Murder Game

by Emmy Ellis

  She wasn’t strong enough to deny them their only pleasure.

  The night wore on, the final minutes of her shift dragging. She needed her bed tonight—peace and quiet, not hearing Luke’s and Adam’s muffled voices filtering through the wall. Maybe she’d go in their bedroom and ask them to give it a rest for once. Explain that enough was enough with regards to the noise level. She’d done it before but had been ignored. She was starting to feel like they ran the show and not her. That they decided what went on when she should be the one to enforce the rules. The thing was, she didn’t like to upset them.

  Five to eleven finally arrived. She selected three curries then paid for them, stuffing them into a carrier bag that would probably split on the walk home. The damn things were so thin these days. Environmentally friendly, they were. Supposedly. It would help if they were shopping friendly too.

  The night air gave her a bit of a slap as she went through the back door of the shop. The delivery bay was dark, the usual bright security light not working, probably broken by kids throwing stones at the damn thing. She drew her coat closer around her and scuttled out onto the street, her stomach clenching at her thoughts that anyone could he lurking in the shadows. Home was only five minutes away, and she often wondered as she made her way home whether it would be sensible to get a taxi. Safer. But the expense… She couldn’t justify it.

  She walked at a brisk pace, sticking to the main road that was a rectangle, all the streets sprouting off it around the edge. Ahead the woods seemed to loom, a place she’d let the boys play when they’d been smaller—once their father was out of the picture. He hadn’t liked them ‘messing about’ in there and ‘getting dirty’, but wasn’t that the stuff of childhood? Fucking around in the dirt, playing hide and seek behind the tree trunks? Times had changed, though—some neighbours said no one in their right mind would go there after dark.

  Her thought about times changing brought another issue to mind—one that had her walking faster. There had been a spate of muggings on the estate lately. People withdrawing money from the cashpoint outside Tescos and being followed. Robbed of their money. Given a smack or two into the bargain. The Polish, they were the suspects. There had been an influx of them recently—Nora even worked with one; nice chap—and the idea she might be mugged on her way home didn’t make her feel safe here anymore.

  She ought to be thankful, really, that the robberies were the only thing to give her a sense of unease. Her street had been a nightmare to live in years ago, but now, what with the residents growing older and losing the need to cause trouble for others—as people naturally tended to do in their youth—she didn’t feel the need to move away. Better the devils you knew and all that. She only had to knock on someone’s door and they’d be there to help her. Granted, some of them got on her nerves, had quirks she couldn’t stand, but all in all they were a nice enough bunch.

  Rounding the corner, she let out a sigh of relief that her street was only a few feet away. She upped her speed, grateful when she reached familiarity. She glanced down the road, seeing her sons’ bedroom light on, the window wide open. Their voices floated on the air—faint but there—and she shook her head.

  It was no good. She’d have to go and have a word with them about it.

  She let herself indoors, grateful for the scent of home that greeted her. The voices were louder now, as though they’d been raised on purpose to let her know her lads were still awake, that they were indoors and okay. She placed the carrier and her handbag on the bottom step then climbed the stairs. Went to their room and knocked on the door.

  “Can you keep it down in there, please?”

  No one responded, so she opened the door. Poked her head inside.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Neither boy turned around. Headphones were clamped to their ears, and her sons chattered on as if she weren’t even there. Annoyed, she stepped into the room. Stalked up to Luke and yanked his headphones off.

  “I’ve been talking to you two!” she said, hands shaking. “Shut that bloody window—I could hear you up the end of the street. And be quiet—it’s late. The neighbours don’t want to hear you through the walls, and neither do I when I go to bed.”

  “Sorry,” Luke mumbled.

  His face paled, and as he took the headphones from her she noticed his hands were shaking too. Had she frightened him, brought back memories of how their father had been? She took his hand—it was cold; another reason to shut the damn window at night—and gave it a little squeeze.

  “Look,” she said. “I don’t mean to shout, it’s just that… The noise. It’s too much. I keep asking and you both keep ignoring me. Please, just do this one thing, all right? I don’t ask you to do anything else, do I?”

  “No.” Luke dipped his head.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Just tired. Uni was hard today.”

  “But think of the future, eh? It’ll all be worth it in the end.” She patted his head, uncomfortable that she’d done so. It felt such a weird thing to do when her boy was past that kind of thing.

  Luke got up and shut the window. Put his headphones back on. Got on his bed and resumed playing. Sighing, Nora turned to find Adam staring at her, his headphones dangling around his neck. The sound of several people talking, tinny and strange, rattled out of it.

  “Did you hear all that?” she asked him.

  “Yeah. Sorry about the noise.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘You will be’ but she stopped herself. That was the kind of thing their father used to say.

  “Yes, well, I get enough aggravation in life as it is without you two adding to it.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. To take away the guilt they may have caused. “I got you some dinner. Microwave jobs. I’m going to eat mine, have a shower then flake out. So I mean it—be quiet.”

  She left the room, thinking about what she’d meant when referring to aggravation. Yes, she liked her neighbours, but lately small things had started annoying her. Maybe it was her age, maybe she’d lost the ability to be tolerant these days, but certain quirks…

  She sighed as she went downstairs. Sighed as she put her dinner in the microwave. Sighed as she saw dishes and glasses in the sink that hadn’t been there when she’d left for work.

  Life could suck, but, she reminded herself, it could have been much worse.

  * * * *

  The house is so quiet. It took ages for things to settle down, but I can finally get my thoughts in order. Finally think about what I did earlier.

  Did I really kill Gerry?

  I know I did because I checked for a pulse. And I heard the bone in his throat snap. That had been weird. So final, so ‘I’ve bloody killed the first victim’.

  When I was in the woods with him—when he was alive—I’d become another person. Sort of. Like all the morals I usually live by vanished. Odd, that. Odd to change so much, to be detached, to look at him as just someone I needed to get rid of. Everything he’d done lately came to the forefront of my mind—the bad things—and I forgot he was a good bloke underneath it all. That knowledge came after I’d buried him, as I’d walked—no, ran—home and worried about being seen, caught. Of getting home in time.

  But this has to be done. I can’t let The Sender down. I want to be accepted, to do something worthwhile, not mesh into the rest of society, a nonentity, a person without point or meaning.

  But who’s going to know I did this other than me and The Sender?

  So I’m back to square one.

  Did I just do something for no reason?

  No. If I count myself as someone important, someone to prove something to, then that’s reason enough. They say that on TV, don’t they. That you’ve got to learn to love yourself before any other bugger will bother. But do I love myself after …that? Normally I’d be shocked at hearing such a thing had happened. I mean, murder? On our doorstep? God, that’s awful. But that other me, the one I became—that me doesn’t give a shit.


  I should stop thinking and just do.

  Yeah. That’s the best way.

  I need sleep. Got a lot to do tomorrow—and that’s before I go out again at night.

  I wonder… The Sender once told me that if something’s right it means fate played a part. Well, I’d been worrying about how I was going to get these people into the woods, and Gerry had gone there anyway.

  Fate playing a part? Yeah, yeah she does.

  I’m drifting off. Can feel myself falling asleep. For a second or two images of the forest come, then some of Gerry on the ground, his eyes popping out of his head, his tongue lolling. Christ, who’d have thought a man could look so ugly, so scary after he’d been strangled? It didn’t look like him.

  My mind’s on the go again.

  I try to remember what he looked like before.

  Fail.

  See his hideous face. Hear him gagging.

  Shit.

  Sleep’s going to be a long time coming.

  I kind of want to cry.

  Chapter Five

  Julia Parsons opened her eyes. They were swollen from the amount of time she’d been crying, and she couldn’t remember falling asleep, although she’d struggled to settle. She stared at one of the living room walls and took stock of her position. She was on the sofa, sitting up—lurching to one side, really—with her elbow on the arm and her face wedged into her hand. She ached all over.

  She needed a drink. Her mouth was dry.

  Ben snuffled. She looked around to see where he was, her gaze landing on his Moses basket. One of his fists flung upwards, the rest of him hidden by the side of the wicker crib. She waited for him to start screaming, tensing her muscles for the onslaught, tired of the struggle it had been to have a child who never settled.

  He remained quiet.

  Instead of getting up to tend to him, she stayed where she was, her body too heavy to move. She felt pinned in place, and with no oomph apart from the amount it took to breathe, she grabbed the chance to have a think.

  What time was it?

  The living room was dark, but that didn’t mean anything. The curtains were so thick they blocked out the light, the blackout blind behind them ensuring nothing could get through. She stared at the DVD player: 12:00. Midnight? So she’d fed Ben at ten and had only been asleep a short while. What a surprise.

  The quiet now was lovely.

  In another life, she’d go upstairs to check whether Gerry had come home. But all emotions to do with him had been spent via her tears. Before sleep, she’d sobbed so hard it had hurt her chest and throat, and she’d asked herself what the hell she was doing, crying over a man. He wasn’t the same person she’d married—and she wasn’t the same woman.

  They should never have rushed into it.

  Had Gerry been seeing another woman? Yes, it had hurt at first, the thought of him doing that, but given the state of their marriage and the things he’d done and said recently, she was better off without him.

  He’d hit her once—only once, mind. And then there was the time he’d turned on Ben. That had frightened the life out of her, seeing her three-week-old son being held by his ankles midair, Gerry raging.

  ‘If this kid doesn’t shut the hell up he’ll find his head splattered against the bedroom wall. Sleep, you little fucker, just fucking sleep, will you?’

  That’s what he’d said. Those words had chilled her to the bone and beyond. She’d come out in a cold sweat, her breath held—the seconds her child dangled seeming to go on forever. She remembered thinking: Why aren’t I taking the baby off him? What kind of mother am I?

  Fear had played a part, but instinct had finally kicked in and she’d lunged forward, taking hold of her boy and holding him close to her chest.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she’d yelled at Gerry, courage filling her because Ben was safe. “He’s a baby. He can’t help it.”

  “Then ask the fucking midwife for advice. It’s not normal, him screeching all the time. What’s that thing kids get? Colic, is it? What if he’s got that? Gripe water, that’s what they use. Bloody go and buy some in the morning.”

  “He’s too young for that.”

  “Then bloody well buy something else!”

  Gerry had slapped her face—baby still against her chest—then stormed out of the bedroom to sleep downstairs, and Julia had been glad he’d gone. She’d slept with Ben in the bed snuggled against her that night, and he hadn’t woken once. It had been one of the best sleeps she’d had since he’d been born. In the morning, Gerry had caught them and had woken Julia roughly by shoving at her shoulder.

  “You’re thick as pigs’ shit, you are,” he’d said. “Sleeping in the same bed as the baby. What’s up with you?”

  Julia hadn’t dared repeat that sleeping arrangement.

  Now Ben snuffled again. She took a deep breath and pushed herself off the sofa. Walked to his crib. He’d gone back to sleep. Julia stared through the darkness to see if his chest was moving. It was.

  Relieved, she decided to take a minute or two for herself. She opened the living room door, blinking in shock that brightness filled the hallway. Had she forgotten to switch off the lights? Stepping from the room, she glanced to her right into the kitchen. Sunbeams streamed through the window.

  Sun?

  She was groggy, her mind too sluggish for her to immediately realise she and Ben had slept the clock around. Suddenly invigorated, she went into the kitchen and quietly filled the kettle, busying herself with making a cup of tea. Normally Gerry would have left hours ago for work. She was pleased his usual crashing about of a morning hadn’t woken them. Pleased that Ben had gone back to sleep now and wasn’t wanting any milk.

  What if her child was sick?

  She bolted back into the living room and put the backs of her fingers to his forehead. Normal. Ben’s features were relaxed, as though whatever had caused him to cry and contort his face, making her think a demon lived inside him, had moved out for good.

  Sighing out tension, she returned to the kitchen. Made tea. Stared through the window into the garden while drinking it, and watched the trees in the woodland swaying in the wind. It must have rained during the night—the garden path was damp. With the sun out, and ignoring the evidence of rain, she could almost convince herself summer had come. She checked for clouds. Blue sky all the way. She could get some washing out, she reckoned. That stiff breeze would half dry it at least.

  With a sense of purpose and renewed energy, she finished her tea, checked on Ben again, then went for a shower. It felt so bloody good beneath the water, which, she imagined, sluiced all her worries down the drain.

  Dressed and feeling more human than she had in over a year, Julia dealt with Ben when he woke, giving him a bath, putting him in a clean babygrow then offering him a feed. He snuggled back to sleep.

  Who was this child, and where had hers gone?

  Whatever, she took the opportunity to get a few things done. She cleaned, she changed the sheets, she picked up Gerry’s discarded towel that he’d left on the bed last night. She smiled, something akin to euphoria streaking through her now that she wasn’t going to have to put up with his shit anymore.

  Back downstairs, she bundled a load of wet washing into a basket and hung it outside on the line. The fences between her and the other neighbours in this little row of five were low, and she glanced across to see if Mo was up and about. She was, struggling with a pure white sheet, wrestling with the wind and a swaying washing line. Julia smiled. If it hadn’t been for Mo the past few weeks, she’d have gone mad.

  “Want some help?” Julia called.

  “Fuck me sideways, this wind’s a nightmare. But no, I’ve got a handle on it now, thanks.” Mo hung the sheet—using one wooden peg, one plastic—then stepped aside to look across at Julia. “Do you need to talk? Only I heard…” She shrugged and held her hands up. “Bit hard not to, living so close.”

  “I could do.” That euphoria came again, strong and liberating
, and Julia let out a surge of laughter. “Give me five minutes to get this lot sorted, and I’ll be round.”

  “Tea, two sugars?” Mo kicked her washing basket aside and continued pegging it out.

  “With a shot of brandy.”

  They resumed their tasks in silence then, and Julia almost danced up the path once she was done. Life was going to be good, she was sure of it. She’d go on benefits to begin with, the council would pay the rent, and once Ben was about a year old she’d find a job and put him in a nursery. Other mothers did it, so why shouldn’t she?

  Invigorated, she put Ben into his pushchair then left the house, striding up the pavement towards Mo’s. The air was crisp and sharp, and she breathed it in, as though it were an elixir she couldn’t get enough of, a cleanser that wiped away all the bad things she’d endured and put happiness there instead.

  Was it obscene to feel that good?

  She didn’t know—nor did she care. Her life was going to be great now—just her and Ben—and with Mo on hand to offer her brilliant advice, things could only get better.

  * * * *

  Nora hadn’t slept well at all, and the last thing she’d wanted to do this morning was pick up cat’s shit from her front garden path. There were so many of the blasted animals around that finding turds was commonplace. That she couldn’t pinpoint which one was messing in her garden was an annoyance, one she’d ranted on about earlier as the boys were getting ready for the day.

  Adam had shrugged, then looked at Luke. She’d taken it that her son thought she was off her rocker going on about something so unimportant, but bloody hell, they weren’t the ones dealing with the crap.

  She scooped the poo into a bag and stood upright to tie the handles into a knot. Tescos bags came in handy for that. Didn’t split then, did they.

  Nora stared up the street. Julia was pushing Ben’s buggy round the corner. Nora caught sight of her face—the woman looked like she hadn’t slept too good either. That was understandable. Adam had mentioned Gerry and Julia had had a row last night. The news hadn’t surprised her, of course it hadn’t. Always rowing, those two. They reminded Nora of when her own husband had been here. How they’d rowed.