Tania Carver - Choked

The war had ended in 1995. But it would never end for him. He rebuilt himself. Turned himself into a killing machine. Kept focused on tracking down the Serbs responsible for his family’s death. He popped pills, took vitamin supplements. Kept himself clean, fit. And as his body became bigger and harder, it also changed colour. He turned grey.

At first he hated it, couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. But gradually he came to accept it. He felt dead inside, and grey was the right colour for a dead man. The nickname soon followed. Golem. Made of clay, the mythical saviour of the Warsaw ghetto. He liked that. Kept it.

Eventually he was primed and ready to kill. And he did so. He couldn’t track down those responsible for his family’s death, so he attacked anyone who had been in the war on the side of the Serbs. It was messy, violent. And it didn’t bring him the peace he thought it would.

But it did bring him to the attention of people who could use his services. Drug barons. People-traffickers. Gangsters. At first he wanted nothing to do with them, but eventually he gave in. He was a killing machine with no one to kill. Why not get paid for it?

He didn’t enjoy it, though. He didn’t know if his victims deserved it or not. And it plagued him. So he sought help, and found it in meditation. And now he had reached a still point. A place within where he could do his job and absolve himself of guilt afterwards. A way for a dead man to live with himself.

There was a sound behind him. The door opened, closed again.

His mind tunnelled quickly back from the past, barrelled down towards the present. Refocused on the red spot … then out. Back in the world once more.

‘Hello.’

He turned, his vision jarred by his enforced return to the present, and saw who it was. Dee Sloane, standing against the door. Unbuttoning her blouse.

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ She undid another button. Her eyes travelled down his body, roamed over his naked chest. ‘You’ve started without me.’ She moved nearer to him. Slowly, each spike heel hitting the floor with a deliberate crack, like a bolt from a predator’s crossbow hitting the bullseye.

He remained where he was. Tried not to respond to her.

‘I know what you wanted,’ she said. ‘I could see it in your eyes. You tried to hide it, but I always know when someone wants me.’

Her blouse fell to the floor beside him. He didn’t move his head upwards.

‘You do want me. I know you do.’

He stared ahead, aware of her hands clenching.

‘I meant what I said. I want you to dominate me. I want you to break me.’ The word hissed, whispered.

Her bra dropped to the floor beside her blouse. He still didn’t look up.

‘Don’t worry. Michael’s playing with the laptop. He’ll be ages. And he won’t mind. Anyway … ’ a finger traced its way along his naked shoulder, ‘you’re bigger than he is.’ The pressure increased. ‘Much bigger … ’

Her nails dug into his skin.

Her voice was down by his ear now, making the skin on his neck tingle. ‘I love not knowing what you’ll do to me next … the fear … it’s such a turn-on … ’

He grabbed her hand. Hard. She gasped. He turned his head upwards, locked eyes with her.

‘Leave.’

Confusion crossed her gaze. She blinked it away. Found a smile.

‘I said leave.’ His voice low and steady.

‘It’s OK. Michael is—’

‘Leave.’ A final command.

She dropped eye contact. Bent down, picked up her discarded clothes. He heard her heels clacking, the door opening and closing. Then silence once more.

He sighed. Looked down at his hands.

They were shaking.

The car bounced down the rutted track. Marina felt herself being thrown from side to side as she drove.

She pulled up at the bottom of the hill. The road stopped, turned into sand dunes. She switched off the engine, got out. It was a seaside scene, but even in the sun it looked bleak. Ancient beach huts, weathered, peeling and rotting, stood in front of the scrappy, sparsely sprouting dunes. The sand looked close-pressed, muddied. Damp and wet. She could imagine it sucking down unwary travellers. Dead and dying boats lay chained and marooned on the shore. Beyond, the river sluiced out to the North Sea.

She turned to her left, looked behind her. She knew there was a walled garden somewhere near with a rusting caravan behind it. She turned her head to the right. The farmhouse was derelict now, left for the elements to reclaim. It didn’t matter if it fell down; Marina would carry its ghosts within her for the rest of her life.

‘You bastard,’ she said aloud, ‘you fucking bastard … ’ Her voice was borne away on the wind.

It was here that she had almost died. It was here that she had been born.

Or reborn.

Three years ago a homicidal maniac had kidnapped her and hidden her in a basement underneath the caravan in the field, wanting her unborn baby, the child who would grow up to be Josephina. Phil, leading the hunt for the killer, had eventually traced him to this spot and come to rescue her. He had joined her in the cellar’s labyrinthine tunnels, trying to capture the madman. But ultimately it was Marina who had stopped his murderous spree and protected their unborn child. It was Marina who had killed him.

And that was when she had been reborn.

After that, she had known who she was. How much she would stand. The lengths she would go to to protect her own. She had thought the voice on the phone didn’t know that. Now, she had to concede, perhaps they did.

Then she heard it.

Love Will Tear Us Apart.

She grabbed the phone from her bag, put it to her ear.

‘You arrived?’ said the voice. ‘No trouble getting here?’

‘You bastard,’ she said.

Silence. Then: ‘What d’you mean?’ The tone was harsh but inquisitive.

‘You know what I mean. Bringing me here.’

Another silence. ‘I thought you would remember this place.’

‘Oh, you’re damn right I do.’

The voice sounded confused but tried to appear to be in control, without much success. ‘I’m … surprised it means that much to you.’

Anger was rising within Marina. ‘Funny fucker.’ Spat out.

‘You’re in Wrabness.’

‘I know I’m in Wrabness.’

‘And you’ve been here before.’

‘Well done, Einstein. It was all over the papers.’

Another silence. Marina began to think the voice had been cut off. Eventually it replied.

‘Just … You’ll be getting an email in a moment. It’ll tell you what to do next.’

‘So that’s all this is for, is it? A really unpleasant trip down memory lane?’

‘Look … ’

‘No, you look.’ The anger was welling in Marina, threatening to burst. ‘You blow up my family, kidnap my daughter and then bring me out here. I’ve dealt with some sick bastards in my time, but you’re … ’ She could no longer find the words.

‘Now listen.’ The voice was getting angry too. Marina listened. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about. Yes, you’ve been here before. That’s why you were chosen. That’s why we wanted you. But … ’ A sigh. ‘Read the email.’

The line went dead.

Marina held the phone in her shaking fist. Stared at it. She looked back at the crumbling farmhouse. Over to the broken wall, the rusting caravan. Then back to the river, the sand. Bleak, desolate. She shivered. Phil wouldn’t be coming to save her this time.

She felt something harden with her. No more, she thought. No more. She had already discovered what she would do to protect her family once already on this spot. The revisit just confirmed it. Whoever was on the other end of the phone, it was time to stand up to them.