The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "Do you wish to offer a confession, my child?" asks a priest, standing to one side with a Bible clutched in his hands.

  "I have nothing to confess," I reply, still trying to think of a way to escape.

  "May God have mercy on your soul nonetheless," the priest continues. "We are all his children, and it is unto him for judgment that we shall all return".

  "Do you have any last words, Mr. Pope?" asks one of the guards, as the hangman climbs up onto a stool and double-checks the noose.

  I shake my head. Damn it, I'm trying to come up with a plan, but my mind has gone completely blank. This has never, ever happened to me before; even when I'm in mortal danger, I'm usually able to keep my thoughts spinning until finally, usually at the very last moment, I come up with an answer. This time, however, my wits have deserted me completely, and all I can do is stare like an idiot at the noose.

  "Might as well get on with it, then," the guard mutters, and I'm shoved forward. Looking down at the stool, I realize that I've got about sixty seconds, perhaps even less, to work out how to get away.

  "Up," the guard says firmly.

  I should fight back. I should try to force my way free through brute force, but in some strange way I feel totally calm. Instead of fighting, I step up compliantly onto the stool, and I stand completely still as the hangman places the noose around my neck and tightens it. As he moves back, I feel the stool wobble slightly, and suddenly I realize that this is it: the ritual is complete, and all I can do now is wait for the stool to be kicked away.

  "There's two ways you can die," the guard says, staring up at me. "If you're lucky, your neck'll snap as soon as you drop. That's a quick and fairly painless way out. If you're unlucky, Mr. Pope, your neck won't snap and you'll end up suffocating as the rope draws tighter and tighter. Sometimes, me and the lads take pity on the ones who are suffocating and we grab their legs and yank them down, hoping to break the neck that way. We won't be doing that with you, though. If your neck doesn't break, we'll just let you hang there until you're dead".

  "I know which one I'm hoping for," one of the other guards says.

  "Saw this guy once," the first guard continues, "and one of his eyes literally popped out of his head. Fucking disgusting, but there you go. Sure you've got no final words, Mr. Pope?"

  "Get on with it," I say. "I just -" Suddenly I spot a figure standing on the other side of the yard. For a moment, I can't quite process the image, but finally I realize that it's a woman. Not just any woman, either... it's Henrietta! Dressed in her usual red dress, she has clearly come from beyond the grave to witness the moment of my death. As I stare at her, my heart is filled with such joy, and I'm overcome by the absolute certain knowledge that even after my mortal body has been destroyed, my soul will be with the woman I love.

  Smiling, I keep my eyes fixed on Henrietta's ghost as the hangman steps forward and kicks the stool out from under me. The last thing I feel is the noose snapping tight around my neck, and the last thing I see is Henrietta staring back at me.

  Part Four

  Torn

  Elly

  Today

  Sitting on the sofa, naked except for a thin dressing gown, I stare straight ahead. The room is dark; so dark, in fact, that I can barely see the glass of water that sits on the coffee table.

  "You're very quiet," Mr. White calls through from the kitchen. "Are you okay, Elly?"

  "Yeah," I say, smiling weakly. The truth is, I am alright. I mean, I'm nervous. I'm definitely definitely nervous, but at the same time I'm kind of excited. The thought of having sex with Mr. White, who's about two decades older than me and totally not my type, should be one that fills me with dread, but I'm looking forward to the opportunity to prove myself. Sure, the sex itself is unlikely to be particularly good, but once it's over I'll be able to look at myself in the mirror and see the face of someone with sexual experience.

  "So tell me," he says, coming through and standing by the sofa. "Why are you here?"

  "Mark drove me," I reply.

  "Please use his proper name".

  "Mr. Blue drove me".

  "But why did you agree?"

  "I want to be here".

  "Really?" He waits for me to reply. "No offense, Elly, but you look like you'd rather be anywhere else. You look terrified".

  "I'm not terrified," I say. "I'm nervous, that's all. I mean..." I pause, trying to work out what I'm really feeling.

  "What do you think is going to happen tonight?" he asks.

  I shrug.

  "You must have an idea".

  "We're going to..." I take a deep breath. "I mean, we're going to... You're going to push me beyond my comfort zone. That's part of the game, isn't it?"

  "Correct".

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "So what exactly do you think this is going to entail?" he continues.

  "I have no idea".

  "Come on, Elly," he replies, smiling, "you're a smart girl, you must have some ideas. Or are you just afraid to say them out loud?"

  "Mark used a whip on me," I say. "Once". I pause. "I guess you're going to do stuff like that".

  "And how do you feel about that?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but then I take a moment to work out what I really, really think. The truth is, deep down, I'm kind of excited by the prospect of going into the unknown. Until a month or so ago, I was always seen by my friends as this safe, vanilla girl who's probably recoil at anything more kinky than the missionary position. At university, I was always hanging around with Jess, and while she had a reputation for being sexually daring, I was always viewed as the quiet, boring girl in the corner. I hated that perception of me, and now I'm going to shatter it forever.

  "Do you understand the game?" he asks.

  "Not really".

  "Has Mark explained it to you?"

  "Not properly".

  "But you understand that there are three levels, don't you?"

  I nod.

  "The first level is Mr. Blue. You've passed that level by demonstrating to Mark that you're willing and able to push your boundaries and develop your sexual identity. The second level is me. I'm here to push you further. Not many girls get this far, and of those that do, the vast majority get no further. They think they can handle extreme sexual acts, but they can't. I'm talking about bondage, things like that". He pauses. "If you pass this level, you then move on to the third and final level. Lady Red is a considerable challenge, and no-one has ever got to the end of the game. No-one has ever won. If someone eventually does win, the game will end and the prize will be given".

  "What's the prize?" I ask.

  "No-one knows," he replies. "It's kept in a small box. It was put there almost three hundred years ago by the inventor of the game, a man named Benjamin Edgewood. Whatever's in that box, Edgewood obviously considered it to be of great value, and he felt that it could only be opened by a girl who had proved herself. That's why the game was created. There's a point to what's happening, Elly. It might seem trivial at times, but it's a very serious endeavor. Some people think that the box contains..." He pauses again. "Well, I'm sure you can imagine that there have been all sorts of elaborate theories".

  "Maybe someone should just open it and get the whole thing over with," I suggest.

  "Lady Red thinks you have a chance to win," he continues, ignoring what I just said. "She doesn't often advance an opinion of such optimism, so I have to concede that she might be right. She's a woman of very fine judgment, and it would be a foolish thing indeed to ignore her views. If she's right, Elly, you have a real chance of ending a game that has lasted for many centuries. Is that something that interests you?"

  I nod.

  "Come," he says, reaching out a hand. "It's time for me to show you the room where we'll be spending the next few hours".

  I take a sip from my glass of water, before getting up and allowing him to lead me by the hand over to a double-door at the far end of the room.

  "I'm sure Mark has told
you this," he says, pausing as he prepares to turn the handle, "but you must remember at all times that you're free to leave. You can just tell me to stop, and I'll do so immediately".

  I nod.

  Pushing the door open, he leads me into a large, square, bright white chamber. The first thing I notice is that there's some kind of contraption hanging in the very middle of the room, with wires running to the walls and some kind of seat in the middle. To be honest, it looks like a medieval torture device, complete with what appears to be a metal crown. Glancing to the sides of the room, I see an assortment of cabinets, some of which have been left open to reveal whips and other devices.

  "Is this how you imagined it would be?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "Remove the gown".

  I pause for a moment, before figuring that I've got no reason to be shy. Letting the robe drop to the floor, I stand completely naked as Mr. White slowly walks around me, making no attempt to hide the fact that he's examining my body. I feel as if his eyes are studying every inch of my flesh, and he occasionally stops and seems to take a closer look if something interests him. After a moment, he reaches out and gives one of my breasts a firm squeeze, as if he's analyzing the consistency of my entire body.

  "Show me your teeth," he says.

  I open my mouth and do as I'm told.

  "Any fillings?"

  I shake my head.

  "And no piercings anywhere on your body," he continues, before looking more closely at my ears. "Except your ears, but they look to be closing up. Don't you wear earrings?"

  "Not really," I say.

  He walks behind me, and a few seconds later he gives my left buttock a squeeze. After that, I feel his finger brushing against a small mole on my back.

  "Have you thought about getting this removed?" he asks.

  "Why?"

  "Oh, don't panic! It looks perfectly fine, but it might be a good idea to have it sliced off as a preventative measure". He walks back around to face me, and finally he smiles. "Not everything I say has a loaded meaning, Elly. Sometimes I'm just trying to be nice". He pauses. "You're a very attractive young woman," he says eventually. "You have a firm, tight body. How old are you again?"

  "Twenty-two".

  "You look very good for your age," he says, starting to unbutton his shirt. "I'm afraid I can't quite say the same for myself. I'm pushing on a bit, Elly, so you'll have to excuse the fact that I've got the body of an old man. There's not much I can do about it, although I try to keep in shape". He pulls the shirt away to reveal a barrel-chested physique, and it's noticeable that he has well-defined muscles, even if his skin seems to be sagging a little. He still doesn't attract me at all, but he doesn't repulse me either.

  "Have you never seen an old chap naked?" he asks.

  "Actually," I reply, thinking back to my unexpected encounter with Bob in my mother's kitchen earlier tonight, "I saw one not that long ago".

  Without any further warning, Mr. White pulls down his trousers and his underwear, revealing a fairly large penis. He smiles as he neatly folds his clothes and places them over in the corner.

  "You might be relieved to know that I won't actually be putting this withered old thing inside you," he says, as he opens a nearby cupboard and takes out a pair of handcuffs. "I don't fuck the girls I bring here, Elly. I use things on them. It's a much more convenient experience, as far as I'm concerned. I'm afraid I'm too old for all the huffing and puffing, and I doubt either of us would get much enjoyment out of it. Sorry if that sounds unromantic, but I feel it's best to be upfront about these things".

  "So what are you going to do to me?" I ask.

  "Plenty," he says with a smile. "Don't worry, you won't be bored, not for a moment. Come over to the middle of the room and I'll show you how it's all going to start".

  Joining him over by the metal contraption that hangs down from the ceiling, I can't help covering my crotch with my hands. I feel very exposed, and despite the fact that Mr. White and I are about to engage in some extreme sexual practices, I'm still feeling kind of embarrassed.

  "Don't be shy," Mr. White says. "Hold your hands up to the curved metal bars". He waits for me to comply. "Elly, you can say no and leave, but your involvement in the game will be over. Do you understand?"

  Nodding, I hold my hands up as instructed, and he quickly uses the handcuffs to secure me to the contraption. Looking up at the twisting mass of metal poles and tubes, I still have no idea how this whole thing is going to work, and my chest is starting to feel tight with anticipation. All I want is to get this over with, so that I can go back to Mark and prove to him that I'm not some little scaredy-cat.

  "This might seem strange at first," Mr. White says, stepping over to a laptop that's already running in one of the corners of the room. "Just go with it, and please be assured that nothing in this room is going to put you in any physical danger. You're completely safe". He makes a few adjustments on the laptop. "Okay, Elly. Are you ready?"

  I nod.

  Seconds later, as he presses a button on the keyboard, there's a loud whirring sound from above. As I look up, I realize that the metal bars are moving up, and suddenly I'm lifted several inches off the ground. Instinctively, I struggle against the handcuffs, but after a moment I realize that my best bet is just to wait and see what happens next.

  "Are you comfortable?" Mr. White asks.

  "Sure," I say, although it's a lie. Hanging by my arms, my bare body completely exposed, I'm starting to wonder whether I've got myself into something I can't handle. Still, I force myself to focus on Mark, and to imagine how good it'll feel when I've got through whatever Mr. White's got planned for me.

  "I'll begin," Mr. White says, and suddenly the room is plunged into darkness.

  "Is that supposed to happen?" I ask.

  "Of course," he says, as I hear his footsteps getting closer.

  "Okay," I mutter, my body tingling as I wait for him to touch me. This is already way beyond my comfort zone, and I've got no idea what's about to happen. Hanging from the machine, I keep expecting to feel his hands on my bare flesh, but so far there's nothing. Twisting a little as I hang in mid-air, I take a deep breath and wait. Just when I think that maybe he's going to ignore me, I feel his hand gently brush against my hip.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  Stirring from the deepest of sleeps, I open my eyes and look up at the high, gray ceiling. For a moment, I struggle to work out what I'm doing here, but finally I remember being led across the prison yard and forced to climb up onto the scaffold; I remember the noose being hung around my neck, and I remember seeing Henrietta's ghost watching me from afar; I remember the stool being kicked away, and I remember my body dropping until the noose tightened around my neck, and then...

  And then...

  Sitting up, I find that I'm completely naked, except for a white sheet that has been laid across my body. Feeling a kind of dull, sore pain around my neck, I reach up and find that the skin is rough and worn. I hold my hand up in front of my eyes and flex the fingers a few times, trying to work out what the hell has happened to me. I must be dead, yet this doesn't feel like death. It feels like...

  "You're a lucky man, Mr. Pope," says a voice nearby.

  Turning, I see Inspector Laverty standing in the doorway, staring at me with an implacable look on his face. Stepping into the room, he keeps his distance, as if he's worried that I might strike out at him at any moment.

  "If this is Heaven," I say, my voice sounding rough and croaky, "I don't consider myself lucky at all".

  "Heaven?" He smiles. "Oh, right... No, you're not dead, Mr. Pope. Far from it. You had the very good fortune of being hanged by a man who was willing to accept a few shillings in return for loosening the knot. Not much, of course. After all, we had to make it appear that you'd been killed. Nevertheless, the knot was loosened enough to make the whole thing eminently survivable, even if there was still a little risk involved. Don't worry, though. As far as the world is co
ncerned, and as far as your enemies are concerned, you've already been buried in an unmarked grave just outside the prison walls. A fitting end, I might suggest, for a man such as yourself".

  Taking a deep breath, I try to work out what's happening. Laverty is the man who had me arrested at Henrietta's house, and he's the man who pushed my case through the courts with the vigor of someone seeking quick justice. At all times during the process, he seemed certain of my guilt, and he pushed hard indeed to ensure that I would be sent to the hangman's platform. It seems strange, therefore, to find that he is now the one who intervened and ensure that I would be saved.

  "You're an unpopular man," Laverty continues. "Quite apart from this nasty little business you're involved with, there are plenty of people all across the London underworld who'd like to see you dead. I even hear that your name is despised as far afield as Bristol and Newcastle. It takes a special kind of man to make so many enemies, and I suppose it requires a certain degree of skill to incite such rampant hatred in the hearts of so many".

  "I've always tried my best," I reply cautiously.

  "Don't get me wrong," he says. "I have no particular interest in keeping you alive on a personal level. I've read the files on you, Mr. Pope, and I think this city would be a much better and safer place if men like you were removed permanently. However, it seems that you have some rather unique knowledge on a subject that interests me greatly". He pauses for a moment. "Would you like me to call you Mr. Pope, or would you prefer that I refer to you as Mr. Blue?"

  "Blue?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

  "Come on," he replies with a smile, "let's not bother with that little dance. You, Jonathan Pope, are Mr. Blue. Harrison Blake is Mr. White, while Lady Henrietta deHavilland is, or rather was, Lady Red. You see? I know a great deal about the game. Not everything, of course, but certainly more than I should. It's really a fascinating subject, and I've long hoped to gain first-hand access to one who has played the game. I'm sure you'll understand, therefore, why I couldn't let those ignorant fools hang you, especially when it's clear that despite all your other crimes, you most certainly did not murder Lady Henrietta deHavilland or her husband".