The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  “That's nice of him. When do I get to meet him?”

  “Maybe right now. Maybe never. It doesn't matter. What matters is your decision to end the game.”

  “I don't care about the game. Let it run forever, I don't give a damn. I just don't want anything to do with it.”

  “That's not something you can decide.”

  “It's my life, I can -”

  “One way or the other,” she replies, “the matter will be resolved. Mr. Raven is very generously offering to help you, but if you refuse that help, he can't be held responsible for what happens next. If you're smart, Elly, you'll decide to accept his assistance.”

  Staring at her, I realize that she might be right. At the same time, I'm done with this whole thing.

  “Tell Mr. Raven,” I say finally, “to go to hell. Tell him if he wanted to talk to me, he should have come himself, not send some lying bitch to deliver a message. Tell him I'm done.” With that, I turn and head back inside.

  “You're not being sensible!” Jess calls after me.

  Without replying, I push the door shut. Turning, I see that she's still out there on the lawn, although a moment later she turns and starts walking away.

  “Trouble?” Bob asks as he brings the teapot back through.

  I shake my head.

  “You know you can talk to me, don't you?” he continues. “If there's anything -”

  “No, there's nothing,” I tell him.

  “When everyone else has gone home,” he adds, “I'd like to show you something that meant a lot to your mother. She always talked about taking you there, but she said the time wasn't right. I didn't really know what she meant, and I still don't, but I figure... I don't know, maybe it'll mean something to you.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I'm not really sure. I should just show you. It's not far from here. It's not a thing, it's a place. I know you're struggling with something, Elly, and I figure this might help you.” He pauses. “If you want, anyway. I know you might be -”

  “No,” I tell him, “it's fine. You're right, it might help.”

  As he heads back through to the lounge, I hurry to the stairs and make my way to my room. Although I'm trying not to panic, I can't shake the feeling that Jess's visit was intended as a kind of warning, and the last thing I want is to get caught out again. Checking in my backpack, I realize that I still have enough money to get back to Amsterdam, and then I can work out what to do next. One thing's certain: I'm not going to let myself get drawn back into the game.

  I'm going to disappear, and this time I'm going to do it right.

  Mark

  Today

  “And I told you,” the barman replies, “I don't know what you're talking about! The King's Arms is a respectable pub now, it's not how it used to be!”

  “Bullshit,” I reply, fixing him with a firm stare. “The King's Arms has been the first port-of-call for every well-connected criminal in London for more than five hundred years, and no amount of repainting and gastro-pub menu boards can change that. Just tell John the Pig that I'm here to see him.”

  “John the who?”

  Glancing up at the wall by the bar, I spot a photo of Darius Wolff, the legendary proprietor of the King's Arms in its heyday.

  “Listen mate,” the barman continues, “I really don't -”

  “What would you great-grandfather say if he could see you now?” I ask, turning back to him. “Come on, Mr. Wolff, this pub has been in your family for generations, and bloodlines don't lie. I also know, for a fact, that generations of men by the name of John the Pig have been running various operations from the back rooms. I've got to admit, it was smart of you to tidy the place up. I never understood why this squalid place felt the need to draw attention to itself.”

  Wolff stares at me for a moment, and I can see that he's starting to change his mind.

  “Alright,” he says finally, lowering his voice. “In the back.”

  ***

  “So what are you after?” John the Pig asks as he limps across his workshop. “I can do surgery, health check-ups and general medical and dental procedures. I can also arrange for other people to need medical procedures, if you catch my drift.”

  “Passports,” I tell him.

  Stopping, he turns to me.

  “New lives, the works,” I continue. “I need to get away, and I need to take someone with me, and I need to make sure that there's no chance we can ever be tracked.”

  “You're worried about the government or the police following you?”

  “The government and the police, I can keep ahead of,” I tell him. “I'm running from someone a little more powerful and infinitely more resourceful.”

  “I don't like the sound of this,” I replies.

  “I don't care what you like the sound of;” I continue, taking a wad of cash from my pocket. “However much you need, I have it. Money's no object, I only care about those passports. I need them fast, and I need them to be flawless, and I need them to last.”

  “It'll be expensive.”

  “I don't care.”

  He pauses. “I'll need photos and details of the new names.”

  Reaching into my pocket, I take out an envelope and place it on the table. “Taken care of.”

  “I'll also need certain assurances that you're not going to cause problems,” he continues. “For all I know, you might be working undercover for the -”

  Grabbing him by the throat, I slam him into the wall with enough force to make him cry out.

  “Do I look like I'm with the police?” I sneer. “I need your help, Pig, and I need it fast, and if you want to question my integrity, I'll have to do a few things to you that no undercover cop would ever try. Is that understood?”

  “You've very convincing,” he splutters.

  “So we don't have a problem here?”

  He shakes his head.

  Letting go of him, I take a step back. “I'm assuming you know roughly who I'm mixed up with?”

  “I have an idea,” he replies, taking the envelope and removing the contents. Holding up the photo of Elly, he smiles. “She's pretty. I think I've seen her before, too, hanging out in this place a few years ago.”

  “If you can only do one passport, do hers,” I tell him. “She's the priority.”

  “I can do both,” he mutters, heading over to one of the other desks. “My services might not be cheap, but they're effective. In forty-eight hours' time, I'll have -”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Twenty-four hours,” I say firmly.

  He glances back at me. “You're serious, aren't you?”

  “Deadly.”

  “The money -”

  “I'll get you all the money you want,” I tell him, “but I need those passports this time tomorrow.”

  He glances at the pieces of paper from the envelope. “And these names -”

  “I want those names. No variation.”

  “Shouldn't be a problem,” he continues. “Come back this time tomorrow and I'll have the passports for you, and then hopefully I'll never have to see you again.”

  “The feeling's mutual,” I reply, turning and heading toward the door.

  Elly

  Today

  “What is this place?” I ask as Bob switches the engine off. Looking out the window, I realize that we're in a nondescript underground parking garage.

  “I don't entirely know,” he replies, unbuckling his seat-belt and climbing out of the car. “Your mother brought me here once, I felt like she was trying to tell me something. It might not mean anything to you, but I figured it's worth a shot.”

  Getting out of the car, I look around, but all I see are a few other cars parked nearby. Something about this place feels strange, but also slightly familiar. My first instinct is to get out of here, but I figure that it can't hurt to take a look around. If Bob's right and my mother really was planning to bring me here one day and show me something, I g
uess it must have been important.

  “This way,” Bob says, leading me toward a door. “I hope this makes sense to you and we're not wasting our time.”

  “What exactly did she say to you?” I ask.

  “Just that the day was coming when she'd have to tell you the truth. I felt like she was going to open up and let me know what she meant, but she brought me here instead. I don't know, it was almost as if she was on the verge of revealing something.” Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a key an uses it to unlock the door. “She told me that if anything ever happened to her, I had to bring you here and show you the place.”

  “Why?”

  “Beats me.” He holds the door open for me. “Ladies first.”

  Stepping through, I find myself in a cold stairwell.

  “We have to go up,” he continues. “So, do you have any idea what's going on? I mean, you don't have to tell me, but I've got to admit, I'm curious.”

  “Where does this lead?” I ask, looking up.

  “Nowhere, really. Just to this big hall.”

  I turn to him.

  “I'll show you.” Making his way past me, he starts leading me up the stairs. “It was quite out of character for her, you know. The day she brought me here, she was definitely being more mysterious than usual. I kept asking her questions, but she wouldn't answer, not really. She actually told me that I only needed to know a certain amount, and that you'd figure the rest out.”

  “This whole thing sounds insane,” I tell him.

  “It was almost like... Well, it was almost, for a few hours, Margaret wasn't really Margaret. After she'd finished showing me the place, she seemed to slip back into her usual self, but I never quite got over those weird few hours when she brought me here and gave me these instructions. That's why I'm hoping you can explain it, really. I guess I feel slightly creeped out by the whole thing. I mean, it's not every day that someone you love seems to show a completely new side of their personality.”

  Reaching a door at the top of the stairwell, he unlocks it before pushing it open.

  “This is the place,” he adds. “Does it mean anything to you?”

  Stepping through the doorway, I find myself in a large, high-ceilinged hall with mirrors on all the walls. For a moment, I can't work out why I'm here, but finally I realize that the place is definitely familiar. Taking a few steps forward, I look around and think back to the huge masked ball that took place here once, when Mark brought me on one of our first nights together. I remember all the naked bodies, and the music, and the fact that people were having sex all around us. That was the night when I really started to understand that Mark was involved in a world that was alien to me.

  “It can't be...” I whisper.

  “Can't be what?” Bob asks.

  “But why would she want me to come back?” I continue, still looking around as, slowly, a sense of dread starts to grip my stomach. Finally I turn to him. “What exactly did she say?”

  “Just that you'd understand when you got here.”

  “Understand what?”

  He shrugs.

  “Come on,” I continue, trying not to seem too frustrated, “she must have said something else!”

  “Not really,” he says plainly.

  “I think I...” Pausing, I can't shake the feeling that it's dangerous for me to be here, that I'm back at the heart of the game and I need to get as far away from this room as possible. “I think I need to leave,” I say finally, turning to Bob. “We need to get out of here right now, it's not safe.”

  “Not safe? What are you talking about?”

  “I'll tell you later,” I reply, hurrying past him.

  “Is it something that Victoria girl said earlier?”

  “Bob, please -”

  “Is it something I said?” he asks. “Elly, I don't -”

  “Wait,” I say suddenly, stopping in my tracks, “did you just...” I swear to God, I feel my blood starting to run cold as I slowly turn to him.

  “What?” he asks innocently.

  “Victoria,” I continue, feeling a creeping suspicion in my gut. “You called her Victoria.”

  “And?” He pauses, staring at me blankly, before a flash of recognition hits him. “Oh.”

  I take a step back.

  “Well,” Bob continues, with a faint smile, “isn't that something? Twenty-five years as Mr. Raven, and finally I made a little mistake.”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head, “you can't be...”

  “If you don't have a ticket,” he replies, suddenly switching his voice to sound more Cockney, “there's a ninety pound fine.” He raises his hand and places a finger under his nose, as if to imitate a mustache. “Remember that?” he asks, returning to his usual voice. “I've always been good at disguises.”

  I take another step back.

  “I never intended to get so directly involved,” he continues, stepping toward me, “but unfortunately things got out of hand. First Graham Bradshaw started having flashes of conscience, so he had to be shifted out of the way. Then I started to worry about Mr. Blue and the previous Lady Red, so I went to Margaret and I told her I'd have to be around more. That's when I came up with the plan to pretend I was dating your mother. She went along with it because, well, she had no choice, really. Remember when you found me in your mother's kitchen late one night? That was planned.” He smiles. “I love little flourishes like that.”

  Before I can reply, I hear a loud thud, and I turn to see that the door has swung shut. Hurrying over, I try the handle but find that it's stuck fast.

  “You should be flattered,” Bob continues. “In this world of social media and twenty-four-hour television, isn't it every girl's dream to find out that the world revolves around her? Or at least, part of the world? You're a very important young woman, Elly Bradshaw. Or Sophie Longdale. Which name would you like me to use?”

  Turning to him, I feel sickened by the grin on his face.

  “We have a lot to do, Lady Red,” he continues, as the grin fades and a serious tone enters his voice. “If you're going to end the game, you have to do it tonight. No more waiting, no more delays... You're right, you're a weapon, so it's time for you to be used, or... Well, maybe you could do something else. Something more constructive.”

  “I'm not a weapon,” I reply, trying not to panic. “Please, just let me go, I don't want to be involved in any of this.”

  “You've been involved since before you were born,” he points out. “You were conceived specifically so you would become involved, you were raised so you could reach this moment. I'm sorry, Elly, but there's no way we can let all that investment go to waste. The others had a plan, and their plan was foolish, but a modified version of that plan can still work. You're supposed to end the game, and I'm going to give you that chance, but I strongly suspect that your efforts will have the opposite effect. The game doesn't need to end, it needs to grow and move on to its next phase. You, Elly, are that next phase. How does it feel to have so much responsibility in your hands?”

  Hearing a noise nearby, I turn just in time to see a door opening at the far end of the room. To my horror, I watch as masked figures start to enter the room, all wearing robes, almost as if one of the huge parties is about to start again. The masks are varied: some are laughing faces, some are sad, some seem angry; some are colorful, others are dull and somber. The only thing they all have in common is that they're watching me, with beady eyes staring out through the masks' holes.

  “You've been to one of our events before,” Bob continues, “but that was before you took your place as Lady Red. Things are going to be somewhat different now that you've been elevated to the position for which you were born.”

  Backing away from him, I watch as more and more masked figures enter the room. There must be almost a hundred of them by now, with no sign of the flow stopping, and although I try again to get the door open, it's clear that I'm trapped.

  “You'd do well to embrace your position,” Bob tells me,
as one of the masked figures hands him a robe and a white, long-beaked mask. “No matter what you might be able to achieve when you're scared, you'd accomplish so much more if you gave it your all. You might not realize this, Elly, but you've been raised specifically to take this role, and you have the necessary strength -”

  “No!” I blurt out, finding it harder and harder to keep from panicking. Turning, I watch in horror as a masked figure brings a robe and mask over to me.

  “What do you think will happen if you refuse?” Bob asks. “Do you think you'll be allowed to leave? Your window of opportunity came when you were with Mark Douglas. If the pair of you had tried to run, you might have succeeded, at least for a short while. Fortunately for us, you decided to stay.”

  “I'm not doing this!” I shout, pushing the robe and mask away. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone, only to find that there's no signal.

  “We jam all phones here, Elly,” Bob explains, taking a step toward me. “I have a proposal to put to you. Let me show you the heart of the game. Let me show you the prize.” He pauses. “Let me make the decision easier for you. You don't have a choice.”

  ***

  “The man in this painting is Benjamin Edgewood,” Bob explains a short while later, as we stand in a chamber deep within the building. “Mr. Edgewood came up with the idea for the game while he was working as a merchant banker. He became the first Mr. White and his wife became the first Lady Red. Without them, we wouldn't be here today.”

  “Remind me to thank him some time,” I mutter, staring up at the large, cracked oil painting. A shiver passes through my body as I realize that all this madness, all this horror, grew out of an idea that occurred to one man many years ago.