Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (23 page)

Chapter 11

“I meant to ask,” said Mal as he poured Anders some more wine. “How did you know? Back at the fire.” They sat in a private room at Dinner, a luxury restaurant nestled inside the Mandarin Oriental at Hyde Park. The hotel was the most luxurious Anders had seen, Edwardian grandeur at its finest. As the sun set low over the park, the hotel exterior was lit with hundreds of spotlights, highlighting the intricate masonry that gave the building such character.

Within the hotel, lay one of London’s premier restaurants, opulent in style and serving European food from as far back as the Fourteenth Century. Mal had booked them into a private dining room with large hand blown glass pieces hanging from the lights, red embossed leather walls and glass panels that gave them a view of the park. They’d ordered a tasting menu and enjoyed the delights that were brought through, sampling all manner of delicious foods.

Anders sipped her wine, the large goblet dwarfing her hand as she enjoyed the fruity aromas emanating from the glass. She gave an elegant shrug of her shoulder.

“Blind luck,” she replied. “He was sitting in the dark and part of the roof to the church collapsed some more, throwing sparks in the air. I saw him in the sudden light. Recognised him.” Mal shook his head in disbelief.

“That’s some lucky break,” he said. Sipping from his glass, he eyed Anders over the rim before putting the wine down and appraising her openly. “You look stunning,” he said. Anders blushed at the complement.

She’d spent the day with Cassie and a very bored Aaron looking for something to wear as they went into shop after shop, eventually settling on something from Karen Millen, a dark purple dress made of shimmering satin that hugged her figure perfectly. Finding a matching shawl and some shoes with a heel that she knew she’d regret later, she treated them all to some ice-cream. She then bought Aaron some Avengers action figures by way of apology as she and Cassie had their nails done in a beauty parlour, Aaron re-enacting some of his favourite scenes from the movies.

“Thank you,” she said, keen to move the topic away from work as more delectable delights were brought through for their tasting. One of the waiters stared at her bare shoulders, the scars a dull colour in the dim light, hastily averting his eyes as Mal gave him a challenging stare. Anders indicated the plush surroundings they found themselves in and smiled at Mal.

“You must have blown a year’s wages to bring me here.” Reaching forward to try some of the food, Mal chuckled. He’d made some effort himself and wore a suit instead of his usual jeans and check shirt. He looked awkward in the outfit, but pulled it off and looked handsome.

“I am a Deputy Chief Constable, you know,” he replied. Anders sighed heavily.

“Ah yes, all of the power, none of the money.”

“Not all of us are as wealthy as you are if Jesse is to be believed,” he retorted, a mischievous glint in his eye. Anders tipped her glass to him.

“You shouldn’t believe everything he says.”

“But his stories are so fun,” said Mal through a mouth filled with food.

“I will hurt you,” replied Anders good naturedly. Mal gave her a sardonic look.

“Not with that dress on you won’t.”

The evening passed all too quickly. They laughed and joked, flirted and enjoyed each other’s company. As the wine flowed, their inhibitions evaporated and they constantly found reason to touch, to linger, to revel. It never bothered Mal who she once was. Sat there in front of him was the most stunning woman in the room, one that every other man openly stared at, first at her beauty and then at her scars. She was oblivious to the effect she had on people around her and Mal delighted that she was here with him.

He talked openly and freely, not hesitating to tell her of his past. The family he’d once had, the tragedy they’d met in a car accident that had ripped them from his life. He told of his grief, Anders seeing the pain and loneliness that still haunted him. She saw that it hadn’t broken him, though it had come close. He toyed with the slender neck of the wine glass as he spoke.

“My wife would always say that we live our lives under the night sky. When good things happen, a star shines brighter, the night less dark.” He sipped from the glass, savouring the taste. “She likened the bad things in life to a star twinkling out. As you get older, some of us live under a dark sky, others get a bright and wonderful night. The Aurora Borealis if you like. That guy at the church? He lived under a black sky.” Anders reached over and squeezed his hand.

“And you?” she asked quietly. He gazed at her for a moment, an ineffable sadness in his eyes. Eventually, he spoke, his voice soft.

“Somewhere in between, I guess.”

Sensing his own melancholy, Mal changed topic and they were soon laughing and teasing each other once more, closer now that he had shared his loss with Anders. 

As they finished their deserts and polished off another bottle of wine, Mal asked for the bill and then turned back to Anders. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the alcohol but she still looked radiant. He wasn’t yet ready for the night to end.

“Fancy another drink somewhere?”

“I’d be delighted,” she said and they stumbled from the restaurant in search of a taxi. Even in her rather too tall heels, she only came to Mal’s shoulder and she leaned into him as he put an arm around her, guiding them down the street. She was happy to be led this night, content as she was.

Hailing a cab, they slid into the back seat as Mal gave directions. Anders loved moving through cities at night. They buzzed and sparked and truly came alive and she enjoyed watching the streets as they drove to the bar Mal had suggested.

It didn’t take long to get to the Phoenix. It was nestled in a corner near Oxford Circus and gave a shabby chic vibe. Anders chuckled as she stepped from the cab, earning a few wolf whistles from the queue waiting to get in. She turned to Mal as he unfolded himself from the vehicle, amusement crinkling her eyes.

“Little overdressed aren’t we?”

“Nonsense,” he said gruffly and led her to the front of the queue where the doorman let them straight in, Mal shaking his hand in greeting as he walked past. Inside, Anders could hear Country and Western from a live band in the floor below and grinned at Mal. He smiled back and leaned closer to speak in her ear.

“I know the owner. Helped him out a few years ago. Drink?”

“Tequila,” she said and Mal rolled his eyes. Making their way through the packed bar and looking rather incongruous in their clothes, Mal took her downstairs where a table had been reserved for them. “Little presumptuous don’t you think?” said Anders. “What if the date had gone terribly?”

“Then I’d come here anyway and drown my sorrows,” replied Mal and went to the bar as Anders settled into her seat and watched the live band. They worked the crowd well and the dance floor was full of revellers enjoying the music. Mal returned with a bottle of tequila and a handful of shot glasses that he lined up, filling each one as he straightened them out in front of them.

“See you in the middle,” he said, shouting to make himself heard over the noise. He took the glass closest to him and downed it quickly, turning it over and slamming it down before reaching for the next one. Anders did the same and they guzzled three shots in quick succession, the taste making Mal grimace.

“Never did like tequila!” Anders pulled the lapels of his jacket towards her and he leaned forward for a kiss, one hand reaching round the soft material of her dress and resting around her firm waist. It was all too brief for his liking as she pulled away and slid out from the table. She looked at him as she poured some more tequila, giving him a challenging look.

“Don’t be a wuss,” she said and slid the shot glass over the table towards him. Downing it quickly, he took her offered hand and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor, Anders swaying rhythmically to the music as she found a spot she was happy with.

Mal didn’t care that he couldn’t dance or felt awkward in his suit. He was smitten and enjoyed the moment as she pulled him close and they danced for what felt like hours, all thoughts of Buckland and his madness pushed aside as they focused on the here and now, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Eventually, the night came to a close and Mal led her from the bar as they locked up. The owner had come out to greet them and ribbed Mal mercilessly over his attire as he ushered them from the bar. Out on the street, Mal hailed a cab and hesitated as it pulled up next to them. Anders felt a slither of adrenalin snake through her as she guessed his intent.

“Would you like to come back to mine for some coffee?” She laughed openly at his clumsy attempt to keep it cool and lay a hand on his chest.

“I’d be delighted to,” she said. Mal rolled his eyes as his phone rang and he reached into his pocket to see who it was. He frowned as he saw the number and stepped away to answer the call. Anders waited, the cool breeze whistling down the street making her wrap her shawl more tightly round her shoulders. Moments later, Mal stepped back to her, a look of apology on his face.

“I’m so sorry, that was McDowell. He wants me over there now.” Anders felt a stab of disappointment and also annoyance at McDowell as she stepped closer.

“You want me to come?” she said. Mal shook his head.

“No. I’d rather McDowell not see us together. Not yet anyway.” He hesitated then. “Tomorrow night?” he asked hopefully.

“I promised Aaron we’d build a Roman fort tomorrow. Monday night? Come round and I’ll cook you dinner.” Mal’s eyes narrowed.

“Can you cook?” Anders slapped him playfully.

“No, but Cassie can and I’ll pretend I did it.” He grinned and leaned forward, taking her in his arms as they kissed once more. This one wasn’t so brief. Eventually the taxi driver beeped his horn and Mal shot him a warning look. Grumbling as Anders stepped into the taxi, he closed the door behind her and waved goodbye. Anders returned the wave and sighed contentedly as she settled in her seat and told the driver where she wanted to go.

Feet sore from dancing in her new shoes, Anders slipped them off and curled her feet under herself as she stared happily through the window. She liked Mal. He was warm and kind with a gentle demeanour that hid a fierceness when provoked. He could be grumpy at times, but his gruffness was a front. He treated people well and his team loved him. She thought that maybe one day, she would love him too. They’d both suffered such loss that their greatest strength would be their empathy, their understanding of what the other had endured.

She didn’t realise, as she pondered on her evening and contemplated some future with Mal, that she would never see him again. They had shared their last dance and stolen one more kiss from the night.

Week 4

There’s been so much written about me these last few weeks. To some, I’m a saviour. I’ve lifted the veil we cower behind and shown the truth of the world. To others, I’m a monster. I’m the embodiment of Lucifer himself, inciting others to kill, murder and maim. This vitriol is written by high minded idealists. They miss the point with their words. This isn’t about me. This is about us as a species. It isn’t time for idealism. It’s time for realism. 

I walk among you. I see everything. I see society eroding away in a mere three weeks. That’s all it has taken. Three weeks to sow terror, to make you afraid of your neighbour. That stranger walking towards you. Is he about to enter the Competition? Will you be the next entry?

If I can do this in three weeks, how strong was our society anyway? Was there really such a thing as civilisation, as humanity? The revolution continues. We grow strong. We are legion.

Take arms against class. Take arms against those who would bracket you, put you in a box and say “this is your worth. This is where you belong.” You are powerful. You are mighty. You are a creature of this world. We took millions of years to evolve to now. We survived mass extinction events and have earned our right to be here. We lose that right as we turn from Natural Selection, believing ourselves above such petty competition, but we need to embrace Survival of the Fittest. Weed out the weak. Nature selects those best adapted to survive. Every entrant proves this. Every death, natural selection in action. The only law, the only order, is that which is governed by nature herself.

How dare we take it upon ourselves to impose our will on nature. We are the embodiment of it, not her masters.

This week, we had an unprecedented number of entries. I promised five winners and next week, we shall have ten. One entry caught my eye. The Big Bad Wolf and his three little pigs. Such art. Such understanding of our glorious work. I had to meet the creator. We were kindred spirits.

When I met him, he was not the creator. He was not capable of such beauty. He took credit for another’s work. Worse, he was the man your society sent to catch me. Law and justice made flesh, upheld by you for his virtuous work.

But we are here to tear down society. To live in a world of natural law and real justice.

I decide to tear this symbol down. To tear
him
apart. This week’s theme is serial killers. I have my favourite. We all do. The Washington Whipper. He would tie his victims to a cross in his basement and lash them with his cat o’nine tails, tearing flesh from body. Why? Because he could. Because he understood the natural order of the world as it should be. It’s not about strength. It’s about willingness. That is the ultimate form of natural selection.

I take this man in his own home. This Mal Weathers. I shove thousands of volts of electricity through his body and he collapses in a twitching heap. I set up my cross and drag him to it. He’s wearing the trappings of society. A suit. Dressed up like a peacock. I tear this from him and he wakes, screaming and bucking against his restraints. Vile anger and vitriol spews from his mouth. He curses me and swears vengeance. I laugh, for his anger is hollow, his threats empty.

I have my whip. Like the Washington Whipper, I feather my cat o’nine tails with barbs, the better to tear flesh with. I am clumsy with my first few attempts. I barely scratch the skin, but I improve. He curses me, but does not scream. Eventually, I get the hang of this skill and, with new found respect for the Whipper, I set about my work. I tear chunks of flesh from the police man. This embodiment of society. I tear it and him to shreds.

Eventually, he screams. Oh, how he screams. His living room is soaked in his blood, pieces of torn flesh plastering the walls and still I continue. He struggles some more, but he weakens as I expose bone. The barbs catch and stick in them and I pull with effort to remove them, scratching and cracking bone.

His struggles lessen and soon stop. Sweating with the effort, I toss my whip to the floor, blood and gore soaking its length.

This world cannot touch me. Society and civilisation, by its very nature are too weak, your ideals too soft. You will not catch me. The next person you send will be held back by your morals, limited in capacity.

I am not limited. My morals are linked to our true spirit and being. Natural selection. It’s not about strength. Survival of the Fittest never has been. It’s about willingness. Our species revolution is all about willingness.