by Edwin Dasso
Helen looked down at her hands and then smiled. “Yes, I do, and I’m hopeful he also likes me. Oh Mrs Harris, it could be a whole new start for me.”
“You deserve it pet.” Mrs Harris rose to her feet and carried the plates back into the kitchen. “Now it’s an earlier night for me. Do you still need me to babysit tomorrow morning while you play tennis with Monica?”
“No Mrs Harris. Not tomorrow. Maybe the week after?”
Her elderly neighbour stopped suddenly on her way to the front door. “Listen, you take care pet. They was going on about that murderer fellow on the news just now. They showed one of them picture drawings of what he looks like.”
“An identikit?”
“Yes, one of them things. He’s got shoulder length blond hair, dark eyes and is about your height. He’s quite slim too. So, you don’t let anyone in, do you hear me?”
“As if I would do such a thing, Mrs Harris. We’re as safe as houses, well apartments, here. They would have to get in the street door and then the apartment door as well. It’s only ever Graham and Monica who visit here. And you of course.” She smiled.
“Well good night then pet. Sweet dreams of your young man.”
“Mrs Harris! You are such a darling. He’s in his mid-thirties, not young!”
“Dear, when you get to my age, anyone under sixty is young. You take care now.”
“I promise,” Helen replied as Mrs Harris let herself out, closing the front door firmly behind her. Helen walked over and locked the door before hanging her keys on the hook next to it.
Walking to the bathroom she sighed, running her fingers through her hair, when she suddenly froze, battling to stop the tears which filled her eyes. She sank down onto the sofa, her hands over her face.
What have I just said to Mrs Harris? Only Graham and Monica ever come to the flat? But it’s true. How sad is that? I’m lonely. I don’t connect with the girls at work, nice youngsters but kids all the same. It’s all makeup, fashion, boys and Mills and Boon. Where did it all go wrong? Two years from finishing school and all my hopes of studying to become a vet, the wheels came off, my whole life derailed. The parents dying in a fire, that grief to cope with and no chance of fees for university. Neither Graham nor I had even suspected the folks had been so deeply in debt. Then I met Sam, who swept me off my feet in a whirlwind romance, marriage, me falling pregnant immediately and then Sam’s accident and I lost him as well. He never even got to see the twins. No good dwelling on it, I guess; I must look to the future which could be very bright indeed. I shall sleep tonight and dream of Tim. I hope to god he calls me when he gets back from Hong Kong. Please, please let him phone.
Helen’s head shot up as her phone went ping. Her hand reached out to pick it up and read the message. “Yes!” She smiled and tapped the screen in reply: Have a safe trip, looking forward to next week. Leaving her phone on the table, she walked into the bathroom, leaving the door partly open.
The sound of the shower blocked out the sound of the key turning in the front door which inched open a little at a time.
7
Seeing no one in the lounge, the man slipped through and then locked the door behind him. He noticed the bunch of keys hanging on the hook by the door and put them in his pocket. He smiled, then glanced at the silent television which showed an identikit likeness to his own dark eyes and long blond hair. His smile widened as he settled himself on the sofa. He took out his phone and scrolled down for a moment and then replaced it when he heard the shower turn off. He picked up Helen’s phone and put that in his pocket as well.
Helen was still humming to herself as she walked out of the bathroom. For a moment or two she did not notice the stranger sitting on her sofa, but seeing him she froze and then screamed. She glanced briefly at the door to the children’s room to the right of the kitchen, and choked back a second scream.
“Shut that up right now. I can’t bear hysterical women,” the man snarled.
Helen backed away, swaying slightly. She stumbled and clutched onto the hatchway shelf to steady herself.
“What, who, who are you?” she gasped. “Get out! Get out of my flat right now! How, how dare you come in here!”
“Oh, I dare young lady. Come, sit down.” He patted the sofa.
“Not a bloody chance,” Helen hissed back, glancing again at the door to the children’s bedroom.
“So, who sleeps in there then?”
“No one, no one!” Helen’s voice was little more than a squeak.
He patted the sofa again. “Come sit down, be friendly.”
Helen tried to step back but she was hard up against the wall. She clutched the bath towel tightly around her, the smaller one covering her wet hair began to unwind and she grabbed it with one hand and then let it drop to the floor as the bath towel loosened across her chest. She clutched it with both hands, desperate to keep her body covered.
“See, what I know about human nature is that we feel really vulnerable when we don’t have all our clothes on. Do you agree, Helen?”
He knew her name. How did he know that? How long had he been stalking her? She could feel herself beginning to sweat, yet she shivered, her legs felt like rubber and the lounge refused to stay still. She looked over to the coffee table by the sofa and saw that her phone was not there.
He laughed; it was high pitched, more of a giggle. “No, no phone. But don’t worry, I have it quite safe in here.” He patted his pocket. “I don’t think much of your hospitality. Not going to offer me a drink then?”
Helen could barely take her eyes off him, scared that if she was not watching him, he would make a move. “You want a drink?” Her words came out as a warble and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Maybe the best way to handle this was to pretend he was just an ordinary visitor? Catch him off guard.
“Usual, isn’t it? Offer guests a drink when they come to see you?”
“Uh, yes, yes of course. What would you like?”
“A beer will do.”
Helen slid along the wall left towards her bedroom door. “Just give me a moment to put on some clothes.”
He chuckled, as he watched her move, then sprang to his feet.
“Think I need to check what you have in there. This your bedroom?” He inclined his head as he marched over and flung open the door. He reached out his hand and motioned for Helen to go inside. When she hesitated, he grabbed her firmly by the arm, then releasing her, pushed her inside, following her closely but not quite touching her. Her skin crawled as she arched away from him.
“No need to panic. Not yet. I like to take my time. No point in rushing these things, is there?”
Helen was tempted to ask him what ‘these things’ were, but she didn’t really want to know. Was he the man the police were hunting for? Who else could he be? It must be him. She was locked in here with a man who had already killed three women and their children and now it was her turn. She shuddered. It took all her will not to crumple up in a heap on the floor. Her mind was racing a million miles an hour, but nothing made any sense. She couldn’t string two thoughts together.
Putting his hand on the small of her back, he pushed her into the middle of the floor, and then prowled around the room. He opened the wardrobe and swept the hangers along the rail. His eyes flicked back and forward from Helen to his search. She took a step back towards the door, but he noticed immediately and snarled at her to stay where she was.
Helen tried to measure the distance, could she run out for help? She was damned if she was going to stand here like a lamb to the slaughter. She took a deep breath filling her lungs, sprinted into the lounge and reached for her keys. They were not there. She stared at the door and then at the empty hook for a second while it sank in. Where were they? She always hung them up the moment she walked in, high up so the twins couldn’t reach them.
She sensed the intruder behind her before he grabbed her arm again and frog marched her back into the bedroom.
“When I say stay there, I mean
it,” he hissed at her. “Don’t move.” Without taking his eyes off her, he swept the boxes off the top shelf of the wardrobe and glanced at the contents as they fell open on the floor.
Helen’s gaze was transfixed as she watched her wedding tiara and white satin shoes tumble onto the carpet.
He smirked. “Women love hanging onto these kinds of things. Memorabilia they call it, don’t they?”
Helen didn’t answer but blurted out, “My husband will be home shortly and I don’t know how he’ll react if he finds you here. You’d be wise to go now.”
“Husband eh? Now that’s interesting.” As he replied he turned from the wardrobe to the tallboy and pulled out the top drawer.
Helen watched as her ring boxes and small jewellery collection bounced onto the floor, and observed the intruder kick her jade necklace under the bed.
He riffled through her underwear in the lower drawers, then ran his fingers over her jerseys and scarves and leggings.
As she watched him, Helen had never felt so violated. It was as if he was touching her body, running his hands in private places. Raping her by remote control. She felt the bile rise in the back of her throat, as he held up her tangas and thongs and smirked at her. He waved them towards her. “Bloody uncomfortable to wear if you ask me.” He giggled again.
Helen felt herself sway, but she was unable to move, a rat mesmerised by a snake, just waiting for a certain death and unable to do anything about it. She suddenly remembered the pepper spray in the bedside table. It was on the farthest side, closer to him than to her, but maybe he wouldn’t recognise what it was.
Her reaction must have startled him as he stared at her for a moment. As if he could read her mind, he sidled over to the bedside table and pulled out the top drawer, tipping the contents onto the bed. The thin black cylinder flew onto the duvet and landed in full view by the pillow. Helen held her breath, Sam had bought it for her on their honeymoon in New York. It was one of their private jokes. She remembered his face as he leaned in to kiss her before telling her it was to keep her safe for him always. He wasn’t to know she was already pregnant nor that he would not live long enough to see his twins born into the world.
Standing there on 5th Avenue, he’d hugged her as he pushed the package into her hand. Pepper spray is illegal in the UK, so he’d chosen one that looked just like a lipstick any woman might have in her handbag. There were no markings on it to say what it was.
Helen again tried to gauge the distance from where she was standing to the metal tube resting on the bed. She hesitated. To move quickly meant using her arms and then the towel would drop off and she would be naked. She dithered, rising a little on her toes as she tried to make up her mind.
He turned and stared at her. “Husband you say? And where is this mythical husband of yours then? How can he leave a pretty young thing like you all alone on a Friday night?”
“He’s, he’s been working,” she stammered. “But he’ll be back any minute.”
The intruder took a step towards her and Helen backed away. He moved swiftly to place himself between her and the bedroom door. Helen’s heart sank. Why had she not backed out into the lounge again when she had a chance? She might have banged on the front door and screamed for help. What was she thinking? She’d got that far just now and didn’t even try and open it. Had he locked it? He must have the keys. Where had he put them? And how did he get in?
It was as if he could read her mind. “Ah, you’ve just realised that you could have run out, yes?” He sniggered. “Too late now, I’ve got you cornered. But, to put your mind at ease, I’ve got the keys here. Quite safe.” He patted his trouser pocket and grinned.
He took two steps forward and, grabbing Helen by the arm, he flung her down on the end of the bed. She gasped and struggled to sit up. He pulled up a chair and sat close to her, too close; he invaded her personal space.
“Tell me more, more about this mythical husband of yours.” He was close enough that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Tell me why the label on the post box downstairs in the lobby says Ms Flemming.”
Helen’s mind went into overdrive, a scattered jumble of thoughts that refused to make sense. Then the mist cleared a little.
“He’s a doctor. He’s working shifts. At the hospital.” Her words shot out like cannon blasts. “He will be home soon. He will be angry. Very angry. I suggest you leave. Now.”
The intruder giggled again. “I know there is no Mr Flemming. What a cute little robot you are. T-t-t staccato sound bites.” He jumped to his feet and strutted to and fro, his movements jerky, mechanical, his joints stiff, his arms going up and down, fingers splayed.
He looked quite mad, and Helen shrivelled into the soft duvet as if she could shrink and make herself invisible.
As quickly as he started his robot impression he stopped. Turning on his heel, he approached her and gave a deep bow. “Please forgive me my lady, it was never my intention to scare you or to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. I pray I have your forgiveness?”
This sudden change in character was both bewildering and frightening. He has to be mad. Sane people don’t go murdering women and children. Even gangsters don’t make war on the families. And why does he keep changing?
Helen squeezed her eyes shut briefly, as if the apparition before her would melt away. When she opened them, he was still bowing and then he sank down on the carpet, his knees butting against her toes. She tried to pull them backwards, but he leaned forward slowly trapping them in place.
He continued with his parody of a Regency beau, throwing Helen totally off balance. He was mad, completely mad. There would be no way she could reason with him. People with a mental disorder did not respond to common sense or rationale.
He pressed his right fist to his chest. “My lady, I am heartbroken to discover that one has come before me. I have arrived too late to seek your favour. But I can keep you company and entertain you until your beloved returns once more to your side.”
He leaned backwards and stood up before sitting back on the chair facing Helen, his knees touching hers. He continued. “I crave your indulgence in permitting me to introduce myself. The Right Honourable Andrew Fitzpatrick at your service.” He inclined his head.
“Yeah right,” Helen blurted without thinking. This was all so bizarre, and impatience began to overtake her fear. She rolled over to one side, still clutching the towel Some primeval instinct warned her to keep herself covered. She inched towards the pillow on the far side of the bed. Her eyes fixed on the black cylinder that might save her.
He followed her gaze, bounced up and raced round the bed and looked at the scattered contents resting on the duvet. He picked up the notebook and pen Helen kept in the bedside drawer. Flicking through the pages he glanced at a couple of entries and then dropped them on the floor. He examined the charger leads for Helen’s phone and tablet and discarded those too. Last, he picked up the cylinder of pepper spray and Helen could feel every muscle tense. She stopped breathing.
He studied it and went to pull off the top.
Time stood still.
“Lipstick eh? You wanted to put it on to please me?” He went to hand it to her, but pulled back at the last minute. His persona had changed. He was now playing the role of a gangster, his accent from the north of England with its flat sounding vowels and incomplete words.
To Helen it felt as if his fingers were frozen on the small tube. If he were to open it, would he use it on her? She was unsure what effect it would have, but she knew it would render her even more helpless. She forced the corners of her mouth up a little and stretched out her hand.
For a brief moment she thought he was going to hand it over, but then he changed his mind and snatched it out of her reach. “I prefer my bitches without all that fancy muck smeared all over their faces. Think they can make themselves look beautiful when they ain’t. Nah!”
He flung the cylinder across the room and it bounced on top of the wardrobe and then rolled out of s
ight and dropped down behind it.
Helen’s heart sank. There was no way she would be able to retrieve it. The wardrobe weighed a ton, and it had taken two removal men, struggling and straining, some considerable time to manoeuvre it into place when she moved in. There were no other weapons she could think of here in the bedroom. Her best bet was to make for the kitchen. A mental picture of her knife block on the back counter swam before her eyes. Why had she not gone for a weapon rather than the front door. She wasn’t thinking. She was totally stressed. For the first time she could understand those wild animals frozen in the car headlights. Such fear robbed you of all reason, all thought.
She sat up, still clutching the towel around her, as she felt the anger and adrenaline race through her veins. How dare this man treat her like this. How dare he break into her flat and terrorise her. Maybe his earlier victims had been wilting violets, but Helen was made of sterner stuff.
The random thoughts racing through her brain formed into patterns. Some primeval instinct told her to appear weak, clueless and pathetic, until it was time to strike back. She would only get one chance and it had to count.
She slithered off the bed, never taking her eyes off him as she took two steps towards the door.
He tensed as if about to spring, but relaxed when he saw she was reaching for her towelling bathrobe. Turning her back for a second, she flung it over her shoulders keeping the towel on inside it. Slipping her arms into the sleeves she tightened the belt. So, she looked like the Michelin Man, but there was a slight chance the extra layers of thick material might protect her from a knife wound. That’s what Ruth had told her wasn’t it, that he stabbed his victims?
In a country where guns were hard to come by, knife crime was becoming more common. Even school children had been known to carry them in downtown areas. Helen wondered where he might have his. He was wearing a tight pair of jeans a V-neck jersey over a t-shirt with a leather jacket. She couldn’t see if he had a weapon strapped in a sheath around his waist, and every hair follicle quivered at the thought of how it might feel as a shaft of steel slid into her flesh. It would be painful and it would bleed. She forced her body to remain rigid. If he saw her shudder it showed weakness and people like him thrived on that. It would please him to see how frightened she was. It would make him feel powerful and in control. She must force herself to be compliant but not fearful.