“Can I get you anything to drink?” the woman asked. Vicky shook her head and gestured toward the grimy looking patchwork sofa for Helen to sit.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning? What can you tell me about the attack?” Vicky asked. She forced herself down into a worn armchair opposite Helen and waited for her to speak.
Helen began to play with the hem of her dressing gown before beginning her story,
“Well I was struggling to sleep and I decided to make myself some warm milk so I came out of the bedroom and opened the fridge,” Helen explained as she pointed toward the fridge in the kitchen before pointing at the window, “The window was open and I heard a scream from the alleyway.” Vicky took out a notepad from her jacket pocket as she realized it was going to be a long story and she would need to write down every detail so not to forget anything.
“Go on.” Vicky asked as she realized Helen was waiting for her to finish writing. She was peering forward as though she was trying to see the words written on the paper.
“I didn’t think too much of it at first. There’s always somebody screaming around here,” Helen explained gesturing with her hands, “When I heard the scream again I decided to look out the window. That’s when I saw him. He had the poor girl pinned against the wall. She was beaten and bloody but he wouldn’t let her go no matter how much she begged him.”
“Did he have a weapon?” Vicky asked as she remembered other reports of a weapon that Tristen had been using to attack his victims. It was the one way she could identify him in any crime. Helen nodded quickly and added,
“He was holding a knife to her throat. I could hear him telling her to remove her pants or he would slit her throat.”
“What happened next?” Vicky asked as she wrote down everything Helen was saying.
“Well I called the police of course and then I grabbed the lamp off my table and threw it out of the window.”
“Did you manage to hit him?” Vicky asked. She was surprised. In all the questioning she’d done on the case she’d never heard of anyone intervening.
“I think I must have. I threw the lamp and hid against the wall. I didn’t want him to see me,” Helen shrugged her shoulders, “I did hear him yell though and when I chanced a look again he was gone. The girl had collapsed on the floor. When I was sure he was gone I used the fire escape and brought her in here until the police arrived.”
Vicky finished writing in her notepad and rummaged in her pocket for the folded photograph she kept in her pocket. She unfolded the picture and handed it to Helen,
“Do you recognise this man?” she asked. It was the picture of Tristen that she showed to every witness at a crime scene. She longed for the day when someone might finally recognise him. She hadn’t expected that day to be this one.
Helen’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Vicky felt her heart stop as she saw the look of recognition on the woman’s face.
“Is he familiar to you?” Vicky urged the woman on. The expression on the woman’s face was filled with shock. She placed the picture back in Vicky’s hand as she replied,
“He used to live across the corridor with his dad and step mum. I used to baby sit him when she was passed out from all the drinking.” She explained as she made a gesture like she was drinking out of a wine bottle.
“When you say used to…” Vicky couldn’t even finish her sentence when Helen replied,
“His father and step mother died when he was about sixteen in a car accident. The boy disappeared after that until now.”
Vicky felt a shock of twisted happiness. She had never been given such information on the case before. It was as though her prayers had been answered. She was growing closer to him. She could feel it.
After the long day that followed of speaking to other witnesses who had nothing to add and writing up her reports Vicky felt relieved to realize what day it was. It was a Wednesday night. Ian would not be home that night. He would be in the local pub with his friends watching the live football matches that were on every week and he wouldn’t return until the early hours of the morning when Vicky would already be locked in the bedroom.
Feeling the relief of the realization she treated herself to an Indian on the way home and settled in front of the TV stuffing her face, wearing her favourite purple pyjamas that hugged her body while she looked over the day’s reports. The revelation that Tristen had lived in the area was a rewarding one. It gave her hope that he might still live in the area and she might actually be able to get a hold of him.
She was so focused on the thoughts of finally nailing Tristen and her head was so fuzzy from the three glasses of wine she’d drunk along with her meal that she didn’t really feel herself drifting off to sleep. It was one of the worst mistakes she could have ever made. She jumped, her heart pounding in fear and shock, as the door slammed shut behind her. She jumped up from the sofa. Instant fright filled her as she turned to see Ian stumbling through the door. She did the only thing she could think of. The bedroom door was only a few metres away. She ran like hell. There was nothing worse than Ian after a pub full of beer. The alcohol super charged his abusive nature. It was something she hadn’t known when she’d met him. She hadn’t known at all what he was like even when she’d agreed to marry him. It wasn’t until she’d really gotten to know him that she’d figured it out. By then it was too late.
Now she was a desperate woman fleeing from her husband at the first chance she got. As she reached the bedroom door she prayed he was too drunk to have noticed her. Unfortunately she wasn’t that lucky. Just as she attempted to close the door behind her a foot jammed it. She began to tremble with uncontrollable fear as he slammed the door hard enough to knock her across the room.
“Get out!” Vicky yelled. The alcohol she had consumed made her braver against his abuse. Unfortunately for her that would only make him worse.
She rushed at the door trying to push him back out of the room, using the door as a barrier between them. He reached around the door yelling as it slammed his arm against the door frame.
“Leave me alone!” Vicky begged as he forced the door open. No matter how hard she tried or how much her fright caused adrenaline to pulse through her body there was no way she could be any match for him. Even in his drunken state he was much stronger. The door swung all the way open and Vicky began to back away. He stood in the doorway looking twice as big as usual. It was as though his anger had blown him up. The room suddenly felt way too small like there was no room to move.
In her desperation she attempted to reach the bathroom but she soon felt fingers with an iron grip wrapping around her wrists. He pulled her back against his chest, holding her tightly with his muscular arms. She struggled against him only making his grip grow tighter.
“Why don’t you love me?” he demanded, “Why can’t you care for me like other women care for their husbands?” Bile rose in Vicky’s throat as he reached up and caressed her cheek. The gentle touch was sickening. She wanted to vomit but she had to force it back. He’d only make her choke on it if she did.
That’s when he reached to touch her breasts. Her heart thudded in her chest as she reached for something, anything that she might be able to use as a weapon. She couldn’t stand the thought of him touching her intimately. It only made her nausea worse. Her hand connected with the vase of flowers that was sat on the bedside table. Water poured over her shoulder as she slammed it over his head. He stumbled backward with a startled exclamation. She pulled away from him and within seconds was in the bathroom locking the door behind her. Knuckles slammed on the door and she felt it shaking behind her back as she leaned against it. The room spun as she realized what she had done. Nothing could have made him worse than fighting back. She began to wonder whether maybe she might just be on a morgue slab the next morning.
Chapter Three
Standing in the shadows of an alleyway with a hood hiding his face was Tristen. He watched from a distance as he watched the police officers going about
their business, looking over the site where an hour earlier he had had the most beautiful girl pinned against the wall of the alleyway on the other side of the street. He watched as a pretty woman with long black hair in a grey suit entered the scene. He recognized her as the detective who had been on his case from the beginning. He had often watched her from a distance. He liked to watch and see just where their investigations would take them. It brought him pleasure to know they had nothing to link him to the attacks. He liked getting away with the awful things he did. He liked feeling powerful.
Detective Miller headed straight for Helen. He’d known the woman since he was four years old. He remembered her telling him that she was his mother’s best friend. He remembered how she’d told him old stories of his mother while she sat on his bed with him in the apartment close by where he lived with his very own wicked step mother. Even though he’d loved Helen as though she was his mother after his real mother had left them, he knew what he had to do. He was already thinking of the ways he could make it up to her apartment. Even with the police crawling around there was no way he was going to let her get away with causing him to lose the only thing that could have caused him pleasure. He knew she’d been the one to throw the lamp. It was impossible not to know. What a stupid woman. He had seen her shadow in the window and instantly had known it was her. He remembered which window it was. It was the window on the second floor, two apartments in. It was a window he’d often sat at watching the birds on the roof of the store opposite of the building.
Pulling his hood further over his face to conceal his identity, he walked forward and around the crime scene. Pushing through the crowds of people that had gathered as soon as the police sirens had gone off, he headed straight for the boarded up door of the apartment building, slipping straight past Helen and Detective Miller. He kept his face turned away from them and ran up the stairs toward Helen’s apartment as he heard them coming through the building’s front door.
As he reached apartment 2B where Helen lived, he reached out and gripped the handle. He laughed as the handle twisted and the door swung open. The room behind was disgusting. It reminded him of his childhood and made him shudder. Although it was filthy he was relieved to smell the scent of smoke instead of the acrid smell of alcohol that would have greeted him had he still lived her with his father and step mother. Having known the apartment he knew exactly where everything was and he headed straight for the small bedroom as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind him.
He stood in the bedroom with his ear pressed against the door listened to the whole conversation. Throughout the whole thing he wanted nothing more than he reveal himself and jam his knife down Helen's throat just to stop her from talking. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that if he did it would all be over. He would no longer be the centre of attention. He would no longer hold all the power in his hands. He had to wait. Had to bide his time. He could do nothing but listen to Helen giving his secrets away as he waited to remove himself from the disgusting stench of that apartment.
When the detective finally left, leaving Helen with a card to call on with if she thought of anything that might help his investigation, he finally had his chance. He had lost his last victim but he would not lose his next. He had thought of harming Helen but as he’d stood listening to their conversation he’d come up with a better plan. All he had to do was get out of there.
He was about to creep toward the bedroom window and sneak out when he realized it was too late. Helen had already seen the detective out and was heading right in his direction. Holding his breath, he forced himself back against the wall, desperate to stay hidden behind the door.
The relief of not being found was exhilarating as he watched her leave the room. A few moments later he heard the familiar sound of the front door opening and shutting behind her. He held his breath for a few more seconds as he waited to see if she’d come back.
Letting out a long breath, he rushed from the bedroom and out of the front door, slamming straight into the oncoming traffic of a group of hooded men. He pushed his way through the group with his face turned toward the floor. The men yelled in anger as he forced his way through them. He felt bile churning in his stomach as he smelled the alcohol that poured off them in waves. It only made him quicker to escape.
He felt angry with himself for being stuck in the bedroom. He had lost sight of the detective. He needed to find her again. He had to stop her. There was no way he could let her find him on her terms. He couldn’t run. He had no money. He needed to stop her. He had to get his power back.
***
Vicky found herself waking on the bathroom floor the next morning. Her neck was sore and she had to move slowly to avoid pain. Looking at the clock on the wall she felt alarm rising inside her. It was 10:00am. She was late for work. Jumping to her feet she heard the chiming ring of the apartment’s telephone.
Taking a deep breath she forced herself to unlock the door and glanced around the apartment. Relief filled her as she realized that Ian was nowhere to be seen. The bedroom door was hung open and he wasn’t inside. She rushed for the telephone but it disconnected just as she was about to pick up the receiver. She cursed under her breath as she picked up the receiver and called redial.
“Vic? Is that you?” a familiar voice picked up almost instantly. She felt relieved to hear Paul’s voice.
“Yes, sorry I’m late. Can you tell Richard I’ll be in as soon as I can? I over slept.” She explained. As though he had heard in her voice that she was about to put the phone down Paul asked quickly,
“Hey, are you alright? You’ve seemed a little off lately.” There was worry in his voice. Vicky felt her heart swell with the idea that somebody actually cared about her.
“I’m fine Paul. You don’t need to worry about me. I was just up late looking over the case. I’ll be in soon.” With that she put the phone down.
She was about to head in the bedroom when she felt as though somebody was watching her. For a moment she thought that Ian had entered the room. When she glanced around the room there was nobody there.
“Hello?” she spoke with a confident voice hiding the fear that was swelling inside her, “Who’s there?”
That’s when she heard the sound of a window opening in the bedroom. Grabbing a knife from the knife rack, she entered the bedroom with it posed in front of her. Her heart stopped as she recognized the man who had climbed in through the now open bedroom window. She stared in amazement as she looked at the handsome face of the man who stared back at her with a wide smirk on his face.
“Detective Miller, it’s so nice to meet you.” He grinned. It was the first time she’d heard the voice of Tristen Lippman. She was startled to hear how well he spoke. He didn’t sound like the usual stereotypical criminal with the awful language of a gangster. If she hadn’t been looking at his grimy clothes and his greasy hair she might have actually thought he was a well brought up young man with a future.
He looked down at the knife that was gripped in her hand and shook his head. He clucked his tongue against his teeth in a sound that told her he was scolding her.
“I’m sure you don’t need that. I’m only hear to talk.” He laughed as he held up his hands with mock surrender.
“What could you possibly have to talk about and why couldn’t you just use the front door if that’s all you want?” Vicky demanded. She gripped the knife tighter.
“Come on detective!” he let out a loud hiss of laughter. It sent a shiver down Vicky’s spine. The colour drained from her face as he took a few steps toward her.
“Stay where you are.” Vicky demanded, shaking the knife in his direction, “If you want to talk then talk. You can do it from where you’re standing.” He took a step back as though he was actually listening to her.
“Ok but please just drop the knife.” Tristen’s voice shook as though he was actually frightened. Vicky couldn’t imagine that a hardened criminal such as himself had ever had any sense of what fear could be.
She thought about dropping the knife then and there. The look in his hazel eyes told her that he was genuine. Then a flash thought passed through her mind. She could arrest him then and there and be the hero of the whole case. She had the person she’d been looking for years for right in the middle of her bedroom where there was no quick escape other than falling four stories to the alley floor below the window.
“Get down on the floor with your hands on your head.” She ordered as she took a few steps forward. Tristen’s eyes sparked with shock as he realized she wasn’t playing around. He quickly raised his hands to his head and began to lower down onto his knees. Vicky raised an eyebrow as she watched him lie flat on his front. That was too easy, she thought as she headed toward the desk to grab her spare handcuffs from the top drawer beside her gun.
She had just opened the drawer when she felt pain burn at the back of her head. It shot down her spine and she crumpled to the ground. She let out a yell of pain as Tristen stomped on her wrist forcing her to release the knife. Her already sore scalp was pulled tight as he grabbed her hair and pulled her up onto her knees.
“I really didn’t want to have to do this.” He spoke into her ear.
“What do you want from me?” Vicky demanded. She forced herself to sound confident even though her heart pounded with fear.
“I want you to stop looking for me!”
“Well good job. I found you,” Vicky laughed with the irony of it. She had wasted the last few years of her life looking for the scumbag and he was stood in her bedroom, “Guess what you can add breaking and entering to the list of your crimes.”
Taken: Against My Will Page 2