Suffer the Torment, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
SUFFER THE TORMENT
DCI ROHAN ROY SERIES
BOOK TWO
ML ROSE
Copyright © 2023 by M.L. Rose
All rights reserved.
The right of ML Rose to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1
How deep did you cut last night?
Sixteen-year-old Emma stared at the words on her phone screen. They drew her eyes in and hypnotized her mind. It was pitch black in her bedroom. The glow from her phone was the only light that illuminated her face. As if by command, her fingers moved on the keypad.
Deep enough to bleed.
Her comment drew a flurry of likes and heart emoji. Other participants also posted, detailing how much they bled from their cuts, and for how long.
Prove it.
Emma took photos of the cuts on her wrists and legs and posted them online. Her photos drew another salvo of appreciation. Others also posted their photos.
Emma.
Her breath hitched as the Master picked her out. Everyone waited for him to speak further. He liked to take his time. Liked to make others wait. The three dots appeared, showing that he was typing.
Blood liberates us. Washes away the dirt.
A cacophony of likes and emoji of different types followed – colourful hearts, broken hearts, and red-tinged angry faces.
We are here to press the Reset button. Agreed?
Another chorus of likes followed. Several participants also commented, everyone agreeing.
But I choose who gets to Reset tonight.
Another pregnant pause followed. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. All the lost, trembling souls who had logged in from all over Sheffield, wondering if tonight was their time.
Emma. Are you ready to start again?
Her hands shook as she typed out the single word. Yes.
You cannot take this decision lightly. Once you press the button, there’s no going back.
Yes, I know.
Are you sure you want to Reset your life, and live again in another world?
Tears streamed down Emma’s cheeks. She could do this. She could show the world what she was made of.
Yes, I do.
Then we have tonight’s winner. Emma, get ready to Reset your life. I will send you a private message.
The Master’s proclamation got oodles of likes, comments, and emoji. Emma was congratulated till she couldn’t look at the screen anymore. Then the ping arrived, the one bearing the six-digit code for the private chat room. Emma logged out of the game and went into the chat room. She now had a live video link with the Master. Hairs stood up on her arms, and a tingle of anticipation ran up and down her skin.
The link was live, but she couldn’t see the Master’s face. Instead, a man wearing what looked like the head of a reindeer appeared. The mask looked lifelike, and very strange. Through her earphones, she heard the Master’s deep, sonorous voice.
“Emma, can you hear me?”
She had to clear her throat twice before she found her voice. “Yes, but I can’t talk. My mum’s in the other room.”
“Okay then. Note the address I’m sending you now. Come down there ASAP. It’s not far from where you are. If you aren’t there in one hour, then you have lost. You will never be allowed back in the community.”
“I’ll be there,” Emma said quickly. “Send me the address.”
There was a pause, then the address showed on the screen as a link. Emma clicked, and the link opened up into a map. There was a knock on the door, and she froze. The shadow of her mother, Natalie, appeared, preceded by the smell of cigarette smoke. Her mother must’ve been smoking out of the window again. It was cold, and maybe she hadn’t opened the window fully. Emma had already shut her phone down, and she was snuggled under the duvet.
Natalie came inside the room and stood next to the bed. Emma pretended to be asleep. She sensed Natalie moving around the room, checking the windows. Then her mother touched the duvet, and Emma’s shoulder, as if to make sure she was there. Natalie left the room, leaving only the faint scent of nicotine. Emma heard her mother going into her brother’s room, then back to her own room, where she shut the door. Emma heard her mother getting into bed and breathed a little easier. Natalie had never been a good sleeper – Emma knew about the bottle of gin she kept in the bedside table drawer, hidden under a pile of papers. Emma looked at her phone to check the time. The message caught her eye first.
Don’t be late.
She couldn’t keep the Master waiting. On the app, she had received a flurry of congratulations, and emotional messages of support. Emma checked the address once again, then waited for a little longer, to make sure her mother wasn’t stirring.
Their three-bedroom flat was on the ground floor of a building on a council estate. Emma’s window opened into the garden, and she could climb out of it easily. She hoped and prayed Natalie hadn’t locked it. Emma got dressed in silence, tip-toeing around the room. The window opened when she pulled the handle, which was a relief. Emma was skinny; she’d wriggled out of this window before and it wasn’t a problem this time. The hassle was shutting the window from outside.
But then again, did she really care? She would never be back here. A knot of sadness stuck in her throat when she thought about her mum and brother. She would miss them both. But they were better off without her. The whole world was better off without her. Once she was reset, she could come back in the afterlife as someone new.
Emma dropped down on to the grass lightly. She reached up on her tiptoes and shut the window, but it wouldn’t close all the way. She left it and ran down the communal garden of the block. The rickety fence was easy to scale, and she’d done it before. She dropped onto the other side, then melted into the night.
CHAPTER 2
Detective Chief Inspector Rohan Roy leaned against the stone window frame and looked out towards the rolling blue hills of the Peak District. Grey clouds nudged the hills like they were saying hello. A thin ribbon of silver flashed at the bottom of the green Hope Valley: the River Derwent that snaked its way through the small hamlets and villages.
Villages like Hathersage where the South Yorkshire Police had found him family quarters. The stone cottage was lovely and old, and substantially nicer than the one-bed flat he originally had in Sheffield. He got the cottage courtesy of his teenage daughter Anna; not that sh
For one thing, the evil monster who had abducted his little brother, Robin, was now incarcerated in HMP Strangeways in Manchester. Strangeways was one of the eight maximum security prisons in the country, and Stephen Burns would rot there for the rest of his life. Robin had never been found, and despite clear evidence that Burns took him, the monster wouldn’t disclose what he had done with Robin.
Putting Burns behind bars had been the highlight of Roy’s career so far, and it had happened only four weeks ago. He was still processing it in his mind, not to mention repairing his broken body. Burns had left him with knife wounds in his back and shoulder that needed stitches. He had so many that his back looked like it had been taped up with white bandage. His left arm was still hard to move, due to the cuts at the shoulder. Those wounds would heal, but Burns was still keeping the laceration in his soul raw and bloody.
The man remained silent on what happened to Robin. The other boys he had killed were found. But not Roy’s brother.
Roy raised himself off the stone pillar, grimacing in pain as he did so, and thought that the other reason was the view right in front of him. The road outside the cottage dipped down, disappearing down a hill slope of other houses and a few shops. The green and blue hills rose like a patterned quilt, shimmering all the way to merge with the horizon. It was soothing to wake up in the morning, pull apart the curtains, and see this.
Maybe he would feel different if he saw this for his whole life, but he wasn’t so sure. He had been for long walks in the hills and stood over the rocks that jutted out dramatically from the ground. The land was raw, primitive, the way it had been for millions of years, a secluded and cherished corner which seemed preserved just for him. The air was clean and pure, like the hills that rippled like waves to merge with the sky. It made him realise there was a lot more to old Blighty than its smoky and congested cities.
Yes, it was different to what he was used to in London. He didn’t miss London, but he missed Anna. His mood brightened as he recalled her text last night. Anna was always up for travelling, and she’d never been up here. Was Sheffield any good for shopping? Hell, yes, he had said, without having any idea what he was talking about. However, chances were he would go back down south sooner than later, and Anna wouldn’t come to Sheffield.
There was a metallic thud of the knocker against the old wooden door downstairs. A visitor that Roy wasn’t expecting. He pushed out the window and leaned across. He saw a flash of a blonde ponytail. He went downstairs and opened the door for Detective Inspector Sarah Botham. Sarah was slim and petite, but tough, with a pretty face dominated by her green eyes. She was a very capable detective, and Roy had enjoyed working with her.
“What brings you here?”
Roy left the door open, and Sarah shut it behind her. She looked around the small reception room. Roy had started to pack his stuff. Several open boxes lay on the floor next to the sofa. A roll of tape and scissors lay beside the boxes. Roy turned from the kitchen entrance; sensing Sarah had stopped. She was looking at the boxes, then her searching eyes found his.
“You’re leaving?”
Roy shrugged. “I did what I was asked to do. As far as I know, time for me to head back. Neither Nugent, nor anyone else in SYP, have said anything different.”
Michael Nugent was the abrasive Detective Superintendent, the boss of the Major Investigation Team of SYP.
Sarah folded her hands across her chest. She wore a sky-blue cardigan over a full-sleeved vest. Dark brown trousers gave way to small rubber heeled shoes issued by the force. Her gaze moved away from him, again to the boxes. She raised a well-shaped left eyebrow.
“And you think your work here is done?”
Roy was surprised by the question. He had been sent here by his ex-boss Detective Superintendent Arla Baker, to find two missing boys and nab the Lily Man, the notorious child abductor from almost thirty years ago. Burns was that man, and he had a helper in Keith Burgess. Both would be inside for most of their lives.
“What’s left?” Roy said. “Apart from the fact that Burns is saying bugger all about my brother.” He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “What can I do?”
She stared at him, a light in her large, green eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. “You did your best.”
“Right. Best carry on with my packing then.”
Packing was the last thing he wanted to do. His left shoulder hurt like mad and bending made the stitches on his back stretch.
“Came to give me a hand, did you?” Roy asked.
“The lads were asking about you. You didn’t answer your phone.”
By lads, Sarah meant the two Detective Constables: Rizwan Ahmed and Oliver Walmsley.
Roy nodded. “I went for a walk to clear my head. Left the phone behind.” He grinned. “Thanks for coming to check. Want a cuppa?”
“Sure.” Sarah stepped in towards the kitchen as Roy turned the kettle on. “We got another sergeant joining us soon. Look like there’s more funding coming in, like.”
“That’s a relief,” Roy said, putting two strong tea bags into mugs. “No camomile tea here, I’m afraid,” he said. “You okay with builder’s tea bags?”
“Does me fine, guv.”
“Who’s the new person?”
“A lass called Melanie Sparkes. She used to be a DC in Rotherham, like. This is her first skipper job. She’ll have a laugh getting our two lads into shape.”
“Our two lads,” Roy intoned, stirring milk into the cups. He knew Sarah liked it milky, although she’d made him tea more times than he’d ever done for her. “You talk like they’re family.”
“We are though,” Sarah said. She murmured a thanks, taking the steaming cup from Roy’s hand. “I’ve known them from when they were uniforms and did the detective exams. Seen them come up the ranks.”
She looked at Roy over the margin of the cup, and something in her look made him uneasy. In his short time here, he had grown close to Sarah, Rizwan, and Oliver. Near-death and life-altering experiences tended to do that. And they were a trio of bloody fine police officers, the best he’d worked with. But all good things came to an end, and, with a degree of reluctance, he realised it was time for him to move back whence he came.
He wasn’t quite sure why Sarah was here, or what she was trying to tell him.
“Something on your mind, Sarah?” he asked, sitting down on the sofa.
She followed his example, taking up a spot opposite him.
“It’s just that …” She pressed her lips together, like she was rethinking her answer. She put her cup on the table. “The major crime unit was unstable as there was no leadership. Then you arrived, and it worked, like.” She looked at him and shrugged.
He nodded in understanding, wondering where this was leading to.
“And now you’re leaving, and we have to look for another DCI.” Sarah sighed and patted down her ponytail. A silver ring glinted on her left small finger. “God knows who we end up with.”
“Nugent’s going to find you someone nice, I’m sure. Nicer than me, anyway.”
She glanced at him then, a sidelong, sharp look that cut through him. Then she grinned. “Won’t be hard getting someone nicer than you. And a better sense of humour.”
“There you go. Trust in Nugent.” He raised his eyebrows, and Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. No one cared much about what Nugent did or thought. He was all bark and no substance. The man had got to his senior rank by luck and licking backsides and didn’t have a clue about routine detective work anymore. Yet, he needed to show his authority. Roy knew his type well. The London Met was full of them. The rest of the team also disliked the man.
“That’s all I need. The D. Sup. to choose an arrogant arsehole like himself.”
“Now, now.”
“It’s crazy, like.” Sarah raised both of her hands skywards. For a five-foot-five woman she had large hands. Big but soft, as Roy had discovered when she had put plasters on his bleeding wound. The memory of that jolted him now, and a frown creased his face momentarily.
“I’ve got no say in who we choose to lead the team. Why can’t I have the job?”
“I think you should,” Roy said, and meant it. She was a darned good detective and had earned her stripes. “I would scrap the DCI post and keep you as DI. Job done.”
