by S. R. Jones
Kate is shaking and crying. She’s sweating so bad her hair line is all damp as if she’s run a marathon. I don’t understand, and I feel terrible. Maybe she thought the fucker could still get to her. I hunker down until I’m level with the door and look at her.
“I’m sorry. But he couldn’t get to you. I locked the doors, and I was two seconds away.”
“Y-y-you locked m-me in.” Her voice is shaky.
“Sorry?”
“I don’t do being enclosed in small spaces, trapped. I get panic attacks ever since he started following me, writing to me. He wants to keep me in a box, he says, take me out to play with when he wants. It’s…I don’t know. Since reading his words, I’ve become somewhat claustrophobic”
Her words hit me deep in the gut, because, me too. Not to the degree she is. But ever since what happened in that dusty room, I don’t do small spaces either. I don’t even like being on a train, or a passenger in a car if I’m not driving. I can deal, but I don’t like it.
I curse myself for not thinking, for acting first and thinking about her response second. This isn’t a war zone, I need to temper things, or she’ll end up as scared of me as she is of the sadistic fucker after her.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.”
She looks at me, and she’s already wiped her eyes dry. There’s steel peeking out behind the fear in her gaze. “No. Do it again if it will save my life. You do what you have to. Ignore me having the panic attack over here and carry on doing your job. I mean that sincerely.”
I admire her balls, and give her a smile. “Okay. Well, you saying so leads me nicely into what I wanted to say to you next.”
“Oh?”
“One minute,” I say. I close the door, jog around to the passenger side and climb in. “I don’t want to talk about this in the open.”
Her eyes go wide. “You think he’s still here?”
I gesture to the trees around us. “Could be. Hell of a lot of places for him to hide.”
“I thought… Shit. You’re right. This place made me feel safe. It’s off the beaten track. Surrounded by the woods.”
“Surrounded by tons of walking routes, well worn tourist paths. Lots of trees. It’s not a suitable place to be because yes, it offers cover for you, makes you feel safe, but it probably does the same for him.”
She sighs. “What do you suggest?”
“The exact opposite of this. You know Moefre?”
She nods. “Wales?”
“Maybe something there. Or similar, if not actually there. I know that part of the coast well. It’s far from here, and there’s a lot of places where we’d be able to have a better idea if he’s lurking around. I’m sure there are here, too, but I don’t know it well enough. There are some private roads on the coast of Anglesey and all around the Llyn Peninsula and Llandudno. That way, there is only one way in and out. An added bonus is he’ll probably assume you’re at your holiday home if he finds out we’re in Wales, but we won’t be. At the end of the day, though, we can’t stay here. This place, there’s the road out front, and a gravel track out the back. Cycle tracks and footpaths all over, and all as I say under the cover of trees, and the woods. Somewhere exposed might make you feel less safe, but it makes it harder for him to get away with doing his shit. To get near to one of those cottages, he’d have to be seen. Either by us, or if we weren’t there, a neighbor perhaps.”
She looks at me. I can see her considering my words. “I don’t know if I can cope with lots of glass, and nothing but the dark and sea outside…and him,” she says.
“Then we’ll draw the curtains and close the blinds, and if the place doesn’t have them we’ll get some put up. Pronto.”
“It won’t be easy to find someone to allow us to fit blinds to their holiday property.”
“Trust me, you can buy almost anything for the right price.” I smile.
“So, this new place? I’ll need the details so I can pay.”
“No. You’re not paying, and neither am I. Nor is the company. My friend will, and you can pay him back. He doesn’t need it anyway, so you might get away with it.” I grin at her.
She laughs then, short and sweet. “Okay. So, shall I go in and start packing?”
“Can you bear another couple of minutes in the car, while I do a sweep of the cottage?” I ask.
She gives a terse nod.
“Give me your phone.”
She hands me a rose gold iPhone from her bag and I go to her contacts and enter my number. “Anything moves, even the branches rustle, call, I’ll be straight back out. I’m two seconds away, okay? I have to make sure he’s not in there, though.”
She doesn’t say anything, merely gives another of those terse nods of hers, and hands me the keys to the cottage.
I hand her phone back and I’m out of the car, jogging to the front door of the rental house. It’s a cute little cottage, chocolate box pretty, with what look like hand painted wooden crates full of flowers dotted around outside. Hanging baskets swing either side of the yellow front door. Yeah, I can see why she liked it, but it’s a horrible place to try to keep a look-out from.
Heading inside, I check out every room, every wardrobe and nook and cranny. I lock the door behind me, so if the shithead is in here, he can’t slip by and get out. After a thorough sweep, I’m satisfied. I open the door, and head back to the car. With another beep, I unlock it, and pull open the passenger door. This time, Kate is a lot more put together.
I offer her my hand and she takes it. Hers is surprisingly small in mine. She’s tall, and that regal air she had about her before she let it all go to pot with the panic attack had me thinking of her as strong somehow, but her hand is small. I glance down at it to see her wrist is tiny. Fragile. She’s tall but small built. Not Amazonian as I’d believed at first glance.
We head into the cottage, and she throws her bag on the wooden table in the dining kitchen, blowing out a breath that makes her fringe dance for a moment.
It’s a long-ish fringe, and she wears it to one side, where it teases the eyelashes of her left eye. I like it.
“I hate that he found me here. It feels like no matter where I go, he’ll get to me.”
“He’s determined alright,” I say. Then I turn to face her and look her dead in the eyes. “So am I, Kate. I’m not going to let him harm you so long as I have breath in my body. I’m here to protect you, and that means with my life. It shouldn’t come to that, I’m highly trained, and this guy isn’t as special and superior as the police have made out.”
“Oh, what makes you say that?” She has a habit of cocking her head slightly to one side when she’s thinking about something or interested in something. I decide it’s endearing.
“Because he left footprints outside when he left the flowers. Amateur mistake. Of course, it doesn’t mean he’s any less of a whackjob but it gives me hope, he’s not as smart as the cops seem to think.”
My phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket to see Liam is calling. I answer and put him on speaker. “Yep.”
“I’ve found a place that should work well. It’s on a private road. Only ten houses on it and you need an access fob to drive in or out. The road comes to a dead end by the last house, and beyond the road is a long beach and the sea. There’s not even a sea wall, just a bit of grass, then the road and then the houses. They’re modern built, so there’s a lot of glass, but the one I’ve rented has blinds you can draw on all the windows. It’s not fucking cheap and has four bedrooms, but I’ve paid for a month, and if it’s no good find somewhere else.”
“How much for the month?” I ask him, aware that Kate will be paying for it ultimately.
“Five grand. Like I say, it ain’t cheap, but it’s perfect if you ask me. They also haven’t had the cleaner in since the last people left so you’ll have to do some cleaning, but they say the last renters left it pretty spotless.”
I look to Kate who nods.
“Thanks, mate. I’ll get Kate packed, and the
n we’re out of here.”
“Call if you need back up at any point.”
“Thanks for the offer, but it will take you a few hours to get here”.
He grunts his agreement. “Still, call. And check in, too. Every night and morning, eleven and seven, okay?”
“Of course.” I don’t bristle this time, because this isn’t Liam babysitting me, this is good protocol.
I hang up and stash my phone.
I’ve already decided if I need urgent help, I’m calling Andrius. His boss has a helipad, they can be here in a short space of time, and Andrius won’t give a shit about doing whatever needs to be done to sort this bastard out.
I don’t even know Kate, but this piece of shit stalking her has already fucked me off by leaving her an unwanted gift during the first few minutes of my job protecting her.
Now, I’m pissed at him, and despite my laid-back exterior, I am not a man you want pissed at you.
“I’ll go and get packed,” Kate says.
“Are there any gloves here?” I ask her. “Like the sort women wear to dye their hair.”
She gives me this superior look, one eyebrow raised perfectly, like some old-time movie star. “Are you suggesting I dye my hair?” Her tone is clipped, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s joking.
“Of course not,” I say. “But do you have any?”
“It just so happens I do. Use them to apply fake tan,” she says. “Under the sink in a box.”
I go grab them as she heads out of the room and I stalk back outside to the flowers and the card on top of the car.
In the kitchen, I place the flowers carefully on the table, and then I open the envelope. The card is a painting of a woman, but it bears a bit of a resemblance to Kate, and I presume it’s why he bought it.
I read the message inside.
My darling,
I’ve just finished To Catch and To Hold A Killer. What a wonderful story, but I can’t help but feel I’ve perhaps been missed from your acknowledgements. I know I had to have been your inspiration for the villain. The whole thing about him keeping his victims locked in an old trunk for hours on end. You know, even if that silly bitch hadn’t doxed you, I think I would have found you eventually. I love crime fiction, and I can’t imagine that as soon as I read your words, I wouldn’t have known somehow it was you.
I feel as if you’ve been trying to reach me all this time.
I’m not happy you’ve brought that friend of yours to stay. I don’t like the look of her, and I’m not into threesomes either, so she’ll only be in the way.
I stop reading for a moment. Unless he’s playing games, he doesn’t know Gina is paid protection, which is good. I’m going to tell Kate that when we’re out and about together we should act casual, close, and comfortable in one another’s company. I don’t look like someone who would do the line of work I do, either, which might help throw him off the scent and make him think she’s simply asked a variety of friends to stay with her because she doesn’t feel safe.
You know, I think there’s something sexual about the way you describe the killer cutting up the woman. Some might say you’re a bit sick to be writing these things. Not me, of course, although I don’t like to cut people up. I like to hurt them, but not that way.
I expect you’re getting all wet, wanting to know what things I’d do to you. Well, you will have to wait and see, but I can tell you one thing I’d do. I’d tie you up, legs spread wide apart, and I’d shave that auburn pussy bare. I love that the curtains and carpets match as it were, but I’d rather have you bare. Then I’d eat your pussy until you came, whether you wanted to or not. And then I’d start to work on stretching it. It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it, darling? So you’ll be tight. I own so many toys, but I’d start with a small one. By the time I’m done with you, you’d be able to take a huge dildo. And you’ll look so beautiful doing it, tears streaming down your face, because it will hurt, my darling, but in the best way.
Holy fuck! I’m so angry I realize I’m grinding my teeth. Does he always write such explicit stuff to her? When has he seen her naked? No wonder she’s a mess.
I have often wondered if you can fuck someone to death. I am sure you can, but I’ve never tried it myself. In fact, I can’t imagine ever ending your life, my dear. I think you’re the perfect one, my darling. I truly do. You’ve got a dark mind to match mine, a body made for sin, and yet you behave like an angel. You’re simply made for me. And it won’t be long until I claim you.
Yours,
Loverboy
I want to wring his neck. To cut off his dick and make him eat it. What level of fucked up freak thinks he gets to write this shit? Worse, I know he’s done this shit to previous victims.
Kate comes into the room, and I meet her gaze.
“So, what wonderful plans does he come up with for me and him this time?” she asks. “Last time he told me all about how he’d spend weeks stretching my nipples with weights.”
I swallow, somehow shocked at the open way she discusses it with me. I almost feel like I’ve done something wrong reading this letter, which I know is crazy.
“You don’t want to know.” I shake my head. “Jesus, he’s one sick puppy.”
“He hates women. Calls them his flesh dolls, and says he likes to bend them and play with them until they break, or he grows bored.”
“I want to send this to some people I know in intelligence, if you will give the okay?”
She looks at me. “What will they do that the police haven’t?”
“Look at the handwriting, analyze it, try to get a profile on him from what he says and how he says it. If we can send it all to them, they might have a chance of coming up with a workable profile.”
“The police have profiled him,” she tells me.
“Yeah, but these guys, they look for things the police might miss. They often profile people working deep undercover to try and figure out their real identity. It might not give us anything, but it could provide something new.”
“Fine by me then,” she says. “I’m all packed and ready to go when you want.”
I’m shaken by the letter, it hits close to home. Brings back memories of time spent in a small, dirty room as a man was repeatedly raped in front of me, helpless to do nothing but wait my turn.
Liam was there too. It’s given us a weird old friendship. On the one hand, I’m closer to him than anyone because of it and know he’ll always have my back no matter what. On the other, it means we don’t like to spend too much time in one another’s company. It’s the horrific elephant in the room whenever we’re together. Or, at least, I feel that way. He might not. Liam’s a closed book when it comes to anything to do with emotions.
I photograph the letter carefully and send an email to a contact in foreign intelligence. She’s amazing at analysing handwriting and what people do and don’t say. I tell her there will be more to follow. Then I send the footprint photo to a guy I know in the police who can check their database to see if there are any hits. Then, because why have one person helping when you can have more, I send an email to Maggie, a friend of Luka’s Missus, and ask her to look at the letter. Maggie is a psychologist and is good at analyzing shit like this.
When I’m all done, I grab the biggest bag Kate has and carry it out to the car. I glance around as we head out of the house and see no one, but it doesn’t mean he’s not here.
Once we’re all loaded in the car, I start the long drive to Wales. It takes over seven hours and we are both shattered when we arrive. I head straight for a big hotel I know.
Liam will be sending me all the details of the rental house, but I don’t want to go straight there in case we have a tail. I’ve tried to check if we’re being followed of course, but it’s a long journey, and the cottage she had rented in Scotland was in such an easy area for him to hide out and follow us at a distance without being seen. I can’t be certain he hasn’t somehow been behind us so far. This hotel is isolated, on a hi
ll, one road in and out. It also has an underground carpark, and I’ve arranged for a rental car to be left there for us, different color and make to the one I’m driving now. Tomorrow, when we leave for the rental house, I will make one hundred percent sure no one is following. Worst case scenario, her stalker has followed us so far, he’ll not be able to tomorrow. And he’ll assume she’s heading to her holiday home.
I always feel a responsibility to anyone I’m looking after. I’ve had to escort journalists out of war zones, and you’d lay your life down for them, it’s part of the job. With Kate though, it’s weird, but it goes beyond that. I’m so angry at the letter I read, and as we talked, I’ve gained such an admiration for her and how she’s handled all this that it’s already become personal for me.
As I had driven us, she’d slept for a few hours beside me, curled to one side, her head rested in her hand. I’d kept glancing at her, drawn by how peaceful she’d looked. How in sleep, she’d seemed less regal and much younger, too. As if the worries and strains of what this man was doing to her weighed on her whenever she was awake, giving her face a seriousness it somehow lost in sleep. She looked soft. Almost vulnerable.
I will do everything in my power to make sure this bastard doesn’t get to hurt her. There’s a plan forming in my mind. I don’t do well at sitting and waiting around, and it already seems to be driving Kate to the edge of sanity, and who can blame her. I’m wondering if there’s a way to hasten this along. Some way to set a trap. I haven’t mentioned this to Kate yet as it will mean using her as bait, and I need to think it over some more. Get some concrete ideas formed before I put it out there.
Once, I’ve parked the car, unloaded our bags and checked us both in for ten nights, I lead Kate to the lift leading to the rooms. We won’t be staying for ten nights, but if the freak has followed us and has some way of accessing the records, he’ll think we are staying here for a while. I damn well hope he hasn’t followed us all the way to Wales, but if he has, then I’m doing everything I can to make sure he won’t know where our rental house is.