Alex Barclay - Killing Ways

My jaw. The pain...

Duke was now pressing the gun into Janine’s temple.

‘You,’ he said to Ren, ‘walk, carefully, slowly toward the door. I’ve got your friend, don’t be dumb.’

Ren moved toward the door, glancing back at Gary.

Oh fuck. No.

His face was gray, his arm soaked with blood, his head limp on his neck.

When Duke Rawlins saw Gary’s face, he lit up. ‘I’m gonna leave you here, leave you to go slowly.’

Ren stopped. ‘Please let me help him,’ she said. ‘You will need him if you want to get away from here. He’s in charge. He’ll get—’

‘Who says I want to get away from here?’ said Duke. ‘Who says this is not my blaze of fucking glory?’

‘You do want to get away,’ said Ren. You have to want to get away. ‘You do need someone. You’ve always needed someone. Gary will get you whatever you want.’

‘Now, why would he do that?’ said Duke. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

‘In exchange for his life, Gary would do anything,’ said Ren.

Gary managed a weak nod.

Jesus, please don’t die. Jesus. This is not happening. Someone tell me this is not fucking real.

‘And what about you?’ said Duke, turning to Ren. ‘What would you do?’ His eyes glowed in the darkest, deadest way.

Ren’s heart pounded. Me? What would I do?

His hand was on his belt buckle.

Her stomach turned.

I’d like to see you try.

‘Move,’ he said. ‘Move.’

Ren walked through the offices out into the hallway, Duke behind her, gripping Janine.

‘In there,’ said Duke, pointing into the conference room.

Ren opened the door into a room that was filled with everything there was to know about Duke Rawlins and his life, and his victims, and theirs.

His eyes widened. ‘This is pretty obsessive,’ he said.

That’s what he says...

He cuffed Janine to the radiator. Ren expected to be next.

‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘Via the ladies’ room.’

What? Why?’

She glanced down at Janine. They locked eyes. It was too much.

At least if he’s with me, Janine is safe.

‘Move,’ said Rawlins. ‘Now.’ He rattled his belt buckle.

He shoved Ren down the hallway ahead of him. As she walked, she did a mental inventory of every room in Safe Streets, scanning their contents from memory, wondering what a man like Duke Rawlins would use to rape her: he always used whatever was to hand.

I am deciding what object I will be raped with .

Her stomach tightened.

Choose the source of your wildest pain. This is all so wrong.

Duke pushed the door open and shoved her into the ladies’ room.

He planted her at the sink in front of the mirror, stood behind her. She could smell his skin, shower gel, laundry detergent, mouthwash, nothing as filthy or stinking as it should be. She gripped the edges of the sink. She stared, not at him in the mirror, but at herself.

How many times have I looked at this face? And hated who I saw? And was disappointed, and was guilty, and felt ruined, nothing, useless, a failure?

She felt a surge of strength.

Bring it on, psycho. Bring it on. I will fucking kill you. I am more than you think I am. I am more than I think I am.

She got a flashback to the previous year, to the teenage boy, the rapist who had fought her, brought her to the ground until Denver PD detectives had burst in.

Not this time. I’m stronger. Fitter. Murderous.

‘You have all the power,’ said Ren.

Duke tilted his head.

‘You don’t need to rape me to prove that,’ said Ren.

‘Maybe that’s not why I want to rape you...’ he said, running his hand up her stomach.

What the fuck?

‘You think I’m a monster, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You think I’m a monster.’

Ren didn’t reply.

‘Little Miss Perfect’s never sinned,’ he said. He grabbed a thick fistful of her hair, pulled it taut, brought fresh tears to her eyes, then slammed her head into the mirror, cracking it, yanking her back again, slamming her head in again.

‘So, you can face yourself, no shame — right?’ he said.

The skin was split above Ren’s eyebrow. She watched the blood stream down the left side of her face.

Seven years’ bad luck. One night down...

‘Can you ?’ said Ren. ‘Can you face yourself?’

Duke looked up at his distorted reflection in the broken glass. For a wild moment, uprooted from reality, Ren was expecting humanity. All she saw were eyes that were black, blank, terrifying. Dead in one way, alive in another.

She felt a slow shiver roll from the base of her spine to the top of her head.

This man is the devil incarnate.

I’m not going to make it out of here.

Ren’s heart was pounding.

Where are you, Joe? Did you get my text? You had to have realized it wouldn’t take us this long to get back. Maybe the tower, the steps, the lighthouse — it was all too much. It was another lifetime, a bigger nightmare, an overwhelming one.

Duke started unbuttoning her shirt.

No, no, no.

She squirmed under his hands. ‘No. Don’t.’

He laughed, opened the buttons even slower. When he was down to the third one, her cell phone beeped.

Thank God, thank God, please, please let him look. Please.

He took the phone, stared at the screen.

‘An email,’ he said. ‘Shaun Banner. Copied to Joe Lucchesi?’

Shaun Lucchesi? No! It’s the names of Duke’s abusers! No! Oh, no!

‘Don’t read that email,’ said Ren ‘Don’t read it. Please don’t. It is not in your interest to—’

She watched in the shattered mirror as Duke started to read. He blinked, twice. And Ren thought of the broken dolls’ eyes and the nightmares. And the pale blue glass. He blinked again. He was scrolling down. He was still scrolling.

Oh, God. How many names are on that list?

His whole body started to tremble. He kept swallowing, over and over.

‘We can get justice for you,’ said Ren.

Duke turned to her, squinted. ‘Justice? For me?’

‘Westley Ames...’ said Ren.

Duke was struggling to keep control of his facial muscles.

‘I know Police Chief Ogden Parnum is dead,’ said Ren. ‘But we can bring the others to justice. All those men. We can make sure that they rot in jail for what they did.’

Duke was looking around the room.

I have no idea what you are thinking right now.

‘So you know all my dirty little secrets,’ said Duke.

‘That’s not what this is,’ said Ren. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Don’t you want to—’

‘No!’ he roared. ‘No!’ He yanked her toward him, she could feel his breath on her ear. ‘Which one’s your locker?’ he said. ‘Which one?’

Oh, shit. What’s even in there?

Ren pointed to her locker, and he dragged her to it, opened it, and pulled out her wash bag.

What the?

They were back at the sink. He dropped the wash bag into it. He unzipped it, and frantically searched through it.

What are you looking for? I don’t want to think.

He pulled out her toothbrush.

What is he doing?

He pulled out the toothpaste.

He took the bag and threw it across the floor.

He released her waist, but grabbed her hair again, pulled it tight, held her head over the sink. He squeezed toothpaste onto the brush. He turned on the cold faucet, with a shaking hand.

‘Open your fucking mouth,’ he said. ‘Open your mouth. Open your mouth.’