Bloodshed - A Dark Star Tale Pt. 04

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**

The course rope was tied tightly around her wrists, Flick pulled at her restraint looking up beyond her pale heavily chaffed wrists to the hook from which her bound wrists hung. The restraint offering no salvation with the hook in turn attached to a thick steel chain suspended from the ceiling and pulled taught by her own body weight.

Thighs and ankles bound with the same course rope she found herself fully immobilised for the second time that night.

Her body cold stripped of all but the little black pleated leather effect skirt.

Her jaw ached, not just from her earlier experience but from the rag stuffed deep into her mouth. The taste that the gag was leaving in her mouth was so unbelievably foul.

The door she faced that led into the narrow long stainless-steel room opened slowly, unbearably slowly.

The white clad figure stepped through the door clenching the long gun like device attached to the end of which sat a circular serrated blade, Flicks eyes wide distinguishing the blood-stained macabre device. Her body tensing as she hung immobile unable, she immediately realised to prevent whatever was about to play out.

Pain wracked her body as he turned her around. Turning her to face the unconscious naked body of Marco Mancini lay stretched across a stainless-steel work surface. Flick flinched as she heard the device her assailant carried trigger into life. She did not want to watch but was unable to take her eyes from the blade that blurred as it spun with increased velocity. The figure holding the tool stepped forward raising the blade level to shoulder height.in front of her. Her breathing hitched as she was sure she now realised her fate, she been no more than a pawn to facilitate this scenario.

Flick gasped as the blade slowly dropped as he turned away from her. Soon after the sickening sound of tearing flesh. As blood sprayed from the blade over the pristine white jacket of its wielder. Flick turned her head away hearing the brief resistance the femur bone offered as the blade mercilessly sliced through the leg against which it was held.

Composing herself she looked back watched on morbidly fascinated as the white clad figure moved around the unconscious body of Marco Mancini, the blade cutting his limbs from his naked body which had been strapped down to the stainless-steel surface of the thick table which sat in the middle of the room before Flick. Thick dark claret blood spilling from his lifeless body. The trickle of blood on his left temple the reason he'd not stirred, not fought back having never regained consciousness following the heavy blow to his head in the dark back alley an hour or so earlier.

Her chest rising and falling the gag in her mouth sodden now with her own saliva, the foul taste none the less diluted. Watching mortified as the blade was set down across Marco's blood splattered torso. Both the Italians arms and both his legs having been removed by the merciless blade

The attention of the white clad figure whose body was now covered with blood stains following the swift, clinical dissection of the mutilated male body now firmly fell on Flick.

"What did he do to you Flick... what did you endure?"

She stared into the shadow between the face mask and the brim of the white trilby hat. Goosebumps breaking out on her pale skin as the bloodstained fingers grabbed hold of a dark handled silver bladed cleaver that caught the reflection of the dim light bulb set in the ceiling above her bound wrists. Bracing Flick dared not move, feeling the cold of the steel against her upper thigh. Gasping as she felt it slice down cleanly through the course rope that bound her thighs.

"You'll tell me everything he did to that perfect little body of yours."

Plastic blue gloves drenched in blood squeezed harshly over her breasts smearing them with Marco Mancini's scarlet blood. Flick turned her face away.

"You aren't his though, are you?"

Feeling him step between her legs bound at the ankle Flick kept her gaze averted closing her eyes tightly shut. Whimpering on deep breaths as the same blood-soaked hands moved over the backs of her thighs, pulling them around his waist.

"You're mine."

She felt the arousal between his legs, felt him press her back against the cold stainless-steel wall behind her, as he fumbled his hands between their bodies awkwardly pulling open his protective coveralls. Pushing up the loose skirt that had been around her hips all night.

Wrists bound she clenched her hands around the chain and hook as he lifted her waist up before lowering her back down and impaling her body with his hard erection.

Flicks second sexual encounter of the evening was to be no more tender than her first.

Her head hung over his shoulder as he fucked her brutally, she heard his harsh voice whisper through heavy breath.

"Let me reclaim you little one."

Chapter Fifteen - Hostile Takeover

DC Sarah Myers looked into the clearly anguished features of the young man sat across the desk from her.

Listening intently trying to make sense through both the young man's obvious emotional distress and of his garbled half sentences on a heavy accent, in his distress or his lack of a grasp of English he'd interspersed his conversation with French words and phrases. She needed for him to calm down, needed him to slow down so as to be able to fully appreciate properly what it was that he was trying to tell her.

Behind him through the glass wall of the office the WPC who'd earlier escorted Christophe Bisset from the main reception approached clutching the two styrofoam cups of steaming hot tea that Sarah had asked her to fetch from the Canteen. Offering a weak smile of an apology she stood up pulled down her grey skirt a little and stepped towards the door, opening it to assist the WPC.

"Thanks Heather," she clocked her name badge as the two hot drinks were set down on the table that had separated her from the young Frenchman.

"No problem," Heather offered backing away with a sincere smile before looking from Sarah Myers to Christophe and back again. Silently mouthing the words, "Good Luck."

Sarah Myers felt she needed a bit more than luck. She should've known better than to be frustrated, however, in all honesty she could do without the intrusion that the snivelling and erratic young Frenchman had brought to the start of her working day. Regretting already her decision to swing by Central HQ and having not just headed straight to agreed rendezvous point with DI Rose Callaghan and the rest of her team. They were hardly launching a raid on the premises of Marchant's Meats, but Sarah desperately wanted to be involved with the proposed mass site investigation that had been hastily authorised only yesterday afternoon, the plan being to interview and speak with all members of staff at the meat processing plant. A step up in their investigation of both Will Marchant and the premises connection, if there even was any connection, to specifically the disappearance of Maya Cruz and Kelly Marchant but also the other missing girls that despite her better judgement, despite a lack of evidence she couldn't help thinking of as victims.

Christophe Bisset reached a shaky hand towards the styrofoam cup of Tea on the desk before him. Spilling a little on to the surface of the desk as he raised the cup of hot liquid, he brought to his lips to take a sip. If the WPC had followed the unofficial protocols the tea would be heavily sweetened, a simple trick employed under a belief that a sweet drink steadied anxiety and nerves. Sarah wasn't sure of the science behind such a belief, but she could cling to the hope. His demeanour his behaviour would ordinarily ring alarm bells with Sarah Myers. She parked any preconception, for whatever reason he'd brought himself here at eight o'clock in the morning he'd come looking for assistance and to tell his side of events. A story which despite her frustration at potentially missing the activity at Marchant House intrigued her and quite possibly could not be overlooked, so long as she could understand him.

"Right then Christophe..." Sarah Myers stated slowly but with an air of authority as his tear-stained eyes met hers, "...Let's take this slowly ...tell me everything you've just told me again ...from the beginning ...and Christophe I'm afraid I don't speak French fluently, so you need to tell me clearly in English."

As the young French student recounted his version of events again, heeding her advice, Sarah scribbled shorthand notes to compliment those she'd already scribbled down on her little note pad during his first recounting of the same tale. Double underlining certain critical key words as she listened intently. Double underlining the name of his girlfriend, a Josie Liddell before inserting one single word in brackets besides her name; 'Missing.' He admitted to her, with no doubt a modicum of fear for the possible ramifications how he, Josie and another friend Mathew Harris had trespassed at the Marchants Meats site. Trespass, a word she hadn't led him to but which he'd sincerely struggled with. He then recounted how they'd been disturbed, chased off before they'd even had chance to carry out their plan. More intriguingly how neither he or Matthew had seen of or heard from Josie in the 6 days since these events.

DC Sarah Myers heavily circled two words on her notepad as she heard out Christophe Bisset's story. She necessarily wasn't concerned by the infantile idealistic attempt of a protest.

She was concerned by Josie Liddell's absence and the significance of the two words she had circled.

'Marchant's Meats'

**

Will Marchant felt like a prisoner in his own office.

Detective Callaghan and her team of uniformed and uniformed colleagues had descended unannounced a little after nine o'clock. Eight of them in total, which seemed a little heavy handed. Not least considering that the two uniformed officers with them last, he'd seen had been sat in idly chatting in the main reception.

Will glanced over at Flicks empty desk, thinking of the text message he'd received shortly after seven o'clock this morning when he'd been attempting to keep control over Lexi and Tilly's chaotic breakfast routine, a feat he'd barely achieved without losing his patience with the two infants. Perhaps Kelly instilled a decorum and a control he didn't given her credit for when she was around.

Flick hadn't responded to the reply he'd sent to her explaining her absence due to feeling sick, Will had only sent a short reply simply stating he hoped she felt better soon, but the length of time typing out the text hadn't caused him to miss the two slices of white bread that burnt in the toaster. That issue had been caused by his considerable deliberation over whether to include a simple x as a suffix to his response.

In honesty it was very rare for Flick to be absent through illness, she must really have been unwell given there had been times in the past Will had insisted that she go home from her desk, a desk littered with remedies and medicines, like a mobile chemist, a combination of medicines that she'd rather take than succumb to a few hours or a day or two's rest. Will stewed further his overactive mind dwelling on their kiss and their liaison at the hotel room. He wasn't sure how to handle the situation but was sure of one thing that he'd been weak and stupid. Weak to give in to his desire and stupid to drag Flick into the middle of his car crash of a lifestyle at the moment. Will didn't deny the feelings he'd held for her and may have been reluctant to admit he'd held for longer than he cared to think, the timing of such discovery was hideous. There was no way to let her down gently, not an easy way to back off given the intimacy of what they'd shared, an intimacy he'd not found in the moments of escape and release that the escort, the girl from the coffee shop or even Ari Walker-Smith had provided him with. Being with Flick had felt as tender, as loving as it had felt real.

His mind briefly on Ari he took his phone back in his hand and dialled Marco Mancini's number once again. The third time he'd attempted to call the cancer of a business associate. He'd not spoken the Marco in well over a week on any matter quietly resenting the Italians influence over and unwanted involvement in his domestic situation he was too angry or was that too intimidated though to address the matter directly with Marco. The storeroom in the warehouse full of his drugs with Detectives and Police seemingly all over the site was a major concern. Were there a means of highlighting the operation to them that wouldn't land Will in more shit than he'd care to consider he would willingly throw Marco Mancini under the bus. Such actions, even carefully considered, would no doubt prove to be a mistake even if he could absolve himself from any association he'd have. We're he to act on flash moment of spite and retribution, the Marchant's boxes for packaging, the Marchant's vehicles for delivery were all far too damning evidence pointing to Will's knowledge of the illicit business let alone his involvement. He could play ignorant but knew he'd only get dragged down with or by the Italian. Will would have to find another way to remove Marco Mancini's influence from his life. With any luck when all this blows over it would turn out Kelly is shacked up in his fucking Villa in Italy, and he fucks off to join her, it's not far enough away for Wills liking but they'd be welcome to one another he considers as he cracks his knuckles nervously. Actually, he'd better get an agreement up front in case the slippery fucker tries to return her.

Diverted to Marco's voicemail once again he decides against leaving him a third message and hopes his first, let alone his second message has been relayed to the two hired thugs that loiter in the closed off space in the very far corner of the warehouse.

Briefly, very briefly, Will considers the other means of contacting Marco. Deciding in a heartbeat that contact through Ari no matter how urgent would also not be in anyone's best interests.

Will headed for the kitchen area his frayed nerves probably didn't need another coffee, but he couldn't think of anything more productive to concentrate on in the moment. Smirking as he thought to himself how it might be small mercy Flick was under the weather, he could only begin to imagine how hyperactive and flitty she'd be around the place. He'd probably have to cello tape her legs down to her chair. Dwelling in the mental image a little longer than was necessary Will was finally distracted by catching sight of the door of the boardroom opening. Dave Hardacre emerged having stepped into the boardroom roughly some fifteen minutes earlier. Guiltily almost Dave caught Will's eye then looked away as he headed the short distance to his own desk next to Sally Prosser who immediately stood and headed herself towards the boardroom.

Will couldn't even begin to think of what was being asked of his staff, parking the thoughts confident he'd find out soon enough by gossip alone he entered the kitchen area. Not surprised to find the kettle empty, he filled it under the cold tap and turned the kettle on, the little blue light illuminating within the frosted plastic side panel.

Waiting for the kettle to boil Will couldn't help but wonder what his Father would have made of such disposition. If it could Will considered his Father's portrait sat at the top of the stairs in the atrium would be scowling. He'd be upset about Kelly and the unspoken burden of concern Will had for his missing Wife, despite their acrimony. His Dad had always been fond of Kelly, often warmly referring to her as the daughter he'd never had. Will knew what he had meant by the sentiment but had always darkly joked with him as to how inappropriate that might have been, given that he'd have fallen in love with and married his sister were that the case. The emotion of the memory and the thought of both his Dad and Kelly in happier times stirring Will, unexpectedly he felt his bottom lip quiver.

Slamming his clenched fist down against the counter he dealt with his moment of emotional weakness, causing items stacked on the draining board next to the sink and items on the counter to jump and nosily settle back down.

"Fuck," Will hissed

"Everything Ok?"

Turning Will faced the one person he wouldn't have wanted to witness his little outburst. Detective Inspector Rose Callaghan

"Yeah ...yeah just ...you know," Will wipes his eyes as the kettle started to noisily boil in the background. He grimaced towards her but didn't offer up what he felt she should know.

"It can't be easy..." the attractive stern-faced Detective offered sincerely "...it can't be easy."

"Something you wanted?" Will realised he sounded a little too short. "I mean Tea... Coffee... I think we've Hot Chocolate somewhere?"

"I'm fine thanks," Detective Callaghan offered to his hasty offer. "Just wondered if you could confirm something for me Will?"

"What's that?" Will enquires keeping eye contact with the subtle natured Detective.

"Are you aware of the trespassers you had on site the evening of last Thursday ...the 23rd?"

"Trespassers?" Wills immediate confused and response as he shook his head.

**

"Good of you to finally join us DC Myers," Callaghan stated bluntly and sarcastically as the immaculately turned-out Detective Constable crossed the Car Park of Marchant's House towards their ensemble. Dressed in a fitted white blouse and a dove grey skirt that was shorter than usual and showed off her tanned perfect legs. No doubt fuelling the fantasies of a few more around Police HQ.

The squad car was just leaving through the main gated exit.

"Sorry Ma'am," Myers answered her using the correct etiquette in front of colleagues, seemingly lacking a smart answer on this occasion. "The Junior Pay Grade I'm on barely warrants me getting out of bed on a normal day."

"Ask at the front desk they might have some shifts packing sausages here if you need extra cash," Callaghan retorted to her eventual sass.

Thanking colleagues, she stepped away from the group towards the young DC.

"In truth you missed very little... we'll have a full drains up but on face value we haven't learned a great deal we didn't know before we got here," Callaghan shook her head casually noting the spectators huddled in the confines of a smoking shelter. A thick plume of Vape smoke billowing out across the Car Park on the gentle late summer breeze.

"Nobody recalls seeing Maya Cruz here the night she's believed to have worked late ...nobody much remembers seeing her at all that week," Callaghan continued her debrief as much to ratify in her own head what she did or did not know. "Two of the Office Staff heard the start of the arguments between the Marchant's ...neither of them had a good word to say about her ...from what they knew of her."

"You're right ...seems like I missed very little," Byrne interjected but was a little despondent none the less. "I was better off where I was... doing something useful... finding out about yet another missing girl with a link to this place."

"Hold that thought a minute," Callaghan stated smelling the sweet sickly scent of the Vape fumes even from this distance. "There was another argument recently we did find out that much... money related apparently it seems like all was definitely not rosy in the Marchant's Garden. If they were publicly arguing, can you imagine what it was like behind closed doors... Kelly Marchant tore a strip of his PA in front of everyone as well."

"What did the PA have to say?"

"She isn't here today ...the only core member of staff we've been unable to talk with."

"Suspicious?" Myers offered.

"I don't think so let's mark as bad coincidence apparently she called in sick before we arrived ...apparently she's a ditzy little thing at best." Callaghan stated turning her nose up now at the stink of the Vape as she looked out across the substantial factory.