The Dark Star - Aftermath Pt. 09

Hearing him slip off the condom she felt him crash down on the bed beside her. The bed she hadn't shared with anyone so long. She felt safer returning here rather than to his apartment.

So far Andrew Baxter had been the perfect gentleman; the perfect gentleman to sate her desire.

She glimpsed the photo-frame face down on the bedside table, turned down by herself when they'd entered the room. The photo of her and Daisy on the beach in Tenerife taken so long ago now it seemed. When things had been so different.

Parking her thoughts, she rolled on to her back finding him propped on his side next to her his right hand instantly tracing up the over her stomach and gently up over her sensitive nipples.

Leaning forward she kissed him deeply tasting salty sweat on both their lips.

Breaking the kiss, he dropped onto his back and pulled her legs apart to straddle him, he surely wasn't ready to go again.

"Were there only 3 condoms in that pack?"

Jackie nodded looking at the last remaining condom in a blue foil on the bedside table.

"There's three more in the bedside table" she whispered biting her lip as she looked down on him.

"Challenge accepted" he smirked.

Chapter Two; Looking for Answers

Walking though the Club the heat, the oppression, the dark claustrophobia didn't go unnoticed to her, but she was single minded, and she paid no real attention to the ambience or anything around her for that matter.

She passed a tall well-dressed handsome man who took it upon himself to reach his arm across her waist as she unintentionally pressed up against him while two blonde girls pushed past her. Despite the momentary inadvertent touch as she attempted to reach the bar this seemed to give him permission to wrap his arm around her, to touch her. She was not amused.

She looked back into his eyes, his face a little too sinister too serious. She apologised, she apologised to him, yet she'd done nothing wrong. Wriggling out of his grip and stepping away from him as she did so. Pushing forward she took a deep breath for composure, her nerves, her tension were causing this anxiety, this uncertainty. She knew that she had to remain calm and composed. What she was about to commit to filled her with the anxiety and uncertainty she couldn't shake. She couldn't say she hadn't been warned. She knew what she was dealing with the consequences of involvement this man, the likely consequences of even simply introducing herself to this man. From everything she'd heard, everything she'd been told he wasn't a man; he was an animal.

Taking a deep breath as the throng at the bar seemed to part, she glanced up at him briefly; he was leant forward in a brief conversation with an auburn-haired barmaid who seemed only too keen to be backing away from him herself. A glass set on the bar before him which she already knew would contain Brandy. She knew who he was, she knew everything about him. He was what she'd expected, he could be classed as handsome, roguish looking even but knowing about him, knowing what he was capable of. He repulsed her.

Slipping up to the bar alongside of him she deliberately turned her back on him, not to be too obvious, not to raise his suspicion. Her ego wasn't that fragile that she couldn't handle the rejection even if he didn't notice her. There was a plan B after all. Raising a brow, she attracted the attention of the same auburn-haired barmaid who despite how busy the bar was seemed to be stood around idle.

"What can I get you?" The barmaid said wiping her hands in a bar towel.

"I'll have a Brandy Sidecar please," she raised her voice to be heard. She raised her voice so as to be overheard.

Drink poured; cash exchanged she took a sip of the cloudy looking drink in the wide rimmed glass. It was sour, too citrusy, perhaps it was an acquired taste. Turning away from the bar turning away so as to face him and make the briefest of eye contacts. Brooding, being the best term, she could apply, she'd seen his face before, in photographs, never at this close proximity. Never in reality. He held an aura about him, a menace.

"Good Choice," he commented as she caught his eye, glass in hand.

She assumed he meant the drink but as his eye cast down her body, with no subtlety, he could equally have been referring to her black halter neck dress, black fishnets, or black knee-high boots. She'd been assured that the outfit would catch his attention.

She smiled at him looking to his glass.

"I don't trust anyone that doesn't drink Brandy," she cringed to herself for the words she heard herself say but offered him a cheeky grin none the less.

He smirked, "Then you can trust me."

Looking back to his glass then to hers she nodded, "Mutual appreciation."

He barely introduced himself, he talked slowly, confidently, and assuredly as she stood there feigning interest. His eyes constantly moving up and down her body as she stood there sipping slowly from the cocktail. His attention not fully on her though she realised as his gaze intermittently cast over her shoulder into the club as though he watched or waited for someone else.

"Been here before?" he enquired as she drained the last of the sour drink.

"I've heard the rumours ...the legends," she looked up at him from under her fringe demurely.

"Really... so what have you heard?"

"Interesting things... Intriguing things..."

"Well, that's going to be dependent on who you speak to," he stated measuredly.

"Oh... and you're the expert are you" she smirked, as she placed her empty glass upon the bar with a flirtatious smirk despite the further repulsion she felt.

"Let's just say I know the ropes," there was a menacing undertone to his reply that might have been lost on others.

"And the chains?" she fixed him with a steely gaze.

"And the chains," his grin crept wider.

"Maybe you can show me."

"I think that'd be a good idea ... A very good idea..." once again though as he responded his eye slipped briefly elsewhere as he scanned the vast Friday night crowd.

She didn't know what to do or say, she didn't panic she let the awkward silence between them build.

"Unfortunately, tonight I have other plans though... more pressing matters that I have to deal with I'm afraid," he wasn't overly dismissive he was a little remorseful if anything. His hand slipped inside his jacket pocket. Taking a plain business card gloss black on one side and printed with a single mobile telephone number on the white reverse side, she turned it as he handed it to her. "Let's talk soon."

"I... I'll send you my number" she stammered a little.

"I'll call you when I get it" he stated slipping from the stool on which he perched "Sounds like we could have fun.?"

Slowly he backed away blending into the crowd with another nonchalant smirk, he didn't offer a farewell but for that matter he hadn't even asked her name. Perhaps he hadn't cared to or felt he hadn't needed to. At this point she was just a fascination for him, one of many gazelles on the open plain of the Savannah. There were plenty of other prey for him to stalk. She watched as he approached a dark-haired girl, dark hair that all too obviously looked like a wig. She watched as he slipped an arm around her waist and coerced her through the busy club. She had no idea as to where, she knew very little about this place a little more about him but only what she had been told. Every stomach-churning detail of what she had been told by her older Sister. She turned back to the bar turning the business card in her hand, the ball was in her court though.

"Same again?" the barmaid asked.

"No ... give me a Vodka... a double ... neat"

He should have asked her name he should asked her full name; she knew about Logan Hughes. Andrew Baxter the one of many names she'd expected him to use. He didn't know about her; he didn't know anything about her other than she was a blonde wrapped in his preference of a tight little black dress with black knee-high boots. He was as predictable as she'd been told. He might think he was coercing her but, she'd come here fully intent on letting him think that. For once Logan Hughes was the prey. She would find the answers she sought no matter what it took. She would discover the truth about him, this place, the truth about his corrupt world and truth of what had led to the death of her elder sister.

Knocking back the double shot of Vodka she stifled a grimace as she swallowed harshly.

Beth Macready would get the answers she sought.

**********

Parallels I think to myself as I slip my arm around Rose Callaghan's waist

My eye having cast over her body as if approached, the short tight black dress under her tight-fitting little leather jacket, black fishnets cover her legs the lower half of which are encased in black stiletto boots.

Only the black wig that frames her heavily made-up face differentiates her physically from the younger blonde I'd just left at the bar. Parking my thoughts on the intrigue she'd presented, just another notch, another number amongst the many associated to this place. There was something about her though, her face, her eyes, even her stance. She reminded me so much of Chloe.

"It's all falling into place," she whispers to me.

"Let's talk in the Office."

"The Office?" She turns to me a little confused looking.

"For a Detective Miss Callaghan," I deliberately mock "You really don't do much detecting."

Leading her from the club through the doorway that leads up to the Main Offices, I head up the stairs case having earlier in the day insisted that Jamie take the night off in anticipation of the need for privacy around the place tonight. Despite Jamie's reticence I hold firm my belief that the club thanks to her excellent stewardship runs itself. A well-oiled machine, it can certainly manage to operate for a night with all its senior staff absent or distracted.

Opening the door to the office with the security code I step aside letting Callaghan enter, my eyes on her pert ass covered by the skirt of that dress. She turns to face me slipping her jacket from her body to reveal sheer arms and chest detail to the figure-hugging black dress.

"Jacks been charged ... charged with everything," her eyes seem hollow, no pleasure in what she's just announced despite enduring months of hard work to prove the case she'd worked on. "He'll face trial at Crown Court for murder and conspiracy to murder alongside of kidnap and sexual assault... including involvement in the murder of Henrietta Harding"

"Who?" I feign indifference.

"It's confidential... but it'll hit the morning papers..." her shoulders sagged "Forensics found DNA and heavy traces of blood in that storage container ... not just of Steve Parsons."

Her voice quivered just a touch mentioning his name.

"Henrietta Harding is the daughter of local Member of Parliament Mark Harding ... we've yet to find the poor girls body... given the circumstances he can still go to trial ...her disappearance became a murder enquiry as of earlier today."

Stepping towards her, I stifle the grin that I feel encroach the corner of my mouth "So it's over to the good old British Justice system... innocent until proven guilty and all that"

Her brow furrows "It'll take a lot to gain a prosecution on some of the evidence but there's then argument of reasonable doubt that Chloe Macready could not have acted alone... that'll imply guilt on his behalf given the known connections."

I don't care. Little does she know of my plan, my future plans. Already gathering momentum already set in motion. I look to the hold-all sat behind the desk. The hold-all I know to contain over two hundred and fifty thousand in cash. Monies slowly skimmed from the legal and illegal revenues of the dark star over recent months. Monies that sat alongside the large chunk of I'll gotten gains from the unlikely and eclectic sources such as the topflight footballer and the Chinese sex traders. The retirement fund, the golden handshake to myself. The plans in motion not unstoppable, not irreversible but already building in momentum, timing is everything. The time is right.

"There's enough of a connection ... from Logan Hughes murdered by a bitter and twisted former partner through to all the victims of their twisted sociopathic path of destruction...Leah Davies the Woman blamed for the end of his parents' marriage... Alison Hughes another former lover who Macready saw as a threat ...Song Akiyama given there were traces of her blood on that knife... despite apparent lack of known motive."

I look into her eyes "You've done well Rose ...and you've still proof of human remains in that incinerator."

"Victims ... so many victims...some of them may never be known," she utters shaking her head as I reiterate back to her the details of her own murder cases, reaffirming to her the certainty she needs to push the case against both Jack and Chloe, albeit posthumously in respect to the latter. A hint of remorse creeps into her words "We should have been able to save them."

"You saved the others... you saved Mica Wise, you saved Lyndsey Phillips, and that other girl."

"Sophie McAllister?" She interjects.

"Yes," I nod solemnly placing a hand to her shoulder, "Without you they could all be dead ... you succeeded Rose."

"Did I though?" She steels herself she stares into my eyes.

Walking around behind her my eyes over her body, the contours of her frame in that figure hugging ensemble, the dark make up framed by the dark hair. A different woman to the one I'd met barely six months ago. I slip my arm around her waist and pull her against me.

"You did Rose."

"At what cost?" she still doesn't resist me as I hold her, my mind on a fantasy of her stretched across the office desk. "There's a web of lies that secures the convictions."

I know to what she refers, the two inextricably connected factors of her investigation. One she dares not speak of and one she cannot explain. The murder of Steve Parsons at her own hand and the body of Chloe Macready that I had supplied. Both of which contribute to the invisible hold I have over her. I don't know how much of the backstory I've given to her she believes, then again in a little over forty-eight hours I won't care.

Chloe's death was an unsolved mystery to myself as well as Callaghan. I suspected Jack's involvement but hold no proof. No proof of him being near or around her on the day she was discovered. The burner phone she'd been using to contact him destroyed in the back pocket of the jean shorts she'd worn. It was a mystery even to me as to however she had ended up as broken as her phone was by the concrete on to which she'd fallen on to from great height.

Timing is everything, I repeat my own mantra to myself, but timing had certainly been against me back then. From what I'd now pieced to get her Jack must have been involved in Chloe's demise. I was doing as much detective work on the events that surrounded my life as Rose Callaghan and her team were it seemed like at times. I had to, my aim to clear my name required framing Jack who had slipped from my grasp twice. I desperately wanted my revenge on Jack I wanted to make him suffer for turning his back on me, disowning me but the timing had to be right, I couldn't be hasty and leave myself open to accusation as a consequence. Blinded by her need for self-preservation the misdirection I offered Rose Callaghan assisted me, ensured that from her point of view all fingers pointed posthumously at Chloe operating alongside of Jack. She could make her own assumptions on who was the monkey and who was the organ grinder in their relationship.

Chloe's body had sat in that chest freezer for months waiting for such an opportunity to arise, the hastily arranged circumstances for bringing her front of stage had not been ideal. Not least my concerns about successfully defrosting the psychotic little blonde. Never could I have foreseen the circumstances of Callaghan killing her own colleague; almost as shocking, unexpected even to me, was the actual reason for killing him as I'd interpreted the situation. Callaghan seemingly killing Parsons to protect me.

Callaghan was anxious though, anxiety that could manifest could become something that destroyed her in the long term, I didn't care for the long term. In the short term I simply had to insure she remained stable and focussed on the version of the truth I'd manipulated. She had to hold up under the increasing pressure of the situation or implicate herself. Right now, I only care for the short term; what follows after I've made an exit bothers me very little. All that matters is my exit on my terms.

I draw my arms around her waist as I turn her towards the desk.

"Believe" I whisper into her ear "That's all you have to do is believe ...the evidence is on your side... you have their motives ...you just have to believe."

Callaghan pushes back a little setting her legs firm "I do."

Her mental stability flipping as immediately she becomes resolute "I do but... There's something else I believe Logan."

Her use of my name a further acceptance of the situation, the truth I'd told her as she'd lay tied to my bed.

"What?" I enquire.

"You're involved aren't you... you're deeper involved than you told me last week?"

I release my grip and she break free turning to face me. I study her determined face, reaching out I push my hand through her false hair pushing the wig back of her face, removing it in my hand. I fling it across the room. She doesn't need it, as her true light brown hair falls across her shoulders.

"I am" I don't lie to her knowing confidently that her knowing the truth can't affect me. "That's though ... that's where you'll have to trust me ... that's where I can't tell you all of the truth... not yet... I will one day."

I back her against the desk, she doesn't look to push me away.

"Rose ... you're not stupid and I would never assume to treat you as such..." my hand slips over her cheek gently, "...but the less you know the better."

Her eyes narrow at the conflict of my statement.

"The truth ...is what will play out during that court case... a version of the truth ... a version that will not implicate you or I."

She nods, she understands. The less she knows the less she can be accused of. Her involvement in Parson's death, her relationship to me needs to remain buried, hidden. Should I be implicated the truth that I covered for her drags her down with the implication. Ruins her.

Her eyes drop and then her head drops.

"You understand" I state.

She nods.

"Do you understand" I reiterate.

"Yes," she states raising her face back to mine "Yes I understand."

"Are you mine?" I ask not breaking the gaze into her eyes.

"I am yours," she resolutely responds.

Instigating the kiss her hands grab my face she draws herself up and kisses me passionately. Pressing her down across the desk breaking the kiss she starts to lower herself then braces her arms behind her against the desk as my hands pin her hips.

"Not here ... not like this ... there's ...there's something I want you to show me."

**********

Looking down across her body Rose Callaghan doesn't even test the leather straps that hold firm across her body in three places from her shoulders to her waist. She doesn't test the straps as she knew they held her in as merciless a grip as the steel handcuffs that held her wrists cuffed to the sides of the sterile looking device.

Beyond the doors of the dark room into which he'd led her she could hear the low base rumble of the night club. The club still full, packed with hundreds of revellers all of whom were unaware of the scene that played out in the basement literally beneath their feet.

His hand slips up the back of her left thigh she doesn't resist, she doesn't object. He lifts her left leg as he had her right only moments earlier into the stirrup that stands just to his right. As he lowers her leg into the semi-circular metal rest that supports the back of her thigh, he draws the final restraint over the top of her thigh. She watches as he threads the leather strap through the silver buckle pulls the restraint tight enough to pinch fishnet clad skin and secures the restraint fully.