Panopticon

Crack

Emma had suggested he stay and care for the boy, but in truth she wasn’t sure who needed it more. Noel had looked best when first examining him, and succeeding in his protection might in some way ease his guilt over Kate’s murder, for which she knew he still blamed himself. There was nothing he could have done to save her, but there was something he could do for Aiden.

They’d left him hidden at the edge of the first clearing they’d found. The problem had been finding somewhere visible by air, but not from the side. The rescue helicopter must surely have been sent for them by now, and as they couldn’t be sure where the cameras were an open space was their best chance of being found. In fact, they couldn’t even be sure if the cameras were working. Emma had taken Durgan and the couple further, collecting branches to mark a cross between the trees. Roaming killers would pass oblivious, but any pilot would see them a kilometre away.

Crack.

A stick broke beneath the mother's feet. They’d left their son buried in the undergrowth; Noel had carried him far enough, and the trained doctor was far more use by his side now that he was waking up. Last night’s storm had dislodged a lot of branches, but four pairs of arms were more than they needed. It gave Emma another chance to get to know her fellow guests. Her fellow prisoners.

“Any idea whose area we’re in now?” James was first to break the silence.

“None,” Emma replied. “I don’t suppose that it matters now, if they’re all on the loose. You might say the correct answer is all of them."

They had to whisper, but so many sticks littered the forest floor that it was hard to move quietly.

Crack.

Elena had stepped on a branch, and they froze. James walked over to her.

“I’m sorry,” his wife said. “I’ll be more careful.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, and then small brown hands were on his neck as a shape fell from above.

Crack.

Elena was on her husband’s body the moment it hit the ground, moving from instinct, but Emma was rooted to the spot. She couldn’t stop staring at the woman, the creature, who’d killed him. Grotesque was putting it lightly. The entire bottom half of her face was molten, darkened and twisted together. Emma had just watched her murder a man, and yet her appearance was even more terrifying.

The killer met her gaze evenly, ignoring the grieving widow at her feet.

“Was she his?” Her voice was raspy, with traces of an accent Emma couldn’t place.

“They were married, if that’s what you mean.” The psychiatrist tried to keep her own voice steady, but her mind was working overtime. There were three of them now, with Durgan and Elena, and their attacker had lost the element of surprise. If she struck again, they might be able to overpower her.

Emma considered calling out, attracting Noel’s help, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to put him and Aiden in danger. Besides, they didn’t know how many other killers were lurking in the trees. A cry for help could just turn the odds against them.

“A captive that loves her captor.” The monster nodded. “Must people always cry over being freed?”

“You seem okay.”

It happened, Emma knew. She didn’t have to be a psychiatrist to know about Stockholm Syndrome, where hostages begin to feel empathy and attachment to the people who hold them. This capture-bonding mechanism did sometimes take place in abusive relationships, where the victim refuses to blame their abuser, but from what she could see this relationship had been a healthy one. Elena’s love for James had seemed sincere, and her tears certainly sounded heartfelt.

On the other hand, this particular convict had clearly developed no affection for her jailers.

“Is this your one?” A nod at Durgan.

“No.”

“Please, I’ve never married.” The lawyer spoke up, stuttering slightly from shock.

The killer crouched down and began stroking Elena’s hair, not breaking eye contact with her quarry.

“My brother never married,” she mused, her voice like a whetstone. “It didn’t stop him trying to control my life.”

“We don’t need to do this.” Durgan’s protests became more fervent, the beginnings of sweat on his neck. “I have money, I can help you.”

After a moment’s silence, the creature broke her gaze, looking sadly down at Elena. When she rose, the stick in her hand was shaped perfectly to pass right through Durgan’s eye. The lawyer crumpled to the ground, hands only half raised in defence. His killer had moved with surprising agility, but she had James to thank for arming her, having prised the weapon from his rapidly cooling embrace.

If she was grateful, she didn’t show it. Content with the state of her second victim, pausing only to spit on Durgan’s wound, the murderer returned to her first. She pulled James’s widow to her shaking feet, before placing one of her own on the corpse’s broken neck.

“Why?” Elena managed to choke out the single word.

“Because I care,” the killer croaked back. “When I was young, the men in my life betrayed me. I made sure that they would never harm again. It is not revenge, though when you have suffered as I have suffered you will understand the drive for vengeance. Not revenge, but prevention. I do it to protect others from my pain.”

There was no response.

“Nobody came to save me, to remove these men before they could show their inner poison. I care for you, for all those living with monsters, because nobody came to care for me. If you had suffered like I suffered, if you cared as I care, you would understand. You would be prepared to do what is necessary. If a beast would strike an innocent, it is no crime to kill the beast. If you had faced the beast, if you had felt the strike, you would understand. I do not hate the beast, just sincerely care for the babe in his arms.”

“He was not a beast.”

“I felt that once.” The creature, now oddly caring, placed a hand on Elena’s shoulder. “In time, you would have realised. Now, you never will, and so you may never come to thank me. The pre-emptive strike is always hard to justify, but not when you have lived the alternative. You may never understand, never realise the suffering you’ve avoided, but to be this is infinitely better.”

Elena returned to her silence, collapsing back onto her husband’s deflating chest. The killer turned to Emma.

“Were you alone?”

“Yes,” she lied.

The woman nodded, her corroded flesh collapsing in on itself, but remained still. Unwilling to leave Elena unprotected, Emma approached cautiously, but it was clear that this deluded guardian would not attempt to harm them. With the widow under her arm, the psychiatrist stepped slowly away, returning to the clearing. They had to move further out, that much was clear. They would warn the others, and the four survivors would leave this maniac far behind. She wondered how Noel would react to more deaths, and if his guilt would worsen. She wondered how Aiden would take the loss of his father, and his mother’s endless tears. For the boy’s sake, she wished that he had stayed unconscious.

“Where are you going?”

“The Hub.” Once again, the lie was quick. Too quick.

“Your tower is that way,” the killer rasped, her molten features twisting into what could only be a smile. “You think I don’t watch, every time you come to throw your food. You think I am blind?”

“My mistake.” Emma cursed her stupidity. Of course the convict would have watched them, would know they had headed elsewhere. She couldn’t betray Noel, and send this monster to slaughter him and the boy. They had both suffered enough. She had no choice but to commit. “Your attack startled me, and I must have lost my sense of direction. If you’re sure it is this way…”

She hurried away, planning to double back as soon as she was out of sight, and checked back to see if the killer was still watching. What she saw made her heart plummet. As they fled towards the Hub, the murderer strode away. As they followed her direction, she took the route they’d chosen first, the one she’d known was wrong. She was curious, sensing further victims. She was heading to the clearing.