by W W Walker
Marigold stopped. She had a point, but they couldn’t just leave them out there. Someone had to let them in. She closed the curtains once more and went towards the door leading out to the hall, but then she stopped and spun about when she heard the knocking on the window again. She went back and flung open the curtain, but again, there was no one there.
Now she was spooked. She imagined the ghost of Eddie, or the Butlers, their souls coming back to wreak havoc on the women’s minds and senses. She pulled the curtain closed once more and took a step back. The other women had risen to their feet, except for Gladys. They all tottered on the edges of the darkness, wondering who had tapped the window.
Marigold’s heart was racing. Her hands shook and her lips trembled as if she was a little girl again, being frightened by her brother. They all faced the window, just looking at the closed drapes, standing and staring, waiting for something to happen.
Then someone banged on the window at the back.
How strange that they didn’t scream. It was as if acceptance had descended upon the room. They were in danger, extreme danger.
As they faced the back of the house, waiting to discover what would happen next, the rapping on the window resumed.
Now, they knew someone was playing games. Someone was trying to frighten them.
And it was working.
Constance could stand it no more. She had seen the worst of the day. She had been raped by her husband, she had killed him, she had buried evidence on the beach, and then retrieved it and had seen him again. She had discovered the bodies of the Butlers and she had seen them again. She had covered up the truth and blamed a murder on someone else. She had lied and fumbled her way about and she had washed cat guts from her feet. What more could the day throw at her? Nothing to beat that.
“Whoever’s out there is starting to tick me off,” she said with a determination she didn’t know she possessed. The knocking was at the back again now, so it was time to take the bull by the horns. She paced through the lounge where French doors led to a large terrace overlooking the sea. She stood firm and she threw back the curtains and there, standing looking at her was a man.
She retreated when he smiled.
She was no longer brave.
He had a smirk on his face that sent a charge of fear through her veins. She became nauseous as she stared back at him, trying to understand what on earth he was doing there getting lashed by the rain in the black of night.
“Who are you?” she screamed. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
“Little Drake…To visit…You.”
Eva’s feet tripped her up. They weren’t hers. They had a life of their own as they carried her back to the circle of armchairs placed around the fire. She had a preference to bury her face in a cushion. They were sateen, the cushions. She’d made them after a watching an old episode of Houseparty. She curled up, pulling those feet which weren’t hers, up to her chest, lying like a foetus, protected, can’t-be-harmed.
The face at the window had been too much for Eva. She couldn’t comprehend it and she certainly couldn’t tolerate it. The face shouldn’t be there, not smiling like that, looking in, as the wind sprayed the rain over his head and against the pane of the window.
No, Eva preferred not to look. If she couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist and that was her ultimate preference.
Chapter Forty-two
Tyrone woke up, not wide awake, but sloth-like as if it was already Sunday and he was anticipating the morning in bed with the papers. Just one eye opened. The other was glued shut by the swelling, now just a slit in a mound like a half boiled egg, except it was black…and blue…and red.
The absence of recognition quickly flashed over his face. He was too close to distinguish Kiki’s face.
“Ty,” she whispered. “It’s me, Kiki.”
He groaned and closed his eyes again. He had been so badly beaten. “Move your knee,” he muttered.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Wait. I’ll try.” The tethers around her ankles prevented any drastic reflexes, but if she concentrated on her knee…There, she’d moved it about an inch, taking the pressure from his point of pain.
“Kiki, what the hell?”
“Shush, Ty. Don’t speak and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
He blinked his only eye, after it darted to the side of her. She doubted if he could see much
“Look. We’re in a spot of bother, but we’re going to be okay.” She was finding it hard to talk and breathe at the same time. If Tyrone felt pressure on his chest by her weight, she was equally hindered having her torso pressing down on his. “It’s that Drake Fisher,” she said.
His eye opened as recognition hit him. Fisher was the man who had terrorised him at work.
“He got you here, somehow. I’ve been trying to track you down all day…” she was speaking in short bursts, in-between breathing. “The power went out around the estate, so I couldn’t phone you anymore…” She suddenly realised she’d lost track of time. “I came looking for you, but he captured me too.” Breathe. “The next thing I knew I was here. He must have knocked me out.” She allowed herself a minute to catch her breath.
Ty was listening, quietly and patiently. At random intervals, he grimaced with pain.
“I’m on top of you. We’re tied up with a blue nylon rope. Our hands and feet are positioned outwards like that DaVinci sketch of the Vitruvian man. On my right, the end holding our wrists is tied to the cupboard handles. I’m not sure about the other side because I can’t turn my head.” A tear ran down her cheek and landed on Ty’s mouth. She lifted her head and saw him open his mouth to lick it. “Ty, I think you may be in bad shape. Your face is badly beaten, but I can’t see what he’s done to your body.”
“My legs…” he groaned.
“Listen to me. We’re going to get out of this, okay? We’re going to get out of this.”
Rhianna had been left alone. She was blinded and bound, left with only her ears to help assess her situation. She thought she could hear whispers, but she was reluctant to call out. Her survival instincts had kicked in long ago when she heard the man leave the room. He didn’t speak, he just left, closing the door behind him. She knew she was near the door. She felt the draft hit her when it was opened, and a fine spray of rain put moisture on her cheek. The other side of her face was on the floor.
After he’d gone, she tried to move. With her hands bound in front of her, she was able to stretch her fingers and bend her knees. She felt her ankles bound with string, the rough kind, feeling like welts were being left on her skin every time she moved. She couldn’t remember him doing that…binding her ankles. She must have passed out at some point.
She was pleased when her fingers slipped inside the string. Maybe if she worked at it, she could untie it. She began trying to find the end, a knot or something. There it was. It wasn’t double knotted, just simply tucked into the space between her ankles. As she started to disengage herself, she wondered where her shoes were.
Then she heard a groan.
Who was that?
Was it him?
She heard it again, a sound like a wounded animal.
She whispered a name “Tom!?”
Chapter Forty-three
Eva felt a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. She just wanted to stay where she was hiding in the cushions. “Eva, come on. We can’t deal with this without you. We need you, Eva.”
She turned her tearful face upwards to see Marigold sitting next to her, stroking her hair. She offered an encouraging smile. Eva didn’t reciprocate. What was there to smile about? A man…a killer was lurking around outside her house and Roger wasn’t there to protect her. And she needed protecting. She couldn’t do this on her own.
“Where is the man?” she garbled as her nerves took over her body in the most alarming fashion. She had been afraid before, but never like this. This was fear on a whole new level.
“Sit up.” Marigold helped her to her feet. “He�
��s gone. For now. We don’t know where.”
Jade joined them. “I looked but I couldn’t see anything,” she said. “There’s nothing out there except the wind.”
“Don’t bank on it.”
“Why do you say that?” Jade yelled as if Marigold had just destroyed all her optimism in one fell swoop.
Marigold shook her head. “Why would he leave?”
“Because he’s worried about being arrested when the police come.”
Marigold laughed without humour. “Don’t be so naïve. The man is clearly insane. He’s here to kill us if he can. Just like he killed the Butlers.”
Eva’s hands rushed to the base of her neck. “Dear god!”
The others joined them. Constance had a knife in her hand. “We’ve got to do something.”
“Just sit it out,” shouted Eva. “We can wait until morning.”
“He’s not going to wait that long. He’ll get in somehow.”
“What about the girls, poor Kiki and Rhianna?” Gladys asked wide-eyed.
“And Tammy,” said Eva. Not wanting to exclude the girl next door.
Marigold touched Eva’s arm. “I’m sure they’ll be okay.”
“So, what can we do? If we’re not going to wait it out, there’s five of us and only one of him.”
“We’re women,” Jade said shrill-like.
“But we’re not weak women,” Marigold said looking at Constance. “We’re not victims.”
“I am,” said Eva. “Look at me. I couldn’t throttle a canary.”
“It’s not physical strength we need. We just need to use our heads.”
“What are you saying, Marigold?”
“Turn the table on the pig. Hunt him before he hunts us.”
Chapter Forty-four
When Drake left his victims alone, in No.3, he knew they’d probably try to break free. That’s why, after he went outside, he popped back now and then to see what they were up to.
Man, he wished he had a cellar to push them down. With water at the bottom.
Earlier, he’d managed a reconstruction of ‘the cellar in the lean-to’, when the blonde went over the edge of the cliff. At the time, he remembered wishing he’d had a wheelchair the day his mother died. She’d been one heavy bitch.
It had happened when he’d turned thirty. She had turned quite insane over the years, blaming her state of mind on the notion of her husband, Manny, floating around in the cellar. The damp had crept up the walls of the house. She wasn’t wrong there. She’d tried cleaning it the best she could, and she’d whitewashed over it a few times, but it always managed to show up again, black.
“It’s making me ill, that damp,” she complained to Drake.
“So, what are you saying? You want to call a plumber or the landlord?”
“Well, I…”
“Mother,” he’d said. “Do you want more people to end up down that cellar, then?”
“No, ‘course not, Drake.”
“Well, you didn’t mind me going down there when I was three years old, did ya?”
“That wasn’t me. It was your dad. And he was only kidding around. Manny was always kidding around.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“I don’t know why you get so upset over him, Drake. He was your father, he loved you.”
“Loved me?” he repeated. “Are you serious? He didn’t love me. He loved you…Often.” He smirked at his own humour.
“Oh, you’re just too sensitive.”
“Really? Do you know what it was like for me when I was three, to be locked in that cellar with no light? Do you, huh?” He’d faced her square on and he saw the fear in her eyes. He loved making her scared. He felt powerful, in charge, just like he was in charge of that key to the cellar.
“I told him to get you out. I did.”
“But he didn’t, did he? He left me there all day, while he was upstairs bonking you.”
“Now, now, None of that sort of talk.”
“You really are a stupid bitch, aint ya?”
Then she’d slapped him. Right across the cheek. It took him by surprise. She’d never hit him before. He stood, like a little boy in front of his mama, with his head hanging down, his chin resting on his chest, like he was ashamed for his behaviour. He was sorry, really sorry.
Then he lifted his head, slowly, like his neck was tied with a piece of string and someone else was pulling it up. Slow…slow…Then his eyes hit her eyes and she knew she was dead.
She ran. She ran for her life. Climbing the stairs two at a time, she was heading for the bathroom. It was the only door in the house with a lock on it. She’d hide in there until he’d calmed down. She was always doing that.
She’d got there too. She might have been fat, but she was quick. He’d give her that.
“Drake,” she’d called from the other side of the door, “It’s your birthday today, remember, my little Drakey? We’ll bake a cake, have candles. You can blow them out…You can have gifts. And balloons. Maybe invite your friends from work.” Her voice sounded desperate.
He slid down the door and sat on the floor, listening to all the plans for his birthday.
But it was too little, too late.
He’d wait it out. Then the bitch was going to die.
He was disturbed from his memories when he glanced in the window of No.3. There in the dark was the girl with the ponytail, trussed up like a dead cat.
Still there. All good, he thought as he went over the lawn to No.5 and knocked on the window.
The curtains were flung open as he stood at the side, out of sight. He couldn’t help smiling, thinking about their faces when they realised no one was there. They closed the curtains once more and once again he knocked. This time he skirted around the side to the back when he knocked on that window too. He loved having a lark. The only thing spoiling his fun was the damn rain. If only it had been a clear night. The moon was his friend. He could have played more games.
He decided to give them his look of death. The look he’d used on his mother after she’d slapped him.
He stood with his face close to the window when the curtains were drawn back. The woman inside screamed and backed off.
He had them in the palm of his hands. He’d let them know what fear was. Just as if they’d been locked in the cellar when they were three.
Chapter Forty-five
“Are we just going to sit here all night being terrorised by that man?” Marigold challenged. She wanted to motivate the women, make them see that they didn’t have to be victims, that they could survive this. And, yes, she’d surprised herself at the ferocity of her determination. She’d lived her whole life in the shadow of her husband and welcomed it too. She’d never had a desire to break free of that, yet, there she was that night, demanding justice and freedom for all. She felt like punching the air, standing on a box preaching her cause like those activists on Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. She’d been there once…London. But she never got to hear a speaker.
“What do you expect us to do.”
“We let him in.”
“Whatttt?” shouted Eva.
“Hear me out.”
The women looked at Marigold as their leader. That made her feel empowered, releasing her from fear of the crazy man outside the house. “Look, we have the advantage. There are five of us, this is our territory, we can get weapons, we have the element of surprise in our favour. We could simply overcome him as soon as he enters.”
“It’s too dangerous,” said Jade looking to the other women for their endorsement.
Constance held up her carving knife and the women looked at it as the blade shone in the candlelight. “We could do it if we’re clever. We could really do it.”
“What if it goes wrong. We could be killed. Even just one of us.”
“Look, just listen. We hide here in the dark like we’re playing hide and seek…”
“Play…” Jade was about to interrupt before Marigold held up her hand.
&n
bsp; “Okay, that’s a bad example,” Marigold said nodding her head, desperately needing to convince the women that they could do this…before she too lost her nerve. “Forget the hide and seek scenario. We hide in the house with our weapons. When he comes in, we charge him. We could set some traps too.”
“What sort of traps?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I can’t think of everything.” She was starting to sound shrill.
“String,” said Gladys. She shrugged. “Saw it in a film once. We can tie string at the bottom of the doors, which will trip him up…and then we can grab him.”
They nodded.
Finally, they had a plan.
“Wait,” said Eva. “What if it goes wrong?”
Now all the women were looking to Marigold for the answer. “Then each and every one of you get out of the house as quick as you can…and run for your lives.”
He came back twenty minutes later.
He knocked on the front window again as everyone remained in their allocated position.
A short squeal came from the corner where Eva and Jade hid in an alcove next to the door leading to the kitchen. Across the threshold, they’d stretched a tight length of string.
Marigold and Constance were in the lounge down the other end, near the doors they’d left wide open. The house was completely dark and now the wind was blowing into the house, making the curtains blow inwards, creating flapping noises. The two women hid next to a dresser where they couldn’t be seen.
They could see the long length of string running the width of the room, cutting it in half. The chairs had been put back against the walls, the fire had been turned off and the candles snuffed out. And in the middle, down the front end of the room was Gladys, sitting on the armchair with her feet flat on the floor, like bait, waiting for him to come in and come for her.
He knocked again on the front window, just as he’d done before.