Kaleidoscope (13 page)

More people entered and the bar filled up, and although Lewis tried to keep track of every new face, it became increasingly difficult as the alcohol commandeered his brain. Eventually he got up, stumbling off his chair and staggered through the growing crowd towards the door. He left the bar and went out into a shower of rain. His weather report to the barman a few hours earlier was woefully out of date and the rain soaked into his jacket as he fumbled down the street.

His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts and the convictions that forced him to go to the pub earlier in the evening were becoming confused and diluted within the haze his mind now operated.

All he wanted was to see Hannah alive again. All his theories that surrounded her death felt as if they were burrowing into his brain and twisting themselves snake-like, constricting his thoughts and preventing him from gaining any clear perspective on what was true and what was a lie.

He stumbled forward and hit his shoulder on the corner of a lamppost. He looked up at the black night sky and squinted as the rain fell into his eyes.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" he slurred quietly to himself as he negotiated the post and wandered into a large park which was lit by sporadic glowing lamps along a winding path. He felt his stomach spasm and threw up into a bin that stood next to a bench. He went to sit down but missed and fell to his knees as the rain came down around him.

"What do I do now?" he repeated and sobbed into his soaking hands.

After a moment, he pushed them backwards and ran them through his hair.

"Wallet."

Lewis turned suddenly at the sound of the voice and saw the three men from the bar standing a few feet away under thick shadows.

"Give me your fucking wallet," one of them repeated and stepped forward into the glow of one of the lamps.

Lewis stared at him through swaying, blurred vision. He guessed he was in his early twenties and was small and skinny. The rain fell onto a long fringe which pasted the dark hair to his forehead. Lewis grabbed the bench and managed to drag himself to his feet. The alcohol hadn't managed to numb his pain, but it had destroyed his fear.

"Fuck off," he said, stepping towards the leader, staggering slightly.

"What did you say to me?"

The man stepped forward again, pulling up his soaking white t-shirt with one hand, revealing a gun that had been pushed firmly underneath his belt. "I
will
shoot you, you piece of shit. Now, wallet!"

Lewis took a step back at the sight of the gun, but the danger posed by the object was only partially absorbed. He was shocked to see the gun, but the shock felt dull - distant somehow.

He saw the silhouettes of the two other men glance around nervously and then he stared back at the gun. Lewis realised that it wasn't just the alcohol that had suppressed the fear from fully registering; it was also the ache inside. His pain had overtaken and overwhelmed all other emotions; the pain of losing her was almost all he felt now and the threat had been vanquished by it.

"Give me your wallet, now!" The man pulled out the gun and pointed it at Lewis's head. The rain continued to fall, droplets bouncing off the barrel, a few inches from his eyes.

As he stared at the fragments of light reflecting off the shiny, metallic surface of the gun, Lewis had another moment of realisation. It was a truth that had been suddenly illuminated and it was almost comforting in its beautiful simplicity; because when it came down to it, at that particular moment, he simply didn't care. He didn
’
t care about anything, he didn
’
t care if he lived or died. He swallowed, still able to taste the bile as it burned the back of his throat.

"Do it then," he said quietly, staring through the rain. He felt his stomach lurch again but managed to suppress the growing need. Leaning forward slowly, he placed his forehead on the tip of the barrel. It felt colder than ice. "Do it, please. I
want
you to"

The man didn't move or say anything as their eyes became locked on each other. He adjusted his grip on the gun and pushed it forward, the barrel pushing into Lewis's forehead. Lewis could hear his trembling breath escape into the night and tried to calm himself as he fought the temptation to pull away and run.

"Give me..." the man paused, realising his bargaining position had been reduced to zero. He glanced around at his companions, who began to back away.

Lewis slowly raised his hand and placed it gently on the gun, still holding it firmly to his head.

"Please do it," he repeated in little more than a whisper for a third time.

"Don't fucking shoot him Kyle," one of the other men said nervously. "Jesus, he's crazy. He's not worth this man!"

Kyle took a moment, staring back at Lewis again but Lewis, even in his drunken haze, already knew he had won. He leaned forward again and pushed Kyle away, gripping the gun hard and wrenching it from his hand. As soon as Kyle lost contact with the gun, all three men suddenly turned and began to run away, down the narrow path and out of the park.

Lewis stood in silence, staring in the direction the three men had fled and suddenly realised he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly before feeling his stomach twist again and he lunged towards the bin. His legs were unsteady and he sat down on the wet bench when he had finished. He stared down at the gun in his hands, noticing they were shaking; he may not have felt his fear, but it had still been present, lingering beneath the surface.

Studying the gun, Lewis realised he had never even been in the presence of one before and the steel grip felt alien between his fingers.

The rain began to slow and eventually stop as he sat on the bench for what seemed like hours, staring solemnly at the object in his hands.

"What do I do?" he repeated to himself slowly. He focused on the trigger and gently placed a finger over it. He stopped repeating the sentence and one final, barely audible word, slipped his lips as he gazed down. "Joe."

Eventually he blinked for the first time in decades and pushed the gun into his jacket pocket. He stood up, feeling a little steadier now and looked around the darkness that swallowed up most of the park. He turned and began to walk home.

Chapter 14

Hellam

The wheels of Hellam's car spun on the soft mud as he sped down the slight incline towards the farm. The sun was just setting beyond the horizon and for a fleeting moment, Hellam wondered why he felt nothing for the sight of the dark pink glow which spread like ink on blotting paper through the pale, blue sky. He had often heard people refer to the setting sun as 'beautiful', but continually failed to understand any meaning behind such a comment. He dismissed the thought and brought the car to a standstill beside the huge, wooden barn which stood next to a derelict, brick building. He turned off the ignition and rolled his shoulders backwards, tilting his head up in an attempt to relax the muscles. It had been a long day and he wanted to go home but also had to check on the preparations. He stepped out of the car and walked towards the barn.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it as he approached the doorway, exhaling a white cloud of smoke as he caught sight of two men standing inside. As he entered the barn, he saw that there were three floodlights on large upright stands, pointing towards a central area and illuminating the rapidly darkening space.

"It's looking nice," Hellam said, nodding as he approached the two men and they turned towards him. "Are those working off the generator?" He pointed towards the three floodlights.

One of the men - tall and muscular - nodded. "Yeah, we finally got it going. The fucking thing had seized up, but it should be fine now."

Hellam turned towards the other man who was fiddling with some wires which were trailing along the dusty, concrete floor. "
Tyler
, have you got the camera sorted out?"

The man glanced round, "Yeah, hold on."

He got up and walked away to a small sectioned off area on the far side of the barn. Tyler was much shorter than the first man, due partly to his hunched, crooked posture which sliced a good half-foot from his extended height. He had a sharp, ratty face and sported a wispy, goatee beard which clung to his pale skin like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. He walked with a slight limp across the barn and disappeared behind a partition on the opposite end. He returned seconds later, carrying a stand and small box which he placed in the centre of the three floodlights. Hellam watched as he set up the stand and then pulled a small, digital camcorder out of the box, screwing it carefully on top.

Hellam smiled as he surveyed the scene, "Perfect."

The two men glanced at each other as Hellam took a long drag on his cigarette.

"Where are we on the other matter? Have you found a candidate?" he asked, speaking through the smoke.

Tyler
nodded towards the muscular man standing beside him, "Hal has found her - sounds like she'll do the job."
Tyler
smiled through cracked lips and ran his hand under his nose, then across his shirt.

Hellam looked at Hal, "Who is she?"

"Some whore," he replied, stretching sideways. "I went to see her last night. She doesn't have any family around here; no one will miss her."

Hellam stepped closer to him and dropped his cigarette on the floor, pressing his shiny black shoes on the butt and twisting. "You're sure?"

Hal scratched his arm and Hellam noticed the familiar butterfly which decorated the bicep, its dark green form motionless. "Of course," he replied confidently.

Hellam stepped closer still, and leaned into the huge man. "You're sure?" he repeated in a whisper.

Hal frowned, "I just said didn't I?"

Hellam scrutinised him for a moment and then nodded before turning and stepping away.

"What else is there to take care of?" he asked.

Hal walked over to one of the lights and adjusted it downward so the light was cast towards one end of the triangle that the three lamps formed. "Nothing much, it's just..." He stepped back, looked at the light and then adjusted it a little further before continuing. "It's just we've never had one like this before. I mean, how do these things work?"

"I've shown you the fucking films, you know what's expected. Just mess her up for a while before you end it. That's what the clients want; that's what these people pay for."

Hal glanced at
Tyler
and nodded slowly, "Sure."

Hellam frowned and looked at
Tyler
, then at Hal and back again. "If you want some support, just ask."

Hal looked up to the roof of the barn and wandered over to the camera, twisting it on the stand carefully and lining up with point where he had just positioned the light. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Hellam.

"I didn't say that did I? We can handle it. It's just I've never had a job like this before."

Hellam had been using the services of Hal and Tyler for years and was on the whole pleased with the work that they had performed for him. They killed with professionalism and efficiency and he had never had the need to doubt their expertise in this area. That was what made them so perfect for this latest business venture.

Hellam had been purchasing the snuff films from his contacts abroad for many years and selling them on with enormous profits, but now he needed to begin making his own - he
craved
to make his own. It was no longer enough for him to view the victims being tortured and murdered in far off countries. He wanted to witness the task first hand; he wanted to be there and to relish the pain in person and, perhaps one day, he would even perform the task himself. But not the first, certainly not the first. He had to be sure that there was an efficient system in place for him to be anywhere close when a victim was being processed. There were so many factors to analyse: choosing the correct person, someone who wouldn't be missed or even noticed to
be
missing for at least a few weeks; the correct and efficient disposal of bodies; the absolute and clinical methodology of completing the task from start to finish.

Hellam had originally assumed that Hal and Tyler would be perfect for the task. He would pay them far more than they would get for any traditional kill, but for that price they would be expected to perform a little extra; something special for the camera. At first he thought this wouldn't be a problem, after all they had both killed for him in the past.

But the more imminent the task became, the less convinced Hellam was that they would perform it adequately. To Hal and Tyler, there appeared to be a radical difference between simply dispatching a debt ridden drug dealer, and torturing an innocent victim to death; a difference which Hellam couldn't fully comprehend.

He thought about the girl who had seen the films on his laptop and how Hal had been almost reluctant to carry through the job that had been asked of him. It had been a reluctance that Hellam had never seen from the man before. Hal had even questioned Hellam,
why does she need to be killed? What has she done?
But in spite of these questions, the job had been carried through and Hal had done it with as much efficiency as he had all the others. Hellam felt the subtle reluctance from Hal even though he couldn't fully understand it; he was paying him enough money after all, what was the problem?

He stared at the two men standing beneath the floodlights and thought about all of this. Then he thought about Kelser and remembered how he had taken care of Richards - no hesitation, no questions.

"I think I'm going to bring someone else in regardless," he said finally, ignoring Hal's protesting snorts. "I know someone who can take the pressure off you." He pulled out a packet of mints from his pocket and threw one into his mouth. "Just get the victim here and I'll sort out the rest."

***

Sarah Price was shivering as she waited in the queue at the supermarket. Friday nights were always the busiest and she mentally reprimanded herself for leaving the shopping so late in the week again. She had left without her cardigan and the walk from her flat had been much colder than she expected. She placed the basket of groceries on the 'ten items or less' counter and rubbed the goose pimples on her arm into submission.

"Cold dear?" the woman behind the counter asked as she dragged a loaf of bread over the bar code scanner.

Sarah looked up and saw the woman smiling at her sympathetically. "Yes, I forgot my cardigan. It's okay though, I only live round the corner."

The woman continued to smile as she nodded and pushed the groceries in front of her to a monotonous beeping melody.

Sarah began to pack her shopping into plastic bags and noticed the smile on the woman
’
s face disappear suddenly when she glanced over Sarah
’
s shoulder at the next customer waiting in line. Sarah turned her head and saw a huge grin smeared over the face of a large man behind her. She involuntarily took in a sharp breath as she saw the butterfly tattoo on the huge man's arm. Their eyes locked on one another as mutual recognition flowed between them. He continued to grin as Sarah turned away and finished packing with increased speed.

After she had paid and began to walk away, she glanced back and saw her client from the previous day pay for a single packet of chewing gum and then begin to follow her out. She could hear his huge boots thump on the floor behind her and she focused on the sound; so much so that his footsteps seemed to drown out the multitude of other noises in the shop.

Thump, thump.

His steps mimicked Sarah's own precisely and, in perfect unison, they stepped out of the supermarket onto cold, wet pavement. The thumping seemed even louder out there, in spite of the noise from passing cars and distant music as they were carried and distorted by a gathering wind.

Just keep walking and get home,
she told herself, increasing pace and feeling the plastic bags scrunch on the sides of her legs.
It's busy; there is nothing he can do here.

Sarah thought she heard a snigger from behind her but refused to turn her head and acknowledge it. Although she had previously cursed the noise from living on such a busy road many times before, she now felt a deep gratitude for the passing cars and pedestrians.

The day before with the client had been horrendous. When they had finished, Sarah had dressed, but the man who was now following her, Hal - she wouldn't forget that name - had remained in her bed and kept asking her questions. He wouldn't leave and the questions had become more and more personal which had gradually begun to unnerve her. She had had a bad feeling about Hal since he first entered the room and all she wanted was for him to leave her alone.

It was rare for clients to want to stay for longer than absolutely necessary after they had finished - quite the opposite in fact, most couldn't wait to get out of the door
–
but Hal just wouldn't leave. Eventually, Sarah had managed to persuade him to get dressed, but even then he continued to ask questions about her life as he lethargically dragged his jeans over his legs. She began to refuse to answer the questions but that didn't seem to stop him from asking and, after forty-five minutes, she allowed her frustrations to show and screamed at him to leave. He had just grinned at her; the same grin that she was sure was still on his face now as they stepped in perfect harmony along the soaking pavement.

As the questions continued, Sarah had eventually opened the door and managed to push him out as he sniggered and half-heartedly pushed back, as if he were playing some kind of game. She slammed the door shut and stood, leaning against it for a few moments as she caught her breath, knowing she would never be seeing the lunatic again. That was until he had appeared behind her in the queue.

There had been clients in the past that had pestered her, but this man was different - Sarah sensed something that she didn't like from this man; he unnerved her and she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

It could have been a coincidence that he had been behind her in the supermarket and was now following her home - perhaps they lived in the same direction - but she suspected otherwise. In fact it was more than that; she
knew
he was following her because he had more questions to ask and more answers to hear. He was insane, she was sure of it.

Glancing along the road behind her, but careful not to meet the eyes of her follower, Sarah stepped off the curb and noted that the thumping steps behind her splashed in a puddle as they too left the pavement. She trotted the last few steps to avoid an approaching car and she turned back around. She saw the huge, tattooed man standing in the centre of the road waiting patiently as the car passed in front of him. He still wore the grin: wide and menacing.

She increased her pace again. The two plastic bags knocked against her legs as she half-ran towards her building. She was only a hundred feet from the front entrance and as she ran, she noticed the footsteps behind her weren't quite so loud.

She continued, spurred on by the
thump, thump
as Hal's feet slowly died away. When she reached the entrance, she glanced back, half expecting him to be almost upon her in spite of what her ears had told her, but she was wrong. She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling as her heart pounded violently through her skinny frame. He was gone. She stared along the street but there was no sign of him on either side of the road.