Out For Blood 3

Before he had left the house he came to a clear-cut decision, if the tests were to go awry he would rather it be on someone else. Problem now was to find a willing volunteer, he put on a long dark coat and put a small bottle of chloroform and a white rag in one of the pockets, just in case his volunteer didn’t want to volunteer that enthusiastically.

He set off walking down Pennsylvania Avenue and entered a bar he hadn’t frequented before; putting on an Irish accent he ordered a glass of beer. The barman was a short fat Italian looking gent who was bald apart from the back of his head which had short black hair going from the back of one ear to the back of the other, and he had a bushy black moustache that was so long his bottom lip was obscured by it.

The bar was not a large place, probably holding no more than thirty people when full. Martins was sat on a stool at the short end of the bar as it turned into the wall. His left elbow was resting on the bar and he faced the door he’d entered through. There were two other people sat on barstools, and a third person stood around the opposite bend in the bar.

The first of the candidates for the tests was an elderly gent who was drinking a dark brown liquid from a short glass; he was wearing a grey flat cap and a brown tweed jacket. He had an off white button-down shirt and a red bow-tie with black spots, he looked to be in his sixties, with about five days worth of grey stubble covering most of his life-beaten face, (too old).

Candidate number two was another man; he was no older than forty, with black unkempt hair covering his ears. He too was unshaven but only by a day at the most; his features looked chiselled and hard-worn, his facial bones protruding almost beyond the skin and sinking his eyes into his skull. He also wore an off white button-down shirt but with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His collar was unfastened and like Martins he was also drinking a beer, (could be a handful if matters got out of hand).

Candidate number three, female, around thirty-years of age, she had a pale skin tone with long dark red hair, thick red lipstick and overly done eye make-up. She wore a short May West type jacket over a light blue and white patterned dress with a ruffled collar; she wasn’t drinking, although an empty glass sat before her. She was however watching candidate number two very closely; she was a working girl, she was a whore, (she was a possibility).

What she wasn’t however was the best of subjects, but she was certainly the best of this sorry looking bunch. Martins didn’t see it when candidate number two looked back at the woman and with a sharp sideways movement of his sunken eyes pointed Martins out to her. He was her pimp.

Martins put his glass down on the bar with a purposeful thud, it did the trick he thought, she looked over at him and gave him a shallow smile, Martins realised she would be easy to entice out of the bar and so he smiled back at her. She immediately picked up the empty glass and sauntered over to where he was sat. She pulled up a barstool and sat facing him, her legs splitting his just past the knee.

‘Hi, I’m Lucy. What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘John, John O’Connor, ’ he lied. ‘Can I get you a drink Lucy?’
She pushed her glass slightly in his direction. ‘A glass of Rum would be nice, chase away the chilly night air!’
‘A glass of Rum it is then. Barman,’ he shouted. ‘Another beer and a glass of Rum for my new friend Lucy if you don’t mind.’
Martins pulled a golden money clip from the inside pocket of his coat and stripped out a Ten-dollar bill. This went unmissed by Lucy just as Martins had hoped it would. It also went unmissed by candidate number two, who finished his beer and then left the bar.

‘So Lucy, do you come from around here?’ he wanted to get some background on her to see how much she would be missed.
‘About five miles from here, Kato Park do you know it?’
‘No,’ he lied again. ‘I’ve only been here just over two month’s m’self. I’m from over the water as they say.’
‘I thought your accent sounded strange, is it Scottish? Are you from Scotland?’
‘Fucking philistine.’ he thought. ‘No, no no.’ he laughed. ‘I’m from the emerald isle.’
Lucy narrowed her eyes. ‘The where?’
‘How fucking ignorant can this whore be?’ ‘I’m Irish, from Ireland, y’know… near England?’

‘There ya go sir.’ said the barman. ‘That’ll be—.’
Martins pushed the Ten into his hand and told him to keep the change.
‘Well thank you sir, if there’s anything else I can—.’
‘No thank you, that’ll be all.’ said Martins interrupting the barman.

Lucy dipped her right forefinger into her drink, and while Martins watched she held out her tongue and placed the finger on top of it, enveloping her red lips over it she slowly withdrew the finger making a kissing sound as the tip left her lips. ‘Mmm, I like Irish men!’ she said, then ran her tongue across the front of her teeth.

‘You wouldn’t know an Irishman if he strangled the fuck out of you with St Patrick’s fucking flag!’ he wanted to say. ‘Well, it must be my lucky day!’ he actually said.

Martins half finished his drink and stood. ‘Shall we go somewhere a little more… how shall I say, cosy?’

Lucy knocked back her Rum and wiping a drip from the side of her mouth with the back of her hand stood also. ‘Well I know a nice cosy little place not far from here,’ she said reaching out and rubbing his groin. ‘But if we’re gonna have a party we need some more Rum.’ she added.

Martins turned to the bar. ‘Barman, sell me the rest of that bottle.’ he said pointing at it.
The barman picked up the bottle and before saying anything he felt its weight. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘You can have that on the house. And please, do come back again.’

Martins picked up the bottle then realised it was only a quarter full. ‘Well now, that’s awfully kind of you.’ he said.
They left the bar with Lucy leading the way; she turned left out of the door and linked Martins’ right arm. Fortunately it was in the direction of his house so he carried on playing the game.

‘So Lucy, do you live alone over in… Where was it now? Ah yes, Kato Park.’
‘No, my friend and I share the place, but you don’t want to go there it’s rather a long way to go.’ she stopped and swung herself round to face him. ‘So why don’t we stay in a little hotel I know, just around the corner?’ she said, softly stroking his lips with her finger.

‘Now doesn’t that sound fine and dandy.’ he said, and they carried on walking.
‘This is a short cut I know!’ said Lucy pulling him into an alley.
After about ten yards Martins felt an intense pain on the back of his head and fell to the floor smashing the bottle in his hand. He was semi-conscious and could feel someone pulling at his coat.
‘The inside pocket, check the inside pocket.’ he heard a womans voice say.
Martins felt something wet on his face, he thought it was blood, but it didn’t smell like blood, it smelt more like Rum. He brought his hand up and felt the broken bottle-neck beside his face, picking it up he opened his eyes to see candidate number two searching through his coat and Lucy stood close by telling him to hurry.

He plunged the sharp jagged broken bottle into the mans neck, who then fell to the floor screaming in pain. Lucy came to his aide pushing her hands on the wound but the flow of blood was unstoppable.

Martins though unsteady, rose to his feet; Lucy was trying to help number two and didn’t notice him getting up. He leant against a wall to aid his balance and pulled the small bottle of chloroform and the rag from his pocket and unscrewed the cap, and then he poured the chloroform over the rag. Recapping and putting the bottle back into his pocket he stood over Lucy who was kneeling beside number two.

Grabbing her around the neck with his left arm he pulled her up putting the rag over her nose and mouth and holding it there until she was still. Number two had also stopped moving, permanently. Martins felt the back of his head, a huge lump had risen and he could feel blood running down the centre of his back.

He picked up Lucy and putting her on his shoulder he proceeded to carry her to his house. It was only a few hundred yards, so it should take no longer than five minutes, fifteen minutes later he arrived at the back of his house. Carrying someone after being severely struck on the head was not recommended. He laid her on the overgrown weeds and unlocked the two steel doors that lead down into his basement.

He picked her up again, and grunting and moaning he got her inside and lay her on a gurney. He buckled her down with leather straps and then after locking the doors from the outside he went around to the front and into the house to tend to his head injury.

He took off his coat and threw it into the fireplace due to it stinking of Rum, plus the fact number twos’ blood had gotten on the sleeves where Lucy had tried to free herself. Martins set fire to his coat then went to look in the mirror; he twisted his head in order to see the lump but it was too far back. He went back into the basement to Lucy who was still unconscious on the gurney; taking a length of cord and a clean white rag from upon a shelf he stuffed the rag into her mouth and secured it with the cord.

‘You will keep until tomorrow.’ he said.
After cleaning himself and his wound he returned upstairs and retired for the night.

The following day Martins woke with a tremendous headache, he felt the lump on the back of his head and it was just as big as it was the night before, if not bigger. He dressed in dark grey tweed trousers, a white button-down shirt and a dark grey waist-coat.

After going into the bathroom to wash and shave he went down to cook himself a large breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage and fresh fried tomatoes with a plate of pancakes smothered in maple syrup. ‘That fucking bitch in the basement can wait.’ he thought. He cooked his breakfast and sat on his back porch in the early morning sunshine to eat it, and had a cold glass of iced tea to wash it down with.

When Martins had finished and cleaned up he then went into his basement to see how his guest was doing. When he reached the locked door he put his ear to it but heard nothing. He thought this strange as he had expected to hear muffled screams coming from the woman. He opened the door and descended the few stone steps into the basement; she turned to face him, and that’s when the muffled screams came.

He picked up a wooden chair from the kneehole in his desk and placed it beside the gurney then sat there in silence. Lucy was ferociously trying to kick her legs but the straps holding her down were too strong. She struggled and forced out muffled screams until her throat was sore, and Martins still sat there in silence.

After about five minutes Lucy had worn herself out, she was sweating profusely and panting heavily. Her shoes had fallen off during her tantrum and Martins picked them up and threw them into the fireplace.
‘Have you settled down now?’ he asked sitting back in his chair.
Lucy nodded, her eyes betraying the fear that lay behind them.

Martins had built himself a small cell in his basement, only two sides of it were steel bars, the other two being the brickwork in the corner of the foundations. The cell was eight-feet high and six-feet square with a single locking door. There was nothing in there for her to sit on, and only a thin white sheet lay on the cold floor.

Martins pointed to the cell. ‘That is where you will spend you foreseeable future; if you give me any kind of trouble you will be severely punished. Do you understand?’
Lucy looked at the small cell then looked away focusing on Martins again, and again she nodded.

‘Okay, I’m now going to remove the gag from your mouth; do not ask me any questions, that is not why you’re here. If there is something I need to know, I will ask you, and you will answer. That means you will only speak when you are spoken to. If you scream or shout out no one will hear you. However, should you choose to do so, then you will leave me no alternative but to do more of this.’ he took hold of the little finger on her right and bent it back so it pressed against the back of her hand.

Lucy screamed again, but this time in agony, tears were rolling down her cheek onto the leather of the gurney. It took two full minutes before she stopped making a noise, now she just sobbed.
Martins untied the gag and removed the rag from inside Lucys’ mouth. ‘Now, do you fully understand that I mean what I say?’
Lucy nodded.

Martins unbuckled the straps on her legs and across her body, and also the leather cuffs around her wrists. As he sat her up she cradled her broken finger in her left hand; he helped her from the gurney and holding her left elbow he walked her into the cell, closing and locking the door behind her.

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Martins.
She was leaning in the stone corner of the cell, shook her head but never raised it.
‘Then are you thirsty?’
She nodded, still looking at the floor.
‘Then I shall get you some water.’ he went over to the sink and filled a glass and passed it to her through the bars.

Then from his desk drawer he took his journal and produced a pencil from the top pocket of his waist-coat then sat back in the chair and leant on the gurney. ‘I’m going to ask you some questions, I would prefer it if you answered them truthfully, is that understood?’
Lucy again only nodded.

‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘What is your height?’
‘Five-seven, five-eight.’
He looked at her. ‘Five-six.’ he decided.
‘What do you weigh?’
Lucy narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not really sure; it’s been a long time since I saw a doctor.’
Martins sighed. ‘Please take off all your clothes.’ he knew she would not have a problem with this; she has probably been doing it for fifteen-years or more.

She hesitated, but eventually she took off the May West and put her hands around her back and tried to undo the clasps that held her dress together, but couldn’t. ‘My hand is sore,’ she said. ‘I can’t manage to—.’
Martins threw down his journal making her jump and went over to the cell. ‘Turn around.’ he ordered.
Lucy slowly turned and Martins reached through the bars and unfastened the clasps then her dress fell to the floor.

‘Can you do the rest for yourself?’
Lucy let out a dutiful ‘Yes.’ and nodded.
When she was naked he told her to turn around which she did. She held her arms over her breasts and stood cross-legged. ‘Please lower your arms and stand with your legs apart.’
She did so; Martins looked her up and down and decided she weighed somewhere in the region of 140 lbs.

He got up from his seat and went over to a tall cupboard in a corner of the basement. When he returned he was carrying a set of white overalls. ‘Here, put these on.’ he said passing them through the bars. ‘They have a zipper; you should be able to use that just fine!’ he said. ‘And pass me those clothes.’

Lucy passed her clothes through the bars and Martins put them straight into the small fireplace on the dividing wall and set fire to them, and her shoes. Lucy struggled but she eventually managed to put on the overalls and fasten the zipper. After writing a few more notes in his journal Martins left the basement reminding Lucy that making any noise would be detrimental to her health. Lucy would heed his warning and stay silent.

Martins locked up the basement and left the house, it was close to midday and he had an errand to run. In two days he had a sermon to deliver to his flock, he wanted to be sure he had positive results from his tests with the woman, and then he could move onto the next stage of his plan.

After being away for two hours Martins returned along with another man and they were both carrying a large parcel each. They reached his front door where he told the man to leave the parcel on the front porch and he would carry them both into the house. He paid the man for his assistance and watched him leave before opening the door and ferrying the parcels inside.

Once inside the house he took both of the parcels into the basement, Lucy was curled up on the white sheet in the corner of the cell, she was asleep. Martins placed the first parcel slowly onto the floor, not because he didn’t want to wake her but because it was a precision instrument. He did the same with the second parcel. Then he returned upstairs and went into his kitchen, he made a plate of cheese and ham sandwiches and filled a glass with milk, then he woke her.

He passed her the plate of sandwiches through an eight-inch slot in the door and passed the glass of milk through the bars, Lucy took them and devoured the sandwiches in around a minute.
‘Don’t rush your food, if you get indigestion my test results may suffer.’
Lucy paled over. ‘What test results?’ she said.
‘You have just broken two of my rules; this will be the one and the only time I will allow that to happen.’

It wasn’t indigestion Lucy was feeling, it was nausea. Tests? What fucking tests? She was sat on the floor and raised her hand as though in a classroom. Martins was unwrapping his parcels when he looked up and pointed at her. ‘No fucking questions.’ he said.
‘I need to use the bathroom.’ said Lucy slightly rocking to and fro.
Martins went to a bench and took a silver weighing tray from a set of scales and passed it through the slot in the bars. ‘When you’re done pass it back to me.’ he said.

Lucy looked at Martins incredulously, then she took the silver tray and placing it on the floor she unzipped her overalls and squatted over it. When she had done she pulled the overalls back up and fastened them, then Martins took the tray from her and placed it on the scales, he made some more notes in his journal then emptied the tray into the sink and passed it back to her.

He then finished the unwrapping and assembled the apparatus; he opened the cell door and instructed Lucy to remove the overalls which she did. He took her from the cell and stood her on a small platform, after moving one or two sliding weights he wrote once again in his journal. “143lbs 4 oz.”
‘Now I want you to lie face down on the gurney.’ he said.
‘What are you—.’
Martins struck Lucy with the back of his right hand which sent her into the bench behind. ‘Do it now!’ he demanded loudly.

Lucy got onto the gurney with her head turned to the left, Martins instructed her to put her forehead flat onto it. He then reached underneath and pulled a leather strap from either side and buckled them at the back of her head holding it still. Lucy had started to cry, her sobs were moving her head very slightly and Martins told her to stop crying, she needed to be still whilst he injected her.

Before long she had composed herself enough for Martins to continue. He opened a small refrigerating unit on the bench and took out a shallow silver tray. On the tray were three readily prepared syringes, each of them half filled with a milky pink liquid. He took one from the tray and holding it up he pushed out any air that might be inside it, although he had already done that when he first filled them in his surgery a week earlier.

He turned to Lucy and brushed aside her dark red hair then felt for the correct spot just below the base of her skull, and then he pushed in the needle. Lucy let out a quiet whimper as she felt the point of the needle pierce her skin. Martins then pushed down on the plunger with his thumb until it could go no further. He withdrew the needle and a small speck of blood oozed from the point of entry. Then he disposed of it in a small tin container.

He instructed Lucy to lie still for a minute and then looked at his watch, it was 6pm. He reached for his journal and once again entered the details of his actions.
He then unfastened the buckle and removed the straps. ‘Put these back on and return to your cell.’ he said passing her the overalls. Once she was inside the cell he locked it and then sat on the chair by the gurney, he then began to question her.
‘Tell me, how do you feel now?’
‘Scared.’ she replied.
‘Physically, not emotionally.’ he shouted standing from his seat.
‘I feel like I wanna throw-up!’ she screamed back at him.
‘If you do vomit make sure you catch it all in that tray. What else do you feel?’
Lucy looked up at Martins, he noticed a swelling around her right eye and a small cut just below it. ‘Tired.’ she said wearily.

Martins wrote these notes in his journal. ‘If you are tired then you must sleep, it is now just after six.’ he said looking at his pocket watch once more. ‘I will be back at mid-night to check on you.’ that was all he said, he put the chair back into the kneehole of his desk and then he left the basement.