Chapter 5.2
The pain.
Unrelenting. Merciless. Excruciating.
The crash of the double doors exploded down the sterile, immaculately painted white corridors. Wheels of the trolley squeaking incessantly as the team of medics raced alongside, the corridor seemed to stretch on infinitely, his view of the ceiling a never ending stream of fluorescent light fittings as he felt the trolley rumble on. Thundering towards wherever they were taking him, the short, rapid bursts of speech a medley of incoherence as he fought to keep the pain at bay, he lifted a hand, the flesh melted, bonded into his attire as he cried out in agony and attempted to remove the mask from his face. Before he could even try the hand of a young nurse interjected and lowered his arm, the force sending a shockwave of pain through his entire body as he yelled out. It was no use though, his lungs swimming in whatever shit he'd inhaled. Charts were produced as the trolley tore through the hospital corridor, another smash and a jolt of agony as he was pushed through another set of doors and on towards his destination.
"Get me an I.V." A voice shot out from alongside the trolley. "Morphine, saline, whatever we can get. This isn't going to be easy!"
Onwards he rolled, fast enough that he could literally feel the G force, now laying perfectly still as he opened his eyes as best he could, the eyelids melted together, and found the familiar view of fluorescent lights, a blur among the white ceiling as he raced on and into another set of doors, screams trying to escape through clenched teeth and shattered lungs, his chest constricting as he clamped his eyes closed and felt every last breath leave his body. He wasn't sure, but he seemed to have stopped, the trolley rotating sharply as he broke through the pain barrier, opening his eyes and looking straight up. The huge lighting above him sat surrounded by glass windows, an auditorium of some sort suspended high above the emergency room as a group of onlookers all rose slightly from their seats up in the rafters, jostling for a better view as down below the team of white coats and blue scrubs raced frantically back and forth.
"Let's see what we're dealing with here." The voice by his head shouted, the man now lying prone on the trolley attempting to turn his head and get a better view, his eyes stinging as a pair of hands quickly grabbed his head either side and helped him firmly.
"Don't look." The voice said, soothing and calm among the drama. "You'll not like it."
Energy at an all time low he relaxed, the numerous needles now puncturing his skin one at a time completely ignored. Another drop of rain in the ocean of endless and seering agony. Medical equipment seemed to be passing by at some rate as he stared straight up, his audience now hidden as the lamp came sharply down towards his position, the lights burning bright, the drip hanging from the extended metal arm by his trolley now pumping the soothing flow of morphine into his veins as he felt his body begin to gradually numb, from his head to his toes as a young nurse stepped forward and ripped the white, blood stained sheets from his body. Gasps of shock, the odd expletive seemed to reverberate around the room, and for one brief second as he lay cold and still, he thought he could even hear the people high above and behind the glass partition.
"Jesus this is a mess." The voice by his head exhaled once again, another voice also chipping in.
"I can't even tell where the clothes end and 'he' begins!"
"Well," A sigh of surrender in the doctor's voice as he continued. "Hand me the scissors and let's get started. We're going to have to cut our way through."
"Patient has I.V .hooked up." The nurse reported as she handed the scissors to the doctor, the man on the trolley opening his eyes just in time to see the exchange take place inches from what remained of his nose, the surgical mask shrouding the doctor's identity as the whole room seemed to drop quiet. "Will you need anything else doctor?"
"If you could find me a miracle then please, be my guest." The doctor replied with a half-hearted chuckle, opening the long, pointed blades of the scissors and positioning them above the man's chest. "Here goes nothing."
The first cut sent the biggest pulsation of sheer agony racing towards every nerve in the man's body as he opened his mouth and let out a blood curdling scream.
February 12th 1999
The scream filled the night air as the silence surrounding the abandoned, dilapidated Golden Mile Motel vanished in a heartbeat, the sweat pouring from his twisted and scarred face as he sat bolt upright in bed and opened his eyes as best he could. Everything was cloudy these days, the damage to his eyes and surrounding tissue obscuring his vision more and more every day, the weeping injuries to this day bringing fresh pain and discomfort. Lifting a weary arm and wiping his uneven brow he exhaled. A long and tiring sigh as he came round and reached for the bedside table. A quick flick of the switch and the discoloured, nicotine stained lampshade illuminated from within, the room cast in a warm, yet somehow seedy, glow as the man took deep breaths. Repeatedly he attempted to gain his composure, turning to the clock resting by the bed and seeing the time as three thirty seven am. Retracting his bare arm, his eyes could still make out the heavy scarring and unevenness of the skin, the texture resembling molten plastic as he quickly turned his attention elsewhere and tried not to dwell. Skin graft after skin graft and this was the best they could do. What a joke. Opening his eyes a little wider with each blink, he examined the room he now found himself in through the tears and pulled back the covers, the action causing a moment of tenderness as his legs suddenly became exposed to the cold, stale air of the motel room, his eyes never prepared as they fell upon the stump gracing his right leg, the limb severed just below the knee as the skin sat folded over and left an empty void where the lower legshould sit. Wherever he looked it was no good. Constant reminders of what he had become. Of where he had been. Of what he had lost. But this was where things entered the home stretch, of that he was sure, Valentine and that idiot sidekick of hers slowly lining up in his sights as his well laid plan began to come together at last, a smile almost forming as he swung his legs as delicately as he could, over the side of the bed and placed his foot on the stained carpet of the motel room, thestump of his knee quickly covered as he lifted the plastic prosthetic from the floor and secured it tightly. Then, grabbing his walking stick from the side of the bed, he slowly and carefully stood, a groan long and hard escaping his lips as the muscles within his back and legs flared in pain. The half empty bottle of bourbon sitting invitingly upon the surface of the desk across the room, he gingerly stepped forward, the action causing the usual discomfort as he sought to get his hip working as best he could, the pins placed within merely a handful of the many used to hold his shattered body together. Stepping forward and finding the tender skin of his bare foot creep slowly across the carpet, he reached the desk and grabbed the bottle of bourbon, lifting it to his lips and snapping his head back, the harsh liquor burning his chest as it snaked it's way down his throat and towards his stomach. There was a time that he'd have choked at the taste, the medicinal, cold and sterile taste now one of the few things that helped block out the pain and let him amble along in a perpetual haze. Leaning upon the walking stick, he wheezed through the putrid fumes now coating his mouth and coughed, his chest aching as he lowered the bottle, running his eyes across the wall of the motel room that now stood before him. Lengths of yarn and lines of permanent marker flitted between the hundreds of maps, photographs and printouts positioned strategically upon the uneven plaster, each piece connected to various others as a maze of information began to assemble itself and unravel the mystery he so sought to answer. A map of Lockport, a wide frame shot of Spring Vale Trailer Park, shots of the former Appleby residence in Mount Carroll, archive printouts of various unsolved murders dating back over the last decade, each and every one taking place within the state of Illinois, more often than not right in the city of Chicago itself. But right in the middle of it all? A black and white photograph, the face of the young woman staring hauntingly back from beneath a mop of wet, blonde hair, the police mug shot bearing the name he had become obsessed with.
Valentine, Tiffany
Of the medley of pictures pinned across the expanse of plaster, she appeared central. Present on each and every photograph as she carried out run of the mill tasks such as shopping, smoking, driving, you name it. Some had been taken as she navigated a handful of Lockport's less desirable areas conducting whatever meetings she deemed fit. One in particular even showed her exiting the lobby of a high end hotel over two years ago, the image taken from a static CCTV image as she approached the camera and passed beneath. Placing the bottle back upon the surface of the desk, the man lifted a lone picture, the flimsy photograph flexing in his hand as he did so. Freshly developed, he admired the wide shot, grainy to the eye and hard to make out, as he pinned it upon the wall and stepped back a touch, the shot of Officer Robert Bailey climbing into his patrol car outside none other than the Franklin Transport Depot sending a blizzard of rage tearing through his soul as he slammed a heavily disfigured hand upon the desk and felt his lips lift into a snarl.
If there was one thing he hated, it was a bent cop.
"Oh Damien…" The voice sweetly floated from the bedroom of the trailer. The thin material partitioning the room from the rest of the trailer doing little to stifle noise as Damien's ears pricked up. Finding his attention drawn from the scrap book and news cuttings, Damien turned towards the bedroom with an inquisitive disposition about himself, a quick look back at the articles and pictures of the notorious killer doll known as Chucky bringing a worried look as he began to realise the levels of obsession he now faced, Tiffany not only interested in an urban legend, but up to her eyes in the lore and mythology not just surrounding the pint-sized slasher but every aspect of the life of deranged serial killer Charles Lee Ray. The notorious 'Lakeshore Strangler'. The thoughts began to swarm through his mind as he looked upon the papers and images now laid upon his lap, the eight legged arachnid known simply as 'Charlotte' silently staring him out from the confines of her glass prison as he threw caution to the wind and allowed his curiosity to get the better of of these clippings were archive printouts, available to anybody and everybody that sought them out. But some of them? Some of them were originals. Literally cut from the papers back in 1988, 1990 and god knows when else. He'd long suspected her to be nothing more than an attention seeker. Her fascination, and constant digging around a case many deemed either too creepy or too laughable, bringing a wealth of questions and a profound popularity upon the message boards and forums that the two had first met upon all that time ago. But now, looking over the folder once again he had come to realise exactly how deep he was getting. Had he murdered anybody? Ever? Of course not! What would he know about that? Did he have it in him? He wasn't sure. Maybe. More importantly, and this is what Damien had come to realise a long time previous, what would he do with a dead body? It was one thing plotting a murder, imagining the various ways of carrying out such a malevolent act, but as for getting away with it? Not a chance. He'd watched enough documentaries to know that of the murders committed each year, there was only the slightest fraction that remained unsolved. Besides which, what the hell would his mother say?
"Damien!" Her voice snapped, cutting sharplying through the trailer once more, Damien yanked from his current train of thought as he slammed the scrap book closed and quickly leaned forward in his seat, returning the book to its hiding place beneath the couch.
"Yeah?" He answered sitting upright and trying his hardest to act nonchalant, relaxation hard to come by as the self confessed femme-fatale called to him from the next room. Who was he kidding? He couldn't do this. It didn't matter how hot she was.
"Could you do me a favour and leave my shoes by the door?" She asked, out of sight, but perfectly clear as Damien stood and scanned the room for a pair of shoes. A simple task. Why couldn't it all be this easy?
"Which ones?" He asked, varying pairs of heels and wedges left in different corners of the small static home.
"They're by the door." She answered with a burst of laughter. "They should be out there somewhere."
"Okay." He replied, an air of fright beginning to make his hair stand on end as he began to imagine the punishment for failing such an easy task, approaching the door of the trailer and reaching out in desperation
"Not those ones." She called once again. "The red ones with the straps."
Bending double and single-handedly sweeping a pair of red heels from the linoleum floor, Damien examined the footwear and immediately felt a rush of excitement. If these were the right ones then he was in for some sight when she stepped across that threshold, although the potential for such a pleasant sight did little to calm his nerves ahead of the evenings work.
"These?" He asked, striding across the trailer floor and toward the bedroom, the sudden scream coming from within as Damien found himself jumping in surprise.
"GOD DAMMIT DAMIEN!" She yelled, the thinly masked figure behind the organza partition turning her back as Damien spun on the spot in shock. "I swear to god, I catch you staring again and I'll-"
"Sorry." He muttered, a wry smile melting across his face as he turned, trying to hold the image in his mind for just a second more, the outline of Tiffany's almost naked body now firmly imprinted in his memory. Walking across the linoleum floor of the trailer, Damien felt the cold absorbed through each step as he strolled barefoot back towards the sofa and threw himself down, the cushions beneath him exhaling beneath his weight as they found the air forced from within. To Damien's surprise, a piece of paper fluttered from between the cushions, ejected into the air with force and floating delicately to the floor as he followed it curiously with his eyes. Finally landing quietly by the side of the sofa, the paper seemed to call to him, the folded piece of what liked like newspaper, just sitting there, teasingly, inviting Damien to pick it up and take a look inside. The paper was only thin, although folded multiple times, and the yellowing and fragility seemed to indicate it wasn't a recent cut out, the chances being that it had fallen from the book that had previously occupied Damien's lap. As he lifted, he unfolded, the stale paper and found himself faced with an article, the bloodied body of a man the first image to grace his eyes as he pulled his head back and took a better look. Long dark hair, a tweed overcoat and blood staining the crisp white shirt beneath, a huge medallion of some sort drooped around the guy's neck as Damien's eyes dropped to the corresponding article and he began to read.
'KILLER FINALLY GUNNED DOWN!
The city of Chicago can sleep easy tonight following Chicago Police Department's announcement concerning the death of notorious serial killer 'The Lakeshore Strangler'. Or as he has now come to be known, Charles Lee Ray.
Following an extensive police operation, a brief pursuit broke out across the city late last night, finally culminating in Ray's death after a shootout erupted across the corner of Wabash and Van Buren. Officer Mike Norris of Chicago P.D alleges that he attempted to apprehend Ray, previously questioned along with many others, regarding a bizarre series of ritualistic killings that have sent Chicago into lock down. The pursuit, through Chicago's numerous backstreets and alleyways, finally came to a head as Ray found himself wounded and cornered on the corner of Van Buren and Wabash, shooting the lock from the entrance to a toy store and attempting to seek refuge within. It was inside the store that Norris claims to have delivered the fatal blow, just moments before the store found itself struck by a stray bolt of lightning. Although Ray's body has yet to be officially identified Chicago P.D seem satisfied that they finally have their man. Despite the fact none of Ray's murders seem to indicate any accomplice other than getaway driver Edward Caputo, many in the community now seem reluctant to keep secret their feelings regarding the involvement of Ray's girlfriend Tiffany Valen-'
"What you reading?" Tiffany's voice broke the silence, Damien jumping from the couch and turning to find Tiffany now stood on his side of the bedroom partition, head down, lifting one leg at a time and slipping her feet into the heels she held firmly in each hand. Damien found himself speechless as he looked upon her. Resplendent in the beautiful red dress, her blonde hair hung free about her shoulders as she stood straight and wrestled her foot into the heel, the straps around her ankles laying insecure as she fixed Damien a stare. The dress clung tightly to her voluptuous frame, the fabric serving only to highlight every contour of her body as the bust lifted her chest to produce just the right amount of cleavage.
"W-what?" Damien replied, stammering a little as he clasped his hands behind his back and slipped the article into the rear pocket of his leather trousers.
"What's wrong?" She asked again, something spooking her about his behaviour as she took a large confident stride towards him, the hollow thud as her heels struck the suspended floor of the trailer.
"Nothing." He answered with a pathetic smile, stepping back and finding the couch behind his knees, his body involuntarily dropping to the cushions as he now found himself sat, Tiffany approaching with an inquisitive look about her beautiful face.
"Damien…" She spoke, more of an invite to explain as Damien racked his brain for something to say.
"It's just tonight." He said, his breathing short, his chest tight, Tiffany upon him as her long legs came to a standstill between his feet, splayed apart and leaving him wide open.
"What about it?" She asked, narrowing her eyes and examining him.
"I was just thinking, they're showing some kinda horror matinee thing over at the Multiplex. Wouldn't we be better off doing that?"
Without saying a word Tiffany lifted her leg, the sole of her heel quickly up against Damien's bare chest and pinning him to the backrest of the couch as she leaned forward with a playful smile and seductively swept the hair from her face. As she spoke, she gripped the straps of her heel and began to secure the clasp around her ankle, Damien getting a good view as his eyes wandered across the bridge of her foot and up her naked leg, the lingerie beneath the short dress now completely visible as the hem rode up Tiffany's bare thigh, her stance making the revealing position she now found herself in totally inevitable. Half scared out of his mind, half unable to believe his luck, Damien kept quiet and awaited her response, Tiffany now withdrawing her leg only to replace it with the other, the same again as she secured the strap of her heel place upon his chest and began to speak.
"What's the matter sweetface?" She asked, finally tying the strap and releasing it, arms now folded across her knee as she leaned into Damien's face and grinned, the dress riding higher still as she felt Damien's breath on her face, his black lips trembling as she pushed him further back into the couch.
"Nothing, just-"
"Don't you feel 'up to the job'?" She asked with a grin, teasing him as she stared right into his eyes.
"Well, it's not that-"
"Because you know something Damien?" She asked, her eyes dropping to his groin as her voice turned into a giggle. "If you're not up to this job, then maybe you're not up to any job I ask you to do."
"Tiff-" He said, his voice firming, his mind trying to blank any negativity. "I'm up to it. I promise."
"Well you'd better be." She replied seriously. "Because you asked for this, and tonight I'm putting it on a plate for you."
"Don't you think the outfit's a little too much though?" He asked, a stripe of worry lacing his words. "Or, to be more precise, too little?"
"It's exactly what it needs to be." She laughed, her teeth a brilliant white as she smiled at him and once again swept the hair from her face., suddenly pushing into Damien's chest and returning to a standing position, both heels planted firmly on the trailer floor, Damien's chest expelling a huge lungful of air as he composed himself and sought to catch his breath.
"Now come on, let's get out of here," Tiffany said flatly, grabbing her bag and leather jacket from the small table by the trailer door. "We don't have all night."
The air had turned cool by the time they reached the outskirts of town, the rain hanging in the air and cloaking the evening in a film of moisture. The big, fat dollops of rain were fine. You knew where you were with those. But this fine stuff? You didn't even notice it after so long, the mist hanging in the air and soaking Tiffany to the bone before she had time to think. Now, as she stood smoking a cigarette, she looked out from the shadows of the abandoned multiplex doorway and across the street towards the crowd of people. The low murmur of heavy metal resonated across the street, the thundering bass coarsing through the tarmac as punks and goths of all shapes and sizes queued to enter The Arcade night club, the sign hanging majestically above the stone doorway of the grand building and shining like a beacon in the night, the neon bulbs draped from every available fitting and flickering randomly and hypnotically. Now, as she stood beneath the overhanging facia of the run down Prestige Multiplex, all Tiffany could do was stand and wait. The doors of the dilapidated establishment had long been forced open, the paint peeling and exposing the now rotten wood beneath. Posters from the movie theatre's heyday still graced the walls too. Sylvester Stallone and Wesley Snipes facing off in what Tiffany guessed to be some futuristic-action flick titled 'Demolition Man'. Robin Williams, heavily made up, stood tattered and torn in a promotional display for 'Mrs Doubtfire' and the true story of Jamaica's first bobsled team came to life in the critically acclaimed 'Cool Runnings', the four Olympians stood freezing as they looked to encounter snow for the first time in their lives. Taking a drag from the cigarette, the scorching tip visible from the darkness cloaking her, Tiffany looked around the serene area she had chosen to hole up in and tried to imagine the multiplex as it would have been way back when. She tried to imagine the everyday life, so peaceful and full of laughter. The families queuing to buy tickets, young couples ordering popcorn and the usher tearing the tickets in two before directing people towards their desired screen the laughter filled, horrifying or romantic two hours ahead offering a brief escape from the realities of life. Now though, all the multiplex seemed to do was attract vandals and vagrants. The old school wooden, velour, cushioned seats inside broken, the floor no doubt covered in garbage as the smell of urine floated through the entrance and hung in the stale air. Taking another lungful from the cigarette Tiffany found herself dragged from her daydream as she lifted her eyes and looked back across the street, the low beat still vibrating across the road as the band played on inside The Arcade. Despite the dense atmosphere, laden with moisture, there had been another reason Tiffany has decided to hide in the shadows offered by the generous overhead platform of the abandoned multiplex. The almost new Audi parked by the kerb practically screaming at her, the first indication of a financially viable target as she found a spot and patiently waited for the owner to return. It had been maybe twenty minutes, Tiffany throwing her half consumed cigarette to the floor and allowing a small giggle to leave her lips as she witnessed the driver return. Standing at well over six feet tall and significantly built, the man returned under the weight of pizza boxes and takeout bags, the hazard lights of the Audi flashing a quick double flash as he struggled with the fob and somehow managed to lever the door open as Tiffany stepped forward. Emerging from the shadows, one leg at a time, she lifted her hands to the zipper of her leather jacket and began to slowly unzip, her curves now hidden only by the silky material beneath as she strode across the sidewalk and approached the car.
"You looking to do some business honey?" she asked, the owner of the Audi about to climb into the car but now spinning in surprise.
"Jesus." He gasped as he turned, his eyes shooting from Tiffany's face and to her feet, then slowly back up her legs and across her torso, catching his breath as he smiled and allowed a sigh of relief to leave his chest.
"Sorry, did I scare you?" She laughed, reaching out and playfully placing a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to."
"No, no." He began, Tiffany's offer suddenly hitting home as he stepped back.
"This business," He took a quick glance up and down the street, the only people in view minding their own business as they queued to enter the nightclub across the road. "what you have in mind?"
"Anything," Tiffany smiled seductively, her hand now lifting to his face and stroking his cheek. "And everything."
A flick of the wrist and the quick double flash of the Audi's hazards bathed the couple temporarily in a glow of orange, the victim oblivious as he gripped Tiffany's wrist firmly and lowered her hand from his face, a solitary question remaining.
"Where?" He asked, Tiffany's response silent as she simply turned her head toward the narrow alley beside the multiplex and smiled mischievously.
Reaching the end of the narrow alleyway they turned the corner and found themselves in the small yard to the rear of the multiplex. A red brick building joining the original structure had been partly demolished, only a supporting wall and a corrugated steel roof left as Tiffany grabbed the man's hand and pulled him along, the two of them escaping the downpour as they sneaked beneath the disheveled building and away from the rain. Turning and placing her back against the bricks, the rain hammering on the steel roof above, Tiffany smiled enthusiastically, an invitation to her client and one that he picked up on with a grin as he too stepped beneath the roof and grabbed her hands, lifting them in one fluid motion above her head and pinning her to the wall. His eyes flickered with an excitement he hadn't felt in years as he felt the adrenaline surge, and the tension crackle around them.
"And I can do anything I want?" He asked, his breath short as he allowed his eyes to drop to Tiffany's chest, her bosom lifted significantly by the tight dress, heaving with every breath.
"Go for it." Tiffany replied with a grin, the man leaning in for a kiss and suddenly freezing on the spot. Lifting his eyes to Tiffany, his face fell solemn as he felt the trembling blade of the knife against the back of his neck.
"I walked straight into this one didn't I." He said flatly, Tiffany's grin now smug as she simply stared back at him, seconds passing before lifting her eyes over his shoulder and towards the soaking wet figure of Damien Baylock emerging from the shadows, arm extended and fist clenched tightly around the handle of the knife.
"D-d-don't you move a fucking muscle!" Damien stammered nervously, his voice just audible above the downpour, hand shaking as he held the knife at arms length, Tiffany unsure whether the shaking was down to the cold, wet weather or the fact that Damien was simply an abject coward. "Now let her go."
"You said not to move a muscle." The man answered calmly, his eyes never leaving Tiffany's as Damien took a second before replying.
"Okay, okay, let her go." He started again, hurried and panicky, arm shaking as the knife trembled dangerously against his prey's neck. "Then don't move a fucking muscle."
"Wallet." Tiffany calmly spoke, her eyes returning to their victim as he released her hands and stepped back, his calm demeanor failing to intimidate her as she simply repeated her request with a touch more conviction. "Wallet, now!"
"Okay, let's just stay calm." The man replied as he pulled open one side of his jacket and began to reach into his pocket.
"Hold it." Tiffany said, his hand stopping suddenly as Tiffany stepped forward and reached inside the pocket, withdrawing the thick, leather wallet before flashing him another smile and turning away. Striding from the shelter and across the yard she opened up the wallet. She couldn't help but get a feeling of excitement as she held it in her hand and felt the weight of it. "Jesus this is heavy. What the hell is in here?"
"This and that." The man answered as he turned slowly, arms raised as he finally faced Damien, the gangly, long haired Goth before him doing his best to look relaxed as the rain beat down upon him, streaming over his face and causing Damien to blink periodically.
"One, two, three, four hundred dollars." Tiffany counted, thumbing through the bills with an infectious ripple of laughter before flipping to the back of the wallet, the bills not answering the question as to why it was so damned heavy. "What we got here then? Credit cards? Pictures of the wife and ki-"
Tiffany stopped dead, turning to the rear of the wallet and finding herself staring at the badge of a Lockport police officer, the gold shining in the moonlight as she felt frustration rise to the surface.
"Fuck!" She spat, spinning on the spot and lifting the open wallet in one hand, Damien risking a quick glance at whatever had pissed Tiffany off. "This prick is a cop!"
"Oh shit!" Damien gasped, his surprise evident in his tone. "What do we do now?"
"I don't know." Tiffany replied. "Give me a minute."
"You never said anything about killing a cop Tiff!" Damien cried, hair clinging to his pale skin as the rain battered him, his calm manner all but disappearing.
"We do what we said." Tiffany said, biting her nails as she thought and nodding as she spoke.
"What?" Damien asked, shocked.
"Just do it Damien."
"No." He replied. "I can't! T-t-tiff, the guy's a cop!"
"Yes," Tiffany smiled, trying to remain calm. "But right now he's a cop that knows both our names and what we look like. Just kill the bastard."
"Let me stop you right there." The cop spoke, arms still raised, his voice flat. "It's pretty obvious to me that your man here hasn't got it in him. He won't do it."
"I won't?" Damien looked at the cop, his voice full of surprise, the cop replying with a nonchalant shake of the head.
"Oh I think he will." Tiffany replied, leaning back against an old beer cask, biting her lip and running a finger down her ample cleavage. "For me Damien honey?"
"I will?" Damien asked, a fire igniting as he looked upon Tiffany. This was his chance, and if he backed out now then who knew what would happen. "I will!" He said determined, forcing the knife in the direction of the cop and finding himself immediately disarmed. The knife was gone before he knew it, hitting the concrete with a clatter and skidding across the yard, the cop's huge hand batting it away, his other hand now curled into a fist and connecting with Damien's chin. He was out before he hit the ground, all six foot of him, the puddle beneath him parting as he landed face first upon the ground. Bolting upright in surprise, Tiffany raced towards the knife, now laying in the rain, and gripped the handle in panic. Before she could figure out her next step the huge officer was upon her, his massive frame blocking her only exit down the alleyway and towards the street. Without thinking, just as he raised both arms and reached for her, Tiffany balanced steadily on one heel and swung her foot between his legs, the impact making a crunching sound as the cop immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed his groin in shock. Sensing her moment and not seeing an inch of movement from Damien's still body, Tiffany quickly stepped round the cop and began racing down the alleyway, reaching the street in no time at all, just in time to turn and see her attacker rising from his knees with a roar of anger. A quick look left, then right revealed the street to be barren of life, the only sign of activity across the road as the line of goths and metal heads snaked from the entrance to The Arcade and along the kerb of the stone-front nightclub. With nowhere else to offer sanctuary, Tiffany found herself moving across the street, heels clicking across the tarmac in a blur as she raced towards the entrance and pushed her way through the queuing patrons. Before anybody could react she was past, the odd expletive aimed her way as she weaved and ducked, reaching the doorway and bolting past the doorman, oblivious as Tiffany tore past the girl working the register and towards the chain link barrier separating her from the wall of distortion and the pounding bass line, the sea of souls swarming the chaotic dance floor ahead.
"Hey," The young girl's voice called out, only just audible above the pulsing music from within the belly of The Arcade. "That bitch didn't pay!"
Spying the doorman turning from his position and heading towards her Tiffany faced front and pushed on past the crowd, heading through the mesh fencing separating the interior of the club from the dirty, neglected lobby. Bodies slamming against one another Tiffany could feel the air squeezed from her lungs, the strobe lights sweeping frantically across the crowded dance floor and flashing hypnotically as the band played on, the wall of noise spat from the PA system almost loosening her teeth. Like it or not, she was in this mess. All that remained was to find a way out.
Standing along the perimeter of the dance floor, watching on through the chicken wire fencing, the hulking doorman tried in vein to spot the blonde that had just seconds ago squeezed by him and raced towards the heaving crowd of people. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, make no mistake. He had just about given up any hope, ready to let the girl go, when he suddenly felt the impact across his back, the equally impressive frame of Tiffany's pursuer charging by without a second thought as he tore through the fence and stopped dead. Determined eyes flashing across the crowded dance floor he searched left to right, the strobe lights lending the swaying crowd a stop-motion effect as the hoard of rockers, goths and metal heads threw each other about violently as the singer growled into his microphone up on the stage. Again he searched, the anger still bubbling over as he slowly scanned the hundreds of bobbing heads, his girl nowhere to be seen as he gave it one final go and relaxed his eyes. Refraining from focusing on any particular area the cop let his eyes rest and took a deep breath giving it a few seconds and allowing his peripheral vision to subconsciously scan the crowd, to search for that one rogue movement, anything at all against the grain. Soon enough he jerked his head to an area just off centre of the dance floor, one head in a sea of hundreds acting differently as it slowly made its way through the crowd. Straining through the darkness, the vibrations from The Arcade's sound system making it impossible to think, the cop studied the blonde hair surging across the floor, unsure whether to follow the lead or hang tight and make sure he had the right girl. Standing and overlooking the crowd, eyes now focused on the blonde, he hesitated, unsure and anxious as the blonde turned and looked him straight in the eye, his heart skipping a beat as he smiled and watched the horror spread across her face.
"I'm coming bitch!"
Seeing the hulking frame of her pursuer dive into the crowd sent a wave of nausea rushing over Tiffany as she dug deep and pushed on through the densely populated mosh-pit. Wherever she tried to move she found bodies blocking her path. The crowd rippling as one as the pounding low notes of the bass guitar up onstage made the floor vibrate, the floor of The Arcade quaking beneath her feet. Casting a quick glance to the stage she saw the band whipping the crowd into a frenzy, the singer growling into the microphone cradled in his hands as the rest of the band kept time, the devastating volume of the guitars, the wall of distortion mixed perfectly with the crashing of the drums as all hell erupted and the pit turned into an increasingly violent free for all. According to Damien The Arcade had become known over the years for its theatrics. The intense displays of simulated self-mutilation and sex always guaranteed to bring a rapturous response from the audience as either side of the stage now opened up and on walked two scantily clad nurses. Red platform heels and ripped stockings draped over the splendid figures of the fake medical professionals blended seamlessly with the short PVC outfits as they lifted a hosepipe each and aimed into the crowd, the response taking Tiffany by surprise as the herd of headbangers suddenly surged towards the stage, Tiffany helpless to do anything other than follow as the wave of people caught hold and pulled her along. Before she could duck. Before she could move. Before she could even think, the hosepipe aimed from stage and into the crowd suddenly burst forth, the warm and sticky stage blood covering everything in its wake as Tiffany took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The first wave hit her straight in the face as she battled to keep the viscous liquid from entering her nose and mouth, a panic beginning to set in as she struggled to breathe among the sea of saturated party goers. Realising she still had the knife from the alleyway gripped firmly in her hand, Tiffany panicked and blindly swung an arm in what little space she had, the body beside her dropping instantly as the blade tore through flesh and rendered the unlucky recipient prone, the scream absorbed by the frantic mob, each and every one caught up in the euphoria of the moment. Feeling a tiny amount of space suddenly open up, Tiffany looked back across the dance floor, through the blood dripping from her hair and eyes, and spotted her assailant also battling against the tide, working through the rampant crowd and towards her with a look of extreme anger gracing his face. Mind now focused, Tiffany turned and looked across the crowd, just able to make out the neon green sign of a fire escape in the distance, another swing of her arm as the blade of the knife sliced through the air and Tiffany felt it again, a spray of actual blood as yet another individual keeled over in shock and the mosh pit opened up a touch more, a handful of revelers witnessing the event and screaming out in delirium, high fives and requesting to be 'next', Tiffany's random hacking no doubt mistaken for an act as the fake blood, still pumping from the stage, once again showered the immediate area, Tiffany only just managing to take a deep breath before finding herself covered once more. Writhing bodies by her feet and nobody any the wiser she stepped over the injured parties and away from the slack-jawed onlookers, beginning to force her way through the sticky, blood soaked crowd. Another wall of people blocking her way Tiffany's arm arced frantically high in the air once more, tearing towards her targets once again, three of them falling as step by step Tiffany cleared a path, the monstrosity of her acts masked heavily by the theatrics raining from up on stage as she finally found the crowd to thin out, squeezing through the outer rim of people hesitantly navigating the impromptu mosh pit and falling to her knees before the fire exit. Gripping the handle she pushed and breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened into the narrow, dimly lit corridor beyond, the downtrodden décor awaiting as she crawled lethargically through and heard the roar of the crowd slowly fade as the door closed quietly behind her. Taking a deep breath, Tiffany felt her lungs burn as she coughed, the fake blood dripping from her mouth and nose as she clawed the sticky mixture from her eyes and shuffled her back up against the wall of the corridor. Her heart was beating wildly and outside she could hear the roar of the crowd beginning to quieten, the band gradually coming to a halt, the scrape of the pick on the guitar strings sending a shiver down Tiffany's spine, the muffled drone from the mosh pit eventually subsiding as an ear-splitting scream rang out among the crowd. Then another. Then another as, quickly, the volume began to raise again, the panic setting in as hundreds of people now noticing the bodies left in Tiffany's wake turned and scattered across the mosh pit floor. Closing her eyes and releasing a deflated sigh, she threw her head back against the plasterboard wall of The Arcade's backstage corridor and eventually felt her heart slow and her breathing settle as she now opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, knife still gripped fiercely in her fist. The walls were a deep red, the paint battered and chipped over the years as the constant neglect went untreated. The solid wooden floor was heavily stained and burned, cigarette butts littering every square inch, no doubt a place for the Arcade's entertainment to unwind between sets, nothing thought of casting the odd tab end to the floor. As she sat now, the row of guitar cases and storage boxes by her side, she could see the narrowing length of corridor end suddenly at the actual fire exit, the blinking neon sign above emitting a low buzz with each pulse of energy as the dimly lit corridor sat peacefully still, the pandemonium ensuing on The Arcade's dance floor seeming a far cry from where she now sat as the door opened and for a brief second the chaos taking place beyond became amplified.
"You think it'd be that easy?" The man growled as the door slammed shut behind him, the volume dying instantly as Tiffany sighed and struggled to her feet.
"So what do you propose we do now?" She asked, knife hanging limply by her side, the fake blood now drying over every inch of her body as the remaining droplets fell from the sleeves of her leather jacket and hit the floor with a sickly splatter.
"What else can we do?" He asked, his gargantuan frame seeming even more colossal within the narrow corridor, his shoulders huge as he stepped forward and caught Tiffany on the back foot. Before she could swing a tired arm, the knife in her hand now useless, she felt the impact of his boot in her stomach, the wind violently expelled from her lungs as she gasped in shock. Unable to scream out in agony, the vacuum in her chest suddenly burning, she dropped to the floor and felt her world begin to spin, a pain suddenly upon her wrist as her attacker placed the sole of a dirty boot upon her arm and leaned forward, prising the knife from her fingers with ease. The blade bloody and glinting beneath the dim lighting of the filthy backstage corridor, he grabbed Tiffany by the hair and pulled her to her knees, releasing her and beginning to fiddle with the buckle of his belt as he placed the point of the knife beneath her chin, speaking as he did so.
"Now missy," He said with a smug grin, belt loosened and now concentrating on unzipping his jeans. "I do believe, you owe me something!"
Struggling to get her breath, Tiffany closed her eyes and tried to zone out, head spinning as she frantically tried to get her bearings and find a way out of the predicament she now found herself in. The tip of the knife positioned just beneath her chin and lifting her head up, she looked through the haze and into the man's eyes as his jeans fell around his ankles, the satisfaction evident on his face as he spoke again.
"I feel teeth, you feel steel. You got me?"
Without saying a word, Tiffany released a long and tiring sigh, the man's genitals exposed as he simply stood and held the knife to her throat, the ongoing bedlam in the belly of The Arcade dying down somewhat as time ticked by, but a chance suddenly presenting itself as the fire alarm roared into life and the sprinkler systems positioned high overhead burst forth with water. Caught off guard, the man looked skyward in shock, Tiffany recognising half a chance and grabbing it with both hands, literally, grabbing the man's fist and jerking the knife from beneath her chin, yanking sharply in the opposite direction. The blade cut through the soft flesh with ease, the length of muscle previously dangling before her face now dropping to the floor with a wholesome thud as her attacker lowered his head in bewilderment, his expression shifting from one of smugness to one of horror and alarm. Before he could regain control Tiffany again shifted the blade, both hands wrapped tight around his as the knife punctured the stomach and suddenly twisted upwards and into the sternum, the gash appearing instantly as the blood shot across the floor, the spray catching Tiffany as she blinked back the warm fluid. To say he had been caught by surprise would be an understatement, Tiffany now withdrawing the knife and falling backwards onto the bones of her bum, pushing herself away from the heavily maimed figure before her and toward the fire exit at the end of the corridor. Watching on in twisted fascination, gasping for breath, Tiffany observed him, examining his reaction with curiosity as without saying a word, he observed his flaccid penis laying still on the filthy floor and lifted a hand, now dripping with blood and allowed a moment for his injuries to sink in. His mortality suddenly dawning on him, he stepped forward, Tiffany feeling an unease creep across her as his face became contorted in absolute rage, another footstep, followed by another, the pace increasing as, running on pure adrenaline, he neared Tiffany and raised his hands. Slowly standing, back pressed firmly against the fire exit, Tiffany closed her eyes and braced herself, lifting an arm and extending the knife in one last act of defence. The roar of anger almost deafening, Tiffany felt the impact all at once, the man charging into her and slamming her against the door, the release bar of the fire exit forced into action as the door fell open behind them. The next thing Tiffany knew the air around her had become cold and wet, a feeling of weightlessness taking over as the two of them spun through the freezing February air, the sickening crack coming suddenly as they landed in a heap on the hard, concrete floor of the alleyway behind The Arcade, the rain thundering from high above as the fire exit slammed automatically shut and cast the alleyway back into darkness. Then silence. Stillness as Tiffany seemed to wait an age for any signs of life, none coming as she finally opened her eyes and stared straight up and into the lifeless eyes adorning the face of the body slumped on top of her. Finding it hard to breathe, unable to move, Tiffany tried to cry out but again found herself lacking the ability. This guy was huge, and at the moment his body had relaxed across her own, the weight gently squeezing the air from within her lungs. Rain belting down, Tiffany closed Her eyes once again and tried to formulate a plan, the puddle she had landed in now soaking through her leather jacket and the back of her dress, freezing cold as she tried to scream out again, pausing as a familiar lone voice whispered through the rain and across the darkness of the alleyway.
"Holy fuck!" Damien gasped in horror, the scene before him almost reducing him to tears as Tiffany turned her head as best she could and tried to see through the rain constantly bombarding her eyes. Stood just yards away, trembling and soaked, Damien had his arms folded across his scrawny chest in a desperate effort to keep warm, his hair stringy and wet as his pale face turned whiter still. "Is he fucking dead?"
"Get him off." Tiffany wheezed in one short breath, anger building as Damien remained rooted to the ground. "Damien!" She grunted, finally seeing movement as he began to approach with a level of trepidation.
"Jesus." He groaned as he placed his arms on the shoulders of the corpse and tried to pull, the limp body beginning to move as Damien pulled and Tiffany pushed from beneath. "This guy's heavy!"
"Just keep going." Tiffany spat, clearer as she found the weight across her chest beginning to reduce somewhat, eventually disappearing completely as the body landed with a splash in the puddle beside her, Damien stepping backwards in disgust as the severity of the man's wounds became apparent.
"Fuck me, Tiffany." He whispered as Tiffany struggled to her feet, attempting to balance as she looked down to discover a heel snapped from beneath the sole of her shoe. "What the fuck happ-"
Before he could finish the sentence it was too late, Tiffany swinging a right hook and catching him square in the jaw as Damien, not for the first time that evening, felt the cold, wet ground hard against his face, landing in the puddle beside the dead man, the mixture of rain water and blood covering him from head to toe as Damien rolled frantically onto his back and tried to stand back up, unable as Tiffany placed the sole of her stiletto upon his chest and pressed him straight back down. There was a fury in her voice and anger written across her face as she leaned forward and pointed straight at Damien.
"I'll tell you what happened you pathetic fuck!" She began. "What happened was you buckled! Jesus Christ Damien, all you had to do was one thing and you couldn't even do that right!"
"But Tiff." He started. "Honey-"
"Don't you fucking 'honey' me you sorry ass sack of shit!" She interrupted, scolding him as he once again tried to get up, Tiffany pressing him back down yet again, the mixture of blood and water sloshing over his body as he attempted to wriggle free. "Now you listen to me, I've done this so many times I've lost count and not once has anything like this happened. But then behold, the second you get involved I almost die!"
"But babe, it wasn't my fault!" He tried to reason, Tiffany having none of it as her voice rose in volume.
"Wasn't your fault?" She asked angrily, the heavy rain now beginning to make the blood, some real, some fake, soften and run from her hair and clothes."This whole thing was for you! To prove you weren't just some lying freak playing games!"
"But I'm not." He begged, Tiffany's heel beginning to hurt now as he placed both hands on her foot and tried to move it. No luck as the blood soaked woman above continued to vent her fury.
"You are Damien!" She pointed viciously. "And I don't think you've realised exactly who the fuck you're dealing with. I've a good mind to cut your fucking throat right now and leave you next to this dead asshole."
"Baby, please…" Damien cried, appealing one final time to her. "One more chance."
"I've had it with chances you fucking worm!" She spat, releasing her foot from Damien's chest as he tried to get up. Frustration boiling over, Tiffany took a step back and looked at the pathetic figure now stumbling to his feet in front of her. Rising to his knees and casting a glance at the angry woman before him Damien couldn't react fast enough as Tiffany stepped forward and swung a foot, the impact once again catching him in the sweet spot on his chin and sending him reeling backwards, his unconscious body landing slumped across the corpse that previously lay by his side. The rain getting heavier, his eyes fluttered momentarily before closing for good, Tiffany turning and, with one shoe missing its heel, began to limp down the alleyway and towards the street, the all too familiar flash of blue and red lights accompanied by the piercing sirens of Lockport police.
"At least it's still early." She mumbled to herself as she looked to the evening ahead. "Time to do it the old fashioned way."
Watching from the shadows of his car, Tiffany's mysterious admirer looked on as the forlorn and bloodied figure of Tiffany Valentine emerged from the narrow alleyway beside The Arcade nightclub and hung a left. The distant shriek of sirens had only just become apparent as he observed from a distance and gave a little chuckle. The way she walked looked incredibly comedic as her head bobbed up and down, Tiffany finally growing frustrated and ripping both stilettos from her feet and heaving them over a wall before continuing on her journey barefooted. He could strike now if he wanted. But that wouldn't be wise. Not now. Not with so much left to do. Lowering his gaze from the street once Tiffany rounded the corner at the end of the block, the mysterious figure placed a disfigured hand upon the brown envelope resting in the passenger seat of the car and lifted it. Withdrawing a familiar black and white photograph with one hand and lifting the cell-phone with the other, he proceeded to dial a number and sank back into his seat as he waited for the answer to come from the other end. It came eventually, a slight crackle as the greeting came down the line, the mysterious man sitting within the car as the rain hammered at the windshield, observing the photograph taken nights ago outside Franklin Transport Depot and uttering an innocent greeting of his own.
"Hello Bob."