Dark Portal 1/Dark Portal 1.adf/TEXT/Cold Blood

Text File | 1992-09-02 | 22.0 KB | 391 lines

@"COLD BLOOD" By Andrew Campbell 1993

 It was after nine and the windscreen of Vincent's truck was a blurry
mess of red, white and amber lights. Above the noise of the engine,
rain beat up against the glass and crashed down on the roof.
 Nine-year-old Cindy was sat in the front passenger seat next to
Vincent, wearing a big seat belt that pressed up uncomfortably against
her left cheek.
 Dark shadows of the raindrops on the windows networked across her
pallid face, down-grading her girlish prettiness. She was staring at
her Daddy with big, round eyes that sparkled tearfully.
 "S'up with you, girl?" Vincent snapped at her without averting his
attention from the road. "Mary's a real nice lady. She'll look after
yer. We'll come n' visit every coupla weeks."
 Vincent was a good liar.
 Hell, he was a professional. He'd lied more times than he'd screwed
the girl next door, which was a darn good total. This particular lie
didn't have to last out much longer anyway, because all he had to do
was reach the canal. And the canal was less than four miles away.
 Traveling at nearly fifty, he figured he'd be there before ten past,
which not only meant the imminent termination of the lie, but also of
Cindy too.
 And good riddence.
 'I just want another daughter,' Dianne had cried, hugging the tiny,
naked Cindy to her chest. 'Please, Vince. Let's make her our daughter.
Just look at her. Isn't she the cutest thing you ever saw?'
 He'd looked and he'd said yes. Hell, anything to shut that fat old
haggis up. One daughter, two daughters, what difference did it make?
His wide-arse wife was the one who was going to be doing all the child-
rearing. He didn't want anything to do with it.
 Vincent had decided that kids were just the side-effects of sex - the
punishment you had to pay for getting it up without protection.
 Well if adoption made her happy (and kept him out of suspicion of
adultery) he was willing to go along with it. Hell, he was willing to
adopt the local school if it meant he could get away with bonking the
girl next door during his lunch hour.
 Sitting there in the front seat of the truck, eyes wide, face all cute
and soft, Cindy could have been mistaken for a good little girl.
 But oh no, not Cindy Gregory.
 When she felt like it, she could be the most destructive little bitch
ever to be let loose on the face of the earth. And she was clever too,
oh yes she was so frighteningly clever for her age.
 She'd just turned five when she'd started getting cocky.
 Vincent had come home late from the building site and had missed her
sweet n' charming birthday supper. His wife had hailed him with nasty
comments about how they'd all been looking forward to having a family
get-together, complete with cissy candles and icing sugar.
 'Well, I'm bloody sorry Dianne,' he'd snapped, in front of the kids
too. 'but some bugger's gotta keep the money rollin' in. Now I'm off to
bed, so happy birthday the lotta ya.'
 He'd thundered off upstairs, dropped his working clothes and slumped
into bed without even bothering to shower.
 Less than half an hour later, he'd been screaming his bloody guts out
because some soon-to-be-buried bastard had poured scalding hot water
over his head. Still screaming, he'd looked up and seen Cindy laughing
at him, an upturned tea-cup in her right hand, still dripping tea
leaves.
 'You stupid WHORE!' he'd shrieked and booted her in the stomach. She'd
flown across the room and crashed into the door, coughing and
spluttering, but somehow... still laughing.
 His wife had shot into the room pretty much in hysterics and Cindy had
instantly transformed from laughter to tears upon her foster mother's
arrival.
 'I spilt tea by accident on Daddy!' she'd wailed, holding her stomach
tightly. 'He kicked me in the tummieeee!'
 'How could you DO such a thing!' Dianne had shrieked, holding Cindy in
her arms. 'Don'tchoo ever come near her again! D'you understand? EVER!'
 Vincent had been holding his blistered head in both hands, breathing
harshly through his teeth whilst his wife had lectured him. When at
last he'd found the pain had subsided enough for him to answer back,
he'd shouted, 'That fuckin' bitch did it on PURPOSE!'
 A month later, she'd done something even worse.
 Vincent had been been trying to watch the evening football match on
the TV when Cindy had called for help from the kitchen. Dianne had been
in the bath with young Claire at the time and Vincent had been stupid
enough to go to Cindy's attention.
 'What is it for God's sake?' he'd growled and poked his head around
the kitchen door.
 Cindy had been dressed in all kinds of make-up; lipstick, mascara,
face powder, even a necklace of shiny beads. She'd looked like a proper
little tart if ever there was one.
 'I dropped my earring Daddy!' she'd squealed, peering into the silver
toaster with a butter knife in one of her hands. 'It's gone in and I
can't reach it. Help me, Daddy.'
 'You bloody clumsy sod.' he'd muttered and tipped the toaster up-side-
down. He'd rattled it, thumped it, put his eye to the grill but he'd
not been able to see a thing.
 'There, Daddy! It's there! At the bottom! Reach in and gettit for me
Daddy, pleeeeeaaase.'
 Cursing that he was missing the football match and that Cindy was the
stupidest, most clumsy piece of shit in the entire world, Vincent had
forced his hand into the toaster... and got it stuck.
 'Oh Goddamnit!' he'd roared and swiped for Cindy with his free hand.
She'd squirmed out of the way and ran for the socket where the toaster
was plugged in. Vincent hadn't seen her straight away. He'd been stood
there tugging and tugging and shouting and cursing. 'Now look
whatcha've gone and done to me!' he'd bellowed.
 Then he'd looked up and his breath had caught in his throat.
 Cindy had been stood there with her index finger pressed against the
ON button.
 She'd giggled. 'Make me some bread-soldiers Daddy!"
 And then she'd snapped the switch to ON.
 Vincent had stared at her for a few seconds, hardly even aware of the
smoke rising from his right hand.
 He'd actually smelt his own flesh cooking before he'd screamed. Cindy
had laughed and jumped up and down on the spot, pointing at him whilst
he'd crashed the toaster onto the kitchen counter. Even when the plug
had yanked out of it's socket, he'd shrieked like a guinea pig caught
in a snare.
 The red-hot toaster had clanged to the floor and then Cindy's laughter
had cleverly mutated into high-pitched sobs. Dianne had come running
down from upstairs dressed in a loosely fastened robe.
 'What in the Lord's name,' she'd shouted. 'You've hit her, haven't
you! You heartless brute, you've HIT her!'
 Vincent had been unable to reply. He'd bitten his tongue and blood had
been pouring out of his mouth and his hand had been bright red and
steaming, like something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

 The years went by and Cindy had started to become more and more clever
with her cruel tricks. She'd played them on her sister, and even on her
mother. Before long, everyone had become tired of her and she'd
received a lot of strict warnings about punishments for bad behaviour.
 Cindy hadn't done anything bad since those warnings, at least, not
until she'd turned nine. Then she'd started up again.
 She'd put bleach in Dianne's coffee, dug up woodlice from the garden
and found them a nest in Claire's knickers, released the air from all
four of Vincent's tires when he'd been late for work, and commited many
more cunning offences.
 'I can't handle her anymore.' Dianne had told Vincent one evening
after Cindy and Claire had gone to bed. 'I think we should find her a
new home. She's not frightened of us gettin' cross anymore. She doesn't
even cry when I hit her. She knows she's not our daughter, she just
knows it, and she's takin' advantage of it.'
 'D'you want me to take her to Mary Walker's?' he'd suggested. 'I could
go over n' ask if she'd be willin' to adopt Cindy off us. She's a real
nice lady.'
 'I haven't ever heard of her.' Dianne had said. 'Where's she live?'
 'Oh... Stone Bridge.' he'd lied. He knew there was a children's home
in Stone Bridge but he hadn't ever been to it. 'I'll go visit Mary with
Cindy tomorrow shall I?'
 'Well, okay.' Dianne had said. 'But you don't go handin' the poor girl
over t'some old witch, d'you hear me?'
 'Course not,' he'd smiled. 'I can just see if Mary still owns the
place, and if she'd be willin' to give Cindy a good home. I wouldn't
dream of handin' her over.'
 And so after pursuading his wife to stay at home and look after Claire
whilst he took Cindy to visit I-Don't-Exist-Mary, Vincent had set off
in his truck. He had loaded it up prior to the trip with bags of sand
stolen from the site and several metres of rope.
 Sat there in her little red tee-shirt and jeans, hands tucked down
between her legs, Cindy was oblivious to the fate Vincent had in store
for her. She was worried about going to see Mary. She wasn't at all
worried about being murdered, because her Daddy was with her, and her
Daddy wouldn't dream of killing ANYONE.
 Vincent drove down the narrow road to the canal, whistling to himself.
 He was going to enjoy this.
 "Where are we Daddy?" Cindy asked, peering out of the windows at the
dark bushes that lined the edge of the canal. Rain was still coming
down fast and furious, but the wind had calmed. The girl's reflection
was pale and dreary and still scarred with black shadows.
 Vincent stopped the truck and switched off the egnition.
 He looked at Cindy and said, "Wait here."
 Then he went out into the rain, walked briskly around to the rear
doors, opened them up, dragged out two enormous bags of cement sand,
and coiled a length of rope around his shoulders.
 Cindy jumped when he opened the door at her side.
 "Get out." Vincent demanded, his face glistening.
 Cindy unclipped her seat belt and peered out into the night. She
shivered and shook her head. "It's too cold, Daddy." she saw the rope
and hugged herself. "What's that for?"
 "Nothin'. It isn't cold, now get out, Cindy before I get cross."
 "But Daddy..." she wailed as she stepped down from the truck. She
scuttled into Vincent's arms and hugged him. "Please can we go home? I
promise I'll be good from now on. I promise."
 Vincent took no notice. He grabbed her by the arm and started for the
canal. Cindy didn't see the water straight away. She was busy searching
the dancing bushes and watching the weird, distorted shadows waving at
her from below the trees. There was no one around.
 No one at all.
 "Urgh, what's that?" she pointed to the canal at last.
 "It's water, you dumb shit." Vincent said. "Lots of it."
 She pulled a face. "What are we here for, Daddy?"
 "We're here to see Mary, of course. She lives down here."
 "In the water?" Cindy asked. "She lives in the water?" her arm tried
to come free from Vincent's grasp, but he held her secure.
 They stopped at the edge of the canal and peered into the dark, murky
water. It was like a gigantic mirror; the deep bluish sky reflecting
in it's glazy surface. Vincent and Cindy saw their reflections stood
together; father and daughter... murderer and victim.
 "Stay here." Vincent said.
 Cindy grabbed him. "No! Not on my own!"
 "I'm going to get something from the truck."
 "But Daddy! I'm scared!"
 "Get off me." he snapped and pushed her away. She held her arms out,
then pulled them in again.
 "Daddy..." she whispered, tears in her eyes. "What're we doing...?"
 Vincent came back with a big bag of sand above his head. He thumped it
down onto the grass just below Cindy's feet and she jolted. She had no
idea what was in the bag. No idea at all.
 Her Daddy brought another bag too, and then he started to finger some
holes through the corners of the strong, plastic packaging. Cindy
dropped down on her knees and said, "I'll help you Daddy."
 Vincent looked at her for a long time, feeling something burning his
heart. She wanted to help him prepare the device which would kill her.
 She quite literally had no idea what was he was going to do.
 "I can do it myself." he said pushing her fingers away. "You just make
sure nobody is around, okay? Keep checkin' for people."
 She did as she had been told whilst Vincent fed the rope through the
holes he had created in the bags of sand. He tied them securely
together then dragged them to the very edge of the canal.
 Holding a loose end of rope in his hand, he sat up and looked at
Cindy. She was shivering and sobbing, but she was searching for people
just like her Daddy had told her to. She looked so fragile and innocent
that Vincent - even though he had waited for this moment for almost six
years - began to have second thoughts.
 He looked at his right hand. It was shaking. The skin was hard and
blotchy and he had to scratch it furiously every night, even after all
these years. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt at the top of
his scalp. The bald patch seemed bigger than ever.
 Cindy was pretending to be frightened. She was just pretending. If he
backed out now, she'd carry on with her tricks. And the lie about Mary
Walker might even explode in his face.
 "Take your clothes off." he said dryly. "Take em all off."
 Cindy looked at him, stunned.
 "Hurry up!" he shouted and reached for her. She stumbled back.
 "Daddy...?" she whimpered. "What... what... what for?"
 "Just do it. Or I'll undress you myself. Quickly, girl."
 "But it's cold..." she cried. "It's so cold! I'll get all wet..."
 "I'm going to count to three."
 "Daddy please!" she burst into tears and hugged herself. Her knees
buckled and she began to sink like a tornadoed cruiser.
 "One!" Vincent shouted. "Take em off!"
 "Daddy noooo!" Cindy screamed. She pounded her hands on the ground and
waved her head from side to side. "No! Noooo! Noooo! Noooooooo!"
 "TWO!" he shouted. "I mean it, Cindy! Take off your clothes NOW!"
 "Mummieee!" she wailed. "Mummieee! Mummmmmieeeee!"
 "THREE!" Vincent hissed, then noticed the that girl's hands were
working away at the belt of her jeans. He grinned. "Good girl."
 She went on crying as he helped her undress. But it had to be done, it
just had to. She had to be naked in order for the icey water to kill
her quickly. If she had nothing on, there was no possibility of any
garments floating to the surface either... no small items that had been
tucked away in her pockets could creep back up and give him away. He
could also burn her clothes too, wiping out the evidence completely.
 He had to be SURE.
 Crying for her mum, Cindy stood up and tottered around. She was naked
except for a pair of pale blue panties. Vincent whipped those off too,
and tossed them onto the grass beside the other garments.
 "Now stay still." he told her and began to tie the rope around her
left ankle. Cindy was wheezing now. Her body was white and covered in
goose-flesh and her knees were knocking. She had never been so
terrified in all her life.
 "Ouuuuch!" she protested when Vincent secured the double knot around
her foot. "Ouuu-uch, Duh-Daddy, that huh-huh-hurts!"
 "You're a bad girl, Cindy." he told her and stood up. "You played
tricks on people too many times. Now you've got to be punished. Even
your mum said you had to be punished."
 "Daddy!" she cried; a helpless little girl stood at the edge of a
deep, black canal. "Please Daddy! I love you!"
 Vincent swallowed something.
 Whatever it was, it would have made him untie Cindy and take her home
and forget all about this situation. But he had swallowed it, and now
all he could see was a purified world. He'd killed people before. He'd
killed kids before too.
 Ben Chalmers had gotten too cheeky. He'd disposed of that little
bugger quite nicely. No one had found THAT body.
 Cindy was going to be just another victim in his ever-increasing list.
Her death was going to be like all the others; punishment.
 Punishment for crossing his path.
 Vincent strode over to the two bags of sand and stared down at the
shivering girl one last time.
 "You aren't my daughter anyway." he said finally and booted the sand
bags over the edge. They splashed into the canal and Cindy looked up,
eyes sore and bloodshot.
 As she spoke, the length of rope speedily uncoiled below Vincent's
shoes.
 "I love you even though you did this." were her last, mortal words.
 The rope tightened and Cindy's leg stretched fully outward.
 She screamed and screamed and screamed, all the way down into the
canal, until just her neck was poking out. Her little fingers held onto
the embankment and crumbles of stone and moss plopped into the water
beside her face.
 "Dah..." she hissed, her mouth and eyes wide open. "Dahdeee...."
 Unable to take any more of her pleading, Vincent gritted his teeth
and brought his shoe down on Cindy's fingers. She screamed one last
time and released a small, choked cry before submerging into the water
completely.
 Vincent watched, breathing heavily as Cindy's body drifted deeper and
deeper, down into the eternal void. She looked up at him, waving her
hands as though in slow motion, until the blackness swallowed her
completely, and there was nothing left of her to be seen.
 For almost a whole minute, bubbles came speeding upto the surface of
the canal from the same focus point. They started out big, then began
to get smaller and smaller... until they were no bigger than ball
bearings.
 After that there was only the wind and the rain.

 Vincent scooped up Cindy's clothes, threw them in the back of the
truck and closed the doors. He climbed into the driver's seat, switched
on the egnition and sat in silence for a while.
 The windscreen was coated with raindrops, greatly distorting his view
of the canal. He thought he saw something down there; a bright,
contrasting colour against the darkness of the night.
 He switched on the windscreen wipers and the moisture splashed away,
revealing a heart-stopping view of a dead body floating on the surface
of the canal.
 Vincent sat up so quickly, he cracked his head on the roof.
 "What the fuck?" he said, his voice feeble and whispery. "Oh Jesus
fucking Christ..."
 He flung the door of the truck open and ran down to the canal,
panting, whispering, splashing through muddy puddles. He came to a
slippery halt on the embankment and sank to his knees.
 "Oh shhhhit..." he hissed, lips trembling. "Oh God no!"
 Cindy's naked corpse was floating ontop of the canal, head down, arms
submerged, back exposed to the rain. She was only a few metres from the
edge.
 Panicking, Vincent raced back to his truck, clambered inside and
remained there for several minutes, biting his fist.
 What in the Lord's name was he going to do now?
 With the girl's body visible, she was obviously going to be found
within the next twelve hours. The police would send divers into the
canal and they would find the sand-bags and the rope.
 He'd be caught for sure.
 But not if he got rid of her body first.
 Maybe he could drag it out of the canal and burn it someplace? He had
to do something, that was for sure, and right now, he was wasting
precious time.
 He got out again, ran around to the back doors, opened them, dragged
out another long coil of rope, then started for the canal.
 Ten muddy footprints later, he came to shocking halt.
 The corpse had gone.
 Just as he decided that the best thing to do was leave the place, the
headlights of his truck came on, cutting through the rainy night like
two gigantic blades.
 "Hey!" Vincent yelled, running towards his vehicle. He dropped the
rope he was holding through sheer panic and ran into the white beams.
 The engine started and the truck began to roll.
 Vincent held his hands up against his eyes.
 "Hey you!" he screamed as his own vehicle came thundering towards him,
wheels spraying mud and exploding through puddles. "Get out of
theeeere!"
 The lights blinded him, the front bumper crashed into his knees, he
fell forwards and thumped his head on the bonet, then toppled back and
vanished underneath the chasis.
 A few seconds later, he was lying crippled on the ground, staring
up at the unsettled clouds, his face coated in a thick mixture blood
and soil. One of his fingers was missing, both his knees were the wrong
way around, and his left ear was nothing but a bleeding entanglement of
thick fat and gristle.
 The truck skidded to a halt at the edge of the canal and the driver's
door opened.
 Through one barely working eyeball, Vincent watched as Cindy - still
white and naked - stepped down from the vehicle and began to approach
him. She was carrying something in her right hand.
 Something dark, wet and dripping.
 "Siiindeeee..." Vincent wailed. "Heeeelp youuur dadieee..."
 She didn't react. She just continued on her way, bringing closer that
horrible, puzzling object.
 "Ssssiiindeeee...." Vincent hissed, trying desperately to move
himself. He felt like a slug about to be sprinkled with salt. He knew
Cindy was here to get him back; she was after revenge.
 She was a demon, not a child, and she was going to play one last,
deadly trick on him.
 When she arrived, for just a moment, she stood dominantly over him,
dripping with rain. She was neither smiling or frowing; her lips were
simply horizontal and expressionless.
 "I didn't like what you did to me today." she announced, and as she
spoke, canal water spilled from her mouth. "I don't think I deserved
it, Daddy. I don't think I deserved it at all."
 "Noooo...." Vincent tried to shake his head. "I'm sooorry..."
 "I know you are sorry." Cindy said and a horrible, black-eyed little
newt slithered out from between her lips. "But I'm afraid I don't
accept your apology, Daddy. I don't think sorry is enough."
 "Siiindeeee!" Vincent cried as she came down with the hand that
carried the dripping, soggy object.
 It wasn't until she actually forced it into his mouth that he realised
what it was.
 He recognised the taste and texture immediately: cement sand.
 Whilst he choked and frantically waved his arms around, Cindy stepped
over him and took hold of his legs.
 She began to drag him towards the canal, water spraying from her mouth
with every breath she exhailed. Small flies, clusters of yellowish
larvae, weeds and even small fish emerged from her every oriface as
she staggered backwards, further and further towards the water's edge.
 "You never did take me swimming, Daddy." she commented as her feet
splashed into the canal.
 The truck's headlights spotlighted the two struggling figures as they
sank beneath the gentle waves.