The Broken Trilogy Page 11

  "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" she replies, sounding a little bored.

  "It would be far too dangerous to wait," I say firmly. "I am not certain that I can detain her here for much longer. She knows a little about the game, and I fear that she could cause problems."

  On the other end of the line, Lady Red sighs. "How does she know anything of the game?"

  "That is not important right now," I say. "What matters is that she poses a threat. We absolutely must eliminate her. I would do it myself, but I know that such a move would be unwise, and would be against the rules. I need Mr. White to come and do the job, and I think you should be here too."

  "Me?" She sounds a little suspicious. "Why?"

  "I mean for the disposal of her body," I continue. "Mr. White must come to deal with her, and then we meet you for the disposal. It's traditional, is it not?"

  There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can tell that Lady Red has not entirely bought my story. Still, all I need is for her to agree. "Fine," she says. "I shall inform Mr. White that he needs to go to your home immediately, and then I shall meet the two of you at the usual place. But Edward... After this is over, we must talk. After the incident with Sophia Marchant, and now this trouble with Elizabeth Cavendish, I feel we should go over some ground rules. There are aspects of your comportment that worry me of late, and I would like to -"

  "Yes, fine!" I reply, interrupting her. "Just send Mr. White as soon as possible."

  Once the telephone call is over, I reconnect with the operator and ask to be put through to Inspector Matthews at New Scotland Yard. When I am informed that he has gone home for the evening, I insist on being connected to his home telephone number, but I am told that he does not have one. Ending the call, I feel a sense of panic rush through my mind, until finally I realize what has to be done. Ringing the bell on my desk to summon my manservant Martin, I quickly write a note in which I inform Inspector Matthews of the latest developments, and in which I arrange for him to be in a position to observe everything that happens later tonight when Lady Red, Mr. White and I go to dispose of Elizabeth's body. Entrusting the note to Martin, I send him out into the night to deliver my message personally.

  "Are you ready for me now?" Elizabeth asks as I return to my bedroom. So beautiful and trusting, she has no idea that she is to be used as bait.

  "I am," I say, realizing that we have perhaps an hour before Mr. White arrives. As I stand in the doorway and stare at her, I start to feel rather bad about the way things have worked out. She is to be killed unnecessarily, although at least she will be the last to die in such a way. One day, her death will be viewed as a sacrifice that had to be made in order that this vile game could be ended. I step toward the bed and decide that she should, at the very least, enjoy one final moment of passion before Mr. White arrives to cut her throat.

  "I should very much like to feel you inside me," she says, opening her legs a little, in order that I might see the slit of her vagina. "But I was thinking, Edward, that first I might pleasure you with my mouth."

  "I believe that can be arranged," I say, quickly undressing before climbing naked onto the bed with her.

  "And then," she says, grinning, "I was thinking that perhaps you might do the same to me."

  I stare at her for a moment. "In what way?"

  "With your tongue," she says, reaching down and gently touching herself. "I have heard that some women take great pleasure from having a man's tongue down there. I hope that is something that you might be willing to try, and that the prospect does not disgust you." She leans closer and kisses me gently on the lips, while pressing her warm, wet crotch against my naked leg. After a moment, she breaks from the kiss and starts to move down my body, eventually taking my hardened penis in her hand. I try to focus on the pleasurable side of this encounter, but all I can think about is the fact that within the next couple of hours, Elizabeth will be dead. If only there were some way to end the game while keeping her alive, but I have run through the situation many times and there is only one conclusion: she must be killed, in order that the game will end and no other girl will ever have to die.

  As we continue to make love, I try to heighten her pleasure as much as possible. As she has requested, I use my tongue to stimulate her clitoris, tasting her wetness as she reaches orgasm. Our time together is passionate, and she reaches orgasm three times, and finally she takes my penis in her mouth and I am able to ejaculate into her throat. When the love-making is over, we remain naked on the bed, and she turns to me with a look of true happiness in her eyes. Despite everything else that is going to happen to her tonight, I can at least be certain that I have given her a great deal of pleasure.

  "There is something I have been wanting to say to you, Edward," she tells me once she has got her breath back. "I know it is not a woman's place to be too forward, but I feel that you are a very modern man, and I wish to let you know how I truly feel about you."

  I stare at her, rather taken aback by her approach.

  "Oh Edward," she says, smiling, "you look rather terrified." She runs a hand across my chest. "I only mean to tell you that I love you. There, I have said it. I love you, dear Edward, and I truly hope that you feel the same way, or at least that you believe you might feel the same way one day." She pauses for a moment, as if she is expecting me to say something in reply. "Did I go too far?" she asks eventually. "Should I have kept my thoughts to myself?"

  "No," I say, trying to hide my shock. No girl has ever said such a thing to me, and I am not sure how to respond.

  "It is okay if you feel unable to reciprocate at this moment," she continues, "but I would at least like to think that you will one day share my feelings." She pauses again. "Is that something you think might be possible, Edward? One day, perhaps many years from now?"

  "Yes," I say, even though I know in my heart that I could never love this girl. She is beautiful, and she is good in bed, but I did not enter into this congress because I seek love. I am here purely for the game. Besides, she will not live long enough to be loved.

  "That is enough for me," she says, resting her head on my shoulder. "A promise. A dream." She smiles. "A hope."

  "If you -" I start to say, but at that moment I hear a noise downstairs. There is someone in my house, and I am quite certain that it is too soon for Martin to have returned from his journey to see Inspector Matthews. The only logical conclusion must be that Mr. White has arrived, in which case I imagine he is loitering in my study, waiting for me to go downstairs so that he can come up and cut Elizabeth's throat. There is a part of me that wants to find some way of smuggling her out, so that perhaps she can live and I will be the one who dies; there is another part of me, however, a more logical part, that knows I must let her die so that perhaps the game itself will be ended forever. I just need to ensure that Inspector Matthews catches Mr. White and Lady Red in the act of getting rid of the body, and hopefully Elizabeth's death will not be in vain.

  "What are you thinking about?" Elizabeth asks, her breath soft and warm on my skin. "Sometimes, dear Edward, I look into your eyes and see such turmoil. I know I am only a woman, but I rather hope that you feel you can confide in me, even if I do not entirely understand your needs."

  I close my eyes for a moment, imagining Mr. White waiting for me downstairs, a hunting knife already in his hand. This has happened dozens of times before, of course, but tonight I am filled with doubt. Is this really the best way for me to bring the game to a conclusion? Would it not be better to merely keep playing, and hope that I can win? Taking a deep breath, I find my mind filled with so many different strategies, it feels impossible to make a decision. Finally, however, I remind myself of all the girls whose lives will be saved if I am just strong enough tonight.

  "You must wait here for a moment," I say, getting up from the bed. I walk over to the mirror and quickly get dressed, very much aware that Elizabeth is watching my every move.

  "Are you going downstairs?" she asks.

  "Just
briefly," I say, careful not to look back over at her. "I must attend to some things."

  "Might I come with you?" she continues. "It can be a little boring waiting up here all the time."

  "No," I say. "You will only be alone for a moment." I walk to the door, and finally I glance back at her. She sits so expectantly and so happily on my bed, naked and a little flushed.

  "What is wrong, Edward?" she asks. "You look so -"

  "Nothing," I say. "Wait here." With that, I turn and leave the room, hurrying downstairs and finding Mr. White sitting at my desk, examining his large, jagged-edged knife. As soon as he sees me, he gets to his feet and walks straight over to the stairs, without saying a word to me. I want to tell him to be quick, and to beg him to show Elizabeth a little mercy, but I feel that I can do nothing that might arouse his suspicion. Instead, I walk over to my liquor cabinet and quickly pour myself a glass of whiskey, as I hear Mr. White's footsteps reach the top of the stairs. As I take a sip from my glass, I hear him open my bedroom door. I take another sip, as I hear muffled voices and then, finally, a brief scream.

  Looking down at my hand, I realize that I'm trembling. Still, she was the last. No more girls will ever have to die as part of this wretched game.

  Elly

  Today

  Two hours after leaving London, I find myself staring out the window and watching as the world flashes past. We're on a motorway, and the conversation in the van has fallen dead. Rob's asleep next to me, and to be honest I'm really not feeling the whole rock n'roll lifestyle thing right now. The van is freezing cold, and I'm starting to get seriously hungry. I guess I bought into the romantic ideal of going on some kind of huge road trip, but I forgot that there'd be a load of interminable, boring bits in between the fun. Still, the most important thing is that I'll get totally, blind drunk tonight and then, by the time I wake up tomorrow, my Dad's funeral will already have happened.

  "So you're really going to skip out on my funeral, huh?" my father's voice whispers.

  I smile. When I first started hearing his voice, it was a conscious thing, and I was very much in control. Now, as I get more and more used to having him in my head, he's started to speak at unexpected moments. Maybe this is how madness starts, or maybe it's just my way of coping with his death.

  "You've got balls," he continues. "I'll give you that. Balls of steel. Your mother's going to go loopy."

  Glancing across the van, I see that everyone's asleep except for the guy who's driving. Still, I guess I don't want to be overheard talking to myself, so I can't answer my father.

  "I went to Manchester with a band once," my father says. "Did I ever tell you about that?"

  "All the time," I mutter under my breath.

  "Those were the days," he continues. "It was the seventies, when the whole country was falling apart. Just before the rise of Maggie. We thought we were punks. Jesus, I looked ridiculous. We all did. We thought we were making some kind of big political statement. We thought we were big men, sticking two fingers up to the world." He pauses for a moment. "We were just a bunch of kids setting out on the road, searching for cheap beer and maybe some girls. This was before I met your mother, obviously."

  I can't help smiling at the thought of my father living this crazy life before he eventually settled down.

  "You want to know my abiding memory of that whole experience?" he asks. "Boredom. Long, aching hours with nothing to do except sit around with an attitude. Still, it was worth doing."

  I glance out the window and see that the sky is slate gray.

  "Regrets?" my father asks.

  I shake my head.

  "You sure?"

  My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. Digging it out of my pocket, I see that my mother is trying to call me again. I stare at the screen, watching as her name keeps flashing. There's a part of me that wants to just answer and tell her what I'm doing, but I don't see why that's necessary. I've already sent her a text message explaining that I'll be out for most of the day. Later, I'm planning to send her another message, saying I'm stuck in Exeter and that I won't make it back to London in time for the funeral. Maybe that's the coward's way out, but I figure I just want to avoid a direct confrontation. I'll pretend that my absence from the funeral is all one big cock-up.

  "Turn that thing off," Rob mumbles as he shifts a little in his seat.

  As the phone stops ringing, I pause for a moment. He's right; I should turn it off, but there's some part of me that's determined to keep it on. It's almost as if I feel like it's a lifeline to the real world. Shoving it back into my pocket, I figure it'll be okay to keep it on for now, at least. It's not like my mother's going to keep calling constantly, at least not until the evening, and by then I should be too drunk to care.

  A few minutes later, however, I hear the phone ringing again. Quickly pulling it out, I'm about to reject the call when I see that it's not my mother this time. It's Mark. I pause, trying to work out what to do, but eventually I hit the button and answer.

  "Hey," I say as the van continues to bump along the motorway.

  On the other end of the line, Mark says something I don't quite catch. I can tell it's his voice, but I can't make out any words.

  "I can't hear you properly," I say. "I don't have enough signal."

  He speaks again, but it's still garbled and distorted.

  "I don't know if you can hear me," I continue, "but I can't hear you at all. I'm in a..." I pause for a moment. "I'm in a van. I'm on the road. Maybe if you try later, I'll be able to hear you. Is that okay?"

  He says something unintelligible.

  "I'm going to put the phone down," I say. "Sorry, I really can't hear you." I wait, and the call cuts off. Sighing, I put the phone back in my pocket and look out the window. What the hell was Mark calling me for? I wasn't expecting to ever hear from him again, not after the awkward little moment the other night at the train station, when he kissed me and then couldn't wait to get rid of me. Still, I can't shake this tingling feeling in my chest. Turning and looking over at Rob, I start to wonder what the hell I'm doing here. Did I make a huge mistake?

  Edward Lockhart

  1895

  "Are you going to help me or not?" Mr. White asks as he rolls Elizabeth's naked body onto the floor. I look down with horror at her pale corpse, and at the jagged wound in her neck. Her dead eyes stare up at the ceiling, and I feel an overwhelming sense of horror at what has happened. Still, I remind myself of the most important thing: she is the last. Her death will mean that no other girls have to die in this manner. I just wish I could get her final scream out of my head.

  "Of course," I say, putting my empty whiskey glass down on the desk. "What would you like me to do?"

  "Hold her feet while I put her in the bag," Mr. White replies. "What the hell's wrong with you? I thought you'd done this plenty of times."

  "Absolutely," I reply, reaching down and taking hold of Elizabeth's feet. Already, her body is ice-cold and a little stiff.

  "You're acting rather strangely tonight," Mr. White continues as he starts slipping Elizabeth's corpse head-first into the large bag he brought for the occasion. "Perhaps I should not be so open with you, but I feel I should warn you. Lady Red is starting to worry about your state of mind, Edward. She thinks something's wrong. I told her she was imagining it, but right now I think perhaps she's onto something."

  "I am fine, really," I say as I let go of Elizabeth's feet and they slip into the bag. I watch as Mr. White ties the top, and finally the body is ready to be moved. "It's just that I had high hopes for this girl," I continue. "She seemed so strong, and then she rather fell apart at the end."

  "She put up quite a struggle," Mr. White replies, holding up his hand so that I can see a small wound below the thumb. "She bit me. Such an un-ladylike thing to do. She really fought back." He pauses for a moment, and then he takes his knife from the desk. "Listen to this noise," he says, as he cuts a corner of the bag; the blade makes a ragged tearing sound. "You
hear that?" he continues. "Her skin made more or less the same sound when I was slitting her throat. Would you -"

  "We should get going," I say firmly, glancing at the clock. If Martin delivered his message successfully, Inspector Matthews should be getting ready to head to the Thames soon. Assuming that my plan goes well, the aim is to ensure that he witnesses the moment when Lady Red and Mr. White dispose of Elizabeth's body.

  "Fine," he replies. "I trust you'll help me carry her out to my carriage?"

  "Elizabeth," I say suddenly.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  I turn to him. "Her name was Elizabeth. I just thought you should know."

  "I already knew," he replies. "I just didn't particularly feel like calling her by her name." He sniffs. "Although, come to think of it, I seem to recall that maybe I used her name while I was holding her down on the bed and getting ready to cut her throat. Damn it, she put up such a fight. I could really see it in her eyes that she didn't want to die. She was absolutely terrified, especially when she saw the blade. Did you hear her screaming?"

  "Briefly," I say, shuddering at the memory.

  "I kept my hand over her mouth," he continues, walking over to the body. "She's a light girl, but it'll still be easier with two of us to carry her. My carriage is waiting outside, so we'll just take her straight to the river. Lady Red said she'd be waiting, although I should warn you that she didn't sound too happy about the whole thing. Between you and me, I don't think she really wants to be out on such a cold night."

  "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced her," I say, helping Mr. White to pick up Elizabeth's body. We carefully carry the bag through to the hallway, at which point I find that Martin has returned home. He glances at the bag, but he understands what is happening and I am quite certain he can be trusted to remain quiet.

  "I had a successful trip," Martin says as we carry the bag past him. "If there is nothing else, Sir, I shall retire for the night."