steel nails that transfixed his palms. Blood dripped to the floor where it soaked into the dust like ink into blotting paper.
Weller sagged forward, his own weight threatening to pull him free of the wall but a cold hand was fastened once more beneath his chin. He fought to retain his senses, pain stabbing up both his arms now. It felt as if his hands were on fire. Yet still he was denied the mercy of unconsciousness. Still he found that he was looking into a face which could have been plucked from a nightmare.
The skin of the man's features was stretched so tight over the bones of his face it seemed that it would tear, like plastic which has been pulled beyond its breaking point. Weller expected to see the skin burst. Instead, he saw it begin to heave, as if there was something beneath that dry skin.
The flesh began to undulate, slowly at first but then with greater speed until a bulge appeared beneath the left cheekbones, rising like a boil, swelling like some obscene tumour, growing before his eyes until finally it burst.
The boil was filled with maggots. Dozens of the writhing white forms twisted and turned in the festering hole until they spilled forth, dropping to the ground, some of them dropping into the puddles of Weller's blood.
He screamed loudly.
`Who are you?'
The leader moved closer and Weller recoiled as the stench threatened to choke him.
Then the others joined their leader, staring at the young man nailed to the wall with something akin to fascination.
He felt his stomach contract, felt it trying to expel its contents.
He heard a sound that was all too familiar.
The swish-click of a flick knife.
Then he felt it against his cheek, the point gouging into his flesh, digging deeper until blood began to run from the wound. And yet the knife was wielded with immaculate skill, drawn in light quick movements through the skin of Weller's face to expose the network of muscles beneath. He screamed again as he felt the blade moving beneath his right eye, scraping against his cheekbone. up and across his forehead then down the other side of his face.
When it reached his neck he did pass out.
The figure with the knife cut the last piece of flesh free then slid two fingers beneath the skin as if it were some kind of mask.
Pulling carefully, the figure pulled the skin free, coaxing it away from the eyes with the aid of the blade.
It came away in one piece.
One dripping piece of skin.
The figure turned to those watching and held the mask of living flesh aloft like some kind of bizarre trophy.
Two of the others stepped forward and began removing Weller's clothes, tossing them aside until he was naked.
Then they set to work.
Seven
The footsteps outside his door woke him.
Carter sat bolt upright, awake in an instant, ignoring the slight ache from his injured shoulder. He heard the footsteps and peered towards the door, watching the shadows beneath.
There was someone out there.
Listening.
Waiting.
He glanced across at the emergency button beside his bed, his finger poised over it.
The door handle turned slowly.
Carter swung himself out of bed, his eyes never leaving the slowly-turning handle. To hell with the emergency button, he thought. He'd deal with this himself.
The door opened a fraction, light from the corridor beyond spilling across the floor.
He saw a figure illuminated in the tight.
The door opened further, the figure took a step inside.
Carter sat on the end of the bed and waited.
Tina Richardson closed the door behind her and smiled at him.
`You'd never make a hitman,' said Carter, quietly, a smile spreading across his tips. He stood up and she walked towards him, throwing her arms around his neck, drawing his face to hers. Their lips pressed together, her tongue pushing against his, seeking entry to the warm moistness inside his mouth. He pulled her hard against him, aware of the growing warmth spreading around his groin, the heady scent of her perfume
Jennifer Rivard Yarrington
Delilah Hunt, Erin O'Riordan, Pepper Anthony, Ashlynn Monroe, Melissa Hosack, Angelina Rain