Beyond the Pale

by E. J. Wood

  ‘Wait,’ I stop and pull his hand gently, ‘what is this place?’ I ask before I see too much. ‘I want to know before we go there,’ I reminisce a flash back; one I tried to forget of that frightful night.

  We turn back and venture outside where trees wither arrogantly and weep in the demise of their master. Fissured window panes board the obnoxious framework of the house and door shuts ambiguously creak in sorrow of dissolution and we sit on a log outside undisrupted from the spider webs and eye popping body shocking aura.

  ‘I have been coming here since I could remember,’ he whimpers.

  ‘Why?’

  He takes a deep sigh and clutches my hand tight and drops his head. Hordes of rodents beckon; I hate rats but try to remain focused on Guy and not the pestilence vermin that draw you into the besieged house with damp air like a disease.

  ‘Before I was adopted,’ he starts, his fear is naked and obvious and I can see the young boy lost in darkness. His eyes are tortured and all I can do is sooth him and join him briefly bringing him into the light.

  ‘With the Davidson’s?’ I question.

  ‘Yes, I was four when I was adopted. But before then, I used to visit friends with my birth parents.’

  ‘You remember that far back?’

  ‘I have nightmares and flash backs of past memories. The memories started when I was seventeen, of a house we visited; a house belonging to neighbours that was so grand, well it appeared so but then I was only a small boy. I’d play in the woods and I remember one distinct memory of her fruitful perfume from the lady of the house.’

  My thumb strokes Guy’s knuckles as he delves deep into his past about a house once loved, a family once loved but now abandoned.

  ‘There was a fire and the house they cherished was no longer, and they moved away. I don’t remember much more only that it is the only memory I have from before.’

  ‘And that’s why you come here to escape?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  My body shifts as if I am shrinking and my forehead creases as I tense and look around with suspicion. Admitting he frequently visits this grave yard of a house, alone only increases my anxiety of what he did here. I can’t hold my tongue any longer and before he asks why there is doubt in my eyes I question.

  ‘There is blood and shackles in that room.’

  He remains silent and rises grasping my hand forcefully and takes me back inside the house.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ he asks and I am speechless. Come on Amelia my subconscious staring at me mouthing coward, you know if it is dirty, kinky, messy, naughty or just wrong you want it.

  ‘With all my heart,’ I gulp hard and follow his lead.

  As the door opens, flashes of that night come to mind and the memory of Guy’s body lay on the floor flash before my eyes. I look around the walls that are now visible and the blood is still there, the chains and shackles still there.

  ‘You are looking at the blood aren’t you?’

  My breath is suddenly taken from me and my eyes meet his. I’m speechless, what can I say? I think you’re a psycho?

  ‘It’s not my doing.’

  ‘Then whose?’ my voice is now coarse and rushed. Truth be told I am not quite sure I still trust him.

  ‘It’s not even human. The family that lived here used to catch their own game, here in the cellar was where it was hung, gruesome yes, I can understand why you are afraid.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ the shrill of my words blossoming a smile across his face. I doubt he believes me.

  ‘Can we go home now; I think I have seen enough.’

  ***

  ‘Oh Guy,’ I sigh to myself as we make our way back to the car. My mind racing with thoughts as the suns rays dance on my skin and I look at Guy in admiration. I understand how stressful it is trying to explain what it is happening inside your head when you don’t even understand yourself and I admire him for his courage. I wish I had as much. The Jag purrs as Guy turns on the ignition and I grab my aviators tugged into my bag in the foot well. Glasses are a necessity. The sun is bright and blinding, and I marvel at the world, it is a nice change from the tumultuous storm and I relish in its glory. As we depart, the car rocks contentedly and for a few stolen moments we relax and with one push of a button the music display reads “Brain by Banks.” I have never heard this before but her seductive voice tantalises and excites my senses and soon I am hypnotised by the mellow tones as the car hugs the corners and accelerates home.

  CHAPTER 22

  ‘Olivia, meet me in an hour at Wardensville Pike, Star Tannery, Virginia at the pull in; you know the one by Duck Run Bridge. I need to see you, Guy.’ As I type the last name my heart sinks. For the first time since I started work and held a scalpel I wondered what it would be like to delve into living flesh and in my minds eye I saw the knife enter Olivia. Through her perfectly dressed attire I see the sharp point of the blade disappear and delve deeper past her flesh and muscle until it hit bone; I see red blood expanding outwards from the cut like a trick of light.

  As Guy lies beside me sleeping, I crawl out of bed and dress myself in black and not minutes later I am driving to Duck Run Bridge. Would she come? Would she truly believe Guy had feelings for her and rendezvous with her at this hour? I hope so. As I sit in wait in the shadows beneath the moonlight in the F-Type, a car pulls up and a voice draws me from my murderous dream-like state. The engine halts and a door springs open as her legs exit the vehicle and she walks in motion towards me. I’m aware of what I am doing but I don’t want to stop. I feel guilty but happy and cry and laugh like throwing myself off a cliff all at the same time. The best feeling I have ever experienced, heavily drowned in pain and doubt but fear of what this woman is capable of, but in all truth it isn’t Olivia I should be frightened of. I just want to scare her so that she will leave us alone.

  ‘Amelia? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Surprised to see me?’ I smirk.

  Her breathing becomes heavier and mixed with a nervous laugh, that laugh that sends shivers down my spine, that stupid laugh. I step out of the car and close the door shoving the liquid coated chloroform cloth in my back pocket. I only had a few moments to pull this off and listen as she spits and spews insults at me as I interrupt.

  ‘When I first met you and saw your graceful beauty at the Gala I was jealous, yes jealous of you and I come to realise that jealousy only eats up your beauty and all it is, is a lack of confidence for verily it destroys good the way fire does wood.’

  ‘I am not jealous of you little girl, you are just a gold digging bitch. He will never love you the way he loves me, I will make sure of that.’ She continues waving her arms. I step closer and slide my hand into my back pocket.

  ‘Not if I get there first,’ and my hand darts towards her mouth as I turn behind her holding her head forcefully into the cloth whispering.

  ‘Breathe, that’s it, long and deep, you won’t suffer much longer, nothing hurts more than realising he means everything to you, but you mean nothing to him.’

  The cobblestone walls become a not so distant memory. As the moss grows more and more from each crevice and chains on walls with hammered metal shackles on the floor leave impressions perhaps where people or should I say animals were kept for long periods of time. The familiar scent of death and suffering hang in the air and a strange cold draught at the back near a wall where a black stain remains was not there on my last visit, or was it? The chains squeeze her wrists tight and I can see her inner self slowly killing her, she knows her fate and cries to the point her face becomes pale and her whole body chills. She is so terrified she starts to cry again and begs me to let her go. Her bleeding persists on her wrists and ankles and at a rate far too quick. Her face becomes paler so I unchain her, a gleam of hope sparkles in her pupils but I just smile and tie her in ropes. I stroke her once perfect complexion and whisper, ‘“How hard we tried.”’ I step back to the shelf unit in the far corner as a candle begins to flicker. I open the door to
retrieve a bottle of oil needed to care for the thick leather straps of my satchel I brought along. There it is, behind the sulphuric acid. The oxyacetylene torch is inches from my grasp and ideas flood my mind of her pretty eye lashes flickering; her tool to seduce her victims and I wondered what it would be like to burn one of those pretty eyes or cauterise a gushing wound from a living being. Her face is now white and blistering from swollen eyelids that are nearly shut. Her hair is falling to the front in thin clusters and she continues to cry from deep within her chest frantically like a rabid animal with twisted and raspy moans. I try to say something but nothing comes. I withdraw the scalpel from the bag and it shakes violently in my hand as I approach her. My lip quivers with anticipation and I stare blankly at my victim. Her face is smeared with dirt and blood from my own hands of where I caressed her when she begged and pleaded for her life. I can’t handle it anymore.

  ‘SHUT UP,’ I scream dropping the scalpel to the floor and curse as I look at her with rage, ‘look what you made me do,’ and I kneel in front of her lifting her chin. ‘This is the day Olivia where you look at Guy and say I love you and I say I’ll kill you. You invaded our home, you threatened our relationship. I cannot let you do this, not now, not ever.’ I shake my head and place my hand on my forehead. What am I doing? She spits in disgusts and laughs.

  ‘Oh Amelia, I have often dreamed of you and thought how glorious it would be if I put you in a wooden tub with only your head exposed and paint your face with milk and honey and soon the flies will land and feast. But don’t worry, starvation won’t take you. I will feed you regularly and you will swim in your own excrement and after a few days maggots and worms will devour your body as you decay alive. The record is seventeen days, would you last that long?’ she questions and takes a sharp intake of breath aware of her heartbeat and an unconscious twitch of her hand urges to cover her face. I chuckle at her audacity.

  ‘Be careful Olivia, you are the one that is bound here. There is quite an abundance of rats down here, and I don’t know about you but I don’t like rats. I happen to be part of the not liking rat persuasion. As you are already tied up a rat could be placed upon your stomach covered by a metal container and luckily for you and the rat heat outside the container is raised by that little contraption over there,’ I point towards the torch. ‘The rat will have no choice but to burrow its way out. I will let you guess what happens next. Fortunately today, this is your lucky day, I’m out of gas.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ a weak gagging sound emerges from her before blood joins her breath and leaks from her mouth over her lips and drips like tears. Her screams scorch her throat as she begs for mercy.

  ‘Do you know why he killed Cross, Olivia?’ I whisper.

  ‘For me, to show me he would kill for us to be together,’ she blurts.

  ‘No you stupid bitch. He did it because he found out, he found out Cross had raped me. You see, he and I are two peas in a pod, he knows me and I know him. You are not part of the equation.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever loved someone so much you want to keep them hidden from the world?’

  ‘That’s called kidnapping,’ I answer ‘love and hate are one in all. It’s a fine line, and I would do anything in my power to protect him as he did me and if that means you disappear than that is what needs to happen.’

  ‘You haven’t the balls; if you did I’d be dead already. Trust me; if I were in your shoes right now Bitch you would have no idea what I would be doing to you. You sit in front of me the big I am. I’d eat your face like a pack of jackals eating their stolen spoils.’

  ‘You what?’ my words leave my mouth high pitched and I jolt back in disgust at her comment.

  ‘Cheeks are rare delicacies, especially with a green peppered sauce. Don’t say it has never tempted you looking at the meat on your cold metal slabs. It’s only slightly bitter to pork, it’s actually quite good. Testes are the sweetest meat; so sweet, tender and delicious.’ Her eyes glazing over as she reminisces.

  ‘Harold?’

  ‘Like prime veal, stringy but agreeably edible.’

  ‘You’re sick.’ I gulp and back up taking each step slowly as I step away seeing another side to her.

  ‘And yet, I am the one tied up and you are the one with the scalpel? Are you going to eat me? I would. If you don’t, I will have you and Guy.’

  ‘Why?’ she intrigues my over curious nature.

  ‘I saw a television interview once with a cannibal, and it described his decades long yearning to consume another human being. After that, I fuelled my interests by the internet and seeking like minded people. They described eating it as forbidden fruit, and Hansel and Gretel, a bedtime favourite of mine as a child about a witch who traps two children and prepares to eat the boy Hansel. You would be surprised how many Hansels are on the internet begging to be eaten. The interview estimated some ten thousand people in Germany alone share this fascination with cannibalism either eating or being eaten,’ she says with a true passion.

  ‘But how? Why?’

  ‘Remember those deadly spiders you find in Australia, the red hourglass shaped abdomens, black widows I think they are called. They eat their partners after intercourse. They are far from the only spiders who sexually cannibalise their partners. Some insects and fish do too; it’s natural in the reproductive process. People are grossly misunderstanding spider reproduction, they keep saying widow and how the male sacrifices. The problem is that these words make moral judgements about behaviour and it may appear to be vicious but sacrifice implies nobility, which is a selfless act that allows the males to be eaten. If the female has good nutrition she will bear healthier young and the males genes will continue.’ Her eyes lower and gaze at her stomach.

  ‘You’re pregnant?’ I ask with my forehead lifting in disbelief.

  ‘No, not yet, but I will be and we will be strong.’ She lunges forward, her arms still bound and her mouth gapes open as her tongue darts forward.

  ‘I must confess I have given serious thought to…’ she stops and I know her answer and it sickens me.

  Her superficial charm and pathological egocentricity wouldn’t work on me.

  ‘Amelia, haven’t you ever wondered to yourself when looking at corpses on that cold steel slab with their cold hard flesh, what it would be like to cut into living flesh and see life drain away?’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ I change subject.

  ‘Having you stood here before me is the supreme thrill of my life; I’m honoured to be your first.’

  ‘What makes you think you are my first?’

  ‘You are too hesitant, I have no particular desire to live or be killed it is of an indifference to me but given my present situation.’

  I look at her bound arms and legs and I’m fascinated at my capture, never had I ever concluded of encountering such a find on my initial ambition of frightening away a jealous rival. What fun Dr Clarke would have with this one.

  ‘But why eat them?’ I had to know; strange she is but rational and highly intelligent, very articulate and smug yet remorseless and for a man logically frightening, she is fascinating.

  ‘After trying to sexually gratify me and years of marriage you soon get bored and one day I ran my nails over his skin and his cry did more for me than he could ever do sexually. As I dug my nails in, the blood and the agony gave me pleasure and a certain relaxation. I tasted his blood from beneath my nails, and at that moment he looked delicious. It brought me peace of mind. Admit it; didn’t you feel the same way when Cross was fucking you?’

  ‘Stop,’ I demand.

  ‘Do you believe he always envisioned scenarios of you fucking?’

  ‘Stop or I swear…’ I bare my teeth as I say the words and I am positively aware that my eyes are sparkling with ferocity. Evil has a face and I was looking at one and yet insanity is never black or white; we are all pathological in our own ways all on different levels and I am dumbfounded as to my actions with this woman. She is right on all accounts.
How did she know? Did it take a psychopath to recognise another? Am I psychologically deranged?

  ‘Don’t be coy doctor, we are both adults. You loved your pussy clenching around his cock didn’t you?’

  I remain silent and reach down and pick up the scalpel and look into her salacious eyes as her words exit her mouth.

  ‘I can never let you go can I?’ I question.

  ‘And Hansel said to Gretel “let us drop these breadcrumbs so together we find our way home because losing our way would be the cruellest of things.”’

  ‘ENOUGH. You can’t break me! You don’t know me and what I am capable of. You have picked the wrong person to torment and you will never ever see Guy again and if you ever call me that word again I swear your death will not be a quick one.’