Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you!

by Luke Christodoulou

  ‘Bit out of town, isn’t it?’ Agatha asked after the first ten minutes of driving through empty-of-buildings fields.

  ‘Yes,’ Achilles answered with a shaking voice. ‘If I remember well, there’s a beach within walking distance. Kind of rough compared to the ones near town, but we have the car so don’t worry. We will be eating out and clubbing and drinking at the cosmopolitan beaches all day.’

  Agatha placed her hand upon his and gently caressed it. She never understood why she loved the rough, brutal feel of it. Its hairy, scratchy surface was just like her father’s. Maybe psychologists were right; maybe all girls had an Electra complex.

  The scenery unravelled from the car’s open window. Weather defying olive trees stood majestically in the dried, summer land that journeyed to the tranquil sea. The ocean breeze with its distinct freshness and smell of salt filled the moving car.

  ‘There it is,’ Achilles announced interrupting her daydreams.

  Agatha’s gaze travelled to the humble, wooden cabin built in the middle of a vine leaf field. It looked outdated; its paint scratched, the wood splinted by the ever-burning Greek sun and the windows with the tinted glass were dusty. The hanging porch light, tarnished over the years, swung and creaked in the smooth, summer breeze with the salty, sea fragrance.

  Achilles steered the car down the dirt road that cut through the wild grass and led to the two bedroom house. A large cloud of dirt grew behind them and attacked the house as Achilles slammed on the brakes and parked the vehicle right next to the aging porch.

  Agatha waited before stepping out, giving the dust time to settle. She wondered how much time she would need to get settled.

  ‘If only men could accept a woman to pay for a decent hotel in town,’ she thought and took the plunge into the wild, Greek countryside. The porch steps creaked and groaned as her light foot made contact.

  Achilles rushed by her, key in hand and with effort he unlocked the door.

  ‘This way,’ he smiled awkwardly.

  Inside, the air lingered thick and stale. A layer of dust covered the kitchen counters, the table and chairs and the twenty year old TV. Agatha stood unsure. Two open doors revealed a bedroom and a bathroom even in worse off states. House chores were definitely not on her holiday menu.

  ‘Great isn’t it?’ Achilles asked. His dumb question pulling Agatha’s last straw.

  ‘Are you freaking kidding me? Can you see how dirty everything is? And where are we supposed to sleep? We did not bring sheets and I am definitely not sleeping on that old rusty piece of shit. Can’t you see how dirty the bed is? Rats have shit all over it!’ Agatha’s rant began; her voice rising with each word. Achilles’ face turned cold as if the spark in his eyes was suddenly switched off. It was almost as if he had turned into another person before her eyes; a completed stranger.

  ‘Well, you know what your royal highness? You aren’t sleeping in the bed,’ he snapped and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her with his fists clenched inside her flock of gold hair. Agatha yelled; in pain, in shock? She could not tell. ‘Revenge time, you ugly bitch,’ he coldly said and forcefully punched her in the face. Agatha fell to the ground. With eyes half opened, she noticed Achilles pull back the rugged carpet and lift up a hatch. A secret cellar was built under the cabin. With a kick to her side, Achilles rolled her body into the open cavity. She cried out as her rib snapped on the first step down. Her hands searched for something to hold on to, but nothing was to be found. She rolled down the flight of twelve steps before crashing into the cement ground below.

  ‘Welcome to hell, whore!’ Achilles called out and slammed down the hatchet’s wooden door. Agatha sat up in pain; trembling in complete darkness.

  Chapter 16

  The ferocious winds patrolling the hill that housed the Zampetaki mansion had eventually calmed down –not in your everyday ocean breeze way, yet calmer than the near-hurricane winds of the previous days. The rain fell in the same quantity as before, showing no sign of withdrawing. It fell straight down to earth; the big drops of water not bothered by the winds any more. Drops fell into the pool, into muddy puddles, into streaks of water. Water travelled around the house, down to the pool house and over the cliff, leaping down to the newly formed river. Water journeyed by the old shed at the end of the estate and gathered behind it, plunging through the gaps of the iron bars that were placed to protect the children of the Zampetaki family from plummeting down into the old, deep, sealed-off sewage hole. A small scale stream dropped ten or so feet and began filling up the once cavernous hole. Most of the space had been filled in with dirt when the house boasted a new, updated sewage system and the old tunnels were deemed unnecessary.

  It was in this confined space where Tracy awoke. She woke as if waking up after a painful procedure at the hospital. She felt all the symptoms described by her mother after having her appendix removed. Drowsiness and numbness held her down, half-sunk into the mud below. The watery earth rising by the second had reached her opened mouth. Tracy struggled to sit up, her head wobbling side to side. Her eyelids rose slowly, revealing her underground prison. Tracy screamed, yet felt sure that she did not produce a loud enough sound. She could not gather enough strength to stand up. Her mind was playing fragmented images from the night before.

  Her bladder had been growing inside her, asked to be relieved. She sneaked out of bed and without turning on the lights, she headed to the bathroom. As she exited the bathroom, she gasped at the sight of the bedroom’s open door. She turned to see her heavy sleeper of a husband had not moved a single muscle. Uncertain, she tiptoed to the open door, peeped through it. No one was there. She opened the door a few more inches and stepped a foot out into the dark hallway. Suddenly, a wet cloth covered her mouth and nose; an awful smell of medicine; her head smacked against the wall. These were her last memories before opening her eyes in what she presumed to be a well.

  With her head heavy and leaning back, she brought her right wrist up to eye level.

  ‘Shit,’ she breathlessly cursed. Her watch had vanished from her hand. She had no clue how long she had been down that hell hole. She didn’t guess she had been out for a whole day; although weak, light managed to sneak in through the iron bars.

  Her mind travelled to her detective husband.

  ‘Had he not noticed me missing? He and Ioli must be searching for me…’

  Blood running through her once numb legs made her feel stronger. With trembling hands upon the muddy walls, she struggled to stand up. Her feet sank deeper into the muddy floor. A steady flow of water fell beside her. Her eyes focused on a wild, miniature, purple flower growing out of the wall. It hung, half dipped in muddy water, half in the icy air. The water gradually swallowed its bottom leaf.

  ‘Oh, my god. The water is rising,’ Tracy said, her voice strained, shaky and tired.

  She swung around 360 degrees. Around her only clay walls, below her the rising sludge and above her a circle of crepuscular light, obstructed by four rows of iron bar. She was trapped.

  More awake now, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Again and again. There was no reply. She stopped, panting, with tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. Outside, loud thunder mocked her pitiful attempts at being heard.

  She wiped her forehead, noticing the blood for the first time. She followed the line of dried blood into her messed up, soaking wet, muddy hair, all the way to a round bump. She had cut open her head during her fall in the hallway. Or maybe when she was flung like a piece of trash down the hole. Her legs bore multiple scratches. Weirdly she felt no pain. Maybe the drug used to knock her out, numbed the pain. Maybe it was the shock.

  That is when she realized how naked she was. Underwear and a ripped, once clean, once light blue gown were all she wore. The air around her was freezing. She shivered at the thought of being down there over night when temperatures were sure to fall. That is if the water did not consume her first.

  ‘Oh, Costa, where the hell are you?’

  She yelled again, her
yells for help growing more hysterical with each call. She punched the wet walls and clumsily tried to climb up them. Each time falling back into the brown pool that had now reached her knees. Not knowing what else she could do, she leaned against the walls and cried. She closed her eyes and thought of her daughter. Her murdered angel. The thought of maybe meeting her, somehow being with her soon, soothed her.

  Lightning illuminated her jail and two eyes staring through the iron bars frightened her.

  ‘Who’s there? Help me,’ she screamed. The dark figure above did not reply, just retreated.

  ‘Where are you going? You coward. Come back. Why are you doing this to me? I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me. My husband will find me and he will find you, too. Aghhh!’

  Her last scream joined the thunder.

  She felt helpless. In her dismay, Tracy sat down and did the only thing she could.

  Wait.

  Chapter 17

  *The chapter contains a graphic rape scene. If you do not wish to read the scene, skip to the end of the chapter.

  Time diminishes in the darkness. We are left alone with all our fears and wait for our survival instincts to surface.

  Left alone for hours, Agatha cried, sitting on the cool cement floor before an inner pep talk to get a hold of herself. She stood up and staggered around the dark room, hands stretched out in front of her, waving them around in the blackness. She soon reached the prickly, cement wall and with shaking hands she searched. A switch for a light, a door, a window; anything. Having reached the corner, she continued on. Her leg hit upon something metallic. She leaned forward and let her hands explore. Soft. It was a bed. She shivered at her first wild thoughts.

  Is someone staying down here? What if I am not alone? Is this bed for me? Am I going to be kept a prisoner for long?

  And the question that was on her mind since her fall down the stairs: Why is Achilles doing this to me?

  Agatha swept away her tears from the corners of her eyes and continued on, around the bed and back to the cold wall. Soon, she reached the stairs. Down on all fours, she struggled with her broken rib to reach the top. She banged manically on the cellar’s door, screaming at the top of lungs to be let out. She begged Achilles to be reasonable; she yelled ‘I love you’.

  Only then did she receive any sort of response. Laughter. Wicked laughter. Heavy laughter by multiple men. Her eyes widened in horror.

  Who is up there? What the hell is going on?

  On the floor above, Achilles’ father finished off his whiskey and slammed down the cheap glass.

  ‘OK, boys. That’s enough drinking. Time to play,’ he said, a wicked, mischievous grin forming across his sunburnt face.

  His brother, Valentino, hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek. ‘Revenge!’

  Valentino’s two sons stood up simultaneously from the filthy sofa. The coffee table in front of them was filled with empty beer bottles.

  Achilles knelt down by the hatchet’s wooden lid and yelled. ‘Get your ass back down, right now or I will kick you down there, again.’ He placed his ear upon the door and listened as Agatha struggled to turn around and crawl back down. He, then, pulled the door open, while his uncle Valentino switched on the lights from the kitchen above.

  Two hanging light bulbs flicked to life and burned Agatha’s eyes. Her sight blurry; she thought she saw shadowy figures coming down the stairs.

  ‘Please, don’t kill me,’ she begged, breathless and scared. She stumbled backwards and fell down. She crawled up against the wall. Her vision now cleared enough to see the five men. Two older men, Achilles, a man slightly older than him and a young boy, not older than fifteen. The room around her, now filled with light, revealing a ripped beige sofa pushed to the wall opposite the bed. Also, under the staircase shelves had been built in. One of the older men, approached the top shelf and picked up a thick piece of rope, just like the ones her grandfather had used to tie his boat. He nodded to the boys and together they approached her, yanking her up by the shoulders and throwing her to the bed. A cloud of dust bounced off the bare mattress.

  ‘Please, please,’ she cried. ‘Achilles, why?’ she sobbed. His cold expression ignoring her, scaring her.

  The two boys placed her on all fours, while Achilles ripped off her dress with both hands.

  ‘Please, don’t rape me.’

  ‘Rape you? That sounds so cold and painful. Baby tits you are going to enjoy every minute,’ Pantelis, Achilles’ dad, hissed into her ear. ‘I say, Panayioti goes first. Being his first time and all,’ he continued, addressing the rest of the group.

  ‘Really?’ the young boy’s face lit up.

  ‘Go on,’ his brother encouraged him.

  The freckled teen pulled his blue T-shirt over his head, unclipped his belt and dropped his shorts to the floor. He kicked off his shoes and approached the bed.

  ‘Boxers too, son. Are you going to fuck her with your clothes on?’ his father, Valentino, asked in his deep, croaky voice.

  Panayioti, slightly red, pulled down his boxers, releasing his erection.

  ‘Wow, what the hell is that? Boy is packing some big guns!’ Achilles yelled, his mouth open.

  ‘That’s my boy,’ Valentino commented. ‘You as big as your brother?’ he asked his other son, Andrea.

  Andrea shook his head and joked ‘our village donkey is not as big as that!’

  Ecstatic, the boy jumped upon the bed; the rest of the four men each grabbing a limb of Agatha’s.

  Roller coaster emotions.

  The phrase ran through Agatha’s mind. Her nana’s phrase concerning life. Yesterday’s bliss so far away; light years away from this moment. The moment four beasts held her down like an animal while a fifth forced himself in her with a cry of joy. Cheered on by his family, the fifteen year old boy pounded away in pure delight. Minutes later, he asked where he should finish as if he was completing an everyday chore. Oblivious to the human being whose soul he was raping.

  ‘Mouth, boy,’ his father advised. ‘Always the mouth when you’re not wearing a suit. We don’t need this rich bitch bearing our genes.’

  Achilles grabbed her cheeks and squeezed hard, forcing her mouth to open. Panayioti stood next to her; penis in hand. The next scene took years of therapy to erase from her mind. By the time, she recovered from the shock; Andrea had forced himself in her.

  ‘Please, stop,’ she managed to beg.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll stop. I’m not a cunt fan. I like the back door,’ he said while pulling her hair back and biting into her neck, proving to Agatha he was the biggest sadist of them all.

  ‘Turn her around, son and go for the ass so I can fuck her at the same time,’ his father said. Agatha could not believe her ears. These men were ecstatically happy to have found an opportunity to live out their porn-inspired fantasies.

  ‘What have I ever done to you? I don’t deserve this…’

  ‘You have no idea the damage your family has done to ours, you filthy piece of shit,’ Achilles’ dad yelled, his face turning red. That is when she noticed the naked middle-aged man with the hanging beer belly holding the video recorder.

  Tears fell freely. She started to pray.

  ‘Son, shout this bitch up, she’s depressing the moment,’ Panteli ordered, pressing pause on the recorder.

  Achilles grabbed her face again, looking deep into her eyes. A total stranger stood before her. This was not the boy she fell in love with.

  ‘You dare to bite me and I’ll kick you to death,’ he said, the coldness in his voice sent shivers down her aching spine. She reluctantly opened her mouth.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said in the same tone as he praised his Labrador.

  ‘Wow, look at the bitch taking three cocks,’ Panayioti laughed. ‘I want seconds by the way.’

  ‘Don’t get greedy, boy,’ his uncle Panteli said. ‘Come hold the camera. I haven’t had firsts yet. Besides, we will be here for three days. There will be plenty of time to fuck her whenever you want.’
>
  Words Agatha never forgot. The moment she realized she would re-live the torment for three whole days. She prayed for salvation; even begged Christ to let her die.

  She wasn’t as lucky as that.

  All five men had their way with her, alone, together. Every now and then, one would dash upstairs and bring down cold beers and snacks. They sat around enjoying the show as if it was the most natural thing, as if it was a summer concert or play. Agatha gave up resisting, trying to find solitude inside her mind. She questioned why they were doing this and unable to reach any logical conclusion, she let her mind drift away to happier thoughts. Days on the beach with her friends, late nights talking about boys with her sister, running in the rain, summer holidays with her parents. The grunts and the cheers of the animals cycling her diminished, the smell of their sweat vanished, the pain of them inside her was deemed insignificant, the red blood oozing from her private parts faded away. She detached herself from the horror and lost herself in blissful thoughts. Hours later, the beasts gave up for the day and retreated upstairs for showers and an outdoor barbeque. Panayioti only came down to bring her a bowl of leftovers and a bottle of warm water.

  ‘Eat and rest. I can’t wait till tomorrow,’ he said, sending her kisses and imitating licking her.

  The lights were switched off and shadows came out and devoured the room. Every single muscle of hers ached. The smell of sweat and bodily fluids filled the air of her confined prison. Disgusted and ashamed, she screamed and screamed until the screams turned into crying and curled up, naked, bloody and abused she fell asleep.

  Agatha would swear she did not dream that night. Her mind and soul seemingly incapable of producing any dream or even a nightmare. Nothing could save her and nothing could be worse. Her body had passed out and was only awakened by the splash of icy water from Andrea’s pail. Before all her senses could come alive, Andrea had already sat her up and tied her arms to the bed.

  ‘Breakfast time, whore. You will need your strength today,’ he said in his cool manner that would haunt her in years to come. ‘You better behave or else,’ he continued, grabbed her by the hair forcefully and smacked her hard across the face. ‘Do you understand?’ he raised his voice, yet never losing his cool.