At the end of the corridor, farther than I had gotten in my failed escape attempt, I was greeted by the sight of the Sandman himself.
His arms were aloft, framing his face and the broad smile it bore.
‘Acolytes, your brothers have fought bravely against the fools who stood against us. Tempest Michaels and his friends are no more. They tried to damage our mission, and though they have inflicted wounds, they gave their lives to do so. We will rejoice now and when the ceremony is complete, we will move on. I have a new place for us to call home and you will all be welcome there. Our mission must continue. Bring forth those who we honour tonight. Your victorious brothers will be waiting outside to join with us.’
He turned around and began to lead the procession. Around a corner we reached a set of wooden stairs leading upward. They were poorly lit and narrow, the men either side of me having to switch so only one had me in his grasp. It gave me a chance to adjust my grip on the knife.
I was ready, but I had ten people between me and the Sandman.
At the top of the stairs, I was surprised to find myself inside a house. It was dimly lit and sparsely decorated, but a house, nonetheless. The creak of floorboards beneath my feet gave an indication of its age.
We were heading for the front door; I could make it out between the heads of those in front of me. I thought we were going to go straight out but the procession halted at a door to a room on the left.
‘Are you ready, my love?’ asked the Sandman.
I found myself frowning. Who was he talking to?
When a woman emerged from the room a second later, a choked gasp escaped my mouth and closer to her, Karen screamed in fright.
Hyperventilating again, my eyes refused to believe what I was looking at. Framed by the light above her head, which cast ugly shadows onto her face, the woman was ghastly to look at. Her face would haunt anyone who ever saw it.
Her right eye was an empty socket, and a good portion of the hair on that side of her head was missing, giving way to terrible scar tissue beneath. She looked to have melted. Unable to take my eyes off her, I observed the fallen cheekbone and the hole in her cheek through which I caught a flash of a white tooth when she moved her jaw.
A hand flashed out, slapping Karen across the right side of her face. It silenced the poor, terrified woman but only for a heartbeat as the same hand then grabbed hold of her hair, twisting it cruelly.
‘This is your fault!’ the deformed woman rasped. ‘You did this to me. That is why you must pay.’
‘What?’ whimpered Karen. ‘What did I do? I don’t know who you are?’
‘I was beautiful once,’ the woman raged. ‘But a slut like you caught my husband’s eye.’
Oh, my God! She’s the Sandman’s wife!
‘He cheated on me,’ the woman sneered with a grimace at her husband. The Sandman hung his head in shame. ‘Didn’t you? You worthless maggot. So I tried to take my own life. Do you know what happens when you pour acid over your own face?’
Karen looked like she might vomit. There was no colour in her face and if she was expected to answer, I doubted she were able.
The hideously disfigured woman continued talking, providing an answer to her own question. ‘You have to spend the rest of your life in hiding, but your husband does anything you ever tell him to. Including finding other pretty young sluts to pay the price for his indiscretion.’ Her voice was an ugly snarl that sounded right at home coming from her face.
‘But I didn’t do anything,’ Karen snivelled, her voice cracking to become a hoarse whisper.
The Sandman’s wife snorted a laugh. ‘And soon you never will. Isn’t that better than ruining a marriage?’
As if on cue, an acolyte at the front door pulled it open and stepped outside.
The woman turned to go and as she did I saw the other side of her face. It was unblemished, and she was beautiful. In her sixties, but attractive nonetheless, the standout detail was how much she looked like Karen.
The wave of understanding hit me so hard it felt like I had been plunged into a vacuum. It wasn’t the Sandman choosing the women he killed. He wasn’t the one driven to murder them, it was his wife!
My brain was reeling, trying to add things up and it was then that I realised what was amiss. I heard explosions and shouts about fire when Tempest and the others stormed the building yet there was no smell of smoke.
If the Sandman’s acolytes defended the building and overwhelmed my friends, why were they going to be waiting outside like the Sandman just said?
Unable to conjure answers, I became even more confused when I arrived outside because there were no acolytes waiting there.
Looking impatient, the Sandman checked his watch and lifted a radio to his mouth.
‘Bunker team, where are you? We are starting the ceremony with or without you.’
The radio crackled. ‘Oh, don’t do that,’ begged Tempest.
Big Ben. How it Went Down. Saturday, December 24th 1630hrs
Tempest’s plan was about as mad as any he has ever concocted. We were going to storm the bunker, fake our own deaths and in the ensuing confusion caused by smoke and fire, we would overwhelm them.
In the hardware store, we bought the best breathing masks they had; ones that would filter out smoke. We also bought fire retardant spray with which we doused our clothes, and airtight goggles to protect our eyes.
When Basic
