Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Justice 19 - Captives of Shark Island)

Chapter Twenty

The following day, after our fatal encounter with Bradley, our spirits remained low. Mary, Helen and Leila were frustrated at remaining handcuffed and though we tried several ways of breaking the connecting chains, nothing worked. My comment that a chained up woman always looked very sexy did nothing to calm the mood, and got me offside with Monica as well.

She and I spent most of the day digging through the pile of house rubble as best we could, for some of the beams were too big for us to shift without some form of mechanical help. In the process, we continued to unearth things that would become useful. The remains of the kitchen were of prime importance, and here we found cutlery, pots, a can opener, a lighter and more canned food and some plastic bottles of drink that had survived. It was the lighter most of all that cheered us, for we could now have a fire and cook some of the canned stuff properly.

The three handcuffed girls set out to re-explore the way we had come after we had first landed. I wanted to find the sea sled and see if it was salvageable. We also wanted to find the jetskis, which had disappeared from their moorings on the beach, and could be anywhere by now.

After lunch we all lay dozing in the shade. The wreckage of the house was in the bright sun and there was no point in busting a gut in the heat. We could potentially be there a long time, and it was starting to appear that our food situation was not as dire as we had first thought.

I was half asleep when the distant throb of a helicopter penetrated my consciousness.

“Chopper!” I called out to the sleeping forms around me. I shook Monica and seconds later we were scrambling to our feet and running along the edge of the beach, keeping a lookout for the aircraft.

We had talked about what we should do if the helicopter returned, most likely with Jax and Kim on board, and we had decided that the last thing we must do was give ourselves away. We crossed the little rocky promontory between Camp Beach and Five Post Beach, then cut back into the undergrowth as we made our way through the trees towards the cliff top at the back of where the house had stood.

The noise of the chopper grew closer and we glimpsed the blue and white craft as it flew low over the wreckage and circled, before disappearing from our view as it descended towards the landing area. Then, abruptly, it rose again, and I cursed myself for not realising the obvious - that the landing pad was littered with fallen palms and would be impossible to use.

The chopper skittered low over the trees above us and I saw that it was heading for the beach. We reversed our rush and headed back the way we had come, pushing through the ferns and brush before coming to a halt at the edge of the sand. The helicopter had landed fifty metres away from us, and about the same distance from the wreckage of the house. There had been enough space between the five posts sticking up from the sand, and the palm trees at the top of the beach.

As the engine noise finally ceased, but while the blades still silently turned, I saw the doors open and three figures emerged – two women and the pilot. Neither of the women had Jax’s build – both were slim, one with blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail and the other with auburn hair to her shoulders. Both wore sunglasses and smart casual sleeveless dresses that gave a businesslike appearance that seemed out of place on the white sand of a desert island.

The woman with the auburn hair was the last to leave, and it seemed almost as though she was staying between the pilot and the helicopter. The three of them stood together for perhaps ten seconds surveying the mess that had once been a most expensive piece of real estate. The blonde held up her hands to her mouth and the other put her arms around her.

It was something in that gesture that made us all suddenly recognise Jill and Trish, and as one we rushed out from our concealment, shouting at the tops of our voices. The looks of joy and delight on the faces of Jill and Trish were matched only by our own, I’m sure, as we all jumped and hugged and carried on like a bunch of teenagers. It was a couple of seconds into this that I became aware of Sebastian standing there. In the excitement of seeing our friends I had momentarily overlooked the presence of Sebastian the pilot. It had not dawned on me that we could still have an enemy in our midst, but Sebastian was standing there with his arms folded, grinning like the rest of us.

I moved across to him.

“Where does this leave you now?”

“Where does what leave me?” he replied, his smile fading somewhat.

“The others are all dead,” I told him. “They’re all under the rubble,” I lied. You’re now the sole representative of your mistress. It may be time to think about your future.”

Sebastian seemed to grow pale, probably first at the realisation of the deaths of three people he knew - though may not have liked - and secondly at the various options that flashed through his mind concerning Jax. Mistress Jax was no doubt a wealthy client, regardless of whatever she did to him in the privacy of their bedroom (and in some more public places, as we had seen on the boat). I suspected Sebastian was in over his head, and once he had seen what was happening to us at the hands of Portia et al, he like as not was unable to extricate himself. Now there was the prospect of police enquiries and all sorts of other awkward questions.

I could see he was thinking furiously, no doubt calculating his options of cutting loose without further involvement.

“We’d like a ride off the island,” I suggested reasonably. He shrugged, which I took as a ‘yes’.

“I can’t take everyone at once,” he said.

“Then you’ll have to come back,” I concluded for him. Another shrug.

“So Patricia and Jill probably don’t work for an insurance company at all,” he said, the beginnings of a rueful smile showing.

“Is that what they told you? No, they don’t. They are the cavalry, and they’re the ones going to spill the beans to the outside world if they have to. Look, Sebastian, I suspect Monica will want this whole thing to go away. There’s nothing to be gained by finger-pointing now, since the three main protagonists are dead. Get us off the island, and Jax can simply blame the deaths on the cyclone and get the insurance money sorted out and everyone can get on with their lives, though maybe you’ll have to remove some of the incriminating bits of gear ahead of the insurance assessors and the coroner. They may wonder at leather cuffs and discipline hoods washing up along the beach. But I’m sure Jax will have her own ideas on that score…”

I left him to further consider his options.

 

The helicopter lifted off half an hour later with Trish, Jill, Helen, Leila and Mary on board. As dusk fell I lit a fire on the beach and Monica and I settled down for what we hoped was our last barbeque for some time. We opened a bottle of chilled semillion which had been sitting in the stream and dined on tinned ham and peaches.

“It’s been one hell of a Christmas,” Monica said. She reached out and put her hand on my knee. Her blue eyes sparkled in the firelight. “It’s weird to think that Portia and Jade are both dead. Bradley – we’ve done the world a favour – you have, that is.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” I said uneasily. I was still not comfortable with having taken a life. Monica’s arm moved around my shoulder and she snuggled up against me, giving me a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Bradley died in the house collapse. That’s what the coroner will find, that’s what we say. We buried him, we buried Jade. Of course it presupposes Jax does everything by the book. Having us appear before a coroner would definitely be bad for her career and great for the newspapers. God, can you imagine the field day they’d have! I suspect Portia and Jade – being tourists – may simply disappear with nobody to come looking. I’ll bet they haven’t left much of a trail. Nobody will miss Bradley. I suspect the whole thing will blow over, Sebastian will be paid a goodly sum to keep his mouth shut and nobody will be any the wiser, though I bet Jax will have some serious thinking to do. I wouldn’t be surprised to see her move to another state, if only to leave all the mess behind and people who might be able to finger her when it comes to explaining bodies and goings on here on the island. It will take a fair bit of her money to discretely cover the mess here. Western Australia might start to look quite attractive, don’t you think? What is important is that you and I are still here.”

I looked at her and noted how her eyes glinted. Her smile was at once gentle, encouraging and enough to make me think that nobody else mattered in the world. Right at that moment there seemed not to be anybody else in the world, just two people alone on a desert island.

 

Sebastian and Trish returned again the next morning and as we lifted off from Shark Island I felt like a chapter in my life was closing. Portia and Jade had followed us and harassed us around the world, and we were now leaving them on a desolate part of paradise, a white fringed emerald on a field of turquoise dropping away below us. They would not be mourned or even perhaps posted as missing. They had come and gone from our lives, and while we knew we were better off without their stalking presence, we were still subdued.

Monica held my hand. We had shared extreme suffering and had come through it together. We had physical scars to show for it and probably some emotional ones as well. I, for one, was still coming to grips with what I had experienced and what I had been forced to do. I had done it for Monica and she knew that, and felt guilty for my act. Ultimately we had survived through each other’s strength and support, and had been drawn together further.

We had made slow and tender love on the beach that night before curling up together around the dying flames and falling asleep. Now all that was disappearing behind us and we had to come back to the real world.

* * * *

The real world had been a long drive away – this time for Mary, Helen and Kim. The rest of us flew back, leaving the others to take a week in returning to Brisbane . I had no idea what Mary - and Kim’s former mistress - would do to Kim, but I knew from experience that Mary was very inventive, and when teamed with Mistress Helen, who obviously had a point or three to make, I suspected Kim was in for a tortuous journey.

Back in Brisbane , we found Shawnee , Emma and Debbie in absolute control at Bilboes. Megan had returned to The Citadel, leaving Debra and the two subs in charge of Warren and Roger. By this time we had heard in graphic detail of the tortures inflicted on all the girls and we were wondering what Monica would do. One at a time Monica had summoned Trish, Jill, Emma and Shawnee to her study and had again heard their individual stories, and had sought ideas as to what should be done to their former persecutors. Then, she had kept us in suspense for two days like a judge in deliberation.

I looked in on Warren and Roger on one of my passages through the basement on my lawful business. They were together in the Rack Room, naked and bound in strappado fashion, one at each end of the rack frame, ankles stretched apart, bound arms pulled up high behind them, facing away from each other. The ropes on their arms would also have pulled them backwards, towards the middle of the rack had they been able to move that way. The only thing preventing this was a horizontal pole stretching from one arsehole to the other, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. The ends of the pole were adorned with the largest dongs carried in our store.

The pair were gagged and blindfolded with complicated harness gags while from their exposed genitals dangled several lead weights and wires connected to an electro-stimulation machine. The room was silent save laboured breathing and sudden grunts of pain as the electro-stimulator activated randomly. I wondered how long they would suffer the revenge of Bilboes, and whether it could really atone for what they had inflicted on us.

On the fourth day they surfaced, and I was surprised to see them – still naked – carrying their stuff out to their cars. Both remained gagged, bright red ball gags locked behind their heads while the girls lined the front balcony and jeered. Their buttocks were streaked with bruises and weals which betokened a savage retribution from some person or persons. The men carried their clothes, their computers, their music and other stuff that indicated their intended length of stay had been much longer than had occurred. Casting venomous scowls in our direction, they climbed into their cars and headed down the driveway.

I had been engrossed in my workshop for the last day on a project and had not known they would be released, and I had to say I was surprised at how soon the release had occurred.

“What’s going on?” I asked Trish, who had been helping me, as we both returned to the workshop. “What’s the great Monica master plan?”

Trish was thoughtful.

“I don’t know. Monica is playing her cards very close to her chest this time.”

“But you took part in the punishment.”

“Oh yes. Monica told Jill, Emma, Shawnee and myself that we had them for a day each. I think it was all part of working though it, of getting our anger out of our system.”

“And did it work?” I asked her seriously.

Trish pondered the question for a long time before answering.

“Steven… I know we do a lot of bizarre things here, that we let a lot of bizarre things happen to ourselves. We get paid and paid well for this, but there are still boundaries. You know how Monica always says she will never condone mutilation, kids or animal involvement? Those are boundaries. And whatever we might do in the line of work, it is always within those boundaries. These guys crossed them, did things that I have had done to me before, but in different circumstances. There is a difference between something you’ve consented to and that you know will end in two hours, and something that you know may never end.”

She moved up close to me and I saw her eyes were moist with tears.

“Monica told me what happened to you guys, about that awful cell you and she shared. You know what I’m talking about. You don’t have to be all macho and stand-offish. This is me you’re talking to. We’ve all had moments of despair in the last ten days – moments when we didn’t think we could go on, when there was no end in sight.”

Trish wrapped her arms around my neck but did not kiss me. Instead she hugged me tightly and spoke into my shoulder.

“I heard about you and Bradley. Some people shouldn’t walk this earth, Steven. You’ve done only good by removing him. When it was my turn to punish Warren and Roger, I saw it as personal between me and them, and I told them so. It doesn’t matter whether they are doms and Emma and Shawnee are subs. It’s boundaries again, and they crossed them. We’re all human beings, still.”

I hugged her back and listened to her utter several sobs that subsided into sniffles.

“Did it help?” I asked softly. “Your revenge, I mean.”

“Yes, a bit. They deserve more, but that brings us down to their level, doesn’t it?” She held me at arm’s length, as I brushed away the tears from her cheeks. “Monica wanted me to get my anger out, and my anger was as much for the others as for me. Shawnee is too young to have this sort of thing screw up her life. Emma, too. It’s just not right. They deserve something worse but…”

“It’s just that we’re not in a position to dispense that kind of justice,” I finished.

Trish sniffed again and wiped her face with a handkerchief, then smiled wanly.

“I still think she’s up to something.”

“What sort of something?” I asked, intrigued.

“I don’t know, but Monica and I have known each other too long for some things not to pass notice. Remember, Mary and I were together when Monica first arrived on our doorstep as a fresh-faced nineteen year-old. Ten years is a long time. We taught her all we know, but she taught us so much more.  But this time… She’s been incommunicado for hours at a time, locked away in her study, then going upstairs for more of the same. I know when she’s up to something”

“Good. I don’t think I ever will,” I confided.

Trish laughed.

“Oh yes. Monica’s got a plan and thinks we don’t realise, but I do. You mark my words.”

 

It was several days later when Monica announced a formal dinner on the back verandah. The food was brought in and Shawnee – clad in a very fetching maid’s outfit – served us at the table. We were taken aback when in the middle of the meal Monica ordered that the television be switched on so that we could watch the news.

“Queensland Police raided two houses today and arrested two men on charges in connection with a known paedophile ring. Police say computers were seized containing a large number of images and emails relating to children…” The brief film clip showed unmistakeable images of Warren and Roger being hustled into police cars and driven away. “The men will appear in the Brisbane Magistrate’s Court tomorrow.”

Monica killed the picture with the remote and looked at the stunned expressions and open mouths around the table. Trish was the first to speak, but it was to me.

“See! I told you she was up to something.”

Monica had a smug look on her face and was clearly basking in the glow of an unseen spotlight.

“Monica, what have you done?” Emma asked, unable to believe what she had seen and not sure whether her shy smile was appropriate. The mere mention of the word paedophile these days is enough to make most of the population shudder.

Monica sucked in a breath loudly through her teeth.

“Gee, I wouldn’t want to be those two in jail when the word leaks out…” she said casually, but unable to suppress her own smile.

“What did you do?” Jill demanded.

Finally Monica couldn’t keep things to herself.

“Well, it seems these two have been doing rather naughty things on their computers – both of them. They’ve been downloading disgusting porn stuff and sending things to each other, the perverts. You wouldn’t believe what they have squirreled away on their hard drives.”

“You! You’ve been downloading the stuff yourself and sending it between the computers!” The truth dawned on me.

Monica was suddenly serious.

“It wasn’t a pleasant experience,” she said quietly.

“But how did you get access to their laptops?” Emma asked. “Surely they have passwords?”

“You know how Steven put in more cameras before Christmas?” Monica began in very self-effacing fashion. “Well, I simply re-ran the tapes of the guys logging on and took it to a friend of mine – the same guy who produced our video a couple of years ago. He enhanced and enlarged the views, and I saw what code words they tapped in. After that – bingo. I tracked their banking invoices, checked the times of the transactions with the tape, watched the key strokes again, and got access there too. They’ve now made substantial anonymous donations to several charities which has all but cleaned them out.

“But yes, you’re right. I downloaded some very nasty stuff on to each laptop, sent a number of damning emails to each other with attachments, and logged on to a few extremely dodgy paedophilic forums. Then I hid the stuff so it wouldn’t be easily noticed by them on a cursory poke through their folders, but it would be found by cops searching for it.”

“Holy crap,” I breathed. “Then, somehow, the cops managed to get tipped off. You uncle Paul wouldn’t have anything to do with it, by any chance, would he?” I asked. Monica gave an enigmatic smile but said nothing.

“They’ll deny it all. Say they were framed,” Jill said.

“And where was all this happening?” Monica asked. “Who was getting access to their computers and how did they get past the password? I see, Mr O’Rorke – you say all this happened while you and your mate were held prisoner in this house by three women. What were your computers doing there? And what were you doing there, for that matter? What’s that? More video tapes? What are you doing to those women? My my, rape, torture, deprivation of liberty! They carry a much worse sentence than downloading a few hundred images… I’d advise you to think carefully before you take this line of defence…”

We gawked at Monica in disbelief at her audacity and inventiveness.

“A toast,” I said, raising my glass. “To Monica’s justice!”

“Monica’s justice!”

 

THE END

Monica's Story continues in The Abduction of Monica

09.04.06