by Chris Parker
‘I’m not going to touch you,’ Ethan Hall said. ‘Not physically.’ He closed the door. ‘This is going to be the second part of our secret. It’s a secret you will want me to keep for the rest of my life. I promise I will. It’s a secret I know you will never share.’
Anne-Marie had been drawn to his face from the instant he had started talking; his features filled her vision, she couldn’t look away even though he was staring intently at her stomach. She became acutely aware of the waistband of her sweatpants touching her hips, of the material against her thighs, of the rise and fall of her lower abdomen.
‘You are scared that you have lost your womanhood,’ he said, ‘that you are no longer the sexual being you once were. We are both going to enjoy helping you rediscover that.’
‘No…’
‘Yes.’ Ethan clapped his hands together once. ‘And the more you try to resist, the more you will be taken by the feelings in ways you never have before. Even as you feel the comfort and support of the bed holding you there, you begin the process of remembering and recreating and moving, from the inside to the out, opening to the inevitability of what is happening, like the currents drawing the tide, making it swell, unstoppable…’
Anne-Marie tried to push herself upright, to swing her feet over the side of the bed. She couldn’t move her body. She whipped her head from side to side. Her mouth opened. Her teeth showed. The desire to fight, to escape, was pounding inside in her brain right behind her eyes. She could feel them bulge as she struggled in vain to break free from whatever was holding her.
‘That’s right! Fight against it!’ Ethan’s voice was quicker now. He took a step closer to the bed. ‘Feel how your heart rate is increasing. Feel how your blood is flowing faster. Feel the tension and how your skin is already tingling. Feel how the inside is already affecting the out. That’s it! Your body is preparing you when it spasms like that. It knows how to do this so well. And it has been waiting for you to release it, building secretly, so that here now you can show me. And know this forever, I can see you now. Inside and out.’
And he could. This time he was making a woman orgasm and he wasn’t blinded by anger and the need to punish. This time he was far more accomplished. This time watching her was making him hard.
‘The paralysis around the internal moving and throbbing and contracting is only there to help you contain it and build it and feel it,’ he said, ‘knowing it will come out, knowing it will free you. Listen to me now, even with your eyes closed, even as your head thrashes, even when you believe you can’t hear me behind the gathering inside you.’
Ethan Hall kept talking. Anne-Marie felt a different part of her brain, in the back of head, urging her to surrender. She forced her head off the pillow and slammed it back several times. The primal desire to give in to her body only increased.
‘No!’
She began to feel sweat beading her forehead. Her inner thighs began to tremble.
‘No!’
She could feel her blood pulsing and rushing in a way she never had before. She could feel herself swelling and opening. The spasms she had been feeling around her pelvis strengthened and spread.
‘No!’
Her breathing quickened. Her mouth was wide open now and she couldn’t close it. She was gasping and she couldn’t stop
it. She couldn’t hear his words, but she could feel them. They were on her skin. She could taste them on her tongue. They were entering her.
‘Aah!’
It was impossible to stop. She knew it. She hated the part of her that wouldn’t be denied. She hated the way her body was betraying her.
‘Aah!’
The feelings inside merged, faster than she had ever known before, overwhelming her. The fact that her body couldn’t move intensified them further. She began hyperventilating. She knew she was going to explode.
‘Say my name when you come,’ Ethan said and his words cut through, squeezing her heart.
‘No!…No!…’
‘Say my name!’
‘Aaah!’
‘Say it!’
‘Ethan!’ She screamed as her orgasm sent waves of pleasure crashing through her system. ‘Ethan!’
The synesthete saw the power of her experience in ways no one else could. He saw how her body contracted and opened in intimate detail. He saw the colours of her orgasm shooting around her. As her body settled he saw anger and shame robbing her of the satisfaction and comfort she should have been feeling. That excited him even more.
‘Good girl,’ he said when her breathing had calmed. ‘Good girl. Now let’s do that again.’
44
Steve the taxi took his newly bought mobile phone out of his jeans pocket for the second time in five minutes. It was a Samsung Galaxy S7. His pride and joy. Well, if push came to shove, he’d have to admit it wasn’t as significant as his sixty-five inch, flat screen Panasonic TV. But on the other hand, he couldn’t take that out with him. And his phone was more versatile. The marketing – not that he had paid any attention to that – had said the S7 redefined what a phone could do.
And the ability to take photos in the dark was already proving a very particular pleasure.
It was early afternoon now, though. The sky was blue, the clouds white, birds were singing in his back garden. Yet, in a manner of speaking Steve felt that he was in the dark, a different kind of dark to lights out in the bedroom late at night. This was the dark of confusion. The darkness he felt every now and again when one part of him was telling to do one thing, and another part was telling him to do something else.
Steve looked at his phone. He was, he realised, concentrating only on its most basic function. Everything else was temporarily forgotten.
Should he make the call or not?
That was the question. And the important word was should. He could do it. He could do it right now. Or he could wait until later in the day, give himself time to think it all through again, weigh up the pros and cons. He knew for sure that he could do it. He just wasn’t sure if he should.
‘What a fucker.’ Steve scratched the back of his head. He rubbed the palm of his left hand against his jawline, remembered that he hadn’t shaved for four days; decided it really didn’t matter. This decision mattered. What to do? Spend a couple of minutes making the phone call – for that’s all it would take, just two minutes – or to have one last piss and then go out in the taxi. Mull it over as he was driving around. Maybe forget it. Either way, he’d be making some money rather than standing around in his kitchen doing nothing.
Only he was doing something. He was making a decision.
‘Or am I just fucking about?’
Steve pursed his lips, exhaled, shook his head. It had been a hell of a lot easier knowing how to vote in the Brexit referendum. Some idiots had wanted to call it a great debate. As far as he was concerned there was no debate needed. In fact, in the weeks leading up to the vote, he had enjoyed telling anyone in the pub who would listen that, when it came to Brexit, he was going to follow the advice his dad had given him about having sex. ‘You’ve got to know when it’s time to pull out!’ He had said, and when it came to the EU this was it. ‘They’ve been fucking us for long enough,’ Steve had proclaimed, laughing each time.
Most people had agreed with him. Job done. Vote won. Easy-peasy.
But what about this fucking phone call?
‘Come on, just make your mind up!’ Steve walked into the lounge. He looked out of the front window. The big, black Mercedes with the tinted windows was still parked outside the house opposite. In all likelihood, that meant the men he had seen going into the house were still inside. One of the men had looked just like that Ethan Hall character. A proper psycho by all accounts. The man who had been arrested originally for nearly killing Marcus Kline.
Steve had read the interview with Marcus in his morning paper. He wouldn’t have bothered normally but he had picked up him once, driven him to the East Midlands airport. He had seemed a surprisingly normal guy.
They had chatted about how difficult it was these days making a living as a taxi driver. Marcus had been sympathetic. He’d even offered a couple of suggestions about how to make extra cash. To top it off, he’d tipped him well.
Steve owed Marcus Kline; that’s what he couldn’t help thinking. And if his dad were still here, he would have told him to make the call. ‘We always have to stick together lad,’ that’s what his dad used to say. ‘If we don’t have a community we don’t have anything. That means we follow the rules and we do what’s right for each other. Shoulder to shoulder, that’s what makes this country great.’
Steve missed his dad. He wouldn’t have known how to use the mobile phone, but he wouldn’t have thought twice about getting involved. He wouldn’t have worried for a second about possible criminal retaliation. He wouldn’t have been motivated only by the reward either. He would have called the police because it was the right thing to do.
Steve would have happily given up his TV and his phone for the chance to share just one more pint with his dad. No amount of thinking was ever going to make that happen, though.
‘There’s no need to think about this anymore either,’ he told himself.
Steve walked back into the kitchen.
Decision made.
Dad was right.
He dialled the number.
45
Peter Jones could feel it all happening around him. Visits, conversations, pressure being exerted. He was the focal point, the required calm at the centre of the storm. Whilst everyday folk went about their everyday business, the criminal world was being shaken, fractures being created or stretched, promises and threats being made and left to work their magic.
Sooner or later something – someone – had to give. That was one of the laws of nature that underpinned the laws of man. If your team is big enough and coordinated and disciplined and it walks in the right directions making the right noises, birds fly. All you have to do then is make sure they don’t get away.
Peter wished this were as easy as beating. He wished the stakes were as low. He wished something would come of the undergrowth sooner rather than later.
Beyond his professional responsibilities, he didn’t know how much more of this Marcus and Anne-Marie could take. The threat of Ethan Hall was clearly damaging them. He had never seen Marcus so psychologically low, so close to breakdown. Once, he would never have thought it possible. Now it seemed as if Marcus was, indeed, hanging on by his fingertips. And, if Anne-Marie was to be believed, she had given up in her fight against her cancer. She was convinced she was going to die and she couldn’t tell Marcus. Both husband and wife were, it seemed to Peter, currently imprisoned inside themselves. Locked in solitary confinement with no apparent way out, at least until Ethan Hall was caught. Then, maybe, there was a chance for some sort of return to normality. Maybe.
‘Boss!’ It was Kevin McNeill, excited, smiling.
‘What is it?’ Peter controlled his face, kept his body still, calmness at the centre of the storm.
‘We’ve had a call! We think it’s a reliable sighting!’
‘Why so sure?’
‘The caller reported a black Mercedes outside the property. The registration he gave us ties it to Calvin Brent!’
‘OK. And?’
‘The caller’s also saying that he’s absolutely certain he saw Ethan Hall and the driver of the car go into the house an hour ago. And he hasn’t seen them come out. And the car’s still there.’
Peter sat back in his chair, leaning away from his desk, putting both hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers.
‘Well, boss?’
‘Do we know if it’s one of Calvin’s safe houses?’
‘We’ve got nothing on that yet.’
‘Is the caller known to us?
‘No. And he’s not on any of our records. He identified himself as Steve the taxi.’
‘You are joking?’
‘Nope.’
‘I wonder what sort of job he does?’ Peter smiled.
Kevin chuckled. ‘Good job he doesn’t clean bogs.’
‘Indeed. If he’d identified himself as Steve the shit stirrer, it’s fair to say his call would have been treated differently. What’s the address?’
‘Ipswich Circus, off Sneinton Dale.’
‘Right then. I like the feel of this one, Kev! Let’s get on with it. You know the drill. I’ll make a call and get a firearms team there immediately.’
‘Roger that!’
‘And Kev, let’s keep this to ourselves. Keep the process going everywhere else, keep the pressure on.’
‘In case we miss him again?’
‘In case Steve the taxi is taking us for a ride.’
46
Anne-Marie had started crying, great raucous sobs that racked her insides the instant she heard Ethan close the front door behind him. For a moment, she had thought it was over and then a sudden fear made her wonder if he was playing another of his awful games, making her believe he had left when in fact he hadn’t.
The possibility threatened to pin her in place the way that he had, but at least now she couldn’t feel his words and, more than anything else, she had to get off the duvet and away from the bed.
Anne-Marie forced herself to her feet. Her legs were shaking, her clothes damp with sweat. She stood as still as she could, listening for any sound that suggested he was still in the house. She heard nothing beyond her heart thumping in her chest. She was barely aware of the tears coating her face. What if he was waiting for her? What if she went downstairs and he was standing in the hall? What if he was going to make her do it all again?
Anne-Marie looked around the bedroom for anything she could use as a weapon. The best she could see was a small mirror on the dressing table. She picked it up, clutching it tightly in her right hand, intending to use it as a makeshift club. She stepped out onto the landing. The house was silent. She moved to the top of the stairs; wiped her nose with the back of her left hand, wiped tears from her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
‘Get out!’ She screamed. ‘I will kill you!’
The house groaned. She took a step back automatically. Listened. The noise stopped. She told herself that every house made noises.
‘I mean it!’ Louder this time. Still no reply. She waited for a second then moved forwards again. The stairs creaked under the pressure of her feet. She had never noticed it before. She kept going. Three more steps and she would be in the hallway.
One.
Two.
Three.
Anne-Marie swung to her left, to face the front door, raising the mirror instinctively. Ethan wasn’t there. The door was closed. She spun round towards the kitchen and rushed in, giving her fear no time to prevent her. Safe. Only the lounge remaining. The door was half-closed. She slammed it open and charged inside, screaming as she went.
‘Yaah!’
Nothing. Just a room that wasn’t hers, indifferent to everything that had happened. The mirror dropped from her grasp. At the same time her mobile phone began to ring and vibrate on the coffee table.
Anne-Marie picked it up, praying silently to see a number she recognized. She did. It shocked her, even in her current state. She accepted the call, having no idea what she was going to hear or say.
‘Y-Yes?’
‘Anne-Marie?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s me, Emma.’
‘I know. I wouldn’t delete your number. You’re a friend.’
‘Of course. Sorry. You just sounded strange and I wasn’t sure if that’s because you didn’t want to talk to me, or if it’s because I’m so nervous about making this call I’m projecting my own emotions.’
‘Maybe it’s just not a great connection. How are you? Why are you nervous?’
‘I’m … er … It’s because, er … Well, I feel like I ran away and left you and I always thought of you – I still think of you – as family and you don’t run away from your family when things are bad and I did and I’m n
ot able to cope with that.’
‘You were grieving for Simon and you did what you needed to, what you believed was best at the time. That’s all we can ever do. Marcus understands that. So do I. You have nothing to blame yourself for.’
‘But I’ve seen what’s happening. It’s all getting so much worse. I don’t know how you are possibly dealing with it.’
Anne-Marie stifled a sob. ‘We’re … erm … we’re holding on.’
‘How is Marcus? I read the newspaper interview. He seemed so different, so I thought I ought to phone you.’
‘He’s, you know, doing what Marcus does. He’s finding his own way through.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m still trying my best to focus on my treatment.’
‘I pray for you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry, did you mind me saying that?’
‘No. No, I appreciate it. Honestly. So, er, so where are you, what are you doing? Anne-Marie realized she was gripping the top of the armchair Ethan had sat in. She pushed herself away.
‘I’m down South,’ Emma was saying, ‘near my parents. I’m feeling stronger again. The distance has helped. Everyone’s been telling me it would. That’s why I want to come back. I want to be there with you both. I want to help.’
‘No! No, that’s really not a good idea!’ Anne-Marie didn’t care if her voice was too loud. The thought of Emma coming back to Nottingham while Ethan Hall was still free was physically painful. She couldn’t take any more pain. Not ever again.
‘I just want to show my support, do what I can,’ Emma said. ‘It’s what Simon would have done if…if things had been different.’
‘But it’s not what he would have wanted you to do. And the situation is so dangerous you really have to keep well out of the way, for our sakes as well as your own. Listen to me, Emma! Marcus would tell you the same if he were here. Stay away until it’s over!’