ART: A Novel of Extreme Horror and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  I knew they wouldn’t tell me but it just seemed an obvious thing for an innocent person to ask, especially having been confronted by two officers. The second officer made a note in his pad. I couldn’t tell what he was writing but was curious to know. Nothing I had said could have been perceived as noteworthy - surely. “I was thinking about booking a room there,” I told them. “Thought it looked like a nice place to take this lady I’m seeing...”

  “You wouldn’t bring her back here?”

  “Would you? Have you been in the lift?” I asked with a smile, knowing full well that they wouldn’t have used the stairs. Neither officer returned my smile. If anything I think it made them scowl that little bit more. Come on mask. Work your magic. Make me appear normal. Make me appear innocent. “Anyway, the sight of all the police cars put me off.” The second officer was still scribbling notes down in his pad. “Just as well really,” I continued, “lady friend dumped me anyway,” I said, painting myself as a tragic figure as opposed to potential killer and psychopath.

  “I think that just about covers everything for now. If you think of anything that may be of interest, don’t hesitate to call. We might well be back to speak to you again.”

  I took the card from his hand and looked at the name. Detective Martin Andrews. A phone number. Some other information. Hardly the most inspiring card but then I guess they don’t really get a say in how their card looks. Still, at least it let me know who was working my case. Our little meeting was unproductive for him but, for me it opened the door to really have some fun. Something to pass the time until my gallery was ready for the grand unveiling. Have to be careful though in case they get too close.

  I showed them to the door and watched as they walked down the corridor. Little does he know, he’s just sealed the fate of poor little Mandy. I smiled as I closed the door before sliding the business card into my pocket. Interesting.

  * * *

  “So what do you think?” Perkins asked as we walked back down to the car.

  “I’m not sure yet, he seemed straight enough. He was forthcoming about his answers at any rate.” Perkins nodded, and I could tell he had something on his mind.

  “Spit it out, what are you thinking?”

  We clambered into the car, and I fired up the engine, warming my hands on the heater.

  “I don’t know, he seemed a little… off to me.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

  “Could be that you're looking for things that aren’t there. We‘ve all done that, especially when we‘re just starting out. Try not to make personal judgements. Let the evidence do that for you. If he’s guilty, then something will come up we can use to nail him. Until then, best if we just let this play out.”

  “I hope it does,” Perkins said as I put the car into gear and headed back towards the station. “It’s the only lead we have.”

  There was no answer to that, so I chose not to reply. Instead we drove in silence. As far as weeks went, this one couldn’t end soon enough.

  CHAPTER 11.

  FRIDAY

  “What’s this?” I asked as I eyed the box on my desk.

  “Came for you this morning,” Perkins said without looking up from his computer.

  “You sure it’s for me?”

  “It’s got your name on it hasn’t it, ya dopey cunt!” Wyatt said with his usual charm and grace.

  I eyed up the package and saw that it did indeed have my name carefully printed on the label. I wondered if it was from Lucy, another apology that she neither owed me nor that I deserved. We had barely spoken at all since the farce at the meal, and the last couple of days had been spent with me mostly walking on eggshells and trying not to make things worse. There was no disguising it though. The gulf between us was growing wider.

  “Maybe you have a secret admirer eh, Martin?” Wyatt said, flashing his yellowed, gap-toothed grin. As much as I liked to join in with the banter, I really couldn’t be arsed, so I let it slide and turned my attention back to the box. The rest of my mail I set aside. It was the usual forests worth of shite. Copies of reports or witness statements, other stuff that would just get shoved into a drawer for a year until it was thrown out unread. The day these bastards go paperless will be a day for celebration. My phone buzzed in my jacket, and I snatched it out, hoping it would be Lucy, but it was another one of those fucking spam mails about reclaiming PPI charges. Those bastards ought to get a real job instead of cluttering up the inboxes of people who didn’t give a shit about the services they offered. With my day going from bad to worse, I shoved the phone back into my pocket and peeled the tape off the box. And looked inside.

  There was another smaller box inside. It looked like a shoebox. I pulled off the lid, and it took me a few seconds to register what I was seeing. I lurched away from my desk, sending my chair rolling across the floor and crashing into the filing cabinet.

  “What is it,” Wyatt asked as he got up and came towards me, as did everyone else in the office.

  I was numb. I couldn’t move, I didn’t know what to do.

  “Someone get fuckin’ forensics in here, now!” Wyatt shouted.

  “Are you okay Martin?”

  I think it was Perkins, but he sounded as if he were underwater. Either way I was in no fit state to answer him. All I could do was stare into the box.

  The note said just two simple words. ‘See Me’ scrawled in marker pen. One corner was stained with blood. Around it, mounted on sticks were two eyes, their bulbous mass still fleshy with optical nerves hanging like macabre decorations. My stomach rolled, then tightened, then rolled once more. I could feel my heart thundering in my chest. It was then I began to understand that this was a personal message sent directly to me, and that there could be wider consequences.

  Lucy.

  “My wife…” I stammered, barely able to articulate the words.

  “I’m on my way, I’ll go straight there,” Wyatt said, all joking and bravado forgotten.

  “You know where he lives don’t you, Perkins?” Wyatt said as he pulled on his leather jacket.

  “Yes, but…”

  “Well come on, let’s go.”

  “Who would do this, Martin?” Patterson said, which was funny as I didn’t even notice him standing beside me. “Who would do this and why?”

  I had no answer to that, and my brain, in no fit state to even attempt to figure it out, ignored the question. With shaking hands, I slid open my desk drawer and fished out the half pack of Berkley Superkings and silver lighter that I’d kept as a memento of my quitting smoking, and walked out of the door, leaving my colleagues gaping into the box that had been sent to me.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but I also knew I needed to have just one, to calm my nerves. It was in my mouth and lit almost before I got outside, that first drag not helping the nausea, but I willed it to pass all the same. Good god, that nicotine rush was worth it. I don’t care what anyone says, that feeling is the best in the world. I sat on the curb outside, arms resting on knees, head down as I let the blessed cocktail of the cancer stick surge through me. My hands were shaking so much that I dropped the cigarette, which fell into the sewer grate at my feet. Unable to hold it back any longer, I threw up, retching into the very same grate and splashing my trousers and shoes with flecks of partially digested breakfast.

  With nothing else left to eject, and ignoring the glances of passers-by on the street, I did what any man in my position would. Did I launch back into the building and into the investigation? Did I lead my team in demanding answers? Not exactly. I lit another cigarette and smoked it down to the tip, then another. By the fourth one, my throat was sore, but I didn’t care. All that mattered is what the message meant, and who the hell would send it to me?

  CHAPTER 12.

  FRIDAY

  Detective Andrews had left my house, with his little friend, and yet I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head. Here was the man charged with taking me down before I c
ould do any more harm. Here was, for all intents and purposes, my enemy. All night I contemplated how to mess with his head. At first I wanted to remain anonymous to him. I wanted to stay off his radar so I could do what needed to be done. The sight of the badges, when they’d first flashed them, had caused me to panic a little - not that I showed it. At least, if I did, they didn’t appear to have have picked up on it. But then the inner darkness, the one which had surfaced at work earlier in the toilets, returned, floating to the surface with little to no effort as though it had always been close by.

  I was enjoying the attention I was being paid by the authorities. I liked the fact that I felt challenged. It made me feel good, special almost, and as the evening had progressed I couldn’t help but want him to know it was me. Let him know that I had stood so close to him, talked to him, and yet he had walked away. I wanted him to realise that that had been his one chance to take me down and he’d missed it because he hadn’t looked hard enough. Hell, all he’d had to do was to come further into my apartment and chances are he’d have seen the photos of the crime scene - before it was considered one - sitting there on my kitchen table where I’d left them last weekend. Even now, after yesterday’s close call, they were still there. Well - not all of them - just one. I needed the others to make up my invitations with when my gallery opens.

  I’d taken the majority of the Polaroid’s, packed a bag of clothes along with some essential toiletries, all of the credit cards I’d secured over the months and that was it. Nothing else was needed. Nothing else was going to be missed from the house. And, just like that, I’d left the apartment with the knowledge that I was never going back. Neither there nor to work - both were off limits now.

  It had been two hours after the police visit when I’d left the apartment. I’d thrown the two bags into the back of the car and driven to the old family home, taking the long route, making sure to double back on myself on regularly to be sure that I hadn’t been followed. Not that I thought I would be. They wouldn’t have arranged a tail at this stage of our relationship. They wouldn’t go to that much trouble just because I’d dared drive past the hotel. Regardless I’d rather be safe than sorry. And now - now I had decided to play with the police - I needed to be even more careful than before. Ensure I didn’t do something stupid to lead them straight to me.

  When I got back to the house Mandy was pleased to see me. I think my energetic excitement had made her nervous, but I couldn’t help myself. The thought of being so close to the person who wanted to send me to prison was overpowering but not nearly as much as the plans I’d made for the rest of the night. Of course I’d smiled, placed my bags down in the hallway, and of course I’d reassured her that there was nothing to worry about. I told her that, although I was there, she was still more than welcome to be my guest and that nothing had changed. It was then that she asked me whether I had been feeling okay. A fair question I guess as, looking back, I’d been acting differently to how she was used to but I had her now. I no longer needed to be the nice guy manipulating her into getting what I wanted. I didn’t need to wear the mask anymore, in fact, the mask would ultimately have been the one thing which could have led to my downfall. Yesterday, in the toilets at work, I’d realised that. The mask was slipping and getting harder to hide behind.

  I kept telling Mandy I was fine, promising her that everything was better now and how grateful I was that she was there. She smiled at me. At least, she smiled at first. Her smile had soon disappeared from her face, replaced with a look of sheer terror and panic as I wrapped my hands around her scrawny neck and crushed her windpipe as hard as I could. She was struggling there, with my hands around her throat, with her shadow dancing on the wall in the frantic flickering of the flame by her side. As she fought against my grip I couldn’t help but be aware of my growing erection - that familiar stirring below which I’d always been so good at ignoring. I didn’t have time to dwell upon that this evening though, as I had a lot to do and, by this point in my evening, I was only too aware that time ticked on.

  Just as I had previously suspected, the girl was weak and didn’t put up much of a struggle. She tried kicking and clawing at me. She attempted to hit me and even push me away but her exertions became increasingly weaker until her body just went limp. She'd only been prevented from dropping to the floor because of the vice-like grip I had on her. Despite her limp limbs, I still held my hands around her neck for a few minutes more. Just to be sure.

  It was a new morning now and I had woken up with as much excitement buzzing through me as when I had come to bed the night before. Not just because of what I’d done but also because Detective Andrews would most likely have received his parcel by now. Mandy’s pretty little eyes pulled from her equally pretty head whilst her body was still warm. I wondered whether there’d been any hint of life in her as I’d pulled them from their sockets. If so, had she seen what I was doing? I rolled over in what was once my parent’s bed and looked at her corpse. “Did you get to watch me?” I asked her. No answer. How rude. I reached across with my right hand and turned her head towards me so that I could stare down into the empty eye-sockets. “Did you see what I was doing to you?” I asked her again. Another question unanswered. “Do you still see me?” I leant forward to her dead body and kissed her on the mouth. She didn’t flinch away. I guess she doesn’t see me anymore. Was just a thought anyway. Never spent so much time with a corpse before now. I have to confess, before all this kicked off, it’s not something that I’d envisioned I’d ever do but... it’s nice. It’s peaceful. I experienced the same feeling back at the hotel room when I looked upon my art. Not only did I see a thing of beauty but I also felt peace. At the time, in the hotel, I didn’t know what it was - what I was experiencing. I just knew I liked it. Last night, after dropping the parcel off to the police station, I felt it again. I sat down with the body for no other reason than to enjoy the moment and enjoy the feeling. It was then that I realised what the sensation had been. I had felt peace and, more worryingly, that before I’d started all this, I’d never really experienced it before. Not properly.

  I’d taken the girl up the stairs to the bedroom, carrying her in my arms. The emotions that I’d felt with her around, I didn’t want to forget or miss out on, so I thought it was the best thing to do.

  This morning, lying with her, I didn’t feel the same kind of peace. I felt something else - the sensation which had stirred yesterday at work, which had seen me run to the toilets to calm myself down. I’m feeling that again. I’m not fighting it though. I have to say, I’m enjoying it just as I eventually enjoyed it yesterday, when I wasn’t standing somewhere so public.

  I reached across to her body and cupped her breast - still covered by her bra and blouse. I half expected something within my brain to stop me from doing what I was doing, a little voice to tell me that it was wrong. But I heard nothing. Instead, there was a small voice which became louder the more I pressed against the bra’s soft padding, telling me this feels nice. I sat up and ripped her blouse open, revealing the cotton bra which I had previously seen when the girl thought it was what I’d wanted. I felt those same strong feelings which had stirred the day before so it wasn’t long before I pulled the bra down to reveal her pert, pale breasts. They’re perfect if not a bit cool to the touch. I gave them both a squeeze.

  Urges stirred inside, encouraging me to go further. I felt as though I was no longer myself. I felt like a new person. Someone I couldn’t control, nor really wanted to. I jumped up from the bed and feverishly pulled at her gray skirt which ripped off with ease, showing her white cotton panties, stained through days of living on the streets. The thought of the girl’s father popped into my mind - albeit briefly - and I couldn’t help but think what kind of sick bastard would do that to their own daughter. As I said, a brief thought as I found myself ripping the panties away to reveal a tainted pussy and the beginnings of an unkempt bush. A girl of her age, clearly having not experimented too much with styles, had left it to do its own th
ing. Fair enough. Had her life been fair, she would have had all the time in the world to decide what she was comfortable with and, who knows, maybe she would have preferred the natural look as opposed to trimming back or having a Brazilian. The thoughts receded from my mind. Instead all I could think about was how fucking hot it looked. Her father - clearly a man of taste.

  Taste.

  I leant forward and breathed in the rotten scent. I’m not sure how long she’d been on the streets, or how long she’d gone unwashed, or whether the smell was just because of her death. All I knew was that I was more turned on than I’d ever been before and I liked it. Before I knew what I was doing I flicked my tongue across the slit.

  Salty.

  My excitement grew. Using two fingers I parted her lips and let my tongue dart, briefly at first, inside. I wasn’t sure whether it was death which tasted so delightful or whether it was the remnants of her natural juices. The leftover fragrance of a once innocent girl. A few more laps of my tongue before I kissed my way up her body, spending a little more time than entirely necessary at her bullet-like nipples. In death was she turned on by what I was doing? Or is this the start of rigor-mortis? The latter I guessed. Her limbs had been extremely stiff to move and I’m sure - when I forced them - I heard cracks from underneath the skin. Are bones breaking? Is that possible?

  Forget about it. Not important. She won’t care if they are breaking just as I won’t care so long as she is tight. A few kisses on her neck before I pulled, gently, at her chin to open her mouth - just enough to give my tongue the space needed to slip in. I was surprised by the force needed to part her mouth but I got there in the end. I stopped kissing her long enough to spit into my hand. Spit which I rubbed into her young cunt before using the same hand to guide myself into her tight vagina. No need for protection. Not with this one. I sighed as the saliva helped me slip in. She feels good. Tighter than the whore I fucked. Certainly as tight as I had imagined. Is that because of her being dead or because of her being so young? I didn’t care as I started to thrust backwards and forwards, all the time looking directly into the dark sockets of her empty eyes; my mind going back to what it had been like digging my fingers into their sides to pull them out, remembering how much I’d enjoyed it and the hard-on that it had earned me at the time. I couldn’t help myself but to move up slightly and rim each of the sockets in turn. The excitement, the lust, the tightness of her cunt enveloping my prick, became too much and I ejaculated hard.