arms and legs stretched outwards； body punctured by wounds； many needles still protruding； metal dull in the poor light； thin rivulets of blood； now dried and crusted； on his skin。 Every part of him seared pain and； had his senses been more lucid； the agony might have checked his heart。 While one channel of his mind struggled for reason； others closed down； refuting the hurt to his body； the degradation it had suffered； instinctively knowing that full acknowledgement could only mean insanity。 The remaining dregs of morphia were an ally to their cause。
The low flames wavered； caressed by a breeze。 He raised his head from the cold slab he was chained to； the motion sluggish； taking all his strength； and looked down along his own body。 The slender spikes in his chest were huge to his fuddled brain； rising like crooked metal poles in a greasy snow field； and their undulation as he breathed became mesmerising。 But light from above was seeping into the chamber。 He struggled to keep his head raised； but it was too heavy； the strain was too much。 It fell back onto the stone with a sharp crack。 He had seen the figures emerge from the passageway though； grouped together at the top of the stairs as if their bodies were joined。 The youth moaned aloud； his dread even more acute。
He tried to call out when he heard their footsteps on the stairs； wanting to plead with them； and could only manage an incoherent wailing sound that became a whimper when his head lolled to the side and he saw them approach。
The two Arabs； as ever； were grinning down at him and between them stood…no； sagged； for the others were supporting him…a small man whose ravaged face was so old and so wicked that the youth tried to turn away。 But it was impossible…the strength wasn't there； the side of his face could only rest against the stone and his eyes could only stare。
The dark…haired man； whose features were wizened and cruel； skin flaking away as though diseased； gazed on the youth； and his tongue flicked across dry； cracked lips。 He extended a tremulous hand； index finger pointing； and trailed a yellow fingernail along the white stomach； bringing the nail up towards the sternum。 As it travelled； the finger sank into the flesh； with no apparent effort； leaving a shallow rent behind。
Once more a syringe found a vein in the youth's spindly arm and fluid was pushed into him。 The glow rapidly spread through him and he almost smiled his gratitude。 Now he could turn his face towards the black； limitless ceiling above。
He was conscious of； but did not feel； the pulling apart of his ；kin； and the vapour that rose from his stomach into the cool air was no more to him than a light cloud rising from a warm dampness。
The dark…haired man shuffled away； aided by one of the Arabs； the other disappearing to a different part of the room。
The youth lay there on his blood…soaked slab； his body opened； and dreamily wondered why they had gone away。 He didn't mind； not at all。 It was pleasant lying there； watching steam gently curl upwards from a source near him； but just out of sight。 He wanted to drift away； to sleep； but for some reason his mind wouldn't allow him。 It was nagging； trying to tell him something； something desperately urgent； but he didn't want to know； the peace after so much pain was too intoxicating。 Now the needles were tike birthday candles； their heads gleaming as tiny flames。 Was it his birthday？ He couldn't remember。 Any celebration was nice though。
He heard nearby sounds and turned and craned his neck as far as it would go。 Nerve…ends twinged only a little。 The darkhaired man was inside an alcove； opening something； a cabinet of some kind。 No； not a cabinet。 One of those 。 。 。 what were they called？ The sort of thing they had in churches； a box…thing priests were always poking into。 Funny； this place was like a church with all the candles； even though they were black。 The stone he lay on was like an altar。
The youth giggled； although the noise he made was more like a gurgle。
The three men converged on the pale； prone body； the dark…haired man carrying a dish of black metal； a veil； black again； draped over its edges。 Blood was spilling over from the long scission in the youth's body； spreading in pools on the stone's surface； beginning to trickle down the sides。 The youth had scant life left in him。
The veil was drawn away； revealing the dish to be more like a wide…brimmed chalice； for it had a base which was clutched in one trembling hand。 With his other hand； the dark…haired man removed the contents and placed it inside the youth's stomach； gently pressing down； soaking it in blood； smothering it in slithery organs。
Now the youth did scream； a piercing screech that echoed around the stone walls of the chamber； for no drugs could deaden the pain nor the horror。
He was alive； but barely； when the Arab on the outer side of the stone raised the tool he had collected and began cutting into the youth's outstretched limbs。
And still those myriad eyes stared； never closing； never wavering。
19 CORA'S NEEDS
'I need pany；' she said simply。 'I get 。 。 。 frightened when I'm alone in this house。' Halloran had opened the door wider and she'd hurried by him； glancing back over her shoulder as if someone had been stalking her along the corridor。 He looked out to make sure there really was no one there。
He turned and she was putting the bottle and glasses she'd brought with her on the bedside cabinet。
'I remembered you liked Scotch；' Cora told him； and there was no confidence in her voice。
He shook his head。 'I'm on watch again in 。 。 。' he checked his wristwatch '。 。 。 a couple of hours。 You go ahead if you want。' She did。 Cora poured herself a stiff measure； turning slightly away from him to avoid his eyes； and he wasn't sure if she felt guilty at ing to him in the middle of the night or because she needed a drink。 He closed the door。
Cora wore a white bathrobe against the night chill。 'You must think me silly。 Or 。 。 。' She let the sentence trail away。
Halloran walked towards her； lifting the big automatic from its holster and laying it beside the bottle and empty glass。 'We all have fears；' he had said。
Halloran began to move into her； taking care； even though she dug her fingers into his naked back； urging him on。 Her teeth nipped his neck； his shoulder； as she squirmed beneath him； thrusting herself upwards。 Cora still wore the bathrobe and he pushed it open so that he could caress her breasts。 She moaned and there was a desperation to the sound。 He lifted himself so that he could see her flesh； could kiss her breasts。 He bent to a raised nipple and softly drew on it with his lips； moistening the tip with his tongue。 She caught her breath； then let it escape in an unsteady sigh。 He pulled the robe from her and tossed it over a chair； then turned back to her weling naked body。
He let his fingertips trail away； touching her side； her hip； his hand moving inwards so that it was between them； his palm smoothing her stomach； fingers reaching down into her hair。 Her thighs rose around him and he was inside her； pushing inwards； meeting only slight resistance。 Cora's hands were low on his back and they pulled him tight so that he lost control of the movement。 He was drawn into her sharply； causing her to give a little cry of pain。
Every part of her seemed stretched； her muscles stiffened as if she had been pierced rather than entered。 Halloran's demand now matched hers as he felt the familiar floating sensation； the incredible tensing of his own muscles； the swift rise towards the breaking of that tension。 He gasped air and the low moan came from him this time。
But it changed。 Her clutching altered in intensity； became fraught rather than encouraging； her cries became those of frustration rather than passion。 Halloran slowed his rhythm； aware that he was losing her。
Cora's legs straightened and her motion subsided； then became still。 She turned her face away from him。 Perplexed； Halloran raised himself and looked down on her。 A tear gathered in the corner of her eye； welling there and finally spilling。
'Please； Liam。 Help me。' He frown