Chris Carter - The Executioner

A slow nod.

‘How about a dog’s head? Does it mean anything to you, or to the Catholic faith?’

The priest took a deep breath. ‘The devil,’ he replied. As he spoke a cold draft entered the room. Hunter instinctively pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck.

Father Malcolm returned to his seat. ‘Without being insolent, detective, I think that maybe you’re going down the wrong path.’

‘How’s that, father?’ Hunter asked, meeting the priest’s eyes.

‘I believe that this has been an aggression against the Catholic Church. Someone who wants to hurt the Church as a whole, not an individual priest. Fabian was a tragic casualty. It could’ve been any of us. The killer could’ve chosen any of our churches for his act of anger.’ He paused as his next words worried him. ‘And something tells me he will kill again. Maybe he already has.’ The priest’s tone caused the tiny hairs on Hunter’s arms to rise.

Amanda Reilly felt incredibly cold and thirsty. Her head thumped with such ferocity that she thought her temples would explode. As she tried to move she realized she was tied down. Her wrists had been bound to the arms and her ankles to the legs of an uncomfortable metal armchair – so tight the wires were cutting into her skin.

Her eyelids felt heavy and sticky. As far as she could tell she wasn’t blindfolded, but something was keeping her from opening her eyes. She tried to scream but her lips wouldn’t come apart. There was a bitter and sickening taste in her mouth. Instinctively, she pushed her tongue against her lips and felt a rigid, thin layer of something unidentified between them. She tried forcing her mouth open and felt the tender skin on her lips start to tear.

Oh my God!

Shivering, she finally understood what’d happened.

Her mouth had been super-glued shut.

Panic took over and she jerked her body violently from side to side, kicking out, trying to free herself. Blood started dripping from where the wires had cut into her wrists and ankles.

The chair didn’t budge. It was either too heavy or it had been nailed to the floor. Her screams, muffled by her tightly shut lips, sounded like animal grunts.

An uncontrollable shudder came over her body, and she fought to keep her teeth from chattering.

Tears sprang in the corners of her closed eyes, forced their way through and started rolling down her face, washing away some of the sticky substance that had been smothered over her eyelids. She felt them coming unstuck. Very slowly, she managed to get them open. They stung as if burned by fire, forcing her into a blinking frenzy.

It took several minutes for the pain to subside and for her eyes to regain some focus. They were puffy and their whites had turned crimson. At first everything was blurred, but the candlelit room looked familiar. She recognized some of the furniture, but where from?

The thumping in her head had intensified, and her muddied thoughts weren’t making any sense. She took deep, steady breaths and forced herself to concentrate on her heartbeat. Her memory slowly started putting together images of what had happened.

She convulsed with fear as she finally remembered. The blurred image in front of her was that of the immense river rock fireplace in one of the properties on her roster.

She’d brought a prospective buyer here for a viewing.

What was his name?

‘How’s the head, Mandy?’ The voice that came from behind startled her rigid. Mature and firm like an army sergeant. ‘The thumping will go away soon enough.’

She started shivering again.

The focus in her eyes was almost back to normal. Amanda looked down and finally realized why she felt so cold. She was naked.

A tall figure stepped out from behind her and into her line of vision. It was the same man she’d brought to the house for a viewing, but she still couldn’t remember his name. He was dressed differently, though. Instead of the long overcoat and the professional tailored suit, he was wearing tight-fitting black sports clothes. His hands were still gloved, and his hair was now hidden under a knitted hat.

Once again she fought her restraints, franticly twisting her body and trying to kick her legs.

He calmly watched her in silence for a few minutes until she realized that her efforts were pointless.

‘Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to free yourself,’ he explained as he started pacing in front of her.

‘ Oh please. Why are you doing this to me? ’ She said the words in her mouth, but all that came out was an oscillating humming sound.

With his lips compressed tightly together and shaking his head from side to side, he mimicked the sound back to her before laughing.

‘If you wanna speak to me, you’re gonna have to try harder. C’mon, you can do it. Open your mouth.’

She stared at him, paralyzed. Her fear so intense she thought she would faint.

He bent down, his face just a few inches from hers.

‘OPEN YOUR MOUTH.’

The shout was so loud the air from his breath blew her hair away from her forehead.

Amanda lost control. She’d gone way beyond terrified. Every hair on her body was standing on end when she wet herself.

‘Oh, that’s disgusting,’ he said, standing up again and taking a step back from the puddle quickly forming on the floor under her chair.

‘Maybe I can help you open your mouth.’ He picked something up from the fireplace mantelpiece. ‘What do you say? Do you wanna give it a try?’

He showed her a glistening silver letter opener.

Amanda’s eyes widened in terror, and she jerked her head back as far as it would go. A new, high-pitched shriek came from her sealed lips.

‘It might rip your lips from your mouth, but, hey, who cares, right? Just nod and I’ll start tearing.’

Amanda shook her head fiercely.

‘Or maybe I should use this down there.’ He pointed to her groin. ‘It might stop you from being a dirty bitch and wetting the floor again. What do you say?’ He slowly ran his tongue along the length of the shining blade. ‘Shall I stick this inside you? I promise I’ll make you enjoy it first.’

Amanda’s body wrenched forward violently, and she felt the few contents of her stomach come rushing through her throat and into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she started to choke.

‘Did you just vomit into your mouth?’ he shouted, rushing towards her. ‘You filthy little whore.’ He pressed his hands against both of her cheeks, pushing her head back. ‘Swallow it back down. Swallow it back down, now,’ he ordered, applying more pressure to her cheeks.

Amanda tried shaking her head, but her attacker had it firmly between his hands in a tight vice-grip.

‘SWALLOW IT BACK DOWN,’ he shouted again.

She coughed, but the air pressure had nowhere to go except up through her nose. Bloody mucus spurted out of it, spraying the man’s gloves and sleeves.

‘You bitch,’ he said, massaging her throat. ‘You’re not gonna die on me like this.’

Amanda hadn’t had any food for several hours. Whatever her stomach had regurgitated into her mouth was little more than a soup spoon full. With her attacker applying pressure to her cheeks and massaging her throat, she finally swallowed her own sick back down.

‘Good girl,’ he said, retrieving a paper tissue from his pocket and attending to her nosebleed. He waited in silence for about five minutes while Amanda sat shivering.

‘I can see you’re cold,’ he finally said, his voice changing. He sounded serene. He stepped closer. ‘I have something to show you.’

From his pocket he pulled an old black and white photograph and held it in front of Amanda’s face.