Bloodshed - A Dark Star Tale Pt. 02

Will was a little lost for words, broadsided by the offer, "Sounds agreeable."

"Then I'll make arrangements," Marco offered before he paused for a moment and turning more to Kelly, by his line of sight but addressed them both. "You two must come over for dinner one evening... we'll arrange diaries Will."

"Sounds lovely" Kelly responded without thinking, sounds like a trap Will considered but nodded his agreement to the suggestion none the less, wondering if the proposal would ever gain any genuine attraction anyway, the future Mrs Mancini had on face value, seemed many things but diligent dinner party hostess wasn't one of them. Stepping from behind the desk he ushered Marco towards the door, a little surprised to see Flick's desk vacated, he was so used to seeing her there not least he was sure she would have taken great pleasure in escorting Marco out the building, in the nicest of fashions.

"I can see myself out if you want," Marco offered as Will hesitated.

"Do you mind?" Will said feeling bad at the lack of simple etiquette.

"I'll leave you to deal with that passion Will... good luck" Marco grinned as he they firmly shook hands. "See you soon Will... Kelly, I look forward to seeing you soon don't let him forget about that dinner date."

"I won't ... goodbye Marco," Kelly responded, practically gushed, from behind Will as the Italian strode confidently across the admin office.

"That'll explain the Ferrari in the Car Park then" Kelly stated as Will stepped back into the office and closed the door on the handful of staff rubber necking at what had happened in the last five minutes or so. As he turned to face his wife his temperature was barely kept below simmering with her.

"Jesus Kel that was a little embarrassing to say the least." he hissed.

"That was embarrassing... that was embarrassing," her hands immediately to her hips while the original sneer from when she'd first stormed in was now creeping back across her face. "Where the fuck have you been, I've been trying to call you."

"Sorry Kelly but you see one of us is busy all day long" Will snapped back.

"Well, if you thought that was embarrassing..." she'd missed or seemingly overlooked his swipe "...How do you think I felt when both my credit cards were declined this morning?"

"Both?"

"Yes Will... fucking both of them."

"Have you rung the Card Companies?" Will suggested knowing full well he'd failed to arrange even minimum repayments in the last few weeks since the monthly statements had arrived. The business account was temporarily back in good health, but their personal finances were still something of a mess.

"Why would I call them?" Kelly sneered "That's your responsibility."

"Oh, I see... I earn the money... I look after the money... you just spend the hard-earned fucking money... that about right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she sneered her face flushed a darker shade of pink than her skirt, even though the excess of make-up she wore.

"It means it wouldn't harm for you to take a little responsibility once in a while Kelly ...it means I can't go around picking up the pieces for you, holding this place together, dealing with everything at home from the mortgage to the Nanny that you couldn't possibly live without, it means that you couldn't help your fucking self dare some inconvenience from the mundanities of life intrude on your lavish lifestyle... I sometimes wonder what the fuck you do with your days... I can guess ...it's not fucking much unless it involves Ellen fucking Byrne, Nuevo fucking Cuisine, Spa days and Boutique Designer fucking shops... do the girls and I fit your designer lifestyle... do we need a Dolce and fucking Gabbana makeover to fit your requirement is what I sometimes wonder."

Will knew his voice was raised; knew he would be heard the other side of the office door. but he didn't care it felt good to rant, it felt good to unload, it felt good to be in control. The truth had been a long time coming. Kelly sniffed away a tear wiping no doubt waterproofed mascaraed eyes with the back of her right hand as she took a deep breath.

"Life's not one long lunch Kel... about time you realised that" Will sat himself down in his seat looking up at his Wife. "I'll pay the cards this afternoon ...and you stop being so fucking reliant on them ...now if you don't mind, I've a hundred and one things to do before I can leave this evening ...I wasn't anticipating the pleasure of your company and I'm afraid I've a conference call in a little under five minutes that I have to be on with a supplier... because I am fucking responsible."

Kelly tried her best to compose herself, the only untruth he'd given her was the lie about the approaching conference call. Kelly was shocked she wasn't used to him having such backbone, it was all he could do not to unleash further, but not here. Airing their dirty laundry so publicly wasn't a good idea, Will had made his case and so far, was avoiding a full-blown public melt down from her. A dark though running through his mind as he could only but imagine the torrent of rage sneering at her about fucking an escort and a girl who worked in a coffee shop in light of their passionless relationship would unleash.

He smirked a smirk he couldn't disguise, "If you can remember where their School is why don't you go swing by and pick up the girls this afternoon... I'm sure they'd be overjoyed to see you doing the normal little things... just for once at least"

She didn't speak, she barely moved, stating into space sucking up her emotions Kelly reached a finely manicured hand for the door handle and left the office her high heels keeping her head high as she purposefully strode back through the office, avoiding eye contact with every face that looked in her direction.

"See you later baby." Will sarcastically called after her.

Kelly held her nerve until she reached the sanctuary of her Rose Gold coloured Mercedes SLK, closing the door her tears finally broke as she sobbed and wailed at the ignominy she'd just endured.

***********

The office was clear of staff once again before half past five Will noted as he stepped out of the sanctuary of his own office, where he'd spent the afternoon busting himself and avoiding colleagues following the Kelly situation.

"Hey Will," Flick cheerily offered as he rubbed his eyes made bleary from an afternoon locked into spreadsheet analysis provided by both Maya Cruz and Greg Franklyn, figures that were supposed to demonstrate analysis of their customer base and likely order forecast from now until year end. Both had approached the same task he'd set them pragmatically, but both had provided wildly different reports. Maya having overestimated in his opinion and Greg having sold himself short. In Greg's circumstances it was probably a deliberate undersell to show off what he would then actually bring in, for Maya he now feared she'd overcompensated conscious of the shortfall to her annual target. Strangely between the two reports he had a number that he could sensibly work with. If the numbers proved to be accurate. Will had decided it better to have his Sales Team out and about selling rather than repopulating spreadsheets. He'd decided to review the monthly predicted figures against actual for August before making a call on both of them reworking the data for ultimate accuracy. Salespeople and predicted figures could never be trusted was his mantra.

"Hey yourself Flick," he offered her a weak smile. "Funny old day."

"Without any jokes," she astutely and quickly commented.

"Too right," Will walked over to Flick's desk and casually perched himself on the edge of her desk feeling like he towered over the slender girl a little too much if he remained stood. "I'll offer the apology on behalf of my Wife ... she had no right to speak to you like that earlier."

"It's Ok," Flick seemed to squirm a little.

"It's not OK... you're a valued and important member of my team," she had started to blush already, Flick he had long ago realised couldn't cope with any kind of flattery or compliment. "Fuck it even if you were Gary Wilson, she had no right to talk to you like that."

Flick didn't flinch but took a deep almost composing breath.

"Thank you," she offered bashfully. "I hear on the old jungle drums you two had a rather heated debate."

"I think a debate is being diplomatic Flick," Will offered with a little smirk come grimace. "I think tonight's tea will be fed to the dog by time I get home."

"You haven't got a dog have you?" Flick responded a little confused, like she'd have remembered such a detail had she known it.

"Exactly," Will offered.

"Oh dear,"

"Oh, I dunno Flick... I've very little regret in saying what I chose to say... I could've said more ... I should've said more... perhaps I should have said what I said some time ago."

"Tell me if I'm prying..." Flick qualified ignoring her phone as it vibrated a notification of a message received. "... am I right in assuming by that that things aren't great?"

"I've been ignoring plenty of things for far too long." Will stated not conceding directly to her enquiry, "I won't burden you though... you've enough to put up with from me without being an Agony Aunt."

Flick reached her hand timidly out placing it on top of his, "If you ever need to talk ...if you ever need anything ...I don't mind."

Will understood what she meant breaking from her delicate grip, taking no offence at the simple kind gesture, he stood and went to step away, "Actually there's two things you can do for me."

"What's that?" she answered as she started to shut down her Computer.

"Have you those cigarettes you had the other day ...and don't judge me."

Despite the look of scorn, she threw him she opened the top desk of her draw and took out the pack of cigarettes.

Five minutes later as Will tried to ascertain if he was enjoying or hating his first cigarette in eight years as he stood in the baking heat of the late afternoon sunshine he watched as Flick crossed the car park to the main gates. He returned the little wave she offered him.

**********

**********

Felicity Bowerman moved her hips, aligned herself with him as best she could as she felt him thrusting harshly into her.

She closed her eyes shutting him out.

Concentrating only on one man as another man used her body.

In her own mind she used him, as he roughly built up his momentum, sex with him always so harsh, always so brutal. She meant nothing to him, she knew it.

Wrapping her slender legs around his waist tightly and she craned her neck back to make the most of what he was doing to her. In her mind in her fantasy this was so much more elaborate than the sordid abuse of the alcohol fuelled male.

Her thin wrists pinned in the grip of his right hand his left-hand pushing harshly over her pale breasts as he crudely fucked her.

Flick groaned writhing beneath him, meeting his brutal vigorous thrusts. She angled her hips in such a way to gain as much pleasure as she could from his harsh, brutal style, if only he could hold off, but she knew she was only for his selfish pleasure.

Biting her lip stifling another groan in her throat and the need to call out the name of the man she imagined to be deep in her.

He took control, he sped up, any chance of her gratification replaced by his urgency, his selfish need.

He fucked her; his heavier frame brutally fucked her. Pinned down his harsh style was uncomfortable and painful. Flick clung to her fantasy as he heaved a top of her, the smell of stale alcohol and cigarettes on his heavy breath.

"C'mon little in... make me cum... make me cum," he growled.

She gasped at the brutal force then felt him force his hips deep and the anticipated premature climax spilled from him seeping into her.

He collapsed on top of her, crushing her as he lay there breathing heavy from his exertion. She felt his heavy wet deposit inside her unprotected body.

She kept her eyes screwed shut concentrating on her fantasy for the last fleeting moments before reality would claw her back.

"I love fucking you," he breathlessly stated.

She would have no qualms with Will Marchant using her how she'd just been used.

A smirk briefly passed Flick's lips.

Chapter Seven- Behavioural Issues

Detective Inspector Rose Callaghan removed the lid of her takeaway coffee and blew across the top of the steaming dark liquid, causing slight ripples across the surface.

Taking a swig before reapplying the flimsy plastic lid. The word Mockingbird was printed in dark green around the otherwise beige coloured cardboard receptacle.

On her desk sat two files, attached to which were two photos of young local girls with seemingly stark contrasting backgrounds to one another. It was Rose Callaghan's job to discover two things. What had happened to both of them and then were their disappearances connected.

She looked at the little gold watch on the back of her wrist, a little over twenty minutes until she faced the media briefing. The briefing called to assist their fledgling enquiry and to address the sensationalist media speculation that had graced the front pages of the local newspaper, The Evening Herald, over the last two days. How a local hack had gotten hold of the details of a missing person before details of her disappearance had even been raised to the Police astounded Callaghan. Print media was dying she got that, but the past two days sensationalism spread across the front page of the evening edition of the local newspaper were not welcome, served no purpose and aided no subsequent investigation. The words penned by a reporter listed as Bonnie Dawson were sensationalist aimed at driving sales not reporting truths. Callaghan had seen in the past even the best legal and law enforcement minds influenced by the belief that such details portrayed.

They had their work cut out for them to dispel the fiction, ironically following calls placed to the Editorial Team at The Herald, the journalist Bonnie Dawson now has exclusive access on any breaking news. As exclusive as print media could be in the immediate impact and instantaneous breaking of news in the digital age. Callaghan didn't care for that she cared more that any news they shared, anything that appeared in print going forward would at least bear be a modicum of truth to the investigation.

Callaghan didn't even grace the folded copies of newspapers on her desk with the courtesy of another view. Monday's Edition had carried the blurry, when enlarged, front page photo of the smiling face of Cheri Jones. The paper claiming that Jones had been missing for two weeks, Callaghan's investigations had revealed that to be the first major and glaring inaccuracy.

Jones a known Escort working in the Sex Industry who operated under the name of Cheri Hernandez had worryingly last been seen towards the beginning of June; nearly two and a half months ago. That being the last known sighting of her at the house she shared with two other girls. Having met with Bex McCarthy and Izabelle Frobisher in the last 24 hours Callaghan had been amazed but not entirely surprised at the lack of gumption shown by the two girls when she'd met them.

Both of them claiming their employment status to be as full-time models; they were pretty tall slim girls but neither of them Callaghan expected to see gracing the catwalks of Milan and Paris anytime soon. Instagram famous was bluntly the best either of them could hope for; they were young and idealistic though; it wasn't for the Detective to burst their bubble or offer advice on their career path. Cheri herself they'd informed held down a modelling career, both of them ignorant to the existence of and somewhat shocked to shown Cheri's profile page on the Elite Escort web site that Callaghan and her colleague had shown them, both seemingly naive to the supplementary income Miss Jones had been earning under the thinly veiled pseudonym. Her rent had been paid in advance it was only when their landlord had come looking for payment that either of the girls had chosen to worry about her absence, some friends Callaghan had thought. The fact they had turned to a social media search and then inexplicably to the local papers over actually calling in the Police for assistance in locating Cheri was astounding. Once again, their priority more than likely the short fall in rent over the safety of their housemate.

She found it inconceivable that Cheri Jones, could have vanished on them for the length of time she had, and they'd think nothing of it, all either of them could offer was that it wasn't that unusual as Cheri to be absent and aloof plus they backed one another on the matter that Cheri would often work away on assignments in London and even sometimes abroad. Callaghan's background search had revealed that Cheri was an only child and that both her parents had died over ten years ago, beyond that she had no known family and no known relationships at the moment. Details weakly but seemingly supported by her very modest social media profile. A plethora of Instagram shots gave neither Callaghan nor her investigating Team much to work with.

In respect to where Cheri Jones or Cheri Hernandez was Callaghan's Team had drawn blanks, the potential was huge. The main leads they waited on were proving frustrating to gain access to. Elite Escorts was simply a hosting site that did not employ the girls registered on its vast local and national database. Callaghan hadn't realised how simple such a process were to establish, in so much that within a matter of minutes online a profile page could be established and operational. The site hosted by a third party based in Belarus seemingly made no money from transaction for the services listed, Callaghan had yet to work out what their incentive was, but there would be one and it would be to their financial benefit she did not doubt.

Some of the pages that she'd viewed looking like nothing other than blatant prostitution. Cheri's page seemed well thought out by comparison but however it was dressed up 'discreet services' still implied, sex for money in not so many words. They to date had received no return communication I n their request for information on Cheri's account. The hosting company hiding behind confidentiality agreements that despite the ease of setting up an account seemed mired in contractual terms and conditions. Were Callaghan to hazard a guess it would be that Cheri Jones hadn't even digested such T's and C's when signing up for a password protected account. The details they sought could hold clues to her disappearance; recent bookings, repeat clients, future bookings could all be vital in discovering the whereabouts of Cheri Jones, Callaghan was under no illusion however that they were likely considering an investigation into the fate of Cheri Jones.

The second file on her desk was of a name Callaghan recognised if not a face. Emily Winters.

The pretty faced girl had not returned home from work to the home she shared with her parents exactly one week ago. She'd seemingly vanished having finished her shift at Mockingbird Coffee, where Callaghan had visited only this morning as part of a recce of the local area. The coffee shop was a little more than a ten-minute walk from her office in Central HQ. Her parents had reported her missing almost to the minute after the twenty-four-hour statuary period that had to pass under law. Such a period frustrated Callaghan she could see why it existed and the number of persons who resurfaced assumed missing in that period was huge. It was the contempt at which uniform followed up such reports, with no correlation to suspicious circumstances, that annoyed Callaghan. It was late Monday afternoon before her investigators were aware of the young girl's disappearance. Best part of five days lost five days that could prove vital in providing evidence they were on the back foot of piecing together now. Uniform had yet again inadvertently wasted valuable time.