by M K Farrar
What about those desk drawers that had been locked? If she could get them open, would there be something in there that would tell her more about what kind of man she was dealing with?
With her backbone stiffened now she had thought of something to try, she went into his office. It was exactly as it had been before.
She rifled through the desk and found a couple of paperclips, then bent open the metal to create points. Wasn’t this how someone opened a locked drawer? She was sure she’d seen it somewhere or perhaps had read it in a book.
Sucking in a lungful of air, she got to work, jabbing the ends of the paperclips into the lock of the bottom drawer and twisting it around. There was a moment of resistance as it caught on something but then slipped off. She swore under her breath and tried again.
Something clicked, and she paused. Had it actually worked?
She withdrew the paperclips and tried the drawer. Sure enough, it slid open.
The drawer was filled with paperwork, and her stomach dipped in disappointment. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but she’d been hoping for something damning, like a bloodied knife with his fingerprints on it.
Aware her time was most likely running out, she quickly flipped through the files. One in particular caught her attention. It was from an estate agent and had the address of the house on the front.
She pulled it out and flicked through. It was a rental document, and Kyle had signed it. So, he didn’t own this house after all. Everything he’d said to her about this place being an investment and hoping to fill it with a family one day had been a fabrication. He was renting the place, and only for the past couple of months as well. Had he moved in here purely because of her? Had it all been a part of his plan to make himself look more attractive so she’d move in? She hated to think that she’d be so shallow that a house would make her feel differently about someone. Wouldn’t she have liked him just as much if he’d lived in a flat like hers and driven an old banger?
But if he lived in a bad area, he wouldn’t have been able to use the excuse of living somewhere safer to get her to move in after her neighbours had been killed. A sickening swirl of unease turned in a whirlpool inside her. Had he orchestrated the whole thing? From the moment he’d caught her trolley in the supermarket car park, to the ‘misunderstanding’ about her quitting her job. If that was the case, then there was a good chance he’d killed Mina and Sajad, too.
The air suddenly vanished from her lungs, and her legs gave way beneath her. She found herself on the floor, her back pressed up against the wall, gasping for breath.
Had anything he’d told her been the truth?
Maybe she shouldn’t have been so shocked about finding herself in the presence of a killer—after all, wasn’t she one herself? But somehow, it felt different. She’d killed to protect herself, and it hadn’t been premeditated. It had just kind of happened. But with Kyle, everything was calculated. She had the feeling he knew exactly how all of this was going to go, and he’d spent a long time indeed planning it out.
What did he even want from her?
He’d said he wanted her to take care of him, but what did that even mean?
She thought of the times they’d spent in bed together, and her stomach turned. How could she have let a man like that touch her and kiss her? Those same hands that had stroked her skin may have also held a knife and plunged it into Mina’s body. He’d have looked into her eyes while she’d died, heard her begging and ignored her pleas. And then he’d walked right out of there and had gone home, knowing Natalie would call him after she’d discovered the bodies. The scale at which he’d been able to predict her movements terrified her. It was as though he knew what she was going to do before she did.
Oh God, he’d come back to the scene of the crime. She’d phoned him to come and pick her up, and he’d just been able to walk straight back in there, past the police and the bodies being carried out on stretchers. Jesus. He probably loved every second of it, thinking how smart he was that he’d been able to walk back into a crime scene where he was the perpetrator without anyone giving him a second glance. He must have felt so smug and superior.
She remembered that night, and he’d never acted that way. She hadn’t guessed for a second that he’d been anything other than horrified by what had happened, and had seemed to only want to comfort her and take care of her.
How wrong she’d been.
She wasn’t going to get anywhere by being curled up in a ball on the floor, a shaking, snivelling mess.
You need to call the police. If he murdered Mina and Sajad, you need to tell them. Phone that nice lady detective and tell her everything you suspect. She desperately wanted to, but if she told the detective about Kyle, he would tell the detective about what she’d done nine years ago.
Stop being so fucking selfish. Own up to what you did. This isn’t all about you.
No, it wasn’t. It never had been. If the events of nine years ago were all opened up again, there would be no possible way she’d be able to stop her parents getting involved. All those old wounds would be reopened, and not only that, she’d deliver them a few new ones as well. She didn’t think they’d be able to survive the truth.
She needed to find a way out of this and still protect her parents.
Pulling herself together, she used the desk for support and dragged herself to her feet. Her skin felt dry and tight from the salt of her tears, and her eyes were sore and gritty. Her brain was surrounded in a fog, but she needed to clear it. There must be something in this house she could use. That was all she needed—proof of who, or what, he was, so she could use it as a threat against him as much as he was using her secret as a threat against her.
If she found proof he’d killed Mina and Sajad, they’d be at a stalemate, but she’d have evidence, whereas he’d only have his word as a witness. Hopefully, it would be enough to make him leave her alone.
Then he’ll leave and he might hurt someone else.
She couldn’t put some nameless, faceless future person ahead of protecting her family. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but all she wanted was to get him out of her life.
Her attention was snatched by the purr of a car engine pulling up outside.
Oh fuck. He was home.
With her heart racing, she ducked down and stuffed the paperwork back where she’d found it, and slammed the drawer shut. There was no way she could see to lock it again, so just closing it would have to do. Hopefully, he’d just think he’d forgotten to lock it, though she knew the chances were slim. She was breathing hard, not wanting to get to her feet in case he saw her through the window. On her hands and knees, she crawled towards the office door.
She suddenly realised she still had the two bent paperclips in her hand.
She looked around for somewhere to hide them. From outside came the slam of a car door shutting and the beep-beep of the internal locks.
Quickly, she reached out to the skirting board. There was a small space between the bottom and the carpet, and she shoved the two bent paperclips into the gap with her fingers. Her fingers caught on the wood, and the board pulled away from the wall slightly, as though it hadn’t been glued on properly.
Shit.
She shoved the board back in place with her palm.
Then she kept going, staggering to her feet and running to the kitchen, where she clambered up onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and did her best not to look as flustered as she felt.
The front door opened.
“Honey, I’m home,” he cooed at her.
The sound of his voice sent icy fingers across her shoulders.
She didn’t respond. She had no intention of playing into this bizarre, happy couple act he was putting on.
His footsteps thudded down the hall as he approached the kitchen and appeared in the doorway.
The sight of him filled her with hatred.
“Hello, Natalie. What have you been up to?”
“Nothing,” sh
e spat. “I’ve just been sitting around here since I no longer have a job to go to. You made sure of that.”
He lifted both eyebrows. “Really? Just sitting around?”
“Yes. What else was I supposed to do?”
He lifted up a couple of supermarket carrier bags and dropped them on the worktop. “Nothing. I’m just making conversation, that’s all. There’s no need to be so spiky. It might upset me again.” He paused and then asked, “How is your head, by the way?”
She didn’t want to give him the pleasure of telling him how badly it throbbed. “Fine,” she replied instead.
“Good. Then you won’t mind cooking us up something delicious for dinner. I’ve picked up the ingredients for smoked salmon ravioli—handmade, of course.”
Fresh pasta? She’d never made it in her life. “I...I don’t know how to make that.”
He flashed her a cold smile. “Then I suggest you learn, and fast.”
A fresh bubble of panic rose inside her. “How?”
He nodded to one of the shelves. “There are cookery books up there. If you’re going to take care of me from now on, you’d be better spending your hours alone in this house reading them. I have high standards, Natalie. Don’t go forgetting that. Now excuse me while I ready myself for this evening.”
And he turned and left the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-two
She was relieved he’d left her alone, even if she was completely out of her depth.
She pulled down a couple of books, flipped the pages until she found a recipe for ravioli. It was a mushroom and ricotta recipe, but she figured it must work in a similar way.
Her hands were shaking, and she was light-headed with adrenaline, but she went through the process of finding the ingredients and measuring them all out, as per the instructions. Kyle even had a pasta machine, and once she’d made the dough, it took her a couple of goes before she produced something that looked to be around the right thickness and texture.
This is mad. I’m making pasta in a psychopath’s house. This is all completely insane.
She knew she should throw all of this down and walk straight out of the door and go to the police, but each time she thought of doing exactly that, her parents’ faces appeared in her mind. The truth would kill them. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Stupidly, she was actually pleased with what she’d produced, especially considering the stress she was under. She set a saucepan of water boiling on the hob, ready to drop the pasta into. It would only take a couple of minutes to cook.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
She froze, the blood stilling in her veins. She hadn’t even heard Kyle approaching, but suddenly he was standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Notice what?”
“That you’ve been in my office. I don’t ever remember giving you permission to go through my drawers.”
“I was searching for a key after you’d locked me in. It was before I knew the truth about all of this.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Natalie.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m not, I swear!”
She pressed herself against the worktop, the edge jamming into her hip. He moved closer, until his body was so close to hers, the heat of his skin burned through her clothes. He used his larger frame to intimidate her, towering over her, so she felt pinned in place, even though he wasn’t actually touching her.
“Please, leave me alone.”
She darted to one side, hoping to get around him, but he grabbed her arm.
He held her arm over the sink. She screamed and yanked back on him, but he was too strong. He reached out with his other hand and picked up the saucepan of boiling water she’d been planning to cook the pasta in.
“Just a little accident in the kitchen. They happen all the time. You were reaching across the sink for something at the same time I was tipping the pasta out to drain.”
She widened her eyes in horror. “No! Please, let go of me.”
“Sorry, no can do. You displeased me, and you need to be punished for it. I would have thought the possibility of ruining your adoptive parents’ lives would have been threat enough, but I’m starting to think that you might be a selfish woman, Natalie. Someone who only thinks of herself.”
“No, no. I’m not, I promise.”
“Because what would be the use of having a selfish woman around? I want someone who is going to take care of me, not someone who is trying to upset me all the time.”
She strained back, trying to dislodge her arm from his grip, but his fingers were like iron clamps around her skin.
Feathery clouds rose from the saucepan, steaming the glass of the window in front of them. If only a neighbour could see in, but the fence was high enough to block off the view.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, don’t do this. I’ll be good to you from now on. I’ll behave myself.”
“Punishments only work if they’re memorable. And I want you to remember me.”
He held the saucepan above her exposed forearm and tipped.
Boiling water splashed her skin, and Natalie screamed.
The pain didn’t even hit at first. A part of her brain seemed to tell her the water was ice cold instead of hot. But then the pale skin of her forearm turned bright red.
Kyle released her, and she stumbled back, still holding her arm out in front of her. He’d only poured a little of the water, and, as though he hadn’t done anything wrong, he put the saucepan back on the hob and set about scooping up the ravioli she’d made and placing them in the pan. He whistled as he worked, completely ignoring her.
The scald now felt like a thousand needles jabbing into her skin. Knowing he wouldn’t do anything to help her, she staggered from the kitchen and ran for the downstairs cloakroom. She threw open the door and yanked on the cold tap. Worried he’d come after her, she reached out and pulled the door shut again.
Dropping to her knees, she shoved her arm under the flow of water in the tiny sink. A sob escaped her throat, and she clung to the porcelain with her other hand, clenching her teeth to try to contain the pain. She didn’t want to give Kyle the satisfaction of hearing her cry.
The cold water helped the burn, but the moment she took her arm out from under the flow, the agonising sting returned.
It could have been worse. The scald was only a couple of inches wide and long, when there had been enough water in the pan for her entire arm. The only reason he hadn’t covered her whole arm was probably because a scald like that would have needed a trip to hospital. If she was in hospital, some people might start asking questions, and there was a chance they’d keep her in, which would also mess with his plans.
Did that mean he wasn’t going to kill her? He would torture her, maybe, but not do anything that would put her in hospital or lead to her death?
It wasn’t much to take comfort from, but it was something.
Chapter Twenty-three
She didn’t know how long she’d been in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with the cold water from the tap soothing her arm. She withdrew from the real world, trapped in her own nightmare, and lost track of time.
A knock came at the door, and she jerked back to consciousness.
Kyle’s voice came through the wood. “Come on, Natalie. It’s time for bed.”
She lifted her head. “I don’t want to go to bed.”
The door handle moved, and she yanked her arm out of the sink and used her heels to push herself back against the farthest wall.
The door opened, and Kyle stood staring down at her, his arms folded across his chest. “Don’t be silly. We both need our rest.”
“Leave me alone.”
His lips thinned. “You’re acting like a child, and that bothers me. Remember you’re supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”
She almost didn’t want to ask. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Oh, don’t act so worried. It’s not all bad. Look a
t the lovely home you’ve got, and the good meals you’re being fed. It’s a hell of a lot better than own-brand pasta and tins of baked beans. In fact, tomorrow, I have a little treat for you.”
“I don’t want anything you have to give me.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t your choice to make. Now, do as I say and get ready for bed. I don’t want to have to punish you again.”
Her arm was still burning, and her head throbbed from where he’d torn out her hair. Where would he stop when it came to hurting her? Would he eventually kill her?
Kyle stepped back into the hall, and Natalie got to her feet.
“Upstairs. Now,” he commanded.
Oh God. What was he going to do with her?
“Where...where am I going to sleep?”
He chuckled. “In my bed, of course.”
Horror settled inside her. “No, please. I don’t want that.”
He must have read her thoughts on her face. “This isn’t about sex. Even people like me want to have a little human contact, you know, Natalie. We still want to be held at night.”
She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that. She didn’t want to hold him. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
Her stomach churned, and bile rose up the back of her throat as she left the cloakroom. Kyle waited at the bottom of the stairs, perhaps ensuring she went that way, rather than running, screaming from the house.
She was forced to brush past him and she slowly climbed up to the first floor. She didn’t want to cry again, hating the person he’d turned her into.
Her legs didn’t feel as though they belonged to her. She stepped into the bathroom and went through the motions of readying herself for bed—brushing her teeth, using the toilet, and washing her hands and face.
When she came out, he was waiting for her at the bedroom door, blocking her only escape route.