5. Melissa

CHAPTER 5

MELISSA

FRIDAY MORNING – OPENING PANDORA'S BOX

M y guts churned as I walked all the way to the bank on autopilot, buried in my thoughts and feeling jittery, desperate to find out what was inside that damn box.

The bank manager appeared almost immediately after the teller called him and took me into his office. I signed some paperwork, and he handed me a bank card for my new account before taking me downstairs to the vault where the safety deposit boxes were kept.

As the man keyed in the security code to the door, I bit my lip to hide my smirk. It was something I could have opened with my eyes closed. Being down here brought back some bittersweet memories. I had never actually broken into a bank, but I had often broken into personal vaults and safety deposit boxes elsewhere with my dad. I loved those memories, but at the same time, they saddened me. His death was still so new and my grief was still too raw to think of the times we spent together without feeling like I wanted to cry.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed aside my grief. This wasn't the time to break down.

Stepping into the room, I glanced around. The walls were lined with little square compartments, each with a number. I followed the manager over to number 113. My box apparently. After opening the metal door, I removed the box inside.

Once I'd retrieved it, the manager escorted me to a small private area behind a screen which allowed for boxes to be opened away from unwanted scrutiny.

"I'll wait outside," he said before leaving.

My hands shook and my stomach churned even more as I stared at the box for a minute. I had been desperate to open it, but now that I had it in front of me, I was feeling a sense of impending dread.

Did I really want to do this? Hell, no!

Anything to do with my biological dad who confessed to being a bad person, or his psychotic brother, wasn't something I really wanted to know about.

Last night, I'd convinced myself that I could just hand the letter and whatever was in the box over to the police and they could investigate things. Now, however, I wasn't so sure.

Mathieson had mentioned my dad doing a job for him and my unique skills in the letter. That would surely pique their interest. I didn't need any enthusiastic law enforcement officer looking into my past and discovering what types of jobs we had done. Dad was gone now, so it wasn't like it would matter to him anymore, but it very much mattered to me. I had no plans of going to jail for any of my past indiscretions.

But what else could I do? I was alone. How was I expected to deal with all of this?

My head throbbed as I looked around the space, hoping for answers that didn't come.

There really was nothing for it. I simply had to bite the bullet, open the box, and find out where to go from there.

My nerves were fraught. I gingerly lifted the lid up a half inch and stopped, dropping it, as if I expected something to suddenly jump out at me. Chuckling, I shook my head. I knew I was being ridiculous. Yet, why did I feel like I was about to open pandora's box?

God, I really didn't want to do this. The whole thing had me afraid.

I wanted to just walk away and forget all about it. Surely, if I laid low and didn't appear to be a threat, this uncle of mine would leave me alone? Right? Then I'd have nothing to fear. Mathieson had said the guy would come after me if he knew of my existence. But why? If I was not a threat, why would he bother?

Nodding to myself, I was about to return the box unopened, but stopped. I was being a coward, and that was not how my dad had brought me up. I could hear his voice in my head telling me to "Suck it up, buttercup," and "feel the fear and do it anyway," just the way he often did when I was young and in need of a pep talk. So, I took a deep breath and yanked it wide open. The air in my lungs came out in a whoosh and I realised I had been holding my breath.

There was a small white envelope inside with my name on it. My hands shook as I pocketed that to read later, but it was the large, thickly-stuffed brown envelope that drew my immediate attention. I tore it open, knowing that whatever was in there was about to change my life.

The contents spilled out onto the counter, revealing documents and photographs. I picked up the first photo and immediately recognised MP Timothy Evans-Hughes. He was also in the second one, sitting at a table smiling beside a man I now knew was Aiden Mathieson. With them sitting so close together, I could see the family resemblance.

My breath hitched as the shock hit me. My uncle was a famous MP and member of the current government in the UK. Well shit!

As I lay the two photographs to one side, I noticed a document which looked like a template for an email invitation by an event company called Darkest Desire Productions. The email logo stated in small print, " where the darkest desires of your dreams are enacted. "

It gave a time and place for the attendee to be for collection and advised all necessary items for the event would be provided, along with a reminder that locations would remain anonymous. A warning advised that attendees would suffer severe consequences should they leak any information about the event.

What the hell?

What sort of event was this?

My eyes widened in horror, and I covered my mouth with one hand as I fought back nausea while I quickly rummaged through the rest of the photographs. There were at least twenty, each showing the gruesome aftermath of someone's life. The people in the photos had obviously been murdered violently. There were a lot of women and several men, most of whom looked like they had been butchered. All the females were naked, unlike the majority of the males. Dear god!

There was one last photograph showing Evans-Hughes and three other men standing over a dead male, wearing hunting gear, their knives dripping with blood. Oh shit! The MP was a murderer. No wonder Mathieson said he was a psycho.

Double checking the envelope, I found a small dictaphone still inside, and played it. It was a recorded conversation between two men, whom I quickly realised were Mathieson and Evans-Hughes. Mathieson asked when the next hunt was set for. Evans-Hughes was annoyed and told him not to discuss these things on the phone but then gave the date: Saturday 12 July at the Island at 7 pm. I had a terrible feeling about this.

While I listened, I flipped over all the photographs, feeling sicker by the minute. Each had dates and places on the back, some saying The Estate, some The Island, and others saying Cazar, Ibiza. I glanced at the photograph for the 12 July, and the dead man in that picture was the same as the one in the picture with Evans-Hughes and the three men.

Oh, hell no! I realised what this was; it was a company creating events, or more correctly hunts, for people to fulfil their darkest desires in reality. Hence the name, I supposed. Horror filled me. Breathing deeply through my nose, I gulped back the bile that rose in my throat. This was a snuff company providing people to be murdered as entertainment for others.

Holy shit! I was in trouble.

My heart filled with dread as I came to the understanding that not only was the MP, my uncle, involved in this horrifying activity, but it seemed that he might be the one running things. Mathieson was right, my uncle was a real psychopath. And he wanted me to take this man down? What the fuck?

My breath quickened, my heart racing as panic rose in my chest. My vision blurred, and I swayed as sweat broke out all over my body. Grabbing the wall to steady myself, I dragged air deep into my lungs as I tried desperately to calm down.

Finally, my breathing returned to normal, and I bit back the fear that had threatened to consume me.

Shit, I needed to get out of here, take time to regroup, and think about my next move. But first, I needed to secure this information. My dad's training in caution kicked in, and I quickly used my phone to snap pictures of everything in the box before loading the contents into my bag and forwarding all the pictures to my email.

After quickly closing the box, I put it away, then hurried outside.

"Everything okay, Miss Martin?" the manager asked.

"Yes, thanks," I forced out as my head swam and my vision blurred again. I needed fresh air, fast.

Hurrying up the stairs, I said a quick goodbye and practically ran for the door, my stomach threatening to give up its contents with every step.

As soon as I was outside, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then turned towards home, thoughts swirling in my head as the images from the photographs assaulted my mind.