by Amy Cross
I nod.
"Don't interrupt, and for God's sake don't try to stop me. If you do, I'm liable to cause far more damage".
I nod again.
"Alright," he says, taking a deep breath. "Here we go, then".
With no further warning, he grinds the saw straight through the flesh and bone of Henrietta's pelvis. As he does so, blood sprays into his face, and a fraction of a second later Henrietta sits up from the bed and lets out the most agonized scream I've ever heard in my life.
Elly
Today
Walking with Mark across Waterloo Bridge, watching the night lights reflected in the darkness of the Thames, I find myself struck by a surprising thought.
This is perfect.
Right now, life with Mark is perfect. Sure, I'm recovering from a heart attack, and sure, until recently I suspected that my boyfriend was involved in a series of murders. But slowly, subtly, everything seems to have shifted a little, the world has turned on its axis, and for the first time since I met Mark I'm starting to really see a future for us. It's weird, looking back at those first heady days when I came back to London for my father's funeral, remembering the way Mark came cannon-balling into my life. So much has changed in such a short period of time. As we reach the middle of the bridge, I realize that it wasn't long ago that Mark was speeding along this very street, with me in the passenger seat of his car, en route to an accident that almost destroyed everything.
So much has happened since that night. I abandoned him, and then I came back. We went to Zurich, and then we came back and things seemed to be close to collapse. When the police started asking questions about Carrie, I really thought I'd have to leave Mark. The terrible night with Jess only made things worse, followed by my encounter with Mr. White and, finally, the heart attack. I feel as if I went beyond my limits, and yet somehow I've found my way back to sanity. Given the nightmare of recent weeks, I'm finding it hard to believe that the storm clouds have suddenly cleared.
"I know this must be the fourth or fifth time I've asked this tonight," he says, stopping for a moment and turning to me, "but what are you thinking? I mean, what are you really thinking, Elly?"
"I'm thinking..." I pause, and slowly I realize that all my fears and worries are gone. Maybe I'm being an idiot, and maybe I'm allowing myself to be manipulated, but I figure I can't allow myself to be paranoid forever. At some point, everyone has to take a leap of faith, and right now I have faith in Mark. I've never been the kind of person who's desperate for a relationship, or who wants to run head-first into marriage and children, but right now, right here, I know that I want to be with him for the rest of my life. "Is the game really over?" I ask eventually. "Are you free?"
He nods.
"And they won't come looking for you? Lady Red and Mr. White won't try to pull you back in?"
He shakes his head.
"And I'm free too?"
"You were always free," he replies.
"It didn't always feel like that".
"You could have walked away at any moment," he continues. "I was always careful to remind you of that, Elly. The rules of the game are very clear, and everything that happens, everything you do, only has any value if it's done voluntarily. You always had total freedom to leave the game".
"And you didn't?" I ask.
"It's not like that".
"Then what's it like?"
He pauses. "When you take on a position as Mr. Blue or Mr. White or Lady Red, you're committing to play a very different role. You become an extension of the game. I didn't understand it at the time. I thought it'd be fun when I started. It was only later that I came to realize how the game truly works, and by that point I'd already come too far. That's the one disagreement I ever had with Lady Red. She insisted I was fully informed of my responsibilities as part of the game, right from the start, whereas I felt that my decision to get involved wasn't necessarily an informed choice. It was quite a while before I realized that no-one can ever be truly prepared for the game. No-one can comprehend it from the outside. The best you can do is spot the traces".
"How did you get involved in the first place?"
He smiles awkwardly. "That's a very long story. I was just in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on your point of view. I was just this kid, really, backpacking around Europe, and I'd pretty much run out of money when..." He pauses, as if he's reliving a painful memory. "I met Lady Red in France, just outside Nice. I don't know why, but she seemed to take a shine to me. The rest is history. For the past five years, I've been part of the game. At the same time, Lady Red's contacts helped me to get my business off the ground. That's really why I got involved in the first place. I needed some backing, and it came with conditions. As with everything, it came down to money". He stares at me for a moment. "I never thought I'd meet someone like you through the game. Someone..."
I wait for him to finish.
"Never mind," he says eventually.
"What were you going to say?" I ask.
He pauses.
"Maybe you should ask me again," I say suddenly, feeling my chest tighten as I realize I've gone past the point of no return.
"Ask you what?"
"The question you asked me the other day".
For a moment, he seems confused, and then finally I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Really?" he asks, looking shocked.
I nod, unable to hide a smile.
He glances over his shoulder, as if he's making sure that we're alone. After a few seconds, he gets down onto one knee and looks up at me.
I take a deep breath. The truth is, I can't stop grinning like an idiot.
"Elly Bradshaw," he says slowly, as if he's picking each word with great care. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
I pause.
The whole city seems to slow down and become silent. Even the Thames has stopped flowing while it waits for my answer.
"Yes," I say eventually, and in the fraction of a second it takes for the word to leave my lips, the entire world changes. "Yes," I say again, with tears in my eyes as I start to laugh. "Yes, I'll marry you. I'll be your wife. Yes!"
Standing up, he stares at me for a moment before pulling me closer and kissing me. It's the softest, most gentle kiss I've ever felt, but at the same time it's filled with an entirely new level of passion. It's as if the kiss itself is sealing some kind of secret, unspoken agreement between us. For what feels like an eternity, we continue to kiss on the bridge, until finally he pulls back. I know I should hold back and be more cautious, but at the same time I'm filled with the sense that this moment is perfect.
"Say it again," he whispers.
"What?"
"Your answer".
"Yes".
He smiles, and I can tell that it's a genuine smile. I don't know how I ever managed to doubt Mark. Sure, he got caught up in the game, and maybe he made some mistakes, but now that I've got through to the real man at his core, I can see that he's a good person. I'm not fooling myself. I'm seeing the truth, perhaps for the first time ever.
"You know this isn't going to be perfect, right?" he continues. "We have money. That's not a problem. But even so, life can never be perfect. Marriage isn't a cure for everything. There'll be difficult times for both of us, and we have to face them together".
"I know".
"And I don't want the kind of wife who just sits around and does nothing all day. You're going to go back to university and finish your course, right?" He smiles. "Don't start thinking you're going to live a life of luxury, being fed grapes and wafted with palm trees. You're going to have a life of your own. It's only healthy. You're not going to be a lady of leisure".
"Totally," I say, even though I hadn't even thought about my old life in Bristol. Going back would feel like a retreat, and I don't even know how to be the 'old' Elly Bradshaw. I've become a completely different person. "I guess I might transfer to London, though," I add. "I don't really want to go a
nd spend any more time in Bristol. Not when..." I pause, and once again I can't resist a slightly goofy grin. "Not when my fiance, my future husband, is right here". Swallowing hard, I reach out and prod his chest with a finger. "My. Husband," I say again, and the words send a shiver through my body.
"I have to go to Singapore next week," he replies. "Just for a few days. You're welcome to come, but it's just going to be a long series of meetings. Very boring stuff, mostly about concrete and various other types of construction material. If you'd rather stay here in the penthouse, we can go to Singapore properly later in the year. Maybe we can go and see the Grand Prix? It's a beautiful city, and there's so much I'd love to show you. We can take an extended honeymoon".
"Sounds great," I reply, barely able to get my head around everything that's happening. Suddenly I feel as if I'm drowning, as if there are a million things to think about. Damn it, I need a much bigger brain.
"Then we need to start thinking about the wedding," he continues. "Money's no object, obviously, but I fully understand if you want to have the ceremony somewhere nearby, so your family can attend".
"My family?" I reply, before suddenly realizing that I need to get in touch with my mother. She's going to completely freak out when she finds out that I'm engaged, especially when she discovers the identity of my fiance. She's met Mark, of course, and I know she likes him; then again, she might be a little surprised when she learns that he and I have been dating and that we're now going to get married. I can't help but feel a pang of regret when I realize that my father didn't live to see me reach this moment.
"Don't worry," Mark says, putting his arm around me and holding me close as we continue our walk across the bridge. "We'll get it all sorted out. As long as we're married at the end of it all, I'm happy to let you deal with the details".
When we get home, we make love. Since I'm still recovering from my heart attack, we keep things slow, and as a result there's more passion than I've ever experienced before. Mark strips me naked, his fingers rubbing against my skin as he eventually slips my underwear down. After all the strange and unusual positions we've tried over the past few months, it's strangely satisfying to make love in such a simple way. There are no candles. There's no music. No props. I just open my legs and let him enter me, and he starts to slowly go deeper than I've ever felt him go before. All I can do is reach around and place my hands on his warm, well-toned back and feel the caged power that's lurking in his every muscle. I know he could be pushing me much further, and pounding me so much harder, but he's holding back. Every touch, and every kiss, is alive with the thought of all the force he's holding back.
I climax first, gripping him tight between my legs as I feel my body getting tenser and tenser. Finally, I let out a brief grunt as I feel the ecstasy spread through my body. Mark continues to move slowly inside my body, and the orgasm seems to last forever. Finally, when I'm done, he rolls onto his back and I start to pleasure him with my hands and mouth. Again, I take things very slowly, teasing and tempting him, pulling back every time I realize he's on the verge of pleasure. I kiss the shaft of his penis as I continue to stroke him, and eventually I start to flick the tip with my tongue as I move my hand down to cup his balls. After a few minutes of stimulating the head of his penis, I wrap my fingers around the shaft and start to jerk him off with firm, tight strokes; sure enough, within a few seconds, he reaches orgasm. His whole body tenses as his penis erupts with thick white semen, the first few wads of which fly onto the bed before the rest starts to run down and onto my hand. Eventually, I lean closer and lick his shiny skin, and when I taste some of him in my mouth, I instinctively swallow.
Finally, wrapped up in one another's arms, still messy from our love-making, we fall asleep together.
Jonathan Pope
1901
The screaming continues for hours.
Unable to bear the sound of Henrietta's agony, I retreat to the bar. Although I would dearly prefer to remain in the room with her, I know in truth that there is nothing I can do. Were I to have remained in the room with her, I would surely have ended up pushing John the Pig away and, in the end, prolonging Henrietta's agony. It took all my strength to leave the room and come down to the bar, but from somewhere I have managed to summon up the courage to resist the cries of pain that, even now, continue to ring out from the room upstairs in which John the Pig is still attempting to save the child.
"You look troubled," Darius Wolff says, setting a second pint of beer on the bar in front of me. "Something on your mind?"
Staring at him, I see a smile starting to curl on one side of his mouth.
"If you're bothered about the woman, there's no need," he continues. "It's a well-established fact that women have a very low threshold when it comes to tolerating pain. They wail and moan at the slightest splinter. I know it sounds like she's screaming blue murder up there, but I doubt John the Pig's doing much more than a few cuts in strategic spots". He pauses. "Women aren't like men. It's best to view them as a different species".
Without saying anything, I take a sip of my beer.
"Mind you," he adds, "it's taking him a long time, isn't it? I've never known him to spend so many hours on one operation. Then again, I've never known him to do work on a woman before. Maybe he's got a bit lost in her bits. The inside of a woman is totally different to the inside of a man. According to John the Pig, the inside of a woman is more like the inside of a horse. I'm not sure how he knows that. He must have read it".
"Enough," I mutter, taking another sip.
"What's wrong?" he replies. "Am I not helping?"
"You -" I start to say, before flinching as Henrietta lets out yet another cry of pain. "What is that butcher doing to her?" I continue, poised to go and stop him. "Surely enough is enough?"
"I don't hear the sound of a newborn baby yet," he replies. "Don't they start making a noise almost as soon as they're out?"
"If he's not done soon," I say bitterly, "I shall go up there and..." I pause, realizing that there's no way I can ever go charging into that room. Whatever has been done to Henrietta, it must surely have left her in a total mess, and I couldn't stand to see so much of her blood spilled across the floor. I would prefer my last image of her to be a little calmer and more peaceful. "She cannot stand much more," I continue. "She will surely pass soon".
"You'd think so," Wolff mutters, "but apparently women don't need blood. They don't actually have hearts, you see".
I stare at him. "Women... don't have hearts?"
"I read it," he replies. "Instead of a heart, what they've got in the middle of their chest is an extra lung. It's very small, but it allows them to shout a bit louder than a man. That's why they shriek and moan so much".
I continue to stare at him. Of all his half-baked claims about women, this is surely the most ridiculous.
"I know," he continues. "I was shocked too when I found out, but apparently it's true. The ironic thing is, women are always going on about hearts, aren't they? I'm not sure most of them know they haven't got one. Maybe it's best not to tell them. Still, it's a physiological fact. At least they've got brains, although some of them act like their heads are hollow".
"Henrietta has a heart," I reply slowly. "I have felt it beating".
"That's just -"
"She has a heart," I say again, this time more firmly. I'm not in the mood to hear any more of Wolff's drivel. "I have felt her pulse".
Wolff sniffs derisively. "I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree," he acknowledges eventually. "I mean, granted, I've never poked around inside a woman's body, so I don't have first-hand knowledge, but I read a lot, and I hear things. John the Pig agrees that -"
"Dear God," I say, suddenly filled with the realization that I might have made a terrible mistake. "What kind of a butcher have I let loose on my dear Henrietta?"
At that moment, as I'm poised to rush upstairs, I suddenly hear the cry of a newborn child. I stand completely still, trying to make sure that I'm not imagining the
whole thing.
"You hear that too, do you not?" I ask, turning to Wolff.
He nods.
"The child lives," I continue, barely able to believe that such a miracle could possibly have taken place. "Against all the odds, the child lives!" Running from the bar, I make my way up the stairs two at a time until I reach the door to John the Pig's makeshift surgery. Sure enough, the sound of a newborn child is coming from within, but as I place my hand on the door handle, I realize that I dare not enter. For one thing, there is the possibility of blood. For another, I have only just recognized that the child's cries came at the expense of Henrietta's screams. She has fallen silent, which can only mean one thing.
After a moment, the door opens and John the Pig steps out of the room, holding a wriggling, squirming newborn baby in his arms, wrapped in a blood-soaked towel.
"This is it?" I ask, unable to take my eyes away from the child's face.
"You have a son," he says, his voice sounding a little cowed, almost as if the act of birth has stunned even this depraved beast.
"And Henrietta?"
He shakes his head.
"A son," I continue, reaching out and taking the child. "A child born of the game".
"You don't want to talk like that," John the Pig points out. "The walls have ears around here, remember".
Staring at the child's face, I feel myself becoming overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment. After everything that has happened, I have finally reached the point at which I can hold my son in my arms.
"He shall be known as Thomas," I say after a moment. "Thomas Pope, son of Jonathan Pope and Lady Henrietta deHavilland".