The Metropolitan Police cordoned off the scene at approximately 3 a.m. on July 31st. The victims were pronounced dead upon arrival at the scene. All thirty, as yet unidentified, were found with broken necks and serious flesh wounds, also to the neck. Nine had also been found to be drained of their blood, sparking controversy among the public.
John Charles, head of the Metropolitan Police, said, ‘We are deeply shocked by this horrific incident, and we are determined to bring these evil and very dangerous killers to justice. We have forensic teams working at the scene, but we are appealing to witnesses who may have been in the area between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m. on July 31st to please come forward.’
Miss Ruby Jones, who discovered the scene, was unable to comment and is being treated for shock at the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.
A pair of high-heeled shoes have also been found and are being treated as evidence, although insiders have reported they may belong to a young woman, believed to have been at the scene during the incident. It is feared that she may have been taken by the murderer[s], although confirmation is yet to be released.
This gruesome murder is being compared to the infamous ‘Kent Bloodsucker’ incident, where three young women were found dead near Tunbridge Wells two and a half years ago. All three had broken necks and had been drained of their blood.
Any witnesses are being urged by the Met. Police to either visit a local police station or call a special hotline on 05603 826111. All identities remain anonymous.
For further images, turn to page 9. For opinions, turn to page 23.
By Phillip Bashford.
I lifted the corner of the page, wanting to turn to the pictures, but Declan laid a hand on the print, holding it down so firmly that as I tried to lift it, it tore down the middle. I let go and he folded it up, leaving the sport page face-up. I tasted salt on my lips and realized I was crying.
It was sickening. But I was crying because Ruby had found the scene. She wasn’t as strong as me.
I looked up and saw Kaspar standing behind me, holding a glass of blood in his hand. I rounded on him. ‘Why did you do it?’
His brow lowered and small creases appeared around the corners of his eyes as he narrowed them, surveying me. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he murmured, his lips barely moving.
‘Wouldn’t I?’ I challenged, taking a step closer.
‘No.’ His lips parted even further and he looked as though he wanted to say something else, but chose not to. The room was silent, other than the sound of my heavy, irregular breathing.
‘Those men had families!’
‘So do we,’ he muttered.
I shook my head. ‘You’re sick,’ I spat, placing two hands on the shirt stretched over his chest. I shoved, pouring every emotion into the thought of hurting him. To my complete surprise he took a step back. It wasn’t a stumble: I hadn’t forced him to move. He just let me push him back without a word. ‘Sick,’ I repeated.
I pushed past him and fled the room, tears flowing unchecked now. The thought of those men, lying in a pool of their own blood kept bouncing around my mind, making my stomach turn. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and it was my turn to be sick.
SEVEN
Kaspar
‘Feisty,’ Felix muttered. He switched to his mind, musing on one thought. Maybe it would have been easier to just kill her?
No, it wouldn’t have been easier. I let the thought fill my head, before throwing up walls around my mind, wanting the others out. I needed to think, privately.
Something about the look on the girl’s face had disturbed me; made me step back when she pushed me. It was a feeling I thought I remembered, but couldn’t grasp.
‘He means it would have been better for her if she didn’t have to deal with us,’ Declan clarified. I felt him pushing against my mental barriers and I lowered them slightly. Your reasons for taking her were selfish, Kaspar, despite what you might tell the King.
And so what if they were? Then your selfishness has got the Kingdom in trouble. He opened the paper back up, turning to an article about the rising costs of defence. Blocking his mind to everyone but me, he pointed to the headline. Michael Lee: taking the hard line on defence. He will want his daughter back. And you know he has been looking for an excuse to drive us out since they won the election. This is exactly the ammunition he needs. He wouldn’t dare do anything. He’s too scared. I drained the rest of the blood, enjoying the warmth that came with freshness. Declan’s exasperation came across in waves, but he didn’t say any more on it. He knew that a lecture from father was enough for one day.
‘I talked with her. She is scared and angry, but she’s curious too,’ Fabian said, participating in a conversation I hadn’t been listening to.
‘You answered her questions?’ Lyla asked with a poor attempt at offhandedness.
Fabian nodded and Declan peered from over his newspaper again. ‘That is only because she is still clinging to hope. Once she realizes she is stuck here, that will go.’ He returned to the paper, apparently satisfied with his doom-and-gloom prediction. ‘And when I’m right, I will happily say, “I told you so”,’ he added, rustling the paper. Cain glanced in my direction and I knew my eyes must have dropped through to black.
Yes, I didn’t kill her! I roared to myself as way of reply to their disapproving expressions. But not because I wanted her as a toy, though I would happily let them continue thinking that. I didn’t know why I had taken her. I didn’t know why I had saved her – why I had done it personally, and not let Fabian, always the nice guy, play saviour.
No, it wouldn’t have been easier to kill her, I thought, continuing on from Felix’s earlier statement. Because I suspect this particular human would have weighed on my conscience.
EIGHT
Violet
I didn’t know where my legs were taking me. I lost myself in the maze of corridors, my awe increasing with every turn. It wasn’t a welcoming place – there were few windows and most of the light came from gas lamps fashioned to look like torches or the occasional spotlight, which would highlight an alcove containing an expensive-looking painting or vase – but it was certainly grand. There was wood panelling everywhere and the floor was so clean I could see an outline of my reflection on the polish. It was cold too and if I lingered for too long on one spot, it felt as though I was standing on a pile of snow in only my socks. The few windows I did come across I fiddled with, trying to open them, but every single one was locked or too stiff to lift; the one I did manage to open was several floors up and positioned on a completely smooth wall, high enough to rule out jumping.
I found another set of stairs and climbed them. The upper floors seemed to be deserted, adding to the eeriness. I found empty room after empty room and
