by Amy Cross
“I heard,” I mutter, as I realize that I can't possibly let her know that I was involved in the game. She wouldn't understand. No-one would. Hell, even I don't understand, not yet.
“They found all those bodies, too,” she continues. “A couple of years ago, they pulled loads of skeletons out of the Thames, and they reckon they might be mixed up in it too. Like, Dunn might be just the tip of the iceberg, and this whole thing might have been going on for centuries! Can you believe how fucking messed-up it all is? It's weird to think that even though everything seems normal in the world, there's stuff going on behind the scenes, really sick stuff. I mean, who wants to believe that some of the most powerful people in the country might be doing stuff like that?”
“It's really over,” I whisper.
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” I reply, “just... It sounds like they've finally got to the bottom of a whole lot of stuff. I guess there's probably even more that's going to get dragged out into the light.”
“People like that,” she continues, “think they're above the law. They think they can get away with anything, like they're in some kind of twisted reality. The truth is, they sometimes can get away with anything, but it always comes back to bite them eventually, even the ones who think they've got away with the lot of it, even the ones who think they didn't really do anything wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you even knew that something like that was going on,” she continues, “and you didn't say something, or you didn't go to the cops and get it stopped... Anyone who knew about it, they're just as bad as people like Dunn, if you ask me. They could have helped but they didn't. They're scum. They were more interested in looking after their own skins than doing the right thing.” She takes another sip. “I mean, if you or me knew about something like that, we'd go straight to the cops, wouldn't we?”
“I guess,” I mutter, staring at my glass for a moment as I start to realize that maybe I need to do the right thing. Eighteen months ago I ran away, but now I'm back and I finally have to tell the truth. Jess is right: it's time to stop running.
***
Less than an hour after saying bye to Jess, and promising to meet up with her again soon, I find myself standing at the bus-stop on Marine Road, watching the police station opposite as I try to work out how I'm going to explain everything. After everything that has happened over the past two years, this whole situation feels strangely mundane, but maybe that's a good thing. I'm tired of all the chaos and craziness.
“I was dragged into this game against my will,” I could tell the police, “and then when I got a chance, I ran away to Amsterdam. I thought I could hide there, maybe build a completely new identity, and then eventually come back and start again. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
No, that sounds too ridiculous.
“Why didn't you come and speak to us?” the officer would undoubtedly ask.
“I was scared.”
I can hear the incredulity in their voices now. They'd never believe me. Hell, they'd probably think I was covering something up, and I'd end up as a suspect. For all I know, Dunn might have already implicated me in an attempt to shift the blame. If he was desperate, he probably tried anything he could think of to change the focus of their investigation.
“I was lured into a game,” I could say, “and I didn't realize how deep I'd gone until it was too late. You have to believe me, these people have too much power. I was worried that they'd kill me, they've... They've killed people before, going back centuries. You have no idea how huge this thing is, it's everywhere!”
Again, though, the officer would undoubtedly ask the same thing: “Why didn't you come and speak to us? We're the police, what kind of person thinks the police are their enemy? A criminal, that's who. Are you a criminal, Elly Bradshaw? Are you as bad as the others?”
“No,” I'd tell him.
“Prove it.”
And that's when I'd come undone, because I don't know if I can prove anything. The truth is, I was scared, but I also believed – right up until the moment when he was shot – that Mark would be able to help me. I was convinced that Mr. White wasn't really that dangerous, and that the game was 'just' a game. By the time I knew the truth, I was too deep in the quagmire and I figured the only way to escape would be to run. Besides, I didn't know – and I still don't know, not for certain – that the police aren't somehow involved in this whole mess, that they haven't been paid off by Mr. White and by the old Lady Red. This whole situation could still be a trap.
Finally, figuring that there's no point dragging this out any longer, I head over to the crossing and make my way toward the station. Every step feels heavy, and with each passing second I consider turning back, only to force myself to keep going. I could go back to my mother's house and wait, dreading every knock on the door and every call to my phone, but I've already tried hiding and it didn't work too well. I spent eighteen months in Amsterdam, constantly looking over my shoulder, and I became a nervous wreck. No matter what happens to me today, I have to tell the truth. God knows what my mother will think, but I'll deal with that when the time comes.
“Hi,” I say as soon as I reach the reception desk inside the building, “I think I have some information about a crime.”
“What crime would that be?” the officer asks, not sounding particularly interested as he shuffles some paperwork.
“It's... the John Sebastian Dunn case.”
As soon as those words leave my mouth, I can see a flicker of concern in his eyes. I guess everyone in London is talking about Dunn at the moment, and I swear even the background noise from the office area behind the desk has become quieter, as if everyone else wants to hear what I have to say.
“I see,” the officer says cautiously, glancing down at the computer screen for a moment before turning back to me. “And your name would be... what, exactly?”
“Elly Bradshaw. I'm -”
“Elly Bradshaw.” He pauses, almost as if he recognizes my name. I keep telling myself that I'm being paranoid, but deep down I'm scared that they've been waiting for me. This whole thing could be a trap. “And what might be the nature of the information that you have?”
“I know everything,” I tell him, trying not to let my voice tremble with fear. “I know what Dunn was doing, I know about The Game, I know about the dead bodies in the river, I know about Mark Douglas and...” Taking a deep breath, I realize that I'm close to panicking, but at the same time it feels good to have finally reached the point of no return. I just have to stay strong for a moment longer. “I know a hell of a lot,” I add finally, suddenly feeling a little stronger. “I can tell you who Mr. Blue, Mr. White and Lady Red are, and Thomas Pope, and -”
“Okay,” he replies cautiously, “hold up, I think you should probably speak to someone who's actually involved in the case.” Heading over to the waist-high wooden panel next to the desk, he swings it open and stands back. “Why don't you come through and I'll find Mike Stone? He's the officer in charge of the investigation, and he'll know what all these names mean.”
“I think I've met him before,” I mutter, heading through the open gate.
“Just come over to one of the interview rooms,” he continues. “You did the right thing by coming here today, Ms. Bradshaw. There's nothing to be scared about, we're here to help, and that's exactly what we're gonna do.”
I wish I could believe him, but as I look over my shoulder and see the front door to the building, I can't help wondering whether I should have just gone back to Amsterdam and resumed my incognito life. A million thoughts are rushing through my mind, bringing with them a thousand possibilities, but it's too late to turn back now.
“In here, please,” the officer continues, opening the door to an interview room. “I'll just go and find someone who can speak to you. I think Mike's around somewhere, or maybe Angela.”
Smiling politely, despite the tears in my eyes, I step into the room and turn to him. “I just want
to do the right thing,” I explain, swallowing hard. “I know things, things that I think you'll find useful.”
“I'm sure you do,” he replies, as he starts to pull the door shut. “Just hold tight and someone'll be through to take your statement.”
“Protection,” I blurt out suddenly. “I might... I mean, I might need some kind of protection.”
He frowns. “From who?”
“I don't know, just...” I pause, trying to work out whether I'm being smart or paranoid. The truth is, I don't know if I'm even capable of understanding the distinction anymore. “I'm not sure I'm safe,” I continue cautiously, “but I guess that's something we can talk about later. I know I probably sound completely insane, but every word of this is true.”
“Mike Stone'll be along soon,” he continues, with a reassuring tone to his voice. “He's in charge of this case, he knows all about it, okay? I think he's gonna be very interested to hear from you, Elly, especially if you can fill in some of the gray areas surrounding Dunn and the others. Just try to relax and everything's gonna be fine.” With that, he swings the door shut.
I take a deep breath.
A fraction of a second later, I hear the officer locking the door.
“What -”
Suddenly someone grabs me from behind, while placing a cold, wet cloth over my mouth and nose.
“Breathe deep,” hisses a familiar voice, as I struggle to get free. “That's right, Elly. Don't fight, just let it happen. It's time for you to get back to doing what you do best.”
I try to pull away, but my legs are already starting to buckle and all the strength is fading from my body. The last thing I remember, before sinking into unconsciousness, is that voice. I know I've heard it before...
Mark
2008
“This place looks a little fancy,” I mutter as we step through the main door and into the hotel foyer. Reaching up, I try to loosen my tie, but Alice swats my hand away. “It's tight!” I hiss.
“It's smart,” she replies, forcing a smile, almost as if she's embarrassed by me. “The Castleton is not the type of hotel where you lounge around in beachwear. It's one of London's most upmarket establishments.” She turns and drops some coins into the doorman's hand. “Bring our luggage up, won't you? We'll be in the penthouse suite.”
As the doorman heads out to fetch our bags, which were waiting by the taxi that brought us here so close to midnight, Alice turns to me.
“This hotel has been the home of the game, on and off, since its inception. It's one of the most important buildings in all of London. Kings have been here, and queens, and important people from all over the world. But they're not the reason the place is important. The reason is in the penthouse.”
“But -”
Before I can get another word out, she starts walking away, heading across the foyer.
“Wait,” I hiss, hurrying after her. Glancing at the reception desk, I see that the staff have noticed us but don't seem too bothered. “Don't we need to check in?”
“They know me here.”
“Yeah, but -”
“The penthouse is on permanent loan,” she continues. “We have an arrangement.”
“That must cost a bit.”
“Stop worrying about such things.”
“But -”
“Money is of little concern to the participants in the game,” she explains as we reach the elevators and she hits the Call button. “Why, if we had to worry about money, we'd never have time for all the other things in life. The whole point of the game is to get past the frivolous distractions that mount up in the world, and focus on what really matters.” She glances at me. “The game is everything.”
“Alice -”
“Don't call me that.”
I can't help sighing. “You can't seriously -”
“You know what to call me.” The elevator doors slide open and she steps inside, before turning to me. “Go on, then.”
“Alice -”
Her eyes narrow, and I can tell that she's annoyed.
“It's dumb,” I point out.
“It's not dumb, Mr. Blue,” she continues, with a hint of irritation in her voice. “Call me by my proper name, or get out of here. Remember, though... I've already brought you close to the heart of the game, and there are certain consequences. I warned you that you might not be able to just walk away.”
“What's that, a threat?” I ask.
She stares at me blankly.
Looking over my shoulder, I see that the staff behind the reception desk are still watching me. Over by the other side of the foyer, the doorman is also watching. It's almost as if the staff at this place are involved somehow in this strange 'game', and I can't shake the feeling that I might not be able to simply walk away. Alice warned me that there'd be dangers, but this is the first time I'm taking her seriously. Turning to her, I see that she has her finger on a button, keeping the elevator door open.
“Make your goddamn mind up,” she says firmly.
“Why do you have to have these stupid names?” I ask.
“They're not stupid, Mr. Blue.”
Sighing, I realize that I have no choice. “Okay, Lady Red,” I continue finally, “sure, what do you want me to do next?”
“I want you to get into the fucking elevator.”
Stepping forward, I wait as the doors slide shut, and then I turn to her. Something about her countenance seems to have changed, and I feel as if I've unintentionally irritated her. Still, it's hard to believe that she truly believes in this ridiculous piece of theater. As the chamber rises, the silence between us grows, until finally we reach the top floor and the door slides open again to reveal a dimly lit, unassuming corridor.
“Follow me,” Alice – sorry, Lady Red – says, stepping forward and making her way to a door at the far end.
“I'm sorry,” I reply, as I follow her. “I guess it's just going to take some getting used to.”
“I hope that's all,” she replies, unlocking the door and leading me into the smart, open-plan penthouse suite. “Welcome to your new home, Mr. Blue.”
Looking around, I can't help but feel struck by the opulence of the place. There are small statues everywhere, and shelves filled with leather-bound books, and a large chandelier is hanging in the center of the main room. Reaching a doorway, I look through and see a large bed, and a little further along there's a kitchen. Hearing a door being slid open, I turn and see that Lady Red is heading out onto the balcony. I head over and join her, only to find that the balcony overlooks the most spectacular night-time view of London that I could ever imagine.
“Mr. Blue has lived here for more than two hundred years,” she says as I reach the railing. “Generation after generation, each making a few changes to the décor. Feel free to add your own touch to the style of the place, but try to stay within its existing character. The penthouse reflects the history that has filled this space. There have been so many good men.”
“What happened to them?” I ask, watching the lights of the city.
“The same thing that happens to all men,” she replies, as her smile finally returns. “They died.”
“What's that?” I ask, pointing at a line of lights in the distance.
“Don't you know anything?” she replies. “That's Waterloo Bridge. Oh, Mr. Blue, you're going to have to learn this city inside out. London is the game, and the game is London. Never forget that. Why, one day, perhaps you'll even have an important moment on that very bridge. Shouldn't you at least know its name?”
Part Three
Captive
Elly
Today
Walking with Mark across Waterloo Bridge, watching the night lights reflected in the darkness of the Thames, I find myself struck by a surprising thought.
This is perfect.
Right now, life with Mark is perfect. Sure, I'm recovering from a heart attack, and sure, until recently I suspected that my boyfriend was involved in a series of murders. But slowly, subtly, ever
ything seems to have shifted a little, the world has turned on its axis, and for the first time since I met Mark I'm starting to really see a future for us. It's weird, looking back at those first heady days when I came back to London for my father's funeral, remembering the way Mark came cannon-balling into my life. So much has changed in such a short period of time. As we reach the middle of the bridge, I realize that it wasn't long ago that Mark was speeding along this very street, with me in the passenger seat of his car, en route to an accident that almost destroyed everything.
“No!” I shout suddenly, sitting up as a sense of panic grips my body. My heart is pounding, and as I look around I realize I'm in a small, bare room with only one door on the opposite wall and a small wooden chest nearby.
Taking a series of deep breaths, I try to stay calm. The last thing I remember is being in the police station, being led into a room, and then... And then someone knocked me out by placing something over my face, and I slipped into a slow, deep sleep filled with dreams of my time with Mark. I can almost hear his voice again, ringing in my ears, and I flinch slightly at the memory of his touch on my skin. Looking around again, I realize that I don't have a clue where I am. I don't recognize this place at all, but I'm certain it has to be linked to the game. It's like a small prison cell, which means...
They got me.
I ran and I ran, but finally they got me.