Depravity (3 page)

Both the women whipped away their hands, each one letting out a shocked gasp. Michael managed to reach the door. As he crawled across the threshold, he risked a look back and saw both Fern and Jodie had let go of their bladders. The pools of urine spread across the pale blue tiles, following the grout lines.

The inhuman noise erupting from the girl's mouth lowered in volume and tone, until only incoherent whispering penetrated Michael's head. He joined in with the chorus at the sight of a wet patch rapidly spreading out from his crotch.

The girl slammed her mouth shut. She snatched a sandwich from one of the silver platters and squashed it in her hand, mushed up bread and cheese squeezed out through the gaps in her fingers. “Soft and cold,” she muttered. “Soft and cold.” Her eyes found Michael again. “We're all stuffed full, Michael.”

He backed away until he reached the far wall. Without taking his eyes from the girl, Michael edged along the wall. The girl's gaze continued to follow his movement, until he reached his sobbing wife. Michael dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her.

“Jodie had life inside her. I can hear the echo. Daddy wants to know why you killed it. It shrieks out all the time. It crunched when it came out as well. Crunched it real good!”

“SHUT UP, YOU HORRIBLE BITCH!”

Jodie pushed Michael away, ran up to the girl and slammed a tight fist into her nose. Michael was able to grab Jodie's arms before she was able to inflict any more damage. Maddie fell back, the back of her head cracking on the hard tiles. Michael winced. In the background, he heard Trevor talking to someone on his phone. He guessed it would be the emergency services. He wanted to tell his best mate not to bother, after all, how were they going to get an ambulance up here in this weather?

“You'd better take your Jodie into the other room,” said Fern. She gently pushed the pair of them towards the door. “I'll get the girl sorted out.”

5

Michael bought the tea up to his lips, sipping the lukewarm liquid was an automatic motion, like idly gazing at the television. Trevor had turned it on about an hour ago, with the volume turned low. He said that the background noise would help the girl come around.

It had been two hours since Maddie had her episode in the kitchen. Right now, she lay on the sofa, Jodie's old sleeping bag laid over her still body. The girl had regained her senses a minute before Trevor had finished trying to get in touch with the emergency services. In the end, the heavy rain and the impassable road hadn't mattered, Michael's friend hadn't been able to get a clear signal. Apart from a bruised nose and lump on the back of her head, Maddie seemed okay. She had no memory of the incident but looked genuinely distressed at the upheaval that her fit had caused.

Michael watched Daffy Duck turned his beak the right way around after Elmer Fudd shot him. Trevor had quickly changed the channel from the football to a children's channel when his wife shot him a dirty look. Both the women sat on the edge of the sofa, each one talking in low voices as the girl slept.

“Remember when Ernest Hamilton had a fit in the canteen?”

Michael did remember that incident all too well. Unlike Maddie though, the boy had yelled out something intelligible before falling off his chair and convulsing on the ground as over a dozen students formed a circle around the boy. Some guy had even filmed it. “Yeah, I remember. The old lecturer from Media Studies, sorted him out.” He shifted his gaze to Trevor. “You think that's what it was?”

“Had to be.” Trevor pulled out his phone. “Oh, now you're working. “What is she, seventeen?”

Michael nodded. “I think so.”

“All those hormones and chemicals and whatnot that's messing about with her body. The chances are that it's probably just a one off, that they've overloaded her head or something. Then again, it really could be the start of epilepsy. Even so, we'd still better get the girl to the hospital, run some tests. You know, just to be sure.”

“The rain's stopped, but there's no way an ambulance will make it up to the house.” Michael stood up and walked over to the window. “We can carry her down to the main road. It'll only take five minutes. Get the ambulance to meet us there, Trevor.”

The idea that their babysitter just had a fit wasn't washing with Michael, and he didn't think any of the others believed it either. There's no way on this planet that some girl having a seizure can somehow make everyone in the vicinity piss themselves. There was also the incident with those words Maddie uttered. The girl had somehow known that Maddie had an abortion. Nobody knew that, apart from him and Jodie's close family.

He massaged the back of his neck and listened to Trevor make that call. Michael didn't think that any of them would forget their house warming party anytime soon.

Chapter Three

Looking Back

1

The sole owner of Richmond Point rolled a fat cigar between his fingers while waiting for the four microwaves to finish their cooking programmes. He hadn't lit the cigar, that would wait until he'd finished his present task. Lighting up a cigar in his kitchen would break over a dozen health and safety regulations. Kevin was a responsible hotelier.

Kevin's upbeat mood had not dipped, despite his rather distressing encounter with his previous younger self. The memory, or vision, had not stayed locked up on this occasion. Again, this didn't affect as much as they used to. Oh, the images shook him up, pretty badly too, he would at least admit to that. The man now known as Mr Morris, did not enjoy looking back at his time, locked up in that cellar, with only his lying sister for company.

In the first few nights after the First Change, he would lie on the carpet in his new bedroom under the window. Kevin Morris tightened his now clean fingers around his new pale green bed sheets, and stare at the pale fat moon, hanging heavy in the night sky. His parents had promised many things once his body had become used to the new diet and the increased light. They were to actually allow him to leave the house, they were to show him all the new things, as well as introduce him to the many strange people currently sleeping in the other rooms. Most of all, his father promised to show him how to make the girl in the cellar touch his thing.

He saw her face in the moon, the boy now called Kevin remembered closing his eyes, his mind drifting off. Before sleep took him, the face in the moon changed to show him a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. She was always crying and calling out the name of Andrew.

The first microwave pinged, announcing that it had done his bidding. Kevin shook himself out of his muse and pulled open the door, releasing the tantalising vapours of meat cooked to perfection.

He carefully lifted out a small white plate and placed it on the counter. The dozen thin slices of thigh reminded him of  pages from the books that his mother used to let him play with during his education.

2

This dish, as well as the other three still cooking, were the last thawed pieces of his last kill, a lovely young thing who had announced herself as Rebecca James. The chances of that  being her real name were pretty slim. In his experience, the young runaways believed that a name change
was the first step in creating a new life, that telling a complete stranger a new name was the first step in creating a new identity. The man once born Andrew Collins so wanted to tell the poor deluded souls that no amount of name changing would stop their life-train pulling in at the Richmond Point Terminus.

Two more microwaves pinged.

Oh yes, that girl really had come to the end of the line when she'd walked through his door. He had been on the desk when that pretty blonde thing had walked right up to his desk, acting like she did this kind of thing all the time. Kevin Morris, who had an uncanny skill in reading people, knew for a fact that this girl would not see another sunrise.

He gave her his most disarming smile, whilst breathing a sigh of relief. There wasn't much left of dad now. Although looking back, there hadn't been much decent meat on the old bastard to start with. Most of his soft bits needed stewing for at least a couple of days, not the best idea whilst trying to run a hotel.

A number of guests had commented upon the meaty aroma clinging to the furniture like wet glue. Kevin had told the most inquisitive that he'd been preparing a dish for his Eastern European grandmother who was due to visit next week. It was her ninetieth birthday, you see and – (He'd confided in their ears) the old bird wasn't expected to last the winter. Cancer, you see. Kevin could quite easily think on his feet. One of the guests had even put a collection together.

This young thing wouldn't need stewing at all. Mr Morris mentally jointed her as she gave her name and signed the register. It took significant effort to calm himself down and to lose his rather prominent erection. He got over that hurdle by reminding himself that he still hadn't perfected the art of using the wood chipper. Kevin had almost lost his own arm when he fed his dad's de-fleshed bones into the very scary machine. Still, looking at this delicate frame, he could probably crush her bones with one of his dad's mallets.

The remaining microwaves finished their cooking cycle. He removed the plates one by one and stacked them onto a tray, ready for transport. He knew that using up all the store would be a big risk, but Mr Morris believed it would be worth it. The scheming girl might have got one up on her brother (He still wasn't sure how that had happened) but this meal would be a timely reminder that she still needed him to continue living.

He had to admit, Rebecca James had been an absolute delight. Well, she had once Kevin had ended her life.

Just like Jeremy Dale, and the countless others before him, Kevin had sat the girl down in the 'killing chair' offered her some wine (Rebecca James wasn't one to refuse wine) In fact, she had three glasses. With precision gained from plenty of practise, Kevin struck her below the ear. Looking back, it might have been a mistake to have allowed her so much wine. Cleaning up her bright red vomit had not been a fun chore. Also, despite knowing she was out cold, Rebecca James still managed to utter a few random words as he loaded her body onto his trolley, ready for transport.

He had no idea why her malfunctioning brain should blurt out that it was soft and wet and was going to be crunched up, but it sure did freak him out, he almost slid his scalpel blade across her throat right there, in the corridor.

Kevin was glad that he hadn't allowed his irrationality to rule his otherwise calm exterior though. Unlike the males, he wanted to try something different. He wheeled the trolley into his inherited 'preparation room' and rolled the girl's body off the trolley and onto the large stone slab that dominated the room.

This place had changed significantly since his dad was last lying where this girl was. The man known as Mr Morris thought of himself as a neat person, a systematic man who possessed a methodical way of working. Gone were the Victorian tiles, coated in countless layers of dried blood. He had ripped out all the old lighting and replaced it with a modern equivalent. He had even replaced the floor tiles with lino.

It made for an altogether, more hygienic environment. Dad should have been ashamed of himself for allowing the place to be in such a vile state. To Kevin's mind, this was still a food preparation area. It surprised him that neither of them ever managed to live past their tenth birthday without dying from severe food poisoning.

Kevin wrapped a steel hooped rope over the girl's ankles and hoisted her up into the air. He was looking so forward to the next procedure. A couple of nights before, He had searched through the older works in his library, and studied the illustrations. Those ancient artists had created the techniques in exquisite detail. Kevin didn't need to read the old text, he just needed to follow the photo-realistic diagrams as they showed exactly how they killed and butchered their human victims.

Once the girl's head was level with his chest, Kevin placed a thick plastic clear bag over her head and made sure it wouldn't come off by tying a length of cord tight around her neck, not enough to choke her. The illustrations clearly showed her exact method of execution. Obviously those ancient people didn't have any plastic bags, they used a glass box. Kevin just improvised, guessing that the end result would be the same. He then made a tiny hole in the plastic with a thin metal skewer. This was the exciting part. Kevin gripped the handle tight and pressed the point against the side of the girl's neck, watching his improvised instrument create a perfectly round pink crater.

Rebecca James released a tiny moan and one eye fluttered open. Fine mist formed on the inside of the bag. Kevin always felt like God at the moment of ending a life, but his prior experience paled in comparison to the multitude of synapses firing in his brain. The skin broke, allowing a single droplet of bright red blood trickle down the length of the skewer.

Both her eyes now opened wide, her self-preservation had finally kicked in. that soon stopped when Kevin pushed the skewer all the way through. The illustrations showed him exactly what would happen next. Kevin couldn't remember a time since he was so excited. He pulled out the skewer and clamped his thumb and forefinger over the hole he'd made. Hot blood burst from the hole, splashing hard against the plastic before streaming down to the bottom. He'd never seen anything like. It was like a tiny scarlet fire hose. It was very exciting.

The bag quickly filled up, covering lovely Rebecca's face, until the fluid reached her mouth. In the books, the ancient killers had used a tiny stopper to plug the hole in the glass. Kevin used a small square of thick tape. Kevin left the body to drain and set about scrubbing the slab, in readiness for the cutting. He decided there and then to read through the rest of the books to see what else he could pick up.

3

He had been right about her body. Kevin had cut off an enormous amount of usable food, more than the amount he had sliced from dad, a worry considering she'd been half his mass. His only concern had been how long she had lasted. Kevin gazed at the platters, still feeling a little guilty at using enough food for four meals. His sister had adored the meat, telling him (using hand signals and wall marks) that it was the best she had ever tasted.

Would she share this with her new play-toy, now that was a good question. Angela never enjoyed sharing anything.

4

The girl calling herself Rebecca James had been the first female to taste any of his instruments. His sister had tasted girl flesh before, many times in fact. Whilst growing up, Kevin had noticed the more adventurous spirit had seemed to reside in the opposite gender.

He had never killed a girl until now because his father never allowed it. The old bastard wouldn't
even allow him to participate in any of the butchery. Kevin was taught his trade with male only cadavers.

Back as a precocious teenager, the boy then convinced he was called Kevin Morris had no idea why his father wouldn't allow him access to dead female meat. He certainly didn't buy the crappy lie about cutting into a naked female corpse would taint his experience with the sexual pleasure he received from the girl in the cellar.

Kevin was no idiot. The simple truth was that the only other permanent male member in Richmond Point didn't want to share. Dad's sexual appetite outmatched the man's love for food and fucking two women just wasn't enough for him.

Kevin Morris reached the cellar door. He set the tray down on the metal shelf that ran parallel along the wall and fished in his pockets for the key. The family had an enormous collection of
specialist
books in their private library. Most of them dealt with the art of eating human flesh. Depending on which parent he asked, the books had been collected by their descendants for the past five hundred years or the dusty things had always been here, and who gives a fuck about a pile of mumbo jumbo.

His father had supplied the last one, and somewhere deep inside the boy called Kevin, his dad's answer sounded more believable. Neither parents restricted his access to the volumes. Believing that whilst he was in the library, the boy wouldn't be under their feet as they ran the hotel.

It took him an age to search through the hundreds of dusty books to actually find any written in English. He had no idea why anybody would collect books written in a language you couldn't understand, although, Kevin did find some of the illustrations in them rather interesting. Of all the books he investigated, only five were readable. Kevin digested a great deal of information from those five books over the years. He believed they helped him to become a master at his trade, his father only knew what his father had taught him. The man only followed the template, never changing, never experimenting.

He slowly turned the key, keeping his ears open, wondering how his new arrival was adjusting to his new life. It had been several hours now, Kevin guessed the pair of them would be rutting like sex-starved rhinos by now.

His dad should have read those books. Their depictions and opinions on jointing the kill differed but they all agreed on how important it was not to cause the live specimen any stress prior to the kill. The modern volumes explained that extreme fear released a torrents of chemicals into the bloodstream, these in turn could taint the meat, ruining the taste. The older books described a similar caution but used words like spirit of the body and humors. It all amounted to the same practice of ensuring the kill is clean.

No wonder his sister couldn't get enough of this meat. “Count your lucky blessings, Rebecca,” he whispered, turning the door handle. By the time his father had finished with his females, Kevin was surprised that the meat was even edible. He didn't just torture the girls, he violated them, both alive and dead.

“I cater for a more refined palette.”

Looking back, he did wonder if maybe his father was fully aware of the stresses he caused on the end result but just didn't care. That made sense. Fuckbastard was not known for his subtlety. There was one more reason that Kevin hadn't considered until now. He might have done it on purpose. That made even more sense. After all, bad tasting meat would last longer due to the girl in the cellar not eating so much.

He gazed at the stack of food as he descended and quietly sighed. Did this mean that he had missed out on an excellent opportunity to explore a woman other than his sister? He could never be as brutal as his dad. That man was an animal once his blood was up and his own chemicals ran riot through his body (Was this why Dad's flesh took an age to cook?)  The act of using the girl alive or dead as a sex doll hadn't even occurred to him, he'd just gone ahead with the dismembering.