From Nemesis Island Read online

‘What, you mean see if it’s a cover for something?’

  ‘Why not? It would stop you from getting bored and you never know, you might turn something up.’

  ‘Oh come on. That’s a bit cloak and dagger isn’t it?’

  ‘Just trying to help.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I can do investigative journalism but I’m not bloody Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘Up to you mate.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Richard.

  ‘By the way did you have a good weekend with Trish?’

  ‘Long story. Bit of a row when she came here. All went a bit arse over tit at the end. Seems I get it well wrong when it comes to her. Don’t quite know where I stand now. Being stuck here so long is not going to help either.’

  ‘Life, mate. Sometimes it sucks.’ There was a pause.

  ‘You ok, Doug?’ Richard felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t just whinge on about himself.

  ‘Twiddling my thumbs productively you could say.’

  ‘Sub- editing not up your street?’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘Sorry mate.’

  ‘No probs. May look elsewhere soon. Might go back to Oz. Miss the weather. Let’s have a good night out soon.’

  ‘Just as soon as I get back.’ Richard had missed too many boys’ nights out already.

  ‘Well…. Be in touch soon then.’

  He hung up. Richard stared blankly at the silent phone. He needed a drink. He headed for the harbour café and ordered a beer. Not a good aperitif before Sunday lunch but it was, at least, one thing he could still appreciate. People were filing out of the church and he watched this thread of humanity bunch into groups and then fan out like a kaleidoscope as they moved towards their homes. The show took a while to conclude and distracted Richard until he was left with only the sun on his face to accompany his thoughts. A solitary figure came out of the church. Smartly dressed in a dark suit, and Richard noticed the red tie that looked like a streak of blood against his white shirt, incongruous for a local worshipper. He watched the young man as he approached the boat moorings. His steps had purpose. He boarded a large sleek motor cruiser, also incongruous against the other boats in the small fishing harbour, and steered out to sea. Richard marked him out as having a pot of money. The boat headed out towards the island. What had Don said – ‘under less of an obligation?’ Was that some sort of clue. He thought about Dougie’s idea. Perhaps he should keep an eye out.

  It was early for lunch but Richard had no motive for moving and so decided to order; cold meats, bread and more beer – good quality and plenty of it. It would have been only a first course for the families who were now beginning to fill the restaurant inside. Richard began eating, enjoying at first the simple quality of the food. Around him people were gathering for the second Sunday ritual. Children scampered in and out of the café unrestrained. Mothers called loudly across to each other while the men-folk huddled together in more restrained conversations before they all took their seats and continued their boisterous exchanges at table. It was all too much for Richard. Noise and jocularity were not on his menu that day. He pushed away his plate, half touched, and called for the bill. He ignored the waiter’s frown and took a last gulp of beer before stomping off. With no particular goal he found himself passing the church. The door was open and the chill air from within made an arc around the entrance. A moment’s curiosity made Richard step inside.

  Despite the bright sunlight the church interior was dim, its stained glass windows dulled by layers of grime and the gold and bright colours of the statues and paintings dimmed by the passage of time. An attempt had been made to preserve the altar as a focal point of light and the large crucifix behind it projected its cruel and poignant image to every corner of the church. Richard shivered. It had been a mistake to enter. The building seemed to cry out in pain. A moan echoed in the eerie silence. He looked up at the cross, disbelieving. Again the moan. This time Richard turned towards the sound and entered the vestry.

  Father Piontius was slumped in a chair, blood dripping from his head, which he held as though to prevent it falling to the ground. Richard moved quickly towards him. The priest raised his head slowly to show a gaping wound across his forehead. He pointed to a side door and Richard found behind it a cupboard-like space with a basin and water jug and some white cloths. It made for rudimentary cleaning and bandaging but it would have to do for now. He gave the priest a sip of water and drew up the only other chair.

  ‘Father, are you all right?’

  ‘I shall be, my son.’ His voice was thin.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I do not want to lie so do not ask,’ came the reply.

  ‘We must find a doctor,’ said Richard. The pool of blood on the floor looked considerable to him.

  ‘No, no. There is no need.’

  ‘But Father…..’

  The priest cut short Richard’s protest.

  ‘The Lord will heal me.’

  Father Piontius lowered his head again, as in prayer. Richard waited. He took in the small room, barely adequate for its purpose. A bible, hymnbook and some papers lay across the desk in front of them. Richard picked nervously at the sheets of paper.

  ‘But let us not be deceived. Beauty is not truth. Beauty tricks us and leads us away from God by seducing us with pleasure.’ Richard scanned the sermon to its conclusion and turned back to the old man at his side.

  The priest still sat with his head bowed. If the older man believed in the power of prayer, Richard had yet to be convinced. At length the father lifted up his face towards Richard, a trickle of blood had dried across his cheek. His eyelids drooped with fatigue.

  ‘Let me help,’ said Richard.

  ‘Perhaps you would take me home.’

  14

  The chief touched her hair. It lay scattered on the pillow. He watched her breathing, a gentle rise and fall of her body. The marks on her skin were healing quickly. She was beautiful. Unguarded in sleep he wanted to take her again, before she woke: possess her in her unconsciousness; dominate her while she slept. The early morning hour would help his erection. He entered her quickly as she lay. Her eyelids flickered but did not open. She was moist and tight. Could she really be sleeping? He moved inside her, his rhythm quickened, the crescendo approached. The breath burst from his lungs and filled him with pain. A final effort brought the force he once could take for granted. Kia opened her eyes and matched his orgasm. His eyes flashed coldly at her deception. He held her down on the bed, his fingers pressing into her flesh. He turned her over roughly and smacked her like a child, his heavy hand meeting her skin again and again. She made no sound. He turned her towards him. He wanted her again; his anger had aroused him but not enough to take her. He raised his hand again to vent his own inadequacies but she had already closed her mouth around the softness of his sex, drawing his flesh into the caverns of her throat, a glove so tight and movements so sure that his second orgasm was inevitable. She closed her mouth tightly as he came, taking inside her what issued from him. He lay back then with an unfamiliar sensation of gratitude and she knelt over him, smiling gently and watching him drift towards sleep.

  It was a deep sleep but short. Some instinct roused him as daylight began to fasten its hold on the day. He found himself turned towards her, a hand resting on the curve of her waist. He shivered a little and left the bed to collect his bathrobe. She raised herself a fraction on one arm with no effort to cover her nakedness.

  ‘You must go,’ he said.

  It was almost dawn. They never stayed the night, his girls. She must not be found.

  ‘Where am I to go?’ she asked simply.

  ‘Come.’

  He held out another robe for her. She followed him across the room to a small bookcase on the wall. With a touch the bookcase slid to one side. Ahead of her she saw a passageway.

  ‘Go to the end. You’ll find all you need.’

  He gestured for her to pass through the entrance.

  ‘Am I t
o return here?’

  ‘No questions,’ he answered brusquely.

  His hands took her by the waist and pushed her forward. She stumbled into the passageway and heard the bookcase slide close behind her.

  The passageway was short, the dimness only broken by a light at either end. Kia walked towards the bright spot ahead of her and saw a door outlined in the wall as she approached. There was no handle on the door but no need. It opened as she drew near, and like Alice in Wonderland, she stepped through.

  The room did not surprise her. She had grown used to silk sheets, soft carpets, velvet curtains and expensive furniture. It was no different here, another microcosm of designer luxury, another simulacrum of those expensive hotel suites she had heard of, and yet ….. something was missing. It was morning, early, but no longer dark. She looked at the blazing chandelier, myriad crystals shedding kaleidoscopic light beams across the room. There was no window. The door behind had already closed. She searched the room for another, pulling back a heavily brocaded wall draping. She found a wooden door, locked. She sat on the divan. On a low table in front of it she found fruit in a bowl and the remote control for the flat screen TV next to it. She had no wish for distraction but, like a trapped moth fluttering uselessly around a light, she rose and paced about the room. She approached one of the bookcases that lined the walls, flitting between its shelves, fingering the titles on the spines, seeing but not registering the words.

  ‘Are you having trouble finding something to read?’

  She had not heard the woman enter. Kia swung round sharply.

  ‘I’ve brought you some breakfast.’ Thin, with severe hair and sharp eyes, the woman put down a tray and moved towards Kia. There was something in her comportment that reminded Kia of the man she had just left.

  ‘You haven’t slept, I see,’ she said, gesturing to the bedroom.

  ‘I’ve only just …..’ Kia’s explanation was halted by the raised hand and authoritative stance of the woman.

  ‘It’s all right. You girls often find it impossible on the first night. No matter. Now you must eat and then shower and change. He’ll want you soon and it’s my job to see you are ready.’

  She smiled, a disconcerting intensity in her eyes.

  ‘You will find plenty of clothes in the wardrobes but you must wear this today.’

  She laid an outfit on the bed.

  ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

  Kia was grateful for the coffee but left the food to one side. What little appetite she had completely vanished when she saw what she was to wear. She fingered the black leather garment and then held it up against her. She threw it back on the bed next to a red cloak and went and showered. The water did not refresh her and she came back into the room reluctant to dress. In all her years of selling herself to men of all tastes and proclivities she had never been expected to put on a costume or parade herself in fancy dress. Whatever the fantasies of her clients, they had remained in their heads. Cheap and ready sex it may have been but it was honest somehow. She did not want to dress like a princess of pornography. Somehow the vulgarity of the outfit seemed incongruous when she thought of the man she now served. If it were another test to go through she should accept it though, it would hardly be a great sacrifice after all. She paid the price for her hesitation. The door was already opening. She stuffed the outfit under a pillow and quickly covered herself with the red cloak. The woman entered and came straight over to her and scrutinised Kia’s face carefully.

  ‘Next time a little something for the eyes – mascara, eye shadow. You will know what I mean. She ran the back of her hand gently down the side of Kia’s face: a soft touch that made Kia shudder.

  ‘Now come with me,’ she commanded. ‘There’s no need to use the passageway during the day.’

  Kia followed her along a corridor and entered the room she had left so short a time ago. The chief was sitting, relaxed, on the leather sofa. Dressed in silk pyjamas and dressing gown, he smoked languidly and dismissed the woman with a lazy gesture of the hand.

  ‘Come here,’ he ordered Kia.

  She crossed the room.

  ‘Take off the cloak.’

  She let it fall to the ground. The chief lent forward and stubbed his cigarette repeatedly into the ashtray.

  ‘You’re not wearing the suit?’ It was half statement, half question.

  ‘No,’ she replied redundantly.

  He stood up abruptly and she felt a sharp pain across the side of her face as his hand struck in a swift and deliberate blow. She did not react and for several long moments they stared at each other. Kia saw a questioning look in his eyes and a half smile on his lips. Then he seemed to remember his displeasure. He walked over to his desk and took something out of the drawer. When he turned round he was pointing a handgun at her. She swayed a little, determined not to betray the fear that flooded through her.

  He raised the gun to fire but no shot came. Instead the chief approached her and grabbed her tightly around the waist. Now he was pushing her forcefully towards the bed, pinning her down, using his strength to ensure her compliance. She had tensed her body against him. He ignored her moans. She waited for him to enter her but instead felt the cold metal gun meet her vagina. He moved it up and down within her and she lay there waiting for the bullet to rip through her. His breaths came heavily and rapidly as though it were he inside her instead of the gun. Suddenly he withdrew it and a coarse laugh reached her as though from far away. She opened her eyes. He was bent motionless over her, his mouth twisted wryly and knowingly into a smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Now go to the bathroom and put on a robe and we’ll talk,’ he said.

  As she left the room she heard him cough, a prolonged spasm seemingly beyond his control. Returning she came to sit opposite him, upright, knees together, her arms wrapped protectively across her body, which still trembled slightly. He offered her coffee, strong, black and sweet.

  ‘Relax. It’s over,’ he said.

  She looked into his eyes for conviction. There were papers on the coffee table between them. His eyes shifted down to them an instant.

  ‘So Kia, you have escaped lightly. You are fortunate.’ He paused and looked down at the papers in front of him.

  ‘Tell me,’ he continued, ‘why you didn’t come dressed as instructed.’

  Kia looked into his eyes. She could read little there, they were shuttered against any understanding.

  ‘Come now,’ he said, ‘you must know.’

  She had to speak.

  ‘The suit was vulgar. To present myself to you like that would have been disrespectful.’

  ‘But disobedience is also disrespectful. You know that disobedience is always punished. Semper obedire, that is the motto of the island. You must not disobey again. Do you understand?’

  Kia nodded. He lit a cigarette and she watched him inhale slowly. He stifled a cough as he began to speak, hesitating between phrases, his voice weakened to a rasping echo.

  ‘Go and rest now…….We’ll meet for lunch……I’ll send someone to fetch you.……Then I’ll show you the island.’

  He waved her away emphatically. As the door closed behind her she heard the paroxysm that he could no longer control.

  15

  Kia settled back allowing her muscles to relax a little. The leather seats of the black four by four vehicle were cool and comfortable. The chief sat beside her giving instructions to the two men in the front seats. She had seen the glint of metal beneath their jackets as they had opened the doors for them. They were more than chauffeurs then. Carrying guns they were bodyguards more like, they certainly had the physique: but was there a need on the island? It was a closed community; at least that was what they had been told. Visitors only came and went on programmed inspection visits and she and the girls had been thoroughly briefed on how to behave at these times. She looked through the window as the car smoothly curved its way across the island. She had seen photos of Sardinia and its rugged beauty was not dissimila
r. The island was tiny by comparison, though, and differed in one very striking way. A small volcano rose from its central plain, dominating the landscape. It had not erupted for centuries and the lava plains were ancient and fertile now. Still it was a reminder of the seething molten mass over which the crust of the world existed.

  She turned towards the chief and saw he had already turned to look at her. He smiled.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. He seemed not to register her words. ‘Does it belong to you?’

  He put a finger to her lips. ‘No questions.’ There was no harshness in his voice now, though he spoke with authority. He lowered his hand to her breast, fingering her nipple and feeling it grow erect under his touch.

  He addressed the driver. ‘To the left now. We’ll go to the cove.’

  The car turned and rattled slowly down an unmade track, stopping at the top of a cliff. A narrow path led to a small beach protected on all sides by steep rocks. They left the men by the car and descended. The chief sat on the fine white sand and gestured for Kia to join him. He scooped up a handful of sand and let it trickle slowly through his fingers.

  ‘The sand’s exceptional on this beach. There are very few others like this on the island; mostly you’ll find it grey. That’s the gift of the volcano.’

  Kia thought of her own private beach – that also blessed with white sand.

  ‘Now tell me about yourself.’

  Kia hesitated. She feared criticism and what could follow.

  ‘Did I not write a satisfactory dossier?’

  ‘I have no criticisms of your dossier. That tells me your father made you a prostitute at the age of thirteen and that you’ve known no other work. You ran away from your village at sixteen and worked in the city earning good money. Then four years later you suddenly decided to leave your country. Becoming an illegal immigrant is both brave and foolhardy and you’ve been lucky to have gained the security of a place on the island. All this I know, but you arrived here not only as an intelligent and beautiful young woman, which we require, but also as an educated one who speaks English well. This is not the usual background of a prostitute. There must be more to tell and I want to know.’ His tone was insistent.