Bone Dancer

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  He tightened his grip, raising her until her toes barely touched the floor. He kept her going round, both arms encircling her waist, her head horizontal with the floor. She felt light-headed. Powerless.

  He slowed, to place a kiss on her throat. “It’s almost time, my love.”

  He let her go.

  She fell to the floor. “You said you would release the girl.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Her name is Amanda.”

  “Please, release Amanda.”

  He pursed his lips, staring at her. “I'll put you back on the radiator. Try anything and she dies.”

  Yvonne held her breath as he took out fresh cable ties, fastening her once more to the cold metal.

  He pulled on his coat and grabbed the crossbow. “I’ll release her, but it’ll mean your mates pouring all over this place. You and I will die all the sooner.”

  She nodded. “I know. I still want you to release her.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Please... take her a blanket?”

  He grabbed an old, paint-spattered sheet, before leaving the room.

  “Did you do it? Is Amanda free?”

  “She is.” He pulled out his mobile phone, placing it in front of her face. “Want to watch?”

  She didn’t know whether she wanted to watch, afraid of what she might see. The stiff muscles in his face had her fearing he had killed the woman. A sob came from inside her.

  He pressed play on the video.

  The footage bobbed up and down in time with his footfall as he’d approached the hole in waterlogged ground. Then came the cries for help, sounding like the yelps and screams of a wounded animal.

  The footage switched to ground level as he had placed the phone down to lower a rope into the hole. Yvonne heard the gruff instructions he shouted to Amanda, to tie the rope around her waist.

  Amanda resisted, at first. Perhaps, afraid of his next move.

  Yvonne held her breath, The woman appeared thin and dirty, her eyes, sunken. She hunched over as though expecting violence. Even through the camera lens, the DI could see how she wobbled, frightened to take a step.

  Wyn took the blanket from under his arm and draped it over her. There was no tenderness in his movement. It was a cold thing holding no meaning.

  He put the phone away. “See? I kept my word. Now, get ready to keep yours.”

  He clicked the phone off.

  “What… What happened to her after that?” She looked up at him wide-eyed, pulling against the ties holding her to the radiator.

  “I told her to keep walking, until she found someone.”

  “Did you give her food? Water?”

  “No.”

  She turned her face to the floor. “What if she's injured?”

  “She’s free. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s what you got.”

  He lifted her chin. “What about your side of the bargain?”

  Yvonne whimpered. She couldn't bear the thought of his touching her.

  He knelt to release her from the radiator. “Move, and I will hurt you.”

  She fought to keep her body still, knowing she mustn't appear weak, even though she had nothing left with which to bargain.

  He lifted her to her feet. Free from the radiator, but with her hands strapped behind her back, she stared in defiance.

  “Where were we? Oh yes, we were dancing.” His eyes bored into her. He gripped her with force and they danced an awkward waltz.

  She followed his lead, her movements disjointed. Eyes tight shut, holding back tears, she prayed her team were close.

  He pulled her to him and put his face in her neck.

  22

  You win, You lose

  Outside, armed police were closing in, running between the trees at the edge of the wood. They were in a quiet dell, not that far from the lane where they had parked their vehicles.

  Dewi and the others halted in the long grass. They could just see the lockup through the trees at the wood’s edge.

  He groaned in frustration. “This is taking so long.”

  The DCI pulled a face. “I feel your pain, Dewi, but if we hadn’t traced the owner of the lockup, we'd still be searching for her.”

  Tasha nodded, her face, drawn. “We can’t rush this. He has nothing left to lose. Go in like the cavalry and he’ll kill her. He has weapons. We can’t take that risk.”

  “Agreed.” Chris Llewellyn looked about them. “Let’s let the ARV guys do their job. This is what they’re good at.”

  “Wait, look!” Dai pointed to where a figure had emerged from the trees.

  Tasha drew in a sharp breath. “Is that Yvonne?” She was about to call to her, when the DCI put a hand on her arm, shaking his head.

  “It’s not Yvonne.”

  The figure stumbled, disappearing into the long grass. An armed officer rushed to help her and get her to safety.

  DCI Llewellyn strode to meet them.

  Armed response moved into position, their weapons primed. Clad in black, they communicated with hand signals.

  Tasha, the DCI and Dewi stayed a few hundred metres back, watching from the long grass.

  A dog team also waited by the road. Obedient animals, standing with their handlers, ready for action.

  A chopper whirred overhead. It created swirling circles in the grass before moving off. A myriad blue lights peppered the road behind.

  “What’s your name?” DCI Llewellyn escorted the girl to a waiting ambulance.

  “Amanda Selby,” she whispered, shivering under the old sheet.

  “Amanda, were you in that building over there?” He pointed towards the lockup.

  She shook her head. “I was in the… ground. I was in a grave.” Her face contorted as she cried.

  Two paramedics dropped a stretcher on the ground and released the spring to turn it into a trolley. They wrapped a foil blanket around Amanda and hoisted her up.

  As they asked her questions about her condition, the DCI headed back to his team, shaking his head.

  "Did she have information about Yvonne?" Tasha asked, hands at the sides of her face.

  "Nothing. She told us her name is Amanda Selby, and someone had put her in a grave. Once she’s medically assessed, we'll find out more."

  The response team leader spoke to the DCI over the radio, informing him they were in position and that the only window was the small one next to the lockup door.

  “Can you blow a hole through the back wall?” Llewellyn asked.

  “Not without risking hurting your DI,” came the answer.

  “Roger that.” DCI LLewellyn took a deep breath and strode back to the others. “They’re ready. They have a sniper watching the window and the door.”

  “I’ll take the phone to the lockup.” Dai straightened his jacket.

  “No.” The DCI was emphatic. “I’ll ask the response team. They’re the ones with the armour.”

  Tasha admired Llewellyn. The shine on his brow and upper lip was the only sign of the stress he was under. Her own forehead was just as damp. Sweat soaked the hair at Dewi’s temples too, as he paced about.

  She looked back at the lockup. There was no sign of movement. The thought passed through her mind. What if they’re already dead? She shuddered. “Not Yvonne,” she whispered to herself. “God, not Yvonne.”

  An armour-clad officer tossed a phone to the foot of the lockup door.

  DCI Llewellyn shouted through a megaphone. “This is the police. Are you all right in there? I want you to know if you need anything, we’ll do our best to get it for you.” He listened for any sound before continuing. “We have placed a phone outside the door, so you can talk to us. Tell us what you want. I will turn this off, now. Get the phone when you are ready to talk.”

  23

  Life or Death

  “Did you hear?” He snorted. “Your friends have arrived. They’re waiting for me to get the phone, so they can blow my head apart.”

  She cleared her throat, “I’ll go.” It
was practically a whisper. She changed position, trying to ease the discomfort in her bladder. It was hours since she’d been to the toilet.

  “What if your trigger-happy colleagues blow your head off?”

  She grimaced. “They won't do that. They want to talk.”

  He crawled over to a cabinet under his workbench. He turned the key in the lock and pulled out two crossbow bolts.

  Pulling back the mechanism, he chambered one bolt, and crawled back to Yvonne. He put the crossbow on the floor behind him before releasing her from the radiator.

  He bound her hands behind her back, with thick twine, allowing her enough length to have limited forward reach. She was glad of the change though felt as though her shoulders might no longer function.

  The edge of the crossbow dug into her neck. “That thing got a safety catch?” she asked, as he escorted her to the door. The acrid, urine-stink of sour sweat made her want to vomit.

  His voice was a whisper in her ear. “We don’t need safety. We won't make it out of here.”

  She stood, shuddering, at the door.

  “This bolt will destroy your neck,” he stated, “unless you do as I tell you.”

  She nodded, clenching and unclenching her fists to increase blood flow and reduce the strain in her arm muscles. A deep breath helped calm her, and she closed her eyes.

  “Walk over and pull back the lock. Do it nice and slow.”

  She did as he said, fighting with the stiff mechanism, one hand at a time.

  It opened with a clank and she fell back.

  “Wait,” he ordered, listening again. “Open it enough to get the phone. If you run, I will kill you before you get three paces.”

  She saw figures in the distance as the light poured in. She did not communicate with them. Ducking back inside with the mobile phone, she handed it to Sealander. Through her mind, ran thoughts of how she might tackle him, now she had more movement in her arms.

  As though reading her thoughts, he levelled the crossbow at her. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

  The phone rang in his hand. He put it to his ear. His eyes stayed on her face. “Yes?” he growled into the handset.

  The crossbow still pointing, he put the phone to her ear. “They want to hear from you. They’re worried I may have hurt you. Speak to them.”

  “Hello? Hello, it’s Yvonne.”

  “Yvonne, thank god. I-” the DCI began.

  He yanked the mobile from her. “That’s enough.”

  He put the phone back to his ear. “She’s alive, but she won’t be if you try anything.” He turned to Yvonne, “They want to know if we need food or water?”

  She nodded. “I’m so thirsty.”

  He spoke into the phone. “No, we don’t need food or water. What do I want? I want time with your detective inspector.”

  He clicked the phone off and pulled her towards him. “Where were we?”

  “Wyn, don’t be crazy. They will blow a hole in the wall and pile in here. They will kill you.”

  He shook his head. “No, they won’t. They won’t risk your life.” He pushed his head towards her as though to kiss her.

  She pushed him hard with both hands. It was enough to move him back.

  He pointed the crossbow, arm locked. “I will kill you now and then I will kill myself.”

  “Wyn,” she pleaded, her eyes earnest, “you witnessed things, horrendous things, that you should never have witnessed as a ten-year-old boy. But, you could give yourself another chance.” Tears streamed down her face. “You could give that little boy another chance.”

  “Right. Another chance to spend my life in prison. And I would spend my life in prison. I am a danger to women. I'll always be a danger to women.”

  “You wouldn't be a danger to women in prison.”

  “What kind of life is that? Confined, nothing to do.”

  “You could continue to learn. Hell, you could even continue to model the faces of the dead. Those with no name… Make amends.”

  He laughed, his face screwed up. “Listen to yourself. They wouldn’t let me model faces. Think of the headlines. That would go down well. Not.”

  “So, that's it. You'll give up?”

  His eyes searched her face. “There’s something about you. You got under my skin.”

  She swallowed hard. “Stay with us. Stay in the land of the living.”

  The phone rang again.

  He held it in front of him, glaring at it.

  “Would you like me to take it?” she asked, “I could speak to them. Tell them you will surrender yourself.”

  He put the phone to his ear. “What?”

  He looked at the DI. “Someone called Tasha?”

  “Tasha.” Her eyes lit up. “Let me speak to her? Please?”

  He put the phone to her ear.

  “Tasha?”

  “Yvonne. Are you all right? Has he hurt you? Are you injured?”

  “I’m fine. In need of the toilet. Otherwise, okay.”

  “We've got the door and the window covered-”

  “I’m making progress-”

  He snatched the phone from her and switched it off. “Making progress?” He tilted his head. “You make it sound like an experiment.”

  “I’m trying to save your life, Wyn. I’m thinking of your ten-year-old self.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Careful, I might think you care for me.”

  She turned her head away. “I do.”

  The grass was flat around Tasha's feet. She paced up and down, working through conversations that might end the siege.

  Dewi threw his hands in the air. “He can’t keep this up much longer, he’s got to be tiring.”

  “Don’t bank on it.” The psychologist shook her head. “He could keep this up for days. I’m surprised he didn’t ask for food or drink, though.”

  “It’s frustrating, not knowing what is happening in there.” Dewi took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.

  The DCI rubbed his chin. “Tell me about it. We’ve got to get him to switch the phone back on.”

  Tasha shook her head. “It’s a waiting game. He’ll switch the phone on, again. Guaranteed. He’ll be wondering what we’re doing and the effect his actions are having on us. Give it time.”

  “What if he kills her?” Dewi frowned.

  “I’m sure he won’t.” Tasha shook her head. “If he wanted to kill her, he’d have done so already. He's accepted he will die. He’s just buying time with Yvonne. I think he’s in love with her.”

  “I wonder what she’s thinking?” Llewellyn crossed his arms.

  "She’s terrified but, if I know Yvonne, she’ll be working on him. If I’m right, and he is in love with her, she’ll have as good a chance as any at getting him to give up."

  “I need the toilet.” Yvonne shrugged. “I’m sorry, I’m desperate.”

  He scratched his head. “Over there, under that bench. There’s a bucket.”

  She frowned.

  “I’ll keep my back turned, if that’s what’s worrying you. You need to go. So, go.”

  She crawled along the floor to the bench. She feared standing. The snipers might mistake her for Sealander. She retrieved the bucket with difficulty and, checking that Wyn had his back to her, relieved herself.

  The experience should have been degrading. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t.

  She replaced the bucket under the bench.

  “Better?” he asked when she returned.

  "Yes." She sat on the floor. "What happens now?" she asked.

  He appeared deflated, like the fight was leaving him. She couldn't believe the man in front of her had committed the heinous acts he had. That he had destroyed several women and taken an evil pleasure in it.

  She pursed her lips. “What changed in your life?”

  “What do you mean?” He asked, his face impassive.

  "When I saw where you had buried Nicole Benoit and Katie Denham, my first thought was that you had chosen those places so the world w
ould never find them. They looked like forever graves," she continued, "but, you dug them up and put the bones on display. It makes no sense."

  “It need not make sense to you.” He delivered the sentence cold.

  “Still, I’d like to understand.”

  He met her words with silence.

  “Something changed, didn’t it?” she persisted.

  “I told you, don’t analyse me.”

  "I’m sorry." She bowed her head. "Does your mum know the effect her actions had on you as a child? Did she ever apologise? Have you seen her since?"

  He swung his head towards her, spitting the words, “She’s dead!”

  Yvonne closed her mouth, wondering whether she ought to say she was sorry. She decided against it.

  “She died six months ago,” he added, his voice less harsh. “I’d listen to her dancing in the living room, with whichever man she’d brought home, while my father was in bed, pretending to be asleep.”

  “Where were you, when she did that?”

  “I would sit on the stairs. Thinking of ways to hurt her.”

  “So, each time you hurt a woman, you were hurting her?”

  “Does that make you feel good? Piecing it all together? Nice, neat little answers? Does the world makes sense again? Does that give you closure?”

  The blood rose to her head, and she clenched her fists. “The closure isn’t for me, Wyn. It’s for the mothers and fathers; brothers and sisters; lovers and friends. For all the people who lost a part of themselves when you took the lives of the women they loved. You did that. Your sadistic, perverted, selfish needs destroyed countless lives. It was you who desired closure after a dysfunctional childhood. You filled your holes with the blood of the innocent.”

  His mouth hung open. “Why don’t you say what you mean? Perhaps, I’d be in less danger out there… You know, we’re the same you and I. Both of us lost our fathers and spent our time being angry at our mothers.”