined.
"I'll leave you two alone," Mr. White says, stepping out into the corridor. "Mr. Blue," he continues, not looking back, "I'll speak to you tomorrow. We have a lot to discuss." Reaching the elevator, he hits the Call button. "Ms. Bradshaw, it has been a great pleasure meeting you. I'm only sorry that our first encounter was under circumstances that proved so traumatic to you. I had been informed by Mr. Blue that you would be more amenable to the arrangement, but it seems his assessment of your character was somewhat flawed." The elevator doors open, and the bellboy's eyes immediately widen as he sees the bizarre scene. "Would you care to join me for the journey back down?" Mr. White asks, smiling at me.
I stare at him for a moment. "I'll wait," I say eventually, shivering at the thought of sharing the elevator with him. "Send it straight back up."
"Of course," he says, stepping into the elevator. The doors close, and finally he's gone.
"Will you at least let me explain?" Mark says.
"Explain what?" I ask, feeling my eyes fill with tears.
"Everything," he says. "Aren't you curious?"
I take a deep breath, trying to work out what to do. On the one hand, I want to get out of here and forget about everything that happened tonight; on the other hand, there's undeniably a part of me that feels compelled to stay. I feel like I want to leave just to prove that I'm not some dumb, easily manipulated idiot, but at the same time I want to stay because... because of some feeling deep down, something that's piquing my curiosity and telling me I have to at least let him try to explain. Running away would feel stupid, and so would staying; if I'm going to feel stupid either way, I guess I might as well know the truth.
"How long will it take for the elevator to go down and then come back up?" I ask, keeping my distance from him. The last thing I want is for him to know that I'm on the verge of crying, although I'm pretty sure he can tell I'm upset from the quivering tone of my voice.
"Three or four minutes," he replies.
"Then you've got three or four minutes," I say, "and then I'm out of here."
Jonathan Pope
1896
Covent Garden is packed with people at lunchtime, which is just what I was hoping. Right now, as I hobble slowly toward my destination and try to ignore the excruciating pain from John the Pig's impromptu surgical endeavors, I figure I'm a lot safer in crowds. I spent the whole night on the cellar floor until John the Pig finally came down and told me it's okay to leave. All things considered, my leg isn't doing too badly, although the pain is ever-present. There's no sign of infection, at least. All around me, people are giving me dirty looks as I struggle along. I probably look like some kind of tramp, but I don't care. I just have to reach my destination.
"Jonathan Pope?" asks a male voice as soon as I enter one of the small shops in the corner of the square.
"I need help," I say.
Sitting behind his desk, Cather May narrows his eyes as he stares at me. Cather's an old man, although no-one knows exactly how old: some say he's close to a hundred, but that daily cups of green tea keep him looking like he's in his sixties; others say that he's actually only forty, but that his inner demons have aged him a couple of decades. Either way, Cather is the kind of man who has contacts, and he's the only person who might be able to help me disappear. The only problem, and the reason why I normally wouldn't come anywhere near him, is that he's a slippery bastard, prone to selling out anyone if the price is high enough. If you believe the stories, he once sold his own grandparents to a workhouse south of the river.
"You look like shit," he says with a smile.
"I feel like shit," I reply.
"You are shit," he adds.
"I need to get away," I say, limping over to his desk and finally easing myself into a chair. "Away from London. Forever. No coming back. No links. A new name, a new identity, a new country. And I need it fast." I pause for a moment. "Oh, and I have absolutely no money."
Cather stares at me for a moment, and finally a smile crosses his lips. "I admire your ambition," he says eventually.
"You're my last option," I say. "You know full well that I'd never come to you unless it was urgent, but I need to get away, and it needs to happen immediately. Within twelve hours, twenty-four at most."
"And where are you thinking of going?" he asks.
"Asia, perhaps." I sigh. "I don't know the world very well, Cather. I know London like the back of my hand; every street, every alley, every crack in the pavement. But once I leave London, I'm lost, and that's why I've come to you." I wait to see if he's going to accept my explanation. It's a long shot, but I figure he'll probably be intrigued. Cather and I have always kept rather far apart, so he should at least be interested in the fact that I'm now sitting here, begging for his help. "I'll be dead if I don't get away," I continue. "The only thing I can offer you is my net
work. You know I've got connections. I know things. I'll turn over my entire operation to you, in exchange for your help in getting me the hell out of here."
"Your operation?" he asks. "Mr. Pope, I hope you don't think I'm being rude, but your operation isn't worth a ton of shit to me. You deal with low-life thugs. Why do you think I would ever want to lower myself to such a level?"
"It's all I've got," I reply, "and I'm desperate. Besides, low-life shits keep the world turning. Surely you can do something with my network? Perhaps you can sell it on, or cherry-pick the parts you want for yourself, or -"
"This is absurd," he replies. "I can't believe you'd actually come in here and make such a ridiculous offer. You must be in a very desperate situation." Smiling, he leans back in his chair. "Tell me, Pope, who are your enemies? Who in this whole city could strike such fear into you, that you decide to turn and run?"
"None of your business," I reply.
He stares at me, and I can tell he's intrigued. For all his claims of respectability, Cather May is never afraid to get his hands dirty. "Your network," he says finally, "consists of a collection of... what, exactly? Men such as yourself?"
"Men such as myself can be extremely useful," I point out. "We get things done."
"Perhaps," he replies. "I do not know precisely what I would do with such a network, but I feel I might be able to make something work."
"So we have a deal?" I ask.
"We have the starting point for some negotiations," he says. "These enemies of yours. Tell me about them. Might they not decide to come after me if they believe I have helped you?"
"Absolutely not," I reply. The truth, of course, is that I have no idea what Lady Red and her friends might choose to do if they discover that Cather May has helped me to escape. John the Pig was reluctant to help me at first, but he came round when he realized that his links to the King's Arms would keep him safe. Cather May, on the other hand, has no such protection. Fortunately, I do not care one jot for Cather May, and I merely wish to use him for my own purposes. Once he has given me what I need, I am perfectly happy for him to be dragged screaming into Lady Red's darkest shadows.
"These people obviously terrify you," he says, raising an eyebrow.
I pause for a moment, wondering whether it's possible that Cather might already know something of Lady Red, Mr. White and Mr. Blue. Although their secret seems to have been generally well kept across the city, the past few weeks have clearly seen some significant changes. A growing number of people - including John the Pig, Inspector Matthews and myself - have begun to gain some understanding of the game, so it's certainly possible that rumors might have reached Cather. At the same time, I do not wish to tell him anything. "You know how it is," I say eventually. "Maybe I'm losing my nerve. A few years ago, I've had taken the bastards down, but I've had some bad luck and all I want now is to get away and live an easier life."
"Is that right?" he asks, clearly suspicious. "So you need identity documents, and you need a safe passage out of the country. Is that correct?"
"Absolutely."
"And do you know whether these enemies of yours are able to monitor your movements?"
"They have considerable resources," I reply, "although obviously they have limits."
"They don't have men at the ports, do they?" he asks.
"I wouldn't like to say." I pause again, hoping to make him think that I'm in a cautious frame of mind. "They're certainly very powerful," I continue eventually. "They have connections with the highest people in the land, so I would prefer to not under-estimate them. I only have one chance to get this right. If something goes wrong, there will be no chance to escape."
"You fear death, Mr. Pope?" he asks.
"I fear a slow and painful death," I reply. "Mere death, I can handle."
He smiles. "Then I shall endeavor to help you. If you can deliver the full details of your network, and hand everything over to me, I will arrange for all the necessary documentation to be ready by midnight. Is that acceptable?"
"That is more than acceptable," I say. "I wish I had more to give you, Cather, but I can assure you that if all of this goes well, I shall regularly raise a drink to your health in whatever place I finally call home."
"Don't get sentimental, Pope," he replies. "Men like us never have homes. We just have places to hide. Now, if you don't mind, I have some arrangements to make. Meet me on the south side of London Bridge at midnight, and I shall have everything you need. If you're late, I shall leave and there will be no opportunity for you to re-engage my assistance. Do you understand?"
"Of course," I say, slowly and painfully standing up. "I shall be there. And thank you, Cather. You owed me nothing, yet you are going out of your way to provide vital assistance. I only wish there might be some way I could repay this huge debt."
"The details of your network will suffice," he replies. "I look forward to seeing you tonight."
Once I have paid my farewell to Cather, I limp back out into Covent Garden. People are milling about, walking in all directions, clearly with no idea of the dark game that is being played in their midst. Men such as myself, and Cather May, and Edward Lockhart and John the Pig and Vincent D'Oyly and Lady Red, we all have one thing in common: we move in the shadows, hoping to never be noticed by the wider world. If the people of London knew the truth about what happens in the heart of their city, I'm quite sure there would be an outcry. What gentleman would want his daughter to be dragged into such a horrific situation? I struggle away from Cather's door, determined to enjoy my final few hours in this city before I go to London Bridge at midnight and prepare to meet my fate. I can only hope that Cather is not tempted to genuinely help me; my entire survival hinges on the hope that he will instead betray me to my enemies.
Elly
Today
"I brought you here to play a game," Mark says, still naked as he stands before me. "The very first moment I met you last week, I knew I wanted this to happen, but it took time to get you here. I didn't want to make some clumsy move and risk having you pull away, so I worked patiently to secure your interest."
Glancing over at the elevator, still waiting for it to come back up, I take a deep breath. "Go on."
"I thought I saw something in you, Elly," he continues. "I've found other girls for the game, but I've never been so totally convinced by one before. You're probably not aware of it, but there's something in your eyes that indicates a very unusual kind of soul. You're strong, stronger than any girl I've ever met."
"Huh," I say, sniffing back the last of my tears. "This game you keep mentioning -"
"It's too big to go into now," he replies. "Suffice it to say, the game has been played for centuries, and it will go on being played until finally a winner is found. I thought for a short while that you might be that winner, but I can see now that I was wrong. The look on your face when you saw Mr. White was... I knew at that moment that I'd made a mistake. You're not the girl I'm looking for, Elly. I only wish I'd come to this conclusion earlier, so you could have been saved so much pain."
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," I reply. "What game? You make it sound like something really serious is going on."
"It is," he says. "You and I, and Mr. White, we're just small parts of the game. We're just passing through. The game is part of London, part of the fabric of the city's life. Every Mr. Blue thinks he'll be the one who finds the girl who can win, but I guess that's the tragedy of the game. Maybe it can't ever be won."
"What's it about?" I ask, not sure whether Mark is crazy. "What's the point of this game?"
"It's about sex," he says. "That might sound blunt, but it's true. It's about pushing people past the boundaries they've erected around their bodies. The only way to win the game is to go through a process of reinvention. You have to open yourself to the possibilities around you; you have to be willing to do things you never thought you'd do, and to continually break through one barrier after another. You've had a taste of how it works tonight, b
ut trust me, beyond this point it would become so much more shocking."
"And you thought I'd be good at this game?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies. "I mean, for a while, I thought you had a unique quality that might equip you for the game's demands, but I can see now that I was wrong. You're just..."
"Just what?" I ask after a moment.
"Just... You're not the right person. I thought you were different to all the others, but... Don't be sad, Elly. Don't regret anything. You should be eternally grateful that you're not going to be drawn into all of this. If you'd been the right girl, you'd have been about to embark upon a journey that would have tested you beyond all your limits. The fact that you've turned out to be so normal is a good thing. For you, at least."
Behind me, a bell rings and I hear the elevator doors open.
"I'm normal?" I ask, shocked by the way Mark seems to be dismissing me. That word 'normal' has been plaguing me all my life.
"The elevator's here," he replies. "You should go."
I glance back at the elevator, and I see the bellboy standing awkwardly, waiting for me to go and join him in the chamber.
"Elly -" Mark starts to say.
"I don't need you right now," I say to the bellboy. "Sorry. I'll call you if..." My voice trails off, and I watch as the doors close again. Hearing the sound of the chamber going down in the shaft, I turn back to Mark. All the anger and shock of earlier has now been replaced by a tingling feeling of defiance; it's as if, faced with Mark's belief that I'm nothing special, I suddenly want to prove him wrong. There's something else, too. There's a realization that I daren't even acknowledge yet, something I've learned about myself today. For all my horror at being watched by Mr. White earlier, there's a part of me that actually likes the idea. God help me, but it's true.