Page 36 of The Taskmaster
I lifted my head to see if that’d help, but it only made things worse, and I couldn’t stop myself lying down on the sofa. I’d drunk one glass of wine, but the room had started to spin. My vision was blurry, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
The last thing I remember before I fell into the darkness of obscurity was hearing the thud of my mobile as it fell to the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE TASKMASTER
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who the fuck I am or why you’re here. YOU FUCKING KNOW!” I shouted through the microphone as I watched Gabriel Tolley squirm.
He was currently sitting at the bottom of the huge glass tank I’d dumped and chained his drugged, naked body into a few hours ago.
The fucker was fast asleep on his couch when I broke into his home earlier today after leaving Abigail. It was the easiest target I’d had so far, and I had to admit, I’d let myself down in that respect. I usually liked the thrill of the chase. To hunt them down and work a little for my prize. But today, I just wanted this fucker in my warehouse and in my game. I wanted to get shit done so I could go back to what was holding my interest more these days. Abigail.
“I... I have... nnnno idea,” he spluttered as he cried. He hung his head as he tucked his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them tightly. “Please,” he begged, snot streaming down his pitiful face. “Let me go. I have money. I can give you anything you want.”
“Money is no good to me, although I’ll take that too when all this is over,” I assured him, and then I moved closer to the mic and reiterated, “What’s my name? Say it. Tell me you remember every fucked-up thing you did to destroy my life. Or are there too many of us?” I cocked my head. “Did you lose count?”
He sniffed, rocking back and forth as he chanted, “No, no, no.”
“Then let me take you on a little trip down memory lane,Gabriel.”
He shook his head, like he didn’t want to hear the words that were coming at him. Like he could shrug them off. But he couldn’t. This was his reckoning. He would hear what I had to say.
“They found me in a cupboard in my parent’s bedroom. Do you remember, Gabriel? Do you remember hearing about it, reading in my notes how they picked me up off the floor and carried me past the dead bodies of my parents, then dumped me in a hospital with more sickos just like you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. He knew who I was, but he kept making a fucking annoying, weak howling noise that was really pissing me off.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed, and he jolted, lifting his head as tears and snot clung to his bloated, shiny face. “YOU WILL FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY. YOU OWE ME THAT, GABRIEL. YOU OWE ME FUCKING EVERYTHING!”
He quietened a little, and so I went on.
“You met me in that hospital. Pretended to care about my fucking welfare. It was your fucking job to care, but you didn’t, did you? You just sat by while they treated me like shit, traumatising me even more than I already was, and then you turned to the hospital staff and you said, ‘Hold my fucking beer. If you think that’s traumatising, wait till you see what I have instore for him,’ and you sold me out, didn’t you, Gabriel? Took my hand like you were a good Samaritan and led me into the depths of hell. You knew exactly what’d happen to me when you took me to Clivesdon House, didn’t you?”
He shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t. I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“CUT THE CRAP, GABRIEL!” I shouted, tilting my head from side to side to ease the tension in my neck.
Then, in a calmer, more calculated voice, I said, “I wasn’t the only boy you abandoned there. It must’ve been quite the payoff for you, to feed them a steady stream of new boys every month. There aren’t many social workers I know that live in a five-bedroom house like yours, and holiday four times a year. I’m pretty sure you’re not getting that lifestyle from your council pension.”
He didn’t answer. He knew he couldn’t.
“Tell me, Gabriel, how much did they pay you to give them little boys to feed their sickness? I hope it was worth it, because today, you’re gonna have to face the consequences.”
“They’ll find you,” he said, trying to sound confident, though his voice was wavering with fear. “I have things set in place. If I go missing, they’ll be notified and they’ll find you.”
“I hope they do. I’d love to play with some more worthy participants. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? This is your time, Gabriel. Let’s focus on you, yes?”
I paused, and then sighed into the mic, asking one last time, “My name, Gabriel. Tell me what’s my name.”
“I don’t know,” he answered weakly, and I lost my head.
“STOP WASTING MY FUCKING TIME. ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION.”
I curled my hands into fists, nails digging into the skin of my palm to keep me grounded, and I asked one last time, “What. Is. My. Name?”
He spluttered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then said, “Ghost boy.” He’d broken sooner than I’d expected.
“Ghost boy?” I laughed. “Is that the best you can fucking do?”
