Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EMMA
A fter experiencing the most amazing morning of my life, Alex apologised profusely about having to leave me to go to work. He had a few appointments that he had to keep, which meant leaving me alone in the house again. But I didn’t mind. I was on cloud nine.
Before he left, he’d asked the staff about the rose that’d been decimated in my room the night before. No one admitted to anything, not that I expected them to after what’d happened to Alma, being fired after working on the estate for thirty-eight years. Yes, the drugged tea was worse than a damaged rose, but the fear was there now. I don’t think the staff trusted me, and because of that, I wanted to keep a low profile. I didn’t trust them either.
I decided to head to Alex’s office again and see if, after the shot of adrenaline and endorphins he’d given me that morning, I could do something more meaningful with my day.
I walked into the office and headed for the desk. Then I sat down in his comfy leather chair and gave the mouse a wiggle. His screen came to life, but when I saw what was on there, my heart sank to my feet.
I swallowed, feeling sick as I read the title of the video, ‘S.K.A.M. Performance, Italy.’
I should’ve walked away and spoken to Alex about it when he got home. He’d told me this fucker was locked up. That he was in a secure unit and wouldn’t be let out for a long time.
So why was he in Italy performing like nothing had happened?
What the fuck was going on?
Morbid curiosity got the better of me, and with a shaky hand, I moved the mouse and clicked the play button to start the video. Then I sat forward, feeling tension in every inch of my body as I watched the performance play out.
At the beginning, I could hear the murmur of voices as the people waited for the show to start. It looked like it’d been recorded in an old warehouse, and on the back wall, at the rear of the building, were the words ‘Life in Reverse’ projected onto the brick with stark white lights.
Eventually, the murmur of voices died down, and the sound of a life support machine flatlining, with the familiar constant burrrrrr, sounded throughout the warehouse.
Two figures dressed all in black came running into shot from the bottom of the screen, pushing a gurney through the crowds with a body bag on it. When they reached the front, they moved to face the audience, their faces hidden behind black masks. One of them unzipped the body bag, and the other picked up two shock pads from a defibrillator.
A mechanical voice boomed, “Stand clear,” as he placed the pads onto the body in the bag and zapped it. The body jumped, he shocked it again, another jump, and then, the flatline turned to the sound of a pulsing heartbeat on a monitor.
They’d brought him back to life.
The heartbeat turned into thumping bass as the body in the bag sat up, swivelled to face the crowd, and then jumped off the gurney.
He stood in front of them in his signature blue boiler suit, but this time he had a black balaclava on and a blue LED mask to cover his face, with crosses for the eyes and a stitched-up mouth. As the crowd cheered, he tilted his head to make himself look more demonic. If that were at all possible.
The two men who’d wheeled him on faded into the background, standing against the wall as the spotlight focused on him. And then a deep voice spoke, and my stomach rolled.
“Life in reverse.
A story must be told.
When as a child he saw more crime.
From his crib that was filled with dirt and grime,
than any child should ever see.
It was such a fucking tragedy.
His life ended the day he came into theirs.
There was no point in wishes, hopes, or prayers.
The innocence of youth violently ripped away.
No one wants another mouth to feed when you can’t afford to pay,
for the drugs, the alcohol, the whores.
All is not as it seems.
Behind closed doors.
When happy smiles hide teeth and claws.
A life in reverse.
Listen as I talk.
About the boy whose life was over,
before he’d even learned to walk.”
The image of a little boy appeared on the wall behind him, a boy sitting in a crib with a dirty face and filthy clothes, crying, but it was clear no one was going to come. And then he went on proclaiming to the crowd,
“Arran was a silent boy.
But his demons they roared loud.
And the voices in his head,
told him you shouldn’t be here; you should be dead.”
The warehouse went pitch black, then a single spotlight lit him up again, in his blue mask and boiler suit. The image of a teenage boy appeared on the wall behind him in place of the child. The teen was leaning against a wall, with his hood down, smoking a cigarette. And smoke billowed into the crowd alongside the faint chatter of voices from the speakers cursing and swearing, sounding like bullies taunting their victim. And he continued his performance.
“As life went on and he got older,
the punches and kicks became much bolder.
But now there’s another factor of his misery they own
Fists hurt,
but words?
They can cut
to
the
bone.”
The room was bathed in red light as the effect of red water trickling down the walls behind him suddenly appeared, making it look like blood pouring free. Then the image of the teen was replaced by one of an arm, covered in cuts and scars. A stark image that gave me a visceral reaction because that was a young man’s arm, just a boy. And with his booming voice, he asked,
“Does it make you proud to drag others down?
Smiling for the world while you hide your frown.
Your hate.
Your anger.
Your vicious bile.
How far would you go?
Would you walk a mile?
To ensure he hears every vulgar word.
Because you want to destroy him.
That’s what I’ve heard.”
He paused for a moment, and then went on.
“Words can hurt.
They can cut so deep.
We see it in the media.
When you all weep.
After driving them to take their life.
With words of hate that cut like a knife.
If we’d known the risk, then we’d do better.
We’d protect them, you say.
If we’d been kinder, they’d live to see another day.
Too little.
Too late.
Too broken,
to wait.
The ones who hurt the most are the ones who say,
I’m fine, I’m great, I’m doing okay.
And you accept it.
You’re glad.
You never ask yourself why,
the smile was wide, but the eyes said,
“I
Want
To
Die.”
The room fell into darkness again as he uttered his next verse.
“Arran was a quiet teen.
But his demons begged for freedom.
And the voices in his head,
told him, kill them all, leave them for dead.”
The spotlight came back on, illuminating him for all to see. He held a knife in one gloved hand and a rope in the other. And behind him flashed headlines of murder, using phrases such as ‘Planned Massacre’, ‘Hate Crime’ and ‘Horror Assassin’. And standing tall and proud, he exclaimed,
“Until one day he finds his power,
or the power, it finds him.
He won’t take it anymore.
He will become the law.
The crimes he witnessed as a kid,
will be avenged when he lifts that lid,
on the box they tried to keep hidden.
The life that was forbidden.
Because sins can’t be washed away.
They always come back to haunt you some day.
And for him, that day was now.
He was older.
And stronger.
And wiser.
And wow.
He tells his father, “You can’t beat me now.
I tower over you.
I’m more aggressive, too.”
See, that’s what happens after years of abuse.
But you don’t care, you’re too fucking obtuse,
to see what you have done.
That the monster you created has already won.”
I felt sick when I saw the headline for Sirius Bell’s murder flash onto the wall behind him. And I expected to see the one for Stephen Gold, too, but it didn’t appear.
Was he outing himself in plain sight?
Showing the world who he was without coming out and saying it. The crowd applauded his words. Not realising who he really was. And he was lapping it up, holding his arms up as he said,
“Arran was a tortured man.
But his demons were unleashed.
And the voices in his head,
were proud of the beast who trampled on the dead.”
Eventually, the room fell silent, and the heartbeat from the beginning began to echo through the room again. S.K.A.M. moved back and sat on the gurney before addressing the crowd.
“They say try to leave the world a better place than you found it.
Life’s a journey, after all.
None of us survive the fall.
And death
comes
for
us
all.
It’s guaranteed.
Like the taxes you need,
to pay to the people who are full of greed.
None of us make it out alive.
But while we’re here we can do better than survive.
We can thrive.
We can create.
We can sing.
And we can paint.
We can live.
And breathe.
And smile.
And then.
Leave the world a better place,
for the next generation of the human race.”
He paused, and then, as he started to manoeuvre himself onto the gurney to lie down, he said,
“Arran was a broken soul.
But his demons roamed the earth.
And the voices of those that are left behind,
will pity him over what they find.
But don’t feel sorry for Arran.
No.
He lived his life as the star of the show.
He always had the last word.
And on the day he died,
he did so with pride.
From the depths of hell...
He made his life a story worthy to tell.”
I jumped as the flatline sound he’d been wheeled in with blared loudly across the warehouse. The two men in the shadows stepped forward, as S.K.A.M. slumped backwards. Then they zipped the body bag up and slowly pushed the gurney back through the crowd as everyone stood to the side and watched in stunned silence as he was slowly carried away.
The screen went black as the recording came to an end, but my heart still beat wildly out of my chest and nausea swirled inside me, making me feel sick to my stomach. I felt dizzy as I panted, panic setting in. I thought that was the worst of it, but as I minimised the video on the screen, I saw another window was open, hiding behind it. A window that filled me with repulsion.
I guessed it was a preliminary police report because the images were explicit, and the write-up of events included more details than a newspaper report would give.
The photos showed a single horse from a fairground carousel that’d been fixed to the floor of a warehouse. The naked body of the male victim was on the horse, but brutally impaled on the pole that was used to hold on during the ride. The pole ran through his whole body, protruding out of his neck, his head snapped back at an unnatural angle that was sickening to see. It was clear his neck was broken, and blood soaked the victim’s body from the vicious wounds that’d been inflicted from multiple cuts and stabs.
On the floor, there were streamers and balloons scattered amongst the pools of blood, along with a sash embroidered with the words ‘Finish Line’. Pinned to the horse’s bridle was a golden rosette with the number one on it. Also, the victim’s hands appeared to be glued to either side of a trophy. And on the wall, behind the macabre scene, were the words ‘Nice Guys Finish Last’ spray-painted in red paint.
The attacker clearly thought this guy wasn’t nice, the staging of his murder scene showing him as the winner highlighted that. And I knew exactly who that murderer was.
With a heavy heart and an unsteady mind, reeling from the fact that he was still out there, still active, still able to come and find me, I tapped onto the last image. The written report:
In the early hours of Friday morning, the body of forty-two-year-old Alonso Silver was found in an abandoned warehouse not far from his home in Milan. The initial cause of death has been recorded as strangulation.
Following strangulation, the attacker then proceeded to break the victim’s neck and impale him on a metal pole. The pole was initially impaled through the victim’s anus and exited via his neck.
There were additional injuries sustained during this attack, including forty-two knife wounds, a number which officers believe could be significant and possibly linked to the victim’s age, along with extensive burns to the victim’s hands, where a metal object was welded to his skin. Deep knife wounds were also found on the rear of each ankle, where the victim’s Achilles heel had been severed on both the left and right foot. It is unclear at this time whether this damage was caused prior to or following his death.
Officers are appealing for any witnesses to come forward who may be able to help with their inquiries.
Mr Silver had recently been cleared of all charges of historical child abuse, following an investigation into the recent Piper-Hall Children’s Home scandal. Mr Silver, who has worked as a social worker for over twenty years, always vehemently denied any involvement in the case and was acquitted on the grounds of insufficient evidence.
I stopped reading. I didn’t want to know any more about the case. But it was clear that S.K.A.M. had been busy at work in Italy, doing more than just an art performance, and knowing that made me sick to my stomach.
My heart was still pounding as I stared at the screen, and then I heard footsteps outside the office, and the door swung open.
Alex stood in the doorway, smiling, but when he saw my face, his smile was replaced with knitted brows of concern, and he asked, “Emma, are you okay?”
I stood up from behind the desk, pinning him with an accusatory glare as I panted furiously. I was close to a panic attack. My head was swimming, and my body tingled as I tried to control my breathing. Spots danced in front of my eyes as dizziness took a hold of me.
“You lied to me,” I gasped with quiet fury.
He frowned harder, but concern marred his handsome face as he took a step into the room and closed the door behind him.
“What do you mean, lied to you? I haven’t lied.”
I nodded to the screen and leaned forward, placing my hands on the desk to try and steady myself. “You told me he was locked away. That he was in a secure unit and wouldn’t be out for a very long time... if ever. And yet, there he is, performing in Italy, and doing... other things.” I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. “He’s out! HE’S FUCKING OUT THERE! HE’S FREE AND HE’LL FIND ME! HE’LL KILL ME, TOO,” I shouted, shaking as I held onto the desk for dear life.
Alex covered his face with his hands, dragging them down in exasperation as he let out a deep breath. “It isn’t like that. Please, Emma. It’s not what you think.”
I hung my head, swaying slightly as I shut my eyes tightly. “Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, he’s been free to do what he wants, and you’ve been getting updates about it.” I sounded calm, but I didn’t feel it.
“I’ve kept tabs on him, yes...”
I huffed and shook my head, anger surging through me as my fingers clawed the wooden desk.
How could he lie to me like this after everything we’d been through?
“But at no point,” he went on, his voice sounding more desperate. “Was he ever a threat to you. He was in a secure unit, like I told you. Then he was granted permission to fulfil an engagement in Italy that’d been booked in advance and would cost other people a lot of money if he’d pulled out.”
“Where is he?” I asked, feeling frantic. “Where is he now? Right this second?” I still wasn’t convinced by anything Alex was saying.
“He’s locked away, Emma. You’re safe. You’re always safe here.”
I shook my head, mistrust heavy in the air around me.
“I’m not, though, am I,” I replied, and stepped away from the desk I was using to hold me up, feeling a sudden rush to the head as I faltered and almost fell backwards.
Alex stalked over to me, taking hold of the tops of my arms to shake me as he peered into my eyes and urged, “Emma, you’re okay. Nothing is going to happen to you. Please, sit down, sweetheart. You look unwell.”
“Of course I’m fucking unwell!” I snapped. “That could be me on that bloody horse. I could be next.”
Tears soaked my cheeks as I slumped back into the chair, taking deep breaths, feeling like I was drowning. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. The walls of my life were closing in and I felt trapped. I couldn’t escape.
Alex clenched his teeth and the muscle in his jaw ticked. Then he knelt beside me, taking my hand as he tried to soothe me.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, really, I am. I should’ve deleted the files the minute Tobey sent them to me. But S.K.A.M. is locked up. He’s not free and you’re safe. And what happened to that man, the murder victim, that would never happen to you. Not ever.” And on a whisper, he added, “I’d die for you, Emma.”
“You lied to me,” I added, feeling the pain of his betrayal pierce through me like a knife to the heart.
“I kept a truth to myself so it wouldn’t hurt you,” he replied, and I scoffed.
“You’re just twisting your words to suit your narrative.”
“Maybe, but it’s the truth. I did it for the right reasons. There was no subterfuge. Nothing underhand, I promise.”
I stared blankly into my lap, my ears ringing as I breathed deeply.
Alex took my chin in his thumb and forefinger to turn my head to face him. “I don’t want to argue with you, Emma. And I hate to see you so upset.”
“Then don’t lie to me,” I pleaded with him. “Or keep truths to yourself, however you want to word it. And don’t leave stuff like that on your computer for someone to find. It’s harrowing. I’ll be seeing those photographs for a long time.” My rapid breaths and racing heart were beginning to slow down. “And promise me he’ll stay locked up. I need to know he’s not out there.”
He looked heartbroken that I’d seen what was on his computer.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, stroking his thumb over my hand that he held tightly. “I won’t let anything like this ever happen again.” And judging from the honesty that shone from his handsome face, I knew he meant it.
I nodded and he stared at me, thoughts running through his mind as he frowned to himself.
“What is it?” I asked, knowing he was toying with telling me something else. “Tell me.”
“I just want to protect you. That’s all. I want you to let me deal with all the bullshit.” He put his arms around me to pull me into a hug, and I let him, only resisting a little to show I still wasn’t over it. “I want to treat you so well you forget you were ever scared of that man. I don’t want you to have to think about him, see him, or talk about him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead. Gone. He’s of no importance to us or our lives.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.
“I guess if we’re being totally honest, I might have another confession,” he said, and a sick feeling surged inside me again. I went to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. Just something I need to show you. Something which will hopefully put what happened today, and what you’ve seen, out of your mind. If that’s at all possible.”
I wasn’t sure anything could do that, but I nodded quietly in agreement.
“I’m not sure I like your confessions,” I said, regarding him with suspicion.
“Well, I hope I can change that with what I’m about to show you.”