Authors: Luca Veste
You have seen them be normal.
You watched a man burn to death. Heard his screams, the pain and agony of his suffering. You saw the realisation cross his face when he understood what was going to happen to him. Heard him
pleading and begging for his life.
He said your name, hoping that would help. It didn’t. It only made things worse.
You wonder if you will ever forget the images which crawl through your mind. You remember Sam Byrne as you choked the life out of him. His eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe. You remember
Matthew Williams and the sound of his head being pulverised by the hammer. You remember Paul Wright, desperately trying to loosen the noose around his neck. His eyes bulging, his face turning an
inhuman colour. You remember the face of Chris Roberts as he fell into the darkness.
You think you will remember Neil Letherby most of all. The glow of the fire, the heat as it rose to full flame. At one point, as he burned in front of you, you could only see hell there.
You wonder if that’s where you’re going.
The heat from the fire returns as a memory. You had wanted to turn away, but you couldn’t stop watching as the man stopped screaming and the noise of the burning took over. You had to
watch as the man’s skin blackened, his clothes disintegrated.
You enjoyed watching him suffer. You wanted him to.
Now, it’s the end. When you discovered that James Morley would be going back to where it all began, it felt apt, somehow. It begins and ends in the same place. There is a poetry to that
fact. A perfect circle being formed.
Soon, you will have finished your work. Soon, you will have what you need.
It is time.
It is time.
Now.
Rossi read the news update on her phone and swore at the screen in her hand. She clicked off it and tried ringing her brother again. When the voicemail kicked in, she thought
about leaving another message, but decided the other fifteen she’d left probably made the point.
She lit another cigarette, chucking the lighter back onto the coffee table. Images of the latest crime scene appeared on the muted television screen. Rossi imagined reporters scrambling to the
newest place of interest within the city.
‘Do you have to smoke in here?’ Darren said, popping his head round the living-room door. Rossi looked up at him, giving him a quick glance before turning back to the television. He
was dressed for work, but seemed to be hanging around, waiting to leave.
‘I can smoke where I like,’ Rossi said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘If you don’t like it, open a window.’
‘It’s not that. I just don’t think it’s that healthy for you. You’ve done so well over the last year.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m having a little slip. I think it’s fine in the circumstances, don’t you?’
Rossi ignored the heavy sigh which came from Darren at the doorway.
‘I need to get to work,’ he said after a long period of silence. ‘Are you going to be OK?’
‘I don’t need you,’ Rossi said, hearing the words after she’d spoken them, realising the harshness of them. ‘I mean, I’m fine.’
‘I know what you meant,’ Darren said, the hurt apparent in his voice. Rossi felt the need to qualify her statement further, but ignored it.
‘Just leave, Darren,’ she said, taking another drag from her cigarette, watching the smoke settle in the air above her. ‘I’ll be OK.’
‘You can’t keep shutting me out, you know? We’re supposed to be a partnership. Whatever you’re going through, I should be going through it with you. That’s what
I’m here for.’
‘Just go,’ Rossi said, shaking her head as Darren’s words made her teeth clench. ‘I don’t need you trying to sort out my problems for me. I’m more than
capable of fixing things myself.’
Another heavy sigh from the doorway. She could feel her patience wearing thin, as if it were a tangible thing.
‘I’m going then,’ Darren said, taking a step further into the room, before stopping and looking towards her. She could feel his eyes on her, but didn’t turn in his
direction. ‘Speak later?’
‘Have I got any choice?’
She heard the front door close a little harder than usual. Things between the pair had turned frostier as the week had progressed. Rossi had the feeling he’d been gearing up to chat about
starting a family for a while and hadn’t particularly liked her response. What he didn’t know, was that he had instead picked the worst time to bring it up.
She turned the volume up on the television and banished Darren from her thoughts.
It was only by stepping back, having nothing else to do, that she began to realise just how much interest there was in this case. She had lived within a bubble for much of the week – not
knowing that Sam Byrne’s death had resonated so strongly with the wider public. The media frenzy had plainly been compounded by the other deaths that week, of which this new one was the
third, but the fact that the prime minister had come out and spoken about the murder of a prospective Tory MP meant that the case was front-page news.
Rossi wondered if the PM would be so keen to comment once the full details of Sam Byrne’s private life were revealed. It wouldn’t be long, she thought. There was nothing like a bit
of juicy gossip to keep the newspapers happy. She had already checked social media to see if anyone was making any noise, but it seemed that it was being kept quiet for now.
It wouldn’t last.
She thought about Murphy, what he would be doing out in those woods now. Who would be with him and whether or not he was missing her being by his side. This would be the first time he had been
out in the field without her for years. They had been with each other for so long now, she wondered if it would be weird for him.
Rossi lifted her phone again, finger hovering over the dial option, and pressed it once more. Each time, she willed the phone to ring, but instead it was the same voice again.
Welcome to the O2 messaging service . . .
She lifted the remote from the side of the sofa and turned up the volume even more, listening as the reporter on screen spoke about the newly discovered crime scene. The words didn’t
permeate her thoughts, however, as she tucked her legs beneath her and flicked ash onto the saucer she had turned into an ashtray.
What have you done?
She had been in awe of her older brothers, as they moved in and out of her young life. They seemed to exist on a different planet to her – each one bigger and more distant than the
last.
Except for Vincenzo. He was closest in age to her, only a few years between them. She still looked up to him, but they at least had some things in common, which was more than she had with her
older brothers. He would make time for her, in ways the others wouldn’t when she was younger. Most of the time, they just complained that she had her own room and they all had to share.
She had driven around aimlessly the night before, hoping to find him. After she’d visited his home and got no reply, she’d dropped in on her parents – who hadn’t seen him
in a long time. She didn’t know enough about him to be able to call at places he may have spent any spare time so she had taken to the roads, just hoping to find him by chance. There was a
disconnect in their lives, which she’d allowed to grow over the previous few years. They all had their own things going on. That’s just the way it was.
She sat forwards on the sofa, putting her cigarette out and pulling her boots back on. There was no use sitting around doing nothing but calling his number over and over, hoping for a different
result. She had been out to his workplace that morning, but he wasn’t there. She knew Murphy would be trying to track him down by now as well.
She wanted to get to him before he ended up in a cell.
Rossi grabbed her car keys from the coffee table and pulled her jacket on in the hallway. She ignored the mirror hanging on the wall close by, and turned towards the door.
There was someone there. A figure was standing outside her front door, making no movement. The frosted glass made it impossible to make out who was there, but the outline was enough.
She made her way towards the door, grabbing the baton she kept nearby and moving it into reach.
‘Who’s there?’
No answer. She wondered if her voice had carried through the PVC door. The shape of the man didn’t seem familiar but it was hard to tell.
There was silence, then she jumped back as the figure raised a hand and banged on the door.
‘Let me in,’ a deep voice said from the outside. ‘Now.’
She was still for a moment, then grabbed for the handle and pulled the door towards her.
‘Fuck’s sake, sis. Can you let me in?’
Rossi stood for a second, still holding onto the door, turning slightly as Vincenzo slipped past her and into the hallway.
‘Are you going to close that? Only I don’t really want people seeing me coming in. I had to wait until your other half left before knocking.’
Rossi shook her head and closed the door. She turned and faced her brother. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Do you want to put that down for a start?’ Vincenzo said, giving her a smile as if this was a normal meeting between them. ‘I don’t fancy feeling that being wrapped
around my head.’
Rossi looked down and realised she was still holding onto the telescopic baton she kept near the front door. She dropped it to the floor, then bent down to pick it up and place it back in the
vase where it usually lived.
‘What are you doing here?’
Vincenzo turned his back on her rather than reply and made his way into the living room. She followed him, standing near the doorway and folding her arms, watching him as he sat down on the
sofa.
‘Looks like I might be in a bit of trouble,’ Vincenzo said, leaning forwards and clasping his hands together. ‘I didn’t know where else to go.’
‘What’s happened, Cenzo?’ Rossi said, still standing in the open doorway. ‘Tell me what’s been going on.’
‘Is the kettle on?’
‘It can wait. First, you tell me what you’ve done. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.’
Vincenzo sighed, then moved his hands to the top of his head, smoothing down his thick, dark hair. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ Rossi replied, unfolding her arms and moving into the room. She perched on the arm of the sofa opposite to Vincenzo. ‘Tell me one thing before we
start . . . have you got anything to do with what’s happened this past week?’
There was silence as Vincenzo looked towards the ceiling, hands interlocked behind his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally, dropping his head down and looking across at
Rossi.
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘Exactly that,’ Vincenzo said, hands dropping to his knees as he leaned back into the sofa. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’
‘Look, I’m not saying I’ve been going around killing people. I hope you know me better than to think that.’
‘Of course,’ Rossi said, hoping her voice held more conviction than she felt. ‘I don’t understand how you’re mixed up in any of this, though.’
‘To tell you the truth, neither do I.’
‘Then start talking. Because I need to know exactly how far this goes.’
Vincenzo looked up towards the ceiling again. Rossi could see the effect of the previous few days on his face now. Lines creased his face, dark rings showed under puffed-up eyes. Every movement
he made seemed to take more effort than it should have done.
‘What have you done?’
‘I was much older than most of the people at university. I was treated like a stranger there, as someone that wasn’t like them. There were other mature students, but it was
difficult, you know. I got talking to one guy in the first week, in the library. Sam Byrne.’
‘Mannagia . . .’
‘He seemed all right. Bit more grown up than the rest of the kids I’d met before then. We had a very interesting conversation, about history, politics, that sort of thing. Disagreed
on some things, but we got on, you know? We ended up going to the pub from there and carrying on for a few more hours. He was bright, intelligent, but seemed to have something more about him than
the other students. It’s why he’s done so well. There was always a point to everything he did. Very goal-orientated, as they say.’
Rossi kept her mouth closed as she waited for Vincenzo to speak again.
‘He had this idea for a club,’ Vincenzo said, bringing her attention back to him. ‘He wanted to do something different. He wanted to bring a bit of class and decorum to the
place, he said, but I knew there was more than just that going on. He wanted me to help him, but it didn’t work out.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was about money,’ Vincenzo replied, giving her a quick glance and wry smile. ‘The people who joined, they were all similar to Sam. They all came from money, but another
thing they had in common was that they felt they shouldn’t have been there. Not at a university in Liverpool – no matter that’s it’s a prestigious red-brick university They
thought they deserved to be somewhere different. That’s where it started. You know that thing about starting out with resentment in mind?’
‘Never works out well . . .’
‘Exactly. They were all angry from the start and that anger bled into the club. I didn’t want any part of it. I think Sam thought I’d add some kind of respectability to the
group, being older and more mature, but I don’t know really. He had his own reasons, I’m sure. Anyway, once I’d listened to some of the things they had in mind, I knew it probably
wasn’t for me. I wasn’t about to spend a few grand on a suit for a kick-off.’
‘What does that club have to do with what’s happened now, Cenzo?’ Rossi said, dropping onto the sofa.
‘It grew, unbelievably to me. I thought it would just be those eight lads, getting together and drinking real ale like they were in their fifties or something. I don’t know how they
did it, but it became something. I would speak to Sam and a few of the others every now and again, but I still wanted no part of it. Anyway, it became something, that club. They would throw
parties, which would be legendary. They had something about them. It was attractive to both men and women, even though it was a “boy’s” club. No women members at all. And it
wasn’t just parties. There was accusations flying around all the time. That they would cheat on exams, hire people to write their essays. Then, there was the stuff they got up to at those
parties. Dozens of women, all wondering what the hell they got themselves into. Dropped and discarded after they’d had their fun. Shamed.’