Relentless Shadows... concept

Relentless Shadows1


July 20082

He paused, incredulous; the voice he heard came, not from Brendan, but from the unknown woman. Though rarely indecisive, he remained frozen, thinking; though an assignment was an assignment, he couldn't help wondering what the hell was going on. Curiosity finally got the better of him, as well as the fact that he had already screwed up, and so he pushed the swinging door open a crack and tried to see inside.3

A woman stood over the clearly unconscious son, appearing first to check his vital signs before pulling a length of nylon rope from her jacket pocket and then begin binding his arms together at the rear of a wooden-backed breakfast stool. She worked with nonchalant briskness, seeming much more concerned with the state of the knot than Brendan’s well-being.4

He immediately guessed her intentions as being of a sinister kind. If this were simply a tryst to satisfy a fetish, the son would be conscious. Likewise, if killing the son had been her motive, she could have easily done so already. As he continued to watch, he reasoned that she had more in mind.5

Of medium height and in her thirties, the woman had chestnut hair reaching her shoulders. Delicate wire-framed glasses perched squarely on her nose, lending her a serious, bookish, look. She could have passed muster as a librarian except for her solid, muscled, build and generally toned look.6

Satisfied with the tightness of the rope around Brendan’s arms, she crouched down and did the same to his ankles and knees - securing them firmly to the stool. She stepped away and tilted her head as she examined the boy, before busying herself with cleaning up the mess left by the broken glass. Upon completing that task, she helped herself to another drink from the fridge. The sound of liquid splashing in the tumbler made Walker salivate; he realized that the recent bout of sex had left him feeling parched, and wished that he too had something handy to drink. Quenching his thirst would have to wait, however, since he was more interested in seeing what this woman’s intentions were.7

She set the glass down with one crisp efficient movement. After wiping her hands on a nearby tea towel, she retrieved a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. Using the same tea towel, she meticulously wiped her fingerprints from both the glass and everything else she had touched, before finally approaching the son to check him again. This time he moaned as she pried one of his eyes open. She smiled. "Welcome back Martyn."8

Brendan struggled once he realised his predicament. He noted, impressed, that the woman simply watched with detachment. "Finished?"9

"Let me go," the son demanded.10

"I stopped pandering to your every fleeting fancy the moment I drugged you." She paused for a moment as he struggled against his bonds again. "Now - I need you to do a few things for me. One - until otherwise notified, your name is Martyn. Two - you will say each of these..." She took a laminated card from her pocket and showed it to him, "...as if you really mean them. Finally, three - you will die when I see fit - no begging. Is this understood?"11

The son just stared at her and blinked; a look of disbelief plain on his face. She repeated her question, sliding the card to the bench top as she did so. "Or I could make you understand."12

"Why are you doing this? Are you mad?"13

"Why? Quite simply - because I can... as for my sanity - I assure you, I am in full possession of my faculties." She walked away from him and started opening drawers and cupboards, speaking to him as she examined the contents. "You appear to need some assistance with understanding, Martyn." She ducked down to look under the sink, as if searching for something specific.14

"Who the hell is Martyn!?"15

"As I suspected," she said with a protracted sigh as she straightened up. "One would think that someone like you - with a near-perfect GPA - could at least understand a simple request." Opening a drawer next to the sink, she pulled out several things and lined them up on the bench. Taking some time and deliberation, she finally selected a single metal skewer from the range and twirled it between her fingers. "So – will you need assistance understanding what I'm saying?"16

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch. His eyes followed the woman’s every movement.17

"Just a small technique aimed at assisting your memory," she said with a grin as she approached. With surgical precision, she rested the tip of the elongated utensil against his upper right calf muscle and slowly pushed it in to a depth of a centimetre, before pushing it in down in the muscle, parallel with the bone of his leg.18

Screaming, he exclaimed, "Dear God! Ahhh… Jesus! Please Stop!" 19

The watcher stared, unblinking, as Brendan’s right leg twitched under the tight rope. Suddenly finding his mouth drier than before, he swallowed back a mix of revulsion and inquisitiveness as he observed her push the skewer, with excruciating slowness, in its entire length, before leaving it embedded in his leg. 20

She rose to face a gasping Brendan. "Do you understand those three things?"21

"I'll do anything!"22

She smirked, pleased. "Finally - some progress," she said dryly. "So - tell me - what is your name?"23

"Martyn… M-my name is Martyn."24

"Very good Martyn," she said as she picked up the card, again holding it up. "Now - you've got to say these like you really mean them - which shouldn't be that difficult now, considering how I’ve just made you feel."25

"What do you want me to say?" he said, shortly followed by a stifled whimper of pain.26

From his vantage point, Walker could see that tears also ran down Brendan’s face, the boy’s bottom lip and chin quivering. 27

She held the card closer. "I know for a fact you don't need glasses, Martyn - and the first one always makes you feel good."28

He broke down. Crying, he said, "You're a sadistic bitch - I can't stand being with you anymore."29

"I've heard B-grade actors do better than that Martyn," she responded with malicious sarcasm, before cruelly slapping his right calf where the skewer remained entrenched in his flesh.30

Walker flinched empathetically as he watched Brendan squirm and cry out.31

"Again - with feeling," she commanded.32

"You sadistic bitch… I can't stand being with you anymore!" he finally shouted.33

She grinned. "Much better – do you see now how much difference a bit of pain and emotion has?" She held the card up again, "Now, the next one."34

"I want a normal relationship - fucking Susan is more satisfying than fucking you," he said, but the proclamation lacked the emphasis of the previous statement.35

Walker noticed the boy’s shoulders slump in defeat, but found he could do nothing but watch the scene with voyeuristic fascination.36

"If you're going to kill me, why don't you just get it over with?" Brendan mumbled.37

The woman crossed her arms and glared at him with disappointment, before reaching across the bench - this time to grab a pair of kitchen shears. She examined them in front of him. "Nice – Global Chef – solid brand; life-time guarantee - and I do believe it can cut through bone." She paused as if waiting for some sort of response from Brendan.38

She lingered for a few more seconds before walking around him and standing behind him. "Don’t make me wait any longer, Martyn."39

He observed Brendan struggle futilely against the ropes again, getting angrier every second that his efforts got him nowhere.40

"Go ahead. Kill me you bitch!" he spat as he thrashed about as much as the bindings would allow. 41

She merely shook her head. "You obviously didn't understand me properly," she said softly as she selected the nearest finger and positioned the shears around it. She inclined her head and whispered in his ear, "Start by following instructions, and I will kill you sooner rather than later." As if to punctuate the last, she squeezed the shears. 42

He flinched – a simple automatic reflex to the scene - as a grisly crunch sounded, followed by a red-faced holler from Brendan. He noted with clinical detachment that the shears hadn’t cut through the finger completely and the woman had to lever the shears again and twist, before the finger finally fell to the tiled floor.43

She stooped down and picked the finger up, and then placed it on the bench in front of him, deliberately facing the ruined bone and flesh toward him. "Now… that phrase, please… and put some of what you’re feeling into it."44

"For God's sake… I'm sorry!" he blurted, unable to stop himself once he looked at the red smear on the pale bench top that accompanied his recently detached finger. "I want a normal relationship - fucking Susan is more satisfying than fucking you,” he finished with dejection, his voice trembling.45

She sighed, "Did I request an apology?" She pointedly glanced at the card. "No, no apology written here." 46

She placed the laminated card down on the bench with a snick, before serenely walking toward the kitchen cupboards. He saw that she paused, instead, in front of a brushed metal kettle. Checking to make sure it contained sufficient water she flicked the switch, turning it on. 47

Surely, she wouldn’t be that sadistic, he thought as a sudden dreadful realisation crossed his mind. Brendan too, appeared to be thinking the same.48

“No… no, please… I’ll say whatever you want…” 49

She ignored his pleas, simply waiting as the kettle boiled; her face blank. Her expression only changed as the water bubbled and the appliance finally clicked off. She snatched the plug from the wall and walked back towards him holding the kettle aloft. "I'm going to show you what it's like to feel sorry - and next time you won't use that phrase." 50

He cringed as she then tipped the entire steaming contents of the kettle slowly into Brendan's lap.51

Brendan yelled; evidently in excruciating pain. Walker covered his nose and mouth as the odour of excrement filled the room; the boy had shit himself. Rivulets of tainted water trickled down the legs of the stool and pooled on the tiles beneath; mixing with the deep crimson droplets of blood, which still oozed from where his finger used to be.52

As Brendan convulsed and writhed in the stool, she sat the kettle next to the severed finger and watched with glee. As he trembled and dropped his head to his chest, she slapped both palms down on his wet thighs. "The phrase," she demanded as her hands came into contact.53

He jerked and yelped, "I want a normal relationship - fucking Susan is more satisfying than fucking you," his voice several octaves above normal.54

"Fantastic," she said, smiling now. Leaving her hands on his wet khaki cargos, she dug her nails into him. "Are you sorry?"55

Brendan twitched, but seemed to give the question some thought. He shook his head. "No."56

"Good answer - you were never sorry for what you did." She pulled her hands away from him and carefully removed her jacket, followed by her shirt and then draped them over a nearby chair, before searching the kitchen again.57

He observed her move about the kitchen in just her bra and suit trousers, curious as to what her next actions would be. His intrigue heightened as she first came across an apron – which she put on – covering her bare chest and ending midway down her thighs. The search didn’t end there; she finally found what she was searching for - a decadent knife block - sitting in a corner on vast bench top. 58

She lifted the whole thing and carried it over to Brendan, placing it on the bench next to the kettle. Pulling the blades out she examined each one, her face glowing in ecstasy, by tilting them to catch the light.59

Brendan’s expression, in contrast, belied pure terror.60

The woman saw the look and raised an eyebrow in response. "Don't you dare beg - do you hear me? If you even hint at begging I will cut you up piece by piece," she warned, cold and detached, her voice never varying in pitch or intensity.61

"Bitch," he growled.62

She smirked as she picked up a small paring knife. "Anything else you wish the say along that line?"63

"Go to Hell you fucking bitch," he snarled, the anger in his voice clear as he tried, again, to free himself.64

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, they sparkled with exhilaration. Parting her lips, she brought the knife down and buried it deep in his thigh.65

Though Brendan jerked as the knife slid in, he hardly flinched as the woman twisted it – he knew that with shock and adrenalin setting in, the pain would not have as much effect on him now as it may have done earlier.66

Unsatisfied with his reaction, she reached for the next sized knife up. With her left hand, she ripped one sleeve of the shirt off, exposing his upper arm. Using a sawing motion, she expertly filleted the flesh of his upper arm.67

Brendan groaned in agony, quivering now, his arm twitching as she finally pulled the slice of muscle from his arm. From where he stood, Walker could clearly see him drifting in and out of consciousness.68

Dripping blood, she held his flesh under Brendan’s nose, and smeared it across his lips. She slapped him to get his attention. "Maybe I should make you eat it," she whispered.69

His head lolled. "No?" she said with disappointment and then discarded it, throwing it down on the ground. It landed on the tiles, flesh side down, with a wet slap. 70

Brendan’s chin hit his chest again, drool hanging from his lips. 71

She hissed her displeasure, plunging the knife she was holding into his belly and left it there, before turning back to the knife set to select the largest blade. Lining up the blade on his neck a couple of times just to see his response, she finally jerked his head back with one hand as she swung her other knife-wielding arm back in a wide arc.72

He turned away before she completed the downwards swing – knowing that that she had finished with her prey and would soon need to exit the house. Not wanting to be around when she did, he slipped out the front door and walked away. 73

Just over half an hour later, as he pretended to wait for the next bus, she walked past him; her vigorous stride taking her toward a deep blue Mercedes parked another half a block away. As she closed in on the car, her hand reached into a jacket pocket for a set of keys, and with a muted bleep, the car's lock disengaged.74

She opened the driver's door and slid in, adjusting her hair and makeup in the rear view mirror, before shutting the door behind her. As she did so, he noted the tag number on her car: the make and model too fancy to be a rental. In any event, his insurance friend would be able to trace the number for him. Finally, the car started up, and when she passed him, she appeared to be talking on a hands-free headset, one hand gesturing with exaggerated animation.75

He only needed to wait an extra five minutes before he too left, a great number of thoughts whirling through his head. The most prominent one that he kept coming back to him above all others: Who was she?76