Scream is, for want of a better analogy, a true house of horrors; some gore, some terror, plenty of bumbling around blindly and a fair amount of nervous laughter – not to mention the occasional scream of disgust.
Here’s a taste: “Emerging from the ball pit like a whale surfacing from the depths of the ocean came what looked initially to Emma like something from a butcher’s shop window. Pale skin with slices taken off to reveal white bone and yellow fat. An eye, isolated in raw flesh. Meat, raw and bloody.”
The corpse revealed to Detective Sergeant Emma Bradbury at a children’s amusement playground is, indeed, not the only one looking like “something from a butcher’s shop window” – and rather tame on the gore-scale, as far as this novel is concerned.
Detective Chief Inspector Mark Lapslie finds himself reeled in to a murder investigation by the similarly disturbing discovery of an e-mail sent specifically to him, containing a recording of a woman screaming 27 times. This torturous aural delight is, of course, rounded off by the apparent victim’s death rattle. When he and Emma Bradbury deduce that their victims are one and the same, the “game” becomes even more bizarre.
Lapslie finds himself, at the same time, on the cusp of a rebirth of sorts. For years he has suffered from the neurological condition synaesthesia, causing him to “taste” sounds – a voice conjuring the flavour of latex, or a scream hinting of beetroot. While his senses are both normalising and blossoming, those of the mystery killer seem to become more perverse.
Investigation leads the team to suspect that a number of victims have been abducted, kept and tortured before being dumped, and when the Baillie family goes missing without a trace, the search intensifies with startling results. Apart from the gruesome condition of all bodies yet discovered, the only link apparent is that of the singing talent each victim has – or had, as the case may be – in common.
To confuse matters, Mark Lapslie’s newly-restored functioning senses lead him to suspect the involvement of a man in his cognitive behavioural therapy group; a fellow synaesthetic, Stephen Stottart. Despite the ostensible impossibility of a connection between Stottart’s 14-year-old daughter and the killings, Lapslie is convinced that his senses are right, at least in that regard.
It is only when Emma herself is drawn too far into the sadistic mastermind’s labyrinth that a motive to the madness becomes clear.
If one thing is blindingly clear from the beginning, however, it is that Scream is not for the faint of heart (or delicate of stomach). Despite large portions of the book being by turns picturesque and humorous, the reader can rest assured that if there is an opportunity for brutality to be described, described it will be; and in a level of detail suggesting that the author would do well to keep his imagination confined to fictional situations. In fact, while Mark Lapslie suffers from tasting sounds, the reader might in turn suffer from a similar condition – tasting the last meal one has consumed as graphic scenes of maimed bodies tickle the gag reflex once too often.
That is not to say that such fiction does not have a place on the shelves. While Scream does contain more than its fair share of sadism, it is also a gripping page-turner filled with believably cynical yet still entertaining characters. A well-constructed plot keeps the reader guessing, yet does not swamp the case with details in a poorly-disguised attempt to deepen the mystery. The downfall, if there is one, is that the climax is so bizarre as to be laughworthy rather than screamworthy – a laugh albeit tinged with unease.
Despite this final oddity, however, Scream delivers a thrilling read – which might just scare you to death. – Lara Sadler