by Michael Kerr
It was purely by surfing that she found ICQ (I seek you): a sub network similar to the IRC (Internet Relay Chat), but devoted to private conversations. The one-on-one instant messaging was an answer to almost all her needs.
Faith needed companionship, but was not yet ready to start dating. Maybe when she had lost a little weight and felt more positive about herself, she would. Until then, the online chats were far more rewarding than reading books or watching TV.
Messaging was more intimate than courting. Faith could broach any subject, and say anything she wanted to without embarrassment; could lie about her age and looks. It was a fantasy world that she became totally addicted to.
It had been on a too warm July night when Faith had first made contact with John Kelly. She had got up at one a.m., too hot to sleep, and went down to the kitchen to stand naked in front of the open fridge door to cool herself, before making a pot of tea.
Pulling up the swivel chair to the computer, Faith booted up and entered ICQ, and felt a surge of exhilaration. She was leaving the real world, to enter cyberspace and make contact with someone who she could share her innermost thoughts, secrets and desires with.
She tapped in the screen name of someone she had first ‘met’ in an ordinary chat room, and had subsequently gone private with.
Faith: are you there? I need to talk.
Faith stared at the screen and waited with bated breath. There was no reply. She tried again.
Faith: Answer me, please
“Come on, for God’s sake,” Faith said aloud. She was squirming on the seat. He should be awake. They always communicated in the small hours, when loneliness drew her to the computer.
She almost gave up, and was wondering who else to try to contact, when a window opened on screen and John responded.
John: I was taking a shower. Couldn’t you sleep?
Faith sighed. Imagined the man of her dreams, naked, as she was. she typed again Faith: Too hot and randy. I tried standing in front of the fridge with the door open. My nipples are as hard as gooseberries.
She waited for the next words to appear. She wanted to talk dirty and indulge in a session that would be arousing, and ultimately result in her obtaining relief. What would her elderly mother or her few friends think if they could see and hear her. That was part of the thrill. They saw a frumpy, overweight woman who was still supposedly mourning her husband. Her large, sagging breasts, prematurely wrinkled face and greying hair denied the young girl who still resided within her, and wanted much more from life than Sunday tea after church with boring old farts whose vaginas had most likely healed up, in the way pierced ears would if left untenanted for too long.
John: You need to relieve the tension, Faith. Touch yourself. Caress your nipples, and then sink your fingers into your soft, wet, tingling centre.
Faith moaned and obeyed him. Tweaked and pulled at both of her distended nipples in turn, before inching forward to the edge of the chair and running her middle finger down over the perspiring folds of her stomach, through the lush covering of grey-shot hair, to insert into the slippery warmth between her pale, flabby thighs.
Faith: Are you hard, horny, and ready to come, John?
She tapped out the question slowly with her left hand, as the other worked feverishly to find her the assuagement her body craved. In front of her, taped to the edge of the shelf behind and to the right of the monitor was an A4 size photo of John, downloaded from a picture attachment he had sent. In it, he appeared to be in his late thirties, with a strong, kind face and bright blue eyes. He had an infectious smile, and a dimple to equal Kirk Douglas’s in his square chin. There was no way of knowing if it really was John. Or even if John was his real name. For all she knew, he could be some perverted old man, or a teenage boy; maybe even another woman. This was electronic role-playing. You could be who you wanted to be. She had sent John an attachment of a picture she had cut from one of the stack of pornographic magazines she had been shocked to find in Percy’s locked bureau. To imagine her late husband masturbating over the pictures of sluts posing provocatively, was demeaning. And there was no doubt that he had. Many of the pages were stuck together with what she knew was not paper glue. In the photo she had sent, a young, raven-haired beauty was smiling coyly, and using both hands to open herself to the camera.
John: I just came, and imagined I was inside you.
Faith’s finger moved faster. She cried out, and her buttocks and legs trembled as waves of exquisite pleasure ebbed and flowed. The seat cover beneath her was sodden.
The relationship via computer had become regular, and progressively degenerated into a dialogue of increased obscenity as the weeks passed. Faith was leading a secret life, and became convinced that no one was as they appeared to be. Everyone hid their true nature behind an appropriate mask. Only on the Internet with strangers could Faith voice her innermost thoughts and desires, to let the devil in her loose.
Faith was on Andy’s A List. He had ‘seized root’ of her computer: taken control of it without her knowledge, and had opened and scrolled through all of her files. He knew all he needed to about the fifty-one year old widow who led an almost solitary life at Beck Hall Farm. She was recently widowed, childless, financially secure and most importantly, lived alone.
It was eleven a.m when Andy drove along the lane and saw a dumpy woman raking leaves to form a large pile in the garden at the side of the farmhouse. She wore a duffel coat with the hood up, over jeans and a pair of green wellies.
Thin branches whipped the bodywork as he stopped the car at the side of the narrow lane, just forty yards past the house. He pulled the bonnet release, got out, lifted it up and secured it. Pulled the leads loose from the spark plugs and went back to the car. The engine obviously would not start as he repeatedly turned the ignition key, and from the corner of his eye he saw that the woman had stopped raking and was watching him.
He got out and fiddled under the bonnet again, and once more climbed in the car and turned the engine over. Smiled at the loud, wah-wah-wah it made. The groundwork was done. Faith would be more than convinced that he had broken down.
Getting out, he closed the door and scratched his head. Looked about him as though he had not noticed the farmhouse, then walked slowly towards it, stopping at the fence only a few yards from his prospective prey.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but this piece of junk that masquerades as a car, has given up the ghost. And I’ve left my mobile phone on charge at home. I wonder if I might use your phone to arrange for someone to come out and fix it, or take me home?”
Faith smiled. The stranger seemed a little embarrassed at having to ask for help.
“Come in,” she said. “You can make your call, while I make us a cup of tea. How does that sound?”
Don’t they ever learn not to trust? “That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time,” he said, strolling along the verge to the gate.
Faith led him around the back into the house through the kitchen and pointed to the wall phone, before taking off her coat and boots, and then filling the kettle and switching it on.
Andy took a diary out of his pocket, flipped the pages and tapped a completely fictitious number into the phone. A recorded voice told him that the number had not been recognised, and advised him to check and try again. He pretended to speak to someone, and told the ether that his car would not start.
“They want to know my location,” he said to Faith. “Where exactly am I?”
“Beck Hall Farm on the Bellingdon road out of Chesham,” Faith said.
Andy gave the address and asked how long they would be. Said thanks and hung up.
“All fixed up?” Faith said.
“Yes. They said they would try to be here within the hour.”
“Best take a seat then. Have some tea and cake.”
He sat at the table and gave her a tender smile. “I really appreciate this. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Faith said. “Where were
you heading?”
“I’m looking for property in the area. This was just a reconnoitre.”
Faith brought the tea to the table. Put a mug down in front of him, and brushed against his shoulder. Damn! If she had been a few years younger, or he older, then she might have actually tried to engineer him into bed. All the messaging on the computer was fine, but it wasn’t the real thing. This guy was thirty-something, tall and muscular looking. Her liberation from the slog of her stale marriage had given rise to a craving for sex. Until Percy had died, she would not have thought it possible that she could harbour such wanton lust.
“Are you married?” she said.
“Divorced, I’m afraid,” Andy said. “I worked away from home a lot, and my wife found someone else to keep her, er...entertained.”
They talked for almost an hour. Faith was beginning to dread the recovery service turning up. She wanted to take advantage of this chance meeting. She could keep him entertained. She let her leg touch his under the table, as if accidentally, and left it there. He responded by pressing back. They looked at each other. No words were necessary. Faith knew that he was going to bed her.
It had been fun, acting a part. The old widow was almost drooling. She wanted it sticking to her, and might get her wish. Setting no boundaries was totally liberating. Getting up, he walked behind her chair, leaned forward and licked her neck. She grunted with pleasure and expectancy, and was totally relaxed when he put his arm around her neck, below her triple chins.
This was something that he had learned in prison, from the screws. They were highly-trained these days, and usually dealt with violent prisoners by operating in three-man teams, to physically restrain an aggressive con with approved arm and wrist locks. But some still reverted to the old ways. He had seen a tough old screw make a con ‘do the chicken’. It was a very effective type of stranglehold. The biceps compressed one side of the neck, and the forearm the other. Intense pressure was applied, and the blood flow to the brain was reduced. The subdued con would start flapping his arms up and down spastically as he passed out. Just like a chicken’s wings. It was, like many other methods, outlawed, but still used on occasion. All rules were made to be broken, especially in prison.
Faith was not really sure what was happening. There was a pressure, followed by a roaring in her ears. Then nothing.
Andy bound and gagged her, then dragged her by the ankles into the lounge and left her laying on the carpet.
At the far side of the house was a large, timber-built shed, big enough to hold three vehicles. The side door was open. Inside was a mud-spattered Range Rover. There was plenty of room for his car. He opened the front doors, jogged over to the Toyota, quickly replace the plug leads and reversed back along the lane and into the outbuilding, having satisfied himself that the road was clear, and that no one had seen him.
Back inside the house, he pondered over what to do with Faith. Had he not planned on staying for a few days, or even longer, then she would already be dead and reposing in the freezer. Trouble was, he needed her alive for the time being. If anyone phoned or called round, she would have to be able to deal with it. He would tell her the truth, in the belief that she valued her life enough to shelter him.
Faith came round laying on her side in front of the fireplace. She had a pounding headache, and her neck ached. Her mouth was covered, and she could not move her arms or feet. It didn’t make any sense. He had seemed so...so ordinary. Why would someone who had broken down and phoned for help, suddenly attack her? Because he had not broken down, or phoned anyone! a voice said in her mind. What was he, a clever burglar, who used this kind of ruse to gain entry to people’s homes?
He came into the room, bent down, grasped her by the shoulders and heaved her up into a sitting position with her back against an arm of the settee.
“I’m going to take the tape off your mouth so that you can breathe properly, Faith,” he said. “Please don’t start screaming, or I will just put it back on again. You need to remain calm. Do you understand?”
Faith nodded. She had no intention of inciting him to hurt her again.
He pulled the tape off, taking with it the fine hairs that had been growing above her top lip.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she said to him in a shaky voice.
“Because I’m in a spot of bother, Faith. I need somewhere to stay for a few days, where no one will think of looking for me.”
“How do you know my name?” she said.
“I know everything about you, Faith. And now I even know that you look nothing like the photo attachment you sent to me.”
“John?”
“The one and only. Do I disappoint you in the flesh?”
“But how―?”
“Computers are still a mystery to most users, Faith. They dabble, surf the net, and have no idea that they are opening a Pandora’s box that cannot be closed. Without getting too technical, suffice to know that I could enter your machine and extract everything from the hard drive. Knowing that you were living alone in such splendid isolation brought me here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That depends on you, Faith. We could live out a few of the fantasies we’ve shared, if you want to. But you need to know that I’m a wanted murderer.”
“As long as you don’t murder me, I don’t care what you’ve done. As you know, I live alone, John, and have no real friends. I’m getting more selfish as the years slip by. I’ve spent all my adult life milking cows, washing, cooking, and getting nothing back from a husband who couldn’t satisfy me, and thought more of his fucking crops than his wife. I think I deserve a little pleasure. You might not believe it, but you can trust me.”
Had he been able to trust anyone, then he would have trusted Faith. She was a sad, lonely, pathetic individual, who he could manipulate. He produced a knife and cut through the tape at her ankles, and pulled her forward to release her wrists.
“Let’s give it a try,” he said, and helped her to stand up. He then pulled a handgun from his pocket and showed it to her. “If you fuck up, I will shoot you, Faith.”
“I won’t,” she said.
He grasped her chubby face, tilted it up and kissed her full on the lips with all the passion he could muster. She responded eagerly, urgently, and put her arms around his waist and clung to him, tonguing his mouth and pressing herself up against him.
He took her on the carpet, and was surprised that her need and absolute abandon excited him. She raked his back with her nails, made low, animal sounds, and was fully animated. For all her size, she had unseen muscles that gripped and relaxed in turn against his length, until they both cried out and found full and overpowering relief.
With the oil-fired central heating on, they had no need for clothes. Faith fried them bacon, sausages, eggs and tomatoes, and brewed a pot of strong coffee.
“That was the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had,” Faith said, reaching across the table and putting her hand on top of Andy’s. “Maybe you should stay here forever.”
“And how would we explain who I was?”
“You could be some long-lost nephew of my late husband’s.”
He smiled. A small, suppressed part of him liked the idea. Christ! It didn’t make sense. The woman was sixteen years older than him, and at least three or four stone overweight. Why was he attracted to her? It was something from within her that radiated out; a deep eroticism. Faith was a person who wanted him for what he was. They were two lost and unfulfilled people who caused some kind of chemical reaction in each other. He knew that should he choose to, he could obtain the equipment necessary to create the ID of a fictitious relation of her dead husband. Trouble was, he would always feel vulnerable. He had never totally believed, relied or trusted anyone in his life, and doubted that he ever would. It was not in his makeup to.
“Let’s take it a day at a time, eh?” he said. “We’ve only just met.”
“After the messaging on the Net, I feel as though I kno
w you better than anyone else,” Faith said. “I opened my heart to you, and let you know my deepest thoughts and needs. How many people are that honest with each other face to face?”
“I’ve done things that would horrify you, Faith. If you knew who...what I really am, you wouldn’t be talking like this. You’d be praying to whatever god you worship that this was a nightmare, and that you would wake up and I’d be gone.”
“The only thing I care about is who you are to me.”
He liked that: The only thing I care about is who you are to me. He imagined that to a degree most people were different, or appeared to be, to each person that knew them.
They drank more coffee and talked about the farm, and the area, and of the few local people that Faith saw at irregular intervals.
“I need to pee,” Faith said.
“Then go,” Andy replied.
Upstairs, Faith used the toilet, then went into the bedroom, took Percy’s double-barrelled 12 gauge shotgun down from the top of the wardrobe, broke and loaded it.
Andy was still sitting at the table when she returned to the kitchen. She levelled the shotgun at his chest.
Fuck! She was good. He had almost believed...wanted to believe everything she had said. Now, he was sitting naked, with nowhere to go and in danger of being spread all over the wall if he made a sudden move. He appreciated that she had been a farmer’s wife, and was in no doubt of her ability to pull the trigger.
Chapter THIRTY-FOUR
Ryan made a second, flying visit to his flat. Picked up a few more clothes. That evening, he wore a black, two-button jacket over a collarless cream shirt fastened to the neck. Traded his jeans and boots for a pair of sharply creased slacks and black loafers.
Julie wore a delicately embroidered honey-coloured suedette halter neck under a beige double-breasted reefer jacket, and a charcoal pencil skirt. After a lot of deliberation, she plumped for a sensible pair of court shoes with only a hint of heel.