Splintered

by Laura J Harris

  ‘It looks expensive for a spare.’

  ‘Which is exactly why it is the spare. I’m scared to use it. Scared of breaking it or losing it. But, I like to have it with me.’

  Prior nodded, holding the stick. It was heavier than he had expected.

  ‘Well, I think you’re going to need it. At least until we recover the other’ he said, handing her the cane. ‘Unless you’d prefer that awful grey thing from medical?’

  Christine felt a small laugh push past her lips as she took the stick from him, leaning her weight cautiously on it though she was fairly certain that it would not give way.

  ‘So . . . dinner?’ said Prior, holding the door for Christine. ‘I think we could use some dinner!’

  ‘Yeah, but, half ten at night. Do you think they’ll still be serving?’

  ‘Stick with me kid.’ he laughed, letting the door click shut behind them.

  23:32

  Saturday 14th May, 2011

  After he had finished with Nona he had polished every surface he could find before discarding the rags — torn pieces of a flowery dress previously belonging to Nona — out of the balcony door and over the side of the ship.

  It was much easier to slide back the glass door and confront the ocean in the dark. When he couldn’t see beyond the wooden decking and the patio table; when he couldn’t tell the ominous night sky from the depths of the murky water beneath him.

  He shuddered suddenly at the thought.

  Nona’s room was spacious and luxurious enough to rival his own nautical accommodation. On top of this it was also nicely stocked, as her mini-bar — he was delighted to find — had not been nearly so ravaged as his.

  The biggest difference between Nona’s room and his own had to be the bathroom.

  It was larger than his for a start, and featured a king-sized corner spa-bath, perfect for soothing the aching muscles he had worked so hard over the last two hours.

  No, the last two days.

  He relaxed back into the warmth of the now rose-coloured water that lapped at his somewhat battered body. The scented bubbles burst and soothed and threatened to drag him down into a dangerously all-consuming state of relaxation, but part of him didn’t care.

  He knew no one would come looking for Nona.

  She had suggested as much.

  And even if she wasn’t entirely alone on this trip, it didn’t matter. For those few, relaxing minutes nothing mattered.

  This was to be her final voyage before her long list of illnesses could wrap their toxic fingers around her soul and squeeze. Those incurable conditions that crawled beneath her flesh; clawing at her lungs and other spongy organs.

  When they had arrived at her room, Nona had taken a small, silver tin from the suitcase at the foot of her bed. Opening the tin she had smiled sweetly at him, revealing the treasure within; a wealth of unburned, purple tea-light candles. Then, with a care and devotion that was almost hypnotic to watch she had set about placing the candles around the room; their fragrance soon clouding the air with a sweet, lavender scent.

  She seemed ever more the wise druidess as she continued to create what she had called the perfect atmosphere, humming light melodies to herself and muttering words that could quite easily have been the invocation of some ancient rite.

  At first he had tried to stop her, explaining about the heat and smoke sensors. For, as atmospheric as it may have been, he really didn’t want to be interrupted by some eager-beaver, busybody crewman when in the midst of the act he most enjoyed engaging in; the taking of human life.

  Nona had laughed at him then and for a moment a bitter rage had taken hold; contracting his hands into tight, solid fists as an uncontrollable surge of anger bolted through his frame. He had been laughed at before and it wasn’t something that he was in the habit of taking too kindly to.

  But somehow, with her, it had been different. Her laughter was soft and without judgement and — despite the pussy-whipped way it sounded as he replayed the moment in his mind — he had melted into her as she had taken his face in her long, skeletal fingers and pressed her botoxed lips against his.

  ‘They don’t work.’ she had whispered softly, ‘Not since your little trick with the power.’

  He had neither confirmed nor denied her statement, but had sat on the bed and watched — simply watched — in plain awe as she had moved about the room producing all kinds of exciting toys for him to play with.

  Whatever Nona’s true identity, he was beginning to think that the lithe and mysterious wisewoman could have easily have been re-christened Ann Summers with the stock she carried around with her.

  Still, he wasn’t complaining.

  ‘I just want to feel. You understand?’ she had said, pressing him back onto the bed.

  He had caught a glimpse of her arm and the deep gash made by the broken glass that had caused no discomfort to her at all. It was then that his heart and his mind had truly begun to race. With ideas of blood and nerves and sex and flesh.

  Of pain and pleasure.

  ‘I guarantee it.’

  ‘Good.’ she had replied, her hands moving across his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt with expert ease, ‘And then you can make me immortal. You’ll find the money in my top draw. I want you to take it in payment.’

  He had barely nodded his reply before she had stifled him with a passionate meeting of lips, which quickly became parted lips; with the introduction of a particularly gymnastic tongue.

  A flurry of kisses across his throat had then led to the nibbling at his ear. The nibbling turned to biting and soon he had felt the passion rise in him with such strength that before he knew what was happening he had taken the lead in the game of teasing and pleasing.

  But this was a deadly game. Both could play and both could win.

  But only one would survive.

  Now, in the quiet tranquillity of the bath he sipped the expensive champagne from a miniature bottle, checking the state of the stitches in his leg.

  She had smacked down hard on the wound — several times — in her final moments, but he had made her a promise and he would not relent.

  He had sworn to be as strong as she needed him to be; that he would finish what they had started. No matter what.

  The pain she had wrought in the graceless struggle at the end had been impressive, thrilling him and filling him with pure, pumped-up, ready-to-rock adrenaline. She had been a deceivingly tough nut; and impressively skilled in ways of pain and pleasure.

  She had utilised these skills until the last, teasing and testing him, drawing blood and salt from him even as he carved it from her. The final moments were still a blur, though he knew he had held the chain around her throat.

  Ah, yes.

  His legs had buckled under the pleasure of his delight as he had spilled across her tight and naked buttocks, his torso pressed against the cool flesh of her back even as they fell to the blood-stained bed in that final, eternal embrace.

  ‘Immortal.’ he had whispered, finding — to his amazement — that his face was soaked, not with blood or sweat, or bubbling water, but tears.

  Yes.

  He was weeping for the deceased druidess!

  Champagne drunk and body cleanly soaked, he pulled the plug, releasing the pink water to swirl from the bath before dressing quickly in the dying remains of the candlelight. He dried the bath, removing any stubborn signs of congealing evidence as he went.

  He thought about the last few moments of Nona’s life as he played the part of the maid in the bathroom, hoping he had given her what she had wanted, when he was suddenly interrupted.

  Knock, knock.

  He froze in horror and confusion wondering whether he had actually heard the sound or simply imagined it.

  Knock, knock. Knock.

  He had heard right.

  It was really real. There really was someone at the fucking door!

  Shit!

  ‘Are you in there?’ came the call of a muffled and effeminate male voice.r />
  Making his way across the bedroom-come-living-space, he barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he heard the swift exchange of a cardkey swiping through the door-mounted reader.

  Shit, shit, shit! You have to be kidding!

  The door unlocked instantly, leaving him dumbfounded. Fortunately his natural sense of preservation kicked-in just in time and he flung himself into the confines of the mirrored wardrobe just as the short, garishly dressed, dark-haired, male intruder entered to room.

  What the fuck?

  The Midget was now stood before him, taking in the scene that He had worked so hard to perfect. The lasting image that he had created.

  Just for her.

  He watched as the stranger struggled to comprehend what his eyes were telling him lay before him. Was it a trick of the dark?

  No. No it wasn’t.

  The man opened his mouth; the small sounds of an unbelieving shriek forming as he took a step backwards.

  With a well-practised flick of the wrist, Leigh slipped his faithful chain over the man’s head, letting it drop around his throat before pulling it tight. Twisting it to gain that extra measure of tension.

  It didn’t take long.

  The newcomer struggled only for the briefest time. And really only half-decently when his body’s natural reflexes finally kicked in. It was an uneventful death. Over in seconds.

  Not like hers.

  She had been beautiful. And in her final moments she had been glorious.

  Just glorious.

  Slipping the chain back into his pocket he stepped over the new body, unable to tear his eyes from Nona, committing every detail of the scene — of her lithe and pale body, her long white hair — to memory.

  He knelt before her, remembering how he had laid her out so carefully after they had finished their game.

  Now, pressing his lips against her forehead for the final time, he was surprised to taste the salted water of the tears that had apparently continued to carve a rapid path across his face.

  Shaking off the emotion he wiped at his eyes.

  He looked up at the mirrored wardrobe, though he could no longer see himself.

  Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. Why, would he want to look at something so weak and pathetic?

  You really are pathetic. A familiar voice whispered in his ear.

  Anger catapulted through his chest as he surged forward, taking up a metal-studded leather paddle from the table of goodies. He straddled the chest of the short-statured, short-lived, pointless, deceased little man who had interrupted him and — with a rhythm that became more seductive with every beat — he began whipping the waxy manikin across the face. Playing him like a drum.

  Like the drum that beat inside his head.

  That throbbed and pulsed and pained in him. That plagued his sleep and made him twitch. That lived beneath his skin, driving him ever-forward, tolling out the progress of his life.

  Shaking himself as if waking from a nightmare, he forced the percussion into momentary submission. He stood, his gaze falling on the pile of money that Nona had left for him.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t take the money now.

  How could you put a price on this?

  Smiling, he contemplated the idea that something profound had just occurred. It was the closest thing he had ever felt to morality.

  It was an almost angelic sense of delight.

  As strange as it sounded, it made it seem all the more rewarding to ignore the stack of twenty and fifty pound notes staring him in the face. It felt . . . righteous.

  Yes. He was a righteous messenger of the Druidess.

  The ancient, mystical wisewoman.

  The Midget was the scavenging thief in the night; the faceless unknown, to be forgotten by time and the history of man.

  She would be immortal.

  And he . . . well, he was content to be righteous.

  Chapter Four

  23:58

  Saturday 14th May, 2011

  Christine fluffed the pillow behind her head for the umpteenth time. She turned her head to the right. Wriggled. And turned to the left.

  She huffed and opened her eyes. It was no good. She couldn’t sleep.

  She was tired enough. She was bloody exhausted, in fact, but try as she might she simply couldn’t sleep. Her mind just wouldn’t stop whirring.

  But, then again, there had been a lot to take in. So much had happened today. Too much . . . especially considering that this was supposed to be a well-earned holiday!

  She had always been the same when working a case. She couldn’t just ‘switch off’ as so many of the other officers and detectives she had worked with seemed able to.

  She couldn’t just go home and relax, nor could she play pool, cards, video games or commit to drinking vast quantities of alcohol in the hopes of eventually passing out. She had always been far too aware that the case would still be waiting in the morning; staring her in the face, greeting her with a twisted, impish grin that would need to be met with an eye of sobriety.

  She had known back then that she would need her wits about her if she was going to save lives. If she was going to make a name for herself and prove herself; prove that she really did know what she was talking about. That her methods, her research and her reasoning were valid. Valuable. And that they led to arrests and convictions.

  She had been mulling things over since her late dinner with the ever-intriguing Jonathan Prior.

  Now, there was a conundrum.

  He had opened up a little as the evening — or rather night — had progressed. She now knew a little more about his relationship with Rachel Adams; how they had first come to notice one another. How and when they had first acknowledged the spark between themselves.

  His voice had been so soft when he had spoken about Rachel that, at times, he had been barely audible; the oceanic green of his eyes clouding with yet more salt water tears. They had sparkled then in the lick of the flames from the many candles that adorned the tables in the restaurant and Christine had wanted to reach out and hold his hand. To reassure him.

  But what could she say?

  And the candle light. Candles, fine food and wine. It could almost have been a romantic dinner for two. An intimate evening of spectacular culinary foreplay.

  But it wasn’t.

  So why was she having to remind herself of that?

  Perhaps, she had simply been alone for far too long.

  It seemed it was all that she thought about, lately. And it wasn’t just the sex, or even the idea of the contemplation of the sex! Not really.

  But, then again, she wasn’t so self-deluded as to try and deceive herself into believing that it was merely companionship or any other nobler sounding prerequisite that now occupied her racing mind.

  No, despite her better judgement she had found herself becoming more and more drawn towards the handsome Security Chief.

  But, what if this was all just a bizarre reaction to Dr Matthews’ odd behaviour earlier; her jealous claiming of the man? Surely, she wasn’t so suggestible as to become attracted to him merely because another woman had showed an interest.

  It would certainly be a formidable comment on her current state of mind if that was the case!

  In all honesty Prior was an attractive man.

  Physically.

  And though he did seem to have some issues with trust and secrecy — a few skeletons in the closet, maybe — he was of a personality type that she had always found agreeable; attractive even.

  He was thorough, dependable, meticulous. He was always presentable and clean shaven. They even shared a similar sense of humour.

  But, this was exactly the problem at hand!

  Why was she lying in bed cataloguing his qualities at all?

  ‘Get a grip, Christine.’ she whispered, turning onto her side and rubbing at the knee that had ached almost constantly today. Perhaps that was what it was . . . the pain distracting her. Maybe that was what was keeping her
awake.

  She nodded to herself, not buying into the idea at all, but preferring it to the other truths currently rattling around her brain.

  Pulling back the covers, Christine slid out a cautious left leg, followed by a steadier right leg. She stretched out, reaching for the painkillers and the tumbler of water that sat on the small bed-side table.

  In the back of her mind she knew why she was trying — so desperately hard — to distract herself.

  She hadn’t seen or heard from Kelly since she had left her in the clutches of Dr Matthews earlier that evening. It all felt like a lifetime ago now and she had certainly had mixed feelings about having to leave her in the medical bay at the time.

  But she had felt guilty as hell when she had realised that Matthews had simply patched Kelly up and returned to her room as soon as she could!

  Christine couldn’t help but feel that she had somehow abandoned Kelly; though sense and reason told her that this was not the case.

  She had wanted to visit her after finishing her late-night meal with Prior, but he had eventually swayed her from this course of action. And rightly so.

  She knew Kelly would need to rest. She did not need a barrage of people bombarding her with questions. She would have enough of that to contend with in the morning.

  Still, the whole saga saddened Christine and continued to pull at those heavily-waxed strings of guilt and conscience. And desire.

  Desire.

  That was the crux of it.

  And she couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that she might just be inventing the idea of a romantic attraction to Prior simply to put-off having to deal with the obvious — if not confusing and somewhat all-consuming — feelings she was rapidly developing for Kelly.

  And none of them needed that. Not Prior. Not Kelly. Not her.

  Certainly not now.

  ‘Christine?’

  She jumped at the unexpected sound of her whispered name as it exploded from the two-way radio and sliced through the dark and the silence of her room. The pain in her knee amplified with her sudden tensing, sending an aching twinge shooting up and down her leg as she hobbled towards the radio.

  She swore before pressing down the button to respond.