Prologue

PROLOGUE

Tuesday, 17 August, 1869

Belle Vue Lunatic Asylum

“Get those frigging troublemakers out of my way. I’ll deal with the Grady girl . . . ”

Bill Callahan hung back as the beefy supervisor and one of her assistants pulled the two lunatics covered in vomit to their feet. They propped them up, then dragged them past the remaining knot of inmates huddled on the floor and made slow progress along the corridor toward the infirmary.

He scanned the jumble of limbs and spotted his target moaning and clutching her stomach, her dress covered in a yellow glutinous mess. He bellowed at his men, bludgeons at the ready, to clear the rest of the defectives from the area and restore order. Rolling up his sleeves, he strode over and grabbed the prostrate Ellen by the back of her collar. The girl was barely conscious, but Callahan felt himself harden. He heaved her over his shoulder, placing his left hand on her buttocks and, ignoring the chaos behind him, headed toward the back stairs.

As Callahan descended each step, his mood improved. His urge for some sport beyond a quick fuck had been growing for weeks. Now he’d get what he wanted. Ellen’s body, though light, pulled his cotton scarf tighter round his neck and he eased his fingers between skin and material to loosen it.

When he reached the ground floor, he saw his timing had been good. Only a few of the cretins and other drooling idiots, who were too far gone for work duties, populated the hall. As Head Attendant no one would have questioned him anyway, but he didn’t want any petty distractions. His anticipation of the pleasures to come was building steadily and he relished the vivid images in his mind. She was badly ill, but that made it more exciting—she wouldn’t have any control of her bodily functions and his power over her would be absolute.

Callahan strode across the hall, focused on the large door ahead. With but a few feet to go, a peripheral movement caught his attention. Huddled in the far corner were two useless scraps of humanity. He peered toward them, noting how one shrunk back while the other continued to sup a mug of beer. He recognized them now—old Titus, blind but with a loose mouth, and Chancer who he’d seen on numerous occasions talking to Ellen. The latter stared with wide eyes at her limp body. Both could cause trouble, but he’d deal with them later.

He retrieved a large key from his pocket, opened the door, and stepped through. The heavy slab of iron closed behind him, and he secured it from the inside.

After descending the stairs, he leaned forward and let Ellen slip to the ground. Once, her face had been so lovely, a delicacy to savor. Now, in the low light of the oil lamps, her skin was pulled tight and tinged yellow. Small cracks sullied the once luscious plumpness of her lips. If anything, he wanted her more like this: weak and helpless, in need of his strength.

His arrival caused the worse crazies, chained to their cots in the passageways, to shout and wail like wild banshees. He ignored them and breathed in deeply. The stench reminded him of some of his most pleasurable moments. He lifted Ellen and hoisted her over his shoulder again.

Moving along the north tunnel between the beds and doors to the cells, he reached the end and faced an oak cupboard, six feet high and four feet wide. He seized one of the handles, but rather than pressing down, he twisted it upward and pulled. The door remained closed but the whole cupboard came away from the wall, revealing a passageway behind.

Callahan stepped through with his unconscious prey. As the entrance closed, ignoring the still audible cacophony of the lunatics, he groaned in anticipation. Alone with Ellen, his excitement was all-consuming. A single candle flickered on the tunnel wall, casting shadows that revealed his arousal.

He carried her through an open cell door and laid her on the soiled straw pallet. He retraced his steps and lit one of the lanterns kept near the entrance. Striding back into the cell, he almost tripped over Ellen’s body. He hadn’t heard her move, but now he could see her gazing up at him in confusion.

“Help me, Bill. Help me.”

He smirked. So it was “Bill” now. He liked that.

He reached down and dug his fingers into her arm. She cried out, struggled, and tried to rise, but he wasn’t going to allow that. He smacked her chin and Ellen slumped back, her head bumping on the flagstones. After dragging her to the center of the room, he shackled her wrists and ankles to the floor. She was spread-eagled and, he saw, regaining consciousness. Callahan watched her writhe as though spasms were shooting through her. The rattling of chains merged with the sounds of her whimpering.

He stood back, savoring the power of the moment. He felt invincible but her dress spoiled the view. Callahan leaned over, his hands reaching for its round neckline. He undid the first button, but impatience took over. He tore the dress open to reveal a flimsy shift underneath. Ellen moaned again, adding fuel to his hunger. He ripped away the final layer and ogled her exposed body, relishing every lady-like curve. Now she existed for his pleasure alone.

Engorged, he could wait no longer. He slung off his braces then cursed as he struggled to unbutton his trousers.

Ellen turned her head and dry retched.

He tore off his shirt and scarf. Naked, his heavy muscular frame loomed above her. A monster in the shadows. He grunted in triumph.

“Let me go, Bill. Please? Don’t hurt me. When I’m well again, I’ll do what you want. Oh God, anything. I promise.”

Her words took him over the edge. He lunged at her, all restraint gone, and made sure she kept her vow.

Hearing her scream his name was worth all the waiting.