by Amy Cross
As I keep watching his face, however, I suddenly see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. It's a shocking moment, and then I realize what it means. I turn and look ahead, and I see that the car is about to take a tight right-hander; at the speed we're going, it's impossible to think that we could ever make the turn. My hand automatically reaches down to the seat-belt, but I force myself to wait. Mark swings the car to the right, the tires screech, and for a moment it looks as if we might actually be okay. Then, at the last moment, one of the rear wheels catches on the side of the pavement. Mark tries to keep control, but it's too late. Finally, I see a look of fear in his eyes, and that's when I realize this is serious.
The car spins at high speed. I manage to buckle my seat-belt as the force of the direction change pushes me into the door. As the car pirouettes across the road, barely scrubbing off any speed, the engine sounds like it's running out of control and the tires are screeching so loud, it's almost as if they're screaming. Then, just as I think it's going to be okay, I see that we're headed straight for a traffic island in the middle of the road. There's barely time to react before we hit the kerb at full speed and the car tips up, flipping upside down and flying several meters through the air as one of the traffic island bollards explodes in a shower of sparks. The car seems to be suspended in mid-air for a moment, before crashing down on its roof and skating across the road with a horrific sound of metal grinding against tarmac. The front windscreen cracks but doesn't break as the car glances violently against a brick wall, spinning back out into the middle of the road and finally coming to rest.
Hanging upside down in my seat, I feel my heart racing so fast it might burst out of my chest at any second. The engine is still revving, and I realize Mark's foot is pushed down hard on the accelerator. Outside, I can hear the wheels spinning like crazy, and there's some kind of hissing sound coming from somewhere close by. I turn and see that Mark is just looking ahead, but he's still breathing and he's still alive.
"Are you okay?" he asks slowly, turning to me. His voice is different now: he sounds weak. I hear the engine start to slow down, which I guess means he's taken his foot off the gas.
"I'm fine," I say flatly. I should be panicking and screaming, but I think I'm in shock. "What about you?"
"There'll be police here soon," he says, still sounding weak, "and an ambulance. You can't be here when they arrive. Go."
I take a deep breath. Still upside down, I reach out and try to force the door open. It takes a moment, as the passenger side took a big hit during the crash. As I struggle, I start to worry that I'm trapped, but finally the door jerks open. The cold air of the London night is a shock.
"You didn't hit your head, did you?" Mark asks.
"No," I say, unbuckling my seat-belt and carefully turning the right way up. The car is a complete wreck, and it's a miracle we survived. If I hadn't managed to get my seat-belt done up in time, I'd have been thrown through the windshield. "Why the hell didn't you slow down?" I ask, my hands shaking as I reach out to try and help him.
"Why the hell did you think I would?" he replies.
"You're hurt," I say.
"I'm fine," he says, pushing me away.
"You're not fine!" I insist.
"Go!" he shouts. "It could get complicated if you're still here when the police arrive."
"I've got to get you out of here," I insist. "There might be a fire."
"There won't be a fire."
"You don't know that!" I shout, reaching down to unbuckle his seat-belt
"Yes I do!" he says, pushing me away again. "You're obviously fine, so get out of here."
I stare at him, stunned by how blankly he's dealing with this whole thing. It's almost as if nothing has happened, as if he just happened to clip a kerb. The car is upside down and wrecked, and I don't care how safe it's supposed to be, I still think we're lucky to be alive.
"I don't want to leave you," I say finally. I can't believe these words are coming out of my mouth; it's as if I'm speaking without thinking, as if my conscious mind - the mind that makes rational, logical decisions - has been taken over by some other voice. "What if I -" Suddenly I realize that he's starting to look pale. I pull his jacket open, but there doesn't seem to be any wound on his torso. Still, the mere fact that he hasn't pushed me away means he must be feeling weak. Something's very, very wrong.
"Go..." he whispers, barely able to look at me.
"Is it your legs?" I ask, looking down into the foot-well. At first I don't spot any kind of injury, but then I see something glistening on his trousers. I reach down and find that there's a lot of blood around his knee. "Mark..." I start to say, feeling my whole body start to tense up. The lower left leg of his trousers is soaked in blood. "Oh my God," I say, "you're losing blood. You're losing a lot of blood." The shock seems to be passing, replaced by blind panic. I reach further down to check his leg, but when my arm brushes against him, he lets out an agonized scream. Finally, I spot a steel axle jutting into the foot-well, impaling his leg. "This is serious!" I shout at him, starting to panic. "You could bleed to death!"
"Get out," he whispers. "Just get the fuck out. Don't..." He pauses, as if he's having trouble staying conscious. "Don't make me..."
"I can't leave you like this," I say. There's blood on my hands from his trousers. "Where's your phone? I'll call an ambulance, and then I'll wait with you."
"Reach into the glove-box," he says, his voice getting more and more faint.
"Is there a first aid kit in there?" I ask, popping the glove-box open and reaching inside. As the sirens get closer, I feel something hard and metallic in my hand. Pulling it out, I find that it's a large hunting knife.
"Your fingerprints are all over that now," he whispers, "and all over the car. If you're still here when they arrive, I'll tell them that you held that knife to my fucking throat and demanded money from me. Do you understand? I'll blame the whole fucking crash on you, and they'll believe me. They'll believe every word I say, because I'm somebody in this city and you're nobody." He stares at me for a moment longer. "If you stay, it will be the biggest mistake of your life. I will destroy you, do you understand?"
I pause for a moment. Is he really saying these things? Would he really set me up like that? I look into his eyes and I realize, shocked, that he might.
"Go!" he screams, suddenly seeming a little stronger. "Go!"
I drop the knife onto the passenger seat and climb back out of the car. The sirens are so close now, it's clear they're going to arrive at any second. It's as if they're all around, coming from every direction.
"Goodbye, Elly," Mark says firmly, fixing me with a determined stare.
I open my mouth to say goodbye, but I can't do it. Instead, I just turn and I start walking away, my footsteps echoing as the sound of sirens gets closer and closer. I have no idea where I am, but I know I can't stay and wait for the police to show up. As I walk along the road, I glance back and see Mark's mangled car still resting upside down. Blue flashes appear in the distance. He's badly hurt, but hopefully they'll be able to cut him out and save him. I want to go back and stay with him, but he's made it clear that he doesn't care about me. I watch as two ambulances and a police car screech to a halt next to the wrecked car, and then I hurry away into the darkness.
I keep walking, hugging myself against the cold. The dress I wore to my father's funeral is so thin, I feel as if I'm about to freeze. My bare arms feel like chicken skin and I start to wonder how the hell I'm ever going to find my way back to my parents' house. I've no idea where I left my phone; I guess it must be back in Mark's suite, and I'm sure as hell not going back there any time soon. Just as I'm starting to think I might be doomed to wander the streets until sunrise, I spot a sign pointing toward Woolwich Dockyard Tube station. I don't have the money for a train, but I should be able to get a taxi home and there's money in my bedroom. I hurry across the road just as a medical helicopter flies overhead and heads toward the scene of Mark's accident.
Part Eig
ht
The Decision
Jonathan Pope
1896
"These people are all here for one very simple reason," Lady Red explains as she leads me through the crowd of naked, masked revelers. "They want to have fun. They want to forget the mores of the city and enjoy their bodies. They want to abandon the chaos of civilized society and embrace the chaos of passion. Do you really begrudge them such a brief moment of pleasure, Mr. Pope? Do you really think this is all so wrong?"
Still limping a little from my leg injury, I look over at two women who are engaged in a sexual act so shocking and so degrading, I cannot bring myself to believe that such a thing is possible.
"I understand that it takes a little time to understand such things," Lady Red continues. "I know your reputation, Mr. Pope. You're widely reviled as a crude and vulgar man, but I have a feeling there's more to you. I believe that while you're capable of existing within such a world, you're also capable of mixing with the higher classes. I suppose that makes you something of a social chameleon."
"Considering we'd never met until a couple of hours ago," I reply, "you seem to have formed a remarkably detailed opinion of my deepest characteristics."
"It's a skill," she says, stopping in the middle of the room. "When you look at me, what do you see?"
Staring at her from beneath my mask, I find my gaze inevitably drawn down to her large breasts, and then further down to the thick bush of dark pubic hair between her legs.
"It's quite alright," she says, "I fully understand. You're a red-blooded man, and as such you immediately think primarily of sex. It's part of your vocabulary." She reaches out and brushes a finger against the tip of my erect penis. "I'm not as young as I could be, Mr. Pope, but I believe myself to still be quite attractive. I'm sure you've already begun to imagine what it would be like to bend me over and stick that big pink thing of yours inside me." She steps closer. "It's not an encounter I plan to initiate, at least not yet. Nevertheless, look around you. Do you think I would stop you? If you really want to have your way with me, there's nothing preventing you from sitting me on a sofa and mounting me like an animal."
Turning, I see that to my immediate left there are two masked figures making love. One is an elderly gentleman, and the other is a younger woman. With no apparent shame, they're copulating on the sofa in the most lively fashion; he is flat on his back, and she is grinding on top of him. Nearby, a disinterested-looking man is staring at them while he sips from his drink. It's as if the love-making is something perfectly normal, to be observed with a complete lack of embarrassment.
"Everyone is liberated here," Lady Red says, gently kissing my bare shoulder. "Masks make us free."
"I know your real name," I say, turning to her.
"Of course you do," she replies with a laugh. "My dear, if you lacked that rather vital piece of information, I should be worried about your intelligence. I'm fully aware that you've been poking around at the edges of this operation for quite some time. Don't worry, though; I've taken the opportunity to make sure I know all about you, Jonathan Pope."
"Lady Henrietta deHavilland," I continue, my mask just inches from hers. "One of the most famous women in all of London. Renowned for her spirited political and economic theories, and known as a fine orator. There are powerful people in this city who think you're something of a trouble-maker."
"And most of those powerful people are in this room right now," she replies, "with their dicks pointing at the nearest pretty lady. In fact, one of them is right over there."
Following her gaze, I'm shocked to see a masked man sitting in a nearby chair, clearly and openly masturbating while he stares straight at us. He's making no attempt to hide what he's doing.
"Sex is power," I say, turning back to her.
"What a shame," she says with a sigh. "You resort to such obvious cliches. Then again, cliches are cliches because they're true."
"If he wants you," I continue, glancing back over at the masturbating man, "why doesn't he just come over and offer himself to you? I wouldn't have thought this was the kind of night for shrinking violets."
"He's scared," she says. "He knows of my reputation, and he's worried he wouldn't be able to satisfy me. He prefers to skulk over there, manipulating his own -" She pauses for a moment as the man finishes; a small spurt of semen squirts from his penis and lands on his leg, and he looks rather embarrassed as he immediately starts cleaning himself up. "Well," she says, taking me by the arm and leading me away, "that wasn't really worth the effort, was it? Still, I imagine the minister has had a hard day. Cabinet met this morning, did it not?"
"Why am I here?" I ask as we continue our way across the room, passing assorted masked revelers as they touch, fondle and fuck one another. It's a scene straight out of Ancient Rome.
"Why are any of us here?" Lady Red replies, sounding tired. "It's one of the eternal questions. Does God exist? Does my sweetheart love me? What shall I wear to the ball? Such dull old worries."
"You know what I mean," I continue. "You've had plenty of opportunities to kill me, but instead you seem to want me alive. I'd have thought you want revenge. After all, I killed Mr. D'Oyly."
"Vincent D'Oyly was never going to last long," she says. "He was acceptable for a while, but I could tell almost immediately that he was never going to be a proficient or memorable Mr. Blue. No, I'm afraid I was just marking time while I waited for a more reliable and more promising Mr. Blue to present himself."
"And have you found such a gentleman?" I ask, shuddering at the thought of this macabre game rumbling on and on.
She turns to me. "I think so," she says, running a finger down my chest. "Mr. D'Oyly, the eighteenth Mr. Blue, was a violent and sadistic man. His predecessor, Mr. Lockhart, was romantic and weak. Before that, there was the regrettable Mr. Adams, who insisted on falling in love with every girl who came his way. Why, it has been fully ten years since the role of Mr. Blue was filled by a decent player. I'm looking for an intelligent man. A man of vigor, who thinks with his head instead of his crotch."
I stare at her, starting to realize her plan. It seems almost inconceivable, yet I am quite certain that in her insanity, she imagines I could possibly take Mr. D'Oyly's part in this macabre fantasy world.
"Judging by your silence," she continues, "I suspect that you know what I want from you, Mr. Pope, and I can assure you that I always get what I want."
"I can see that you're insane," I reply.
She smiles. "Come. Let me show you something that will change your mind."
"There is nothing -" I start to say.
"Words are cheap," she says, taking my hand and leading me through the crowd. "Let me show you."
I open my mouth to argue with her, but finally it strikes me that perhaps I should play along at least for now. Allowing her to lead the way, I eventually see that we are heading for a large door at the far end of the room. After a moment, I realize there is someone walking behind us, and I turn to see that Mr. White has joined us, along with a naked young woman wearing a small purple mask. As Lady Red opens the door, I realize that I have an unparalleled opportunity to get to the heart of this macabre game and learn the truth about its players. One thing is certain, though: I shall never become one of them.
Elly
Today
"Have you got your ticket?" my mother asks as we hurry across the station concourse.
"Yeah," I say, keen to get this whole thing over with.
"Are you sure?" she says. "Let me see it."
"I've got my ticket," I say again. "I swear. Why wouldn't I have my ticket?"
"Have you got a seat reserved?" she asks.
"I don't know."
"Well take a look."
Sighing, I stop dead in my tracks and reach into my jacket pocket, fishing about for a moment until I finally pull out my train ticket. "Not reserved," I say, flashing it at her. "But I've definitely got my ticket. See? I won't end up having to walk back to Bristol."
She nods. "Yo
u don't want to end up being fined," she says as we carry on, heading over to the area where the large screens are displaying the departure times of all the trains leaving Paddington in the next few hours. "Delayed," my mother says suddenly, pointing at one of the screens. "That's yours, isn't it?"
My heart sinks as I see that she's right; there's a forty-five minute delay showing for my train. "It's okay," I say, "you can just get going. I can hang around and wait."
"Nonsense," she says, already heading over to the escalators that lead to a small upstairs bar. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch."
"You don't need to do that!" I call out, but she's already out of earshot. Sighing again, I adjust my backpack before hurrying after her. This little charade is clearly going to drag on a little longer. My mother's been a bag of nerves for the past couple of days, and I don't think she's adjusting very well to life without my father. Damn it, it's at times like this that I wish I had a brother or sister who could take the strain. As it is, I'm having to endure the full force of my mother's neurosis, and it's starting to drag me down. I swear, I'm going to start sprouting gray hairs any day now.
"Are you sure about this?" my father's voice asks.
"No," I reply, "but I don't see -" I suddenly stop dead in my tracks and turn around. There's no-one behind me, but I swear to God, I heard him. It's been days since the funeral, and I thought he was gone for good.