“I have no idea, but I’ll tell you one thing; this isn’t America. Not a lot of houses in England have basements in them, assuming it is one and not some abandoned old office or something. But the window being so small and quite high up suggests a basement. An office or whatever would have bigger windows.”

  This was true. He knew this to be a fact because he used to have a basement in his own home until his father bricked it up and his home was over a hundred years old. As far as he was aware his was one of very few houses with a basement in the area. He hoped the police had realised it might be a basement too—it would help narrow the search for his cousin.

  It might also help lead them to my address too, then. Fuck.

  Now, there was no way he was going to the police with this new information.

  Kyle replayed the clips again but this time he paused it when the window came into view or the torturer’s face was clearer. They both leaned forward, looking at the clown’s mask, trying to decipher anything that might be a clue as to his identity, but there was nothing. They couldn’t even tell the colour of his eyes or hair, only that he was reasonably thin and well built. Like thousands of men in the surrounding villages.

  Kyle paused again when there was a clear view of the window. They leaned in even closer, Daniel squinting as though studying something rare and obsolete. Vaguely, barely visible, was a building of some kind. It could have been anything—a neighbour’s house, a shop, office—but there was something about it that caught Daniel’s attention and he didn’t know what. It was something he thought he recognised, one of those things one sees every single day and never pays attention to until it’s necessary.

  “That building outside the window, there’s something about it,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  “I was thinking the same thing too, but what?”

  “I don’t know! It just looks kinda familiar.”

  “Well, it would be. If the guy’s doing this in Bradwell or Belton perhaps, it’s probably something we’ve seen a million times and never noticed before.”

  “Fuck. My fucking cousin is there, she might be dead for all we know and I can’t think what the fuck it is!”

  “Look, don’t think too hard. It’ll come naturally when you least expect it. And honestly, if your cousin was dead, there’d be a video of it happening and there isn’t. The guy would wanna make money from it, so don’t worry too much about that right now.

  “Anyway, I guess what you really wanted to speak to me about was some normal material? I got a couple of new videos yesterday, one’s just thirteen and looks like she’s really into anal. You want a copy?”

  Daniel was barely listening, desperately trying to think about that building, but hearing what the contents of this new video were, already a tingling broke out on his genitals.

  “Yeah, gimme!”

  Chapter 21

  While his son was at his friend Kyle’s place, Aaron sat down on the sofa and turned on the news. Emma was at a friend’s house celebrating a birthday so he was alone for a change, Angela notwithstanding and the dog curled up by his side. As expected the lead story on the local news was of the missing toddler, Sharon Gibbs had been her name, just one year old. Her mother’s face was puffy, eyes bloodshot with heavy bags beneath them as she sobbed uncontrollably while she begged for information about her daughter. The kid’s father was also downfallen, staring at the ground, harrowed, a solemn look on his face. He occasionally wiped away the odd tear too.

  They were sat at the same desk where Aaron’s brother and sister-in-law had sat, detectives behind them with an enlarged picture of Sharon on the wall, same scenario, same outcome. They weren’t getting their baby back either, no matter how much they offered as a reward. Aaron took a long swig of his beer and leaned back, wanting to see just how desperate and distraught they really were. He found it amusing.

  The mother seemed particularly troubled because, as she recognised, it had been her fault Sharon was taken in the first place. Just two minutes, she kept repeating, just two minutes for her world to fall and crumble around her. She had left the pram at the entrance because someone had entered the small newsagent with a large dog and she was afraid for her baby. Aaron scoffed.

  “Should have taken your chances, girl,” he muttered.

  As usual, information was called for, anonymous or not, someone must have seen something, please come forward. A journalist asked if Sharon’s case was related to the disappearance of Angela. The detective—Deborah Stokes, also looking grim and tired—said they had no evidence to suggest any relation as yet and were treating it as such. Another asked if there was any CCTV footage and Aaron sat up. No, she said, in that little street there were no cameras. He smiled. Good for Emma, she’d been telling the truth, then.

  When the press conference was over, the mother collapsed in her husband’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably. A reward of three thousand pounds was offered for any information leading to her discovery and Aaron scoffed again. A pittance. He had half a mind to phone the hotline and tell them. That he’d made nearly three times that amount after what he did to her. He had another idea instead, something he’d leave to Emma to do that she’d probably appreciate. She could write a letter of condolence to their parents when Sharon’s body was finally discovered. As a thank you.

  The conference cut to a journalist standing outside the building talking about the terrible tragedy and that parents and locals alike were all deeply shocked by the sudden disappearances in such a short time. According to ‘sources’ the two were indeed being treated as perpetrated by the same individuals. She urged people to be watchful, also referencing the case a couple of years before when teen kids started turning up dead. Aaron remembered that one well—he’d followed it closely.

  He finished his beer and went to grab another, slightly disappointed the mother hadn’t started screaming like a mad thing. Maybe she wasn’t that bothered her daughter was missing. Maybe she was even glad. Ted had told him about a few women he knew that acted like baby-producing machines for sale. They would purposely get pregnant then sell the offspring to traffickers, not a care in the world for their babies. Breeders, they were known as. As a parent himself, he’d been quite shocked at the callous, disregarding nature for their own children. Aaron and Emma would be heartbroken if anything happened to Daniel. When pressed on the matter, Ted told him that as soon as the baby was born it was immediately sold for around ten to fifteen grand depending on how desperate the mother was and shipped off to be groomed. Sometimes, they never even made it to a year old before they were tortured and murdered. And as soon as the mother was ready, she got herself pregnant once again. That was dedication to the cause, he had to admit. He’d jokingly suggested to Emma that she might consider doing the same thing and she almost broke his nose with a semi-playful punch.

  His second beer finished, he wondered what to do with himself. It was only nine, still early. He thought about going to the pub but if he was seen to be enjoying himself, questions might be asked. All people could talk about right now were the two missing kids. He thought about going to the basement to see how Angela was, perhaps have a chat if she felt like it. She’d been fed and allowed to use the toilet a couple of hours ago so he wasn’t worried about her condition right now, even though she was virtually in a vegetative state, trying to crawl away from him when he entered the room. Maybe he could fuck her instead to pass away some time.

  Sometimes, he wondered how he ended up as he did. He would be the first to admit he wasn’t normal like everyone else, but there was nothing he could do about it unless he applied for surgical castration and that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. If pressed, he’d argue his grandfather would have a lot to answer to about the fact. When he was young, his father worked as a long-distance lorry driver, sometimes driving through Europe and so was away from home for long spells. To ease the burden on herself, Aaron was often shipped to his grandparents for a few days, when his mother had to work or needed a break. Aaron never found out if his parents or grandmother knew or not because he never discussed it with them out of sheer humiliation and embarrassment, but when his grandmother was out of the house, his grandfather liked to take him into the bedroom and ‘play games’ as he called them. Aaron was only three or four at the time and thought it was totally normal behaviour.

  His grandfather would make him touch his balls, which then developed into giving him hand jobs. Aaron thought nothing of it but was sworn to secrecy. It was when his grandfather died of a heart attack it stopped. But a few years later, as he reached puberty and started working on himself, he would think back to what his grandfather made him do. And for reasons he didn’t know, he found it turned him on, the idea of a child playing with another’s cock. From the age of thirteen when he was jerking off now on a regular basis, he realised it wasn’t other girls his age that got him off the most or reading the porn mags his dad had stashed in the wardrobe, but other girls younger than he was. Much younger.

  His first sexual experience at fourteen was a disaster. The girl had been nearly seventeen, taller than he was and for some reason this bothered him immensely. He wanted to be the one in charge, commanding things, and soon after they started having sex he lost his erection. The humiliation was total. A few weeks later he turned his attentions to a thirteen-year-old known to be promiscuous and had already lost her virginity. Even then, at that young age, Aaron knew where his path would take him. It had been a total success with her and their relationship continued for several months until she moved away. But there was more than one promiscuous young girl in the neighbourhood.

  His major life-defining situation, however, came when he was eighteen and was dating a fourteen-year-old. She had wanted to break off their relationship which he was completely against. She let him carry out his darkest fantasies and he wasn’t so willing to end things that quicky. An argument ensued and he hit her, slapping her across the face so hard it caused her to fall and bang her head against the kitchen table. Blood poured from the wound but what struck Aaron the most was that as she lay there sprawled on the tiled floor, screaming at him with a bloodied face, he had an erection. When she called him a pig and a coward, he ripped off her jeans and fucked her, smearing the blood over her face as he did so. It was the most exciting sex he’d ever had in his life and it wasn’t lost on him. Five more times he raped and beat young girls telling them he’d kill them if they told anyone. He got away with it.

  Shortly afterwards, he met Emma and from there along came Ted. Aaron was hooked. He had absolutely no remorse for what he did, was completely devoid of such an emotion. To him, they were objects to be used for personal gain. He had urges also and they needed satisfying. And nothing better than getting a job as a teacher to be closer to his objectives. Then, the discovery of the Hurtcore scene was like a gift from God.

  He smiled, recalling the day he was introduced to Ted and the endless possibilities. Life was definitely good right now. Having his brother’s daughter in his basement was the icing on the cake. The bastard. No one stole from him, not even his family and got away with it. The thought of that day caused his smile to fade, replaced by a frown. The bastard. Well, he was paying now, wasn’t he. They were all paying. It gave him an idea, something to reduce the anger he was feeling right now. He threw the empty beer can away and headed down to the basement. A good fuck would solve all his problems right now. Maybe another video with Angela too. This time with her own dog. Let his brother cry over that one.

  Chapter 22

  A week, a month, or a year could have passed and Angela wouldn’t know. Day and night had become as one, merged and blind like her emotions. Nothing made sense anymore. The only way she knew she was still alive and that her body hadn’t died on her were the constant, gruelling throbs and aches throughout, especially down below. Because as far as her mind went, that died the day she had to witness the poor baby’s suffering. She had closed her eyes to the scenes but the baby’s wailing and screaming haunted her in her dreams and nightmares, and at all waking hours as if its soul followed her wanting her to know of its final suffering. And when they had made her clean up the mess and put all its broken remains in black bin liners, no amount of screaming or begging on her behalf had caused them to relent. She could still smell its coppery blood, the feel of warm organs and flesh on her hands. She’d barely been able to eat since—whatever meagre offerings Aaron brought to her—so now she was hardly able to stand and stretch her legs when needed.

  Practically all thoughts of getting out of this alive had evaporated too. Even if she did somehow manage to find a way she was too weak to do anything other than stumble along, tripping over her feet, as much a consequence of being raped on a regular basis as her hunger. Aaron gave her just enough food and water to keep her alive, basically a sandwich with hardly anything inside twice a day, saying he wasn’t going to let her go to waste and die on him through starvation. She was worth too much money for that to happen.

  Her only companion during the darkest hours had been her mental strength, reminding herself constantly that somewhere out there her parents would not have given up on her. They wouldn’t stop looking until her body turned up and so she forced herself to be brave and resilient, not give up herself and let her body crumble and wither away. Because there were times when she felt like doing just that. Whenever Aaron came into the room, part of her wanted to just beg for him to kill her, get it over with. She even thought about trying to make a run for it or attacking him herself so he would carry out his threats for real. But she also knew she wouldn’t last two seconds in her current condition, he would swat her away and probably laugh at her for being so stupid. Then rape her again.

  Or maybe do to her as he’d done to the baby, a long, agonising death.

  She lay sprawled on the filthy bed now, covered in stains of various colour, not least her own urine and faeces, the odour a permanent part of her as well, like a favourite perfume. When he was angry for whatever reason he would refuse to let her use the toilet, telling her to shit herself for all he cared. But when he wanted sex with her, he would take her to the bathroom and clean her again. Her, but not the sheets, preferring to rape her on the cold floor. Bugs and spiders scuttled back and forth too and sometimes she considered eating them. It was a disgusting thought but she’d been through too many disgusting things to really care anymore. Hadn’t she seen a documentary on the Nature Channel once where some man was dropped off into the middle of nowhere and had to fend for himself to make it home again? He had a funny name. Bear something and said bugs and spiders contained tons of protein. Protein would give her strength, a weapon to use when Aaron was careless, his eyes closed while raping her perhaps. She could bite it off when it was in her mouth and while he was screaming in agony that would be her chance to escape.

  It would be her only opportunity. There was no way he was ever going to let her leave alive for obvious reasons, so if she wanted to see her parents, friends and relatives again, it was this or nothing. She could bite down really hard and tug. She guessed it might be like biting into a chicken drumstick without the bone. Did penises have bones? She didn’t think so. Wasn’t it a rush of blood or something that made it go hard? She recalled hearing older girls talking about it in hushed giggles at school.

  For the first in days or weeks, a little tickle of adrenaline flushed through her. Once again, hope had reared its pretty little head. But when she looked down at the cockroach sniffing the air at her feet, the idea of putting it in her mouth and swallowing it filled her with repulsion again. What would it taste like? Would its legs run over the insides of her mouth as it struggled for survival? The thought sickened her. It’s gooey blood stick to her tongue? And how much protein was one stupid cockroach going to give her anyway? Maybe she had to eat dozens of the things and there was no way she was doing that.

  You wanna get out of here or not? said a voice in her scrambled head. Or you wanna wait here until he strings you up and starts cutting you up or worse? Wanna see your parents again? Your dog?

  Even though she thought she had long since used up her personal quota of tears, fresh, warm ones dribbled down her cheeks. She did want to get out of here and live. She did want to see Aaron and Emma pay for what they had done to her and others. Perhaps if she was really quick she could just swallow it—it wasn’t that big. She wouldn’t even taste it.

  What if it gets stuck at the back of your throat, it’s multiple legs frantically trying to scurry its way back to your mouth again and escape? Can you handle that? Do they bite?

  Just do it, Angela! Don’t think about it, just pick it up and swallow it whole. Pretend it’s a sweet or something. Your favourite piece of chocolate. Then do it again.

  “I can’t do it!” she cried. “It’s gonna make me puke then he’ll come down here and probably make me eat it up.”

  Then sit around and wait to die, then.

  Slowly and horribly.

  The memory of scooping up the baby’s remains filled her head again, the smell, its touch, its howling and wailing, the sound of the knife being driven into its soft flesh. Sobbing harder, Angela took a deep breath and without another thought, quickly reached down and grabbed the bug before it could run away. In one swift motion, she put it in her mouth and swallowed, expecting it to get stuck there, tightly lodged at the back of her throat.

  But it didn’t happen.

  As though swallowing a small hardboiled sweet it went straight down, leaving no aftertaste at all. But she still gagged, bile rising dangerously to her throat and something hard within it. She swallowed again.

  See, wasn’t so bad, was it?

  No, it wasn’t although she promised herself that if she ever got out of this alive she was telling no one. None of her friends anyway. Angela waited a few moments but felt no surge of energy in her body, nothing. She was as weak as she had been beforehand.

 

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