by Matt Shaw
Dee stretched and reached over to her phone, which rested on the bedside cabinet, “Look at the time. Why didn’t my alarm go off?”
“You looked peaceful. I was up so I turned it off. Thought you might have wanted to sleep in.”
“I could have made you breakfast.”
“I’m sure I can work a toaster.”
“So I get breakfast in bed?” she asked with a cheeky grin.
He smiled at her, “If only I’d got dressed a little quicker. Now I just have to grab my toast and run. Sure one of the kids will sort you out though,” he smiled again. Not because he knew one of the girls would look after their mother but more because the thought of one of them actually doing anything to help around the house tickled him. He opened his cupboard and reached for his tie before putting it around his neck, “What are your plans for the day?” he asked.
Dee shrugged. “Not sure.”
“I meant what I said yesterday,” he continued, “I don’t want you seeing the neighbours.”
“What did they do to piss you off so much? I happen to like Jackie.”
“Just trust me, okay. They’re not good people.”
“They’re fine.”
“I’m not going to argue about it with you, Dee. Just, for once, listen to me…” he shot her a stern look. A look he didn’t often give her but one which always made her feel like one of her naughty school children.
“Fine. But you’ll have to tell me sooner or later. In the meantime - what do I do if Jackie comes over? I’m not just about to be rude to her without knowing the reasons.” Dee knew she would still see her neighbour. They were friends after all. In her eyes it was Ryan who was being stupid. Maybe he did have reasons for his family to keep their distance from the people next door but, if he wasn’t prepared to share his them - she had no reason to listen.
“Just make an excuse. Same goes for the kids.” Ryan turned to Dee. He finished putting his tie on and straightened it. “How’s that?”
“Fine.”
Dee didn’t continue the conversation about the neighbours. She could see it would only escalate to an argument she couldn’t be bothered with and Ryan didn’t continue it either (for much the same reasons).
“Are you sure you don’t need the car today?” he asked.
“No. It’s fine. I’m going to stay home. Thank you.”
Ryan walked over to Dee and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Every morning when one of them had to get up (and the other didn’t) it was the same. Never kiss on the mouth. Not first thing. Not with the morning breath given off by the one who’d only just stirred from their slumber.
“Coming downstairs?” he asked. “I literally have time to brown some toast and I’m gone.”
“Do you mind if I stay in bed?” she asked. She snuggled down again.
“I hate you sometimes,” Ryan smiled at her. “I’ll text you at lunch.” He walked from the room after giving her another kiss on the forehead. As he made his way across the landing, towards the stairs, he stopped by Claire’s bedroom. The door was shut. He went to knock on the door but stopped himself. He wanted to tell her he’d seen the neighbour come home during the night - just to put her mind at ease that he couldn’t have been that bad if the police let him go again. It wasn’t important though. At least not enough to wake her. He’d tell her in the evening when he returned from the bank. He continued across the landing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My visitors annoyed me. Of all the times for them to come round - uninvited I hasten to add - they had to choose then; the moment I’d chosen to introduce myself to my new play-thing. I was standing in front of her. She was still unconscious. I had tried slapping her in the face, gently, to try and bring her back to consciousness but there was nothing. The lights were well and truly out. I was so frustrated my hands were visibly shaking. I shouldn’t have hit her so hard but I didn’t have a choice. Had I not silenced her, she would have alerted them to her presence and the game would have been over. Looking at her now, I wonder whether she’ll even wake up. She’s breathing funnily. Unless…A fleeting thought passing through my mind…maybe she is pretending. Maybe she’s playing dead in the hope I’ll leave her alone. I couldn’t help but smile. One way to find out. You know, just to be sure. I reached under the chair she was still sitting on (and bound to) and pulled out the pliers again. As always, I start with the fingernails.
* * * * *
Ryan pulled up into the car park - across the road from the bank - with his thoughts still stuck on his broken dreams. His imagination working overtime questioning what he’d do if the serial killer did manage to get his hands on his daughter. His thoughts were so poisoned with dark scenarios - he barely remembered the actual drive to work. They called it driving amnesia. He pulled the key from the ignition and sat back in the seat.
“Come on, pull yourself together, pull yourself together…” He took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm his thoughts. When he realised they weren’t going anywhere any time soon - he threw his seat belt off and climbed from the car. He slammed the door shut. Already he could tell today was going to be a bad day.
When he was out of the car he surveyed the car park. Only one police car today - parked in the far corner of the car park as though it had been there, tucked away, all night. Ryan wanted everything to be over now. He wanted Vanessa back at work - where she belonged - or at least for the bank to have received word that she was alive. He wanted the murderer caught so he could relax and he wanted his family to be happy. Better yet - he wanted them back in their own house. The one they had had before the financial difficulties. The one they had before moving to where they were now. He couldn’t help but feel this whole mess started when they moved. He knew Vanessa’s absence was nothing to do with changing house. But the paranoia he felt, that the murderer was close to his own life, was no doubt brought about by the stress of moving. Stress, lack of sleep and the fact he didn’t feel comfortable in the new home yet. He felt out of place - a feeling he knew would have passed had he had the opportunity to relax in the new accommodation. Instead of the chance for relaxation, though, he just found more stress. The argument with his neighbours hadn’t helped but - after last night’s dreams - he couldn’t help but think about what they’d said.
“Scum like that doesn’t deserve to be alive.”
All the time they’re alive they’re a burden to the society they once plagued. They cost the tax-payer money and they live their lives in what some prisoners have called ‘luxury’ (despite others saying to the contrary). It would just be society’s luck that, if they did find the killer, they’d realise he was one of the ones who relished living within the prison walls. And if that were the case - clearly the justice system would have failed the victims’ families. Ryan felt himself getting worked up and immediately felt stupid for doing so. They hadn’t even caught the man (or woman) responsible for the killings and yet here he was getting worked up at the prospect of the person enjoying his life in prison. He shook the irritating thoughts from his mind and hurried towards the main entrance of the bank where he knocked on the door. A brief pause before the manager opened it - as per usual.
“Good morning!”
“Morning,” said Ryan. It had been the first time since coming back to work he’d seen his manager remotely jovial. He couldn’t help but wonder whether he knew something Ryan didn’t. He stepped over the threshold and instantly noticed two officers monitoring camera footage in the manager’s office. “Have they found anything yet?” he asked. He knew the answer. Had they found anything he was sure they wouldn’t still be sitting in the office reviewing footage of the customers who frequented the building.
“Still reviewing footage,” he replied. “It’s strange - we see the customers come and go on a daily basis but…Well I was watching some of the footage. I didn’t realise some of the customers came in more than once a day. And some of them only wanted to be served by Vanessa. You can see it in the footage. They purposefully let other
people go in front of them just to ensure they’re served by her.”
“Really?” Ryan hadn’t noticed this before either. As his manager stated - when you’re busy working you rarely notice little things like that. It was definitely odd though. Most of their customers they’d only see once (maybe twice) a week.
“Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Reynolds in particular. Both of them came in multiple times on the last day Vanessa was in.”
“Mr. Jenkins? As in Peter?” Ryan knew Peter. A man in his early thirties. Tall with dark hair. There was no denying the man had a soft spot for Vanessa. Even if he wasn’t served by her - he still couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering over to where she was serving her customers. He certainly wasn’t a murderer though. At least - not that Ryan believed. He was a quiet spoken, but polite man. Multiple trips to the bank as he was trying to get his affairs in order. Something he had said in passing - he was leaving soon. He hadn’t said where he was going but - at one point - he’d thanked Ryan for all his help over the past few months.
“From what I understand the police are talking to them both - and a few others from the tapes - in the hope of ruling them out from anything suspicious.” He shook his head, “The whole thing seems silly to me but I guess they daren’t leave any stone unturned.”
“Did they say anything about the,” Ryan hesitated, “package which was delivered?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Wait a minute - did you say Mr. Reynolds?”
“Yes.”
“He’s my new next door neighbour!”
The manager laughed, “Best hope it’s not him they’re looking for then!”
Ryan didn’t laugh. He turned and ran from the building. The manager called out after him but he ignored his voice and continued across the road and back towards his car. In his mind all he could think about was the possibility of Mr. Reynolds being in on what was happening. Yes, the police had taken him in for a few questions which related to the disappearance of Vanessa but what if he was clever enough to appear innocent despite being anything but. And the dream - the dream of the man cutting his daughter - was plaguing his thoughts too. What if this was nothing more than a premonition? He quickened his pace until he was at the car. A quick twist of the key, in the door lock, and he was in, guiding the same key into the ignition. If Ryan had stopped, for a moment, and listened - he’d have heard a quieter part of his consciousness screaming at him that he was being ridiculous. But he didn’t stop for a moment. He just wheel-span from the car park and sped off down the road - back towards home.
* * * * *
Claire was sitting at her desk. She’d not long been out of bed and was back to doodling in her pad again. There was not a lot else to do in a place you didn’t know and where you’d not had the chance to make new friends - other than the weirdo next door who seemed a little too obsessed with serial killers. She stopped sketching as a coldness rushed through her. That feeling again. The sensation of being watched. She turned to her bedroom door. It was still shut. Just being stupid. She glanced out of the window and froze. Out there - standing in his garden - was the next-door neighbour she’d met (briefly) the day before. He was standing in one of the only clearings of his garden and staring right up at her window. He saw Claire had noticed him and smiled. She couldn’t help but smile back. A smile of nervousness. He waved. Slowly Claire moved back away from the window and - more importantly - his line of vision. What the hell was he doing out there? Just standing there waiting for her to appear at the window? And when did he even get home?
She crossed the room to where her mobile phone was charging on the bedside cabinet. She knew her father was at work but it didn’t mean she couldn’t text him. He wouldn’t get the message immediately - what with being stuck with customers - but he’d see it on his break at least. And with any luck, she thought, he wouldn’t have had his first break yet. She opened up a new text and quickly tapped out a new message asked for him to give her a call. Little did she know - he was only five minutes away now.
Ryan couldn’t help but wonder whether Mr. Reynolds (what was his first name?!) had recognised him when he had gone to introduce himself. Maybe that was why he hadn’t wanted to open the front door to him? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to be recognised by the bank worker? Why? Did he have something to hide? Why else would you hide away? Ryan pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. Fuck the possible speeding fines, he just wanted to get home in a timely fashion.
His mobile phone signalled the arrival of a new text message. Despite knowing better, he reached into his pocket and read it. His daughter’s text message made his heart skip a beat. She rarely text him asking for him to call her and he couldn’t help but over think the situation until he’d settled upon the worst possible scenario. It was now he wished he had a faster car.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The smell of desperation emulating from the play-things turns me on greatly. The only time I ever really noticed scents. Growing up - my friends used to say they loved the smell of a hot meal cooking (usually a roast) on a cold, rainy day. Other friends said they liked the smell of fresh cut grass and others were attracted by the smell of rain after a hot spell. Not that we get a lot of hot spells in this dirty country. I guess, growing up, they went abroad a lot. Those smells never did anything for me, though. Sure I could smell them but they never made me feel alive. Or maybe they did but only now do I realise it wasn’t as much as I’d first believed - now I finally knew a scent which really got my juices flowing. The girl was awake now. Finally. And the fear and desperation coming from every pore of her skin - most arousing. I ripped the final nail from her right hand and relished in the sound of her scream. I dropped the pliers onto the floor - along with the nail - where they landed with a bloodied thump.
“Please stop!” she kept screaming again and again. Not sure why. Just as I tell all my play-things, I won’t stop no matter how much they beg or what they offer.
I reached under the chair and onto the tray, which rested there. My little tray of tricks. I opted for the knife. I’m not sure why but I kind of fancy having another go at slicing skin from bone. Another attempt at making myself a suit from my play-thing. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll manage it and venture out of the house dressed as them. See if I can continue living their lives as they did before I stole them away. I laughed at the idea. I know it’s crazy. I know it’s stupid. But it’s still funny. Imagine going to see her parents. Imagine if they don’t see through the mask. Imagine spending a whole Sunday with them, perhaps sharing lunch, and finding out more about who I’d be pretending to be. Maybe - at the end of the evening - I’d pull the mask away and show them who I really am. Reveal The Evil Lurking Within.
I nicked the top of her forehead with the knife. Just enough to be able to get a good grip on the skin. Something to hold onto as I pull it away whilst making further incisions with the sharpened blade. I just hope she sits still. Such a delicate procedure.
I stopped what I was doing and looked her in the eye, “Are you ready?” I asked.
“Please don’t.”
“You may wish to brace yourself.” I gave her a comforting smile.
* * * * *
Ryan was standing in Claire’s bedroom. He was looking out of her window, straight into the neighbour’s garden.
“And he was just standing there?”
“Yes!”
“Well what was he doing?”
“Nothing. He was just staring up at my window.”
Ryan stepped away from the window and turned to his daughter. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, “He’s just a bit strange. Just ignore him. If he were dangerous - or if there was even a chance of him being the man they were looking for - the police wouldn’t have let him go. Just think of that. They picked him up. They released him…”
“Yeah because they never make mistakes do they!” the sarcasm was thick in her tone of voice. Ryan chose to ignore it as Dee walked into the room.
“What are you doing
here? I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.
“The bank was shut again,” Ryan lied. He shot Claire a look - a look which told her to keep her mouth shut and not to say anything to her mother.
“Really? What - no one was there?”
“Only the manager and a few police officers again. They’re still reviewing the footage…”
“Anything?”
“Not yet.”
“You’d think they could open though. Must be losing money…”
Claire looked uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as how Ryan was feeling. They both just wished Dee would drop it. Better yet - leave them alone again so they could continue their conversation.
“Maybe they’ll open tomorrow,” he said.
Dee nodded. “Well I’ll leave you two to it.” She turned back to the door, “Oh - just so you know though - your manager phoned. He was wondering if everything was okay and asked that you call him when you get in.” She didn’t wait to hear Ryan’s reaction (which was only to mutter the word ‘shit’), she simply walked from the room and closed the door behind her.
Claire looked at her father’s (now anxious) face. “Why don’t you just tell her?” she asked.
“Because it’s something else to stress about, isn’t it? You hate it here, our neighbours on both sides are weird, everything is just weird at the bank…” he felt himself off-loading to Claire. He hadn’t meant to but it had been only a matter of time. He could only keep everything buried, within, for x amount of time. And this - the fact he’d been caught lying to the woman he’d promised never to lie to - was the final straw. The one which broke the camel’s back. “Fuck!” He realised his language, “And don’t let me hear you say that either.”
“Just tell her, dad. She needs to know.”