CHAPTER TWENTYThe footage ended and the screen went blank. Sam got carefully up from the sofa, so as not to hurt his cock. It was so chafed and raw it hurt to even look at, let alone touch.He couldn’t decide whether to re-watch the footage, or grab a beer and some left over pizza. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in over eight hours. He looked around the room at the chipped paint on the floorboards, the mouldering furniture and the curtain-less windows. There wasn’t any pizza left. The discarded box was empty and so were the beer cans scattered at his feet.His stomach rumbled in complaint. He was hungry, but he’d run out of provisions. He could order another pizza but that would mean going downstairs to the pub; the delivery guy wasn’t allowed up to the room. Going downstairs meant he’d have to interact with the people in the bar. It also meant putting pants on, and he wasn’t sure his poor cock could take that.Maybe it was best if he just stayed in his room and watched th
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEWhen he’d gotten back to his apartment, even though it was late, the first thing Sam did was get straight in the shower.In a repeat of the night he got back from the lock up, Sam stood beneath the scalding hot water and tried to wash away the memories of the previous hours. He was no more successful this time than he had been the last. No amount of soap or water could wash away the spectre of Melissa’s touch. He could still feel her ragged skin pressing against his, her breath on his cheek and her blood spilling out over his loins. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face and the gaping hole in her throat.His skin was red and smarting when he left the shower. The images in his mind were just as vivid. They weren’t the only thing he couldn’t escape. His whole body was filled with an invisible pressure, an insatiable need for release. He’d fought off his desire to come with Melissa and now it dogged him mercilessly.Sam was reminded of a Sunday afternoon he’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOSam had been in the room above the pub ever since. Though he’d watched the footage more times than he could remember, he’d never seen the exact same sequence twice. The footage changed every time he watched it. That’s why he’d never been able to edit it.To begin with the changes were quite subtle, but in time everything was different from the first time he saw it. At first Sam noticed how the blurry, shadow figures altered the way they tortured the three victims. They seemed to get crueller, more extreme and increasingly creative in the ways they flayed and dismembered them.After this, the victims began to change, the two men he’d originally seen with Melissa were replaced with others, including the men who’d been in the lock up with Ashkan. The only constant throughout the whole of Sam’s viewing was the presence of Melissa. That and the almost transcendent way she bore the torture of the blurred figures.In time Sam began to suspect that the footage itself had
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE“Yeah, like I said,” the barman called over his shoulder, “we ain’t seen him in days, mate. Landlord reckons he’s done a bunk.” He was a bulky man who huffed a lot as he led Jimmy up the stairs. He was losing most of his hair, even though he was only in his late twenties, and had grown a huge pair of mutton chop whiskers to compensate.“Landlord’s coming back this evening to clear the room, so if you want anything you best go through his stuff and grab it now, alright? Good luck though, it’s minging in there.”“That’s okay, I’m only after one thing, I shan’t be long.”The barman coughed, looked at the floor and scratched his neck, waiting for something.“Oh yeah, sorry,” said Jimmy and pulled two twenties and a ten from his pocket.“Cheers,” said the barman, taking the money. He produced a key, unlocked the door then turned and lumbered back down the stairs.The smell hit Jimmy the minute he opened the door. The air was stale and stank of Sam’s unwashed body
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURJimmy let himself into Sam’s apartment and put the laptop on the coffee table in the living room. The presence of the laptop in the apartment seemed to confirm Sam’s absence. He was never coming back. Like Jennie he was dead and lost to Jimmy forever.Jimmy sat on the sofa and stared at the laptop as though it was booby trapped. In a way it was. It contained the last surviving copy of the footage. Someone, or something, connected with that footage had killed Sam. Jimmy was afraid to even open the laptop, let alone switch it on.He knew the footage was dangerous, toxic on some level he could barely comprehend. Everyone who’d watched the footage, since Ashkan first played it in the lock up, was dead. Everyone except Jimmy. Was it simply a matter of time before it claimed him, too?The wise thing to do would be to destroy the footage, but it was more important to his plans than it had ever been. Using it in a film had been all about redeeming the terrible situation
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE“Are you sure you’ve got the right spot?” Jimmy said, glancing at his watch.“Yeah,” said Rick, a tall, bulky guy with close cropped ginger hair. He stubbed out his cigarette and put his hands in the pockets of his grey hoodie. “He always makes you wait, he’s worse than a dealer that way.”They were standing on a dark corner in the back streets of Shoreditch. Rick glanced up and down the road then lit another cigarette.Jimmy had met Rick through Alfie. Quite predictably, Alfie had taken the piss the minute Jimmy asked him if he knew anyone who was into hardcore magic, the really dangerous stuff? When he’d had his fun, Alfie introduced Jimmy to Rick. Jimmy explained to Rick that he was looking for someone called ‘the Tailor of the True Cloth.’“I think you’ll need Vince for that,” Rick had said. “Have you heard of him?”Jimmy shook his head. “No.”“Some people call him the ‘Mystic Yardie,’ but never to his face. Other people call him ‘The Baron,’ after Baron
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXJimmy didn’t know Peckham well, it was a part of London he’d never been to. In fact, he never really went south of the river Thames. It had taken him all night to find the shebeen.It was in the basement of an abandoned warehouse, at the bottom of a set of concrete steps that stank of piss. He pushed open the battered steel fire door and peered inside.He saw nothing, at first, it was so dark. But he could hear muttering voices, the clink of glasses and the scraping of chairs. He wondered if we would find Vince here, or whether this would be another fruitless search.As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Jimmy saw a tall, lean figure, with shoulder length dreads, sitting alone with his back to the far wall. Vince didn’t see Jimmy as he entered the drinking den, a long thin room with a rubble strewn floor, littered with a collection of near broken furniture. Dim figures sat about makeshift tables and an obese bar man stood behind a ramshackle bar.Vince looked up as
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENVince was late. But Jimmy expected that. He didn’t know Deptford at all. It was south of the river, between Greenwich and Blackheath, the poor cousin to those well to do areas. It was supposed to be up and coming, shedding its reputation for being rough as arseholes, but Jimmy couldn’t see any difference.He felt vulnerable and out of place as he loitered at the top of the high street. The laptop, with the last surviving copy of the footage, felt unnaturally heavy in its shoulder bag. It bumped his hip as he checked his watch for the hundredth time.Finally, Vince sauntered into view and greeted Jimmy with a simple nod. He stood at the top of the street and tilted his head at odd angles, as though he was trying to see or hear things that Jimmy couldn’t.“So, does this Tailor have a shop around here?” Jimmy asked.Vince shook his head. “The Tailor has no fixed address. He manifests all over the city.”“So why pick a shithole like this?”Vince gave Jimmy anoth