On their first date, he’d picked her up in his Corvette ZR1 and impressed her with talk about his business ventures. He found out that she was very family orientated—devoted to her father, because he’d brought her up when her mother had died in childbirth.
“I feel so comfortable telling you all this,” Audrey had said. “Don’t know why.”
“I do,” Ted replied, grinning.
It hadn’t been long before he’d become a permanent fixture in her life ... and her bed. Soon after, they were dividing their time between his place and her apartment. Not long after that, she’d taken Ted to meet her father, Frank, at the family home—a huge house just outside the capital. It was far enough away to pretend it was the countryside, but just close enough to smell the exhaust fumes from the cars. Here Frank lived, all alone—retired due to ill health, but content. Ted had done the same with her silver-haired father, charming him as they drank wine in the garden, finding out more about the family business.
Frank had made his money through scrap over the past few decades, but the trade went back a long way. “I can remember doing the rounds with my dad as a kid, collecting all kinds of stuff in a horse-drawn cart on the streets, ringing the bell. Nowadays it’s all in trucks and vans,” he said, laughing. “You know, a lot of people think that Rag and Bone men only go back a couple of hundred years, but some say it’s further. To the middle ages, or maybe even before that.”
“That’s fascinating,” Ted told him, stifling the yawn that was building.
“They got their name because they’d even collect rags, which could be sold to paper-makers and weavers, and the bones from meat. That could be turned into bone char, bone ash, bone carver ... even glue!”
Ted listened, humoured the man, but he didn’t care about how Frank had come by his cash—the heritage obviously important to the guy. He was only interested in the fact that Audrey would come by it one day. Less than a week later, and with Frank’s approval, Ted proposed and was delighted when Audrey said yes. They were happy, both of them, and went on that way for a good year or more—
So why was she doing this? He felt like asking her, then hesitated, still seeing that crazed look in her eyes. Something had changed. She was no longer the woman he knew as his fiancée. She was something else—something unhinged.
His eyes were at least adjusting to the light better, and he could see more of his surroundings. More of the corpses that filled this place, although he still didn’t recognise it.
“There, that’s better,” Audrey said, stepping away from the dead woman, her voice cold and hard. “Another one of your whores silenced.”
Ted frowned. What was she talking about? His eyes flitted from the psychopathic Audrey to the dead woman. Did he know her? Forget about the scarred face and body, the blood; take all that away and did she look familiar? Ted still couldn’t see it. He looked around at the other bodies nearby, and beyond Audrey. Yes, they were all female, he could see that. But—
Another one of your whores ...
He tried to swallow, but was having difficulty. He’d never known their names, any of them, but yes, the more he looked, the more his eyes adjusted to the light in here ... Jesus, he said to himself. He thought he’d been so careful.
It stood to reason, no one woman was ever going to satisfy him. That wasn’t how he was made. He loved Audrey, in his own way, and the others were just conquests—to keep his hand in. Sex, nothing more. Plus which, they all knew he was engaged: he’d told them and they hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, some of them found this a turn on.
The more he focused, forcing himself to see the walls of that room, the more he could make out the evidence of those encounters he couldn’t resist. No, that made it sound like they’d seduced him, when it was so obviously the other way around. All those nights working late, at conferences or attending business meetings, when actually he was on the prowl again, on the hunt. The photos were there, tacked up on those walls: large, grainy, black and white prints. Some of him and women at bars, at hotels, at clubs like the one where he met Audrey. Some were even worse. Snapshots of the hot, frenzied couplings, rutting like animals—through windows, and some from inside the room itself (a professional then, some kind of P.I... . so Audrey hadn’t been as naïve as he thought; it explained why she’d stalled over the wedding). Ted looked from the pictures of those women alive, to the dead bodies hanging in that basement lair. And, God help him, he was able to match them up. Well, most of them. Some were beyond even his identification.
Ted could imagine the pain Audrey had felt when she’d seen some of those photographs. Pain that might tip you over the edge. Pain he now saw in her look—along with revenge. She’d been on her very own hunting trip and now that she’d punished the women who’d slept with him, Ted was next. What was the betting she’d saved the most brutal tortures for last?
He was about to plead with her, but knew that would do no good. Once Audrey had made her mind up about something, that was it. But as she approached, still wielding the knife, he found himself whimpering, “Please, no.”
When she continued on anyway, he gritted his teeth, the real Ted emerging. “You’ll never get away with this, Audrey. I’m telling you. What the fuck do you think you’re going to do with all these bodies anyway?”
She paused, as if contemplating this—maybe the first time she’d even considered it during this whole spree. But Ted should have known better. Just as she’d been clever enough to hire the snoop, she’d had her endgame figured out well in advance. Audrey leaned in, too quick for him to flinch, and whispered, “He knows what you’ve done, and he’s coming for you.”
What? What the fuck did that mean? Ted braced himself for Audrey to strike, to begin slashing him with the knife. But she didn’t. Instead she pulled back, grinning (it reminded him of his grin, that—the satisfied one he couldn’t help whenever he’d scored). She was stepping away, leaving him alone. Don’t question it, he told himself, it at least buys you some time.
Then he heard the sound. At first it seemed a long way off, that bell. Then the call followed it, equally distant. “Rag and Bone!” it went.
Ted cocked an ear. There it came again. The bell, and the cry: “Rag and Bone!”
Audrey’s grin widened and she moved over to the side of the room, climbing some steps. At first Ted thought she might be ascending to an upper floor, but then she reached above her and undid a latch. Audrey flung open the doors—cellar doors that led to the outside.
His first thoughts were: I can use that to escape, if only I can get free of these bloody ropes. His next thoughts, when the light from the moon illuminated more of that place, were about those wine bottles at the back of the cellar. Ted knew where he was now, even though he’d never been down here. Had only been to the place itself on a handful of occasions. It was the wine cellar in the family house: a hobby of Frank’s and perfect for something like this. No-one would hear the screams. And they were far enough away from civilisation that nobody would hear the cry drawing closer and closer, louder and louder.
“Rag and Bone!”
It was a strange call, like the person shouting it couldn’t quite say the words. It reminded Ted of how newspaper sellers on street corners shout out the names of the tabloids.
“Audrey,” Ted began, but she was taking no notice. She was too busy looking out through the trap door. Ted heard the sound of hooves next, accompanying the bell and the cries.
Jesus, what was going on here? One of her dad’s old mates drafted in to help? It made sense. Like Audrey, they really wouldn’t have been too happy if they knew the truth.
“He knows what you’ve done, and he’s coming for