by J. A. Kerr
“Okay, but don’t take too long. Don’t make me come back here and hurt you.” He smiled. “You’re not my type but I’ve learned to be less choosy. I’ve not killed in a while but I’ve got the itch again…going to need scratching soon.”
With those words left hanging in the air, he walked out of the cell.
Nick breathed out as his mind reeled with the task he had been given. He must find the weakest link in the group and start there. He went to his prison diary and flicked through his appointments. The person he needed to see who could help him infiltrate this group was not due till next week. He would need to cancel and rearrange several patients. A difficult exercise but necessary. He got to work emailing one of his more amiable patients with a new appointment time.
Nick offered his apologies, citing circumstances out of his control, but as a show of good faith he offered to extend the original appointment by a further thirty minutes. The email system was heavily monitored. However, it was an approved method of communication used in prisoner rehabilitation. He sent a second mail to the prisoner he needed and waited. It took time, as predicted, but gradually he made progress. One by one they started to leave the young man alone. He dropped by Nick’s cell to say he was happy with what he had done. Several weeks went by and all was quiet until Nick gave the nod. The young inmate had relaxed and let his guard down. He didn’t notice how quiet the room had become, and when he did it was too late—they had him surrounded. Nick stepped out from the shadows at that point to watch.
When it came, the punch was brutal, directed into his back and kidneys; the air knocked from his lungs, his legs buckled. Several punches followed until Nick whistled and they all stopped and stepped away.
Nick moved closer to the figure lying face down in a pool of his own blood. He grabbed the boy’s hair with his good hand and yanked up his head.
“Don’t make me come back and hurt you,” he laughed in his face. “You’re my bitch now.”
Chapter 25
The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Stoicum Braille Chair is central to everything. It has been altered to deliver an element of pain in the form of electrical shocks. Preferences depended upon requirements and electrical shocks ranged from mild to severe.
London 2014
Ford
Ford rubbed his face tiredly; he had worked over eighty hours this week and was ready to go home. Booked on an early afternoon flight from London City to Glasgow, he couldn’t wait. He had that tingling of excitement only his hometown could evoke. Monique popped into his head and he felt guilty; he had hardly given her a thought, let alone miss her, and sensed their relationship had run its course. His time in Holland was coming to a natural conclusion; it was time to move on to new adventures.
He took one last look around the apartment. His eyes lingered on the chair that set his pulse racing. He sighed regretfully and lifted his case. Hailing a taxi, he made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. With only hand luggage he was through passport control quickly and made his way to the executive lounge. Once inside he helped himself to a beer and sat down to read the paper. However, he couldn’t concentrate, his mind consumed by all things Braille. The lounge was quiet at first but was steadily getting busier. He looked at the departure information and frowned, his gate number was still absent, always a bad sign.
He heard her before he saw her, his head whipping round to see Esme MacDonald complaining there was no chilled white wine. She must have felt his stare. Her eyes found his, her look hard and aggressive. His heart missed a beat; he couldn’t believe she was standing three feet from him. It had been well over a decade since he’d seen her.
“Esme, of all the lounges, in all the world, you have to walk into mine.” He grinned, but his smile faltered.
She blinked rapidly, her face puzzled before recognition dawned.
“Crawford Munroe…” she said, giving him the once over. “You’ve changed.” She smiled approvingly.
“Aye, I’m all grown up, as you can see.” His smile was tight as he gave her a little bow, and she snorted.
“Still full of shite then,” she retorted, and they both laughed but stopped when they heard a collective groan from the room. The departure information was updated. Their flight was delayed.
“Typical bloody Friday,” Esme fumed as her wine glass was filled to the brim.
Thanking the member of staff, she stood awkwardly beside him. Ford looked at Esme, noting the Burberry coat she had draped over her arm, the neat suit and heels, but the big change was her hair. She’d had it cut short. It had taken him by surprise and he conceded that she suited it. She appeared more mature but the old Esme was still there, he could sense it. He looked at her left hand, the diamond hard to ignore. So Esme was engaged. She saw him looking but said nothing as she sipped her wine.
“Please, will you join me?” he asked.
“Aye,” said Esme and plonked herself down beside him, making him laugh as she tugged at her shoes.
“These little devils should come with a health warning,” she moaned as she rubbed her feet.
“Well, you don’t have to wear them, Esme. I doubt you need them on the job,” Ford responded.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, Ford. In a male-dominated industry like ours, it makes me stand out.” She smirked.
“I would think that haircut would do that,” he retorted.
Her hand shot up to the nape of her neck as a pink flush spread over her pale cheeks. “You noticed,” she drawled. “I take it you don’t approve?”
Ford shrugged, something was amiss, but he didn’t know what.
“Are you going home for the weekend?” he asked, changing the subject. Her grimace told him everything.
“My mum’s not great; she’s in a home now, so I try to see her as often as I can. Not that she knows me anymore, but that’s the illness.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Esme,” he said, the concern in his voice genuine. He knew she’d had a shit childhood. Her mum, a borderline alcoholic, had brought her up single-handed and there was never enough money. Esme had been her mother’s carer even then. She never knew her father, he’d left when she was a baby and her mother never recovered.
“At least she’s looked after properly now,” she sighed. “What takes you back?”
“I’ve got a contract in London and it’s been ages since I’ve been back to God’s own country.”
Esme smiled sadly. “I won’t go back after Mum goes.”
Ford felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to say. There was a further collective groan as the Glasgow flight was delayed further.
“Shit, I’ll miss Danny and the lads at this rate,” Ford said, annoyed.
“Oh my God, do you still meet up with Danny? How is he?” Esme’s questions tumbled out.
“He’s good—they all are. Wish I saw them more often, to be honest, it’s been months, but work’s been so hectic.” Ford lifted his beer and realised it was empty.
“Another?” He indicated to Esme’s half full wine.
“Go on, be rude not to.” She grinned and Ford couldn’t help smiling back at her. All these years thinking of Esme and after one week in London, he was sitting by her side. However, the feeling of unease persisted.
They filled the time catching up on each other’s lives. After several trips to the bar and down memory lane, they were more comfortable with each other. It was natural they boarded the plane together, Ford persuading the passenger next to Esme to swap seats.
He ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate going home and meeting up after all this time. They were both in high spirits and a little drunk. As the aircraft landed, Ford reached for Esme’s luggage without thinking. They both travelled light and were soon heading for the taxi rank. He didn’t want to say goodbye and said he would drop Esme wherever she was going. She hesitated before saying she was staying in a hotel in the West End. Ford’s eyes lit up, that’s where he was headed now. As the taxi stopped on Byres Road and they tumbled
out, she turned to Ford.
“Tell the guys I was asking for them, will you?” she told him, eyes bright.
“Tell them yourself.” Ford grinned as Danny walked towards them.
Esme squealed as she was enveloped in a bear hug and her body lifted from the ground. They all waited their turn to welcome her, and there was no question she wouldn’t join them as they walked into the pub. Esme was the belle of the ball and they all wanted a piece of her.
“Have you eaten, Esme?” Ford asked, feeling a bit peckish.
“You know eating…cheating,” she responded, and they both laughed. God, he had missed her, her fast wit and easy smile, but still he saw her unease. Was Esme hiding something? There was a cloud in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, but tonight was for enjoying.
Last orders came too quickly, and the group broke up after a trip to the chippie. Fish suppers in one hand and their luggage in the other, they said their goodbyes as the rest of the group hailed taxis. They wandered towards Esme’s hotel.
“Ooooh, very swanky,” Ford replied, impressed.
“Come in for a drink,” said Esme, a desperate note in her tone.
“Okay,” Ford replied as they threw their wrappers away and entered reception. Ford had intended to go home to his parents’ house. However, he’d sent them an earlier text, saying he’d had a change of plans and was bunking at Danny’s. He’d see them tomorrow and his heart squeezed a little at the thought. They were both retired, his father’s health failing a little each year, although his mother was as strong as an ox.
“Let’s get a drink,” Ford replied, but Esme was already taking care of that. Their drinks were put in front of them by a friendly waiter as they collapsed into the hotel’s chairs. Ford couldn’t put it off any longer and finally asked Esme the question that had been on the tip of his tongue all night.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” he enquired as he noticed Esme twisting the ring around her finger.
Esme didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t answer him either, just sipped her drink.
“Es?” he asked, reverting to her pet name.
“That’s always been your problem, Ford, you ask too many questions,” Esme replied.
“I’m interested, that’s all,” he replied, puzzled.
“It’s none of your business,” said Esme caustically.
“Suit yourself, but something’s been off all night. Just tell me you’re all right, you’re happy, and we’ll leave it at that.”
Esme burst into tears.
“Of course I’m not bloody happy, I’m living a lie, have been for years,” she sobbed.
“I’m gay, Ford, you know…bat for the other side.” She gasped as if the revelation pained her. “I hate myself for pretending. The ring is to throw men off the scent, to fool my work colleagues, to make my life easier. I couldn’t bear to see the speculation in their eyes, the office whispers about my personal life. The ring seemed like the answer. You thought I didn’t want you but I was angry and confused. I didn’t want any guy and I was glad. After what that bastard did to my mother…it seemed fitting. I couldn’t let anyone get close…until I met you. I couldn’t get rid of you,” said Esme, sighing. “You grew on me like a barnacle…that first time we kissed, I did feel something, a spark, but I knew deep down what I was. When we kissed goodbye, I didn’t want to give you false hope.” As she lifted her tormented eyes to his, he was for once, lost for words.
“Yeah, it’s a conversation stopper,” Esme sniffed. “Come up for a night cap, Ford, you know you’ll be safe with me,” she said, a wry smile on her lips. Ford had never needed a drink more in his life and followed Esme, dumbstruck, to her room, his mind reeling. Within five minutes Esme had poured them both a gin with only a splash of tonic.
“Ford, are you up to the mini-bar challenge?” she asked.
“Ahhh, memories, it’s been a while, but I think I can handle it.” He laughed grimly.
They clinked glasses and downed their drinks while grinning stupidly at each other.
“I’m going to slip into something more comfortable,” Esme snorted, kicking her shoes off and rummaging in her case. “Won’t be long.” She smiled, disappearing into the toilet.
Ford poured them more drinks. God, he had missed her, missed the way she spoke, the way she laughed, the way she turned him on, but now this latest revelation…
When she came out Ford took another gulp of his drink. She was dressed in an old t-shirt that barely covered her bum as she flopped down on the seat beside him.
“Christ, Esme, you’re not even decent,” Ford protested, his eyes drinking in the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra as she tucked her legs under her.
“Don’t be such a prude. I didn’t know I’d have male company or I would have packed my flannelette nightie for you.” She laughed.
Together they consumed the delights of the mini-bar, getting drunker and drunker.
Esme saw Ford’s eyes on her.
“Go on, kiss me. I’ll not feel anything but I can tell you’re dying to.”
“You’ve got a high opinion of yourself. Are you up for a wee game, Esme?”
“You know I love challenges, what did you have in mind?” She looked at him intently and Ford suddenly felt hot. His attraction to her was stronger than ever despite what she’d told him.
“Well, it’s funny you should say I can’t make you feel anything because I bet I can.”
“Na, don’t think so.” She smiled. “But knock yourself out.”
He removed the Braille membership card from his pocket and unwound the black ribbon.
“Okay, humour me here, I need you to make a wee leap of faith.”
“What’s that? I’m not into any kinky shit,” said Esme, looking alarmed.
“Don’t be daft, this is just about touch, Esme. I won’t do anything improper, you’re quite safe.”
“Oh that’s a shame.” She giggled but her eyes were wary as he approached her.
“This is a game of endurance but you will feel no pain. I’ll slip these over your hands.” Ford gently took her hands and slipped the looped ribbon around them. She stared at her hands and moved them around.
“Can you hear the bell?”
“Yes, what’s it for?” asked Esme, intrigued.
“It’s part of the game,” he said mysteriously.
“You’ve gone all coy,” she exhaled. “Tell me more.”
“It’s best if you rest your hands in your lap,” Ford instructed, pleased when Esme did as she was told.
“I will put this blindfold over your eyes. Keep yourself and your hands still. If you don’t and the bell rings—I win. Are you up for it?”
Esme looked at Ford with interest and curiosity clear in her face. “Go on then, we’ve not got all night.”
Ford slipped the blindfold over Esme’s eyes.
“Oooh, that’s weird, I can’t see a thing.”
“I’ll put some music on.” He clicked into his iPhone and selected Adele. He knew the music masked the sounds of movement and turned the volume up full.
“I love this album,” said Esme.
“The other rule is you can’t talk.”
“What?” said Esme, outraged. “Well, that’s bloody convenient, I feel like an eejit,” she snorted.
“Nod your head if you want to continue,” Ford replied, enjoying himself.
Esme nodded her head.
“Remember, you can’t move your hands. Nod if you understand.”
Esme nodded and Ford started straight away. He lightly traced his fingers around the back of her neck and she stiffened at his touch. His mind was racing; he wanted her to feel something. He repeated the caress to her neck and collarbones with his fingers again and again. When he traced the outline of her jaw she tensed further. His fingers explored her face, caressing her cheeks, her earlobes, and eyes.
It was strangely intimate and he could hear her breath quickening. When he drew his thumb along her bottom lip he was rewarded with a little gasp. He f
elt his body tense in response and a smile appeared on his face. He was enjoying himself even more now, and he was enjoying Esme. The air in the room seemed to change as his fingers travelled around her mouth, gliding over her lips again and again. She was panting and when he slipped his finger into her mouth it was hot and moist. He almost lost control, but steeling himself, he dragged his wet fingers along her neck as a moan escaped her lips. He repeated the sequence several times, feeling Esme’s responses building.
When he finally bent over and placed his lips where his fingers had just been, Esme’s body jerked and he kissed her. The bells sounded, but he didn’t stop. Her mouth was clamped onto his and the kiss was passionate and intense until he broke free.
“Do you feel anything now, Esme?” he whispered into her ear. He pulled the loops from her wrists and the blindfold from her eyes. Her face was flushed as her eyes blinked in the light.
“You certainly don’t kiss like you bat for the other side,” said Ford, as he ran his thumb over her mouth again. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, kissing her forehead. Esme shivered but said nothing as he left her sitting there, her eyes full of confusion, as he gently closed the hotel door.
Chapter 26
The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Stoicum Hood is last, but not least. It too has been altered, allowing the patron more access. It brings assignee hair into play. Exposed, it can be pulled and tugged, a simple but effective form of pain.
Niven
Niven didn’t have to wait long for Clarisse to react to Toby’s insolence; she had the locks changed on the doors that day. Toby made the mistake of not treating her with respect and therefore her friendship had been withdrawn indefinitely. He had always been charming to her up to that point but his mask slipped, revealing a Toby that Clarisse did not care for. With no hesitation she cut him out of their lives there and then. Niven’s father was working abroad for several weeks and was not at home to hear his son’s side of the story. Niven confided in Maria how frightened of Toby she was and Maria believed her. She had seen something in him that disturbed her, and they were both relieved that he was gone from the house. That’s when it started.