Beyond the Pale

by E. J. Wood

  ‘She is signalling to the chaser she wants her to desist and leave her alone.’

  ‘It’s attracting more harassment.’

  We stand in amazement at the shape shifting dog like creatures that prowl the paddock. These fierce creatures with bone crushing jaws with an apparent appetite for human flesh are real and live up to their reputation as a dozen snarling fighting hyenas finish devouring of what remains of the body, skeleton and flesh. All is gone in a matter of a few minutes. I continue reading now fascinated at these creatures and discover from the informative page that many people hold a negative image towards Hyenas, representing them in an unfair stereotypical way which in reality are intelligent and in their own way beautiful. According to Stephen Glickman when Disney animators went to his hyena research facility to make sketches for The Lion King, scientists there made a plea for showing the predators in a more positive light—but the trio of hyenas in the movie reinforce the common stereotype of hyenas as cowardly, skulking low-lifes and I begrudgingly admit I too once thought this before this day and take note the Swahili name “Fisi” scientific name Crocuta Crocuta (Spotted Hyena), size, 28 to 35 inches tall, weight, 90 to 190 pounds, lifespan 25 years in captivity, habitat savannas, grasslands, woodlands, forest edges, sub deserts and mountains, diet carnivorous, gestation 90 to 110 days and predators - Humans.

  ‘We had better go Amelia.’ Guy grabs my arm as I am in awe of the hyenas we just met.

  ***

  You can tell a sweet machine just by the beat of its heart, the mild throbbing from a perfectly selected cam and harmony of the exhaust. Like most with true class it oozes with it. A fine beauty not like these typical boys toys with nitrous gas, no not this baby, she has class. Just walking around her she invites you in, I can see the attraction and why Guy bought her.

  ‘Are you getting in?’ he beckons from the other side of the car.

  ‘Yes I was just admiring her,’ I gesture as I climb in, ‘I know beauty is very subjective and impossible to generalise, but she really is beautiful.’ I smile.

  ‘You can thank Malcolm Sayer for that.’ He answers as he starts up the Jag.

  ‘Who?’ I question.

  ‘He is the man to blame for this beauty, the Jags really caught on with the E-Type and many consider that probably the most beautiful production sports car ever to have existed.’

  My heart flutters like the wings of a hummingbird and the change of subject away from what we had just done to Olivia is working. I don’t want to think of her, not now not ever.

  ‘I think the Jaguar is the Beauty and the Beast at the same time.’ And as the last words leave my mouth a piercing ring cuts off our discussion and Guy puts finger to lip to signal I am to be quiet and he answers the call through the cars Bluetooth speakers.

  ‘Guy?’ Guy answers. His tone is terse and direct.

  ‘Is it done?’ a disembodied raspy voice asks. The words like leaves scratching across a cement sidewalk in autumn.

  ‘It is done!’ Guy declares in his smooth baritone voice. An unsettling feeling begins to well inside me and there is something wrong but I can’t tell what it is. The atmosphere is seemingly strange and I bite my lip anxiously to ask what is happening. I glance out the window and back towards Guy; he knows he has to tell me. He hangs up the call and takes a deep sigh.

  ‘Amelia?’ he calls my name.

  ‘Yes?’ I answer. My hands stuffed between my legs keeping warm. At least that’s what I am trying to convince myself of, yet in reality I am shaking like a leaf.

  ‘There is something you should know.’ He leans towards me although his hands are still firmly planted on the steering wheel.

  ‘When life gives you lemons, you accept its misguided charity and incorporate it in to your scheme for world domination?’ I ask.

  ‘No!’ His breath exhales as he says the word and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a black leather wallet and tosses it into my lap.

  ‘What am I to do with this?’ I lift the wallet up and wave it at his side.

  ‘Open it,’ he states.

  I do as he asks and open the wallet and see the godly metal gold badge glaring back at me. I look at Guy, his eyes playing with the light within the car enthralling me as I find myself looking at splinters of amber fire caught in a vicious lantern shining golden syrup. I swallow waiting sweetly to catch another glance as his eyes revert back to the road waiting a response. I don’t understand: my brain blocks feeling like it has short circuited and needs rebooting, everything seems fast forwarding and I am motionless in the middle of it all. How can this be? Has he betrayed me? Suddenly a deep seeded feeling overcomes me and I’m in a state of incomprehensible or rather inconceivable thought that no words can merely form. My lips move, but I have no idea what I can say at this moment in time to justify the response he seeks. I stare intently back at the badge. Is this a joke? And I see Federal Bureau of Investigation Department of Justice inscribed and I gasp.

  ‘FBI?’ My voice quivers.

  ‘Yes,’ he answers in one syllable; I can tell from his tone he is as nervous as I am. Perhaps he wonders how I would react to his sudden revelation?

  ‘Are you some kind of detective then?’ I question intriguingly and stupidly.

  ‘Special Agent Davidson.’

  I feel as if I have just walked into a wall and still cannot fathom what the fuck is happening right now. My eyes brim with tears of mirth and a smile tugs at my lips as I break into a grin that completely envelops my face and chuckle a hum of amusement before bursting with laughter from deep within.

  ‘Something funny?’ He doesn’t see the humour and glares at me.

  ‘No, I just think this is some kind of joke,’ and immediately stop my nervous chuckle as he points to the foot well where a small bag lies beside my feet. I lean down and pull it apart.

  ‘Shit,’ and I glare at the black slim line subcompact gun. ‘So, you have a licence to kill? I don’t even have a learners permit.’ I laugh.

  ‘Isn’t she perfection?’ he smiles.

  Perfection? I study the gun for a brief moment beside my feet and wonder if it has been here the entire time, secluded away from sight but always by our sides.

  ‘But, why?’ I question, and Guy pulls into a lay-by still under the black velvet sky.

  ‘Olivia Finnegan is known to the FBI as the “Angel of death.”’

  ‘The “Angel of death”?’

  ‘You were never meant to get involved,’ he says as he turns slightly towards me to grasp my hand in his and I’m eager to retrieve it away.

  ‘But I fucking am, aren’t I?’ my temper rising and I am unable to contain my anxiety.

  ‘Calm down, let me explain.’

  ‘Some explanation you better have now or I walk.’ I panic.

  ‘During my years with the FBI I have interviewed several female serial killers and have somewhat become an expert in the topic studying their murders, motives and learned early on profiling in particular what makes females tick. I have always known from my own child hood that women aren’t the nurturing and caring type that most people assume.’

  ‘What has this to do with Olivia?’

  ‘She is, or was the perfect murderer. People are reluctant to believe a woman could be so violent especially one as charming and attractive as Mrs Finnegan. She was careful.’

  ‘Not that careful, she got caught’ I scoff.

  ‘We have been watching Olivia Finnegan for several months analysing her manoeuvres. She would choose easy victims to kill. Often female killers fantasise and plan out their vivid dreams; they plan meticulously, studying ways of how to dispose their victims without getting caught.’

  ‘Then how did you know she was a murderer?’ I ask quizzically.

  ‘She made one mistake.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘All her victims she was either married to or they were people that she was romantically involved with. When they started disappearing, she was the common denominator.’

&n
bsp; ‘Then why hadn’t you arrested her beforehand?’

  ‘We knew she was a vain capricious woman who married over and over taking advantage of lonely men who had no idea of what lurked beneath the surface of the cold blooded killer, but we didn’t know where her victims were. Her cognitions were graphic and we believe she murdered as a promise to a final triumph to an abusive parental relationship from her past. Serial killers aren’t born evil nor have a biological mutation, they are very much man-made. After a full briefing Mrs Finnegan had endured being hit, verbally rubbished and sexually assaulted by the very people that created her.’

  ‘Just because you suffer a childhood of abandonment, or incest does not warp a young soul necessarily into committing mass murder. I should know!’

  ‘No, but if this deep seeded rage was stored and accelerated as the years go on and it was suppressed remaining turbulent and hardscrabble it could develop into the epitome of a soulless evil instead of being helped to grow into a caring and confident young adult,’ he justifies.

  ‘I almost pity her, battered down the long hard road that turned an innocent child into a potential torturer and murderess.’ I add.

  ‘Yes quite, but unfortunately it is true for many cases. Harold has been missing for a fortnight and we were hoping to trace her movements and cell records to his whereabouts. Be he still alive or not.’

  ‘I don’t think he is.’ I glance into my lap remembering her confession.

  I take a deep sigh and contemplate how we can move forward with us both knowingly of our crimes.

  ‘What happens now? I mean I killed someone.’ I confess.

  ‘As did I, and for the greater good. Amelia, whatever way you look at it, you could have possibly prevented another murder.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it right, what about your career?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Who was on the phone?’ I demand.

  ‘Always so eager for information; the only thing you need to concern yourself with is returning to work. I need you on side.’

  ‘So Dick…tective you aren’t going to arrest me?’ I smile coyly teasing him with my battering blue eyes.

  ‘Not if I am an accessory.’ Again he smiles and my groin clenches, ‘but you have been a very naughty girl,’ he smirks.

  I gasp as the words leave his mouth and my eyes widen. What does this mean?

  ‘Please,’ I beg, and it isn’t a question but an appeal and it is soon granted as he slips his hand around the back of his waist revealing metal handcuffs. Shit, shit, double shit!

  ‘Do you trust me?’ he asks, and there it is again, that very question that I ask myself all the time. Do I trust him?

  ‘With my life,’ I gulp.

  ‘Are you sure after everything I have put you through?’

  ‘If I didn’t trust you I would never be able to get back on your bike would I?’ I smile.

  ‘Then place your hands in front of you.’ Immediately I do as I am asked confined in the small space of the Jaguar. I am unpleasantly uncomfortable but I do as he wishes. The clink of the hand cuffs snap onto my skin as they ensnare my wrists together.

  ‘Come to me,’ he begs silently tugging hard on my cuffs towards him and whispers ‘I need you, I want to taste you, and I have to taste you.’ His fingers glide into my hairline and I enjoy the response it elicits from my mouth as it gapes open. His mouth draws near and kisses me passionately, urgently and I can see it excites him.

  ‘Play time?’ he whispers before again dropping his lips to the bare skin of my neck, he knows I love that and he smiles dryly, playing it casual. My hands sit still within their metal casing as it shafts against my skin.

  ‘Re…’ I clear my throat and drop my voice an octave ‘really?’ The anticipation plucks at my senses like the strings of a harp and I am grateful for the warmth that closes around my skin within the cuffs as he tugs them towards him once more. His hands ensnare mine securing them tightly.

  Guy’s fingers dance along my prickly skin and one hand cups my jaw as I gaze into his eyes and my lips part of their own will, gosh he is beautiful. His index finger stands proud in front of his lips and he hushes for silence and then reaches for my lower lip caressing it as his mouth briefly covers mine and I am weak at the knees. He can see the love and trust in my eyes and how I feel safe in his keeping.

  ‘Please,’ I beg once more ‘I don’t know if I can…’ flash backs from Cross’s attack fills my mind and I swallow in disgust at the memory.

  ‘I will give you as many moments, days and nights as you need, that fucker won’t be able to lay another hand on you.’ His words are soft and his finger caresses my cheek and I beg for it to lower as it descends to my breasts. He cinches my bound hands to his body.

  ‘You are mine,’ and a slippery warm feeling that quivers in my groin twitches. I’m desperate to relieve the throbbing but I am denied the freedom.

  ‘Don’t you want to touch me?’ Tears almost well in my eyes as I ask and recall the event of Cross.

  ‘God Amelia, there is nothing more that I could want,’ he sounds exasperated. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘You wont,’ he holds my gaze and draws near resting his full head of hair just above my breasts, if only I could run my hands through it, how frustrating and I groan in protest at my bound hands nearly going through the roof. His mouth nuzzles and pushes my bra aside enveloping his lips around my nipple and it hardens at his touch. His warm wet mouth sucking gently as his tongue massages and tugs. I am lost, writhing beneath his touch and I tilt my head back in ecstasy exploding and groaning like an express train. I wish for this time to last a lifetime. Oh how I wish to go down with this sun, sleeping and weeping with him.

  ‘Take me home now,’ I whisper into his ear.

  CHAPTER 24

  I look out the window mesmerised at the glowing sphere that rises slowly into the dull morning sky whilst glancing over at my special agent in the kitchen preparing a hot drink. The casting sun beams, shining rays in every direction illuminating the living room. And as I stare out of the glass panes the colours of the rising sun are changing to a more vivid rainbow with passing time. The sky becomes more radiant as the sun climbs higher and higher and a golden ray grows into a ball of fire changing from a dark orange to yellow as it heats up the earth gracefully shimmering gold disks. I stand drinking in the liquid that burns my lips and relish in the suns rays warming my pale skin and jolt at the thump of a manila folder placed onto the coffee table by Guy.

  ‘What’s this?’ I question.

  ‘Just read it.’

  I place my cup down beside the folder and open it, inside there is a report.

  ‘Christopher Paul Lucas? Who is this?’ I ask.

  ‘Christopher Paul Lucas: Born: 1966 Son to a Professor and Peasant in Moscow.’

  ‘Go on,’ I tilt my head wondering where this is going.

  ‘His life of crime began at an early age when he moved to the United States and during the 1980s he entered the drug trade. His ambition and ruthlessness amid the drug smuggling world made him one of the most prolific and wealthiest and most powerful and violent criminal of all time.’

  ‘I don’t understand, what relevance this has?’ he pauses but says nothing shush Amelia.

  ‘Under his leadership large amounts of heroin were purchased from South America, processed and brought to the United States. He collaborated with approximately seven other illegal entrepreneurs forming the Los Lobos cartel.’

  ‘The Wolves.’

  ‘Yes, eventually controlling 85% of all heroin shipped into the country and named one of the richest on earth by Fortune and Forbes magazines.’

  ‘Are you on this case?’ shush Amelia I hold my tongue.

  ‘In the last few years, he has removed himself from direct involvement; he has disappeared off our radar. Lucas siphoned his profits from other dealers through a kind of taxation system and considered the tax compensation. His is said to have been attributed to influential ties and fin
ancial resources. He is a very powerful man and has a certain degree of popularity and political standing.’

  As Guy goes into FBI mode I am lost and sit on the sofa dumbfounded at everything that has happened, and stare blatantly at his badge on his waist band.

  ‘Can I see that?’ I ask and he hands it to me without hesitation, ‘why does it say temporary? It isn’t a fake is it?’

  He laughs at my question and I don’t think it is funny. It is a genuine question.

  ‘I am only temporarily instated into this investigation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I am a consultant because of my valuable knowledge.’

  ‘Of?’

  ‘You,’ he answers.

  ‘You’re using me?’ I am horrified and stand and he rushes towards me throwing the manila folder aside.

  ‘NO,’ and his hands grab mine firmly so I cannot pull away, ‘you don’t understand.’

  ‘Then you better start fucking explaining, no more secrets remember,’ I growl.

  ‘I’m not sure you want to hear this.’

  ‘And I am not sure if there is a you and I. You deceived me!’

  ‘From an anonymous source we are led to believe that he has been involved with the importation of desomorphine.’

  My eyes stare at the manila folder, do I know this Guy?

  ‘You see Russia currently has a severe problem with Heroin addiction and when that addict can no longer source or afford that drug, they may resort to another with a stronger kick and costs about a tenth of the price. Unfortunately when they reach this stage their life expectancy of four to seven years now narrows down to just a year or two.’