Spare Key

by Frederick R. Hamilton

  Vomit bubbled from her lips.

  He smiled as he returned to the bench and let the knife clutter back among the tools. He picked up the metal shears and returned to her. She’d passed out so he slapped her back awake before he returned to her feet. He locked eyes with her as he opened the blades. She mouthed something that looked like no.

  Three snips took care of the remaining join. The crunch of the bones forced a dribble of pre-cum. She passed out again as he levered the two sides apart. Two toes to the left; three to the right. He studied the inside, his hand, finally freed, slipping back beneath the apron.

  Yes there would be plenty to keep him occupied until morning… plenty indeed… for a start he would use the skewers on the breasts…

  * * * * *

  Rachel sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall ahead as she cradled her wounded hand. She had no idea how long she had been there after she’d locked and chained the doors; no idea how long she had basked in her seething anger. She knew she should really bandage her hand again but couldn’t force herself to move.

  Occasionally the voice would chirp up: some sort of justification or a suggestion to call the cops, but Rachel clamped down on it quickly. She was beyond hearing the voice of reason at this point…

  …It had gone too far for that now.

  She felt like screaming. Like smashing things. She just couldn’t stop each indignity from spiralling through her mind, looping to and fro, feeding back into her anger; restarting, over and over again.

  It was beyond anything she could tolerate. Beyond it all. She had to fucking do something about this. She just fucking had to.

  And that fucking old bitch! It looked like she had another shortcoming to add to that bitch’s list. She’d whined enough about the fact the spare key to her flat hadn’t been in Thea’s belongings when she died but never even mentioned she still had a spare key to Thea’s flat.

  TO MY FUCKING FLAT!

  The thought made Rachel’s blood boil and naturally segued into one of the fenced-in building site down the road where construction had been halted for a good three years now. A thought of the bundles stacked inside the concrete tube and a thought that there was plenty of space for more…

  But that’s really what you wanted all along isn’t it? The voice chirped up.

  Oh fuck off! Rachel screamed in her mind. This isn’t what I want. I just want to be left in peace. I just want people to be a little fucking considerate…

  Really? Would they ever be considerate enough?

  ‘Oh, fuck off.’ She said it aloud this time, spitting it out viciously and the voice beat a hasty retreat.

  Something was definitely going to be done.

  She just needed to calm down first. In the state she was in she was going to do something stupid. She needed to focus, get control, but the anger was ever present. Boiling away inside her.

  ‘Fucking pervert,’ she hissed it as she pictured his stare and finally her paralysis broke. She lent over, reached down and slid the box from beneath the mattress.

  She just needed to blow off some steam. Get herself thinking clearly again. She’d have to be so damn careful this time.

  Rachel scooted herself back up the bed, dragging the box with her. When she was lying back against the pillows, she levered the lid off the box and set Walter down beside her. She lifted her hips and dragged off her tracksuit pants and underwear in one motion, kicking them free as she lifted out the first of the photo albums.

  She ran her fingers over her cleft as she laid it down on the bed beside her and flipped open the cover. She rubbed as she studied the pages, her pussy moistening and spreading at her touch. She reached for Walter and twisted the base; felt him vibrate to life beneath her fingers as she turned the page, feasting her eyes on the photos, slowly bringing Walter up, trailing him along her thigh, the buzzing tingling her skin.

  Some of the tension began to finally eke out of her in the face of her growing arousal.

  She turned another page and slid Walter in, gasping out loud and wishing she’d taken the time to heat him up a little first.

  Just blow off a little steam, she thought as she flipped another page and pictured the key hanging on the hook in the drawer.

  Just get myself thinking clearly again.

  DAY 5

  Rachel didn’t look back as she locked the door and headed down the driveway. Despite her fatigue, she felt exhilarated. Her anger was still there, bubbling away beneath the surface but it had lessened somewhat after the lengthy session with Walter and the photo albums. Lessened as the realisation had grown that yes, she was going to do this.

  She hadn’t slept at all the previous night. She’d spent the time sitting on the bed, staring out past the half-wedged-open blind. Staring and waiting but he hadn’t made an appearance.

  So instead Rachel had sat and stewed.

  The voice had made a few, last-ditch efforts but had finally given up with a disgusted sigh and left her to it. She had sat and thought and watched as the sky gradually lightened outside.

  When the alarm sounded, she’d stood and slowly walked over and turned it off. Then stowed Walter and the albums back in the box and slid it safely under the bed, pleased that there was only a slight tremor in her hand.

  After dressing mechanically her hand had been scabbed and crusted with her blood so she’d washed and bandaged it again. Then she’d gone and packed.

  And as she hefted the overnight bag and settled the strap more comfortably on her shoulder, Rachel ran a mental list of its contents and a smile broke across her face as she made her way down the driveway.

  She could feel his eyes on her the whole way.

  * * * * *

  Ben watched her go; his eye pressed to the crack as he rolled up the canvas and stuffed his knives back in his duffel bag. One by one he fed the other items in as he watched her walk out of view. Watched the way her figure shifted beneath her clothes, the erection hot against his thigh as he imagined it being revealed to him in its fullest. When he would remove more than just the clothes; strip it right back to the bare bones. He watched her until she was out of sight and then turned and sat in a crouch with his back to the wall as he knotted the drawstring of the duffel bag.

  He sat and waited, staring down at the bag as he listened intently. He wanted to make certain she was gone this time; didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Although she was in her uniform, it was best to be certain. There were niggling doubts in his head about the bag she had slung over her shoulder – was she going away? Did she somehow suspect and was going to stay at a friend’s house? He pushed them out of his mind though. It didn’t matter how long she was gone for. Once he got in, he could wait.

  In fact, he found the idea rather alluring.

  Ben fingered the key in his pocket as he slowly began to count in his head. He’d wait until he got to a thousand and then he’d head out.

  * * * * *

  As he reached nine hundred and fifty, Ben heard an engine roar to life outside. To be safe, he went to two thousand.

  His heart was racing as he exited the flat, casually looking around while he locked his door. He found it strange that the estate agent had so much trouble with the lock. The key always seemed to glide smoothly for him.

  It was difficult to control the excitement that was racing through him. His mouth was dry and as he looked around, he felt the air thickening, just as it had when he’d looked over that first time and seen her standing there.

  His legs felt like jelly as he took the first step, still scanning around. Her door was only twelve steps away, but to Ben, it seemed a marathon. He couldn’t stop looking toward the end of the driveway, certain she’d reappear at any moment. He gulped down the thick air as he reached into his pocket and exchanged his flat’s key for the other one.

  The beating of blood in his ears was deafening and Ben felt a slight panic as he realised he wouldn’t hear a door open. That someone could sneak up on him now. He forced himself not to look around a
gain. He was being too suspicious; darting glances left and right. It was just too easy to imagine Theo or one of the other neighbours watching him. Watching him and then reaching for the phone to warn her. And then she’d be in there waiting for him, her face wreathed in smoke and the kitchen knife in the hand hidden behind her back.

  You’re being ridiculous, he told himself as he drew level with her door but the air didn’t thin at all and the duffel bag was dead weight in his hand. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what you’re planning, he repeated over and over to himself, much as he had all those nights that he’d stood over her as she lay in bed. She doesn’t know what you’ve planned; she doesn’t know about the Red Room that you built for her…

  But his thoughts couldn’t allay all his fears. She was his mother; she knew. She always knew what he was thinking… Ben drew the key out of his pocket. The sight of it forced an exhale from his lips. He shook his head. What was he thinking? He wasn’t defenceless now. He would have the upper hand; the element of surprise…

  Despite his best intentions, he looked around once more as he slotted the key into the lock. Everything seemed clear but his nervousness lingered. Maybe he should wait? Maybe it wasn’t time?

  No, he pushed away the doubts; they were what had cost him his revenge in the first place. There was no need for hesitation.

  Ben turned the key and the lock clicked open. His doubts began to fade as he twisted the handle and eased the door open.

  * * * * *

  The air thinned the instant the door closed behind him and Ben stood, gasping, his heart pounding with excitement as he surveyed the flat.

  He could smell her in the air: a heady mix of shampoo, perfume and deodorant with a faint undertone of make-up. An undeniably feminine smell that evoked such memories of his mother’s bedroom that Ben almost expected to hear her summons. It thrilled and disgusted him equally but his penis, still half-hard, immediately sprung to life at the connotations and as he looked around, Ben reached down and eased it from his pants.

  It felt silky between his fingers as he walked a few paces inside, his mind already seeking out a linkage, something he could use to tie this back to her. It didn’t take him long but then again it never did.

  The interior of the flat was a world away from his own. The wall separating the living-room from the kitchen had been knocked through, opening it out, combining with the beige walls to give the interior a light airy feel. And it was in the kitchen that he found the linkage: the slightly battered looking knife-block with the black handles jutting from the top. It was nearly a replica of the one she had owned and the empty slot in it only added to the realism. He could picture her there beside it, her face wreathed in smoke; that one arm twisted behind her back.

  It was perfect; it was what he needed.

  He saw there were more links too and he circled the room, slowly building it up until she was inhabiting the space. Until the horrible things she had done had taken place here. And if he thought the excitement he’d felt earlier was immense, it was nothing compared to the sensation that swelled through him as he pictured it all.

  He was back in the house now and she had gone out. But she would come back and this time he’d do it. He wouldn’t hesitate. This time he’d take her.

  Well then you better get ready, he thought and headed for the bedroom.

  * * * * *

  Ben stripped the mattress bare and ran his hand along it, imagining her stretched out before him. His penis throbbed with excitement as he moved across to the cupboard and yanked some of the clothes out and scattered them on the floor.

  The bedside table was disappointingly empty except for a freshly opened pack of condoms that Ben assumed were the leftovers from the man’s visit and a small box. When he opened the box it only contained a few cheap looking necklaces but Ben grabbed them anyway and stuffed them into his pockets. Might be worth a couple of bucks. As a last touch he swiped the clock radio onto the floor. It clattered down and his eyes followed its path and fell on the shattered phone. He looked up and saw the dent in the wall and then looked back down in confusion.

  A slight worry began to creep into the back of his mind. It was undefinable, not really focused on the smashed phone itself but more a general unease. He clamped down on it quickly. It’s good, he convinced himself. Shows she’s a fighter, a little bit fiery. He would be prepared.

  Still it was unsettling and as he crouched down beside his duffel bag, he couldn’t stop shooting glances in the phone’s direction. Must have been one hell of a bad call.

  His worry vanished as he unknotted the drawstring on his bag and slipped open the neck. He saw all his tools in there and a smile split his face as he lifted them out one by one and reverentially placed them on top of the now empty bedside table.

  The duct tape.

  The plastic ties.

  The hunting knife…

  He removed the canvas roll of knives last, laid it on the floor and slowly unravelled it. His mouth felt a little dry as one by one they were revealed. His fingers found his penis of their own accord and began to pump.

  The bundled underwear on the floor caught his eyes and his hand snaked out and snagged one from the pile. When he brought it up to his nose, it smelt mainly of detergent but there was a faint lingering hint of another odour. One that excited him immensely.

  He pictured her there in front of him, slowly lowering the underwear; slowly revealing her slit while he wanked for her. He wrapped the panties around his cock and imagined it was her tight grip. His orgasm rocketed out of him as he heard the echo of her voice.

  Mummy needs you…

  His smile grew even wider as he studied the sodden panties in his hand. He knew there would be no punishment this time. As his orgasm subsided he began to wonder if there were any eggs in the fridge.

  * * * * *

  The smell of it surrounded him as he sat down on her couch with the plate of scrambled eggs nestled in his lap. The ghost of her had been there with him the whole time he’d cooked. Standing just off to the right, smoking steadily, the wisps framing her dead eyes.

  He’d had to restrain from giggling as he’d scraped at the pan. He hadn’t wanted to give her any idea of what was happening. What was going to happen.

  Ben swallowed his first mouthful as he looked around. The taste of it was momentarily sickening but the sensation lessened with the second mouthful. His eyes continued to rove as he ate mechanically until they fell on the remotes lying beside him on the couch. He picked up the first one and the television burst to life at his touch, displaying a blue background with AV1 nestled in the corner.

  He studied the other remote for a moment and located the play button. He paused before pressing it and looked around at the scattered covers. The scream ripped from the screen unexpectedly, causing Ben to jump and drop the remote.

  He scrambled with the television remote and turned the volume down a few notches, his heart rate gradually settling as he stared in fascination at what she had been watching.

  The film had obviously been shot on a shoe-string budget. The lighting, the framing, the actor’s dismal attempts to indicate pain all pointed to it but what money the production team had possessed had obviously been funnelled into the make-up and effects.

  As he watched the lady drilling into the man’s skull, Ben was momentarily taken aback at the realistic blood spray and the chunky goop that was seeping down from the drill bit. The colour was slightly off but apart from that it looked like the real deal and for a moment Ben watched fascinated.

  He spooned another mouthful of his eggs and then set the plate aside on the couch. He chewed slowly as he walked over and sorted through the scattered cases on top of the screen. Another little warning bell went off in his head as he perused cover after cover. Each seemingly more and more garish with its gruesome imagery and hyperbolic promises of gore and horror.

  So she likes horror films, he told himself, trying to pinpoint why he seemed to find that fact so disturbing.
Lots of people do, he thought and pushed the niggling doubt to one side. But there was something still bothering him as he returned to the couch and his plate of eggs. The scene had changed and now showed a buxom, young lady in a cheerleader’s outfit, hacking at a man with a machete. The man was backed into a corner, his hands raised in a pitiful attempt to ward off the attack and just briefly, it was his face the man was wearing and the demented leer of his attacker belonged to her.

  The nausea flooded through him and he spat the half-chewed mouthful onto the plate. He switched off the television and paced for a moment until the sick feeling cleared.

  Don’t be stupid, his mind raced as doubt flooded in, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. How could she? She’d never think you’d…

  He needed something to steady his nerves. That was all. He glanced at the clock on the way to the kitchen and saw it was eleven o’clock. Plenty of time to relax. Plenty of time.

  Although wine wasn’t his favourite choice of alcohol, when he rummaged through the pantry and saw the bottles lined up inside, he was more than happy to make do.

  * * * * *

  Ben’s excitement was growing as he looked up from the two empty bottles of wine on the bench to the clock again. Four o’clock. It was so close to time.

  The wine had left a sickly sweet taste in his mouth but had also banished the strange, momentary dread he had felt. Now he was ready, oh so very ready and even though he didn’t know the exact time she’d be coming home, he decided to move to the bedroom now; move and wait for her there.

  He stowed the empty bottles back into the pantry and wiped the large streak of semen from the door of the cupboard – he hadn’t been able to help it; while he’d waited the red had encroached. He didn’t want anything to tip her off if she walked straight into the kitchen before heading to the bedroom.