Beholden To No One But God

Note: This story has been written with the intention of being melodramatic. It has been written in part as a loving homage to Airplane! Hellraiser, Hammer Horror and Seven. It’s not intended to be taken in any way seriously, so please bear that in mind, however, some details within the story do touch on some subjects which some people may find distressing, such as abduction. No fictional characters were harmed in the making of this story.

Felicity Whyte strode into the police station. It was an ordinary morning in Redwick Bush, which meant the police were busy with the usual array of enquiries, ranging from lost pets, car keys and late postal deliveries; such as life was, in Redwick Bush, due to the distinct lack of crime, the police service had busied itself with assisting in other affairs around the neighbourhood. It was a difficult job, with bad pay, worse hours and zero fulfilment for a job well done, but it was Felicity's job and she did it well. She had worn a light grey trouser suit today, with a dark blue blouse and court shoes. Felicity quickly approached her desk, sifting through the ever-growing pile of reports that had been left on her desk from the night shift. Due to her recent promotion to one of the station’s sergeants, Felicity was in charge of reviewing and signing off on the paperwork, particularly for some of the probationary officers in the station. Given the pile of work on her desk, she knew it was going to be a long day, already. Felicity took a cup of bad coffee from the machine before she sat down and began looking through the reports.

Felicity didn’t immediately know how much time had passed as she had managed to get into the zone with her work, powering through several reports already (she had found with enough coffee and focus, she could power through quite well)  before her work was interrupted by one of her junior colleagues, grinning at her, gormlessly like a lost puppy, wagging its tale at someone who slightly resembles his owner. The man enthusiastically pushed a coffee cup at Felicity. She loathed to accept gifts from him, as that might give him the erroneous impression that she was somehow interested in speaking with him, but she had already experienced that if she did not, then she would quickly find that he would simply repeat the gesture until she did. Felicity had oft pondered exactly how he had gotten the job in the first place, but given the difficult life of a police officer, they were hardly beating away potential recruits with a stick. Felicity accepted the cup, forcing a smile at the young man. He wore a white shirt and a black tie with black trousers. His shirt was creased and a blue ink stain adorned his pocket, the pen that had caused the leak still sitting in place, with the kind of gall to deny its responsibility for the damage. His hair was very short, shaven closely to his head. He continued smiling, gesturing towards Felicity, chipperly as he went, as if he had some great news to share, quite possibly that he’d solved his first case, the case of the leaky pen. Felicity heard a loud noise from the Inspector’s office; that particular head-scratcher would have to wait. Not to worry, Felicity told herself, they would interrogate that dastardly pen yet. No one in Redwick Bush got away with staining someone’s whites without swift justice being served.

Felicity leapt to her feet, eager not to keep her Inspector waiting. She hurriedly walked towards his office, passing by the myriad sounds of a bustling station, filled with men and women who risked their lives every day to make the lives of their citizens that little bit easier, to no thanks, not ever. But she didn’t have time for that, she reminded herself, Tim Evans, her gruff detective inspector was not known for being a patient man. Felicity noticed that Martin, the new kid on the team, was following her as she approached. Felicity decided not to reprimand him, on this occasion, as he was still very new in the job, with the stresses and difficulty they faced, daily, she doubted he would last until the end of the month, let alone long enough to pass his probationary period. Felicity reached the office door, knocking, as she had always done. Evans gestured her inwards. His clothes resembled a man who had been working too hard for too long, his shirt no longer resembling its original colour, now more a worn, murky, indistinct colour. He wore a pair of grey bobbled trousers, which Felicity speculated had not seen a good iron in quite some time; but then again, Evans was busy running their entire division, when would he have time to iron a pair of trousers?

Felicity was about to close the door when Martin squeezed through the gap, much to Felicity's chagrin. Evans silently gestured for them both to sit down. It was clear from his pacing up and down behind his desk that he had a big problem. His desk was adorned with piles of paper, a dusty computer, a mini calendar and a Newton’s Cradle, which Martin proceeded to play with once he’d sat down. It was good, Felicity decided, that he had something to entertain himself with, now the adults in the room could discuss the important business she had been called into Evans’ office to discuss. Finally, Evans stopped pacing and pressed his palms down onto his desk. He had the aggressive look on his face now; this was serious. Felicity had only seen him look aggressive, once before, that time when a child had not come home for dinner. They had thirty officers out searching; turned out that he’d dozed off in his tree house and had to suffer the ignominy of being the biggest police search in Redwick Bush’s history (and eating a reheated meal).

“We have a problem” Evans snarled, his voice hoarse and uneasy. “We’ve had a crime reported, here, in Redwick Bush.” Evans continued, keeping his voice down. Martin inhaled sharply with astonishment.

“Those bastards” Felicity hissed with contempt. “They just never give up, sir. They want to ruin everything for everyone” Felicity continued, expressing her distaste for criminals as a whole.

“I know, Whyte. I don’t need to tell you that we need to get results; when the brass hears about this, they’re going to be breathing down all our necks and nobody needs that kind of distraction. I need you, my best detective and Ronson, here, to investigate this case” Evans explained.

“Ronson? But sir, he’s-” Felicity protested before Tim cut her off.

“I don’t want to hear it, Whyte! A young woman was gunged today.” Tim shot back. Felicity sat back in her seat, speechless. Nothing like this had ever happened before; she understood the stakes couldn’t be higher. They couldn’t have people going around gunging the young women, that just wouldn’t do at all. Evans proceeded to lay out the information as best he knew it, they were to interview the victim, a Marie McGovern, a married mother of two, who lived in a very nice part of town.

On the way, Felicity explained to Martin exactly what she expected of him. This woman had clearly been through something more traumatic than he could possibly fathom and his job, as Felicity deemed it, was to stay out of her way, question her husband on the off chance that he might know something which could prove useful to their case. He was, under no circumstances, Felicity reiterated, to speak to the victim. She had been through enough, without his incompetent bumbling making matters worse. This case needed to be handled with finesse, deft and skill; three characteristics Martin lacked completely. Felicity led the way from the car, the area was filled with immaculate gardens with impeccably trimmed bushes and gardens that likely had professionals attending to each flower placement, every tree nurtured and cared for with passion, all reinforcing the aesthetic beauty of Redwick Bush. It was the worst experience of her career in the police, knowing that behind that door lay the victim of such a heinous, tragic incident.

Felicity reached the door, gripping the knocker on the dark red PVC door, gently rapping it against the metal. Felicity could hear people inside, it sounded like the normal everyday life of a family, from the outside, at least. After a few minutes, a taller man opened the door. He had dark hair and hazel eyes, his hair was a little longer than she expected and his facial hair was coming through thick and fast. The man wore a guarded look in his eyes as if trying to ascertain exactly who Felicity was before he spoke. He wore a green T-shirt and blue jeans, with a white towel thrown over his right shoulder.

“Can I help you?” The man asked, a thick Irish accent pouring from his lips. His voice made Felicity shiver and she tried to remain composed; after all, she was there for a very important reason.

“Mr McGovern? I’m Felicity Whyte, from the station. I er… May we come in? We’d like to follow up on an incident with your wife” Felicity explained. The man nodded, opening the door for them to enter. Felicity could tell from his expression and his stance that he was far from pleased to be letting them in, but he knew something had to be done.

“Marie’s in the living room” McGovern explained, pointing them in the right direction. Felicity walked down the hallway, trying to retain her composure.

“My God, I could listen to that man speak all day about… Anything” Martin whispered as if giving voice to Felicity's thoughts. Felicity, for only a moment, consider suggesting that they swap jobs, that he questions the victim, so she could listen to the dulcet tones of the woman’s husband. Felicity shook away the idea, realising that Martin would likely be evaded by a particularly talkative block of cheese. They reached the living room and were greeted by a young woman with strawberry-blonde hair that she wore tied back, it seemed to Felicity that she had recently washed her hair, perhaps more than once, most likely a consequence of her prior experience. She wore a black long-sleeved top and grey leggings. In her arms, she held an infant, who she was feeding from a bottle. Nearby, was another child, a blonde girl, who smiled excitedly at Felicity, clearly eager to meet new people. The room was quite standard for a living room, with a dark grey corner sofa, which was currently covered in child’s toys, a burnt red carpet on the floor, a large TV affixed to the wall and a leather armchair where Marie was currently sat and a coffee table within arms reach of the sofa and chair.

“Awww, she’s so cute” Felicity swooned, seeing the child. She seemed to beam at the compliment as if she looked forward to such moments.

“That’s Aoife, my eldest. This is Darragh, her baby brother. Liam, could you take Aoife upstairs, please?” Marie shouted to the other room, presumably to her husband. “Do you have any children of your own?” She asked, looking towards Felicity. Marie gestured for Felicity to sit down, so they could speak. Felicity perched herself on the edge of the corner sofa, so she could be close to Marie whilst also trying to maintain a professional distance.

“No, my boyfriend and I haven’t talked about that yet. I guess I want to get my career on a more solid foundation before we do that” Felicity explained, introducing herself to the baby in Marie’s arms. Martin shuffled uncomfortably as if the very mention of children had evoked some sort of allergic reaction from him. “Um… Why don’t you get a statement from Mr McGovern…?” Felicity suggested, trying to remind Martin of his purpose there. Martin bumbled incompetently, about something or other (Felicity tried not to listen too much to him, she felt her IQ reducing whenever he spoke). She heard McGovern shout something in response but his accent was too thick to quite catch what he said.

“Ugh… Aoife, honey, I want you to go with this nice man, he’s going to take you to your da, okay?” Marie explained to the blonde girl, who proceeded to follow her instructions. She returned her attention to Darragh, briefly, before turning back to Felicity. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee?” Marie offered, ever the gracious host. Felicity wasn’t sure how much of this was a normal day for her and how much was Marie trying to over-compensate for what had happened.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m here to get a statement about what happened to you, Mrs McGovern. Please, know, we are going to do everything we can in order to catch the… The monster who did that to you.  Please don’t think there’s any detail too small or insignificant; anything could be a potential clue” Felicity explained, trying to emphasise with Marie.

“Thank you. It was… It was just so horrible. My husband, Liam and I moved here because we thought this was a safe town, and that these things just didn’t happen around here… I honestly don’t know if we will be able to stay if something isn’t done. We have family over in Northern Ireland, we can quite easily live there” Marie intimated, clearly showing how troubled she was by her prior experiences. Felicity nodded, she couldn’t imagine how traumatic the experience must have been for the poor woman.

“It was the first time in… Well, I don’t even know how long, that I’d had a night out. See, I’d managed to shed most of the baby weight after Darragh was born, so I was finally able to wear something that’s not maternity wear, so we planned a girls' night. Nothing too extravagant, just some drinks down at a pub” Marie began to intimate her experience, as Felicity began taking notes, trying to get as many specifics as she could.

Marie had worn a bright red dress for the evening and a pair of black strappy shoes. She ordinarily wouldn’t have made such an effort, given that she and her friends were simply going to a local pub for a few drinks (her mother was caring for the children while she was out, while she was, at least as she said, happy to do so, she didn’t wish to take advantage of the woman’s kindness) but it was honestly a good excuse to wear a nice dress, impractical shoes and do her make-up. She had been a little drunk by this point and she had contemplated walking down the road to the taxi rank after she had said her farewell’s to her friends, who had opted to go the opposite direction towards a club or another bar; Marie had to admit, she envied their freedom, at least a little (though she knew she would feel guilty about that as soon as she returned home to her children). The streetlights glistened in the residue of rainwater on the black tarmac of the road surface as the occasional car sailed through the liquid, stirring its restful state. Marie felt the urge to have a cigarette while she walked even though she had quit smoking around two years before when she learned she had become pregnant. She chalked it up to the association between drinking and smoking as she walked towards a convenience store.

Marie didn’t know what it was, exactly that had caught her eye, or maybe someone - or more to the point, something - had called to her from the shadows. When she stopped and turned her focus down a dark alleyway, she could see something moving, though it appeared to do so in an unnatural and sinister fashion. Marie knew that she should turn, abandon her quest for cigarettes and hurriedly make her way to the safety of the taxi rank, then to her safe, warm home where she could kiss her children and forget whatever strange creature danced in the shadows that night. She knew that was what she should do, but how many of us have taken the good advice of our instinct? Marie, she knew, would be no different as she approached the shadowy figure.

“It could be some poor girl who needs help. You’d want someone to help if it were you” Marie uttered to herself, trying to calm her nerves. She cautiously walked down the alley, instinctively trying to mute the sound of her heels against the pavement as she went, so as to not draw unnecessary attention to herself. She silently scolded herself for her choice of footwear for the evening with every click. The alleyway seemed to lead to an old warehouse, there were still a fair few such properties around town, some of which were still in use from businesses that operated in the area, whilst others were being eyed by profit-hungry developers, looking to cash in on the market in the area and to create the next craze; after all, why live in a boring old apartment, when you could live in an apartment that looks like a warehouse? Before she knew it, Marie had gone much further down the alley than she initially intended. Whatever this mysterious figure was, Marie was now abundantly aware, it was luring her in, or luring her away from the safety of the well-lit streets, away from passers-by, so it could enact some evil deeds upon her. Marie swallowed hard, feeling the urge to scream or to turn and run back to the street (or, more likely, to throw away any dignity and do both in the most embarrassing way possible, only to learn it had been recorded and posted online to become the next viral clip). That was when she saw the figure properly.

Marie wasn’t sure whether it was a man or a woman since they wore dark clothes. The perpetrator moved with an unnatural fluidity, almost as if they could float on air with a grace that wasn’t afforded to human beings. Marie initially admired their poise and precision, but her admiration was short-lived. She had only enough time to emit a loud gasp as she saw it coming; she would, forevermore, wish she had moved or fought back, but she had frozen in panic. A large, whipped cream-filled pie was being plunged towards her face, threatening to destroy her well-groomed locks and her make-up that she had spent hours perfecting. It felt as if the dessert took an age before it actually impacted, as Marie grimaced, awaiting her fate. Eventually, impact took place, with a loud splat, sending cream and other fillings into her hair and over her dress. Marie omitted another gasp, of disgust this time as her mouth contorted into an O shape. She tried to clear her eyes, feeling the cream already seeping into the fabric of her dress. Realising that her assailant was far from done with her, Marie began trying to hurriedly walk towards the street; dignity be damned, she decided, after all, she already had a face full of humiliation, she would rather become the ‘shrieking cream-faced woman in an alley’ than learn what else this person had in store for her.

Marie could feel them right behind her, as she once again cursed her shoes for her inability to garner any real speed, leading to a further two pies being slammed into either side of her head, filling her ears, pelting her dress and cleavage with yet more dessert. The feeling of the pies managed to muffle her senses somewhat, meaning she would need to pause, to pry through the mess in order to regain enough focus to get her bearings; their planning was clearly flawless, as it had now left Marie completely under their control. She had just about managed to clear her eyes and mouth, realising she was near enough to the street now to maybe be heard by a passerby, hoping that she might encounter a kind stranger who could chase away the mysterious figure, the final flowering of her attack occurred. She felt a thick, cold liquid landing on her hair. Marie let out a disgusted, humiliated shriek, now, as the liquid descended over her shoulders and down her back, making its way inside her dress (which she now estimated was completely ruined, after such a long time of not being able to wear it). The liquid seemed to flow and flow without mercy, without kindness, without end, as if it were being poured from Utgard-Loki’s horn. Marie was about ready to give up and consign herself to whatever slimy fate was in store for her when a young woman wearing what appeared to be a hospital ID rushed to her aid. The disruption was enough to cease the attack, though it had left Marie’s upper body covered in the slimy liquid. She looked down to realise she was now a mix of white and green, her dress barely resembling any of the bold red it once had. The woman chased after the figure, as Marie fumbled around in her bag for her phone.

Felicity noTim down the details that Marie could remember about her attacker, before touching her leg, trying to offer some small form of comfort. Felicity knew that it would offer little solace, during such a difficult time, but Felicity knew, had she been the target of such a vicious, public sliming, she would want to know the police officer investigating had some measure of the sheer level of the trauma she had gone through. Marie still wore the look of a woman who wanted to shower, yet again, as if this time she might manage to wash off the feeling of shame and indignity she had felt. Felicity handed Marie her card, which she perused for a moment then placed it on the coffee table. Felicity stood up from the sofa, as Marie’s focus was occupied by her infant son who seemed to be fussing.

“If you think of anything else, please get in touch. There really are no unimportant details in a case like this. I want you to know, I’m going to personally find this evil creature and make certain they suffer the fullest extent of the law, Mrs McGovern” Felicity reassured Marie.

“Thank you. I just hope you catch them before they do this to any other girls. Nobody should have to endure this experience” Marie uttered, solemnly. Felicity concluded their interview and then collected Martin, who seemed to be discussing football with Liam, rather than doing his job. She led him back out to the car, stepping inside before questioning him about what they had discovered.

“Seems like a really nice man. Supports Celtic, not Rangers, he enjoys spicy food, and his favourite beer is this German brand, Warsteiner. Apparently, it’s really nice.” Martin summarised.

“Great work. We’ll make a detective of you yet” Felicity remarked, seemingly happy with the information Martin had gathered.

Felicity returned them to the police station to brief Evans on the case, ensuring he was kept abreast of all the evidence. Evans nodded, listening attentively to the briefing. Their next step was clear; they needed to locate the young medical worker who had been at the scene of the first attack, and ascertain what information she might be able to contribute to the case. Evans instructed them to begin calling around to the local hospitals and clinics, to see if anyone could help them to locate this good Samaritan who aided Mrs McGovern in her time of messy distress.

“Um… Sir? Not sure I can do that” Martin muttered, guiltily as he raised his hand.

“How come, son?” Evans asked, clearly trying to form a bond with the young detective, like he’d done with Felicity, years before when she first became his protege.

“Oh, I erm… I accidentally buttered my phone. See, I thought it was my lunch and… Now, it won’t work because there’s butter in all the buttons” Martin explained, revealing his mistake.

“I see. Whyte, get onto IT and have them send a technician to fix Ronson’s phone. Ronson, don’t feel bad about it, son, you’re just not one of us until you’ve buttered a piece of office equipment. When I was but a young detective myself, my old mentor, Donohoe, smothered a stapler in mayonnaise and then put it in his mouth… Nobody is quite sure whether he thought it was his chicken sandwich or whether the stress of the job just became too much for him. I will never forget the scream that came out of that man when he stapled the roof of his mouth. Damn fine detective. He never fully recovered after that…” Evans explained, shaking his head slowly as he told the cautionary tale.

“I’m on it, sir. We’ll find this woman, hopefully, she can lead us to some new information.”

Felicity reviewed the information they had in the case, thus far, hoping to fathom some connection but she knew she was unlikely to prevent the next attack, as there was just so little to go on. Felicity drummed her pen against the paper, hoping it might reveal some clue or trigger an epiphany of some kind. Some time passed and they were eventually able to make the necessary phone calls, which yielded some positive results. A local hospital had a junior doctor who fitted the description given, what’s more, she had failed to arrive for work at the bruises and scrapes department earlier that day, leading to delays in much-needed medical care. They had a name, now, which meant they could locate the woman. Pulling up her address from the computer, they left for the car. It was a short drive from the station, so they were hopeful that the young doctor, Nadine Hargreaves, had simply overslept after a long and exhausting shift of handling bruises and scrapes. They reached her building, a large block of apartments that had often been used by young professionals. Gaining access to the building, the two detectives entered.

They exited the lift of the building and then began walking towards the woman’s apartment. Felicity felt as if something was off, as she noticed fresh stains on the carpet. These kinds of buildings were renowned for employing cleaners to ensure the cleanliness of communal areas was exceptional; so these stains had to have been caused recently. Felicity knelt down to inspect the stains, which seemed to be a strange yellow with a green tinge. They followed the stains before they noticed a large glob of liquid on the carpet. Felicity was reluctant to but she knew she had to confirm her suspicions; she hoped against hope that she was wrong. She knelt down again, touching the liquid with her fingers. It was cold and slimy to the touch, viscous in its nature as it clung to her fingers. There was no doubt, now; this was gunge. They were no longer looking for a witness, but a victim. Felicity's heart sank as she shook her head to Martin, who emitTim a sigh of concern.

They reached Nadine’s apartment, hearing the sound of water running. Based on the evidence, it appeared that they had arrived shortly after the woman had returned home, her earlier suspicions all but confirmed by more stains leading to her door, so she was likely trying to clean up. Felicity wondered if she had already contacted the police, though she suspected that she might have felt too ashamed to do so; after all, who would want to report to the police that they had been gunged? Felicity discreetly knocked on the door, hoping to not draw any more attention than was absolutely necessary. It was a few minutes but the woman finally answered the door. She wore a robe, her head wrapped in a towel. The door opened, protected by a chain. It was only natural, under the circumstances, Felicity admitted, for Nadine to feel cautious about what had happened.

“Yes?” Nadine greeTim them, looking them both up and down.

“Dr Hargreaves? My name is Detective Sergeant Whyte, this is Constable Ronson, we’re with Redwick Bush police. May we come in and ask you a few questions?” Felicity asked, in a hushed voice, so as to not attract attention from Nadine’s neighbours.

“Um… Is this about the… Erm… Stains? Because I’m going to clean that up, I promise” Nadine pleaded, averting eye contact with Felicity.

“It’s about a serious incident. I’d rather not discuss it in a hallway, but you’re not in any trouble. May we come in?” Felicity reassured the doctor. Nadine nodded, perhaps realising that Felicity had already pieced together what had happened and proceeded to open the door. She looked out, cautiously, to make sure nobody had seen them enter. Nadine proceeded to get dressed, while Felicity reiteraTim her previous concerns, Martin was not to say anything, unless asked, he was to take notes. Felicity gave him her notepad, to ensure he had one. After a few minutes, Nadine returned, wearing a pair of black jeans and an oversized hoodie that Felicity speculated might have belonged to her partner.

“So… You know what happened.” Nadine asked, leading them into her living room. It was a small room, big enough to fit in a two-seater black leather sofa, a side table and a TV. Nadine, perhaps noticing the lack of seating, began to fuss, bringing a wooden dining chair from the kitchen into the room. It made the room feel much more cramped, but it would do, for now. Felicity encouraged the woman to sit, hoping that if she were seaTim, she might feel more relaxed. Martin sat down on the dining chair, his new pen poised to take notes. Nadine sighed, realising she was going to need to explain what had happened.

“We received a report from a woman, who intimated that you may have been a witness to a vile crime, yes. But from the look of things, am I right in assuming that you, too, are a victim of this, cruel assailant?” Felicity asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. Nadine nodded, welling up with tears. Felicity couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult this must be for her, so she encouraged Nadine to take her time going over the events. Nadine dried her eyes and then exhaled sharply before she began to explain the events of the previous night.

Nadine Hargreaves was walking home, after a particularly gruelling shift of caring for patients in the bruises and scrapes department at the hospital, an often thankless task, as patients in real pain can be quite short, demanding all manner of things as they seek to relieve their injuries but for Nadine, just knowing that she had made a difference would make it all worthwhile; after a nice hot drink and some food, of course. Nadine still wore a pair of green scrubs and white trainers that she’d worn at the hospital, her ID hanging from her chest, with a black suede jacket. She was minding her own business, walking through the centre of town, when she heard something from a dark alley. Ordinarily, Nadine steered well clear of such places but she felt compelled to, hearing what sounded like the emotional cries and sobs of a woman. It was enough to evoke her caring nature and Nadine sought out the sound. It wasn’t long before she saw something horrific. There was a young woman, whose face had been completely obscured by cream and pie, with a mysterious figure emptying a bucket of green gunge over the woman, while she sobbed uncontrollably. It was obviously extremely humiliating and traumatic for her. Nadine rushed towards her, hoping to scare off the assailant. The figure immediately retreated. Nadine didn’t know why she did it, every instinct she had told her to stay with the woman, to help her out of the alley, get her home safely and leave the pursuit to the police but she didn’t. Nadine decided to give chase.

The figure seemed to move with an unnatural speed, almost as if they could somehow take avenues that Nadine couldn’t but Nadine was determined to follow. She remained close, but not close enough to actively see the figure up close to really gather anything about their features, beyond this strange sense of grace and nimbleness they moved with. Nadine began to suspect that she was in fact not giving chase, so much as they were leading her somewhere when she realised they were now far from the populaTim area of the high street of town and into an industrial estate. Nadine realised her error, but it was too late. She suddenly felt faint, as if she had been drugged with something. She saw the stranger approach her and she began to lose consciousness.

Nadine awoke, alarmed by her surroundings. She had been moved to a different location, her clothes had been changed, and she was now wearing a black swimsuit that she’d bought for an upcoming holiday she had planned on taking. Nadine tried to move but her hands were locked in place, behind her back. She was trapped. There was little she could fathom about her whereabouts from what she could see, noticing the perspex walls that surrounded her. Above her head was a large vat, filled with a particularly disgusting liquid, both green and yellow permeating through it. Nadine didn’t have to contemplate for very long what it was; she was about to suffer a worse fate than the poor woman she had attempted to rescue. Nadine looked around, trying to catch sight of her captor. She eventually saw someone, or something, as she considered may be the better descriptor, lurking in the shadows. They wore what seemed to be a gothic black dress, or possibly a robe. From what Nadine could see on their face, they appeared to have feminine features. Was this a woman, inflicting such horrors upon other women? They approached the tank, speaking in a very quiet tone, more raspy than accented, whether by intent to disguise themselves or from another reason, Nadine couldn’t say. Their skin seemed unnaturally pale.

“You are to be a sacrifice” The person hissed, sinisterly. “You have been chosen to bask in his glory” They added, employing an almost devout religiosity to their ramblings. What hellish deity could possibly demand such a price? Nadine pulled against her restraints, vainly hoping that she might somehow break free and foil the plans of this would-be gunge priest/priestess.

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything, I promise. I’m a good person, I work at the hospital, caring for people with bruises and scrapes. I make really bad money and really long hours, just trying to make life better for people, people like you. You don’t have to do this” Nadine pleaded, trying to foster some empathy from her captor. The person slithered unnaturally, almost as if they floated off the ground rather than walked, before gripping a handle next to the tank. Nadine could see suspiciously sexy, extremely long, black nails on their fingers. They threw their head back and cackled malevolently, as Nadine looked up. The way she had been positioned, it was obvious that she would not escape a coating. She wasn’t a religious woman but she considered prayer, at that moment, though she knew not what deity she should pray to. The handle was pulled and Nadine squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her face together with a soft whimper in anticipation of the impact. She didn’t have to wait long before the slimy deluge engulfed her head, smearing over her hair and sliding quickly over her bare breasts. She omitted a disgusted squeak, which seemed to satisfy her captor, who seemed to revel in her discomfort. The slime flowed down her back, now, having completely soaked her hair and began to pool at the back of her swimsuit as her crotch began to fill with gunge, unable to escape from the leg holes.

Eventually, the flow slowed and finally ceased. By now, the slime had at least started to leak from either of the legs of her swimsuit, leaving a fresh trickle down the inside of Nadine’s legs (not that you’d notice, given how much her bare thighs had been covered in the liquids, which had now merged into a strange, greeny-yellow colour). Nadine couldn’t make out where her captor was but she no longer heard any sign of them. The silence in the area was deafening, with only the slow drop of gunge dropping onto Nadine’s head breaking it with its monotonous, incessant rhythm. Nadine contemplated calling out to her captor as the gunge seemed to coalesce in places that she would much rather not think about, but she wondered if this was a truly wise idea, after all, what fate could possibly befall her, if they came back? After what felt like an eternity (a wait that was only enhanced by the dripping) Nadine felt the lock around her wrists release, leaving her to freedom. She wiped the gunge from her face as best she could, her hands themselves a lot messier than she had initially thought, and then she explored the area looking for a way out. She found what resembled a garden gate, unlocked, and she was about to make her way out but realised her state of undress could compromise her escape, she looked around some more. Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as she found her scrubs lying nearby, neatly folded. It was far from ideal but she put them back on, and then made her way home, dreaming of the hot shower that awaited her at the end of her journey.

Felicity sat looking at the woman, slack-jawed. She had been a police officer for several years, but never in her career had she had to listen to such a harrowing story. Nadine shook, clearly traumatised by the experience and Felicity knew there were likely no words she could share that might alleviate the feelings Nadine was feeling. What would Felicity want to hear if she had just endured this kind of suffering? That they were going to catch the vile criminal who would do such a thing? Could she make such a promise and keep it? Martin continued to scribble down notes, catching up with the end of Nadine’s tale.

“I am so sorry that happened to you, Dr Hargreaves. We’re going to do everything we can to catch them, we can offer you victim’s support if you need-” Felicity tried her best to reassure the woman before she cut her off.

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t wish to make any kind of formal statement; I know that doesn’t help your case but I just want to try to forget this has ever happened. I don’t want everyone to know what happened to me…” Nadine explained, revealing her trepidation about the event. Felicity understood her reasons and they parted company, with Felicity leaving her with her details, should Nadine change her mind about making an official statement. In any case, they had a lot of valuable information they could use going forward. The pair returned to the car, trying their best to soak up the nature of the acts they were investigating. It was becoming clearer now, they were tracking the trail of a truly deranged and dangerous individual with the kind of religious zeal that could make them even more of a menace to society than they already had been. They both climbed back into the vehicle, closing the doors, still in silence. Realising that she needed to review things, to ensure Martin hadn’t missed anything, Felicity finally broke the silence.

“So what do we have?” Felicity asked. Martin flipped her notepad open, with a surprising level of competence (she wondered just how long he had been practising for just such an occasion).

“Okay. We have a pale individual, possibly with feminine features, who has unnaturally pale, wears black clothes, long sexy nails, milk, coffee, tights, flavoured lube-” Martin continued.

“That’s my shopping list” Felicity nodded, as he went through the list, seemingly not realising he had seamlessly gone into her list. They then returned to the station, looking to provide a status update to Evans.

A week had gone by and Felicity came into the office as she normally did, following her usual routine, collecting a coffee and a pastry as she walked to her desk. Today, she had opted to wear a long black skirt with a floral pattern, a pair of Victorian-style shoes with a dark red blouse. She didn’t normally go with clothes that expressed her femininity at work because she felt it important to retain a professional distance, which a suit often provided. Still, after the events of the previous week, Felicity felt she needed to feel good about herself. She walked up to her desk and sat down. True to his word, Evans had reassigned her usual casework to another officer, her only concern for the foreseeable future would be to ascertain the identity of the attacker they were pursuing. Evans looked furious this morning, his shirt today was a brownish colour and he had the look of a man who hadn’t slept in days. No wonder, Felicity thought, after all, how could he sleep while this sort of thing happened under his watch? Martin gestured towards Felicity, indicating that they had a meeting with Evans to review the case. He was wearing a black shirt and black trousers today, which actually somehow made him seem like he had an air of competence about him. Felicity hurried to the Inspector’s office, closing the door. She knew they were in for an earful, which was Evans’ right as their boss. She sat down on the chair in front of his desk, next to Martin.

“We need to do something. There have been four attacks, now, four young women have had to wash the slime from their hair. Four. I don’t need to tell you, I have head-office breathing down my neck. They’re saying if I can’t bring this situation under control… Well, the words early retirement have been floated.” Evans explained, staring out of his office window. It was clear from his posture and the way he spoke that he was devastated by the words; to bring a long and illustrious career to an end with such ignominy would be a tragic loss, not just for the community of Redwick Bush but for the police force as a whole. “People are scared, women all over town are cancelling their girls’ nights out for fear that they might be next and you know what that means” Evans continued his monologue. Felicity just let the man speak, she knew he needed to get this off his chest and that they needed to hear it.

Once the meeting had concluded, Felicity returned to her desk, looking at the evidence wall they had put together with the victim’s images, along with locations for where each woman was last seen before their unfortunate encounters. Each woman’s testimony seemed to correlate with the last, they had been lured into a trap of some sort, then taken to another location where they were gunged, or sacrificed, as their attacker claimed; but a sacrifice to whom? Or to what? The good news, at least, was, with such occult-style crimes, there was usually a built-in number of required crimes before the spree would effectively conclude itself, though that in itself presented a bad thing, too, as it meant if they failed to catch the criminal before they completed whatever tribute, they would disappear, unrepentant. Time was running out and they were no closer to finding anything that even gave them a suspect. Felicity pulled her chair up to the board, noticing that the crimes seemed to all originate in the same area. Perhaps this was some avenue they could pursue.

Felicity spent the morning perusing the businesses that operated in the old industrial estate, most of which she could almost immediately rule out with many companies being completely unrelated and would operate during normal business hours. Felicity was starting to think her one good lead was turning cold before her eyes and she knew there would likely be another attack any night now. Just as she was about to give up and pursue a different approach, she stumbled across a company whose office was registered in that part of town, it was innocuous enough for it to go by without a second thought but when Felicity dug into the company, it seemed a concrete lead; they manufactured and sold gunge. With a renewed sense of purpose, Felicity grabbed Martin and they headed to the company’s office.

The office seemed very ordinary, rather than the evil lair of a villain that Felicity was hoping it might be (as that would surely make the process of obtaining a warrant far easier). They went inside and were greeted by a young man wearing a black turtleneck and grey trousers. His hair was dark and slightly unkempt, though the style seemed to suit him quite well. The man immediately stood up and walked towards them, a timid and sheepish way about him. The man introduced himself as Joe, the office manager and offered to try to answer any questions they had. There was a distinct nervousness about him which Felicity wasn’t sure was because he was being questioned by the police or if he was scared of something else. They asked their questions but Joe, for whatever reason, was either unable to or unwilling to provide any real answers, insisting that his superior would need to tell them those details. When pressed about his superior, he referred to someone known only as the Countess and suggested they return after dark (as apparently, they would only take meetings outside of business hours). A curious, curious development to be sure, but they had but one lead and Felicity wasn’t going to let it go. Before they left, Joe handed Felicity a business card and they returned to their car.

Upon returning to the car, Felicity went over their notes, checking in with the last known locations for each of the victims in comparison to the office space they had visited. She didn’t think Joe was a suspect, he seemed far too easily intimidated, not to mention that the victims had described their assailant as having feminine features. Of course, they couldn’t completely rule him out, as anything was still possible in this case. Felicity looked through her notebook again when she noticed that Joe had scribbled something on the back of the business card he had given her. “Help us” the card read. Help them from what? Who else was involved? What kind of help was required? It had left her with more questions than she had answers; perhaps the mysterious Countess could provide some insights, though that would mean they would have to work overtime.

After the vigorous process of form filling in triplicate in order to ensure their overtime was authorised correctly, which had taken much of the day, Felicity was about ready to meet with their latest person of interest. She had noticed there was next to no information held about the company’s owner, almost as if they had someone on the inside, covering their tracks. It was starting to shape up to be a vast conspiracy, Felicity feared, though she refused to as yet share her fears with Martin; it was better to let him focus on what he does best. They drove back to the office, meeting with the young office manager, Joe, who seemed even more nervous than before as if he didn’t like to be around after dark. He advised them that he had gained permission for them to speak with the Countess, providing an address for them to meet at. Fortunately, it was nearby and Felicity headed there immediately. Felicity was quite surprised when they arrived, as the building they had been led to seemed to be a gothic mansion, an architectural style Felicity had never seen in Redwick Bush before, despite living there her whole life. The mansion seemed to clash with the neighbouring buildings, like it didn’t belong there, at all. Felicity pushed the gate open and walked up the driveway, littered with dead leaves. The old oak door opened before them as they arrived, though it seemed strangely foreboding. Martin tugged at the collar of his shirt as if feeling a sense of trepidation at their presence there.

Felicity scanned the interior as they entered, hoping to see some signs of gunge or other evidence linking this Countess to their attacker but there was nothing so far. She was quite disappointed, that would surely mean they would need to gain a confession from them in order the build their case (such as the legal system was). Felicity looked at Martin, trying to silently reassure him, to calm his nerves. They didn’t need to wait long before their host arrived at the top of the stairs. The Countess seemed to move with a grace and ease that Felicity was rather unfamiliar with. Her skin was unnaturally pale, which contrasted with her blood-red lipstick and she seemed to be wearing a black velvet gown (that went surprisingly well with the overall vibe of her mansion). Her hair was half black, turning white as it reached her cheeks, and she had very long, surprisingly sexy black nails. The Countess descended the stairs, almost as if she could float down without her feet touching the dark red carpet that draped the stairs. As she got closer, Felicity noticed her eyes seemed to be completely black.

“Greetings, we so rarely have… Guests” The Countess spoke, in a soft voice, with a strange accent. She extended her hands to both of the detectives, stroking their faces with her nails. Felicity tried to remain steady in the face of her advances, determined to retain her professional decorum.

“We’re sorry to disturb you at… Home, Countess, we’re hoping to ask you a few questions about a recent rash of gungings in town. Some young women have been targeted. You understand this is a very serious crime” Martin led the questioning, clearly trying to impress the woman. The Countess moved with a sinister and unnatural demeanour, almost as if she were contorting herself before their very eyes. Felicity decided to let Martin have his moment in the sun, so to speak, clearly keen to observe the Countess as a third party. Martin asked them their questions and she answered every question, satisfactorily. Felicity sighed with disappointment as it seemed their lead had turned out to be a dead-end, after all.

“It is… How you say, shame, these girls have been gunged” The Countess uttered as she led them back towards the door.

“Yes. I can’t imagine how dreadful it must feel for them” Felicity chimed in now.

“Of course. My people, we have not of these problems” The Countess responded, unprompted, with an almost boastful nature.

“Your people?” Felicity enquired, curious about the woman’s origins.

“Yes, for I come from faraway land” The Countess waved her hand as she spoke.

“Like Transylvania?” Martin asked, remarking on her demeanour.

“No. North of Ireland” The Countess responded, her accent completely changing now.

“Oh, I’ve never been there. I’m told it’s really nice. I’ve been thinking about going there with my boyfriend for our anniversary but I’m not sure” Felicity asked, trying to get a recommendation from the woman.

“Beautiful country. Lovely people. Lots to see and do… You should definitely check it out, great for a romantic getaway for a young couple” The Countess talked up the features of her homeland.

“That’s good. Though I don’t know, I bought this really sexy nun’s outfit for him, I thought, we could roleplay a bit. You know, I’m a nun, whose about to take her vows the next day, but tonight she’s a free woman and she’s looking to indulge in one last night of lust and sin where she’s not going to say no to anything… It might be a bit of a culture clash” Felicity trailed off, unsure why she had opted to share that particular detail. Both Martin and the Countess mirrored each other’s facial expressions, as the Countess seemed to bite her blood-red lips.

“...That sounds… Hot” Martin muttered, a shameful look etched on his face. The Countess nodded in agreement, as if unwilling to convey in words her thoughts on the subject. Having satisfied their questions, Felicity led Martin back to the car and they drove off back to the station. There were clearly no gunge tanks located in her mansion, no signs of any slime, just a woman who seemed to enjoy cosplaying as Dracula.

Days had passed since their last lead and two more women had been gunged, providing the same clues, which left them utterly stumped as to a connection. Felicity was interrupted from her work by the sounds of a heated argument from Evans’ office. When she got closer, she could see the seasoned officer was in a room with two men wearing expensive suits; it wasn’t hard to tell, they were from head office. Six attacks had been perpetrated and they had no leads, the axe was falling and Evans had made sure to put his own neck on the line, like a true leader. Felicity felt all the more determined, now, to solve the case, to vindicate Evans’ management of the case and bring order back to Redwick Bush, though she only knew she was missing something vital. She watched through the office as Evans packed up his belongings into a box; the suits would write it up as early retirement but they all knew what this was, he was being put out to pasture as they needed a scapegoat. The suits led Evans out towards the door, using the usual floral language about his the force was indebted to him, that there would never be another officer quite like him as Evans just muttered something under his breath. This job had taken everything from him and now he had nothing left to give, he was being turfed out.

“This is a disgrace, you’re going to regret this” Felicity barked. She didn’t know why, she knew better, but for some reason, today, she couldn’t bite her tongue. The men from head office seemed astonished at being challenged. Felicity buttoned up the jacket of her black suit, hoping it might give her a moment to think about how to best approach the developing situation. Instead, true to his role as her mentor, Evans took the heat, stepping towards her and putting his boxed belongings on her desk.

“It’s alright, Felicity, this is just the way of things. They need someone to blame and I’m in charge.” Evans spoke in a reassuring, almost fatherly tone. Felicity fought the urge to cry, now wasn’t the time to get emotional. “It’s up to you, now. There’ll be one more, just like last time, and then they’ll disappear… If you don’t catch them, no one will” Evans whispered to Felicity in a foreboding tone. Felicity nodded, clenching her jaw. She always found it easier to butch up around the station, as some of her colleagues still viewed women as less than. She needed to look tough right now. She needed to take his advice to heart.

The station was abuzz with the news about Evans’ early retirement as officers fluttered around, clearly more focussed on gossip than police work. But not Felicity. She was determined to see the connection. She knew there was one, just that she was missing it. Time was now of the essence, as Evans had pointed out, there was only going to be one more chance to catch the perpetrator before they would vanish. It was at that moment that the question dawned on her; how had Evans known that there would be one more? Felicity made her excuses, not that it took much explaining under the circumstances, and then left the office, heading to the archive. If Evans was right, there would be a case file for the past crimes which Felicity could cross-check with the current evidence, correlate any names that popped up in both locations and then she would have a list of suspects. It was the perfect final gift from her old mentor.

Felicity opened the filing cabinet, immediately selecting G and sifting through. Her attention was piqued by a file that was quite clearly out of place. She collected it from the cabinet, reading the title. It read “Exposition Dump”. Felicity scoffed with disbelief.

“This should be under E, not G! No wonder nobody can find anything around here” Felicity scolded, nobody in particular. She would make a point to raise her concerns with the appropriate people later. The file made for interesting reading, however. It seemed that Evans clearly knew more about the case than he let on, as when he was a young up-and-coming detective himself, he was investigating a near-identical case of seven young, attractive women who were abducTim and gunged by a vicious person who was never caught. Though the attacks did in fact stop after a valiant detective engaged in a showdown with the assailant, leading to their suspected death, leading to the illustrious career Evans had since enjoyed. Though the pertinent question did in fact seem, why had Evans neglected to mention his involvement earlier? Felicity looked around to ensure she wasn’t being watched then slipped the file into her bag, believing it could be useful later.

Felicity refused to go home that night, wishing to instead focus on solving the case; she needed to clear Evans’ name, prove that his investigative skills were paramount to their department and vindicate not only herself but her mentor for such a heinous allegation, restoring him from his exile. Not knowing who to trust, Felicity placed the stolen file in her drawer, making sure nobody saw, before locking it tightly. She wasn’t going to be removed from the case for the alleged theft of a police file, after all, she’d done. Besides, who would even know it was missing and not simply misfiled (which, in her defence, she thought, it had been already)? Martin started waving frantically at Felicity, scribbling something down on a notepad. Felicity walked over to his desk and he handed it to her. It was an address; 52 Rowan Avenue. She waited for him to finish on the phone as he thanked the caller, profusely.

“We have a lead, we finally have the jump on them!” Martin exclaimed, excitedly. Felicity tried her best to calm him down, asking what the address was for. “I er… I got an anonymous tip. Apparently, somebody saw a girl, wearing a pretty dress, get this… Tied up in a gunge tank! At that address, right now!” Martin explained, becoming more and more excited. Felicity had to snap him out of it, as while it was brilliant that they had a lead, time was of the essence, as this would represent the seventh attack and the completion of whatever occult ritual was being conducted. They had little time, not only to save that poor woman but to solve the case. They wasted no time, opting to run to the car.

The address given seemed to fit the description each of the victims had given previously, which made Felicity convinced that they finally had their crime scene, they could finally pore over each detail, searching for any minute piece of evidence that could provide more clues. While the attacker could try to disappear, they would be on their trail, wherever they go; then, should they re-emerge, someday, then there would be a comprehensive case to finally bring them to justice. Martin went to knock on the front door, though Felicity noticed there were no lights on and instead opted to try the garden gate. As fortune would have it, the gate was open and she walked straight into the back garden. Felicity could hear what sounded like a woman sobbing, so she caught Martin’s attention, silently instructing him to follow her lead. They walked further into the garden, as quietly as possible. To their horror, the situation was worse than they could have imagined. Before them, was, as previously described, a gunge tank, covered in strange symbols (that they would need to get some clever academics to analyse and likely argue over). Inside the tank sat a young woman. Her hair was long and black, she wore a blue dress with black sides and a V-neck, the dress seemed to hug her figure well. On her feet, she wore a pair of black high-heeled ankle boots. Above her head sat a large vat of bright red gunge, looming menacingly over her, threatening to completely ruin and clash her blue dress.

“You’re going to be alright, miss” Felicity tried to reassure the woman. “My name is Felicity, what’s your name?”

“Abigail” She sobbed in response. “Don’t come any closer. If you’re not careful, you’ll set it off!” Abigail shrieked, looking up above her head. It was clear from her expression, she was trapped in the tank, like the other victims before her.

“It’s going to be okay, Abigail, we’re police. We’ll call for backup and they can get you out of here” Felicity tried again to reassure Abigail, explaining the plan to her. They would foil the plans of their evil villain, yet.

“You don’t understand, it’s on a timer, too!” Abigail began crying as if she’d consigned herself to her messy fate. Felicity couldn’t help but admire their foe, it seemed they had thought of everything. Felicity instructed Martin to walk around, carefully, trying to see if there was another path to the tank, perhaps allowing him to initiate the release catch on whatever restraints holding Abigail in the tank, allowing them to get her out before the gunge ruined the woman’s hair and clothes. Felicity kept a watchful eye on the floor, looking for tripwires or other triggers, taking single steps as she went.

Felicity had almost reached the tank, feeling that she might just be able to lunge forwards, grabbing the handle in order to hold it up; surely, if the handle stayed up, the tank wouldn’t activate and the poor woman would be saved a humiliation. Felicity prepared herself, both mentally and physically, and this was going to be the biggest challenge she faced in her professional career. This was no lost cat investigation or the interrogation of that vile red sock which found its way into a whites wash, cruelly turning the laundry pink, this was a true test, one that would make or break her career. Felicity was about to leap into action when she heard something click.

“Uh oh…” Martin muttered, looking at Felicity with a guilty expression. Their attention quickly returned to Abigail, who struggled and pulled against her restraints, looking up at the liquid above her. All three of them knew what was about to happen and they were powerless to stop it now. The gunge began to flow out of the nozzle above Abigail’s head, hitting her forehead squarely as Abigail omitted a loud, disgusted shriek. Gunge fanned out from her head, spraying down her front and back, even landing outside the front of the tank and down the perspex door. Felicity couldn’t help but feel terrible about the poor woman’s fate as she watched as gunge flowed inside the V-neck of Abigail’s dress. Her legs were quickly turning red, now, also, leaving Felicity to shudder with dread, realising that the gunge had likely not spared Abigail’s dignity. She could hear more sobs coming from the woman, they were sobs that she had heard all too many times, in recent days, having spoken to other women who had been through the same experience. Though this time, this time, it felt much more personal. Felicity looked around at the house, hoping to see the attacker watching from the sidelines, somewhere, admiring their handiwork but there was no sign. Eventually, the gunge began to slow to a trickle, then to a drip. True to previous testimony, Abigail was then released from the tank. Felicity looked towards Martin, demanding he provide the woman with his jacket, which she proceeded to wrap around her, careful to not get any gunge on herself. They would take her back to the station, where she could have a nice, long, hot shower, they could take a statement and hopefully, she would begin to feel a modicum of safety once again. If that were ever going to be possible, again.

Abigail’s statement had not provided any new leads, though Felicity had consoled herself with the discovery of the villain’s lair, which they could now fully investigate, once their order of magnifying glasses had come through. She couldn’t help but take this particular case personally, after all, this was the kind of case that a legendary career was built on, just as Evans’ career had been before her, now they had slipped through the net, once again. Felicity decided to go home, she had not yet conceded defeat but she knew she had to accept that they had won this battle. She would return to the case, with fresh eyes and she would solve it. She swore to herself, for all the women who had been gunged, she would solve this case.

Felicity walked into the station, today she had opted to dress more casually, with a pair of blue jeans and a casual top. She knew her attire would draw attention, particularly with head office still lingering, but she hoped that if she managed to solve the case, they would have nothing to say about the matter (after all, who cares how their top detective is dressed?). Felicity carefully unlocked her desk drawer, looking over the notes from the previous case, trying to see if there was anything she had missed, previously. Her train of thought was interrupted by Martin, who had, it seemed, once again been attacked by a leaky pen. The offender was quickly collected and led to an interrogation room. One of their best interrogators set to work, demanding that the pen reveal its motives for ruining a perfectly good shirt, as Felicity and Martin watched from the observation room.

“Yeah! Take that, you bastard, pen!” Martin snarled, clearly sick of having to replace his shirts. “Don’t know what I was thinking, I mean, who uses a Celtic pen?” Martin continued, mocking the pen.

“Celtic?” Felicity queried.

“Yeah, you know, the Glasgow football team? Celtic F.C.” Martin clarified, informing Felicity to who he was referring. “I got it from Evans’ desk. I don’t know, I guess I just thought, if I had his pen, it might help make me a better police officer, somehow” Martin trailed off into a melancholy tone. Felicity stroked his arm, sympathetically.

“I didn’t know Evans was a Celtic supporter” Felicity mentioned. It seemed a little odd, given their years of working together, that she wouldn’t know something like that about him.

“Oh yeah, he er… Kept it quiet, as he developed a fondness for them when he worked over in Northern Ireland; apparently, Celtic or Rangers is a bigger deal over there. Sectarian stuff” Martin explained, revealing what he’d learned from Evans about his history.

“Evans was in Northern Ireland?” Felicity asked, rhetorically, feeling the final pieces of the puzzle slotting into place. She rushed out of the observation room, and back to the file she had taken. She checked through the details and true enough, the previous crimes had been investigated by a young detective who had just been transferred from Northern Ireland. Felicity remembered her discussion with the first victim, Marie McGovern, who had also mentioned that she had a connection with the country, that Martin had noted her husband, too, was a Celtic fan and unlike the other victims, McGovern had been gunged in the street, a gunging that had lured the selfless Dr Hargreaves to her slimy fate. “She wasn’t a victim at all, she was an accomplice!” Felicity shouted to herself. The pieces were all starting to come together. Now, with them thinking that they had evaded the police’s investigation, they would now certainly let their guard down, meaning that Felicity could catch them in the act (which would mean she wouldn’t need to obtain a confession, as per their legal system, which would make a prosecution that much easier). Felicity collected Martin, quietly briefing him on the way to the car; with the file on the previous case being misfiled, Felicity was seriously beginning to suspect that someone within the department had been working against them the entire time.

They drove to McGovern’s home, intent on staking out the location. Felicity's hope was that either Marie or Liam McGovern would lead them directly to the mysterious Countess, who Felicity was now convinced was the mastermind behind the whole thing. They needed only to lie in wait and their suspects would do all the work for them. It was almost perfect. It was almost too easy, now. Felicity instructed Martin to buy them some coffee from a nearby coffee shop, as they would need to remain alert for long periods of time. Martin returned with the drinks, still wearing his stained shirt. Felicity smiled as she saw it, that stain, she thought, that stain was the entire basis for solving the crime. She chuckled to herself as she took a sip of her coffee.

“Hmm. Is this decaf?” Felicity asked, smacking her lips together. The beverage tasted strange, an oddly metallic flavour panged in her mouth.

“No” Martin dismissed her question out of hand.

“How many sugars did you put in it?” Felicity pressed, determined to learn what the root cause of the strange taste was.

“Two. I know how you like your coffee, Whyte, I’m not stupid, you know” Martin snapped, almost as if he were taking offence at her questioning. Felicity took another mouthful, trying to discern the source of the strange flavour.

“I know, I’m sorry. Maybe the milk is turning or something. I don’t know.” Felicity dismissed it as a strange coincidence. “I don’t feel good…” Felicity added, as the world began to spin and her stomach churned. Martin collected the coffee cup from her hand and Felicity was certain she saw a smirk as she fought against the urge to pass out.

When Felicity awoke, she found herself bound to a chair, her arms locked into place. She tried to scream but her voice was muffled. She opened her mouth, closing it again, realising that she was wearing a rubber ball gag. It constricted her breathing a little, but she was still capable of taking in and exhaling breath, which seemed small mercy. She looked down at herself, realising that she was wearing the sexy nun’s outfit that she had bought for her upcoming anniversary with her boyfriend. She was also wearing her favourite shoes, black stockings and her best lingerie. It was clear to her, now, the fate she was about to suffer was the same as the women she’d been speaking with. Felicity looked around as best she could, seeing an open doorway in front of her. She blinked her eyes, trying to regain the full function of her eyesight, as the drugs still lingered in her system. Down the corridor lay a series of nozzles and devices, all covered in the same occult symbols she had seen earlier at Rowan Avenue. Felicity tried to turn in the other direction but her movement was severely restricted by the chair she was sitting in. Felicity heard movement and she saw what looked like Marie McGovern, who was now hunched over, sniffing at her obnoxiously. Felicity tried to speak but her words were muffled by the gag.

“The sacrifice wants to speak?” Marie hissed with a raspy voice before she pulled the gag from Felicity's mouth.

“Mrs McGovern, Marie, you can let me go. You’ll be in trouble but I can talk to the prosecution, I can tell them how helpful you were, how you were afraid for the safety of your children… How you were coerced into this” Felicity pleaded with the woman, who nodded along.

“Yes, Marie was coerced. Marie didn’t want to. They made Marie…” The woman recapped what Felicity was saying.

“That’s right. You just need to let me go. You let me go, then I can tell them how cooperative Marie was” Felicity reiterated, feeling she was getting through to the woman. Almost as if she appeared out of nowhere, the Countess appeared, swatting Marie away with her long-nailed hand.

“Get away, you disgusting creature!” The Countess hissed, in her mismatched accent. Felicity knew that she was unlikely to appease her in the same way, particularly as it was now abundantly clear that she was at the centre of it all. The woman leaned towards Felicity as if she might enchant her with some kind of ungodly power. “The final sacrifice is awake…” The Countess muttered, looking deep into Felicity's eyes. Perhaps the realisation of her situation had finally dawned on her, perhaps she felt it might yield some results, and Felicity began to cry.

“Please, you don’t have to do this. You can let me go, I won’t tell anyone, you can disappear, I won’t chase you” Felicity pleaded, desperately. The Countess placed her index finger up to Felicity's face, collecting a single tear.

“Tears… No tears, please, it’s a waste of good suffering!” The Countess grimaced, as if disgusTim by Felicity's pleas. She proceeded to put the gag back into Felicity's mouth, even though she struggled, it was no use. Felicity was beginning to realise, she had been set up from the very beginning. That she had been chosen for this. “We are all beholden to no one but God; the God of Gunge, our true master! We offer this to you, our Lord!” The Countess chanted, fanatically.

“Sorry to do this to you, Whyte, but… See, Evans said it had to be you, that it’s for the greater good. Someday, you will understand” Martin whispered into Felicity's ear. Felicity vowed she would make them both pay. She would not be broken, she would be humiliated, she would be disgusted, but she would not be broken.

Without warning, the chair Felicity was bound to started to move, travelling along a rail, taking her forwards towards the corridor with the nozzles. Felicity knew her sexy clothes were going to be ruined and based on the current situation, she might even have to walk somewhere, covered in gunge wearing very little clothes, which made matters so much worse. The chair paused at the first interval, where three jets of cold slime were sprayed over her head and her body. Felicity shrieked, but the gag muffled the sounds. She could see blue, green and red covering her body, now, as the gunge clung to her body and clothes. The chair began to move forwards once more, as Felicity pulled and shuffled, trying her best to remove the slimy deluge from her body as much as she could. Ahead of her seemed to be a sheet of pink slime, that looked somehow more disgusting than what she had just been covered with. Felicity pulled her legs back, as much as she could, hoping to make herself as small as possible (and subsequently reduce the experience she was about to endure). The gunge splashed over her shoes, then over her legs, splashing at her torso before she eventually went under the flow. She could feel it all matting her blonde hair and Felicity wanted to cry, but somehow, she knew the worst was still to come.

The chair proceeded to stop again. This time, there was no clear indication of what was about to happen to her. Just as Felicity thought she might have reached the end of the journey, several cream pies were thrown at her, smashing into her face, into the sides of her head, her chest and her back. The worst part, or perhaps the best, was that Felicity could no longer see what was happening or what was coming next. Felicity tried desperately to push the gag from her mouth, but it was fastened tightly around the back of her head. She was completely at the mercy of the evil Countess, the High Priestess of the Gunge God. The chair moved forwards again and Felicity braced herself for whatever mess they were going to pour over her. She tried to tell herself that it was only gunge, but no matter how many times she thought it, it didn’t diminish the humiliation she felt. Felicity hoped this would be the last section, but she feared that hope might be misplaced (even if it was, they would surely have saved the worst for the end). Felicity felt something thick and cold landing on her head, oozing over her hair before it fell into a large blob into her lap. Whatever it was splattered over her legs and her arms, leading her to fidget to try to get it off her. Unfortunately, it continued to fall and her fidgeting only dislodged more from her head, this time straight down her top and down her back. Felicity feared she knew the precise destination the two blobs were headed in, as if guided by this cruel deity with the intention of providing the maximum disgust for her.

The thick deluge had now completely engulfed Felicity's head, dislodging the cream and other substances from within the pies, not that it had restored her vision as she now had a dark liquid obscuring her vision. The flow finally ceased and the chair moved forwards. Felicity surmised that she must now have reached the end of the journey, after all, what else could they do to her that was worse? She heard a piercing cackle from the Countess, who declared her hellish God had been appeased… For now. Somehow, the ominous addition seemed to send a shiver down Felicity's spine worse than the cold gunge that was working its way into the back of her favourite panties. She heard the three suspects leaving the house, leaving Felicity on her own. Was she going to be trapped there until forensics arrived? She certainly hoped not, as their magnifying glass deliveries could take some time. As if by also on a time-release, Felicity felt her arms released from their shackles and she stepped out of the chair, careful to not slip with gunge-covered heels on the floor. Felicity wiped her eyes clear, as best she could, then set out to give chase to her attackers. She knew they would likely already be long gone but there was but a slim, slim chance.

Epilogue

It had been seven years since Felicity's horrific ordeal. There had been no sign of Evans, McGovern, Ronson or the Countess, as she was only known. Felicity had detailed as much as she could to her superiors, who repeatedly insisted on how appalled they were at Evans’ behaviour, it was now apparent he had been in league with their cult for years, covering up their heinous activities in return for a stipend. Felicity had initially been under suspicion, given an overabundance of caution (which she understood) but that had passed. Before long, Felicity had taken over the day-to-day running of the department, even taking on a protege of her own. It had been seven, long, quiet, years, with no sign of any of them, at least that was until that last night. There were rumours of a sighting of the Countess abound, and there was talk that another young woman had been gunged. Felicity called her protege into her office. She was a young woman, with a keen eye for details. She didn’t particularly dress like a police officer, but Felicity liked that about her, it suggested an ability to think outside of the box, a quality that she knew they would need. The woman had dyed her hair blue and green, tied it back into a loose ponytail, and was wearing a green army-style jacket and torn black jeans.

“Emma, please, sit down. I have an important assignment for you” Felicity explained, taking the old, stained file from her desk. It was time for her to pass on the mantle to another, as she was too bogged down with her other duties to offer the kind of time she needed to the case. “This… This is a very sensitive case, one that’s… Well, it’s personal to me. That’s why I’m trusting it to you, my best detective.” Felicity explained, reminding herself of the words Evans had used all those years ago. Emma perused the file, clearly feeling the magnitude of the case that she’d been given.

“I won’t let you down” Emma nodded, clearly proud to have been given such an important case before she left to begin investigating the latest lead. Once the door was closed and Emma was a safe distance from her, Felicity collected the phone’s receiver in her hand, dialling a number on the back of an old business card.

“It’s done. She doesn’t suspect a thing. She will be our final sacrifice…” Felicity whispered, still cautious that someone might overhear her.

Cast (In order of appearance)

Frances Watts as Detective Sergeant Felicity Whyte

Marco Ronson as Detective Constable Martin Ronson

Ted Evans as Inspector Tim Evans

Lachlan McElroy as the first victim’s husband/Liam McGovern

Michelle McElroy as the first victim/accomplice/Marie McGovern

Nazreen Hargreaves as Dr Nadine Hargreaves/second victim

Joe Dylan as office manager

Saoirse McHugh as the Countess/Gunge Priestess

Allison Adeyemo as Abigail/Sixth Victim

Ellie Ferguson as young detective/Whyte’s Protege