Extinction

by Carol Anne Davis

  ‘Flatmates in?’ he asked casually as he drew up outside her far-from-desirable residence.

  She shook her head, looked as if she was verging on the comatose.

  ‘OK, I’ll just get the door open then come back and get you, see you safely inside.’

  Taking her clutch bag from her nerveless right hand, he opened it and fished out a key which was attached to a key ring with Kylie etched on the fake gold fob. He left her sitting – well, lolling – in the front seat and hurried to the mid terrace dwelling. He entered the house and listened intently for signs of life.

  ‘That you, love?’ a woman called.

  Shit, did she actually live with her parents? After closing the door quietly, he raced back to the car, started the ignition and drove off. Should he just assault her in the vehicle before dumping her somewhere? There again, she could die of exposure and the last thing he wanted was the police sniffing around.

  He glanced at her, noted that she’d fallen forward and that her top had slackened, showing her impressive breasts and part of her nipples. His pulse quickened; he could squeeze and nibble on these for hours. What the hell – he’d take her back to his place and she’d be left with the impression that they’d had a consensual one-night stand. The roofies would wear off in, at most, eight hours, so he’d have to give her Valium as soon as she perked up. That way, she’d be too dozy to figure out his real name, address or any other identifying details, would remain in a loved-up haze until he returned her to Bristol tomorrow night.

  Satisfied that he had it all figured out, Adam drove back to Weston-super-Mare at a leisurely pace, parked in his drive and carried Kylie in the side door. She felt heavier than she looked and he almost stumbled as he lurched towards his bedroom with his unconscious prize. After dropping her none-too-lightly on the bed, he returned to the still-open outer door, shut it and locked it from the inside, pocketing the key.

  ‘Good night?’

  He jumped at hearing a man’s voice, turned to see John in the hallway.

  ‘Thought you were in London,’ he stammered.

  ‘I was, but the speaker’s gone down with that throat bug so they rescheduled for a fortnight ahead.’

  ‘You mean you went all the way to London and came back the same day?’

  He’d have hit the strip clubs and Soho bars, partied like a maniac. He especially loved these peep show places where you could tell the girl what to do, make her take down her panties and dance a jig.

  ‘Well, I was there before midday so had time to cancel my room in the travel lodge without charge.’

  Fair enough – he knew that his lodger earned peanuts, couldn’t afford a hectic social life.

  ‘So, John, what are you going to do for the rest of the weekend?’

  Go to Timbuktu, hopefully. Leave me to fuck my bimbo.

  ‘Nothing much. Probably do a bit of sunbathing in the garden tomorrow if the weather stays hot.’

  Bugger, he’d have to keep his conquest away from the windows at the back of the house. It was lucky that he always had a plentiful supply of tranquillizers on the premises, ideal for keeping a girl subdued.

  ‘Right. Well, see you in the morning,’ he said, faking a yawn.

  John looked sad. ‘They’re showing back-to-back episodes of 24 if you want to stay up and have a pint or two.’

  ‘Can’t.’ He indicated his bedroom. ‘I’ve got a hot date waiting for me in there.’

  ‘Alright for some. Does she have a friend?’

  He hoped not.

  ‘Sorry, kid, it’s just her and me.’

  ‘Story of my life,’ John said and offered a lopsided grin.

  The youth’s life, Adam thought, feeling mildly irritated, was not so much a book as a pamphlet. He had no past successes to talk about and his future wasn’t looking too bright.

  ‘Well, I’d better not keep the lady waiting,’ he murmured, beginning to back away.

  She was lying on her stomach on his bed when he entered the room. He locked it carefully behind him and put the key under his pillow. Reaching under her unconscious body, he unbuttoned her pencil skirt and pulled it down and off. She was wearing a white thong, a garment which he’d always hated, and now removed with equal haste. Her clingy top was harder to take off but he persisted with patience, determined not to tear anything. Her clothes had to be undamaged in case this ever went to court.

  ‘That’s it, sweetheart. You want me to feel your pretty breasts.’ He murmured encouragement as he unclipped her bra, knowing that people sometimes remembered things which had been said to them when they were borderline conscious. He kept up the chatter, giving the impression that this was consensual sex – the words might permeate her psyche, make it impossible for her to eventually cry rape. His job was to cause confusion, to make her doubt herself. Fortunately, most women were awash with uncertainty.

  When she was naked, he sat back and enjoyed the view. Her smooth back curved into a small waist then swelled out at the hips. Her thighs were larger than he liked but without a trace of cellulite. The wisps of pubic hair that he could see indicated that she wasn’t a natural blonde. Kneading her buttocks, he felt and saw himself grow hard, realized that it was time to fetch the lubricant.

  Either she’d done it up the chocolate freeway before or the drug had loosened her muscles: sometimes it did that. He certainly wasn’t complaining as he slid all the way in. She moaned and he murmured, ‘You like it that way, don’t you sweetheart? Oh yes you do. I can tell.’ Leaning forward, he reached under her and palmed her breasts, thrust harder. He was going to come quickly but that was fine; after all, they had the rest of the night and tomorrow, locked together in his room. Fortunately the drug caused urinary retention so she wouldn’t need to use the loo.

  He’d have to let her phone her mum in the morning, of course, to reassure the older woman that she was alright. He’d give her his new pay-as-you-go mobile – to be disposed of later – which had no connection with his name and address. After she’d told mummy dearest that she was staying with a friend, he’d bring her a cup of tea, doctored with a heavy dose of tranquillizers. Valium was only a tenth of the strength of Rohypnol, but it would do. She’d return to the twilight zone whilst he fucked her again; sometimes, he got so excited with his virtual sex slaves, that he climaxed a third time. And, much later, he came again and again at the memory.

  He’d arrange things so that he was back in Bristol by the time that the sedatives were wearing off, would take her to her door and promise to call her on Monday. Sometimes he did call, just to keep the pretence going, but always found a reason not to see the girl again. There were lots of girls like her, with only their looks to offer. They lacked ambition and humour and intellect.

  He orgasmed with his usual loud shout, crying out into her hair. She moaned again but remained immobile. After a few moments, his penis shrivelled and slipped out of her, so he moved back to what he always thought of as his side of the bed. He also rolled her onto her side: he didn’t want her sinking deeper into the pillow during the night and perhaps suffocating herself.

  ‘Let’s get some sleep, Kylie,’ he said gently. ‘We can have a lot more fun tomorrow morning.’

  Well, he would at any rate.

  SIX

  Did women orgasm more quietly than men? John lay on his bed and listened as Adam let out his trademark shout but it wasn’t followed – or preceded – by his partner’s climax. Yet, in the porn he’d watched and in the self-help books on love that he’d read, he’d been given the impression that women came hard and long. Was that Adam’s one failing, that he was poor in bed or a selfish lover? Sometimes his landlord seemed too good to be true.

  Never mind – it wouldn’t be long until he took that much-lauded motivational course and would be primed as to how to start a relationship and maybe one day Adam would bump into him and his lover in the hall and would ask longingly if she had a friend. Not that he wanted a series of one-night stands – no, he longed for a caring steady girlfr
iend, one who might, in time, become an equally devoted wife. Had Adam gone to sleep, leaving his hot date unsatisfied? John fancied that he could hear his landlord’s legendary loud snores.

  He woke up in the morning to find that the lovers were still in bed; leastways there was no sign of either of them and Adam’s car was still in the driveway. Making the most of the midday sun, John took his book – a second-hand copy of the old classic I’m Okay, You’re Okay – out into the back garden and fetched a deckchair from the garage.

  He’d just started chapter three when he heard a noise, glanced up and saw next door’s Maine Coon cat on Adam’s bedroom window. A few slivers of stone cascaded to the ground and he tensed, afraid that the large animal was going to pull the sill away from the stone wall and hurt itself. The bungalow was an old one which hadn’t been particularly well maintained by the previous owner, a senior citizen, and Adam simply didn’t have time for DIY.

  ‘Shoo,’ he said, running towards the affable creature.

  Purring, she jumped down and rubbed herself against his legs.

  Belatedly, John realized that Adam hadn’t pulled down the blind, that he was staring into the man’s expensively-carpeted and beautifully decorated bedroom. A naked blonde girl lay on her side, facing away from her new lover, her features obscured by her long hair. He, Adam, was partially covered with a duvet and similarly fast asleep. Feeling unaccountably saddened, John returned to his deckchair. He’d hold his own girl all night, he thought, and would bring her breakfast in bed every morning. He’d remember every birthday and anniversary and would also buy her other presents just because.

  Not that he’d had any luck so far. In fact, he’d even been turned down when attempting to join a paid-for dating site. The message that the firm had sent him had explained that they turned down twenty percent of applicants because they were too unusual, would be unlikely to find mates.

  He had to find a mate soon or he’d die from lack of love, a sort of emotional malnutrition. He had to become more like Adam if he was ever to succeed.

  ‘What can I get you, angel? Tea and toast?’

  Adam put his arms around Kylie’s waist then pulled away; she felt oddly cool despite the sunshine blasting through the window.

  ‘Warm enough?’ With difficulty, he rolled her onto her back and realized the awful truth: she would never be warm again. Fuck, she’d only gone and died on him in the middle of the night, probably reacted badly to the Rohypnol. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  Leaving her in bed – and trying not to think about the hours he’d spent sleeping beside a corpse – he left his study, locking the door behind him. He showered, dressed and made himself eat the remains of yesterday’s curry; he had to keep his blood sugar levels high if he wanted to think.

  He’d taken Hannah’s body to Weston Woods but he couldn’t do that with Kylie as that would signify that a serial killer was operating in his home town. As it was, the police had stated that they were looking at Hannah’s past boyfriends and acquaintances: they were assuming that she’d been killed, as most victims were, by someone she knew.

  And he daren’t take her corpse back to her native Bristol, especially when he’d briefly parked outside her house last night. What if someone had seen him and remembered some of his registration number? The police might be looking out for a vehicle just like this now that Kylie had disappeared. No, he’d have to keep her here for a while until the heat died down and he could devise a plan.

  ‘Alright, boss?’

  He jumped and dropped his fork as John joined him at the kitchen table.

  ‘Just finishing last night’s curry.’

  ‘Worked up an appetite, have you?’ The younger man grinned.

  What? It took him a moment to remember that he and his lodger had spoken last night, that he’d mentioned bringing a girl back. He certainly hadn’t burned off any calories this morning, not being a necrophiliac.

  ‘Just a few,’ he said with an understated smile. ‘I think I’ve worn her out. She’s gone back to sleep again.’

  ‘She was out for the count when I saw her,’ John murmured then went very red.

  ‘You saw . . .?’

  ‘Tilly was damaging your window sill so I shooed her away and couldn’t help but see in. Sorry about that.’

  ‘This morning? We were probably both unconscious.’ He gulped as a little curry-flavoured acid rose in his throat.

  ‘Good night, was it? Where did you go?’

  To his chagrin, he almost said Bristol. ‘Bath.’

  ‘I went there once with the school.’

  I should care? He forced himself to sound friendly, normal. ‘So, John, what are you up to today?’

  ‘Oh, just hanging about. I didn’t make any plans cause I should have been on that course.’

  ‘There’s an indie cinema day on in town.’

  ‘I’m waiting for my new distance glasses, couldn’t see the screen.’

  ‘A dog show on the Beach Lawns.’

  ‘I’m allergic.’

  ‘An all day breakfast for three quid at that place on the Boulevard.’

  ‘I’m saving my money for the London trip.’

  ‘Have it on me,’ Adam said, going into his wallet and handing the youth a fiver.

  ‘You wanting rid of me?’

  ‘It’s not personal. It’s just that Kyl . . . Miranda is too shy to meet my flatmate, won’t come out until we have the place to ourselves.’

  ‘I could take my book,’ John said.

  No wonder he never got dates, Adam thought, when he read self-help books in public places. He might as well have had ‘geek’ tattooed on his forehead and ‘virgin’ on his chest.

  ‘Excellent idea. Well, see you anon.’

  ‘I should give you change . . .’ The youth started to search through his jeans pockets.

  ‘No – keep it.’

  Stay in the cafe drinking tea for as long as possible. Go, go, go, go, go.

  ‘You’re a good mate, Adam.’

  ‘And you’re a very good lodger.’

  He was, too – always paid his rent on time and normally didn’t pry.

  He waited for ten long minutes after John left before starting Operation Recovery, hurrying to the garage and emptying most of the bulk-bought frozen foods out of the chest-style freezer. When he’d finished, he went with equal haste to his bedroom, wrapped Kylie in a sheet and carried her quickly to the cobweb-strewn outbuilding, hoping that none of the neighbours were at their windows or peering through the hedge.

  Fortunately her body had remained pliant, perhaps due to the heat, so she was comparatively easy to lower into the cold depths, unlike Hannah who had been a challenge to fold into his car boot.

  When she was lying as flat as possible, he piled all of the food back on top, shut the freezer and locked the garage. Taking his key and the spare, he hid them both under a plant pot in his study, a room which his lodger rarely entered. Now no one could unlock the garage to rummage through the freezer and find a lot more than lamb chops and family-sized bags of green beans.

  He was sitting in the deckchair reading the Sunday papers (delivered at a ridiculously early time, as per usual) when John returned.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ said John, heading for the garage. He returned a moment later. ‘It was open earlier when I got the chair out but now it’s locked.’

  ‘Oh, I did that – the cat was trying to get in.’

  ‘Have you got the key? I want to get another chair.’

  You don’t really.

  ‘Have mine. I’ve got tons of work to do.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘’Fraid so. It’s one of the worst days for mental health. The vulnerable go to pieces when they’ve got time to themselves.’

  He went into his study for a while, keeping one eye on John as he sat, reading, in the garden. When he dozed off, Adam went into his bedroom and pulled the blind. The room smelt of sex and perspiration and, perhaps, of death so he put the duvet
and its cover plus both pillowcases in the washing machine then returned to scrub the furniture. He put his remaining fitted sheet on the bed and made a mental note to buy another to replace the one which the increasingly-frozen Kylie was currently wrapped in. It was proving to be a lucrative month for the local bed linen stores.

  Sorted. He was relaxing in front of the television with a beer, when John appeared.

  ‘Can I have the garage key so that I can put my deckchair back?’

  Damn him.

  Adam made a show of going through his pockets. ‘I appear to have lost it.’

  ‘Do you have a spare?’

  ‘No, it went AWOL months ago.’

  ‘I could break in,’ John offered.

  ‘Nah, I’ve been running down the freezer for a while anyway so that I can give it a good clean. There’s next to nothing in there.’

  ‘What about the deckchair?’

  ‘Just put it down the side of the boiler in the utility room.’

  ‘If the weather stays like this, we’ll need to get hold of the other chair,’ the youth said anxiously.

  ‘I’ve got a spare one in the loft,’ Adam lied.

  He must, he thought, buy another one soon in order to keep John from trying to enter the garage. Kylie’s corpse might be there for some considerable time.

  SEVEN

  Could his brother have had anything to do with Hannah’s murder? He’d wondered about that as soon as a news report had said that she’d been mourning the loss of her mother and sister, as he knew that Adam offered bereavement counselling. Apparently they were still hunting her killer and had drafted in further officers from Bristol to join the Major Incident Team.

  Nicholas Neave sighed and switched off his TV. He’d suspected for years that Adam was capable of almost anything. He’d seen the casual cruelty that the older boy had meted out to the family pets when they were growing up. Later, when his brother was a precocious twelve, he’d started to seduce the local girls and he’d seen their tears and disbelief as he bedded and then ignored them. His parents eventually had to fork out the cash to end three teenage pregnancies.