Taking the stick, Christine nodded, struggling up from the bed. ‘I think I might have an idea where they could be.’
Chapter Ten
23:17
Sunday 15th May, 2011
After what felt like an age of wriggling and squirming, Shona had finally managed to slip her wrists free from the tight, rope bonds that held her. Quickly, she flipped herself over, tearing the blindfold from her eyes before picking hurriedly at the further knots that bound her feet.
She had been correct in guessing her new whereabouts. She would have known that smell anywhere; it was so familiar to her that it was almost homely.
She was in a theatre.
And not just any theatre. She was now being held, she knew, in the Dionysus Theatre.
She knew it though the lights were down and the stage on which she sat was blanketed in darkness.
This was her stomping ground.
She smiled, relieved at the sudden realisation that she knew a hundred secret places to hide within the confines of the backstage area and fly tower alone.
She had spent so many hours up there.
Both alone and with company.
She tried to ease the gaffer from her lips with little success. Eventually, she pulled the skin of her face taut and, gripping the horribly sticky tape tightly between her thumb and forefinger, tore it away in one swift, defiant motion.
The pain was incredible considering the mundane instrument responsible for its cause. It was like being waxed with a leech!
Her lips tingling, Shona swore, shaking her hand in an effort to rid herself of the sticky, silver gaffer. Then — delighted to finally be rid of it — she pushed the oily, metallic-tasting rag from her mouth with her tongue, coughing and spluttering as she did.
She sucked in several breaths of air — drank them in — before coughing violently once more and spitting the awful, dirty aftertaste back onto the rag at her feet.
Her lips were now burning and her tongue and throat complained, tormented by the remnant taste of the disgustingly caustic cloth that had been crammed into her mouth for so long. She raised her hand to her aching jaw, rubbing it.
Finding her bearings in the dark she turned to make her way off stage; into the wings. She planned to climb up the ladders and onto one of the high fly platforms; to sit up there and simply wait out whatever it was that was going on.
Up there she would have a chance of sensing movement — any movement — within the theatre, of spotting the bastard that had done this to her and of remaining out of his way.
After reading that message earlier she knew one thing for sure, she wasn’t going to remain down here and simply wait to be killed.
Oh, no!
She was inches from the wings when she heard a sharp, clicking sound behind her.
She felt a cold, hollow, metal ring being pressed into the base of neck, below her left ear and she knew — instantly — that the sound had been that of gun, cocking.
That — she rationalised — meant that the metal hollow, now in point blank contact with the soft, depressed flesh of her neck, was — in fact — the barrel of the gun.
‘Now, just where do you think you’re going?’
Using the gun shaft to manoeuvre her around, Leigh led Shona back towards the centre of the stage. He pushed her this way and that for several moments until he was relatively happy with their position. Then he pressed her down onto her knees.
In his right hand he held a miniature, portable lighting control device that was — for all intents and purposes — an easy-to-use replica of the larger desk up in the lighting box. As he pressed the ‘Go’ button to call up the first lighting cue stacked in the show memory, he spread out his arms; a crooked smile on his face.
‘And he said . . . Let there be light.’
In an instant the stage was bathed in a cool glow of harsh winter colours that thrust the snow-covered forest set into almost animated life. For a moment he could do nothing, but stand there and admire the incredible — if not artificial — wintertide view and all the technical wizardry involved in creating such a scene.
‘I’d have pissed myself if that didn’t work!’ he chortled, watching Shona as she stared intensely back at him, absolute horror painted across her pleasing, mocha face.
‘Kelly?’ she whispered, shaking her head.
‘Oh, that’s beautiful.’ he said, misunderstanding her completely, ‘That really is something. Here you are, all alone on this big, empty stage, confronted by some maniac with gun and . . . a lighting gizmo . . . ready to pop that pretty little head of yours right off the top of those deliciously slender shoulders. And your first thoughts are not concerned with your own preservation, but with the preservation of someone you care for. Someone other than yourself. It’s . . . commendable. Really. That you should be thinking of your lovely lady lover at a time like this. Ah, I tell you, there’s not a dry seat in the house!’
He laughed out loud, enjoying the sound of his own voice and the way it echoed all around the auditorium.
‘Hey, it’s good in here, isn’t it?’ he said, looking around, the gun always on her, wherever he moved, ‘Mind you, them lights get hot quick, don’t they?’ He paused and Shona nodded, still unable to tear her eyes from him. ‘Do you enjoy being on the stage?’
Shona didn’t answer. He took a step towards her and she shuddered, pulling back.
‘Oh, come on, don’t be like that.’ he said, crouching in front of her.
‘Why are you — ’
‘Why am I doing this?’ he said, interrupting her, ‘Well that’s easy. I am doing this because your murdering bastard of a brother took mine from me. And now . . . well, I want revenge. That’s why. Plain and simple. I thought you got that from the message on the wall. It was clear, wasn’t it? I thought it was fairly obvious.’
Without warning, Shona leaned forward, reaching her arm out towards him. He jumped back just beyond her reach, pulling the gun on her as he moved.
‘That’s a pretty stupid fucking thing to be doing, if you want to be keeping your brains on the inside a little while longer.’ he said, smiling as he calmed himself back down. He needed to relax if everything was to happen as he had hoped it would.
As he had planned.
‘I really don’t want to have to cause you any undue pain or suffering, my dear . . . it would be a shame to put an unnecessary blot on perfection such as yours.’ he said, easing himself forward once again and stroking her face; lifting it towards his. He looked into her deep brown, watering eyes as he brushed the gun barrel against her soft cheeks, ‘It really doesn’t have to hurt. But he has to pay. Do you understand that? He has to.’
Shona nodded slowly.
‘Good.’
‘Who are you?’ she asked, hesitantly.
‘My name is Leigh. Don’t you remember me?’
Shona opened her mouth, her face now wet with tears.
No words managed to escape and, after a short moment, she pressed her lips back together, pushing out a long breath as she shook her head. ‘Should I?’ she whispered eventually, her voice cracking as she spoke.
‘You gave me some pain killers the other day. Up on the open deck.’ he said, briefly lost in the memory. ‘You were incredibly . . . friendly up there. Are you usually that forward with people you’ve never met before?’
Shona closed her eyes for a long time and Leigh watched as yet another wave of tears coursed their way over her delicate, olive cheeks. She swallowed and looked back up at him. ‘I thought you were someone I knew.’ she said, eventually.
‘You know, if it hadn’t been for you winding me up like that . . .’ he paused, shaking his head and gnawing on his lower lip, ‘Oh . . . But then, who can say for sure?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you’d already wound me up good and proper, you had. And then I ran into Stacey and . . . well . . .’
‘The bride?’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You didn’t do that. Tell me, p
lease, tell me you’re not responsible for that. That wasn’t you . . . it can’t have been . . .’
‘Of course it was me! That was one of my greatest works, that one.’
‘Kelly — ’
‘Inspired me certainly, but even little miss push-the-boundaries herself — the unassailable Kelly Livingstone — couldn’t have conceived of the kind of work that I’ve created here on this ship. I mean, I like her work a lot, but I’m beginning to find her representations of sex and violence and human existence all just a little bit nineties. Don’t you agree?’ he said in his best ‘art critic’ voice, laughing raucously as he played to an invisible crowd.
‘Where . . . where is she?’
‘Don’t worry, she’s around somewhere. I let her live, Shona. I could have killed her, but I didn’t. And that, my dear, is my gift to you. Because I like you. Yes, it’s true. You’ve got spunk. And I like that.’ he said, grinning carnivorously at her, ‘You see, I’m not the bad guy that everyone paints me out to be. I just want what’s mine.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Justice.’
Shona closed her eyes, trying her best to stop the tears.
She revisited her memories of the meeting that ‘Leigh’ had just described, seeing only Kelly on the open deck; reliving the moment that she had flirtatiously slipped the packet of ibuprofen into the pocket of her slim, figure-hugging jeans.
Seeing only Kelly in her memories. And seeing only Kelly before her now.
Spying a sudden flicker of movement up in the lighting box, Shona dared herself to look briefly over Kelly’s shoulder.
Over Leigh’s shoulder.
Because, though her eyes saw the shape and form of Kelly — that amazingly talented woman who she had come to adore; someone she had laughed and cried and made love with — every cell in her body, every fibre of her being, told her that this was not her Kelly.
Whoever — whatever — this was, it moved differently to Kelly. It sounded different; spoke with a completely different tone and pattern.
But the eyes, that was the real give away. They were cold and cruel and in no way resembled those of her lover.
And yet she couldn’t help but think of Kelly — couldn’t help but see this Kelly — standing over each of those mutilated bodies. See her flicking the switch that had condemned the engineering crew to their awful and unnecessary deaths.
She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments.
When she opened them again, she saw the movement. Again. In the lighting box, as before. Someone was in there.
She didn’t want to draw attention to the fact and so, covertly — whenever Leigh’s gaze was averted — she would flick her eyes back towards the distant rectangle.
Whoever it was inside the lighting box appeared to be signalling to her.
At least, she hoped they were.
Silently in her heart, she prayed they were.
She had been so busy looking up at the lighting box as Leigh continued to used Kelly’s body to strut around the stage, that she had lost the thread of the conversation a little.
She began to panic, knowing that he wouldn’t take too kindly to her not lending him her full and undivided attention.
‘. . . I just want what’s mine.’ he said.
‘And what’s that?’ she asked, looking up into the blue eyes that were no longer Kelly’s.
‘Justice.’
She glanced up to the lighting box once more in time to realise that the figure was gesturing for her to move to her left. This time Leigh followed the movement of her eyes and swung Kelly’s body round to see what Shona was staring at.
At that moment, all the lights in the theatre — even the working lights — cut out and, seizing her opportunity, Shona tucked herself in and rolled left as fast as she could into the wings.
She heard the gun fire twice and had no doubt that either one would have succeeded in killing her had she still been there.
Suddenly a voice boomed across the PA system; ‘And now for my next trick!’
It was Prior.
‘You fucking bastard!’ Leigh shouted, enraged beyond measure.
Shona grinned, even as she heard Leigh struggling with the portable control box, trying to bring the lights back up. After a moment he gave up on the task, slinging the box and clattering across stage after her.
For the moment she had the advantage. She could find her way around here with her eyes closed, which was — in its present state — an incredibly useful skill to have.
By the time Leigh had used Kelly’s body to stagger and stumble across the stage, heading towards the wings and searching in the absolute pitch black for the smallest sign of movement, Shona had already rolled underneath the vast and lengthy props table.
Slowly and quietly, she crawled along beneath the table towards the far end where she knew there was a small gap between the wall and the stack of leaning flats that were always rested there.
If she could make it to the gap, she could inch her way through it and head for the wrought iron pegs that led up onto the fly tower and the gallery platforms above.
She stretched out her hand to feel for the wall and found it just ahead of her. She twisted her body, so as to slip between the flats and the wall without fuss.
She was almost there when she felt a sudden and crippling pain that turned her right knee to jelly. She knew the culprit immediately; a rogue screw.
Dropped onto the floor at some other time and never picked up.
She pulled her hand to mouth, biting down on the skin between her thumb and forefinger to keep herself from calling out as she shifted her weight off that knee. She reached down and pulled the screw from the softer flesh beneath the joint, feeling the hot stream of blood begin to pour like a red wine that had suddenly been uncorked.
As she placed her hand back on the floor to begin moving once again she realised, quite suddenly, that all around her it had become incredibly quiet. This realisation did more than simply unnerve her; it terrified her to her core and she found herself momentarily unable to move at all.
She could feel eyes searching in the dark; could sense him nearby as she had when Mike had startled her the day before.
It was sink or swim; she couldn’t stay down here forever!
Closing her eyes, she threw herself forward through the gap and wriggled, pulling herself through on her elbows.
In the next moment she felt something clamp onto her ankle and drag her back.
Not about to give up and knowing that Leigh still had a gun, Shona twisted around and kicked out wildly, landing a good solid boot to the ribs, one to the face and, finally, one more that sent the gun flying across the floor.
Shona’s moment of glory was short-lived as Leigh grunted in pain and annoyance.
With the gun removed, Leigh now had two hands with which to grab the lithe dancer. In the same instant that she realised this, Shona was dragged out from under the props table and flung back onto the stage.
She yelped as every millimetre of exposed flesh seemed to scorch with the heat of friction and her arms and legs were instantly covered in hundreds of tiny scratches and slices; scuffed by the rough edges of the winter set.
She tried to scuttle away once more, but felt an iron grip twist her tousled hair; holding her in place.
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ the voice that wasn’t quite Kelly’s hissed in her ear, dragging her forward.
She cried out, but it did no good. She tried to scratch at the hand that held her hair so tightly and received only a sharp slap across the face for her trouble.
‘Please, Kelly . . .’ She whimpered as they came to a halt near the front of the stage. Leigh was searching for something.
Something on the ground.
Still holding the feisty little latte by her hair, Leigh finally spied the portable control box he had dropped minutes earlier and — throwing his weight behind it — pressed his knee onto the ‘Go’ button.
Time appeared to mo
ve just that tiny bit slower and, holding Shona, he scanned the room even as the scene began to light once more. He spotted Prior waiting beyond the stage; a gun in his hand, raised and aimed squarely at him.
In the next moment the stage lights reached their full power, blinding him to Prior and anything else that lay beyond the edge of the stage.
But he wasn’t done yet.
With a speed that surprised even himself, he managed to heave Shona up in front of him as they knelt on the flooded stage and, twisting her hair tightly in his right hand, he tugged back her head exposing the full length of her throat.
With his left hand free, he now produced — from his back pocket — one of artist knives that he had taken from Kelly’s room just half an hour earlier.
Keeping Shona in front of him all the time, he pressed the blade to her throat and called out beyond the light.
He called out to Prior.
‘Come on now, Detective. I can see you out there.’
Prior swore, cursing that he hadn’t been quick enough or confident enough to just take the shot. Now, he had placed Shona in an even worse position than she had been in before.
‘This wasn’t how this was supposed to play out Mr Officer Man, but now you’ve gone and got this pretty little Prior in a right old mess.’
It was Kelly’s voice taunting him. No matter how much Christine had tried to convince him that it wasn’t; hers was the only voice that he heard.
‘She’s not a Prior.’ he said gruffly, taking several steps towards the stage and stepping into the light. His gun was still raised.
Still locked on Kelly, though he had no clear shot.
‘Now, don’t try and lie to me, Guv’,’ Kelly said, taking off Marc Davies quite well, ‘I heard your pretty boy wonder and this one here discussing it in that hospital area.’
‘And why do you think that is?’ Prior said, edging still closer. ‘Do you know why you where in the medical bay?’
‘I was planning on taking the artist. Matty wanted a sacrifice. But then I heard them talking and I realised who you really were — why I recognised you — and realised too that you had a sibling of your own, ready for the slaughter and available without delay on this very ship . . .’ Prior watched as Kelly smiled capriciously, ‘Well, Matty changed his mind, didn’t he? He said that if I do this well, I can have his tags — actually wear them — and the keys to his new car. He’s never driven it, you know. You saw to that.’
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