The Unseen (38 page)

He taped their mouths; tied wrists and ankles with plastic pull straps then lifted both into the boot. He felt over the elder one, happy with what he found. Top quality, that one. Shame about the alien. He checked the bags they had left on the back seat and found two mobiles. Once they were switched off he threw both into a hedge. Back in the driver’s seat he tuned in his head radio. “Zoby to Colonel. Hostiles secure. Heading for base.”

“Roger that, Zoby. Wait on my signal.”

Wait, why wait? Why not start straight away? Cut the alien in half, play doggy with the other. Where’s my money? Where the hell is my money? He drove out of the lay-by and headed for the motorway. Wondered if he should go back and pick up the French female. 2 + 1 TQW. Two women, one alien. Is that what the Colonel meant?

Staying within the speed limit and laws, it took him forty-six minutes to reach Hollyoaks. He parked up across the back lawn, whistling tunelessly as he opened the boot and looked inside. Both girls stared back, both had fight and anger in their expressions. It showed fire and he nodded approval. Discipline gave more pleasure when resisted.

He hauled out the alien first. She kicked and squirmed like a cat, blocking with her legs as he forced her through the back door and into the living room. He tied her arms round the back of an end chair in the row, then strapped her ankles to the front.

The older one tried to head-butt, then thrashed and wriggled until he got her on his shoulder, his hand under her skirt and over her rump. She went quiet then and stayed quiet, even while he strapped her up, her arms behind the chair back, her legs spread. She had fear, he liked that. He took off her gag. She bit him.

“Bitch!” He smacked her face. She screamed once, then went silent.

“Try that again and you pay,” he said pointing, feeling heat inside his head like his brain was boiling. “The prisoners will remain silent and obedient. Failure will result in your severe punishment.”

“Fuck you. You’re mad!”

He struck again and her head jerked. He knew he’d hurt her because he saw the flush of red bruising. She made no sound, not a whimper.

“That’s better.” He pointed to the alien. “If you start whining, you get the same.” He stood in front and ripped the tape from her lips.

She squealed once then sat staring at him, the same see-through stare the boy had fixed on him at Cindy’s flat. He hated that, hated she might see him hiding inside. For a moment, uncertainty hovered on the black void. He picked up his sword.

“Don’t! Please! I’ll do anything. Leave her.” The older was wriggling, jerking at her ropes.

Zoby placed his sword to the alien’s neck, feeling some gratification in big sister’s panic, feeling it ease the pressure in his head. He grinned, looking between them. “You’d better do that, pretty thing, because if either disobeys, I’ll cut the other.”

“Our dad’s a policeman, he’ll get you.” The alien spat her words, cheeks flaming.

“You mean I got myself real hostiles? Pig’s daughters, and sisters with it!” Now he realised what the Colonel had meant 2 + 1. “Now that’s real neat,” he said. “I ain’t never had sisters. I bet big sister is the juicy one who gave me the come on when I went calling. The Colonel’s playing games here.” He lowered the sword, switched on his head radio and made instant contact.

“Zoby to Colonel. How do you read me, over?”

“Loud and clear, Zoby.”

“Two hostiles ready for interrogation, sir. But you said plus one. Do I think, right, it’s three sisters?”

“You got it, Zoby. That’s the game plan. Three females, all sisters. Play one against the other. TQW. How long do you have base?”

“Five days, I guess. Plenty time for three hostiles. Shall I go now, pick up the big one in St Albans?”

“Go to it, Zoby, over and out.”

Both were staring at him like he was crazy or something. The older one looked real scared. Sisters always protect one another. Three sisters could make the best fun of his life. Zoby lifted his hand to the elder one and started unbuttoning her top, pushing the material until her bra was exposed.

“Have to leave you awhile, go find your big sister. Maybe play with her, maybe bring her back. One thing’s for certain, if either of you move I’ll cut this little rat straight down the middle, head to arse. You understand me, pretty thing?”

She nodded, the alien just stared. It sure fucked him up that stare. When he got back he’d slice it off her shoulders and make the other one watch. He put down the sword, checked their bonds and re-taped their mouths. They weren’t going anywhere.

“If on my return I find you’ve made any attempt to escape, the alien will be immediately executed. And you, sister, you’ll be fucked stupid, then executed. Do I make myself clear?”

Both prisoners nodded.

Zoby felt good on that. He picked up his mobile and went for the van. He found it strange the Colonel hadn’t texted him. He usually did on a mission, wanting details like, were they squealing, was he cutting them? Zoby would have preferred to talk but the Colonel wouldn’t have it. He parked outside the house 5.30 p.m., put on the rudiments of his gas worker disguise and placed the second sealed chloroform pad in his pocket.

The old Citroen remained on the drive same as last visit. Big sister home alone, perfect. He rang the bell. No one answered.

“Fucking shithead.” Zoby kicked the door and tried his head radio but static jammed reception. He could feel the void coming, the black void. He didn’t want that, not here. Damn stupid bitch. What the fuck was she out for? He went back to the van and sat waiting.

Danielle left her lecture and wandered to the canteen. She bought iced tea with lemon, then sat on her own, idly flipping notes she did not read. Her last lecture started at 6.30, the talk on programming; boring, boring. The whole day her mind had been elsewhere. Jan had stirred her, now she missed Frankie and wanted the cradle of her arms. She flapped the collar of her dress and blew on a trickle of sweat between her breasts. How cool the garden would be if she lay on the grass, the sun flecking through the apple tree, the birds singing. She folded her notes and slipped them into her bag.

Sitting in daydream, Danielle watched from the train window, her thoughts on Frankie, then Jan, then Monsieur Fagan. Poor Monsieur Fagan, she pouted lips. So many sensual women unavailable. How the world had changed, allowing female tenderness to embrace female desire without shame or guilt. She felt the intensity of sunlight through the carriage glass, the air hot and oppressive. When she arrived home she would shower, lie naked in the privacy of their garden and feel the air caress her skin. She would enjoy the fragrance of blossoming flowers, the sensual pleasure of being.

Walking from the station to home, her bag of books grew heavier with each step. By the time she entered St Albans’ leafy suburban avenues she had walked ten minutes. Perspiration beaded her brow and upper lip, tantalised her spine as it trickled to the small of her back.

She dropped the bag and closed the front door. Coolness and shade brought relief, more so when she undid buttons at the front of her dress. In the kitchen she poured limejuice and lemonade into a glass. She sliced lemon with a kitchen knife, kicked off her sandals, shrugged the dress to her waist and slipped off her bra. Opening the back door a small breeze fanned from the garden and for moments she stood in the frame, eyes closed, cool glass between breasts.

The shrill ring of the doorbell sounded over her retreat like an angry irritant. She ignored it, hoping someone would go away. Only on the second, persistent ring did she relent. Putting the glass aside she shrugged first one then both arms into her dress, holding the front together as she walked.

Peering through the spy hole she saw no-one.

“Stupid people.” She opened wide and looked out. The figure against the side of the wall came as if from nowhere, thrusting with great force as he pushed through and slammed the door shut, confronting her body to body.

Danielle reeled backwards, conscious of a masked head, eyes circled, teeth bared as he rammed a pad to her face. The stench of chemicals was in her mouth, her nose, choking her. She knew then she was to be raped. Hysteria consumed her, she lashed at his neck and chest until he pulled her body against him. She remembered Frankie’s lesson. Fight rape with rape. Her hand went down, her fingers clutching over the fabric of his trousers, feeling for his testicles, ensuring she grasped a firm handful. He grunted surprise until she squeezed, gritting her teeth while twisting and pulling with all her strength. The grunt turned to screech and he dropped the pad to grip her wrist. She head-butted, made stars before her eyes, but it sent him back against the stairs. Free of his grip she ran, making half way to the kitchen before he grabbed the neck of her dress, ripping it from one arm as she twisted free. He snatched her trailing hand, wrenched it up her back, forcing her through the door and face down over the kitchen table.

She screamed, she could hear her scream as he banged down her head then lifted her skirt. She took the kitchen knife feeling his fingers search into her pants, groping for entry to her body. She plunged blindly backwards, felt pain in her own leg and pulled out the blade to jab again. This time he screamed, his hands suddenly gone as she struggled beneath him, pushing in the knife with all her strength, scrapping it against bone. The obscenities spat into her ear drew back and his weight eased, allowing her to lift and jerk free. Her own voice split the air along with his wail of disbelief. Running out the back door, she gathered her torn dress, sprinting the full length of the garden, glancing only once to see him in the doorway, knife protruding from his thigh. She made for a gap at the bottom of the hedge. Elderly neighbours were already there, staring wide-eyed.

“Fucking bitch!” Zoby threw the knife to the ground and for moments stood staring as blood spread over his combat trousers. He felt the clutch of panic as his thigh became gripped by a dull, aching pain.

“Colonel, I’ve taken a hit, I’m bleeding.”

“Get out of there, Zoby.”

“The bitch, fucking bitch.”

“Get out of there, that’s an order.”

“Yes sir, yes sir.” Zoby grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it round his leg, tying it in a knot before hobbling for the front door.

There was only one person in view, a woman on her driveway. She looked scared, unsure. “Did I hear screaming?” she asked.

“Fucking bitch.” Zoby got into his van and drove. He couldn’t believe what had happened. How could this one be so different? He had never taken a hit before. Now he had so much pain, tears welled in his eyes. Someone would pay. “You fucking bitches, you’ll pay, all of you.”

“They went shopping!” Sean sensed the first kick of fear, then rationalised. He was overreacting. He heard Miss Nathan explain arrangements at the Red Lion. He clicked the receiver and began to redial. Stay calm, stay calm. He repeated it mentally and waited for the duty sergeant at Dunstable police station to answer. Cobbart was staring, talking to Heidi, his expression dead-faced as he crossed the room.

“St Albans police have you on file as a serving officer,” Cobbart said. “They’ve been on to Pimlico. There was an incident at your home. A young woman attacked.”

A sheath of dread descended, clawing over Sean’s skin and mind. “Is she alive?”

“Leg wound, no other details.”

From the earpiece Sean heard the duty sergeant asking after his enquiry. Cobbart took the phone away. Eighteen people stared in silence. Sean looked to Cobbart and saw compassion, also resolve. “You know the rules, Sean.”

“Check the hotel, Red Lion, Dunstable. Now! My daughters should be there, so should their mother”

“Sir,” Heidi called. “Your wife’s already on the phone, she’s hysterical.”

Sean sat and listened to his wife, then rested head in hand while he talked to the receptionist. Dark panic was feeding in a frenzy and threatening his mind. No one moved, the air was static as he replaced the handset, an isolated click of plastic on plastic.

“A man fitting the description of Mark Harrison and calling himself Zoby drove away my daughters. They’ve not been seen since.” He looked to the surrounding faces.

No one answered, only stared at him. Heidi bit her lip; Jan placed one hand over her mouth. Victoria reached out, then dropped her arm.

Sean stood, fists clenched, his rage agonising to bear. He called up all mental strength then centred it into cold, tense calm, to lose it would destroy him. He looked at John Cobbart. “These are my children, I’m not letting go.”