Cremains

'Cremains' - Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

At bloody last. Finally there was light at the end of the tunnel – or at least an opening the size of my fist at the far end of the hole. Scratch's "half hour or so" had turned out to be well over double that, even though we'd worked non-stop in shifts. Alan had moaned like hell all the while he was having his go, of course, but thanks to the din of the drilling, Scratch and I could hardly hear him.

'Here, I'll take over,' said Scratch, presumably fired up with renewed enthusiasm now that the job was almost done.

Even so, I wasn't about to object, and I gladly handed him the drill.

The work was a lot easier from then on with Scratch chipping away at the far end of the hole and pausing every so often so I could pull out the loose rubble or push it through the other side. Ten minutes later and the hole was about the size of my head. Ten more and it was big enough for me to get my shoulders through with a bit of wriggling. The dust began to clear, and my eyes swept across the pile of rubble in front of me.

Holy shit. What the—? Feet. Human feet. In shiny black leather. The sharp points pointing straight at me. Thin stiletto heels nearly six inches long. My gaze crept stealthily upwards, eventually reaching the tops of the black leather boots and the pale skin of a pair of thighs. Then more black leather with little straps and buckles at regular intervals. Twin bulges of white flesh trying to force their way out, partially obscured by forearms clad in long black gloves. A coiled whip in one hand being slowly and rhythmically tapped against the palm of the other. Thick, black leather collar studded with viciously long spikes. Glossy scarlet lips, pouting slightly. Black leather eye mask and a bob of gleaming black hair.

Jesus Christ, what was she doing here?

Panicked, I darted my eyes to left and right. Wood and metal contraptions everywhere with ropes or chains dangling from most of them. A wooden X-shaped frame with a man strapped to it, spreadeagled and totally starkers apart from a black rubber hood that covered his face and head completely. Red welts criss-crossed his massive man-boobs and equally enormous belly.

I switched my focus back to peering upwards at the pouting red lips and the black eye mask. But the lips were no longer pouting. Instead, they'd spread into a kind of lopsided, leering grin.

'Who's been a naughty boy then?' said the lips, and there was a sharp "krakk!" as the business end of the whip struck the floor of what was pretty obviously not the vault of a bank.