Free Bone Machine by Martyn Waites Page A

repeated the word over and over, stretching out the sound, letting it soothe him. Give him succour.
    Nothing.
    There was no pressure on him. He could plan for the next one without looking over his shoulder all the time.
    And there would be a next one. Because he wasn’t finished yet. The voices in the shadows wouldn’t allow him to be, for one
     thing. Plus his work wasn’t completed; he hadn’t found the answer he was seeking to that one all-important question.
    And, if he was honest, he had enjoyed it so much he wanted to do it again. That was the thing that had surprised him. That
     an experiment, a scientific exploration, had given him such a thrill.
    In fact, he had never been so excited in his life.
    He stared at the mirror, ignored what was behind him, saw beyond it: let the phantasmagoria of the last few days dance once
     again before his eyes. Felt the familiar tingling in his groin. He had to relive that moment.
    Her death must have been painful: she had thrown her body around, convulsed and pulled as much as her restraints allowed.
     Even when the knife was sliding in and out, bringing with it more and more blood, taking away more and more of her life, she
     hadn’t given up. The blade thrusts, initially patient and measured, sometimes even playful little nips, had given way to hard,
     sharp hacks and slashes in his rush to bring on her final act, his need to see it.
    And that, in itself, had been thrilling.
    He had sensed it about to happen, felt that change come over her, and pulled out the knife for the final time. Climbed on
     to her and watched with intense fascination, like a Victorian botanist studying a rare species, cataloguing. Looking for signs
     of evolution.
    His fingers twitched, but he kept them still, pressed at either side of her head, resisting the temptation to help her along.
     His heart hammered fit to burst with excitement.
    As the end came, he had lowered himself down, pressed his face to hers. Ignored the last desperate attempts at escape, her
     body’s automatic flight impulse going through the motions, and felt her ragged, gasping breath in his mouth. He had grabbed
     her shoulders, held her firm, his thighs pressing against her hips. Skin on skin, his body wet from hers. His erection straining,
     begging to be let loose on her. Although it was difficult, he had resisted. Because he was a professional. He had a job to
     do.
    Reluctantly he had climbed off her, checked the camera was working, the power light staring unblinkingly at her, an impassive
     red eye capturing for ever her final moments.
    Watching and shooting, he had yearned to press his lipsdown on hers, feel the wet flesh strain against rough thread, try to catch the last of her life in his mouth, suck it out
     of her.
    But he didn’t give in to that impulse, strong though it was. Because this was work, this was science.
    When her body gave its final sigh, the air sliding and stuttering out of her for the last time, the voices in the shadows
     screaming for her release, the sight had given him the most intense, spontaneous orgasm he had ever experienced.
    He climbed on to her then and lay, spent. He wanted the moment to enfold him for ever, stay locked in the arms of that special
     embrace.
    Nothing else mattered to him. The noise of the city above had slipped below his senses, like a radio in a distant room that
     he couldn’t turn off. Usually it would irritate him, annoy him to anger, but no more. He was happy to let its empty-headed
     clatter continue. It wouldn’t touch him, couldn’t reach him. He had been as unmissed down here as he was invisible when above.
    And in the shadows they had been moving, their voices whispering. Squatting in their usual place at the corner of his vision.
     Behind his posed figures, out of the beams of the lights. The Historian had felt them, smelled them. But he had ignored them.
     They couldn’t reach him either.
    And yet …
    Her last sigh.
    And yet …
    The most intense orgasm of