Offshore (37 page)

Euterich
laughed, a brittle unpleasant sound, and Lydia eyed him closely,
his face clearer now her vision had acclimatised. He looked like
Brewer, he sounded like Brewer, even though he was talking
gibberish, but, those eyes...no human had eyes like
that.

Not looking at you...through you...weighing you
up.

“
Who
are
you?”

He
pressed a cold palm to her cheek. “Patience, my sweet. I’ll tell
you, soon.” The green glare averted. “I had a grand plan once,” he
said. “I won’t tell you what it entailed because it might scare
you, so you’ll be pleased to know that since then I’ve changed my
mind and...oh, Lydia, we are going to be so happy
together.”

She
swallowed hard, her throat tight. He really was insane. Best not
aggravate him further lest he change his mind again. He held her
again with a rock hard gaze, his retinas gleaming like beacons. She
shivered under their unblinking glare.

“
Don’t be frightened, Lydia. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s
going to be wonderful.” He sighed and looked toward the window, his
face illuminated by the deck-light outside. “After I’ve disposed of
those two idiots still running around looking for us,
we’ll–”

“
Leave them alone.”

“
Not possible, my dear. You see, I’ve done some bad things
and they want to hurt me, and I’m not good with pain. I won’t tell
you what I did, you don’t need to know. Suffice to say, I did it
for you, Lydia. I did it so that you would love me and we would be
together.”

“
Love you? You must be joking!”

“
You will. You have to. After all I’ve done for
you.”

“
I could never love someone like you. You’re a bona fide
crackpot–”

The open
handed slap across her face knocked her back and she squealed as he
grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to him. His eyes were now
hard and cold, his demeanour totally changed. A complete about turn
from love to … what?

Fear
slid through her in a sluice of coldness.

“
I wanted to do this inside,” he said, his voice hollow. “In
the warm, in one of the cabins, in comfort. I wanted it to be
special, so I could tell you how much I love you, and you would
tell me the same … and then we’d–”

“
We’d what?” she whispered.

“
Make love of course. We have to procreate; create a child.”
His unyielding hand held her slender neck in a vice-like grip. “How
can we live together as a happy little family if we don’t have
children?”

“
Children? With you? Never!”

“
I’m not asking for your co-operation.”

She
wrenched her arms free and kicked her legs wildly, striking him
with a heel. “Don’t you touch me!”

He
snatched at her again, his grip solid, unbreakable. “I love you
Lydia, and I want you … I need you so much it hurts. I have to have
you!”

“
No!
Get away from me you fucking–”

He
pressed his lips to hers, hard and cold like strips of half frozen
meat, and forced his tongue into her mouth, a gelatinous worm that
tasted of rubber.

She
couldn’t breathe and balled her tethered fists against his chest,
pushing at him with all her strength, but she was too small and too
weak, and he was too heavy, too strong, too determined.

Then
suddenly she was freed to breathe again, but not free.

He
caught hold of the tape shackling both her arms at the wrists,
yanking at them, forcing her flat on her back, arms bent at the
elbow above her head.

With his
free hand he started to ease her panties down her legs.

She
thrashed about like a wild thing. “No! Stop it! Let me go!” A
savage burning slap to her naked thigh stilled her wriggling. Off
came the panties. “Please stop–”

He
kissed her exposed breasts, nibbling around the nipples, hot
turbulent breath against her skin as he murmured her name over and
over, his excitement mounting at what was to come.

She
bucked and writhed to break his grip, to separate them, to no
avail.

He used
his legs to spread hers wide, opening her up whilst he undid the
zipper of his overalls, freeing an already straining erection from
the confines of the material. His intention could not have been
more obvious.

“
NO! Please!”

His hand
went under her backside, lifting her to him, and with the force of
a red hot poker he rammed himself into her.

She
screamed. “EDDIE HELP ME!!”

Oblivious to her distress, deaf to her cries to her dead
lover, he speared her over and again, deeper and deeper.

This
wasn’t like the gentle slow dance she’d had with Eddie, tender and
caring and thoughtful, nor like the fun quickie she’d had with
Duncan Cameron in the pantry; this was forced and desperate … and,
oh God, it hurt so much.

“
No…please.” No more than a breathy whisper, distress
forcing the fight out of her.

He
pushed hard and fast, tearing her delicate flesh, forcing tears of
pain and fear to well in her eyes, simultaneously kneading at her
breast as if he were shaping a lump of dough.

She
could resist no more, all strength drained from her and with a
small whimper of submission, she resigned to the
assault.

Time
turned in on itself as the attack continued, and just when she
thought it would never end he stiffened and his breathing came in
fast laboured grunts. His grip on her wrists tightened like a hot
steel ring, and the ache in her breast flared such that she feared
he had torn it off.

His neck
corded with tension, teeth gritted, lips drawn back, and with a cry
more animal than human he ejaculated into her over and again, until
he had no more to give. Grabbing at air, he panted, groaned…and
relaxed.

He
slipped from her, kissed her naked stomach, climbed off her, and
released her wrists, allowing the blood to flow back into her
hands. She did not move. She just lay there, huge dark eyes staring
up at the ceiling, sobbing silently as semen and blood oozed from
her torn and bruised vagina.

Carefully Euterich tucked his rapidly receding erection back
into his undershorts, zipped up his overalls, and got to his
feet.

“
Thank you,” he said, and went to stand at the window,
peering out through the grille covered pane, the overhead deck
light turning his gaunt face an unnatural yellow-orange. For a
moment she though she saw tears on his cheeks. “I’ve got to leave
you now,” he said thickly, and pushed the door open, letting in a
gale of freezing air. “I have something I need to do.”

“
W-w-what? Where are you going?”

“
Nothing for you to worry about. I won’t be long. You’ll be
safe here while I take care of business, and then it will be just
you and me.”

“
You can’t leave me here like this. I’ll die of
hypothermia,” she said, with all the emotion of a run down
automaton.

“
Wrap yourself in the sacks. I’ll be back soon and then …
and then I’ll take you somewhere warm and we’ll talk. We can plan
for the future in comfort.”

“
I can’t. My hands are still tied.” She held them up to
demonstrate.

He
reached for something in the dark. A swift movement, a tug, and her
hands were free. Without another word he left, slamming the door
behind him, through which she heard the soft metallic chittering of
him refitting the padlock.

Alone
and terrified she whimpered and shivered in the dark, clutching her
knees to her aching chest, dropping her forehead onto them to weep
openly, not only for the mortifying rape she had failed to prevent,
nor out of fear of what was yet to come, but to mourn the one man
who could have saved her from this awfulness.

Euterich
leaned over the safety rail, breathing deeply, the icy air burning
his lungs, fighting to control the shaking in his limbs,
incandescent fury boiling in him like hot lava ready to
erupt.

It was
their fault - interfering bastards. They had ruined
everything.

They had
buggered everything up and forced him to take her out there to that
dirty despicable place and do what he did, compelling him to have
rushed common sex in that hole instead of spending their honeymoon
in a nice comfortable cabin, awash with sensitivity and
passion.

Now she
would harbour ill feelings towards him which would not bode well to
her loving him. Everything was their fault and they were going to
pay with their lives.

At least
Eddie Capstan was dead and out of the picture, that insufferable
fly in his ointment, that loathsome irritant, no longer a threat.
She couldn’t love a dead man, and one man down left all the more
room in her heart for him. But that still left the other two
running loose somewhere. Not for long though.

He would
use his superior skills to hunt them down and kill them, not to
change, he didn’t need to now, but purely to despatch them, to be
free of them, and then he would return to his lovely lady and seek
her forgiveness for having treated her so shabbily.

She
would give it, of course, and gladly, because she had a gentle soul
and a heart full of love, and it would all be for him.

Lydia
would worship him, be devoted to him. He would be to her as a god,
and this time, when they made love, they would do it as it should
be done - perfectly, in a comfortable bed with soft lighting and
music, and she would give herself to him willingly, openly, with
passion and fervour, and then, when they lay together basking in
each other, they would pledge their oaths to be together forever –
one body, one soul.

He saw
no flaw in his obsessive insanity.

On the
horizon lightning flashed. Another storm front coming, or
confirmation from on high that his lunacy would succeed?

He opted
for the latter.

Time to
think.

It
wouldn’t be long before the two remaining nuisances found Eddie
Capstan’s body in the sickbay. They would know he was responsible
and come searching for him again. Two against one was hardly fair.
He had to even the score. One against one he could manage much
better.

Which
one to eliminate first?

Which
one would cause him the most trouble?

In this
body he would be at a disadvantage. His opponents were both fit
men, much younger and stronger than he; Cameron in particular had
plenty of meat on his bones, nicely muscled. He would put up a
fight.

Shaw in
contrast was smaller and skinnier, not enough flesh on him to feed
a Chihuahua, but as he had learned to his cost before, wiry didn’t
always mean wimpy; it often meant hidden strength.

So …
what to do?

Find
them. Separate them. Scare them.

Take
them out one at a time.

How?

By
whatever means available.

There
were plenty of tools onboard, heavy metal objects with which to
dole out a classic blow with a blunt instrument, but to utilise
them he would have to get up close and personal.

He
didn’t fancy that. Too much opportunity for retaliation. He needed
something he could use from a distance, or at least arm’s
length.

What he
really needed was a gun. No chance of that here. There weren’t any
onboard. No firearm of any type permitted. Forget that. Think
again.

The
lifeboat would have flare guns. One shot deals and not built for
accuracy, but better than nothing. He would get one anyway.
Euterich trotted across the deck, past the charred ruin of the
welder’s hut, heading for the external stairs which would lead to
the lifeboat gantry, coming to a skidding halt when another thought
occurred.

The hut
was where he killed McAllister and took on his form, and he had
done it with shots to the head and the heart with - the nail gun.
He’d put it in the tool chest when he tidied up. It might still be
in there, along with a goodly amount of ammunition. This time his
need for tidiness may have worked in his favour.

The
explosion had all but annihilated the hut, but what about the tool
chest? Had it survived the conflagration? He picked his way
carefully through the wreckage to where it ought to be.

There it
was, and apart from a severe scorching, it looked for the most part
to be intact, having suffered no more than a deep dent in its
lid.

He undid
the hasp holding the lid closed, and heaved. Warped by the dent and
the heat, the lid stayed put. A strategically placed crowbar made
short work of overcoming the resistance, and he soon had it propped
open.

A little
digging inside, and he found what he wanted. The nail gun was
sooty, its plastic handle bent out of shape, but overall the tool
looked to be undamaged.

He
checked the magazine: half empty. A quick search of the chest and
he located the spare gas cartridges, and a fresh supply of five
inch nails.