Chapter Text
It ripped through his nervous system like shrapnel.
A vicious explosion of sensation that shredded his mind and hurled him awake. It was unrelenting. Shrieking. Howling. Whimpering. Screaming.
On and on. Wave after wave.
His throat closed; he couldn't cry out. Jesus, he was going to suffocate. Perhaps this time he really was in hell. All he could do was curl his fingers until the nails gouged bloody tracks in his palms. He pressed his head back down with eyes clenched shut as the steel teeth of the barbed wire cut deep into his neck. Squeezing tighter, tighter… ripping fragile skin… slashing across muscle and bone.
There was no point in fighting back. This he knew for certain. All he had to do was hold on to his sanity until the waves of terror passed. Just hold on. Don’t succumb to the madness. Hold on. Don’t fight back. Don’t move.
It was an eternity before the sensations abated.
Even when he felt the soft pillow beneath his head he didn’t dare move. Not yet.
Not until the world fell still and calm. There had been no screaming, not even a whimper. With the tiniest of movements he dropped his head to the side, seeking the comfort of the first light of a misty dawn creeping past the edge of curtains.
After an age he exhaled and relaxed his death-grip on the cotton sheets clenched in his fists. He pushed himself up, cautious and deliberate, disturbing the quiet space surrounding him as little as he possibly could. As if he were a ghost.
It was going to be a beautiful crisp Sunday morning. The only sounds breaking the stillness were the hum of city traffic and the last birdsong of the dawn chorus. He sat motionless on the side of the bed for long minutes and allowed reality to reclaim him from the chaos.
He knew this moment so well. After all, he’d lived through it many thousands of times and in all its variations. Sometimes it took on a new and unexpected face which caught him off guard, ambushing him as he walked through a park, or talked with a friend, or buttered some toast. But it was always there – the screams, the terror, the ripping of flesh. Just… there. Mocking him. Challenging him to out-run the inevitable.
His hand shook as he raised it to rake back unruly hair, pulling nearly-black curls out of his eyes. This annoyed him. It was over now, the terror was a lie. He had no need to be frightened of anything or anyone.
With an uncomfortable crack he straightened his back and lifted himself from the edge of the bed, stretching out lithe limbs as he did so. Turning his back to the window he was able to appreciate the scene laid out before him: white cotton sheets, more than a little crumpled; magnolia walls and cream cushions; a carelessly framed print of a bridge hanging above the bed; clothes strewn across a vaguely mucky beige carpet and over an uncomfortable-looking red leather chair. Yet another anonymous hotel bedroom in a medium-sized English city.
And of course there was someone on the bed. Her straightened blonde hair was spread across the pillows in a manner that could have been artful if not for the knots and the strands across her face. Her body stretched out over the crumpled sheets, showing off the glow of a carefully maintained tan against the sharp white linen, and one arm draped to hang over the edge of the bed.
Jennifer. For some reason it was important to him that he knew her name.
Another body in another hotel bedroom. Christ. Why was it always so easy?
Last night the pub had been loud and heaving with a press of humanity all out to have a great night come what may. Saturday night in Bristol city centre was always something of a zoo and the pub had a reputation to maintain for being the latest renovated Next Big Thing. He had sat in a corner, practically hidden behind an expanse of dark wood table, and accepted drink after drink. His friend had been in jovial mood, happy to keep returning to the bar to get in yet another shot of vodka while himself sipping at one glass of the very best red wine on offer.
“Thank goodness they've got something a little more vintage than our current year. I really don't think 2007 will prove to be a classic. But I have to say, old son, you’re a man on a mission tonight.” The older man placed the full shot glass down on the table to join the empty ones. “It won't be long before you drink this fine establishment completely dry. Not that I'd wish to interfere you understand, it's good to see you let your hair down. About time if you ask me.”
“What are your plans for the night then Herrick?” He reached for the shot glass and tossed it back. “There's plenty to choose from in here, but we can move on if you fancy something a bit more, erm, sophisticated, you know, to match your palate.” He tapped the glass down and gave his most unsubtle smirk.
A shark's smile creased Herrick's face. “Oh Mitchell! I think you underestimate these fine creatures.”
He inclined his head in the direction of a group of girls apparently out en masse. A few of them had been darting sidelong glances across for some time. It seemed they had reached the stage of being just drunk enough to laugh over which of them stood most chance of grabbing the attention of the guy hiding away in the corner with the dark curls, melting brown eyes, and a body to die for.
“Well. While you can still just about stand upright, I think it's time, don't you?” And with that Herrick set off towards his targets.
Mitchell never doubted that Herrick would succeed in reeling the girls in. They were very fresh, very pretty, and far more naïve than they realised. His combination of good humour and old-fashioned politeness was undeniably charming and - although it was an unspoken truth - he had Mitchell as bait, just to get things started. Forty minutes and a few rounds of drinks later and two of the girls were comfortably snuggled up behind the dark wood table and genuinely enjoying Herrick's company. Admittedly, one kept sneaking surreptitious looks in Mitchell's direction without seeming too impolite.
“It’s getting late, my dears. I can recommend an excellent Thai restaurant just a couple of miles away. My friend and I would be more than happy to treat you both.” Herrick was saying, moving the pieces of his puzzle into position with practised ease.
But Mitchell's attention had been wandering for some time.
The woman looked out of place sitting alone at the crowded bar with a glass of orange juice. Her dark suit and shiny black shoes shouted that she had come straight from work. Every few minutes she glanced at a phone, sighed, and gave her long blonde hair a tiny shake. Mitchell couldn't quite tell whether it was in disappointment or anger.
“John”, that was always a sign that Herrick was moving in for the kill, ‘John’ being far less memorable or potentially traceable than ‘Mitchell’. “You have your car with you, what do you say we move on to the restaurant? It's getting late and we're all feeling peckish. I'll phone ahead to reserve a table.”
“Yeah, sure. Good idea. The car's parked just down the way - first turning on the right after the lights. I tell you what, why don't you three go on ahead, I'll catch you up. I just need to…” His voice trailed off as Herrick threw him a quizzical look.
“We have a plan!” Herrick stood up, “After you, ladies.”
The girls went to gather their coats, whispering reassurances that everything was fine, that there's safety in numbers, and anyway the older guy reminded them of a schoolteacher they'd had, what with his short sandy hair and twinkly blue eyes.
“Now then, Mitchell, what's going on? You're not in one of your playing-hard-to-get moods are you?”
“Of course not.” Mitchell said, probably a little too fast for his companion's liking. “D’you see the woman over there, blonde, long legs, holding an orange juice? Gotta level with you Herrick. I'm up for more of a chase tonight. I need a challenge for once. Stretch the muscles a bit. You understand that don't you?”
The look Mitchell was sending towards his prey was unapologetically ravenous. Herrick nodded in response, though his tone was grudging. “Hmmm. And exactly which muscle are you referring to? No - don’t tell me. I must say you certainly pick your moments to abandon ship.”
Mitchell handed over the car keys. “Look, I’d prefer it if you found a spot to… y’know… other than the inside of my car. Find a lane or the docks or something,” he muttered, “but I guess I can't complain.”
“No, you most certainly can not. Anyway. Enjoy your rather attractive challenge over there. Make a night of it. Stretch your muscle. I’ll call you in the morning, there's something I need to sort out with you.” Herrick turned on his heel and instantly beamed a smile. “Let's go ahead then ladies, it will do him good to have a little jog to catch us up.”
For a moment Mitchell stared after the three of them - the girls taking an arm each, gallantly offered by the monster they trusted. They were so young. It wasn't fair. What was going to happen to them was … but he couldn't stop Herrick. Not that it could ever be his place to try, even if he wanted to. And Herrick was relishing this opportunity to add yet another story to his list of triumphs. What would happen next had been inevitable from the beginning.
His smile lingered as the pub door swung shut behind them but he felt the melancholy seep into it unbidden. Then he realised why - he didn't even know their names.
The woman observed him over the rim of her orange juice.
There was something in the smile, something in the way he watched his companions leave. It repelled her and attracted her in equal measure. After all it was part of her job to size people up quickly, to see how much she should trust what they said. This man was no different. When he had been chatting to the little brown-haired girl the easy charm had clearly been plastered on. Couldn't the girl see how closed off his body language had become? How his eyes kept sliding away from her face to stare at her body? It was predatory and reptilian and she’d wanted to walk straight over and warn the girl she was way out of her depth. But that would have been rude and patronising. And no doubt a waste of time when the predator in question was so pretty and could summon up a twinkle in his eye.
Anyway. However much she enjoyed people-watching if there was no message from Jamie this time she was leaving. She took out her phone for the thousandth time that evening just to give him one last chance… but no, there was nothing. Enough was enough. Exactly when had Jamie turned into such a bastard.
She half rose from the bar stool, her mind set on getting out of there and home as fast as she could - and almost collided with a man standing far too close for comfort.
She looked up and felt a power in his physical presence that momentarily frightened her.
“I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump, I was just getting myself a refill.” The voice was a surprise. It was soft, warm and deep. She didn’t pull away when his hand reached out to support her elbow. “I think you've been drinking too much orange juice, and I've been drinking too much vodka. It might be a good time to swap drinks.”
“Or maybe we could just do a bit of mixing.” Christ almighty! She winced, biting her lip with embarrassment. Where had that come from? The Big Book of things not to say when you're trying very hard indeed not to find a man attractive? She couldn’t mistake the flick of his eyes down to her lips, and tried to ignore the sudden tendrils of heat threading through her veins.
To her relief he burst out laughing, and the laughter changed everything. His face lit up and his whole body language relaxed. His amusement was infectious and she responded in kind.
“Surely that should have been my pick-up line.” He teased.
“Only if you were actually trying to pick me up.”
The sudden look he gave her in response was hot and inviting. There was no room for any doubt between them exactly where this was heading.
“John.” He said simply, holding out his hand.
“Jennifer.” She replied, taking it.
It could have been just a handshake, but instead he held her hand and led her to the dark wood table in the corner.
“Two vodka and oranges then?” He asked.
This was her cue to decline, to make her excuses and to leave. She would go back to the lovely, cold flat she shared with Jamie and sit in front of the TV wondering why her husband had left her in all but name.
“Yes please.” She said.
Jennifer wasn't sure what they'd talked about. The usual, probably. How do you find Bristol… the weather's getting colder… I love the autumn… where in Ireland do you come from.… It was irrelevant really. His manner was easy and open. He was understated and funny. He made her laugh. He was gentle. He listened. And she felt like she was drowning in him.
“Can I see you home?” He asked as closing time was called.
“No.” She said starkly. “I don't want to go home, not anymore. At least not yet.”
They were both adults. She wasn’t a girl out with friends, hoping for a little flirtation and perhaps finding a nice boyfriend along the way, but then getting in too deep. She was a grown-up and - fuck it - no-one had the right to tell her no. Least of all Jamie. The bastard. So why shouldn't she. Just once. Just this time with a man who had defied her easy categorisation.
He nodded. “Would you like to come with me instead?”
She said nothing, but picked up her coat and handbag and held out her hand.
The last of the morning birdsong died away as Mitchell looked down on the bed where she lay. She really was lovely. It was in her eyes, her smile. Jennifer, that was her name.
Shit, he thought. She had been interesting. Angry. And so sad. It had been too easy after all.
Their first kiss had come long after their hands had stripped away the layers of clothes and touched skin. Her touch had been tentative and unsure at the start as he waited for her to discover his skin, stretching fingertips across muscles and carding softly through the hair of his chest. He’d sighed as her mouth traced over the tattoos on his shoulders, tongue chasing the shapes as her lips curled in a smile. He concentrated on the path of her tongue as it mapped his body, following dips and peaks and the outline of muscles. If he concentrated on her touch, maybe, just maybe, he could keep the monster at bay for a little longer. Her touch became surer when his breathing grew ragged and his body responded deliciously to the strokes of her fingers and the heat of her mouth as she drew in his cock. Frantically pushing the demon aside he let his need reach out to her as they cleaved to each other - both seeking out and soothing the wounds in the other, the hurt that ached for solace.
She had no idea of the iron will he summoned as his own tongue moved across her neck in slow circles, how he drank in the heat when he pressed his mouth against the pulse fluttering erratically as he buried himself deep in her warmth. And later she had first gasped and then cried out, clutching at his soft dark curls with her hands as his mouth finally nestled at the top of her inner thigh and his teeth grazed at her femoral pulse, teasing her and tormenting himself.
After, she had lain against him, kissing his neck, her tongue lapping at him, unconsciously searching out the same warmth, the same life force. Hadn't she noticed it wasn't there? Hadn't she noticed the chill beneath the skin?
Then he had slept deeply for the first time in weeks.
Until the dawn.
Mitchell reached over to the pointless red chair and started to pull on his clothes, standing to zip up his jeans.
“Must you?” A voice whispered. “Must you go so soon? It’s lovely and warm here.” She stretched out a welcoming hand.
His mind assessed the options with clinical precision. He could be gentle, kiss her, stroke her hair, maybe share a false phone number. He could let her down gently and leave her with her dignity. That would be nice. But oh-so risky. Or he could be brutal - just the end of a one-night-stand, a satisfactory fuck, and leave her crushed. And of course he could kill her, and obviously that's the option he should choose. He realised he was licking his lips.
“Yeah, gotta go. Unless you want to come over here and suck me off again. I’ve got a bit of time and you’re good.” He waited for her gasp. “OK. No worries. But thanks.” His words abrupt as he turned his back to her. “I mean it. Thanks for last night. You're a great lay, darlin', your man should definitely be paying more attention to you. Maybe I should tell him that, pass on a bit of advice. Anyway. I need a piss.”
Mitchell strode into the tiny bathroom before he had to see the look on her face, then leant back against the door as it banged shut behind him. The thundering call of her heartbeat in his ears started to fade, but the gnawing need remained. Feed. It can’t be helped. There’s no escape. You can’t out-run this forever. Feed, damn you.
She was dressed by the time he’d calmed enough to step back into the bedroom. Her black suit jacket was crumpled, though her chin was held high and her hands gripped each other so hard he could see the whites of her knuckles.
“It's not like I know what to say in this kind of situation.” She said before he could start again. “So I'll just say goodbye, John.”
She stood completely still, watching his face. He could see the hope fade as she accepted that she had not misunderstood his words; that he was not going to smile and draw her close again.
“No problem, darlin’. I’ve paid for the room already so don't worry about that.” He forced out a dismissive shrug. She gulped as if in pain, nodded and walked to the door.
“Right. ‘Bye darlin’.” He turned the knife. “Thanks again. It was good. Oh, by the way, you’ve got my name wrong. I’m not John.”
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she brushed past. Her hand rested on the door handle for a moment.
“What the hell kind of man are you?”
Then the door slammed.
Mitchell threw himself backwards onto the bed, an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the sunshine forcing its way into the room. Too easy to crush - but at least she'd never want to find him or speak to him or anyone he knew ever again. He pushed away the shame. What else could he do? It was the final kindness he could offer her.
His breathing was painful, but he pretended not to notice. Fuck. Not killing her - that was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.
He didn't know how long he'd lain there when his phone rang and he dragged it to his ear.
“Good morning.” A horribly cheerful voice filtered down the line. “So where are you and where should I send the clean-up squad?”
“It's fine, there's no need.” Mitchell cut off the questioning as quickly as possible. “I didn't get as far as her place or mine, and the river flows surprisingly fast at this time of year.”
“Ahh, I see.” Mitchell could hear Herrick's purr of satisfaction even down the phone. “So, how did you enjoy your challenge? Clearly you succeeded if we're talking about you littering the river Avon with the result.”
“Honestly? It was harder than I thought, but I just about made it. You?”
“Well let's just say your car won't be ready until later this afternoon. The valet service is working overtime as we speak. Sorry about that. Still, you can have it back at 4 o'clock, fresh as a daisy. Come to my house and collect it there, I need to speak to you about something. It's important.”
Meet at Herrick's house - that wasn't normal.
“What's it about?” Mitchell asked, struggling to keep the alarm out of his voice. “Something to do with me?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Herrick clearly wasn't going to give anything away over the phone. “It’s time you had some gainful employment so I have a job for you, soldier.”