Depravity (8 page)

If the truth was to be told, Kevin had only been listening with half an ear. His mind was back in that room. only this time, he was the one slamming his hips hard against the young woman, gripping her back tight while his length pushed deep inside her wet sleeve. The only alteration to the plan was he was fucking his pretend mother, not the girl in the cellar. Why he’d chosen her didn’t matter. Kevin was having a whale of a time, far better than listening to the kid bang on about the intimate connection between victim and subjugater.

His internal radar only kicked in when the surroundings around him melted away and he found himself back in that room. Alistair appeared in front of him still wearing that smoking jacket. The little shit then dropped the bombshell. Kevin was about to experience first-hand what it would feel like for the shoe to be on the other foot.

God damn his naivety. Even at the start of this madness, the consequences didn’t sink in. Alistair explained that he was to undergo a single ordeal. In reality, he’d only be at the mercy of his torturers for twenty minutes at the most. It might become a little uncomfortable at the end but right at the start of the fun and games, you won't feel a thing.

It didn't even bother Kevin when the woman slammed the plastic Biro shell into his left eye. His mother had accused him of averting his gaze as she practised her art. Kevin had done nothing of the sort. In fact he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her slender fingers, watching fascinated while his mother fixed several strips of duct tape horizontally across his chest and stomach. At first, Kevin assumed she was going to use the tape to rip out the hairs on his front, like giving him a crude wax.

He soon realised that it wasn't only the hairs she'd by ripping away when she used a scalpel to section the tape into a further four strips each. After the woman's unexpected outburst that resulted in Kevin losing fifty percent of his vision, she went back to cutting through the tape and the flesh beneath the silver adhesive material.

The fucking little ghost boy shithead had purposely mislead him. He really had thought the pain would increase throughout the entire torture session. He certainly hadn't expected to wake up and go through it one more time. On the second run through, Kevin actually felt the sensation as she ripped the narrow pieces of tape off his front. He looked down in utter horror at the sight of the  pile of red and silver lengths growing below his feet.

Thinking back, those sessions really were baby taps compared to what that bitch had just put him through. He would have long left now before that door would open again. Any minute now, that hateful bastard would push open that door and for the fourth time he'd be using that blowtorch to mutilate his extremities.

Tears streamed down the cheek of his right eye, wishing, hoping that this would be the last ordeal. After the man turned his fingers black then applied the flame across the souls of his feet, that would be the end of it. He'd wake up back in his nice warm bed, totally healthy and eager to start the hurting. “Instead of being hurt myself!” he wailed.

Kevin's bowls emptied their contents when the door slowly swung inwards, flooding the dark room with sick yellow light. Kevin blinked rapidly, sensing that there'd been a change in the schedule. He frowned as the open door showed him a limited view of the next room. Where was the man?

“How are you holding up, Kevin? I hope you've been taking notes.”

He spun his head to the side and gaped at the boy. Kevin didn't think he'd seen more beautiful sight in his life. He'd done it, he'd made it to the end. Obviously Alistair was here to release him now.

“You're almost halfway through, my friend. You're doing great.”

“What, you're not here to release me?”

“Of course not. You've got to see this through to the end. I'm afraid. It's how this works.” Alistair lightly ruffled the man's hair. “Chin up. It'll be all over before you know it!” The apparition nodded towards the open door.

Kevin moaned and gibbered at the sight of the man framed in the light, his hands clasping that blowtorch.

“Looks like that's my cue to depart,” he said. “I'll see you on the other side, Kevin.”

“Please don't leave me!” he shrieked.

Chapter Six

More meat for the pot

1

Michael popped the food menu back into its wooden holder. He ensured that the double sided laminated sheet containing a wondrous assortment of delicious looking treats totally obscured the drinks menu.  The last thing he needed right now was another drink. His head felt a though a brass band had taken up residence, and it appeared that the little bastards were immune to the painkillers that he'd dry shallowed on their way into town. Perhaps he should grab a beer to go with his food, hair of the dog and all that.

He mentally slapped his hand away. No, right now, his stomach needed that yummy looking bacon roll that Trevor was struggling to bring over on that tray. It took effort not to chuckle at the sight of the man attempting to cross the distance from the counter to their table, whilst balancing a tray containing two sandwiches, a pot of coffee and a glass of milk.

“You'll never make a waitress, Trevor,” he said,  lifting one of the rolls from the tray. The smell from that bacon was killing him. He knew right there and then that Trevor would have the opportunity to charm the socks off that pretty teen who served him.

“I still think we should have gone to McDonalds, Mickey.”

“Are you serious?” Michael asked. He emptied two sugar sachets into his coffee and gave it a brisk stir. “I promised you a tour of this fantastic little town, showing you her hidden wonders, giving you a taste of proper country living.” He dropped the plastic spoon and pointed to his friend's roll. “Speaking of taste, put that into your mouth before it gets cold. Believe me, Trevor. This place is one of this town's hidden wonders.”

“If you say so.”

What had gotten into him? Christ, it was Trevor's idea to come here in the first place. Michael mentally shook his head, not wanting to do it for real, just in case that brass band took that as a cue to play even louder. He wetted his mouth with the coffee before ripping off a sizeable chunk of food. If Trevor didn't want his roll, it wouldn't go to waste, that much he did know. God, this was nice. Michael paused in mid chew, watching his friend survey the other customers. Trevor hadn't touched his food and drink.  His complexion looked almost as pale as the contents of Trevor's glass. He hastily shallowed his food. “You okay, pal? You look a bit off.”

Trevor turned back to him, picked up the glass and drunk the milk in one go. “I didn't feel too bad until I came in here. Now I have the headache from hell and...” He sighed heavily. “Doesn't matter.”

He put the remains of the sandwich back on the plate, wiped the tips of his fingers with a paper napkin before leaning closer to his mate. “What's that supposed to mean?” Michael enquired. “You see, when you say it doesn't matter, I think you mean that it does?”

“Bloody hell. Okay, look. I just happened to mention that hotel  to the girl. You see her? She's rearranging the cakes in the glass display.”

Michael nodded. A pretty little thing. He guessed she was early to mid twenties, short cropped brown hair, and large brown eyes. Oh those eyes were really quite lovely, so big, like a human Manga girl.

“If you've finished drooling? For crying out loud, man.”

“Sorry,” he grinned. “Okay, so what about her?”

“Well, when I asked about the hotel, she went all cold on me, starting to act real strange, and then I got this banging headache.”

Michael ripped his gaze away from the girl and stared at her friend. “What are you saying to me here? That you want to go to the drive-thru because some girl cold-shouldered you and then magically gave you a headache?”

“Jesus. I said it didn't matter.” Trevor picked up his bacon roll and bit into it. “Not bad,” he mumbled.

His headache had just about gone. Michael put that down to that most excellent sandwich that he'd rammed down his neck. He looked past Trevor and watched the girl, going about her tasks. “Won't be a moment,” he said, scraping his chair back.

Michael wandered over to the counter. “Hi. Is there any chance of another one of those bacon rolls?”

The girl flashed him a quick smile. “Sure. It won't be a moment.” She hurried into the back, giving Michael the opportunity to cast an appreciative glance over her shapely legs. He loved black stockings. He turned his head away, feeling a little guilty. What was wrong with him, did they spike his coffee with Viagra or something?

They almost had the place to themselves now. Apart from him and Trevor, there were only another three customers in the care. An old fella, wearing a dark green overcoat, sitting in the corner, by the window, and a middle-aged couple, sitting on the other side. Considering it was close to lunch time, Michael thought the place would have been a lot busier, unless there was another cafe hidden in town somewhere. He doubted that the folk around here would venture past the town limits to sample the 'delights' of mass produced fast food. It didn't feel like that kind of town.

Come to think of it, apart from the single fish and chip shop on the edge of town, this place didn't even have a takeaway. No Chinese, no Indian, not even a pizza house. Michael looked again at the few customers, wondering if the locals actually had stomachs.

“Here you go, Mr Sandhurst,” said the waitress.

“You know me?”

She nodded, then stuck her hand over the counter. “Yep. I'm Katie Overton, by the way. Maddie's best friend? I just wanted to thank you for what you did last night. You probably saved her life.”

He shook her hand, feeling a little uncomfortable, sensing six pairs of eyes were now drilling holes in the back of his neck. “As long as she's okay. That's what counts.” Katie held his hand for a moment longer before releasing him. Her skin was so soft. Weird, considering she worked in a cafe. Michael decided that she must use a hell of a lot of hand cream.

She disappeared into the back, then reappeared, holding another white plate. Here you go, Mr Sandhurst.” She waved her hand when he dipped into his pocket. Oh no, it's okay. I'll pay for this one. It's the least I can do.” Katie looked over Michael's shoulder. “Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at your buddy.” She sighed. “Thing is, I used to work up at that creepy old place, and your mate just happened to ask about the hotel right at the time I was thinking about it. The man who runs it is...”

She risked a look behind her, staring at the coloured bead curtain separating the serving area to what Michael guessed must be the kitchen.

“Just stay away from there, Mr Sandhurst. It's not a healthy place.”

Before he could ask her what she meant by that, the girl spun around and disappeared into the back. Michael took his plate over to the table and placed it on the surface, more confused now than he was before he stood up.

“I hope for Jodie's sake that you're weren't making a move on that girl.”

He slowly shook his head, aware that the old man in the corner was openly staring at him. “Don't be daft,” he replied. “She's Maddie's mate. Oh, she also wanted to apologise for snapping at you. Apparently she had a bad experience at that hotel, or something.”

“I should think so too.”

“I'm going to pay a visit.” Michael walked towards the old man, watching him hurriedly turn away and stare into his cup. “Nosey old bastard,” he murmured. He took a sharp left, passed between two tables and pushed open a lime-green door, labelled with a peeling Gents sticker.

The strong smell of cheap disinfectant hit him as soon as Michael entered the toilets. He frowned, gazing at the four urinals and the two cubicles in the corner. It looked a bit big for the size of the cafe. He had expected a single cubicle.

It had to be the museum next, he decided. The low lighting, gentle commentary explaining the history of the town would put them both at ease. It would be just what the doctor ordered. He'd leave the visit to the standing stones for another time. Besides, they were only supposed to be popping down here for breakfast before heading back to the farmhouse. He grinned to himself. Michael couldn't wait to show him some of the gear that he'd found in those barns. He hadn't even told Jodie about the stuff he'd uncovered in the barn furthest from the house, she would have seriously freaked. He wasn't entirely sure about showing it to Trevor, thinking about it. Not today anyway. Maybe next time, when the lad wasn't acting so out of it.

He stopped by the urinal in the corner and looked into the bowl, wondering when the last time health and hygiene paid a visit. This place really was gross. This was more like a  nightclub toilet at three in the morning. There were even dried blood stains on the wall, close to his feet.

Maybe he should have a quiet word with the fella who runs this place. No wonder it's empty. One look in here and their customers are hardly likely to return, even if this was the only cafe in town.

He couldn't even bring himself to unzip. The museum could have the contents of his bladder. Michael turned around, then stopped. He cocked his head, sure that he could hear something. It sounded like somebody getting whipped, followed by muffled yelps. He hurried back to where he'd stood and leaned closer to the wall. He could definitely hear something. What the hell was happening in that other room?

Michael reverted back to pretend pissing position when the toilet door opened. Three youths ambled in. Their smirks dropped off their faces when they saw him. He turned to face them, looked the three of them up and down and did his best not to crack out laughing. These guys must be the town bad boys. All dressed in identical leather jackets, pale blue denims, complete with slick back greasy hair. All three of them looked like throwbacks from the movie Grease.

Now this was something Michael could handle. He'd tackle aggressive thugs over weird sounds in walls and mates acting odd any day.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

The tallest boy, Michael assumed he must be their leader, rested his thick arms on his mate's shoulders and looked him up and down. “Don't think so, mister. Unless you want to hold my cock while I piss.”

His mates chuckled.

Michael walked over to the three of them, and stopped in front of the leader. “I'd love to, sweetheart. Thing is, there's no soap in the dispenser. How would I clean myself after touching your filthy body?”

It was a joy to watch the colour drain from the boy's face. Michael guessed that the last person to insult this goon was either his domineering father or probably a teacher.

“You're going to pay for that insult,” growled the boy.

Michael shook his head. “Sorry, don't give money to beggars. Now, are you going to let me pass, or do I start breaking fingers? To illustrate his point, his hand whipped forward, his fingers wrapping around the leader's thick wrist. This boy obviously worked out. His body was packed with young lean muscle. Not that it made any difference to Michael. If the lad didn't know how to use it, then as far as he was concerned it was just dead weight.

He spun the lad around and pushed his arm up his back. “Lads, I bet you that I can have your mate weeping like a big girl before I finished playing This Little Piggy went to Market. Michael took the boy's little finger and gave it a sharp twist. Not enough to break it, just to show that he meant business.

I'm sorry,” cried the boy. “Please let me go. I didn't mean it.”

He grabbed the boy's index finger. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do.” said the boy on the left.

He looked younger than the others. Michael guessed that he was probably just about to leave his teen years behind. There were blond roots showing through the black hair dye, just behind his ear. “Oh? Then surprise me.”

“You have the farmhouse. My dad told me.”

“Correct. That means I'm sticking around.” He let the boy go. “I'll be watching you three. “ Michael grabbed the door handle. “Appearances can be deceptive. You need to remember that.” He turned around and pulled open the door, quickly hiding the smile.

He walked over to the empty counter and leaned across the top, trying to see into the next room. What had he heard in that toilet? The mental image of some guy beating the crap out of that waitress became stuck in his head and wouldn't shift no matter what he tried. “Excuse me?” he shouted.

The girl pushed through the curtains. He watched her face closely, looking for any signs of distress. All he saw there were signs of a faint smile as well as a tinge of confusion.

“You okay, Mr Sandhurst?”

He nodded. “I just want to pay up.”

She smiled at him. “It's fine. Your friend's already paid.”

Michael turned around and saw Trevor waving at him with one hand while his other hand held a large chocolate éclair.

“It's a freebie,” he said, when Michael sat opposite him. “Oh, well that wasn't very nice. Three lads just left the bogs and gave you the finger.”

2

Greg James stared into his coffee when the two young men left the cafe. His dark reflection reminded him that his beard was getting a little out of condition. Nothing that a trim wouldn't solve.  After all, Greg needed to look his best for the town meeting tomorrow night. The real hotel owners were coming out of retirement. This meant big things for his town. He couldn't wait! It was about time too. This town had been slowly dying ever since the boy took over the running of the place.

That scary man sure did have a pretty car. The kind of vehicle that he'd sure like to own. Greg felt himself getting hard again. Perhaps, that particular dream wasn't all that unlikely?