Turtle Island: 20th Anniversary Edition (Georgina O'Neil Book 1) Read online

  ‘Hello daddy. It’s Georgie.’

  The boy was asleep in his bed.

  He could have danced in front of him and would never have woken the somnambulant child. A thought passed through his mind as to whether he would actually need the Dormicium for the boy, or whether he would just live with the thrill of him waking as he took them to the secret place. The needle pierced his brown skin by the neck, drawing a tiny prick of blood on its removal. The boy didn’t even wake.

  ‘Closer, I’m getting closer’

  He wondered what it would be like to draw the knife’s blade across the boy’s throat. He would pay a fortune to see the boy’s father react to finding his son lying in a pool of blood, with fear etched in the darkest pools of his eyes.

  ‘No one is innocent.’ He whispered, before leaning down and kissing the boy’s forehead. ‘No one.’

  The room was like that of any child. The walls adorned with posters of basketball players and pop stars, and a set of bunk beds. The empty top bed. Part of him hoped that when he entered the detective's bedroom, that Rick Montoya would be awake, part of him wanted the confrontation now. He had to suppress those urges. Knowing that Montoya would be strong, who knows, maybe even stronger than him, especially when he would have to fight for the lives of his family? He left the boy’s bedroom door open and crossed the landing. There was no light from under the door, no intimate sounds coming from the room behind the closed door. He turned the handle, the door opened. His heart felt as though it was going to rip right out of his chest, such was the excitement he felt. The waiting was nearly over.

  ‘Closer and closer’

  He wanted Montoya to wake briefly, just long enough to see his face, before injecting the Dormicium; it really didn’t matter if his wife woke. She’d be no match. He put the needle to Montoya’s neck. Perfect.

  Rick’s eyes opened, unseeing in the dark, until they adjusted, focusing on his face.

  He breathed the words ‘Hello, Rick’ into Montoya’s face then pushed the plunger.

  The sound of a mobile phone ringing in the room next door woke Jo-Lynn.

  ‘That girl and her phone.’ Jo-Lynn moaned through bleary, sleep-filled eyes.

  The ringing stopped. The phone answered.

  He stood completely still, hovering over the drugged detective.

  ‘I’m sorry to ring you so late, but it's.... I. I don't quite know what to say. It's Agent Georgina O’Neil of the FBI. I get the feeling that you wanted to talk to me. I know a long time has passed but…’ Georgina hated answering services. An inherent fear of sounding monosyllabic slowed her delivery subconsciously. Suddenly lost for words, Georgina hovered with her finger over the receiver.

  Korjca's mind was trying to interpret the message through her sleepy fuddled mind. Her hand automatically reached for the handset, knocking her bedside lamp in the process. She put the handset to her ear.

  ‘Hello.’

  But only heard the static buzz of a disconnected line.

  ‘Shit.’

  Korjca slapped the phone back down in its cradle and sank into the pillow. Her eyes open now trying to adjust to the room. The room was lighter than usual and Korjca wondered whether it was later than the time set on the phone. The realisation that the curtains were open solved Korjca's mystery. She swung her legs out of the bed and blearily wandered over to the open drapes. The moonlight bathing the room in silvery luminance. He watched excitedly, almost beyond restraint from the shadow fallen corner he occupied near the door. Only the tip of the knife glinted in the moon's radiance.

  Korjca closed the curtain, turned, eye's half closed ready to return to the sleepy world of dreams. The bed was a giant vat waiting for her to plunge into its welcoming arms.

  The scream of madness was not heard by anyone else but Korjca as he ran toward the sleepy nanny. Korjca felt a blow to her chest, the attack so fast, so unexpected, she briefly wondered if she was dreaming, or if she had somehow merely fallen in the dark, but there was somebody standing in front of her. She could see the whites of his eyes glowing brilliantly in the moon glow. There was a person standing in front of her, close, so close.

  Korjca felt the pain in her chest. She was confused, her thought process's suddenly sharpening as she began to understand what was happening.

  He pulled the long, serrated knife from Korjca's chest. The jagged edge opening flesh and snapping bone on its retrieval, blood spread out through the print of a teddy bear on Korjca's nightdress. She fell to her knees, her hands grabbing at her attacker for balance, her breathing laboured. Korjca felt hands push her backwards. The nanny slumped, falling onto her back with her legs pinned underneath her. Her body folded back like a collapsible chair. Unable to move, Korjca could only stare at the ceiling and the shadowy outline of her attacker. A face appeared in front of her. Korjca saw the glint of the knife before it was placed under her chin. She could feel the cold tip pressing into the soft fleshy skin of her neck, followed by a stinging sensation as the tip of the blade sliced through skin and tissue, then a soothing warmness flowing down her chest. The face moved closer and closer. Korjca felt warm lips pressing on her mouth as the last breath of air from her lungs was literally sucked away by her attacker. She tried to breathe. An act so instinctual, now taking every last ounce of her effort, of thought, of will power. But it was like breathing in a vacuum. She was extremely aware of the last few minutes of her life, aware even after the last gasp of air had left her lungs, aware of her bladder betraying her, aware of the silvery moonlight in the room, aware that she was dying. She wanted to see the room, keep her eyes open until the very last moment. Feelings of who attacked her did not enter her mind, she never questioned why?

  Coldness started to spread from her fingers moving up her arm and down her legs; the tightness in her chest gave way to a feeling of numbness. The remnants of oxygen in her brain began to diffuse into carbon monoxide. Korjca closed her eyes.

  He pulled the van into the garage driving over or through the clutter that Ray left scattered. There was blood on his latex gloves. He was charged with electric excitement, his heart pumped so hard that he had to will his arms and legs to move. Adrenaline coursed through his body, surging in swathes of stimulation that was as close to pure pleasure as he had ever experienced. He was in control now.

  Rick was to be the first; bounced down the stairs, his head striking off every step. He had grip of the detective’s ankles, pulling him along the carpet. Rick’s naked body offered no protection from the harsh surfaces he encountered as he was dragged to the van. Once in the garage he bound Montoya’s arms and legs with carpet tape, stuffing paper into his mouth and sealing it by wrapping tape around his head three times. He rolled Rick’s motionless body onto the lowered hydraulic ramp at the back of the van before raising it and pulling the unconscious form into the empty cargo area. That was the hard one; his wife would be much lighter; easier to carry. He knew that he would be able to carry her body with ease. As for the boy… he was small potatoes. He ventured back into the house. Jo-Lynn lay sprawled across the bed in the same position, where a brief struggled ended with a small quantity of Dormicium flowing through her veins. Jo-Lynn was hoisted onto his shoulders. She weighed no more than nine stones, maybe eight and a half. On the way back down to the van he stopped at the boy's bedroom and grabbed Ray roughly by his pyjama top, carrying the small boy with one hand. He felt empowered. With every step toward the van his strength grew. He stopped only to bind the detective’s wife and child with carpet tape. With all three secured in the back of the van he returned to the bedroom of the nanny for one last look at his power. Korjca was prostrate on the floor, eyes closed. The moonlight turned her blood black. He bent down and dipped a gloved finger in to the inky liquid pool that was starting to congeal around her throat and wrote the word 'CORRUPT' across her forehead.

  The drive was short… so short; that was part of the fun though.

  Twenty-Five

  Rick could hear crying coming from somewhere,
the sound invading his brain, stirring the dormant thought process. As his mind began to whir, starting to function, he recognised the crying child's voice, it was his son. Rick opened his eyes to total darkness. Cold water lapped around his thighs and for the first time with it the realisation that he was cold, very cold. He tried to call out to calm his son, but a gargled cacophony filtered through the tape. Rick was aware that his arms and legs were bound and that he was secured to a chair immersed in water of some sort but how he got there was a mystery. He wondered if it was some sort of nightmare. The fact that he knew he was awake made him shudder because it meant this was real. Rick tried to move his arms, but they were bound so tightly he knew it was a waste of strength. Whoever was doing this to him would make themselves known soon; otherwise he would already be dead. The water around his legs lapped gently over his thighs. Rick could hear a muffled sobbing coming from somewhere near his left.

  Jo-Lynn woke first, the drugged haze in her head now clearing. Her understanding of what was happening even less clear than that of her husband’s. She too, could hear Ray's sobbing but was helpless to either reply or give any form of comfort to her son. Jo-Lynn had waited with her eyes open for over ten minutes before hearing Rick's struggling. In that time her eyes had not adjusted to the dark. No chink of light entered the place where they were being kept. The cold water that came up to Jo-Lynn's stomach gave her a sense of foreboding that frightened her almost beyond reason but most of all she wanted to be close to her son, if she was frightened she dreaded to think what her son was going through. Right now, all she wanted to do was hug and reassure him, tell him that everything would be okay, even if she didn't quite believe it to be the truth herself. Jo-Lynn tried to move forward but the chair she was secured to rocked uneasily in the dark. The prospect of plunging head first into the water soon stopped any attempt to free herself.

  He watched them slowly wake through his night vision glasses. First the woman, then the boy and finally the detective; the reason they were all there. His enjoyment was all encompassing. He felt the embodiment of that joy soaring through his body. The pleasure, a palpable tingle that coursed and surged and grew greater as each member of the Montoya family woke from their drug induced sleep. He watched from the safety of darkness, a voyeur observing a sacred moment, one he had prayed to God for. A moment that was finally answered, God does indeed move in mysterious ways. He moved closer, into the water, stirring the stagnant liquid, until he was inches away from the detective’s face. He whispered in Rick Montoya’s ear.

  ‘Soon.’

  Wesley Timms opened his e-mail program. The always-on connection heralded each new arrival with a trumpeted fanfare, which pissed everybody in his office off, but he didn’t give a fuck. He never really cared about any of them, except maybe Chelsea Drake; yes, there he could give a fuck…given the opportunity. Wesley spent most of his day peeling off layers of her clothing with his eyes, but knew she wasn’t interested in him. He’d have to find other ways to make her interested and he never doubted his own ingenuity for one moment.

  He read the e-mail.

  Some time ago you contacted me with a business proposition, now is the right time to talk seriously, go to www.deathcam.com now and see if you think the time is right. Click on the web cam link. Password ‘CORRUPT.’

  This e-mail address will remain active for one hour.

  A Friend

  Wesley felt his throat tighten. His fingers jabbed at the keys on his keyboard, misspelling the web site address twice in his clumsy eagerness. As the site began to load Wesley imagined Chelsea Drake fuck naked, straddled over him, dripping lust.

  The first image that loaded on his screen was a picture of Korjca. As Wesley typed the password, the letters appeared on Korjca’s forehead, written in blood. She was obviously dead. The picture disappeared, replaced with a new image. A night cam offered grainy views of a cellar, three figures were strapped to chairs and a counter was set on the screen counting down. 59:59:40. In the darkness a figure moved toward the camera, covered from head to toe in black with just two slits through a mask highlighting the killer’s eyes, which in the weird lighting looked like red pools.

  ‘Hello Wesley…feel honoured…you should. This is a premiere, just for you.’

  Rick didn't know what time it was or even the day. The darkness had stretched the hours. He tried to wriggle his fingers and toes. The immobility coupled with the cold water had numbed them and the only sensation he felt was a dull aching that was spreading from his feet upwards. It had been ages since he had heard the voice and in the hours that had passed had spent his time trying to match a face to it. Hoping to make sense somehow of why he and his family was being tortured in this way. A blinding flash suddenly illuminated the room, the bright, startling explosion, momentarily stunning Rick.

  ‘Smile you're dead!’ The voice said.

  The command was followed by another flash. This time Rick saw a blurred outline of his captor. He briefly saw a Polaroid camera in the split second that it took for the flash to expose the film. His brain took in a lot of background detail and for the first time he was aware of where he was being kept.

  ‘Once more, this time with emotion.’ The voice called again.

  Rick felt a stinging blow to the side of his face.

  ‘Profile.’

  Rick turned his head and the flash popped once more. In the far corner of the chamber he caught a glimpse of his son, head slumped down unconscious, asleep or...Rick didn't want to think of the worst.

  The Polaroid camera whirred as it spat out the print.

  ‘Other side.’

  Another slap, pushing his face to his right. The flash this time illuminated his wife. Jo-Lynn was sitting up in the chair, bound in a similar fashion to him. Her eyes wide open with fear. Water soaking through her nightdress, a small smattering of blood smeared down one arm. The horror images were relayed to Rick's brain, absorbed in the fraction of a second of light. Suddenly the darkness seemed to be a preferable option. It was the markings on the wall behind Jo-Lynn that confirmed Rick's dread. He had seen them before, and in the split second it took to illuminate them, his brain had searched and recollected just where. The videotape sent to Barbara Dace’s grandson.

  Twenty-Six

  October mornings in Portmorion, Maryland, are crisp. Georgina loved them when as today they were bright and sunny. The prospect of winter loomed around the corner and she hoped to be able to spend some time at home decorating and making her house more habitable. For the past fourteen months it had been no more than a place to rest her head in between cases, no more than another motel but off a familiar highway. She hadn't yet given the old half-brick, half-wood, constructed house her own sense of identity. She stood at the kitchen window and looked out onto the overgrown lawn, promising to cut it at the weekend, if she could wrangle a day off. Two brightly coloured fake magnetic tropical fish flipped about in their water world fish tank. The buzz of the roving magnet -that enticed and seduced the metallic clones, drawing them to all the corners of the tank- no more than a faint hum in the background, soon to be consumed by the radio. Georgina filled the kettle. She hummed along with the tune, a song by Radiohead. She wasn't sure of the title but thought it to be 'Karma Police'. Her suspicions confirmed when the chorus started. After drinking a cup of strong coffee, she changed into her running gear, long grey sweat top and baggy jogging pants, a pair of Nike Air trainers and went for a five-mile run around the streets of her hometown. Portmorion was a small, quiet fishing town, somewhere away from the hustle of Maryland and the bustle of the city. It was the ideal retreat that Georgina sought. A sanctuary away from the horror and madness that often was a big part of her work. Running through the small lanes, past the old colonial houses, she could quite easily get away from the stresses and strains of the day she left behind, and the day that was to come. She turned inwards to the coastal road. The slight incline was especially tiring as it came near the end of the run, but it was worth the final burst of e
ffort just to take in the view of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a view which always managed to take her breath away with greater ease than the endeavours of her exercise. As she neared the top of the hill the sea came into view. A benign smile spread across her face. Georgina breathed deeply, the air slightly salty, blowing in on an easterly wind that although light, still managed to blow her short black hair backwards. As often during a run along the coast road, Georgina felt a surge of joy spread through her body. She knew all about runner’s high's and the endorphins that were released into the brain and bloodstream and guessed that she was a little luckier than most experiencing that sensation almost every time she ran that route. She stepped up the pace for the final mile, the cool morning chill dissipating under the warming autumn sun. Her breath bellowed in cloudy vapour trails, she could feel the sweat under her running top, cooling and clammy against her skin. Another part of her morning ritual that she enjoyed would be the steaming hot shower when she arrived home and the breakfast that followed. 'Probably scrambled eggs or French toast' she informed herself. She turned off the coast road and headed down the last five hundred metres. Soon her house would come into view, a sight that always brought a smile to her face… but not today.