Sex and Murder Magazine

By Natasha Browne

"It'll be a hell of a lot easier for you if you just drink the damn stuff."

The door slammed at the top of the steps. Alice looked around the damp basement and felt a sudden surge of despair. A single cup stood on a mahogany table across the room. Her legs were shaking and her mouth was dry. She dropped to her hands and knees, a cold blanket encasing her on the grey floor. She slipped her fingers under her head, pulling her legs towards her stomach. The single light beam filling the room disappeared. Eyes tight, Alice shivered her way to sleep.

The wooden door creaked open and footsteps flitted down the stairs. Delicate hands switched the stale drink with another plastic cup. The presence of another being tapped its way back out of the icy room below the house.

Hours passed before Alice felt her fingers and toes again. She raised herself onto her elbows and looked around. The sun had changed position, lighting the cup as though it were a chalice at an altar. A grumbling sounded in her belly. She pressed it with her fingers, a bitter smell filling her nostrils. She could hear a dog barking, probably in the neighbour's backyard. All she could remember about the house was how white it was. A black door and window frames stood out from the background like a spotted cow in a field of brown. As soon as the front door had closed, a paper bag had covered her face and she was tossed downstairs.

A naked mattress sat on an iron-framed bed pressed against the wall, halfway between the cup and a stack of cardboard boxes. Alice pushed her body from the floor and unravelled herself into a five-foot-eight stance. She had always taken pride in her height, having even been considered for the catwalk. She had lost out to a dress size. Now, as she stood there, dirt stained cheeks and frizzy hair, Alice had little of the usual beauty she exuded.

She took small footsteps towards the cup. She had a good idea of what was in there. The liquid was as clear as water. She picked it up and swirled it under her nose. It was odourless. With the cup still in her hand, she stared at it. She shook it a little to see the liquid move. Nothing unusual. Placing it back on top of the table, she dipped a finger into it. Popping the finger into her mouth, she tasted nothing from the droplet. This had all the signs of exactly what she feared. There was no way to tell.

Alice examined the room for any signs of weakness. She laid her weight against the walls and traced the lines of cracks around the room. It was solid as marble. She climbed onto a stool and peered out from the tiny window. She knew her frame had no chance of squeezing out it. As she tried to look around the outside, she could see no sign of movement. Green stems filled her view with a line of blue at the top. Suddenly her view was blackened by a stump of rubber. Alice dropped off the stool onto the ground. As she looked up, the piece of rubber moved again, dirt stuck to its soles.

The door at the top of the stairs flew open. A small shadow patted down the steps.

"Back off," the quiet voice said, "get away from the table."

The voice was calming and yet threatening at the same time. Alice crawled back towards the bed and rested her head against the steel leg. She watched as a young boy, not more than nine years old, swung his right arm in her direction. Without even facing her, he exchanged the cups. A bubble swelled in Alice's throat as she stared into the deep cave of the gun.

"Help me," she dared. "Can't you see this isn't right?"

"Shud up or I'll blow yer head off!" the boy said. He turned towards Alice and grabbed the gun with both hands. He stepped slowly, right into her face and pushed the barrel against her forehead.

"Tempt me. Bitch." Alice squeezed her eyes shut. "Keep them like that," the boy said and backed his way out of the basement.

After the door closed, Alice released her eyes. Water slid down the side of her face. The gaps between her arms were soaking. The nerves in her legs felt as though they were ricocheting off her bones. She swung her head backwards and let out a gasp. The room was almost entirely blacked out. A strand from the moon barely kept the plastic cup alight.

That morning Alice had arrived at work as usual. She arranged flowers into bouquets at Mr. White's flower shop. He tended to spend most of his time out the back. She never knew he had a son, assuming always that he was a single man. His manner with her had always been modest, if not a little shy. The last thing she expected was to be bustled into the back of his van and locked inside his basement.

Alice rose from the floor and fell onto the bare mattress. Springs dug into her sides. She tossed from left to right, clasping her hands into her face. The dog had stopped barking and the night was still. Her throat was scorching with the thirst and there was the faint chat of a TV from somewhere upstairs. She lay staring at the cup for an hour or so before falling asleep.

Mr. White sat watching the nine o'clock news. More terrorist reports. He picked his nose with his index finger and flicked the filth on to the carpet. His foot rested on his knee, soil flaking to the floor.

"Alex," Mr. White called. A slim pale-faced boy arrived at the doorway almost instantly. "Has she drunk it yet?"

"No sir. I'll tell you the second she does."

"See to it that you do boy," Mr. White said without so much as taking his eyes from the screen. Alex looked at the man for a moment, pressing his spiteful stare into the back of the man's head. He slipped back into the hallway and sat. Taking a Nintendo Gameboy between his hands, he began tapping the buttons rapidly.

The following morning Alice woke to a thud. Someone pounded down the stairs.

"Listen you little bitch, drink the fucking stuff. I don't want to have to turn nasty on you," Mr. White said, holding the gun.

"Please Mr. White. Why are you doing this?"

"Oh shut the hell up and do what you're told." He turned towards the table and switched the cups again. There was less fluid in this one.

"If this isn't gone by lunch time, God help you girl." He took one last look at Alice before traipsing back up the stairs and locking the door once more.

Alice tugged her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She rested her chin between the dip and watched the plastic cup. She half expected it to come alive and force its way down her throat. For the first time since she had arrived in the basement she let the tears roll. Her shoulders heaved and her head shook as she sobbed into her jeans. Surely Bruce must have called the police by now.

Alice rolled onto her side and noticed again the boxes lying in the corner of the room. She squeezed her eyes into her palms to quench the tears. Stepping off the bed, she landed on the ground almost silently. The boxes were large and brown. They didn't appear to be sealed. Alice pulled back the corner of the first box but it was empty. She pushed it to the side and tried another. This one had a few pictures of a toddler in it. Presumably Mr. White's boy. There was a woman in some of the pictures too. She wore a pink straw hat and a navy blue dress. She was nuzzling her nose into the child's neck and must have been about Mr. White's age. Alice flung the pictures back into the box carelessly and tried another underneath. This box held something wrapped in a black sack.

Alice unwrapped the bag and pulled out another bundle of pictures. The first picture was of an empty room, dark with a small single window at the top. There was an unmade bed in the room that triggered a moment of recognition across Alice's face. She flicked through a number of similar pictures before coming across something more disturbing. The pale boy stood next to the bed pointing a gun at the mattress. The following picture showed the same scene, only there was a woman in the bed. In the next, it was the same woman wearing only her underwear. By the end, she was completely naked. The following pictures showed Mr. White where the boy had been. As they became more explicit Alice felt a gurgle in her stomach. She felt compelled to keep looking, though the images were burning her insides.

By the final picture Alice had dropped to her knees in small convulsions. She arched her back, pushing her hands into the ground gagging. She sputtered saliva all down her arms and across the pictures. It was as though she had cast her eyes into a crystal ball and seen an ugly fate. Her arms wavered and she dived into the boxes unconsciously.

Mr. White was digging patches in his garden for geraniums. A swirl of pink already spread across a quarter of the garden fence. A silver wire threaded its way around the garden, weaving in between the stems and petals. His mutt with flapping ears was biting at his boots. Mr. White gave the dog a shove backwards. Its scraggy white hair was spotted with brown from the soil.

"Goddamn dawg," Mr. White said, "no use to me at all."

The boy came running out.

"Mr. White, sir!"

"Shud it boy, keep the volume down," Mr. White spat and knocked the boy across the head. "What is it?"

"It's her Mr. White, I seen her knock them boxes over. I think she knows."

Mr. White walked across the grass and crept onto his stomach. He peeped in through the small glass window and saw Alice sprawled over the pile of pictures.

"Not to worry. At least now maybe she'll drink the stuff. Otherwise it's gonna be some battle for her. Either way, I win." He stood up. The side of his mouth curled upwards and he flew a green spit into the ground. The boy did the same, spit sticking to the end of his boot.

"Goddammit," the boy said and Mr. White shook his head with the same unnerving grin.

Alice felt her eyes unstick and regained consciousness. She gazed around the room, nothing had changed. The cup still stood on the table, light filling it to the brim. She got to her feet and began gathering the pictures together. The girls in the pictures looked mindless, their eyes rolled backwards and their bodies limp. Their faces bared no reaction to the obscenities Mr. White was causing them. It appeared too, that as the sequences progressed, Mr. White paid little attention to the camera. A digital camera, clutched between the palms of such a young boy. The thought made Alice want to vomit, at the same time filling her hands with rage. She finished collecting the pictures and wrapped them in the plastic bag once more. She tried to rearrange the boxes in a similar manner but the trauma of the scenes had left their order blank in her head.

The door at the top of the steps clattered off the opposite wall. Feet stomped down the stairs. Mr. White approached Alice with such force she felt her face bend towards the wall before he had even reached her. He didn't strike her. Instead, he gripped her neck and pushed her nose into the pile of boxes, as though she were an animal forced into its own faeces.

"Now you little bitch, you know what's a comin'. If you don't take that fucking remedy by dinnertime tonight then I am gonna do it all to you anyways. If I was you girl, I'd think real hard before ignoring me. I've had enough of this shit. The more you keep me waiting, the more likely I am to make things harder for you." The thick fingers around Alice's neck were so tight she couldn't breathe.

Mr. White continued, "What's it to be bitch? You gunna be a good girl for me now? I don't want ma boy to have to come down here first and freshen you up for me. Make this easier for the both of us. Keep his conscience clean at least."

Mr. White let go of her throat and she tumbled into the boxes again. He dug his boot into her side; knocking the wind she was gasping right back out of her. Alice heaved her chest upwards but nothing would fill it. Mr. White went over to the cup and spat in it.

"Tastes better that way," he said and slowly went back up the steps.

When Alice finally regained her breath she began to stand up. Her knees were shaky, making it difficult for her to balance. She stumbled into the wall, slammed her hands into it and pulled the rest of her weight off the ground. Bits of plaster began to flake onto the floor. Alice's energy surged as she began to strip away the rest of the board. White chalk-like residue got stuck underneath her nails the more she scraped. Her excitement overwhelmed her and she barely realised the hole was getting wider, not deeper. After a few minutes of labour she stood back to take a look at her work. The wall was scuffed, that much she was sure of. She felt behind the plaster something more solid, cement probably. She knocked a feeble fist against the wall catching her skin on a piece of hard plaster. Blood seeped downwards between her knuckles.

Alice wiped her bleeding hand across the top of her plain, white t-shirt. She took another look at the cup and felt herself infuriated. She trudged over to the cup, thinking hard. She plucked it from the table and took a seat on the bed. Her hands had grabbed the plastic so tight the sides were indented. The fluid pushed towards the top and Mr. White's green saliva floated around the liquid. Alice tipped the cup sideways and watched it drain into the dusty mattress. It soaked it up like a plant not watered for weeks. As she sat there she felt a poking in her thigh. She got up from the bed and lifted the giant sponge upwards. A number of springs had come untwined, their sharp spikes digging into the cushion.

She let go of the mattress and it slammed back onto the iron frame. As she sat and thought, a loud noise began to rise. Alice crept to the top of the stairs and pressed her ear against the door. It was an electronic noise and as it got louder Alice understood it was the TV. The music emanating from the ads blared all through the house. Alice squatted to the floor and gradually pushed her legs behind her. She peered under the doorframe. Although the gap was small she managed to make out a few pairs of shoes moving into a room. The kitchen she presumed. Through all the noise, she heard the faint close of a door.

"Help me PLEASE!" she screamed, "somebody!" Alice shouted for five minutes straight before her throat grew too hoarse to continue. She choked out another few "pleases" before she gave up entirely and sank back down the steps.

Alice lay back on the mattress considering the worn out springs underneath her. The sound of the boy came plummeting down the stairs. She rolled towards the right onto the ground and buried her face in her arms.

"Drink it yet bitch?" the boy asked. She didn't answer. He noticed the empty cup standing upright on the table.

"Good girl," he said and took it up, replacing it with a jar of baby rice. "Make sure and eat all this, yer gunna need your strength," he sniggered. He turned from the room and sprinted back into the house.

Alice waited for the twist of the key before she dared to move. She spied the food, wondering whether to take the risk. It looked more brown than white. She stuck her nose into the jar and took a deep sniff. Ravenously she dug her fingers into the jar and scooped out the gooey rice. It tasted only of cold but immediately quenched her hunger. If it was drugged at least it would take the edge off what was coming.

"Sir, sir!" the boy yelled out.

"What is it boy?" Mr. White said from the sink of the kitchen.

"She's gone and drunk the whole thing. Not long now."

"You sure?"

"Take a look yourself," and the boy shoved the cup out in front him. A small rim of fluid lay around the edges of the bottom of the cup.

"I knew we'd get there son," Mr. White said and ruffled the hair of the boy. His blue eyes lit up as he considered this father-like figure for a moment. This man who had stolen the only Mother he had ever known. A man he didn't truly belong to. Mr. White drew a silver sickle from the bubbled water and raised it into the air. The sun bounced off its edges and reflected onto the ceiling. Mr. White drew back his lips baring his yellow teeth. The boy looked at him and imitated the grin, a broad gap in his left gum.

"We'll give her an hour or two before going in. She should be out cold by then. You know I don't like a mess," Mr. White said.

The boy nodded taking the sickle from Mr. White and laying it on the table. He couldn't help admiring something in the man.

Alice sat on the ground with her legs crossed. She was flicking her fingers off the fly of her trousers when a thought occurred to her. She jumped to her feet and lifted the mattress from the bed frame, moving it to the side. She peered into the bed of springs, analysing the root of each. A number of springs were protruding beyond their purpose and Alice concentrated on them. She found that many of them were worn a small bit at the edges. She tried to tug at them but they only swayed a little. The clasp of her navy trousers was her only hope. She opened the top two and examined the seams. She chose the second clasp and pulled at the threads until it came lose.

She snapped it free from the material. The mini-saw was light and bendy but it was her only hope. She slotted the clasp into the spring with the deepest ridge, about half way up the stem. She grinded the metal against the steel, small flakes of silver dust sweeping downwards. A sharp pain stung her shoulder. Alice continued the gnawing. Finally the ridge was deep enough for her to crack the spring from the bed. The broken edge was sharpened by her force. With no idea of how long it would be before Mr. White came downstairs again, Alice decided to take up her position.

The door at the top of the stairs opened gently. The boy came down first, gun in hand. He was wearing a black shirt and slacks with a white tie around his neck. Mr. White followed in the same uniform. He carried the sickle in his hand but passed it to the boy before examining Alice. She lay motionless on the bed. Her face was blank and her limbs were flaccid. Mr. White stood back and took a picture of the boy standing next to the bed. For the next picture, the boy bent his head into Alice's so that they were cheek by cheek.

"My turn now," Mr. White demanded.

The boy stood back and placed the sickle next to the bed. Mr. White assumed his position for the first photo. After a number of shots he turned from the camera and concentrated on Alice. She felt her muscles tighten but she couldn't afford to stiffen up. She tried to think of Bruce and their first date.

He had meant to be creative and bought Alice a basket of soaps instead of chocolates. After the meal Alice had cooked, she took out the basket and bit into one of the small soaps. Bruce had laughed and Alice's cheeks turned scarlet, the soapy taste washing the scent of grilled steak from her mouth. It had been an ongoing joke ever since. Now Alice could feel Mr. White's breath in her face. It stank of raw meat, like he had just bitten into a decaying carcass.

Mr. White wrapped his arm around Alice's slim torso and raised her from the bed. Carefully, he peeled her blood stained t-shirt over her head. He licked the blood, not caring where it had come from. He unclipped her bra and slipped it down her arms. In a strange way, he acted like a considerate lover. Alice could feel the spring by the side of her leg in her trousers. She wondered about the right time to use it.

Mr. White leaned forward and placed Alice back into the mattress. He traced his lips down her face and arms. They felt like soft plastic scratching her skin. His large body weighed on her waist and she worried he would feel the metal at her side. He rubbed his lips over her breast, settling on her nipple.

The boy stood to the side taking pictures from all angles. He took close ups and long shots. He enjoyed the artistic rights he had when Mr. White allowed him.

Still sucking her nipple, Mr. White brought his right hand over Alice's crotch. He dug his fingers between her thighs and slid them upwards. He reached the clasp and unclicked it. There was an unusual gap between here and her fly and he lifted his head to examine the detail. As he moved his body upright, Alice raced her hand down her trousers and pulled out the spring. Before Mr. White had time to realise what was happening, she swung it into his neck.

His rubbery skin felt a piercing through the nerves and he swayed onto the floor. In an instant the boy threw the camera to the ground and grabbed the gun. Alice bolted from the bed towards the stairs. The boy fired the first shot he had ever made. Jolted by the bang, he missed and the bullet struck the banisters of the stairs. He watched as Alice raced upwards.

Alice entered the hall, her heart throbbing. She stomped to the front door and yanked at it. It wouldn't budge and there was no key. She moved to her right, into the sitting room. There was one window big enough for her to squeeze through. She went to open it but it was locked just like the door. She grabbed a footstool from the ground and smacked it into the glass. It didn't even crack.

Downstairs, the boy ran to help Mr. White. With all his might, he tugged Mr. White to his feet. Mr. White stood and clenched his hand around the spring. He pulled it from the wound, an agonising act. Blood ran down the side of his neck and shoulder. He took Alice's t-shirt from the ground and tied it like a scarf around his neck, using his own tie to keep it in place.

"Sir, are you okay? Shit, that bitch! What do we do?" the boy asked. Mr. White swept his arm into the boy's stomach.

"Useless piece of shit! Gimme that gun." The boy handed him the gun and took the sickle for himself. Mr. White stumbled to the stairs and pulled himself up using the banisters. The boy followed behind.

"You stay here while I find her. Don't kill her though, we need to get this done first, you hear me?"

"Yes sir. What's the worst I can do?"

"Keep her in the house. If that means cutting both her legs off I don't care. Just make sure she stays alive." Mr. White moved away from the boy and caught a glimpse of Alice at the bottom of the stairs. Anger raged in him but he hadn't the strength to charge for her.

Alice caught site of Mr. White in the hall and bounded upstairs. She went into the boy's room first. It looked fairly normal, if not a little young for the boy. The wallpaper was green with pictures of cartoon characters on it. A half made spaceship lay in the corner. She decided the room was useless to her and crossed into the one opposite. There was a computer in the room but no phone. She shook the mouse to try wake the screen but it wasn't powered. She stuck her finger into the button to switch the machine on. She knew Mr. White would catch her before it loaded the programmes. In fact, she was surprised he hadn't caught her yet.

Mr. White stood at the bottom of the stairs gasping for air. He was looking upwards; deciphering which room she would settle in before he found her. The boy stood outside the basement door, carrying the sickle like a soldier at war.

Alice moved from the computer room and decided between a closed door and the bathroom. She pushed through the closed door into Mr. White's bedroom. A sudden shock hit her chest like a blow. Someone was in his bed. Alice dropped to her knees and crawled along the carpet. Whoever was in the bed wasn't saying anything. She lifted her head to peer at the body. It was like that of the girl's in the pictures. Alice clung to the bed frame and pulled herself to her feet. The woman in the bed was wrinkled and plump. Alice went to the body and poked it for signs of life. There was no movement. She leant her head to the woman's chest and heard a heartbeat.

Mr. White climbed the stairs unsteadily. The girl must have found his wife by now. He must be careful not to damage her in the struggle. He had no desire to damage Alice either, at least not until he had achieved his task. He got to the top of the stairs and stood outside his bedroom door. She had no weapon now, no way of escape. He placed his hand around the handle and turned it. The door drifted open easily. His wife lay in the bed, no signs of Alice. He glanced under the bed but that was too obvious. He guessed she must be in the closet, bidding her time before running downstairs again. He went to the closet and pulled the doors apart. He pushed his hand holding the gun inside and brushed it along the hanging clothes.

"Listen you fuck, hand me the gun or I'll slit her throat," Alice called from behind him. He turned around but still couldn't see her.

"What you gunna slit her throat with, you're fingernails? You dumb bitch."

Alice appeared from under Mrs. White, her hands firmly pressed around the woman's neck. "First I'm gunna strangle her, then go downstairs, get the same spring I used on you and cut her head off with it." Mr. White moved slowly towards the bed. "Stop right where you are!" Alice called. Mrs. White's face began to flicker from lack of oxygen.

"Fuck you," Mr. White said and tossed his gun onto the bed. Alice reached one hand towards the gun, still grasping Mrs. White's neck with the other.

"What's she ever done to you?" Mr. White asked.

"Nothing. What did I ever do to you?" Alice answered. She pointed the gun at Mr. White while sliding herself out from under Mrs. White.

"Get down those fucking stairs and open the front door for me," Alice demanded. Mr. White coolly did what he was told. "Tell your son what's going on."

"He's not my son," Mr. White said. He called down to the boy, "Listen boy, she's got a gun on me. Just do what she says."

At the bottom of the stairs Mr. White took the key from his pocket.

"Now open the door you son of a bitch, and give me my t-shirt back."

Mr. White put the key in the door and pulled it open slightly. He unwrapped the t-shirt and dropped it to the floor.

"Now turn around and make your way into the basement. You too boy," she said.

They both did as they were told. The boy clung to the sickle. Alice was too distorted to notice.

"Leave the key in the door," She instructed. The boy shoved the key in before following Mr. White down the steps.

Alice banged the door shut and turned the key. She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, allowing her shoulders to drop. This woman upstairs, she needed help, Alice thought. She walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs and picked up her top. It was soaked in Mr. White's purplish blood. She tossed it back to the floor, still bare-chested.

At the top of the stairs she went into Mr. White's room and leant her head against the woman's heart. There was a faint beat at least. Alice stood back from the bed and tugged a flannel shirt from Mr. White's closet. The material swamped her. Taking one last glance at the woman, Alice decided she was too heavy to haul from the building. She could return with the police. She briskly made her way downstairs, not wanting to waste anymore time. A groaning sounded from underneath. He must be beating the boy, Alice thought, and felt a pang of guilt inside. She turned towards the basement door and hesitated.

I can't, it's too late.

She spun back around and flew from the house as fast as she could.

Down in the basement the sunshine filled the room stronger than it had in the last few days. Mr. White was spread out on the floor, blood oozing from the constant wound. His right foot was hanging by a tendon from his leg. The boy stood behind his head raising the sickle like a divine instrument.

"No more sir, No siree, no more," he said to Mr. White and brought the metal towards his scalp. He began flaying the sides of Mr. White's face, the butchery so delicate the skin peeled off in one whole piece.

"Don't you know it's our biggest organ, sir," the boy chatted. "Yours is so thick and taut." Mr. White couldn't feel his lips to argue. His vocal chords gave up and he lay until the pain was so severe it ceased.

Alice burst through the first house that answered the door, only four away from Mr. White's. The neighbours took one look at the devastated girl and dialled 911. When the police arrived at Mr. White's they found a hacked up body in the basement, no signs of anything else. Two boxes remained, both of them empty. In the master bedroom was an unmade bed, still warm from the body that had been dipped in its sheets.





















































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