Chapter 56

The shock of his mother’s death hit Pembroke hard.

Pembroke had loved his mother, a domineering woman, and had cared for her despite her dementia for almost a decade. She had been a well-regarded teacher in the community. Pembroke was her only surviving son. His brother, Brook, had emigrated to Australia thirty years ago, and he and Pembroke had barely spoken since. Brook had died in a car crash in Sydney in 1999, unmarried.

Pembroke had no real friends or other relatives. Even though his mother had been unresponsive for years, she was his only companion. He had enjoyed talking to her and taking her out to cafes and the church, despite getting no response. Now, he had no one.

No one, that is, except for the two pretty girls locked in his basement.

As people came to pay their respects, Pembroke’s house had never been so full. They all felt sorry for poor Edward, now a lonely bachelor. His pupils sent him cards, and local women came to help with the wake for his mother. The house was filled with a serene peace, the soft hum of conversations, and the bittersweet laughter of old friends recalling memories of Pembroke’s youth. They gathered around a small table with pictures of his mother from her younger years, sharing stories and reminiscing.

The stairwell door behind the table was expertly disguised. No one suspected that beneath the calm surface of Pembroke’s home, in the basement, lay scenes of unimaginable depravity As his mother’s friends laughed and shared stories, they were completely unaware of the dark secrets lying just below their feet.

The girls in the basement had learned of his mother’s death from his tearful confessions a few days ago. They watched in macabre shock as their tormentor and captor cried like a baby, talking about how much he loved his mother and how he wished he had a few more years with her. He spoke of how she had helped him when he was young and how he had always wanted to make her proud.

Pembroke had requested that his mother’s body lie in her coffin at home for a few hours before the funeral, and the funeral service had agreed. He yearned for some private moments with her, not yet ready to say goodbye.

In her bedroom, his mother lay in her coffin, a picture of dignity, wrapped in a shroud.

Pembroke wanted privacy, so he locked his doors and put up a sign reading “Private” in case any visitors came. He sought perfect solitude for the next hour.

The girls were sitting in their cell when the speakers in the basement sounded. “Girls, I want you clean, and naked, in five minutes. I will be down shortly.”

After showering and disregarding their vests and panties, the girls were surprised to see him enter the basement in a black suit and tie, ready for the funeral.

“Here, girls put these clothes on.” He handed them pairs of black knickers, black tights, and cheap black dresses he had found in a charity shop. Bemused, the girls dressed, swapping dresses when they found one fit the other more easily.

Pembroke led them out of the cell, and he cuffed their ankles together with a short elasticated cord, granting only a foot’s worth of movement. Their hands were then cuffed behind their backs and encased in single-sleeve black gloves that stretched up to their upper arms. This forced their arms together painfully behind their backs, causing their shoulder blades to press tightly against each other. The constraint pushed their backs into an arched position, compelling them to push out their breasts while rendering their hands and arms completely immobilized.

Large gags were placed in their mouths and tightly secured around their heads, forcing their jaws wide open as red rubber balls stretched them, rendering speech impossible. Then, sleep blindfolds were placed over their eyes to deprive them of vision.

Confused and apprehensive, the girls wondered what was happening as Pembroke brushed their hair, smoothing out tangles, and assessed their appearance. Despite their efforts, drool and saliva dribbled from their mouths, making the attempts to look pretty seem futile and absurd.

“Time to pay your respects, girls.”

Darya’s heart thumped with apprehension as she was led upstairs. She had never met Pembroke’s mother, nor seen the house beyond the confines of her blindfold. Her experiences had been limited to occasional outings where she was blindfolded and subjected to painful stretching for suntanning every few months.

In contrast, Sophie had “met” Pembroke’s mother many times. She had been involved in tasks such as washing and feeding, and had been left bound next to her on occasions.

Despite his grief, Pembroke remained methodical and efficient as always, leaving no chance for the girls to escape. They were led together, collars attached with cords linking them to each other. Slowly and carefully, they passed through gates, ascended stairs, and finally arrived in his mother’s room.

Through their blindfolds, the girls sensed sunlight filtering in, the unfamiliar carpet under their stocking feet, and the comforting scent of a normal household. These sensory cues contrasted sharply with their usual confinement.

Pembroke brought the girls before the coffin holding his mother and removed their blindfolds. Both girls blinked furiously, unaccustomed to the sunlight peeking through the shut blinds. After gathering themselves, they were shocked to see the figure of a dead woman before them.

For Darya, it was the first time she had seen another human outside of Sophie and Pembroke in three years. The old woman’s lined face and closed eyes seemed to embody a sense of brutality and dominance.

In contrast, Sophie perceived something different. She noticed that in death, the woman had shed the haunting look of dementia, appearing instead as the competent individual she likely had been in life.

Both girls wondered what this woman had done, to raise this monster of a son.

“My mother wanted me to marry and have children, and I let her down. I wish I could have introduced you two to her properly. But she was too far gone, even when I took you, Sophie. She may not have approved of my behaviour with you two, but at least I did something. I like to think that in some way, my mother would have been proud of me if she could see me with you two girls now.”

The girls looked at Pembroke. In his suit, standing in the bedroom of a normal house, he suddenly seemed terrifyingly ordinary, a harbinger of normalcy in an otherwise surreal situation.

“My mother didn’t approve of loose girls. She believed they should submit to men, though she was quite dominant herself!” Pembroke’s words carried a chilling weight in the silence of the room. “I may not have been able to control women in real life, for my mother, but in our little world underground, I think she would have been proud of me. Now, kneel.”

The girls, dressed in their sombre black outfits, their mouths obscenely stretched by the gags, looked thoroughly confused. This whole situation was just so bizarre to them. They knelt as Pembroke did.

“Say a prayer for my mother, girls,” Pembroke instructed solemnly.

Darya hoped that Pembroke’s mother would go to hell, like her horrid son, while Sophie felt a pang of sadness for the old woman. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that Pembroke’s focus seemed to have shifted away from getting rid of Darya, at least for the time being.

Pembroke had not forgotten about the troublesome Darya. He was still resolved to get rid of her and wanted him and Sophie to be alone again. But for now, had other deaths to think about. When the dust settled and he had some privacy again, then he could think about having a much more discreet disposal of a different body. The girls were soon ushered back into the basement, where they were left in the cell, in their black mourning clothes, utterly bemused by what they had seen.

At the funeral, Pembroke saw young Mabel, looking gorgeous at eighteen in a figure-hugging black dress. His thoughts wandered from his mother, and he reflected sadly that even his grief could not overcome his sick compulsions. He received condolences from Leah O’Reilly, his mother’s carer, who attempted to console him and shared several stories of his mother, painting a picture of their supposed close relationship. Pembroke was a little annoyed by her, knowing that his mother had been practically unresponsive and never formed meaningful connections with anyone.

“Oh Edward, we may never see each other again,” Leah said sentimentally. “Oh, Dave, take a picture of us!”

Pembroke hated having his photo taken. It wasn’t just his ugly appearance he despised seeing; it was the reminder of all the girls whose lives he had ruined with their own carelessness. While her husband took the photo, Pembroke’s eyes wandered to the legs of Mabel under her black dress. His cock started to awaken, until he remembered he was the star of the funeral, not some furtive outsider who could sneak perverted glances at the girls, and told himself to keep in control.

A few days later, Pembroke found himself at his mother’s solicitor’s office, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing.

“I’m sorry, Edward, but you know you should have taken steps to get the house put in your own name. However, her last will, before her mind deteriorated, is quite clear, and the house is going to your niece, Angela Candelema.”

His niece. Angela Candelema. Until ten minutes ago, he had never heard of her. Completely unknown to him, his brother Brook had fathered a child with a woman he abandoned. The woman had obtained DNA results confirming Brook as the father, and he had paid her child support until he died twenty years ago.

“I cannot believe my mother never told me about this girl,” Pembroke muttered in disbelief.

“She stipulated that if you had any children, you would inherit the house. I believe she didn’t want you to father a child solely for the sake of inheriting the property. Angela is her only certified biological grandchild, and she wanted the family legacy to continue in this house.”

“But surely this girl cannot want this house; she’s all the way away in Australia?”

“From what I understand, this is a bit of a windfall for them. She and her mother are making plans to visit soon. But don’t worry, Edward, you won’t be kicked out onto the street just yet. I think you can probably live there until Christmas at least, but we will need to conduct a full survey of the house soon.”

Pembroke felt the colour drain from his face, and he had to clear the dryness from his mouth before speaking the next words.

“A survey, you say? What for? What are they going to survey?”

“For a valuation of the house, to determine its worth. I looked at the plans. There are five bedrooms, a conservatory, and apparently, you’ve got a large basement. I hope you haven’t got a harem of sex slaves down there, haha.”

Pembroke paused, then forced himself to laugh.

“I’m sorry, Edward, but you’ve only lived there for the last, what, seven years? You can find somewhere else. She has left you a lot of money aside from the house. I know it’s a jolt at your age, but you can find somewhere nice. Maybe a nice villa in Spain with all the money?”

Pembroke had always considered the house his own, despite spending most of his life away from it. As he sat across from the sympathetic solicitor, he couldn’t help but wonder about all the cherished childhood memories he might lose if the house went to someone he barely knew.

But Pembroke’s thoughts weren’t solely consumed by the prospect of losing the house, though that certainly stung. Instead, his mind raced with a more pressing concern: how on earth could he cover up the dark secrets hidden in his basement now?

Pembroke couldn’t help but feel a surge of resentment as he observed the photograph of his niece, a young woman in her early twenties, who appeared to him as overweight and unattractive. “So our repulsive features run in the family then,” he chuckled inwardly, masking his disdain.

“Fucking Angela,” he thought bitterly, “this fat bitch might be my flesh and blood, but I can’t stand the thought of her having control over this house.” If only she knew that her desire for the house was essentially signing the death warrant for the two much prettier girls hidden beneath its surface.

At school, Pembroke thought of how pointless his job would now be if there was no reason for him to live in Willowbridge. Perhaps he would retire at the end of the school year. He still had contacts who valued his IT skills, he could work abroad, part-time, and earn more money.

He would miss the sexy young schoolgirls, but it was a tortuous attraction. Had he not had Sophie and then Darya to bear the brunt of his sexual depravity, he was sure he would have committed some foolish act and got caught by now. But he still found himself masturbating at lunchtime in the toilets to the memory of the flash of some young girl’s knickers in class and wondered if now would be a good time to quit before fate intervened.

One afternoon in school, he was walking by himself along the corridor when he noticed the young Carrie Atkins walk towards him, nervously. Her fear was palpable as she hesitated to pass him, intimidated by his imposing presence.

“Late for class, Carrie?” Pembroke spoke imperiously, his size seeming to trap her in place.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” she stammered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Why? I think you should get detention for this,” Pembroke asserted, leering at her with authority.

“Sorry, sir, please, honestly, I am so sorry, please,” Carrie pleaded, her discomfort evident. Carrie had been changing her tampon but could not bring herself to say so in front of Mr Pembroke.

Pembroke couldn’t help but marvel at how easily he could intimidate some young girls. You just had to find the right ones.

“Get to class, now.”

Carrie scurried away, her head bowed, her blonde curls bouncing like a frightened little mouse. Pembroke watched her retreating figure with a sneer, revelling in the power he held over her.

She must be twelve, or thirteen now, he thought. If he was going to move away, then his old rule of not stealing in his backyard would not apply. Maybe when he had settled his business and was set up somewhere else, little Carrie could be a viable project for him, as his dark thoughts ran round his head, traveling to his groin.

As the discussion turned to pioneers and heroes in Pembroke’s class later that day, he eagerly shared his admiration for figures like Tim Berners-Lee and Alan Turing. However, to his frustration, the class seemed unfamiliar with these names and instead cited examples like Nelson Mandela and Greta Thunberg, which only served to annoy him further.

Turning his attention to Carrie, Pembroke asked for her input. “Well, sir, I thought of that policewoman who gave the talk at our school last year about helping women caught in porn videos online. I thought she was really great,” Carrie replied earnestly.

Some of the other students nodded in agreement, although none could recall her name. But Pembroke could, and the memory of Afshan Bharwani elicited a surge of contempt within him.

As Carrie spoke passionately about the subject, Pembroke couldn’t help but notice her growing confidence. Her smile was infectious, and the other students watched her with interest, impressed by her conviction.

But Pembroke felt a surge of annoyance. This version of Carrie, confident and strong, was not to his liking. He preferred her meek and submissive, the way he liked her. The thought of Carrie rising above her circumstances unsettled him.