Now better than ever, the new re-edited version will keep you reading well past the point of shock and horror! You can get your new copy by clicking on the links below! Just in case you are squeamish, there are two sample chapters for you to enjoy…
just another day
The copper tang of blood competed with the acrid smell of urine to be the dominant force in the room. Even though he had just fed, his sensitive nose was sending mixed signals to his brain as hunger and desire boiled and churned to make him shudder.
He licked at his hands, the thick deposits of her essence providing a sweet dessert to the main course, his belly full now. The curtains allowed a sliver of light from passing cars to strobe around the room, and he growled quietly in his throat when it illuminated his food on the bed.
Like most of his recent meals she had welcomed him at first, but when the true nature of what she had before her came to light the fear began. His red-rimmed lips twitched in a smile. It is what had brought him further west than he had ever been before; the willingness of an American girl in deepest Afghanistan fueling the idea of ready prey. He had not been disappointed so far. Crossing into the UK had been a lot easier than he had imagined, and, now he had found a lair from which to roam the Capital, he would stay a while. He stood and stretched, his eyes glancing at the windows to check on the progress of dawn and decided it was time to move. He walked around the bed and recovered the leather bindings used to keep his food still. The lifeless stare from his victim made him pause in slight regret. She had been young and attractive, perfect for breeding, but his hunger and lust had been too strong after the journey across the Channel.
Reaching out, he stroked her cheek almost lovingly before slipping a long nail under one glazed eye and deep into the socket. The eye popped out with a wet slap onto her cheek. A quick twist and pull to release it, and he had his prize.
As he walked out through the quiet apartment block the orb swung from his fingers. It was something to chew on before he slept.
Arnie Pierce was tired, and even the second cup of coffee this morning had not shaken the bone-deep lethargy that filled him. He hated his life, every aspect of it, and it was eating him slowly into an early grave. The sound of his wife moving around upstairs made him mutter and rise to prepare to leave. He hated Dorothy most of all. Which was, in fact, a lie. He still loved her very deeply, but he was a disappointment to her. She never failed to mention that far younger men had been promoted past him, not directly, but it came out in casual conversation whenever he mentioned work. She blamed him for their lack of children, the “waste” of her youth, and the fact she couldn’t go shopping in the stores the other wives of executives could. She had retreated across their marital bed to stay firmly behind a wall of cold sheets, and god help him if he touched her without permission. He nearly made it to the front door before her voice once again cut him to the core.
“No need to rush home tonight. I have invited Jane round to watch a movie, and you will just clutter the place up.”
He turned to look up at her as she stood halfway down the staircase. She still had a figure to die for from hours spent mimicking various celebrity trainers in front of the TV, and her looks had, if anything, improved. It made him ache for her, and he despised her for that. He shrugged and left the house.
He climbed into his “Lower-Middle-Management” car, her description, and pulled out onto the leafy, pleasant street. The house was the one thing she didn’t complain about. He had inherited the property from his late father, and, given his current salary, he would never have been able to afford a place this size. At 45, he felt his life was over.
The usual crawl into work was eased with the tones of the morning radio DJ, a well-known personality who had an edge of irreverence that never failed to make him smile. The news at 8.30 wasn’t much to cheer about; the recession was cutting deeper, the war against terror was claiming more soldiers, and another gruesome murder to stain the beautiful City of London. He needed a fucking holiday away from everything.
Charlie the Concierge nodded as always as he passed through reception heading for the elevators. On those nights where he “didn’t have to rush home”, he and old Charlie had chatted and become quite close. They were both Ex-Military, however Charlie had never really left the service; he had simply grown older and swapped uniforms. They exchanged stories from their past, and sipped at illicit Whisky from a secret stash behind the reception desk. They would talk again tonight.
Escaping from the confines of the elevator was a relief, as the overpowering morning aftershave and perfume had nearly made him gag. However, he was following a delightful smell down the corridor towards his department. Elaine from “Overseas Sales” wiggled and swayed not 2 yards in front of him as she too made her way to her desk, and his stare at her ass must have caused a physical burn. She looked over her shoulder with a sly grin, but, on seeing who it was, her eyebrows went up.
“Why, Mr Pierce! I could feel your eyes all over my bum! I never took you for that kind of man!”
Arnie shrugged, a habit that was becoming more pronounced with the years, and smiled back at her.
“You should know it’s the quiet ones you have to watch, Elaine.”
She wrinkled her face as she digested that thought, and he could see she was struggling to come back with a riposte. Failing to find something either cutting or polite, she just shook her head and increased her pace. She didn’t fancy him either. Arnie sighed and eased himself through the heavy doors into his domain; Customer Service & Marketing (UK). He glanced at his watch, still time for a quick coffee, so weaved between the closely packed desks towards the machine in the far corner. It had a crowd of worshippers already in attendance, and all greeted the fellow addict with nods or smiles. All except one. Russell Bates was his direct superior, and never missed an opportunity to let him know.
“Be quick with that please, Pierce, I have dropped some files on your desk that need immediate attention.”
Arnie pretended he didn’t see the sympathetic glances among the others.
Just less than two miles away from Arnie’s office was the start of the West End and its associated bars, restaurants and theatres. Behind the Prince Edward Theatre on Brewer Street there is a narrow service alley, and this runs for around 50 yards before terminating at a set of dumpsters. All of the buildings that fronted the street had their own, but it was the Prince Edward dumpster that was home to Emily Crown. It was very rarely used, but when it was it tended to be old costumes or scenery that was thrown over the high sides; both very useful to a woman living on her wits. Over her current 3-month residence, she had acquired a very useful wardrobe of warm winter clothing AND a couple of posh frocks. The bruise from the fake Doric column had faded somewhat now; its arrival in the early hours of one morning catching her out in the open and squarely on the forehead. She touched the bruise and winced. Stupid fucking time to throw stuff away. She prepared her “Day Bag” before climbing lithely over the side to drop into the alley. Today was going to be a “reconnaissance” day; her activist group had a tip that the Minister for Home Affairs was having a night out at the Palladium tonight, and her job was to check out the security around the old building. With her usual confident stride, she joined the pedestrians flowing through the area. She was aware that some gave her sidewards glances, but, fuck them, she liked the way she looked. At 28 she looked ten years older; her hair a mass of purple dreadlocks, with no make-up, and clad from head to toe in surplus Army gear.
She looked like exactly what she was; a woman on a mission. Emily Crown needed a cause, any cause, that would fuel her dislike of society. Her current group were somewhat confused Anarchists with undertones of Earth Mother and Eco-warriors; all women who wanted to make a “difference”. Emily didn’t know if she had ever made a difference, but, if she didn’t do something, then who the fuck would? All she knew was the world was going to be fucked in around 50 years if society kept shitting on it they way they do now, but not if she could do something about that.
The guy they were targeting tonight was an arrogant prick who, at their last meeting, had called her a “Filthy Dyke”. She liked women, but not in that way, so it would be brilliant to spoil his little junket tonight. The fact that he knew her meant she wouldn’t be part of the “Assault Group”, and she was pissed about that, but she had an important part to play. She had to find a gap in the security for them to sneak through. The Ministers agreement to allow drilling for oil in the Snowdonia National Park had outraged many, but it was her group that were going to make him sorry. That thought added a spring to her step on this fine morning.
Detective Constable Eddy Palmer swore loudly at his superior.
“Don’t drive like a twat, Sarge, I’ve just spilled my fucking tea all over my leg!”
Detective Sergeant Paul Brewer laughed and tugged at the steering wheel again to just miss a cycle courier. He wound down the window to shout a curse at the offending rider before looking down at the mess in the passenger seat.
“I told you not to take the plastic lid off! Why do you think they give them to you with a fucking top on, you daft bastard?”
Eddy Palmer looked at the older man with disdain.
“When Mr Styrofoam Cup invented the fucking thing, he didn’t envisage it having to deal with a demented old fart like you driving a fucking car!”
His Sergeant frowned and looked hurt.
“I may be a few years older than you, sonny, but I’m not demented.”
He swerved again to miss a bus AND a mother with a baby, before mounting the sidewalk to stop near a newspaper vendor. He held out his hand for his daily copy, the vendor shaking his head as the car screeched back onto the road and continued it’s mad dash across the city. Eddy covered his eyes, and hoped to god no one would get killed.
“What’s the rush, Sarge? I know you always drive at warp speed, but today you seem to be trying to set some kind of fucking record.”
Paul Brewer threw the newspaper at him.
“Read the fucking headline.”
It screamed out from the tabloid.
“Another corpse found in the city! Reports are coming in about another victim found raped and partially eaten in Soho! The Police are still clueless as to who may be committing these terrible crimes…”
Sgt. Brewer slid the car to a halt at the edge of the cordon. The striped tape flapped lazily in the warm morning breeze, and seemed wholly inadequate to keep the ogling crowd at bay. The few Uniforms present did their best to convince people there was “Nothing to see here” as the two Detectives followed the Coroners gurney into the building. The first face they encountered was Chief Superintendent Hardash, who was looking extremely flustered. He mopped at his face with a handkerchief and looked relieved to see them.
“In twenty-five years on the Force, I have never seen anything like this. Make sure that the body is well covered when they bring it down.”
He waved a hand at the photographers clustered outside.
“If any of those fucking parasites get a picture, then all hell will let loose.”
Brewer and Palmer exchanged glances before Eddy spoke up.
“Do we have anything to go on, Sir? This is the second case in as many days, so surely the bastard has left us some clues this time?”
The Chief Superintendent took a deep breath, and some colour returned to his ashen face.
“Oh, he’s left us with loads of clues, Detective Constable! That poor girl is covered with bite marks, she has been molested in a way that will leave us a trace of his DNA, and we now know his favourite part of a woman is her inner thigh!”
Eddy was just about to ask about that when the Chief Inspector leaned forward and whispered.
“Yes, my lovely laddie, he has eaten them on this one too!”
They watched him leave and snarl his way through the paparazzi before pressing the button for the elevator. Neither man said anything, locked as they were in their own private visions of the man that they were now chasing.
There were lots of shocked-looking Police and CSI’s crowding the small hallway that led to the flat in question. Brewer spotted the Coroner smoking a cigarette near an open window, and crossed over to find out as much as he could before entering the room. He tutted at the cigarette and prodded the Coroner in the chest.
“If you keep using those, you’ll be on your own slab before long.”
The Coroner raised a weary brow and gave a snort.
“After what I’ve seen in there, a long slow death from cancer would be a blessing.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
”All of the wounds inflicted on her were anti-mortem, so she knew she was being eaten!”
Eddy Palmer had drifted over to catch the conversation, and suddenly tapped Brewer on the shoulder.
“I have some leave owing, Sarge, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll take it right about now.”
The older man growled under his breath.
“You and me both son, however, get that skinny arse of yours in there and we’ll see what we’ve got, eh?”
With a muttered “fucking slave-driver”, Eddy Palmer pushed through the crowd and entered the apartment. Even with all the comments from the others he still wasn’t prepared for the scene in front of him. The girl was spread-eagled on the bed, her wrists and ankles showing signs of intense struggles against being tied. He made a mental note; takes his tools with him. The amount of blood was a lot less than he expected, however, the raw gaping wounds on the inside of her thighs more than made up for the lack of spectacle. The flesh had been removed, bitten away down to the bone, and he felt the bile rise as the femur glinted white under the CSI’s cameras. She was covered in bites and puncture wounds, some kind of slim knife, and, judging by the mess he had made of her genitalia, he had tortured her for a while. The fact she had been still alive when all this happened to her made him feel decidedly sick. He looked at her face, mid 20’s perhaps, and wondered what her last thoughts could have been like. Whoever they were looking for would be lucky if they managed to get him before the public did; this will start a real ripple of anger across the city. He stood to one side as the Coroners’ men covered her with a rubber sheet and lifted her ravaged body onto the gurney. Eddy turned from the bed and started to look around the room for a clue to who she was. He didn’t have to look far; her purse was on top of a small chest of drawers against the far wall. Clearing a space among the make-up and perfume bottles, he carefully tipped the contents out onto the wooden surface. Picking up her driving license told him all he needed to know. She was only 22.
Sgt. Brewer came into the doorway and called him across.
“It seems we may have a lead. One of the other tenants thinks she may have seen the man our victim was with last night. The description is hazy, so go and use your famous charm on her.”
Eddy ignored the obvious sarcasm and followed the Sergeant out of the apartment. He saw a nervous face peeking around a doorway further along the corridor, so, putting on his best smile, he went to talk to the girl. She was trembling as he led her back into her rooms and sat her on the couch. He left her there and went through to the small kitchen, and, under the guise of a Good Samaritan, he returned with two large mugs of tea. After getting her name, he spoke quietly and clearly.
“So, Caroline, my Sergeant tells me you knew Tracy quite well? What can you tell me about last night?”
The girls eyes filled up at the mention of her dead friend, and she pressed a tissue to her nose as though in comfort.
“She came in around one I think it was, as I had just gone to bed. I heard her talking outside in the hall, and the man she was with had a strange accent.”
Eddy looked up from his notebook.
“Can you describe it?”
Caroline shook her head and waved a hand.
“They all sound alike to me, those foreigners. I think he may have been an Arab or something, but the biggest fucking Arab I’ve ever seen.”
Eddy encouraged her to go on.
“I guess I was a bit curious as to who she had with her, so I opened my door and peeked out all quiet like. Now, Tracy was only about 5 foot 4 inches tall, but this bloke towered over her. He must have been well over six foot tall, maybe even closer to seven!”
“That’s one big bloke! Did you notice anything else about him?”
Caroline thought for a second, and then leaned closer to him as though sharing a secret.
“Not really, but Tracy couldn’t keep her hands off him. When they went through her door she already had her hand on the front of his pants, you know, rubbing his thing!”
The girl blushed and looked down at her cup. Eddy wrote quickly, drank his tea and stood to leave, passing her his card just in case.
“If you think of any other details then call me, okay? Any time, day or night, it may just help us to catch that bastard!”
Caroline looked relieved that the questions were over, the small nod telling him that there would probably be nothing else. He let himself out of the apartment and went looking for his Sergeant.
Brewer was talking with another tenant from the other side of the corridor, but Eddy could see from the body language he wasn’t getting anything of use. He waited until Brewer also handed over his card, and then tapped him on the elbow.
“She saw him alright, but not much to go on I’m afraid. The only thing we have is that this guy is massive, and talks with a funny accent.”
Brewer shook his head, muttered “Fucking great”, and pressed for the elevator to take them down. This was going to be a long day.
He stirred restlessly in his sleep, the unfamiliar place he now called home didn’t feel right yet. It was big enough for him to stay a while provided he found breeders; they would give him fresh meat and limit his exposure. His dreams were filled with images spanning back over centuries, millennia, all of them about war and feeding. He had followed conquering armies all over the Middle East and beyond; their journeys providing him with plenty of opportunity to feed on the wounded left behind. He had ventured into North Africa, island hopped across the south Pacific, and watched the great empires of the Chinese rise and fall. Wherever man had gone to fight man he had followed.
With armies came women, his preferred meat, and they were never missed. Sometimes he had the run of a complete city left open after conquest, and the women were all alone just for him. His dreams took him to one such city in the deserts of the country now known as Iraq. He had spent five years feasting on the women left behind. After a while they just huddled together and waited for him to use them for pleasure or food, all hope had gone from their eyes.
It was there that he discovered the sweetest meal of all; the little ones they produced. He could give them seed, but what was born was hideous to behold. Their saving grace was the flavour. It had been over one hundred of their years since he had a haven in which to produce meat like that, so it was about time he settled for a while. He had come upon this place quite by chance; his avoidance of a late-night Police patrol taking him over a high wall and through a grating in the ground. It had led to a passage, which in turn brought him to the large cavern he now claimed. He had no knowledge of the old Underground Railway system that ran under the streets of London, and he had stumbled into a disused section of track right in the heart of the financial district. It would serve his purpose perfectly. It appeared only on a few maps locked away in a dusty archive; the glass and steel that covered the ground above had erased all traces of the old station and entrance. He didn’t need lighting as his eyes functioned better in the dark than any other creature. If he protected them with a heavy dark lens he could just about manage to venture out during daylight. He had also quickly learned that he had to care for his appearance. The more advanced Western meat was fussier about how he looked, their women more so. The only other true fact that had survived the myths about him was that women could not resist him; once they smelt his odour they became dripping putty in his hands. Useful.
Arnie had been watching the clock for over an hour before he finally felt safe going for lunch. He had recently started to use the gym in the basement of their building; the sneered “You have blubber” from Dorothy spurring him on. He had always thought of himself as “chunky”, however, in his more honest moments, he knew that the middle-aged spread had run riot. He had felt extremely self-conscious the first visit, as the younger users looking toned and muscular made him feel old and flabby. It had improved as he found his own rhythm and routine, and was pleased that he was actually shifting more weights than a lot of the other guys.
The one downside had been the flirting. Not that it had affected him at all, it was the others who used the fact they were getting sweaty to be overtly suggestive to each other. The girl he had followed this morning was one of the worst. Elaine knew she was attractive, her boobs were legendary amongst the men in the company, and she wore the skimpiest outfit allowable by the laws of decency. She also made sure that whatever exercise she was doing would mean either her ass was in the air, or her epic chest would be heaving in full view. Arnie couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He had tried to be less obvious than the others, but she had caught him watching; her disdainful glare so very much like Dorothy’s. Today was no exception, apart from the fact that it was Elaine doing the flirting. Her new boss was in there, Neil from California, and he looked like a poster boy for West Coast living.
He was all white teeth and tan, with extra muscle thrown in for good measure. Arnie hated him immediately. Elaine, on the other hand, did everything short of getting down on her knees and blowing him, though Arnie suspected she may have suggested it, and they both left quite quickly with lots of smiles and giggles. There were lots of grumpy faces left behind in the gym.
Arnie smiled and set about pushing himself just a little bit harder today, and was already looking forward to the tuna salad he had asked the canteen to set aside for him.
There were two other women still down there, and they seemed to relish the fact Elaine had gone. One of them actually smiled at him! He had no idea who she was or where she worked, but it gave him enough of a lift to do another ten reps on the bench press. As he sat to eat later his shoulder was killing him, yet it hurt so good.
Emily Crown had begged enough money to buy herself a chicken burger courtesy of Colonel Sanders, and she sat leaning against the wall of an old church while she ate. She had walked all around the Palladium Theatre, and was annoyed that the security looked too god-damn tight! She had even climbed up a rather dodgy fire escape on a building next door to try to gain access to the roof, however the flash of steel from a moving camera set high on the building made her retreat. Given that when the Minister was actually there the Police presence would increase, she had a feeling that tonight would be a no-go. She ate the last of her meal and stood to use the phone box a few yards away. The call was answered with a grunt until she gave the day’s password (Snowdonia) whereupon she gave her report.
There was a moment’s hesitation and a hurried “hang on” before she was left with silence. Emily was just about to replace the receiver when a sharp voice barked down the phone.
“What do you mean there are fucking camera’s everywhere? Did you go around the back? On the roof?”
Emily patiently explained it all again, before holding the phone away from her ear at the tirade of expletives. She waited while the woman on the other end, their illustrious leader, calmed down.
“Okay. We may not be able to get him with the blood-bombs and feathers, but the fascists arresting us will make for good copy. We will have to bring the timing forward to when he arrives, so I’ll need you as a look out for the operation. Your job will be to stand up the road and warn us when his car is approaching, can you do that?”
Emily confirmed it would be a pleasure and put the phone down. She did wonder about exactly what tonight would achieve. The blood and feathers were to signify the loss of the local wildlife due to the drilling, so, without them, they would just be making a noise. She calculated that to travel back to her “home” would take too long, so she would find somewhere to crash nearby until the appointed hour. She returned to where she had eaten and looked at the church. Its main door was open, so she figured she could find a comfy pew in there to stretch out on. Walking nonchalantly into the gloom of the old building she was pleased that attendance was poor, and found herself the perfect spot. A nice nap, and she would be ready to rumble.
The two Detectives had returned to the station to open a file on the latest murder. With scant information to go on it made a pretty pathetic sight, however, they would have to wait until the autopsy report before they had anything concrete to work with. Both of them had been shaken by this case, and, as they had not attended the first murder, they were hoping that they would be ordered to pass it over to the original officers at the first scene. When Chief Superintendent Hardash sauntered into the squad room Paul Brewer had a sinking feeling, one confirmed almost straight away.
“I want you two jokers to take point on this case. You don’t have much of a case-load to worry about, so I am taking you off general response and assigning it to you.”
He peered over a small pair of reading glasses at Eddy Palmer.
“As it is a case involving women, I don’t want you sticking your dick into anything either.”
He jabbed a finger at him.
“I have heard all about your antics at your last station, and I won’t tolerate that.”
Eddy tried his best to look hurt and confused, but the Chief Superintendent simply huffed at him and left the room. Sgt. Brewer looked at his partner with a wry smile.
“I’ve heard that you had sexual relations with all the women at that station, including old Marge the tea lady. Did that get you free biscuits with your morning cuppa?”
Eddy held up his hands.
“How was I to know that the Chief Super’s daughter was only just 18? She came on to me like some sex-starved nymph, and, if you’ve seen her, you’ll understand why I didn’t say no!”
Paul Brewer shook his head sadly.
“That over-active cock of yours will get you into trouble, my boy, and I order you to tell me everything that happened between you and the gorgeous princess. I bet the Super was furious!”
They were sat in the canteen, still discussing the merits of barely-legal nymphomaniacs, when another Constable poked his head into the room.
“Sarge Brewer? There is a call for you from the Coroners office. I’ve patched it through to your desk.”
Returning back down to the Squad Room, Paul Brewer lifted the phone. Without preamble, the Coroner informed him that he had better come to the City Mortuary as some of his findings just didn’t make sense. Replacing the receiver with a bemused look, he turned to his younger colleague.
“I have a feeling both of us are going to be sorry we got out of bed this morning.”
Eddy Palmer loosened his tie as they made for the door.
“After what I’ve seen, I’m already sorry.”
After the usual near-suicidal journey across the City, they screeched to halt in the loading bay at the Morgue. Eddy was still moaning about the fact that he should drive when they met the Coroner coming the other way. He asked them to come to his office and he would explain the problem. With curious glances at each other, they followed him into the small cluttered space. David Walsh, the City Coroner, was not a man to be stumped by anything, however, the expression on his face told Paul Brewer that something really was wrong. The two Policemen sat opposite his desk and waited for the bad news. After a moments deliberation, he looked at them and cleared his throat.
“The injuries sustained by the girl this morning were not the cause of her death. All the signs tell me she bled to death.”
He pulled up a schematic on his computer and turned the screen so they could see.
“Some of the marks on her body indicate that the wounds have been subject to suction, telling me the blood was removed from her body over a period of time. The Tox reports have come back with some even stranger results. They show a trace of some kind of what can only be described as a neurotoxin, or a drug that was used to make her unable to move. It is present in all of the bite marks and puncture wounds. There is also a trace of a very strong anti-coagulant, very similar to Warfarin, present in the bites. What this means is that the poor girl was paralysed while she was being eaten, and her blood flowed freely while it was drained from her. The exact nature of the toxin has still to be determined; the closest we can get is akin to cobra venom, but around ten times stronger!”
He paused while the two Policemen absorbed the information, and then reached into his pocket.
“The strangest thing is this!”
He held up a vial containing a shiny black liquid resembling oil.
“This was found in the girls anus and vagina. She also had a quantity of it in her throat and upper stomach. I couldn’t figure it out at first, thinking that he must have used some kind of industrial instrument on her, until I looked at it under a microscope. It contains motile sperm, gentlemen, very active and aggressive sperm at that.”
Paul Brewer leaned forward to get a closer look.
“Are you telling me that its semen?”
The Coroner shrugged and shook his head.
“To all intents and purpose it acts like semen, in as much as it delivers sperm, but I’ve never seen anything like it! And that is not all. Just before you arrived, I had an early indicator come back from the Lab checking for DNA. There is DNA present, but it’s not human, and not of a type we can recognise. I have no idea who or what we are dealing with here. His use of drugs, and this, don’t add up at all. I can also tell you he ingested around 10 pounds of flesh, all of it taken from the girl while she was alive. Whoever he is, he is a monster.”
He received no argument from the two Policemen.
During the start of the rail network around London, the authorities took the step of going underground. Their engineers tunnelled through the underlying soft clay to cross the River Thames at various points, rising back up to the surface to create stations. Some of those tunnels went as far down as 300 feet under the City, and were utilised as shelters during the Second World War. As the rail network was modernised and extended after the war, some of those lines were no longer needed. Some were adapted for new technology, others abandoned. The clamour for land within the great metropolis meant that many were excavated during the construction of new buildings, however, some were simply capped over. There are still remnants that can be seen above ground in the guise of the entrances to these marvels, and yet most Londoner’s don’t know they are there.
It was sheer good fortune that he found such a place.
He had over 100 yards of tunnel to make his home, and, with his acute eyesight, needed only a handful of candles to illuminate his lair. At the eastern end of the tunnel were the remains of a station, and to his great delight there was still running water in the First Class restroom. While his personal appearance had never been high on his agenda, he was aware that for him to move freely at night he would have to make an effort. He had been here nearly a week now, and had fed twice. The first meal had been a real disappointment, she was distasteful. However, the second had given him ALL that he needed.
If he were careful, he would only need to eat once a week and, unless the urge for pleasure was too strong, he could wait until he fed. The second girl-meat had been picked out to provide him with his favourite delicacy, but his desires overcoming the urge to keep her had meant she was spoiled.
While he carefully selected something to wear for his trip tonight he chided himself for being so greedy. He would take both a meal and a breeder when he was ready.
After laying out the clothes, he stripped out of his current bloodstained outfit and threw it into a corner of the restroom. He had ripped a pipe out of the wall above head height and fashioned a crude shower, oblivious to the cold of the water as he stood and let it cleanse the gore from him. He smiled at the thought of walking amongst his prey for the first time in this city. It would help him get his bearings.
Eddy Palmer took another bite of his rather stale cheese sandwich and grumbled to himself quietly. It was Friday night, and he had hoped to be out on the town with a few friends, the lure of the fleshpots of London strong in him. Now they had been given this case he had a feeling that nights out chatting up women were going to be few and far between. He glanced up at his Sergeant who was engrossed in a file. Old Brewer was also single, though in his case brought about by his wife running off with a fireman. Eddy didn’t know what he did for a social life despite the close working relationship they had. He liked Paul Brewer a lot; his no-nonsense approach to policing, combined with his slightly deranged habits, always made the working day a pleasure not counting the horrors they saw.
Brewer must have felt his eyes on him and lifted his head.
“This first murder was slightly different from the second. It almost seems like he was disturbed or something, as the injuries on this girl were no-where near as severe as those on poor Tracy. Yes she was bitten, yes her blood had been drained, but she was not raped and he didn’t eat a great deal of her.”
He flicked another page over, his expression turning to one of grim discovery.
“And this may just be the fucking reason! Look at this!”
He passed the sheet across to Eddy.
“It’s the autopsy details. This girl, Amanda Forrester, was a hooker. The autopsy revealed she had a raging dose of gonorrhoea and hepatitis B! I have a nasty feeling that he knew, and that is why he didn’t stop around to enjoy her like he did with the second. There is something about this guy that is giving me the fucking heebie-jeebies, and I have a god-awful feeling building in my gut.”
Eddy read the report and whistled.
“Next, you are going to tell me he is a vampire or something.”
Paul Brewer threw an empty coffee cup at him.
“Don’t be so fucking stupid!”
Eddy grinned at him as he caught the plastic cup.
“Since my cup is empty as well, it’s about bloody time you put your hand in your pocket for refills.”
Sgt. Brewer shook his head and reached into a pocket inside his jacket. With a look of triumph, he pulled out a small key and waved it at his junior colleague.
“You have a lot to learn, sonny. This will put the machine onto “Free Vend”, so go and grab us a couple while no one is about. Just make sure you turn it back afterwards, as we don’t want the Catering Manager to know I have one of these!”
Eddy took the proffered key with a look of admiration.
“You are a sneaky old bastard, Sarge! When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”
Paul Brewer laughed as Eddy headed across the room.
“That will never happen. You would need surgery to be as handsome as me, and your prick would have to double in size.”
Eddy gave him the finger without looking back.
While the machine whirred in its task of producing barely palatable hot drinks, Brewer continued to read the reports. By the time Eddy returned he had a frown deep across his forehead. He once again tapped the file
“I have just noticed, there is no record of fingerprints. I know for a fact that I saw bloody hand-prints all over the last girl, so what the fuck is going on?”
He reached for his diary and turned to the back to hunt for a number. Picking up the phone, he called the private home of David Walsh. Cutting through the obviously rude comments about being disturbed at this hour he asked the question.
“I hope you are going to tell me that it was an administration error that means that I have no record of prints?”
There was a palpable silence while the Coroner thought about that.
“The first set of prints that were processed seemed to go wrong. I have no idea what happened, but when they came through they were all blurred and distorted. Its strange you should call about that right now, as I have instructed one of the lab techs to do them all again tonight. Hopefully, it will mean we have some nice clear ones for the morning.”
Happy that something was being done, Brewer put the phone down.
Jenny Munro, the new intern, danced and bobbed to the tunes from her iPod as she collected what she would need for her work tonight. She had been flattered when Dr Walsh had asked her to re-run the prints on the latest two cases; it would give her a chance to show her worth.
She retrieved the evidence boxes from storage and prepared to spread the contents across the large table. She knew that some of the articles had been ruined by the first attempt, therefore she would have to look a lot harder to find something usable. Using a scalpel, she slit the sealing tape and folded back the cardboard flaps on each box, her nose wrinkling at the smell that puffed up.
As she reached into the first container to remove what looked like a sheet, she felt something funny. Not so much funny, but a strange feeling inside, and, as she thought about it, she was shocked to realise she was becoming turned on! Her pussy was prickling, the skin feeling as though it was being stimulated, and her nipples had gone rock hard! She took a deep breath.
“What’s the matter with you, Jen? Are you getting all horny over a blood-stained sheet?”
A pulse of pleasure went through her pelvis and her knees wobbled, making her hold onto the table as she gasped. She needed to be fucked. It was filling her head, images of lying back and being taken hard swam through her mind. What was going on? She felt the damp between her thighs as she whimpered and sank to the floor, her hips lifting as though in offering. She couldn’t control it, her body was acting all on its own as she writhed and arched on the cold slabs beneath her. She reached orgasm within seconds, curling into a ball to try to stop the twitching in her thighs.
She lay there for 5 minutes before trying to stand, her amusement at what happened tinged with alarm. She had never come like that before. She was no angel, but damn that had been so intense! She was glad that she was alone, and she wobbled across the room on unsteady legs to get a drink of water. Leaning against the stainless steel sink, she looked back at the boxes. She needed to compose herself; this was important work! Taking her drink with her, she went back over to the table resolved to get this done as quickly as possible. That strange smell was still hanging in the air around the first box, so, holding her breath, she pulled out the sheet and carefully started to unfold it.
She puffed out the first breath and went to take another, but she couldn’t. Her whole body went into spasm as another orgasm rippled through her, and she tipped face down onto the sheet. The smell was even stronger now, and she was losing control completely as she twitched and moaned helplessly. She tore at her pants, she had to make herself open and available. All she wanted was to be taken again and again. She grunted and pressed her face into the fabric as she started to hump the edge of the table, grinding her now exposed pussy against the hard wooden edge. The pressure on her clit, and the sensations it caused to blast through her, made her scream out loud into the empty room. She couldn’t, and didn’t want, to stop as the need for pleasure was consuming her.
When the first people arrived in the morning they found her lying face down across the table. She was barely alive, but her hips were still grinding feebly against the edge of the wood. It was only when she was lifted from contact with the sheet that her body ceased its relentless movement.
David Walsh received the news upon his arrival, immediately going through to the lab to see the scene for himself. It was obvious that Jenny had lost a lot of blood, however his staff told him she was oblivious to everything when they had found her. He picked up the sheet, still sodden from her tears and saliva. There was muskiness to the aroma it gave off, one that was familiar to him, and he racked his brain to place it. It was only later that morning that he remembered; it had been in the apartment when he had recovered the body, and, now he thought about it, it had also been present on the first victim! He shook his head and wondered if his aftershave could identify their murderer?
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