by Bob Goodwin
Back in the hall near the soiled carpet, he noticed a trail of footprints leading towards the lounge. While they were small, they were far too big for his young son. Stacey’s pace slowed. With his gun raised he followed the trail through the kitchen, and then slowly turned the corner into the dining area and lounge. The lacy, white curtains that hung in front of the sliding glass doors were drawn back. The doors were open. He moved to the centre of the lounge where he had a full view of the back landing. To one side, near the brick wall, he could see the dark outline of someone.
Simon stretched his right arm, sighted the gun, and moved forward slowly. The lace curtains were moving about, not giving him a clear view of the figure on the landing. As he eased closer he reached with his free hand and sharply pulled them to one side.
‘Oh, shit!’ He was staring at a hooded cape dangling from a small wall-mounted hanging plant. There was no one there; at least not in front of him, anyway. It may have been the faint sound of her breath or the gleam from the snake-handled knife that made him give a short, sharp shout and begin to swing his body around, but the handle of the knife struck hard against his temple and he dropped like a stone to the floor.
* * *
The right side of Kym’s face was a mass of scar tissue. What used to be her right eye was now just a scarred, empty hole. Much of her black hair had disappeared. Her mouth drooped to the left, and saliva dangled precariously from her chin. The sleeves on her black, hooded robe were rolled up, and long cuts and trails of dried blood decorated both arms.
Simon’s eyesight was somewhat blurred as he woke, but he knew immediately who it was. His position was also one that was all too familiar; he was handcuffed by one wrist to the end of the sofa lounge. Kym opened her distorted mouth wide. Her tongue protruded like a snake. She licked some of the dried blood from her arms.
‘You sick, demented bitch.’
‘Dear Simon, I’m delighted that you recognise me. Take a long, hard look. See what you’ve done to your precious Kym? But it doesn’t matter now, because I am here at last, and all the unfinished business will be attended to. I’m sure you know what I mean.’ Her voice had changed also. It was slower, and had taken on a harsh, moist, throaty sound. There was no doubt though, that she was just as determined and evil as ever. The Colt pistol was on the floor near the balcony and about four metres away. Kym noticed Simon looking at the gun. She reached behind her back and produced the shiny, long-bladed knife.
‘No, no,’ said Kym, ‘I wouldn’t even consider that if I were you.’ She moved forward and crouched near him. The knife rested against his cheek. She turned the blade and began giving him a rough shave.
‘Where is the boy?’
‘Go to hell!’
‘I know he is in the house. I will find him. The question is, will I find him while you are alive, or after you have bled to death?’
Simon swung at her with his free hand. He succeeded in pushing her off balance, but the blade dragged across his forearm as Kym staggered and fell. She lay on the floor and gave a twisted smile and chuckle before getting back to her feet.
‘You choose the latter,’ she laughed.
Simon pulled the tie from his robe and with the help of his teeth, tied it around the wound.
‘Poor Simon. You look such a mess.’
‘Really. Look who’s talking.’
‘You think I care? You think Romoli cares? I operate on a different level now. I work for my Lord Lucifer, and I am under his instruction. I am his disciple.’
‘So now it’s your turn to be Romoli. A fatal occupation indeed. You guys really need to look at your health and safety issues.’
‘Romoli will always exist. I am the anointed one.’
‘Something like the pope, is it then?’ quipped Simon angrily.
‘No! Nothing like that! You like to taunt me, don’t you? I might just slice your ear clean off.’ She held up the blade and took a step toward him.
He tried moving away, but the heavy sofa lounge only granted him about a metre.
‘I am here to complete the sacrificial mass. The Bodytune,’ she continued. ‘You will be the audience. No one will prevent it happening this time. Of that you can be sure. Now where is the boy?’
Simon said nothing.
‘That’s okay. I have plenty of time. I like hide and seek. Let’s see, where should I start looking? Let’s say — the main bedroom!’
‘Kym, don’t be stupid!’ shouted Simon. ‘Okay. You want me? Then you can have me.’
‘Oh, I will have you. Just be patient.’
Kym gave a droopy smile that made her facial features look more deformed than they already were. She moved backwards through the dining area and towards the kitchen. Simon pulled harder but was gaining little against the furniture.
‘I’ll be back in a minute with your son. Don’t go anywhere now.’
‘No. For God’s sake!’ Just as Kym was turning to leave, two large hands appeared like a shot from the kitchen entrance. One went under Kym’s chin, the other on the back of her head. In one swift motion, they twisted sharply backward and sideways. There was an enormous crack. Her arms fell to her sides. She collapsed limply to the floor.
‘Good morning, Simon.’ Oscar Schliemann emerged into the dining area. He kicked the knife away from near Kym’s body. ‘What a piece of work.’
Simon was on his knees, looking with both amazement and a huge sense of relief at the tall man. Oscar squatted near him and released the handcuffs.
‘You okay?’
‘Sure, I’ll need a few stitches, but I’ll be fine,’ replied Simon. He got to his feet and promptly went and picked up the Colt semi-automatic. ‘Anymore of them around?’
‘No, she’s a loner. The place is clear.’
‘How did you know the bitch was here? How did she get in?’ asked Stacey, quite bewildered and still somewhat stunned.
‘Cochran called me. He figured I’d be in the area. She escaped from the nuthouse last night, but no one was notified until early this morning. An inside job I would think. And somehow, she knew your security codes. I’ll be paying the security company a visit later.’
‘Those pricks are everywhere. What the fuck!?’
‘How’s Robbie?’
Suddenly Simon raised the Colt, pointed it in Oscar’s direction, and squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession. Two shots rang out. The Rottweiler fell at Schliemann’s feet. Oscar calmly squatted and examined the dog’s head.
‘Nice shooting. It looks like all that practice has paid off.’
‘Let’s get upstairs.’
Once inside the main bedroom, Simon reached behind the bedside table and flicked a switch. The secret panel slid open and Robbie came running into his father’s arms.
‘You’ll be all right now. Daddy’s got you, and Mr Schliemann has taken care of that terrible witch. Everything is okay.’
* * * *
About the Author
Bob Goodwin was born in Nottingham, England in 1953. He moved with his parents, brother and 3 sisters to Australia in 1961 on board the Oriana.
Most of Bob's working career has been in mental health after he completed General and Psychiatric Nursing training followed by a Degree in Counselling.
This experience is reflected in much of his writing, and since 1987 he has written many short stories, short plays, one-act plays, short screen plays, feature length screenplays and three fiction novels. Generally, his genre is that of thriller / suspense with a helping of humour here and there.
Other books by Bob Goodwin
Strike Me Dead
Max Justice (book 1 in the Max Judd series)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Some Secret codes are hidden in this book – can you find them?
Sara Endacott – Edit or Die – Editing and Writing Services.
My Sunshine Coast Literary Association (SCLA) friends for their inspiration, support and encouragement.
To my son, Luke for checking the proof.
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br /> To my wife, Jenny for her read and review.
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