My Heart Belongs To You: A Psycho Thriller Read online

  Flipping a switch illuminated a void approximately three metres wide. Individual spotlights picked out a number of items sitting on a narrow shelf. Each spot threw a circular pool of light onto the shelf, giving it the feel of a museum as they illuminated three items, items that sat waiting for Cupid to visit and to enjoy, which he did each and every day.

  One was an open laptop computer, containing a DVD that had recordings on it that were only viewed on this laptop and only by Cupid. They were a testament to his mission, to his calling to unite couples. They showed in graphic sound and colour his previous six couplings. The second item on the shelf was a rolled up cloth, tied at its center with a thin cord attached to the roll. It contained some of his prized possessions. The final item sat in the middle of the other two and as always, he avoided looking at this until last of all, deliberately building the tension, increasing the anticipation, as he denied himself its poetry.

  Turning on the laptop, he waited, his mouth becoming dry. After it had loaded, he quickly found the file he wanted marked Valentine’s Day 2006. As the screen burst into life, he caught his breath, as he watched the film he had shot back on that glorious day, the day of the coupling of the couple he had selected, selected to reach immortality. He always kept the sound low so his secretary did not hear the screaming, screaming that she would misinterpret as agony. She would fail to understand, as most people would, the significance of the agonised sounds; fail to understand the true meaning as he did. His breathing became shallow as he watched the images, catching the magnificence, the relevance of what he had created, and they surged through him like a drug. He had achieved this; he had given this gift to this couple and to the world. Five more short films were watched, five more couples were immortalised for eternity. Shutting down the laptop, he laid his hand onto the keyboard. Soon there would be a seventh film; soon another celebration of eternal love would join the others. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, imagining how Tom and Karen would look as they stared up with thanks from this screen, how they would endorse the strength of their love through their screams reflecting their appreciation for the opportunity he would give them. Clearing his mind, he turned to the next item, avoiding looking at the centre object, wanting to drink that in last, to savour it. He stroked the cloth roll with reverence as his heart rate steadily rose, thinking of six previous Valentine’s evenings, six previous couples bonded by love for all time, thanks to him, thanks to what he was prepared to do for them. Easing open the knot, he unrolled the cloth exposing a set of six surgical number seven scalpels. Scalpels came in two types in general, disposable and reusable. Cupid preferred reusable, the blade being exchangeable. The type Cupid liked to use was made from diamonds. Each of his couples had a new set of blades and after each joining, the handles were scrubbed and steamed to remove all traces of the previous couple that they had helped to reach immortality. Each cut, each incision that raised screams that most would think were of pain, left no lasting trace on the wonderful implements. Cupid knew the screams were a reflection of the depth of love the couple felt for each other, the louder the screams, the deeper the love. Oh, how his couples screamed and wailed. Yes, he had picked well, picked couples so in love.

  Rolling the wrap of scalpels back up, he neatly tied the knot and left the room, averting his eyes from the last object sitting in the central pool of light.

  He placed the razor sharp instruments into his brief case next to his camera, his back turned to the inner sanctum deliberately building his own anticipation.

  Closing the lid of his case, he snapped the catches closed and drew in a deep steadying breath as he turned. Re-entering the tiny room, he was now ready, now he would allow himself to have his reward. Lifting his eyes, he locked onto the object, audibly gasping at its magnificence, its sheer beauty and it was his, all his. Filled with a colourless liquid, the plastic cylinder was about thirty centimetres high and seventeen centimetres wide. The single object it contained appeared to float in the centre, but was in fact, supported by a stainless steel rod fixed to the interior base of the Perspex tube. With shaking hands, he lifted the vessel and embraced it to his chest, closed his eyes and focused on the beat of his heart against the tube. His heart that was racing as it always did, always would, when he was close to the tube.

  He allowed himself two or three minutes, then left the room, clicking the section of bookcase closed and replacing the heavy volume. It was now time to leave, time to meet Tom and Karen, and soon, very soon, it would be time for his scalpels to do their work, time to couple them, to capture for eternity their pledge, their love.

  Chapter Five

  13 February - 10:03

  (Life remaining 32 hrs 57 mins)

  ‘When he met Hanson he would wish it were the Devil instead.’

  Hanson studied the man in front of him for just a second or two before answering. The study was made through narrowed eyes, and to the uninitiated, it was almost imperceptible. However, to the people who knew Hanson well, it was significant, more than significant; it was a warning. The permanent deep furrows that ploughed through the grey pallor covering Turner’s brow, could easily attach fifty years to the detective inspector, but Hanson suspected at least ten of those years were false, merely a reflection, a penalty for the life he had chosen. Days spent dealing with the dregs and the flotsam of humanity were not a fair trade for sleepless nights dogged with doubts, for endless recriminations for under achieving, and for falling short of his own yardstick of results and convictions.

  ‘Mr. Turner, I am not going to waste too much time on this, because from what Donald Myers has briefed me on, every second wasted is a second shaved from Tom Wilson’s new life.´

  Turner frowned, ‘New life?’

  Hanson pulled back the left cuff on his coat to expose the Chase Durer 1000XL watch he had worn for many years. The watch was popular with special services operatives around the world, thanks to its multiple features and durability. Hanson set the feature on the watch for nineteen hundred hours on the 14 of February, and showed it to Turner. It was counting down from just under thirty- three hours, steadily slicing seconds from Tom’s life.

  ‘This is Tom Wilson’s new life here on my wrist. We have thirty-three hours, Mr. Turner, thirty three hours for me to find him.’ Hanson watched the detective’s features twist around a number of reactions. Doubt was in there, along with pity, pity for the man in front of him who couldn’t believe for a single second that he could come even close to doing what he himself had failed to do in six years with an entire team of detectives behind him. However, the overriding feature Hanson recognised was a weariness leaning towards fear. He could smell it on Turner, see it on the small beads forming on his brow, and detect it in the slight tick at the corner of his right eye.

  Turner swallowed as he studied the watch. In a dark corner of his mind, he was afraid that this imposing man might actually be able to succeed where he had failed. He was afraid that he could actually find Cupid, and hammer home a final nail in the coffin of accusation and incompetence waiting to welcome the detective. There was also the small matter that, he felt the man in front of him was mad, quite mad. That supposition was an accurate one, because John Hanson was mad, and Turner would come to find out what that meant to anyone who encountered him.

  Hanson leaned forward and placed both forearms onto Turner’s desk, the palms of his large hands flat on its surface, with his rock steady gaze holding Turner’s attention. ‘Mr. Turner, I possess a certain set of skills, skills that I have honed in some of the most God forsaken parts of the world, places where even in your wildest dreams, you could not imagine the horror of the conditions, or of the things that I have done to survive. It is my intention to use those skills to find my friend, along with a desire and a determination beyond anything you have ever seen.’ Hanson waited for a beat; he wanted Turner to digest, and to understand clearly. ‘Now, during the next thirty-three hours, only two types of people will exist in my life, those who want to help me, and tho
se who don’t,’ Hanson waited again. He wanted his words to sink in. ‘People who want to help me will be treated as my friend; people who do not want to help me will be treated as my enemy. For the next thirty-three hours, my world will become very black or white, simplified, and where normal procedures will be stripped away. Do we understand each other?’

  Turner could not pull his eyes away from Hanson’s penetrating gaze, a gaze where the eyelids had not passed over the diamond blue eyes once, unlike his own that refused to remain still. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded.

  Hanson’s second mobile chirped into life. He slipped it from his pocket, placed it to his ear and after less than ten seconds, simply said, ‘affirmative.’ Standing suddenly, he picked up the cardboard box. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Go, go where?’ sputtered Turner.

  ‘To my office, we will set up a command post there.’

  ‘Bu… but I can’t just walk out, I have commitments, appointments.’

  Hanson didn’t break stride as he opened the office door. ‘Not any longer. That was Donald Myers. He’s made certain arrangements, let’s move,’

  Turner continued to hesitate.

  ‘Friend or enemy inspector, make your choice?’ snapped Hanson, fixing him with a steady gaze.

  Turner, not doubting for a second that being his enemy would be a painful choice, grabbed his coat quickly from the hook on his office wall. He then jogged after Hanson, who was already half way across the outer, open plan office, where a sea of desks overflowed with multi-coloured files, keeping around fifteen detectives occupied.

  ‘You have a car?’ Hanson called out over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes it’s um… it’s at the front.’

  Hanson simply nodded. Five minutes later, the pair was heading away from Scotland Yard in Turner’s eight year old Ford Focus.

  As they drove, Hanson shut down his business mobile, then placed a Bluetooth earpiece into his left ear and linked it to his second mobile. Hitting speed dial 3, the letter “J” popped up. He got Jane at Hanson Security’s office after just two rings. ‘Jane, I need you to call Stephanie and tell her I’m on my way to collect her. I would call her myself, but I have other calls I need to make.’

  ‘Have you arranged this with her John?’ asked Jane, surprise clear in her voice. John’s visits to his sister were always very structured. Trips out were generally planned weeks in advance and logged into his diary at the office, which Jane controlled. She blushed, as she flipped the diary open, thinking she had missed it.

  In return, Hanson’s voice was clipped, veering to sharp, lifting the hairs on the nape of her neck. ‘Make the call Jane.’

  Jane had been with John for a little over two years and in that time, she had come to know her boss, John Hanson, extremely well. She knew how he liked his office organised. She knew his moods, what biscuits he liked, but most of all, she knew that tone of voice. It said many things, things like, react don´t question, do it now, not later, but what it told her more importantly, was that they were possibly about to be involved in an operation. Hanson’s next words confirmed her thoughts and sent her adrenal glands into override.

  ‘After the call, get the ops room ready.’

  ‘I’m on it, John,’ came the instant reply. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not at the moment. My ETA to you is 11.10 hours.’

  ‘Roger that,’ she slipped into the jargon simply at the thought of a new operation.

  Turner kept quiet as he followed the Sat Nav instructions logged in by Hanson at the start of their journey. Clearly, this man was starting to put together some kind of plan of action.

  Hanson hit speed dial 2, and the Letter “T” popped up. He had already tried it three times on the taxi ride to Turner’s office, but he was hoping beyond hope to hear Tom’s voice - nothing. He hit speed button 4, and “D” popped up. Three rings brought a voice he knew well. ‘John, what’s the latest?’ No preamble, no chewing the cud or jokes.

  ‘I’m en route to collect my sister and then to my office. I’ll set up my command post there.’

  ‘Listen, John, I’m due time off, could you use my help?’

  ‘Leaving your office would be a rare occasion, Donald.’

  ‘This is a rare situation. Can you use an extra head?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll leave now, and should be with you within the hour.’ The line closed.

  John took out a small black box from an inside pocket with a cable attached. On the end of the cable was a small plug that clicked into his mobile. It would scramble the call and make it impossible for anyone scanning the airways to eavesdrop on his conversation. As he punched in a number, he knew by heart, he felt Turner’s eye on him. He spoke without turning to face him, ‘you need to go deaf for the next minute or two.’

  ‘Deaf as a post, me,’ responded the Detective Inspector, ‘always have been, come from a long line of deaf as a post, hear no evil, and see no evil detectives.’

  Under normal circumstances, Hanson would only make this call in front of a small handful of people, but as he checked his watch, he could see that Tom’s life had just been reduced by a little over ten minutes. Not a lot in normal circumstances, but when your life was only thirty-three hours long, the perspective changed. Each hour was the equivalent of nearly two and a half years in an average life, each minute equal to just over two weeks and every twenty seconds, five days of Tom’s new life would have slipped away.

  Just clipping in the scrambler and punching in the number sliced away another two and a half days off of his friend’s life. Hanson closed his eyes and waited for the connection, making a silent vow that he would restore a full life to his friend Tom and Karen, his fiancée. He would not let this maniac take them. When Cupid stepped into Hanson’s world, he had without knowing it, stepped into hell. He didn´t know it yet, but he would soon. When he met Hanson, he would wish he had met the Devil instead. With the Devil, he would have a chance of a deal, but with Hanson, he had none.

  Chapter Six

  13 February - 10:15

  (Life remaining 32 hrs 45 mins)

  ‘Who’s there? Help us please.’

  ‘Tom, I… I’m so scared, please tell me we are going to get out of this, please Tom.’ Karen was close to hysteria, her breathing becoming ragged and snatched.

  ‘Karen, I know you’re frightened, but you need to focus on my voice. You need to try to stay strong.’ Tom strained to turn his head to the left to get a glimpse of his terrified fiancée, but the straps across his forehead was pulled taut, allowing no head movement. Only his eyes could move.

  ‘Who… who could have done this, Tom, who would do su… such an evil thing?’

  He needed Karen to feel his presence, so Tom squeezed his glued hand. In the last few seconds, he had come to a decision, and that decision was that he would not share with her the horrifying thought that had invaded his mind. In the last few moments, he realised who it was that had abducted them. Today had to be 13 February, the day before Valentine’s Day, one day before they would be murdered and served up for public display, butchered at the hands of the infamous serial killer known as Cupid. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to evict it. Maybe he was mistaken, or maybe it was just coincidence.

  ‘Tom, I’m cold.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart,’ soothed Tom, trying to keep the panic he felt out of his voice. ‘Try not to think about…’

  Tom’s words were cut short as the screech of complaining hinges cut through the silence like a dentist’s drill. A soft click followed and suddenly the blackness turned into a soft milky wash, as a single bulb came on behind them. It was not very bright, but it was enough to make Tom and Karen squint as there enlarged pupils sucked in the light.

  ‘Who’s there? Help us please,’ screamed Tom, twisting against the straps until they cut deeply into his ankles and wrists, the band around his throat causing him to gag.

  Frightened by Tom shouting and the footsteps coming up be
hind her, Karen screamed.

  It took a monumental effort on Tom’s part to calm himself. He knew that his ranting was fuelling Karen’s hysteria. ‘Please,’ he begged, quieter this time, ‘Tell us what’s happening. Who are you?’ Tom wanted to hear that this was a straight kidnapping, and that the person behind them was not Cupid.

  No answer, just shuffling footsteps behind them and a grotesquely enlarged shadow gliding across the wall directly in front of them like some phantom, that and… Tom couldn’t believe he was hearing it, but… it was whistling, the person behind them was whistling.

  ‘Please let us go,’ whimpered Karen, ‘Please don’t hurt us.’

  More silence, just the sound of footsteps, and whistling. Tom closed his eyes and tried to engage his professional skills. The footsteps were heavy, probably a man; a big man. He was no more than six feet behind them. He could hear the man breathing, low shallow breaths snatched between bars of a song that he couldn’t quite place. He was wheeling something. It could be a trolley.

  Adam Black brought the trolley to a stop just six feet away from the large table on which the couple was securely strapped. He knew they were secure, because he had secured them last evening before pumping them full of Diprivan, a drug used to induce anesthesia. As he always did with the couples, he had stripped their clothes from them. He didn’t mind this part, since the woman was slim and beautiful with clear flawless skin. Some six weeks before, his employer had selected them for coupling, as he called it, and told Adam to begin the preparations for their taking. He was good at this, he would follow them for weeks, walking in their shadows to get a feel for the kind of people they were, their habits, if they had regular routines, the places they liked to go to eat, where they worked. Adam was never quite sure how the selection was made and he knew that asking would not be wise. His employer was not only a large, powerfully built man, but he had a temper that could flare in a nanosecond. Add to that, what Adam had witnessed firsthand after the scalpels had done their work, and it gave weight to his decision not to ask questions.