Roger felt the heat of her blood on him, and, in some part of his violated brain, the part that was more Chillingworth than Davies, it felt good…his throbbing cock swelling further with pleasure.
TRADE!
“No trade!”
MORE BLOOD…
The stroking motions of the sleeve wrapped around his swollen shaft increased, bringing him close to orgasm. As his seminal vessels filled with fluid ready for release, he heard the central heating boiler flare into life. Roger glanced at the woman opposite, tears streaming down her face as the water pipe plundered her sex. She showed no sign of hearing the boiler fire-up, or if she had heard it, no sign of realising its significance.
Roger, unable to resist the urging of his loins, thrust harder and faster into the stroking sleeve, the water pipe responding in kind, tearing up the woman’s insides until finally, he reached the point of no return - his orgasm explosive, thick gouts of semen spurting from his penis.
The woman let out an agonised scream as the freshly heated water ejaculated from the end of the pipe, squirting streams of scalding liquid deep inside her. Steam billowed from her opening as the boiling water stripped the tissue from her vaginal passage, globs of bloody flesh slipping from between her thighs as the pipe continued thrusting harder and deeper, finally erupting from her abdomen, steaming crimson geysers spraying from her ruptured belly.
Chillingworth released the cables from around the dead woman’s neck, the lifeless body slipping to the floor. As Roger looked into her face, the image of pain and confusion etched into her death mask suddenly reminded him of-
LISA…
29
The forest was dark and cold. A thick canopy of conifers blocked out the sunlight, the ground beneath her feet a carpet of dry brown needles shed by the trees over many years.
She could hear retching, the odour of fresh vomit worming its way into her nostrils. As she leapt over a barren stream, almost catching her foot in a gnarled root that was clawing its way out of the dirt, she saw the beds.
Dozens of them of were spread out amongst the trees, each containing a vomiting patient. As she came into view they caught sight of her, cries of “Nurse!” and “Over here!” echoing around her, each begging for her attention. Turning left and right, her mind in turmoil, not knowing which patient to attend to first, she looked around for assistance.
No other nursing staff were to be seen. She was on her own.
“Nurse, please…”
“Just a moment.”
“Nurse!”
“Nurse!”
“Nurse!”
They were all shouting at her now, their calls getting louder, the beds seeming to close in on her…
She ran, ignoring the cries and the waving of sick bowls. Ran until she left the forest behind her, the chill darkness giving way to the buildings of a town.
‘Lydmet welcomes you’.
She’d heard of it, but couldn’t quite remember why…maybe a colleague lived here or came from here?
She ran past the welcome sign towards a building – an apartment complex – a big sales board displaying its name: Chillingworth Mews.
Something about the place stopped her dead, a shiver running down her spine as if the chill from the forest had caught up with her. A sudden vibration against her thigh startled her, a second or two passing before she realised her phone was ringing. She pulled it from her pocket and pressed the ‘Answer’ button.
The voice on the other end of the line was dry and crackly – as if made of stone.
LISA! ROGER NEEDS YOU…
*
The police-car pulled into the car-park in front of Chillingworth Mews.
PC Simon Jones looked across at a blue Golf parked up to the left of the building’s entrance doors and checked the license plate.
“Well, that’s definitley the good doctor’s car.”
“So she made it to her call out then-“ WPC Tracy Walker checked her notes, “A Mrs Margaret Brown called her out for a headache.”
The health centre had raised the alert after the out of hours service contacted them first thing that morning, concerned that they hadn’t heard anything from Dr Bond since the call out to Chillingworth Mews late the previous evening.
PC Jones shut off the engine and both officers strolled over to the Golf, peering through the windows to see if Dr Bond was in her vehicle, perhaps asleep. There was no sign of her or her medical bag.
WPC Walker tried the car’s doors. They were locked.
“Let’s see if anyone’s at home,” she suggested, leading her colleague towards the collection of buzzers beside the building’s entrance doors. One of the buttons had the label ‘Mrs M Brown’ attached to it and the WPC pressed it firmly for several seconds, repeating the action when she got no response.
“Try another.” PC Jones suggested.
“Which one? None of the others have any names on.”
“Any of them…all of them.”
The officers both jabbed fingers at the panel of buzzers, pressing each of them several times.
Still no-one answerd.
Jones pushed and pulled at the door. It was definitley locked.
“Let’s try the sales office. They’re bound to have a key…”
WPC Walker turned to her colleague and shrugged as she found the sales office door was also locked up tight. Looking through the window, she could see a lit computer screen, paperwork strewn across the desk and a woman’s handbag on the floor beside a chair.
“It looks like the sales woman at least turned up for work but she’s not here now.”
“What about the developer?” Jones suggested, “Neil Bullock – lives in that big house on the other side of town.”
“Fucking prick!”
Jones looked taken aback.
“Sorry, Simon – not you.” Walker smiled at her colleague, “Bullock!
