Abandoned (3 page)

Charles climbed back up out of the pit and reached
for his bag. He then removed a five-millilitre syringe barrel and needle and took out the bottle of Ketamine he had initially used to sedate her. Climbing back down to where she lay, Charles carefully administered the full contents of the syringe into her limp body. Any chance of her regaining her senses was now completely diminished, as the dose he had just given her is usually reserved for putting fully-grown horses to sleep.

Charles smiled in satisfaction. There would be no more screams or moaning from this one.

The bloodlust slowly took complete control over him. He looked down where she lay, his menacing blue eyes piercing the teenager’s bloody, filth-stained body, the moonlight softly highlighting her faint young curves. Thoughts started whirring through his mind furiously. Was this what
she
looked like? Was this how his dirty little whore mother looked when she was lying on her back being impregnated at fourteen, before giving me up at birth? Dropping him like he was worthless? How he despised her! What kind of a person could do that to a baby? Who could abandon something as innocent as a new-born child?

His fury suddenly broke free as he raged to the heavens. ‘FUCK YOU, MOTHER! FUCK YOU!’

With that, he got down on the ground and knelt between the girl’s thighs. He glanced up at her face, noticing that her eyes pointed to the back of her head, oblivious to what was happening.

He was still uttering those words under his breath, ‘Fuck you, fuck you, Mother!’

He pulled off her short skirt, then tore off her underwear with one swipe. His excitement was like nothing he had ever experienced as he proceeded to pull down his trousers. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his arm; he knew what he is about to do is wrong on every level, but he needed to make her pay. He needed her to feel exactly how he felt, to be helpless and at his mercy, just as he used to be at Mr Beattie’s mercy.

His anger was mostly aimed at his biological mother
for leaving him in the care of Social Services and the local authorities, the people that failed him on so many levels, the people who allowed the abuse, beatings and rapes to continue through incompetence and disbelief. He was angry at the life he never had, and the family he’d never known.

He climbed on top of his comatose victim, pausing for a second only to make sure her eyes were still shut, then proceeded to enter the girl. After only a couple of thrusts, he could feel himself nearing ejaculation, much to his disappointment as he wanted the moment to last. He reached out and placed his large, gloved hands around Lucy’s limp neck and gently started to squeeze. He began to thrust harder and faster as he tightened his grip.

‘FUCK YOU, MOTHER, FUCK YOU, YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE WHORE!’ He spat the words out like venom.

Her face became redder as her blood vessels began to surface and burst; as he throttled her to the point of asphyxiation. Suddenly, just as he was about to climax, her eyes opened abruptly and looked up at the man on top of her. He caught her gaze, looking deep into her ever-dilating green eyes. She was nearing the point of death when something strange happened: a tear fell from his eye, landing on her dirt-ridden face. But it was too late, he knew he couldn’t turn back, he couldn’t undo what he had already done. With that, he increased the pressure considerably, but it wasn’t profanities he was exclaiming anymore; instead he simply whispered down at her, ‘I’m so sorry’ right at the point of climax and, in that instance, Lucy Mitchell’s young life was extinguished. Ended at the hands of this so-called ‘family man’ and ‘loving father’.

Several seconds passed before he realised she’d gone; he was so lost in his own twisted euphoria. He quickly regained his senses and leant down to close her eyes before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

‘Goodnight, Mother…sweet dreams.’

He then casually climbed off of her to his feet, then pulled up his trousers and straightened up while wiping
his tear-soaked eyes. His composure now restored, he reached up and pulled himself out of the pit. He nonchalantly looked over the body lying before him for a short while, then slammed the cover down, pulling the chains tight. He made doubly sure that the padlock was back in place before covering the entrance entirely with forest debris, shrubbery and leaves. To the unknown eye, nobody would ever know it was there.

The dark of night was well and truly present upon the thick, dense forest as he made his way back through the labyrinth of trees before him, carefully navigating his route, as he knew — more than anyone — just how unforgiving this terrain could be under the cover of darkness. He made his way out of the tree line, back over the fence towards his waiting Volvo. He double checked his person to make sure there were no clues to his secret macabre activities. As he did so, he noticed his boots were thickly covered in mud and moss, and blood splattered up the front of his wax jacket. This didn’t bother him, however; he knew Rebecca was used to him coming home covered in blood and dirt from attending farms, delivering cattle and suchlike. It was the blood on his face that caught his attention as he looked in his rear view mirror. He pulled out his handkerchief and quickly removed it before placing his gloves back in the glove box, then carefully hid the bag he had prepared under the passenger seat. He composed himself again and concocted a story to relay to his wife. Satisfied, he pulled away from the layby and travelled the fifteen miles away from Kielder, heading back to the comfort of his own home, the warmth of his loving wife and children and the unconditional love of his beloved collie, Tess.

***

Back at the house, Rebecca greeted Charles with a loving embrace, thoughts of last night’s intimacy still fixed firmly in her mind; secretly she hoped for more of the same tonight.

‘So how was your day, love?’

‘Same old, same old, dear. You know how it is, there are always sick animals to tend to,’ Charles responded automatically.

She didn’t pry any further, as she could see he looked tired. She simply just offered to run him a nice hot bath.

‘That would be great. Thanks, dear. I’ll just take Tess for a quick walk whilst you do so.’

With that, he headed back out of the door.

He looked forward to his evening walks with Tess, as he would make a habit out of talking to her about his problems and feelings; even though she didn’t respond, he somehow felt as though they had a connection. He liked to believe she understood him on some level.

‘I had to do it, Tess, I had to. She would’ve talked, she would’ve sent me away! She asked for it, but its ok now, she can’t talk anymore, she’s gone for good. It’s just us again now, no more distractions.’ Once he had finished offloading, they turned around and headed back to the house.

Upon their return, Rebecca had his customary glass of red wine poured ready for him, and announced that his bath was ready. ‘Just be quiet,’ she warned, ‘as the kids have not long gone to sleep.’

He thanked her then headed to the bathroom, where he removed his filthy clothes before proceeding to relax in the hot, tranquil bath before him. He drank his wine, scrubbed any trace of DNA from his body, then just lay there, lost in his own little world, a twisted sense of justice and justification engrossing him. He was proud of what he’d accomplished. The realisation that he was capable of exerting that dominance and control over another human being, and inflicting the ultimate punishment, not only excited him, but empowered him. The feelings of being lost, helpless, and at the mercy of others as a child no longer held weight in his mind; for once, he had the power and control — and he loved it!

Forty minutes passed before Rebecca came and knocked on the bathroom door.

‘You ok in there?’

‘Yeah, just getting out now, love,’ said Charles, snapping out of his reverie.

‘Ok’, she replied. ‘I’ll just be in the living room.’

He put on his dressing gown that hung on the back of the door, picked up the pile of clothes in front of him and took them to the kitchen, loading them straight into the washing machine. He set the controls to a boil wash, inserted the powder, and pressed start. He relaxed a little, pouring himself another large glass of wine, finishing off the bottle by doing so. He found Rebecca waiting for him in the lounge, but, ignoring her, he sat on the couch, took control of the remote control and turned on the news channel.

About fifteen minutes or so of national news headlines appeared on screen before it got to the regional news. They showed footage of flooding around the west Cumbria area before finally getting to the news of the missing girl.

‘Still there is no news on missing Lucy Mitchell…’

Charles is somewhat pleased by this, but Rebecca seemed less so.

‘Have you seen this Charles? It’s terrible. That poor girl’s family must be devastated. Gretna is only forty minutes from here. I couldn’t bear it if that was to happen to one of our girls, I’d be beside myself.’

Charles just mumbled, ‘Yeah, me too,’ on autopilot, as he was too engrossed in what was happening on screen.

The news finally came to an end. Downing his drink, Charles got up.

‘I’m off to bed. Work’s exhausted me today,’ he announced.

Rebecca seemed a little miffed — perhaps she was hoping that last night’s passion might have unlocked some of the old spark from their relationship. However, she pecked him on the cheek in forgiveness; after all, he was a hardworking man that provided a good stable life for the family.

‘Ok dear, I’ll be through shortly, goodnight,’ she said,
and looked at him wistfully as he turned away.

Just a simple ‘goodnight’ was thrown over his shoulder as he exited the room. He stopped at Molly’s room first, entering and making sure she was tucked in. Placing a kiss on her head, he bade her goodnight and then entered Fiona’s room to do the same, taking extra care to ensure she had her favourite teddy bear to cuddle — she hated to wake up without it beside her. He then took himself off to bed where, surprisingly, whether by some sort of the adrenaline comedown or his sheer lack of conscience, he fell into a deep sleep within minutes of resting his head.

The next morning, Charles was awoken by the bright winter sun shining through the curtains and upon his face. He looked over at the clock, and as usual it read 5.15am. Without work to get up for, as the practice was shut on Saturdays, he just lay there. Everyone else in the household was still sound asleep, so the house was silent. He thought of Lucy, about how she would probably thank him and be grateful for him taking her life, a life that would have probably been nothing but misery and suffering; how she must have enjoyed sharing her final moments in his embrace. He believes he saw in her dying eyes a moment of clarity and understanding, and in that moment she had realised the reasons for his actions and how lucky she had been that he had chosen her.

His narcissism was now in full flow, consuming his every thought. He looked over at Rebecca lying beside him, fully engrossed in his warped fantasy and his heightened sense of arousal. He placed his hand under the Egyptian cotton sheets and ran it down his wife’s side, from her ribs, down past her waist and over her hips. He then proceeded to raise her silk camisole and gently run his fingers over her pubic bone and inside her black French knickers. He moved in closer; by now he noticed the slight hint of Jasmine and Eucalyptus scent wafting from her recently washed mousey hair combined with the sweet scent of her favourite Chanel perfume.

She slowly awoke, her back still turned to him, as he began to massage her clitoris, pressing his erect penis into the small of her back. She didn’t let on that she was awake, but chose instead to let him carry on until she felt herself become more and more aroused. By this point, she could feel the warm dampness building inside of her and arched her back towards him, pressing her firm buttocks into his groin in a submissive manner, but still not saying a word.

Charles needed no further encouragement; he
entered her now lubricated vagina and steadily began to build up a rhythm whilst caressing her breasts and nipples. She let out little gasps of encouragement as he gained pace, happy to be reconnecting with her recently-distant husband, hoping this was the start of a turning point in their marriage.

Charles, on the other hand, slowly became more and more submerged in his own thoughts as the lines between fantasy and reality became more and more blurred. He ran his left hand up the front of her body, over her erect nipples, and placed it softly around her neck, all the while still caressing her with his right hand. He slowly started to tighten his grip as he continued to penetrate her. She didn’t mind at first, although this is something he had never done before. She just chose to go along with it; if truth be known, it was secretly turning her on. She could feel a build-up of pressure inside herself as she gradually approached orgasm. Charles began to thrust harder; instead of his loving wife in front of him, all he saw was Lucy as he became more and more animalistic and forceful with each thrust.

Rebecca was now right on the edge of climax and let go of herself, shuddering in intense orgasm. Charles tightened his grip even further around her neck as he reached the point of no return. By this point, Rebecca was struggling to breathe and tried to gently encourage him to loosen his grip, not wanting to make an issue of it while he was still not done. It was no use though; he squeezed her throat even harder, and in that moment he shuddered in an equally intense climax before coming back to his senses and releasing his grip from her neck. He knew from her face that he went too far, and knew she was going to question him about it, but in that moment they both just lay there in silence — her, baffled and shocked by what just happened, and him, revelling in his masculinity and sexual prowess.

Right at that moment, before Rebecca could utter a word about what had just happened, Fiona came bursting in the door.

‘Daddy, Daddy, can we still go shopping today? You promised, you promised.’

‘Of course we can, sweetheart,’ he replied. ‘Now, come and tell me all about your week. How’s school been? Have you been good?’