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- Herausgeber: Clink Street Publishing
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
A cruel and sinister killer is targeting Edinburgh's most powerful women, his twisted sense of superiority driving him to satisfy his depraved sexual appetite. He revels in the pain and suffering he inflicts on his unsuspecting victims but a twist of fate and an overwhelming will to survive by one victim ruins his plans for a reign of terror. His tormented prey will need all her courage if she is to survive the hunt.
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Seitenzahl: 472
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
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Devil’s Demise
Lee Cockburn
Contents
Chapter 1: Evil Awaits
Sweat trickles down the side of his face as he crouches in the shadows of the oak tree at the side of the house, wanting, waiting, his breath visible in the cold night air as he thinks about the night ahead. He had watched her for weeks: her soft but striking features, her slim toned figure and her locks of golden brown hair that reach half way down her back. He bites his lip with uncontrolled desire, so hard that it bleeds; he licks his lips and smiles at the taste of blood, remembering the pleasure it had brought him in the past. He looks up as he hears footsteps coming towards him; his breath quickens, his heart racing as his mind fills with anticipation for her. He leans forwards to look, jolting back as a blood curdling snarl echoes through the still night air; just through the fence he looks down and there facing him is a large Doberman, teeth bared and staring straight at him. Its muzzle curled up with aggression, saliva slowly falling from its open mouth, and eyes focusing with a hunter’s instinct upon him.
A whistle cuts through the night and the dog turns back just for a second, giving him enough time to move nearer to the house and drop down behind a bunker up against the house.
An older man walks up and tethers his dog. “What is it, girl? Leave it be, come on,” he says as he tugs on the lead, but the dog keeps on pulling desperately towards the fence, growling and snarling, sensing the danger from the hidden terror.
The dog becomes more and more excited, staring straight towards the shadow where the evil presence is still hiding; the man holding the lead stumbles as the dog lurches powerfully forward, pulling him straight down onto his face, the lead slipping from his grasp. The dog races round the railings to the open gate heading straight for the lurking stranger who holds his breath, grinding his teeth, waiting to solve this little problem; he feels no fear, just excited anticipation. A shrill painful whine pierces the night air as the knife grinds downwards, slicing the dog’s chest wide open and rendering the poor animal defenceless, leaving it mortally wounded on the ground, whining for her master to come to her. Come he does; holding his already bloodied face from the fall, the dog’s master races toward the cries of his faithful pet. He turns the corner of the house, dark shadows making it harder to focus, his heart pounding as he sees the blood pouring from his faithful dog; the blood glistens under the moonlight, his sadness turning to terror. The hair on the back of his neck begins to bristle, standing straight up; a shiver courses through his body as he stands frozen to the spot.
An overwhelming sense of terror fills the air as the old man looks up into the stony lifeless expression of a demonic face: black passionless pools for eyes, a grin so monstrous he knows his life will end that night. He seems to float out from the shadows; gripping the older man’s throat, he tilts his head sideways, staring emotionless at the helpless struggle of the old man. It thrills him to watch the life of another slowly drain away before him. The man’s legs quiver as he gives in to the monster. This is a first for him; to kill a man is an unexpected pleasure, an unplanned delight, a thrill before the main event. He is strong, tall and motivated by pure evil, with hatred and dissatisfaction dwelling within him. He looks down as the dog gurgles its last breath, laboured and painful. A smile comes across his face as he wipes the dog’s blood from his face and from the knife. He leans back against the wall, his heart still fluttering with the thrill of murder, his blood lust fuelled by the start of the evening.
¤¤¤
Susan gathers up her things from her office; she is running late because her meeting has overrun. She is the director of a very successful lingerie company, a very powerful woman in the business world, but also a contagiously likeable person. All those who know her seem to either look up to her, want her or want to be her, as she is impressively beautiful and very sexy - although she doesn’t think it herself. She chats cheerfully with her colleagues about her lazy night ahead, comfy clothes and a glass of wine, blissfully unaware of the darkness that awaits. They head out of the office block saying their goodbyes, the night air cold and crisp as she pulls her coat tightly around her. She walks the short distance to her Audi A4; nothing overly fancy, as she doesn’t like to flaunt her success. She drives through the night, following the same old familiar route as she taps her fingers on the steering wheel, singing along with the music playing on the stereo.
At last he sees her car come into the street, his patience faltering as his wait has made him cold and impatient. He has watched her for a long time and she is usually home much earlier than this; she will regret making him wait, he will make sure of that. He focuses on the car, tension growing with the excitement of taking her beauty forever.
Susan pulls the car into the driveway, turns off the engine and gathers her things; she is still humming the song from the journey home as she steps out of the car. Her heels crackle on the ground as she turns slowly toward the front door. She stops on the steps, searching her bag for the house keys, her long silky hair hanging down over her face as she looks up, noticing the street is quieter than normal; empty, in fact. She looks at her watch and it’s 11.20 pm. Where did the evening go tonight? she thinks to herself. She had no idea that the meeting would have taken so long. The moonlight is shining on the door as she looks around her, the shadows seem darker where the moon can’t reach. The wind blows lightly, making the branches of the old tree rustle together, giving the night an eerie feel; she feels a little uneasy, but can see no reason for it. She feels a presence, something nasty, something cold and unpleasant in the air. She turns towards the door, putting the key in the lock and opening it, letting herself in, shaking off the unwelcome fear as her just being silly. She closes the door behind her, bolts it securely and closes over the curtain, shutting out the cold night air. She shudders as if someone has just walked over her grave, an uneasiness still clinging to her tightly.
Her cat Baxter comes running up to her. He is a big blue eyed tabby cat with smooth shiny fur; he rubs round her legs, hoping she will feed him. She bends down and strokes him, instantly relaxing and forgetting the presence she had felt out on the steps just moments before. She makes her way through to the kitchen and pours a glass of wine for herself and fixes a bowl of food for Baxter. She takes the wine through to the lounge, puts her feet up and switches on the TV. The late night news comes on, the usual stories: the war in Iraq, murder and the general unpleasant behaviour between human beings taking over the main stories, nothing happy to report as usual. She flicks through the channels and starts to watch the end of a movie - Pretty Woman, a pleasant change from the news. She has seen it many times before but enjoys the fairytale ending, an ending she hopes one day she will be lucky enough to enjoy for herself.
Outside he still waits, biding his time, savouring the terror that awaits the beautiful woman in the house. He rubs his face with his enormous hands, pulling his face downwards as he struggles to control the urges deep inside him.
Susan’s head lurches abruptly forward as she wakes up with a start; the film has ended and she has fallen asleep on the couch. A cold air is now present in the living room. She rises up from her chair unnerved by the change in temperature; she hesitates before heading into the kitchen at the back of the house, her hesitation unexplained, a feeling, a sense. She straightens up and stops herself from allowing her thoughts to frighten her even more than they are already. She switches on the hall light and makes her way to the kitchen. The door to the rear of the house was closed, but when she reaches to check it, she notices that the lock is unlocked; undamaged, but unlocked? Searching her mind, she remembers putting the rubbish out that morning, but is positive she had locked the door behind her when she came back in. Again she shrugs off any wrongdoing and puts it down to her haste to leave with her busy schedule ahead that morning. She locks the door, double checking it this time, and puts the chain over. She makes her way tentatively up the staircase. Several water colours by Monet decorate the walls leading to the upper landing; the last picture at the top of the stairs, a wonderful landscape stretching over hills, crystal waters and sun filled skies, is slightly out of line. Susan stops to straighten the frame, a pause that he is aware of; he is not normally clumsy, always very careful. He wonders if she will try and flee, realising that something is not right, an evil lurking in the shadows. He moves forward staring out from the darkness; she is motionless at the top of the stair. She turns and hesitates as if she is about to go back down the stairs, but stops and he hears her muttering to herself, convincing herself that she is acting crazy. He pulls back into the shadows as she walks in his direction, resuming his position in the darkness.
Susan enters her bedroom, her space, her haven, and she relaxes almost instantly. Her room is grand and spacious with a sprawling bed with soft comfortable bedclothes and pillows, expensive and tasteful. Her furnishings coordinate, creating a warm and safe place to escape from the world. Soft sensual lighting creates a pleasant ambience. She starts to undress, removing her work clothes: a black pinstriped skirt and matching jacket, a white blouse, fitted to her neat, toned figure, her underwear, a set, white lace, perfect against her tanned skin. He watches through a gap in the doorway, heart pounding at what he is looking at; an unexplainable stirring moves within him, not a normal desire, not that of lust, but one of hateful fear, repulsion and resentment towards her. A need to stamp out her success, her beauty and the unhealthy things he feels as he watches her.
She climbs into bed pulling the covers over her; she’s wearing a nightdress, not a flattering one, one that will protect her from the cold of the night. She wishes now that she had someone special in her life to share these lonely nights with, someone that would take away the fear, the ridiculous fear that she is trying to clear from her mind. She is drifting off to sleep when her thoughts turn to Baxter; where is he? “Baxter, Baxter,” she calls out, “Where are you, you stupid cat?” Eating again no doubt, she thinks as she lays her head back down to sleep.
Baxter comes to the top of the stairs a short time later after hearing his name being called - a typical cat, only coming when it suits him. As he turns casually towards Susan’s room, he stops dead and his hackles go straight up; a gentle hiss comes from him as he arches his back, his senses sharp, acutely aware of the predator close by and watching him. He recoils in terror, knowing the danger this thing in front of him poses, and quickly scurries away.
Susan finally falls asleep. Baxter comes back up the stair, returning in hope that he can join her in the room. Slowly, a dark figure stirs from the shadows, staring straight down at the animal, dark eyes meeting blue. The cat lowers itself closer to the ground, instantly fearful of the deadly stare from the cold eyes. Baxter crawls back, not daring to take his eyes from the beast before him; once at the top of the stairs he turns and sprints silently down, instinct telling him to hide this time, to preserve himself from certain death.
The intruder walks slowly into Susan’s room, standing at the doorway, examining his prey, tilting his head in a puppet-like fashion; demonic eyes staring, salivating at her vulnerability, lunacy and uncontrolled madness oozing from him. A savagery inside him demands to be set free. Susan opens her eyes, sensing his stare upon her, terror rushing through her veins; a blood curdling scream escapes from her mouth as he grabs her foot, pulling her towards him. She kicks out at him with her free leg, narrowly missing his face, but this only makes him more excited, a frightened little creature desperately struggling against its master’s strength. He grabs her face, pulling it within an inch of his face, his breath rotten and tinged with death.
Tears flow over his fingers as she realises her earlier apprehension and fear were signs of danger, signs she had brushed off with her sensible mind; the human belief not to be frightened of what couldn’t or shouldn’t be real, animal instincts trained to be kept deep within no longer recognised as danger, but these instincts should never be ignored. He is real, very real and kneeling right before her, the strength of a madman coursing through his fingertips. He throws her backwards, hitting her head violently against the wall, leaving her feeling dazed as he crawls slowly towards her, his eyes fixed on hers, a vicious looking blade in hand, pointing it right at her face; his movements controlled and sadistic, the knife missing her eye by millimetres as he taunts her. She curls back trying to push herself through the wall to escape her hideous tormentor. He slashes her arm, a deep cut - almost to the bone - opens up as she tries to grip his hair, her futile attempt to fend him off easily brushed aside. He smirks at her struggle and kneels down on her thigh, a searing pain rushing through her as his weight pushes her down into the bed. He places his huge hand round her throat, gripping tightly as he thrusts his fingers deep into her; her eyes widen in agony, gulping at the violation, the degradation and pain he inflicts on her. The hunting knife lies alone beside his leg, confidence of his superior power to crush any attempt of escape apparent, as he controls her simply with a single hand. He loosens his grip; she pleads with him, struggling to speak with the pain from his brutal hand still gripping sadistically into her face, “Please don’t hurt me, I’ll not tell anyone,” she gasps.
He pulls his face menacingly towards hers and speaks to her in a low growl. “I know you won’t!”
He pulls down his jeans, exposing his erect penis, and leans forward and pins her to the bed by the back of her head, his grip so tight he pulls her hair out at the roots; she is moaning and struggling against him, another futile attempt to stop him as he forces himself into her, his thrusts so violent that she can feel herself tearing at the sustained assault. She can barely catch her breath with the force with which she is being pinned to the bed. He doesn’t care that she can barely breathe as he climaxes inside her. He grabs her arms and wrenches her round to face him; he grips her hair even tighter and pushes himself into her mouth, his thrusts desperate, determined to come again, his desire uncontrolled. His grip is so violent, as he forces her face onto his penis over and over. He fucks her mouth with no concern for her at all. Her head spins with the lack of oxygen and she gags, choking on his cock being forced down her throat. He looks down at her as his rage intensifies at not being able to climax again yet.
“Come on you fucking useless bitch, suck that cock and do it right, you lazy fucking tramp.”
He punches her face and threatens to poke out her eye with his thumb as he presses down hard on her eyelid. She can feel her eye being pushed back into her head, so she grabs his penis and sucks in a desperate attempt to save her sight. She has no desire to please him, just an overwhelming desire to live. She feels his grip releasing and he moans out in pleasure as he comes in her mouth. Susan visibly boaks as she tries to spit; he shoves her backwards on the bed and begins punching her, hitting her face until she can barely see, the punches ferocious and cruel. He wants to disfigure her, make her ugly, take away the beauty that gives her so much power over weak men. He is angry that he felt good for a moment when he came; he is livid at the fact that the slut in front of him has weakened him, made him feel. He goes mad, standing up on the bed to kick her; her ribs, her legs, her arms. He stamps down on her, all over her, until she is unrecognisable, black and blue from head to toe; he cuts her with the knife, taunting her, deliberately avoiding killing her as he still has plans for her. Susan floats out of consciousness and lies there motionless, at last her body at peace from his persistent abuse. He looks at the pathetic creature before him and his cock is rock hard again with his night’s work. He turns her over onto her back and rips her legs apart, forcing his thighs between hers; he bends over and tastes her pussy, smiling at the sweet taste of her, but he has no desire to pleasure her, he just leans over her and forces his large rock-hard penis into her. Vaginally raping her this time, as deep as he can go, he fucks her as hard as he physically can, her limp body rocking uncontrollably with his thrusts, her head twisting on the headboard as he forces himself inside her over and over again. She is now bleeding profusely from the savage abuse created by his loveless act of pure hatred towards her. Her eyes re-open as he clenches his teeth with effort, his whole body weight forcing himself into her, onto her, the pain searing through her like a knife cutting her, every violent push tears her, hurts her beyond anything she could ever have imagined, the violation unbelievable for any normal person to comprehend. He looks down at her and lies on top of her, full weight, his face right in front of hers. She can smell him, stale sweat, foul breath, dirty teeth, a sneer that is truly terrifying. He bites her face hard, and she screams, tears soaking her face, as he continues to ram himself inside her, her stomach aching in pain, as the size of his penis in her slight frame fills her unnaturally. He growls as his teeth grind together at his climax so intense; he grimaces at her and all she can do is lie there helplessly underneath him, unable to do anything. He pulls her face forcefully towards him and kisses her, open mouth, his tongue forcing into her and down into her throat, his cock still buried in her as he does so. She winces, repulsed at his every act; she wishes that she could die and end this cruel torment. He throws her head back down and climbs off her, looking at her like shit on his shoe. He shoves his cock back in his pants, blood smearing all over his already soiled underwear.
Susan struggles and manages to roll onto her front, pain coursing through her body; she reaches up to her face, but what she feels is not familiar, it is swollen and deformed, unrecognisable; she can’t see properly because her eyes are swollen shut. She tries to pull herself away from him, trying to crawl, but her body just won’t work. His assault on her has been so violent, so damaging that her injuries are too bad to overcome. She can only slump down and lie there, her spirit finally broken and all her fight gone.
Stripped bare, Susan lies face down on the bed, blood soaking through the sheets; hours of torment bleeding from her every vein, the beauty beaten from her face, clumps of her beautiful hair lying beside her, blood spatters up the walls from the sustained beating. Sexually violated in every way, forced over and over to perform depraved acts with him, eventually giving in to his strength in hope he would spare her life. Panting, her breath is rapid and shallow, her pulse weak as if life is slipping away from her. He sits up at the side of the bed, feet on the floor, and calmly speaks to her; she jumps, as she thought he had already left.
“You made me do that, you tease people, you slut, you deserve everything you got, bitch, and more.” Her eyes are awash with tears, mucus smeared over her face, her hands now bound behind her back with cable ties, a task he had carried out when she lay unconscious. A helpless lamb now waiting to be slaughtered, unable to defend itself; her hands are numb with lack of circulation. She feels his hand grip her hair for the last time, wrenching her head back, exposing her slender neck. He licks her, his rough tongue tracing up the taut muscle exposed by his cruel grip. He bites out a small chunk of flesh from her; a soft moan is all that can be heard from his victim, now so weak her senses are dull from his constant abuse. He throws her mutilated face hard against the pillow, like a cat that has finished playing with a mouse. The fun is over, no more pleasure to be had; he pulls up the fierce looking blade and casually plunges it into her already scarred and bleeding back. The evidence of his depravity gouged into her, he rips the knife back out and stands up, staring at his work, his face like stone; an emotionless statue frozen in her room, signs of his trespass left for all to see. He smiles at her, teeth rotten and stained with her blood, and he spits out the small piece of flesh from her neck as one final act of depravity as he turns to leave the room. “Now where the fuck is that shit of a cat?” he hisses.
Like a shadow in the night he skulks through gardens and empty streets, being careful not to be seen by anyone; a careful mind does not risk anything that will tie him to the scene of his private party. He is aware of the CCTV coverage of the area; his weeks of checking which houses have private cameras has provided him with a safe route in and out of the area and back to his lair undetected. The long walk is worth every minute, an untraceable journey that provides no evidence, no path or leads for the filth to follow. He has never been in trouble in his life and, with British law being so liberal, he knows DNA is only taken from those that have been caught and convicted of certain crimes, leaving countless crimes unsolved because not everyone is on the database, just in case precious human rights are infringed.
He climbs the back wall of his garden and enters through the rear door of his house; no one must know he has been out tonight. He is triumphant at the night’s spoils; he enjoyed every minute, the power he feels still coursing through his veins. She’s not that powerful now, is she! Weakened by my physical strength, no words or money could have prevented the inevitable. As he enters the house he taps the metal drum at the kitchen door and mutters, “This is just the beginning.” The beginning of a long campaign of revenge and violence against all of those women who haven’t afforded him the respect he believes he is entitled to.
Chapter 2: Detective Sergeant Taylor Nicks - Detective Constable Marcus Black
One am on Saturday morning, Taylor trailed her hand over the silky contours of her lover’s shoulder, running her fingertips through the long shiny auburn hair, breathing in the heady scent of her musky perfume. Planting soft kisses on her forehead; Taylor teased her awake for another kiss. Kay’s head turned and a smile emerged from beneath the duvet, her hand reached for Taylor’s head, pulling her softly to her, their mouths touching, lips slightly parted as their kiss developed into passion, their tongues meeting, a soft caress, teasing, then devouring, taking one into the other with a floating sense of desire burning from within. Taylor’s long fingers gently stroked Kay’s breast, before gripping her nipple firmly with her finger and thumb; a slight moan of pleasure as Kay stroked Taylor’s back, holding her head as it went lower, her mouth covering her breast, licking, sucking, gripping the now taut nipples, stiff with anticipation. Her mouth searched the firmness of Kay’s stomach, her lips softly brushing against her, tasting her flesh as she followed the delicate lines, the natural path to her intimate pleasure. Kay arched her back in delight as the soft experienced mouth explored her, Taylor aware of what she was doing to her, of what Kay was feeling, a little different from her normal sexual partners. Kay’s soft mound was visible just before her, with a fine strip of dark hair leading to the glistening haven. Kay moaned loudly as the wait was over; she writhed backward at the tingling sensation of Taylor’s first touch, which was too consuming to control. Her tongue teased her softly at first, creating a plateau of pleasure, an orgasm that teetered on the edge. Taylor’s fingers delved deep inside, deepening the pleasure, preventing an uncontrollable and premature orgasm. Her fingers moved with Kay, pushing deep into her, rocking with the motion of her hips, one hand gripping her smooth and curvaceous buttocks, Taylor’s mouth creating wave after wave of dreamy ecstasy. The first orgasm was powerful and spiralled throughout her feverish body, the next a desperate and frantic affair with the final pleasure unfathomable, a euphoric sensation and long awaited fulfilment; pure unadulterated satisfaction.
Kay relaxed her taut frame and sank back onto the bed, panting from the effort expelled in the raunchy exchange of flesh and sweat, their kisses now calm and complete, Taylor no longer hungry for Kay’s pleasure. Kay pulled her to her and helped her unwind, relieving Taylor, pleasuring her in her own naive and inexperienced way. Kay cuddled into Taylor, laying her head on her olive skin, her perfectly formed breast just before her; she kissed her softly with her arm loosely round her waist as she drifted off to sleep, her body spent with contented exhaustion, head still spinning with her dreamy first experience of a woman’s pleasure.
Taylor Nicks was a 34 year old Detective Sergeant in the Major Crime Unit. She had been there for the past four years, based at Fettes Police Head Quarters in Scotland’s capital. She was part of a large team dealing with all of the extraordinary serious crimes in Edinburgh and the Borders, those which needed a dedicated team to fulfil the requirements that every unique and notable crime demanded. Taylor was tall, athletic, slim and very beautiful, a powerful woman in a man’s world. She had striking features, brown eyes, with long, dark, wavy, shoulder-length hair and she was a popular presence for both men and women, a fantasy for some and a reality for others. She was smart, forthright and humorous. A very confident and astute woman, Taylor was perceptive and quick-witted. A capable woman in her field, she was keen and inventive, believing no problem was too difficult to solve; she was a hard worker who would never give up, always fighting for the rights of the innocent.
Her personal life, on the other hand, was not so controlled: no regulations, no rules; she was flighty, careless with love and until now incapable of commitment, a free spirit who had broken many hearts on her directionless journey through her hectic love life. Her work was her safety net when her feet needed to be planted firmly back on the ground.
Her partner, Detective Constable Marcus Black, was 29 years old; he was a tall handsome man, with an athletically muscular frame, a firm jaw and well-groomed designer stubble. Tanned with short gelled dark hair and a smooth deep voice, Marcus was witty, intelligent and a very popular member of the team. He had a pleasant and honest personality, with a persuasive manner when dealing with people; a genuinely kind man, always polite and respectful to all of those who deserved it. He regularly worked side by side with Taylor, an accomplished duo, rank never being an issue between them; an efficient pairing with a proficient and experienced background, both suitably qualified in their field. He had a long term partner, Maria, and a young son David, and he loved both deeply. He was the opposite of Taylor, a faithful and loving man who lived for his family, but enjoyed the thrill of work.
Detective Inspector Martin Findlay, on the other hand, was a rotund chap; a little dishevelled, his clothes stretching to fit his ever-growing figure. His hand was never too far away from the common household doughnut. He relied heavily upon his far more experienced team surrounding him, one of the boys’ club promoted beyond his ability. An aggressive man when challenged by his subordinates, a weakness in his personality and failure to lead effectively. An old school cop, one who thought women should never have been introduced to the force - and gays, well that was another story altogether. He preyed on other people’s success, reaping the rewards it brought, taking ownership of the team’s hard work. He was also married, but regularly suggested he was unhappy and was only with her because it was too expensive to leave her. He had had affairs in the past, but his appearance these days now limited his chance of much success. He letched over any women in the office, rubbing close at any opportunity and making sleazy unwanted comments when he could get away with it. He found Taylor attractive - a waste of a good woman, he had been heard to say to his peers of similar backgrounds - and thought gays shouldn’t be allowed in the force.
Chapter 3: Survivor
Susan opened her eyes; the room was still dark. She took a shallow breath and a gripping pain rippled through her lungs, so sharp it made it painful to breathe, her deep internal wounds rupturing afresh as she moved. Her hair was matted with dried blood that clung to her scalp like glue. She slowly looked around the room, terrified in case he was still there, watching her lying on the bed, enjoying her taking her last breath. She listened for a few moments, motionless, making sure she was alone, then tentatively she rolled over, reaching backwards with her tied hands to her bedside table; she had put her phone there before she went to bed. “Please, please, please, be there.” Her fingers fumbled across the surface, groping for the familiar shape; she recoiled in agony as the countless wounds pulled apart as she moved. Blood oozed from the freshly opened tears and brutal stab wounds all over her, the bed now soaked through with her blood. She pulled herself gradually to the edge of the bed, fresh tears running down her face. The pain intensified as she leant backwards over the edge; the phone just out of reach. She yelled, “GOD DAMN YOU, just a few more inches, please!” She flopped from the bed, thudding full weight onto the floor.
She paused for a second, gasping for breath, phone in hand, disbelief that her nightmare might soon be over. The bruising tumble had reengaged all of her pain receptors; face first with her tied hands behind her, she had been unable to break the fall. With her bound fingers shaking uncontrollably, she used her touch memory and eventually managed to dial 999. Her heart leapt as she heard the voice of safety faintly at the end of the phone.
“What service do you require?”
Voice quivering, she replied, “Police.”
“Could you speak up please?”
“POLICE, POLICE! I NEED HELP, HELP ME! Please, I’m dying.”
The phone was behind her and she worried that her words would not be heard by the operator.
“Just relax, we’ll get to you, what is your address?” the call taker continued, but there was no reply, just the sound of weak breathing barely audible from the end of the line.
“Just you stay with us, don’t you put the phone down, hold on, hold on, we’ll get someone to you right now, you’ll be alright!”
A loud crash was heard from down the stairs. The front door crumbled beneath the door ram, as her rescuers burst in, shouting, “POLICE, POLICE.” Officers spilled into the house, systematically searching each room, calling out to her as they made their way towards where she was lying. Susan was unconscious on the floor beside the bed where she had fallen, barely visible from the doorway as she was collapsed behind it. The young copper first on the scene entered into her room and just stood in the doorway mouth gaping wide open as he switched on the light; he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Blood and hair covered the bed, walls and furniture. It was like a scene from an abattoir. He snapped out of it sharply as he saw a foot protruding from the end of the bed, bloodstained and petite. He rushed to Susan’s side and called for assistance. The medical teams accompanying the officers came rushing into the room as soon as the area was deemed safe. They quickly knelt down beside Susan, checking her vital signs, wondering if it was possible to survive injuries like those before their eyes. The young cop, still staring down at this poor soul, beaten beyond belief, was frozen to the spot with the macabre sight before him. The Sergeant came into the room and took his shoulder gently, guiding him outside, making sure that only those required were permitted to be there.
The room was now a major crime scene. Every piece of evidence inside it would be vital to the capture of the merciless person responsible for such depraved behaviour.
The paramedic shouted out loudly, “SHE’S ALIVE. God knows how, but she is.” The medics did all that was necessary to sustain Susan’s now fragile life, taking all the essential measures to prevent it slipping away from her during the short journey to the hospital.
The Sergeant arranged for a fast police escort; every second counted as Susan had lost so much blood. She lay on the trolley bed, barely breathing, a helpless soul, her life hanging in the hands of caring professionals who desperately wanted to save her and desperately wanted her to survive this nightmare.
On the way to hospital, the paramedic in the rear of the ambulance had to commence CPR when Susan’s heart arrested; her body finally giving up on her. He called through to the driver to update him on what was going on. His partner informed him he was going as fast as it was safe to do so and offered to stop and help his colleague but was told to keep driving as the medic in the rear continued CPR.
“We can’t save her without blood, she needs blood, every time I compress her chest the blood is just pumping out of her from everywhere.”
The police officer accompanying them felt helpless; she was there in case the victim came round and divulged anything of evidential value. She offered whatever help she could to the medic, who told her to give the inflations with the bag, to allow him to continue with uninterrupted compressions.
The ambulance screeched to a halt in the bay at the emergency department; the crash team already there waiting and prepared to take over. They rolled Susan out from the rear of the ambulance and started working on her before the trolley had even hit the ground. She was rushed into the emergency room where the specialist team and lifesaving equipment awaited them. The team worked frantically to save her; blood, fluids, surgery, hundreds of stitches, sweat and 100% commitment from all involved went into saving her life.
They were not going to let her die; she had fought so hard to live until now and they were not going to let her down if they could help it. The police officer standing in the corner of the room willed her to live; tears glistened in her eyes as she watched in bewilderment, feeling herself engulfed with sadness at the terrible thought that they may lose her after all she had been through. She clasped her hands together and whispered to herself as she looked up to the ceiling; she had never prayed in her life, but this lady needed all the help she could get.
Hours passed with relapse after relapse and many life-saving surgical procedures undertaken to stop Susan bleeding. Her spleen was removed; she had eleven broken bones, no sight in one eye, a fractured skull, hundreds of stitches and she had lost over half of her blood. Her lung was punctured and her heart muscle superficially incised as the final plunge of the knife had crunched through her defenceless ribs; a blow that had been meant to kill her but had failed to reach its intended target. One of the surgeons stopped on the way out of the emergency room and spoke with the officer still patiently waiting there.
“It’s a miracle, an absolute miracle! But she’s still here, and I think she’s got a good chance to make it now, fingers crossed.”
¤¤¤
Taylor moaned as the phone rang out loudly beside her in the night; it was dark and she had barely been asleep for two hours due to her enthusiastic visitor.
“Get in as soon as you can. You won’t believe this one!” She looked at Kay, longing to share her wonders one more time before she had to leave. Instead she told her that duty called and she had to leave. She laid the spare key on the bedside table beside Kay, and kissed her full on the lips. Flutters raced through her body as the kiss deepened but Taylor pulled herself away; the temptation was deep filled with the reality of what might happen if she stayed longer, the excitement almost clouding her sense of duty and responsibility.
Taylor showered quickly, sad that the scent covering her body had to be washed away, the evidence of the night swirling down the drain. Thoughts gripped her insides; she was moved by what she had felt tonight, stronger emotions than she normally felt or allowed. She got dressed into a stylish professional three piece suit that fitted to her like a glove, her blouse cut low enough to please, but not enough to be unprofessional. Her boots were heeled, lengthening her already long legs, giving her presence and even more appeal. She shook her dark hair out and as it cascaded down her shoulders it shone brilliantly in the light. She sprayed herself with a sweet unisex eau de toilette, the scent a pleasure to both men and women. She stood in the doorway pleasingly picturesque, a handsome woman, captivating beauty oozing from her. Kay looked at her from where she lay and could not believe how the woman looking at her had made her feel. Taylor smiled at her and said, “See you at work, I’ll be discreet, I promise.” She blew a kiss in Kay’s direction. The door slammed behind her, her departure apparent, loud and inconsiderate.
Marcus had received a similar call; he had been asleep for several hours and greeted the news somewhat more enthusiastically than Taylor. He quickly showered and dressed with no time to shave, leaving him looking slightly dishevelled, but ruggedly handsome. Maria turned over in bed and held her hand out to him. He leant over to her, kissed her tenderly on the lips and stroked her hair. She spoke to him. “Be safe, I love you.”
He smiled at her and whispered, “I love you too.” He left the room and paused at his son’s room; he went in and kissed David softly on the head, smiling down at him with the warmth which his child brought him; a love that shone deep within him. He then left the house quietly, always mindful of those he loved the most.
Chapter 4: Discovery
The police resources gathered at the location of the incident, with the Scenes Examination Branch already in the house, combing every inch of it for vital evidence. The POLSA (police search advisor) leading the search team was standing outside, waiting to enter the house once the forensic examination was complete. The search officers, who had been called out in the middle of the night, were instructed by the POLSA to carry out an initial search of the garden and any outbuildings adjacent to the house, prior to entering the house itself. They formed a line, shoulder to shoulder, and walked through the grounds slowly and systematically; it was still dark and they worked under strong beamed specialist dragon lamps. They searched thoroughly for any minute trace of the suspect and anything left by him of evidential value.
As they turned slowly round the side of the house, the first officer stopped dead in her tracks. She smacked the cop beside her in the ribs. He winced and started moaning at her but then stopped too. He could not believe his eyes either. They were looking for a possible weapon or any discarded clothing, not for this, not for a dog that had been brutally slain and a man, presumably the owner, lying dead by its side.
“What the fuck?”
“Who the fuck would do this kind of shit? SERG, SERG, COME LOOK AT THIS, you’re not gonna like it!” he yelled out into the night, with a hint of disbelief in his voice.
The Sergeant turned and came round the corner; his jaw dropped as he took in what lay before him, he rasped his fingers over his stubbly jaw looked to the sky and shook his head at the scene. He had been in the force fifteen years and things like this didn’t happen in Edinburgh. This was more like something out of CSI on the television. He immediately got on his radio and contacted the Senior Investigating Officer, informing him of the disturbing further developments. Numerous cordons were placed round the outer perimeter of the garden, tents were erected to protect the corpse of the man and the body of the dog, preventing the prying eyes of the innocent public as they walked by going about their business in the morning. The man and dog would remain in situ, to allow forensic tests to be carried out on their bodies and the ground around and beneath them.
Marcus and Taylor arrived at the scene and suited up, putting on white overalls, latex gloves, over shoes and masks - the full works, preventing themselves leaving their own DNA at the scene of the crime. They talked at length with the SIO at the scene and listened as the gruesome details of what lay upstairs were revealed to them. Taylor strode up the stairs, Marcus close behind her, both eager and repulsed to see Susan’s bedroom. Taylor stopped at the door and spoke with one of the scene examiners who was still present, swabbing every sample left behind, fully examining the room, making sure every tiny droplet was photographed and swabbed and its location documented. He informed Taylor that the culprit had boldly and arrogantly left his mark all over the room; blood, sweat, semen, hair and saliva on the floor, the walls and the bed covered with his perverted seed. These were signs of a depraved man with a sense of invincibility, taunting them with his conceited disdainful behaviour. A beast that had brazenly left his mark everywhere, with no fear and a belief he couldn’t be caught, his whole DNA profile left at the scene with no attempt to hide it or remove it from those who would soon be hunting him.
Taylor stood with Marcus just inside the doorway, both frozen still, statuesque, mouths open in disbelief staring at the bed. Taylor turned to Marcus and exclaimed, “Whoever did this is a totally foul and sinister person, an absolute demon. Just think of what that poor woman went through. It looks like he spent hours here.”
Marcus replied, “He’s bold as brass. He’s left so many biological samples behind him, it seems that he truly believes that we’re that stupid we won’t be able to catch him.”
Taylor stared back at the blood on the wall and stated, “We’ll catch him all right. He’ll have missed something somewhere that will help us nail him - they always do, fucking cocky bastard. He’s not getting away with this kind of shit in our city, no way. He makes me physically sick, fucking treacherous coward!”
Marcus walked further into the room. He crouched down at one of the numbered pieces of evidence. It looked like a bit of flesh on the ground. He looked at Taylor and said, “What a beast, this is one cruel and vicious son of a bitch.”
The scene examiner turned and told them, “That’s a piece of her neck. It’s covered in saliva, which I’m guessing is his.”
“I take it there is no way that it could have been stitched back on to the victim?” Taylor exclaimed.
“No, it’s been lying there too long and it’s no longer viable, I’m sure if they could have they would have done, although they may not have seen it! They worked on her for a long time I believe, I think that was the least of their worries. I heard they lost her a few times before being able to stabilise her. She’s apparently a complete mess.” Taylor’s eyes were welling up a little with the thought of what the victim was forced to endure over a lengthy period.
Marcus walked the room, careful not to disturb anything; he looked at the bed frame and spotted a tooth embedded in it.
“Bloody hell, look at this! That tooth is jammed right into the wood there. Some force would be needed to do that. God, that poor woman, she must have been terrified and in agony.”
“This guy is not going to be happy that Susan’s still with us you know! That’s his first mistake.”
Taylor spoke with the SIO, voicing her concern for the victim in the future, explaining to him that if the suspect found out that she was still alive, which he would, then she wouldn’t be safe.
“She wasn’t supposed to live. He’s made a fatal error; she’s seen him and can identify him, heard him and that wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s arrogant but not that stupid.”
The SIO agreed with Taylor. “What can we do though? Are we able to hide the fact that she is still alive from him? Could we print some false information and trust those in the know to keep their big mouths shut?”
The SIO replied, “I doubt it. There’s always someone out to make some cash, blabbing to the press, spilling their guts for a back hander.”
“Are we able to protect her though? Will they part with their precious cash to look after that poor soul - properly I mean? Not the usual half-hearted shit where they make false promises. I mean really protect her, the full bhuna!”
“I’ll get on to it, there’s already a cop at the hospital. I’ll see if armed officers are an option, but I know what the answer’s gonna be - namby pamby chicken shits, frightened of the day they’ve never seen. Politics gone mad, eh?”
Taylor questioned the SIO, “I take it there are no witnesses?”
“Yes, but I think they’re the dead ones in the garden,” he replied in a defeated tone.
“What about CCTV - buses, taxis, ANPR?”
“Nothing so far. He’s like an invisible phantom.”
Taylor asked, “How did the dog get on?”
The SIO replied, “They lost the scent three streets away. There must have been a thoroughfare of people walking there after he passed; concrete is not easy for the dogs to track on, if others have been there.”
“He’s a clever boy, or so he thinks.”
“He’ll do it again, you know!”
“I know and we’ve got next to nothing,” Taylor replied bluntly.
Taylor and Marcus left the crime scene and headed back to the office; stunned silence filled the car as they drove through the affluent areas of Edinburgh, areas where those wealthy enough to live there expected to be safe in their own homes. The properties had large gardens filled with old trees, perfectly cut grass, rockeries, expensive decking and high walls, walls which ensured privacy. For the predator, such premises were perfect: walls to hide behind, privacy to watch the victims with minimal interruption, a perfect place to wait before callously taking their innocent lives.
Chapter 5: Unforeseen News Flash
He turned over restlessly in his filthy, sweat-stained bed sheets, the stench of unclean flesh filling the room. His brow was sweaty as he turned to look at the clock. It shone brightly in his darkened room, 11.45 am boldly showing in red digital lettering. Too early to get up, he thought, as he was not working today. He decided to take the time to enjoy his thoughts, recapping on every vile detail of the night before; he looked at his fingers, still stained with Susan’s blood and other fluids invisible to the eye. He swithered whether to watch a DVD from his vast collection of sadistic porn, which he regularly imported from Amsterdam, or to just put the TV on. His mind was made up by the six foot journey to the closest porn DVD, which was lying on the floor, buried in old fast food cartons, dirty stale washing and months of grime, and he elected to watch TV. With the remote he flicked through the channels to find BBC News 24, hoping his little escapade last night would rightfully be headline news.
Reaching under the bed for his cigarettes he froze, his ears fully alert to the words he was hearing from the screen as he turned his head to see the headlines.
“A WOMAN ESCAPES WITH HER LIFE, AFTER HORROR ATTACK IN HER OWN HOME.” The story went on to state that a man and his dog were slain within the grounds of the property, possibly having disturbed the suspect whilst waiting for his planned victim. The story went on to list Susan Hamilton’s injuries, stating that several of them had been life-threatening in their own right. The news reader added that the knife used in what was believed to have been the intended final and fatal blow had only just superficially cut into the victim’s heart muscle, narrowly failing to rupture any of the chambers within, but that if hit would have guaranteed her certain death.
He lay there totally shocked, just staring at the ceiling; his breath rasped into his lungs before his fury escaped in a loud wail. It went on and on until there was no longer any air to carry on. He stood up, his tall frame spoilt by his soft belly hanging over his sagging unclean underpants. His arms were extremely hairy, but still noticeably strong from his years of manual labour; his chest still showed the remnants of what was once a very muscular and well-built man. He punched the door, his fist creating a hole right through to the hallway. He didn’t even flinch as his knuckles started to swell and bleed, the pain almost giving his anger some sort of outlet to escape. He could not believe after all his good work last night that the fucking bitch had survived; she was so small, insignificant and defenceless and he had totally underestimated her, and her will to live.
John Brennan was a 48 year old recently divorced man. He had worked as a scaffolder for 20 years and had recently taken a job in the City Centre, City and View, the Capital Cities’ CCTV hub, which covered all the known troublesome areas of Edinburgh and the busy city centre night spots. He worked there four days on and four days off, leaving him plenty of time to devote to his new project. He was unimaginably punctual and managed to fulfil the requirements of his job, knowing that was how he could manage to appear normal. He could fly beneath the radar and remain unnoticed by the ever present and prying eyes of the police. He was also very aware of the areas not covered by the police’s vital source of evidence, the city’s CCTV. He knew where big brother could not see him and he intended to make full use of this privileged knowledge.
John pulled out his laptop angrily and started surfing the web for his next important lady. He thought to himself, isn’t freedomof information a fantastic tool for people like me? This was an unguarded window into the private lives of so many people, with lots of helpful information about all of these wonderfully successful women. His deep rooted bitterness, hatred and anger towards the fairer sex radiated from him, his need to erase his recent misjudgement at the front of his mind. He had spent a lot of time with the last one and didn’t feel that he could wait too long to get his next fix, his rage spurring him on and his desire visible.
