The Midnight Hour (12 page)

That was the noise, she realised. The noise she had heard. Mr Jenkins’ head being crushed.

And then the second revelation, one so obvious she was disgusted with herself for not realising it immediately. Jenkins couldn’t have done this to himself and then dragged himself to the office. Somebody else was involved.

Someone had murdered Mr Jenkins.

Someone who was probably still in the cinema!

A noise from inside the office. A shuffling.

She straightened up, stepped back further into the foyer just as the man appeared in the office doorway.

He was dressed in black and wore some kind of Halloween mask, a clown she thought. She didn’t wait to take a closer look but turned, slipping slightly on the blood streaked floor, and ran for the front doors. She knew they were closed, but perhaps they weren’t locked!

She could hear the man behind her, heavy footsteps, running, getting louder, closer.

Who was he? What was happening?

She remembered the newspaper headline.
Four girls in two weeks.

Oh my God! It’s him. It’s the killer!

She ran harder, pumping her arms back and forth, forcing her legs, her aching unfit muscles, to work faster.

She could hear his breathing now, snorting, animal-like breathing. He must be almost upon her.

She cried out in fear, in anger. How dare this happen to her! She wasn’t even 18 yet. She was too young to die!

She didn’t have time to stop. She ran into the door, slamming into it with her forearms, her knees. She felt it give, push outwards, as her momentum smashed her against the thick wood panelling.

She almost laughed. It was going to open. She was going to escape.

The door stuck with only the slightest of gaps showing. Surprised, she could not stop herself as her head collided, a sickening crack seeming to echo through the dark foyer.

She staggered backwards, dizzy, puzzled, disoriented.

The door was indeed unlocked, but she saw the top bolt drawn closed. The force of her impact had loosened it, pulled some screws from the fitting, but it had held.

The bastard had held!

She turned, staggering, the darkness before her eyes flashing with pain, and he was on her. His weight, the strangely soft feel of his black clothes, the manic grinning of the mask.

She saw a gloved fist raised, arcing in.

Then nothing.

The pounding in her head was her first indication that she was still alive.

If I’d died then surely the pain would have stopped?

It seemed a strange, almost flippant thought given the circumstances, but nothing seemed very rational at the moment. And what exactly were her circumstances?

She struggled to open her eyes, slowly. For a moment she thought she was blind and a tight knot of panic seemed to settle in her chest. Then she recognised her surroundings. The cinema. The auditorium. The almost pitch blackness broken by the vague shapes of the seats, the aisles. And she was on the small stage in front of the screen.

She seemed unharmed. Her uniform was ruffled but otherwise intact and in place. Other than the pain in her head and some scrapes and bruises from the front door she was not hurt. Whoever had attacked her had done nothing else to her… yet!

She remembered the body of Mr Jackson, lying in his office. She knew what this man was capable of. If she was still alive it was because he had plans for her.

She began to cry, deep sobs sending shudders through her body.

“Ah, don’t cry Crystal.” The voice was deep, strange somehow. “Not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I haven’t even
started
yet.”

Trying to ignore the pain, she lifted her head towards the source of the voice.

She could see no one in the dark but the voice had seemed to come from the back of the auditorium.

“Nice to have you back with us Crystal.”

“How do you know my name?” Her voice sounded harsh, croaky. She coughed, trying to clear it a little.

“I know a lot about you Crystal, including the kind of boys you like. That’s why I brought someone to keep you company.”

Up in the projection booth the projector whirred into action, shooting blinding light down onto the screen, into Crystal’s eyes. She turned her head aside, not wanting to completely shut her eyes, not wanting to be that helpless, and saw the ‘company’ the voice had spoken of.

“Richard!” she gasped.

Richard from the concessions stand. Tall, handsome Richard. Bound and gagged and barely conscious on the stage floor less than four feet from her.

“Go to him Crystal. Untie him by all means. But be sure to tell him about Mr Jackson. Be sure to tell him I’m serious when I say I will kill you if he tries anything.”

She believed him. There was a harsh matter-of-factness in the voice that convinced her.

She scrambled across the stage, not daring to stand up. Her legs felt too insubstantial for that. Too shaky. Richard raised his head slightly as she reached him. She was relieved to see no blood, no signs of major injuries.

“Richard, did you hear him?”

He nodded slightly.

“He means it Richard. Please, don’t try anything. Don’t run. If you do he’ll kill me, and then he’ll kill you.” She pulled at his ropes, trying to untie them. Her voice trembled slightly. Her fingers fumbled. “We’ll have to do as he says, at least for now.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper as she finally got the knot at his wrists undone.

“If we just play this cool we might get a chance to escape later.”

Richard nodded again.

She wondered why he didn’t speak, but then she saw the strange look in his eyes. Fear? Panic? Shock? She didn’t know what it was, only that it was unlike anything she had seen before, and it was unnerving.

“Well done Crystal.” She jumped slightly as the voice spoke again. She had been drawn into that intense look in Richard’s eyes, almost mesmerised, and for a moment she had forgotten about the killer in the projection booth.

If he was still there!

She looked round. She felt the voice sounded closer, clearer somehow. As if he had moved down into the main auditorium.

The light from the projector still blinded her if she looked up too far, but he had loaded no film. Nothing but white light shone on the screen.

It was as if he read her mind.

“Sorry there’s no film showing tonight Crystal. But you see, you two will provide all the entertainment I need.”

She shuddered at that. She was not sure exactly what he meant, but she suspected it would not be good for her. Before Mr Jackson, all this killer’s victims had been young women. She had no doubt, now, that this was the same killer. How many killers could one small town have?

She was uncomfortably aware that she fit the profile for his next victim.

“Richard!”

As the disembodied voice shouted his name, Richard looked around, into the dark of the auditorium. Crystal could not see his eyes, but she felt certain they still had that same creepy look in them. What must he have gone through before she woke up to get that look? What had this madman done to Richard before tying him up? Maybe
after
tying him up?

She wanted to cry. Not for her, but for Richard. How could anyone hurt someone as sweet as Richard?

“You, Richard, will play the part of the brutal interrogator. Think Spanish Inquisition. Think Nazi. Think Witchfinder General!”

This guy is nuts!

“Crystal.”

She resolutely did not turn to look, but kept staring straight ahead, at the unmoving Richard.

Whatever happens, Richard is here. He’ll find a way for us to get out of here. Just got to be patient.

“You are the fragile, beautiful and innocent prisoner. You are the heretic, the resistance fighter. The witch!”

She jumped as an enormous bang and clatter echoed around the dark. A snake-like coil of chains tumbled onto the stage, thrown from the darkness. They looked heavy. He must be close.

“Your props. I’m a great believer in imagination, but a few props can so help the presentation don’t you think?” There was the briefest of laughs before he continued. “Richard, be so good as to use those chains to tie Crystal’s hands behind her back would you? It’s quite easy to do. Believe me, I’ve done it before.”

Hesitantly Richard stepped towards the chains.

“Go on now. And make it nice and tight. If I don’t think they’re tight enough I’ll get angry. Neither of you want that!”

Crystal felt as if she would be sick, her stomach churning, her whole body trembling. But she did not move as Richard slowly picked up the chains and walked towards her.

She fought back burning tears as she straightened up onto her knees, sitting back on her heels, placing her hands behind her back, trying to make it easy for Richard. Poor Richard, forced to do this terrible thing. She felt the chains wrap around her wrists, pull tight. Wrap again. Pull again. She gasped and bit her lower lip as her skin was pinched between metal links. She didn’t want to cry out. That wouldn’t be fair on Richard. He was doing what he had to do.

We’re both victims in this.

“That’s good Richard.”

That voice again. Deep, oily, somehow oozing perversion in a way a mere sound should not be able to do. It made her stomach spasm. It was all she could do not to vomit.

“Now she’s all yours. She’s your prisoner. You can do anything you want.”

There was that sick, frightening laughter in the voice again.

He’s enjoying this! Trying to make Richard behave as he would. Poor Richard. I wish I could help.

She tried to smile as Richard stepped back in front of her. It was shaky, unsure, but she wanted to show him that she understood how terrible this was for him. That she didn’t blame him for what he was having to do.

He looked back at her with those same dead eyes she had seen earlier. Again, she wondered what was going through his mind. He must be as frightened as she was.

He reached forward and began to tug down the front zipper of her uniform.

“No!”

The word escaped before she could control it, as automatic as the twist of her body that pulled his fingers from the metal tab.

She trembled, frightened at her defiance, worried at the response it might bring from the killer. She looked back to Richard and mouthed the word
sorry
.

His hand swept up, catching her hard across the cheek, snapping her head to the side. A loud
crack
echoed around the auditorium.

The pain was stinging, sharp in her cheek, and then a dull ache in her head from the sudden movement. But nothing hurt as much as the shock.

For a moment she could not understand what had happened, did not want to believe it. She turned to look at Richard, her eyes wide, questioning.

His
eyes were no longer lifeless. There was a spark in them now, but not of fear, not of sadness. Of laughter, excitement, pleasure!

He gripped the top of her uniform in one fist, grabbed the metal tab of the zip and tugged it down with the other.

Now he was smiling, baring his teeth in an almost animal snarl.

She stared at him, stunned. What was happening? Had he gone mad? Why was he doing this?

He tugged her uniform apart, shoving it back over her shoulders, forcing her to involuntarily thrust her breasts forward.

His hands were on her, squeezing, clutching, pushing up under her bra, forcing the tight white elastic over her breasts. His fingers found her nipples like vicious, sweaty pincers and she cried out, began to sob. It was not so much the pain as the shock, the total incomprehension at what was happening and why.

As her eyes flickered about in near panic, not knowing where to look, not wanting to stare into that once attractive face in front of her, they glanced down, past her breasts and his groping hands, and she saw the clear evidence of his sexual arousal, his excitement.

My God, he’s enjoying this!

“Go on Richie!” shouted the voice from the auditorium, laughing, jeering. “Give it to the prick teasing bitch.”

Only it wasn’t the same voice. It had the same foul quality she had come to fear and hate but it was no longer deep and oily. It was higher, younger, the voice of a teenage boy.

You can buy cheap microphones that’ll change the sound of your voice from the mall.

Her stomach flinched, contracted as Richard’s fingers slipped over it. Her muscles tensed. Her eyes narrowed. She looked at the laughing, eager face in front of her and knew.

You planned this, you bastard!

She thrust her head towards him, her forehead ploughing into his nose. She heard a crunch, felt hot blood spurt onto her skin. He cried out, fell backwards. There was a shout of surprise from the auditorium. The back of her neck stabbed pain up into her head at the sudden movement and even more sudden stop, but she didn’t care.

She rolled away from Richard who now had his hands pressed to his nose, blood oozing between his fingers.

She scrambled to her feet, unconcerned as her uniform flapped open, her right breast still barely covered by her bra, her left bare, the nipple puckered by the sudden cold that scythed through her.

She ran for the far end of the stage, towards the darkness beyond the light from the projection booth. The chains that still bound her hands behind her back trailed on the floor, clattering and crashing, like some wild mechanical animal in pursuit.

She didn’t need that image, particularly as there was a real live animal behind her and, for all she knew, racing towards her. She didn’t look back. She didn’t have time.

As she reached the edge she saw a piece of the darkness move and realised that the owner of the voice in the auditorium had cut her off.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t give herself time to think.

She kicked, her heel hitting something solid, something that snapped backwards as she drove her foot through it. She heard a shout of surprise, a grunt of pain, the sound of something heavy falling to the floor.

She leapt off the stage into the darkness of the auditorium and ran between the seats, straight up the aisle towards the door to the foyer.