The Hypogeum Ch. 02-03

She never noticed the dark blue Mercedes that was parked about thirty yards up the road. Davy made a call on his mobile, "Hello Boss? She's home. Should I finish the job now?... Okay. I'll call you later when I'm done."

He replaced the mobile phone in his jacket pocket and turned to the driver, "Move round the back. I'll go in through the garden again."

He thought a moment about the pretty, young woman he had been ordered to kill and changed his mind. With a leer he said, "In fact, drop me here and head back. I think I might take a little time with this one."

The driver ignored the comment. His only reaction was to look away in disgust as he realised what Davy had in mind and waited until his passenger had exited the vehicle before pulling away and returning to base.

Davy looked around once or twice and then made his way round to the alleyway that ran along the back of the houses. Once he reached Alma's back gate, he looked up and down the alley to make sure the coast was clear before letting himself silently into the garden. Once inside, he settled himself in the shadow of the apple tree and waited until he saw movement through the window upstairs and then quietly let himself into the back door.

Alma took a deep breath and walked into her house, slamming the door shut behind her. She walked into the kitchen and found it almost exactly as she remembered. There was the sink, half full of dirty dishes, sitting in now awful smelling water. The tea towel, covered in dried blood lay on the floor and there was the remains of the stool, all except the piece that had stuck into her and had to be removed by the surgeon who had saved her life. She moved upstairs to their... her bedroom.

She needed a bath. Alma, slipped off her clothing and looked at herself in the mirror. Her stomach was getting flatter again, but now had a feminine bulge. There was a small scar on the right hand side where the wood had stuck into her and a sprinkling of stretch marks around her lower belly. Her breasts were full and she remembered with mild distaste her instructions to use the milking device to empty them regularly.

Once again she felt the pain in her belly.

She would be pumping out the milk that was supposed to feed her baby. Alma moved in closely to the mirror so that she could examine the wound on her head. She was pleasantly surprised to see that it was barely noticeable as it was mostly hidden beneath her eyebrow.

She grabbed a towel from the airing cupboard and went into the bathroom. The warm water felt very nice as she lay down almost flat. She could feel some of her aches and pains melting away as she wallowed. The bath did nothing to help the pain in her heart and her belly, but it did help her aching muscles. She had left the door of the bathroom open and as she bathed,

Davy was watching. He had known she was pretty, but he hadn't realised just how attractive she was until now. His plans changed. He had intended to indulge in a bit of gratuitous torture before he strangled her, but now he had a better idea.

He stormed into the bathroom and grabbed a shocked Alma by the shoulders. He pushed her down under the water and held her there as she struggled and kicked. He let her up and she breathed in heavily before gasping and started the scream. Davy released one shoulder and gave her a stinging backhanded slap across the face, before pushing her back under the water again. This time he held her for longer until her struggles started to weaken.

Alma was panicking now, she couldn't breath and the blood was pounding in her head. She could feel herself weakening and was unable to take in why this was happening to her. Hadn't she suffered enough? Just before Alma lost consciousness, Davy pulled her back up and let her breath.

As she gasped for air he snarled, "I could have killed you then. But I didn't. If you want to live, you better start being nice to me."

As Alma desperately filled her lungs with air, his words registered.

Oh God, No!

CHAPTER THREE

"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing." - Albert Einstein

Alma knew what he was going to do. She started to struggle against him again, desperate to get away, but this only earned her another ringing slap. Her head snapped sideways with the force of the blow and she banged her head on the enamel of the edge of the bath. Neither of them noticed a small shadow hovering outside the window. More like an insect than a machine, tiny wings flapped rapidly in a figure-eight motion, holding the machine perfectly still. With tiny cameras for eyes, it recorded everything going on in the bathroom.

The young workman sat in the small red and white tent, pulled the goggles away from his face and said, "Someone in the house. She's in danger!"

The largest of the three men scrambled out of the tent and made his way quickly and quietly to the front door, he pushed a sliver of metal into the lock and waited for a moment for it to align itself with the design of the barrel, before turning it and silently entered the house.

The long-haired workman also exited the tent and made his way around to the back of the house to make sure there weren't any other enemies around.

Alma was in shock. She could only watch as this man... this monster dragged her roughly from the bath and across the landing into her bedroom. He picked her up and threw her onto the bed. He knelt down next to her and pinched her breast roughly, "Remember what I said. Better be nice to me, if you want to live."

Davy had no intention of letting Alma see another day, but she didn't know that, so she lay naked on the bed and tried to withdraw inside herself even more so she couldn't be a part of what was about to happen. She watched with a dull glassy stare as he stood back up and started to release his belt buckle, he pushed his trousers down and was about to fall forwards on top of her when something startled him.

A gargantuan arm appeared round his neck and another grabbed the side of his head. A quick and efficient movement broke Davy's neck with a sickly crunch. The tallest of the three workmen that Alma had seen earlier allowed the dead body to fall to the ground in front of him and looked down at Alma as she lay on the bed. The shock of her attack on top of the losses she had suffered already and now to see a human being brutally murdered in front of her, even if he was about to rape her, she found she could barely stomach the thought.

The workman spoke quickly in mild, lilting Welsh tones, "I'm sorry you had to see that Lady, but I had no time left for niceties. If I'd seen him earlier, I might have done different. Never would I knowingly let you suffer so. It was only that a Watcher saw through the window that I'm here at all."

Alma stared at him, whispered, "How can someone as big as you have such a quiet voice?" and then fainted backwards onto the bed.

The giant examined Alma briefly before he stalked across the room to the wardrobe and grabbed the first item of clothing that came to hand, which happened to be one of Jonathon's shirts. He gently sat her back up and cradled her in one arm as he slipped the shirt up her free arm, struggled to alter his grip of the tiny woman and pulled the other sleeve on, then he laid her back down and buttoned the shirt closed.

"Is she injured, Aloysius?" asked a voice from the doorway.

The giant looked up at the other tall workman who now stood in the doorway, his face full of concern. Aloysius shook his head, "No. Possibly in shock, but the scum was yet to harm her. I just thought it best to clothe the Lady and give her back some dignity."

He stood back up, holding his head at a slight angle in order to avoid the ceiling and spoke again, "I felt nothing broke when I held her, but there's something not right, I could see it in her eyes. The Lady has pain inside."

The other man nodded his agreement, "To lose her man and her little one all at once like this, it saddens me, but if Taika has the right of it, then there was no other way it could be."

"Harrumph! I sometimes think Taika likes the playing of the game over the feelings of the players, Ranulf."

He was about to respond when a commotion from the stairwell interrupted him. The third workman shouted up the stairs, "Ranulf, Aloysius! Should we not be making a move?"

Ranulf's dark eyes flashed and then he snapped out orders, "Aloysius, get rid of the body. Loki, set some of your surprises here. I'll take the Lady to the Forest, if anyone can help her, they can."

Loki ran back to the foot of the stairs and opened a large backpack he had dropped there, quickly he pulled out several small silver balls and rammed them into his pockets, before reaching back in and grabbing several tiny explosive devices.

Back upstairs, Aloysius reached inside his jacket and retrieved a small emerald set in a silver brooch-like object. He ignored the strange patterns etched in the metal surround and placed his thumb on to the gem. He reached down with his other arm and lifted the dead body by the scruff of the neck as if Davy weighed no more than a bag of sugar. With a slight nod he said, "I'll wait at Taika's," and pressed the gem with his thumb, both he and the dead body disappeared with a slight pop as the air rushed in to fill the space he had just occupied.

Loki busied himself downstairs quickly stripping a plastic film off the back of each of the explosives in order to expose the adhesive strip, he placed one in the door frame of the living room, and pressed firmly to secure it, then he flicked a small switch on the side to arm it and carefully closed the door.

A few seconds later, a red light flashed on and off indicating that it was no longer safe to open the door. In fact it was no longer safe to be anywhere near anyone opening the door. Always one for overkill, Loki placed an explosive in every door in the house except for the master bedroom.

Meanwhile, Ranulf retrieved his own travel stone and carefully gathered the unconscious Alma into his arms. He pressed the stone with his thumb and exited the house in the same way that Aloysius had done. Loki paused at the top of the stairs to scatter the silver balls around and then he retired to the master bedroom, booby-trapped the door and then fled the building as well using a travel stone of his own.

* * *

Sir Nigel Winthrop sat in the study of his large house in the Wiltshire countryside. He was nursing a whisky and soda and pondering over his success. Not only had he succeeded in killing Jonathon Baines, but also by happy chance, his wife had lost her baby and it was only a matter of time before she was dead as well. He believed that the loss of her husband and child as well as the torture he knew she was currently enduring, would surely show the Hypogeum that he was worthy of joining the Inner Fellowship.

He stared at the open fire that crackled merrily in the large and ornately carved fireplace. He saw a coal pop and then noticed that the fire seemed to be taking on a slightly different aspect. Another coal popped and splintered and what had, moments before, seemed like a welcome friend, now seemed altogether more threatening. It flared up and Sir Nigel shuddered slightly. He was coming here?

The flames danced and changed so that the old man could make out a face in the fire. He quickly came to his feet and placed the drink on the table before standing almost at attention as he waited for the face to address him.

A deep rumbling voice seemed to talk directly in his mind instead of through his ears, "You have failed us."

Nonplussed and more than a little worried about the tone the voice had adopted, he stammered a reply, "M... Milord. How have I failed you? The husband is dead, the child is dead and the woman is suffering and will soon be dead as well."

The fire flared up even higher and the voice roared, "NO!"

Pain filled every fibre of Sir Nigel's being and he stumbled, threw his hands up to cover his face and fell to his knees. The voice continued, "You were only ordered to see that they all died. Your petty arrogance and willingness to flatter me has placed the whole scheme at risk."

Slowly he let his hands fall back to his sides and answered, "Milord, I only wanted to prove my-"

"You wanted to prove that you could be worthy to join the Inner Fellowship? All you proved was your incompetence. You should die for what has transpired this night."

Sir Nigel Winthrop knew that he had never been closer to death than he was right now, and he began to shake uncontrollably. His usual urbane tone of superiority was stripped away and he couldn't stop the fear from showing in his voice, "What is it that I have done wrong, Milord?"

"The man you sent is dead. Do not ask how we know, it is not your place to question us, just accept the fact that it is so. The Lady has been taken to another place beyond our reach, so we can only wait for her return... And before you ask, yes, she will return. And when she does we will be waiting. Your task is to kill her, quickly and without any embellishment. Also, you must ensure that the DataVault system is completed on schedule. Do these things and you may yet earn the scarlet cloak of the Inner Fellowship."

Sir Nigel was almost beside himself. He had another chance! And this time, he wouldn't fail. He dared to raise his eyes to look directly at the fire and said, "I will not fail you again, Milord. I shall redouble my efforts on DataVault and I shall set one of my best teams to watch the house."

"She will not return there, beside there is no doubt that it would be dangerous to approach."

"How can that be?"

"Did we not warn you against questioning us?"

Sir Nigel looked down at the floor again and whimpered, "Forgive me, it was just..."

The fire flared up once again, "Do not embarrass yourself. Just make sure that DataVault is ready on time. We will tell you when you can go after the Lady. One thing though, your head of security is a weak link in the chain. Remove him."

"Yes, Milord."

The flames flickered and died in the hearth. Sir Nigel waited a long moment before he dared stand back up. He half stumbled back to where his drink stood on the table, picked it up and downed it in one great gulp. He was both scared witless and ashamed of what had just transpired. He was also amazed that he had escaped death, for he already had first hand knowledge of how the Hypogeum treated those who failed them.

Sir Nigel could still remember, all those years ago when a colleague had been ordered to blackmail a politician into supporting a bill through parliament that would have been advantageous for the Hypogeum.

Malcolm Dowd had failed in his task because the politician, Nigel couldn't even remember his name, had turned out to be incorruptible. Eight hooded and cloaked figures stood at each of the cardinal points of the compass inscribed in the stone floor. Each dressed in brown denoting a lesser order of the Hypogeum and each holding a wicked dagger embellished with a dragon's head for a handle with a long sharp tongue sticking out and forming the unmerciful blade.

A bound and gagged figure knelt in the centre of the circle directly over an inscription in some ancient language and a circular stone carving of some nameless horror that could only exist in the worst of any man's nightmare. It showed a large humanoid body, but instead of arms, it had a mass of writhing tentacles growing from the shoulders and the face held an expression of such evil with a large grinning mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

Each of the hooded men took a step forward in turn and made a quick slash on the arms and body of the man in the middle of the group. His muffled screams were disregarded as the hooded ones merely stepped back to their allotted places along the circumference of the circle. Then they waited. And watched. Blood from the wounds they had inflicted on Malcolm Dowd flowed down his body and arms and dripped onto the floor. Any spots that landed on the plain flagstones surrounding the carving splashed and started to congeal as the fluid cooled, but those that landed on the carving itself seeped into the stone.

A keening howl began that could only be heard at the very edge of one's conscious, but grew steadily louder with each drop of blood that hit the mark.

As Malcolm became aware of the sound, he started to struggle even harder against his bonds, desperate to break free and run to freedom. But it was not to be. The howling grew to such proportions that it seemed as though it could break down the walls of the vault where the scene was playing out. The gag slipped from Malcolm's mouth and he was screaming and pleading with the men watching his plight, he offered them his wealth, he begged and he cried as all stood mute.

Suddenly, the carving started to move. The grin grew even broader and the huge eyes moved to stare directly at Malcolm. The tentacles writhed and grew, within seconds they were thicker than a man's arm and about six feet long. The tentacles wrapped themselves around Malcolm and then lifted him off the ground, he thrashed about with his legs, trying to kick them off him, but failed.

Slowly, the tentacles increased their grip until the wind was squeezed out of his lungs and his legs were tightly bound together. Then they started to turn, his body was turned to the left, whilst his legs were turned to the right. More and more pressure was applied until the resistance offered by Malcolm's spine and hips was beginning to break.

Tendons snapped and internal organs ruptured. The agony overcame him and his eyes rolled back into his head as he fainted. Still the tentacles rotated his body in different directions. The already straining bones gave in and there was a series of sickening cracks as vertebrae shattered, his thighbones snapped and his ribs splintered.

Malcolm Dowd died.

The tentacles released their hold and the twisted remains of the man fell back to the ground. The stone carving was once again just a stone carving and the silence in the room seemed even more deafening than the howling that had so recently threatened to burst eardrums and drive men mad. The hooded figures retreated from the room and left the body where it was for the rats to feed upon.

Once out of the main temple and back in the small side room where the cloaks were stored, a young Nigel Winthrop shuddered. He had not realised what he was letting himself in for when he joined this society. He had been under the impression that it would be similar in nature to the Freemasons or the Order of Buffaloes. But even with this newfound knowledge, he still hungered for the power and wealth that membership of this club could give him.

And now, years later he knew that he would have to be very careful that he did not share Malcolm Dowd's grisly fate. Sir Nigel poured himself another whisky, neat this time, from the crystal decanter on the side table and thought about his next move. The Baines woman would have to wait. The Hypogeum had been quite definite about that. He had more immediate concerns and that was the removal of Hardacre. The man had been sloppy and had sent one man when he should have sent a team. Well, Nigel wouldn't make the same mistake. He made a quick telephone call and left terse instructions. Then he downed his drink and poured yet another.

Richard Hardacre was worried.

It was late in the evening and he still had no call from Davy. The man was a psychopath, but a reliable one and Richard had used his services on countless occasions. It wasn't like him to be late. Regretfully, he switched off the light to his office and shut the door behind him before making his way down to the car park where his E type Jaguar was parked.