Stalked

by Lorraine Taylor

  To my surprise, the detectives returned after only about 10 minutes.

  “Where were you yesterday, Danny?”

  It was Dobson who asked the question as Jackson stared at me. I couldn’t read the expression on his set face.

  “I was home, I think.”

  “You can’t remember where you were yesterday?”

  I thought hard, then the answer clicked. “I went into the supermarket where I work to buy a kettle and toaster. I bumped into my supervisor who asked me to fill in a shift, so I stayed on. I clocked out at around 3.30pm. My girlf…Becky was waiting for me when I finished. We spent maybe an hour together then I drove her home”

  “Results are back on your mother’s time of death,” Jackson said, his tone soft. “She was murdered between midnight and 2.30AM this morning.”

  So the killer hadn’t lied when he said I’d have a firm alibi; I’d been at the hospital last night. I don’t suppose there’s a better alibi than that, except maybe actually sat in a cell after being arrested.

  “So you have a firm alibi for your mother’s murder,” Jackson stated. “Very fortunate, or well planned.”

  It was then I noticed that the roles appeared to have reversed with the two detectives. Though Dobson stared at me all the time, there didn’t seem to be as much contempt as there had been before that day. Instead, he looked rather intrigued. It was Jackson that now regarded me with suspicion.

  Jackson tried the friendly personality again with me, telling me if I needed help, protection, or just someone to talk to, then I should tell him the truth now.

  I shook my head and asked if I could leave.

  “Help me out, Danny,” Jackson said. “I’m transferring to another department soon. Help me go with a clean sheet.”

  I once again told them I was sorry, I had no idea who had murdered my mother and I asked if I could go home.

  Dobson asked for Becky’s full name and contact details to confirm she’d been with me after I finished work. I couldn’t see why they needed to involve Becky in this since they’d said my mother had been killed in the middle of the night, but I gave them all the details they asked for then they let me go.

  My mind was blank on the way home and remained blank as I unlocked my front door. Samson regarded me briefly as I entered my flat before turning to stare out of the window.

  Weary, bone-tired and on the verge of collapse, I went straight to my bedroom where I stripped naked and got straight into bed.

  I slept.

  ***

  I was standing on a field on a beautiful summers day. A boy was shrieking with laughter as he kicked a football around, his clean shiny hair sparkling in he sun. Astonished, I gazed at his face when he turned.

  He was me.

  Perhaps the other childhood I remembered never existed, perhaps this was my real life and that other was a nightmare.

  The conscious part of my mind, the part that knew I was dreaming ached with sadness as I watched my child self.

  I had never been this happy as a boy.

  Suddenly, my mother appeared. Healthy looking with long flowing hair, she looked beautiful. Young Danny squealed with delight and jumped into her arms as I began to shout warnings.

  Stay away from her! Get away!

  Young Danny looked at me, fear and uncertainty on his face. I watched in horror as my mother’s face changed. Her beauty disappeared to be replaced with her true appearance: her deeply lined face, her wild eyes ringed with black. Her mouth opened revealing brown and black teeth and her rancid breath took my breath away in my dream.

  Young Danny screamed in terror and struggled to get away from her, his body suddenly looking cadaverously skinny, his skin dirty and pale, his hair greasy and plastered to his scalp.

  Throwing young Danny to the ground, my mother raised her eyes and looked straight at me. I gasped in panic and fear as she raised a long bony finger and pointed right at me. Her hair stood out on end from her scalp, each individual hair writhing as if alive. Her eyes sank back into their sockets, the empty black pits suddenly glowing red.

  Young Danny continued to sob at her feet, but she paid no attention to him.

  “Bastard!” she shrieked at me. “Do you know how much money I’ve lost because of you. I’ve told you to stay out of this house!”

  Suddenly, the black belt appeared in her hand.

  Young Danny and myself cried out at the same time.

  “Bastard,” she shrieked again. She raised the buckle end and whipped young Danny, who was now naked from the waist up and curled into the foetal position. I felt the pain upon my own back, just the same if she’d whipped me with it and I fell to my knees.

  The pain was overwhelming as the belt continued to fall. Young Danny sobbed, begged and shrieked as angry red welts appeared all over his back.

  The belt fell and fell, whipped and whipped and I curled onto my side.

  Then, my mother’s face appeared above me. “No,” I whimpered. “Please mummy, I won’t do it again. I love you, mummy. Please.”

  Her red eyes burned as she raised the belt above her head. “Bastard!”

  “No!”

  I awoke bathed in sweat, crying and gasping for breath. I covered my face with my pillow and cried, cried tears for myself and for the pain I’d had inflicted upon me.

  I thought of the young me in the dream, curled up on his side, begging and pleading as the belt mercilessly fell over and over again.

  This is how it must have looked.

  How could any mother do that to her child?

  In spite of my heartache, I felt some sort of release. I didn’t owe her anything and what I’d been seeking from her was just not possible.

  I’d done nothing wrong as a child, and no matter what I’d done, there was nothing a child could do that was so wrong to deserve to be beaten, tortured, starved and left with scars for the rest of his life.

  I would never have to see her again, would never have to enter her house and take her rantings, her verbal abuse.

  She was gone. Gone forever.

  I curled on my side and sobbed, this time with relief. Though I felt somewhat better, my tears flowed faster and I whimpered under the onslaught of such strong emotions.

  I sniffed, trying to gain some control, when a warm furry body brushed against me and I gasped.

  Samson jumped over my back, landing near my face. Through my sobs I heard his purrs. He brushed his head against my chest and I reached for him. He responded by rubbing his head against my outstretched hand, nuzzling against me as his purr became louder. Petting Samson helped and my tears finally ran dry.

  No more. Past is past.

  I rearranged my pillows and Samson snuggled into my chest.

  Finally comfortable, I put my arm around Samson and slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A persistent knocking awoke me the next morning and I groaned. Samson still lay by my side. When I got up, he began to purr softly and stretched. I grinned when he rolled over onto his back, stretching his back legs straight out and looking at me.

  “Are you quite comfortable?” I asked him as I rubbed his belly. It seems as if our bonding in the night had helped with his personality. Instead of shredding my hand to pieces as he once would have done, he purred and went back to sleep.

  The knocking sounded again, reminding me that there was someone at the door.

  Because of my tears in the night, my eyes were swollen and sore. Not bothering to check my reflection in the mirror, already having a pretty good idea of how terrible I must look, I pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt and opened my front door.

  I didn’t even try to hide my annoyance when I found Jackson and Dobson standing on my doorstep.

  “Look, I did not sleep well last night. If you’ve come here to harass me some more, do me a favour and give me an hour or two to come around.”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “We’ve come to tell you that we’ve made an arrest regarding your mother’s murder.”


  That woke me up.

  I warily watched the detectives, looking for any signs of deceit or anything untoward, but both looked back at me with steady gazes. I stood aside to let them in.

  Both men appeared sombre and maybe even a little guilty.

  “A man named Gary Davis was arrested early this morning,” Jackson began. “We found some evidence at your mother’s house, suggesting he was there. Interestingly, his name is on a list of people interviewed when your mother was attacked years ago, just before you were sent to live with your aunt. He was at your mother’s that night and spotted by neighbours. Your mother never identified her attacker and no charges were ever filed.”

  “You think this is the same man who attacked my mother the first time?”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “We’ve also found evidence linking Mr Davis to the Sunnyside Killings.”

  Have you ever watched a documentary on snakes, the part where it shows you how they eat? They unhinge the back of their jaws so they can swallow large prey; I’m pretty sure that’s how I looked at that moment.

  My head swam with facts and I lowered myself onto the arm of my sofa.

  “You okay?” Jackson asked, sounding almost like he gave a damn.

  I nodded.

  Gary Davis. Was this the man had been contacting me? I had the impression that the killer was smart, organized.

  This just didn’t sound right.

  “You look stunned, like you can’t believe it.”

  “It’s a lot to take in. Who is Gary Davis? I mean, how is he linked to my mother?”

  Jackson cleared his throat again. “In the past they had a business arrangement. He was a regular client of your mother’s; he may have been her client again.”

  “Why would he be her client if he was her attacker all those years ago?”

  “We’re looking into it,” Dobson said. “From all angles.”

  “Why did he kill her?” I asked, directing my question to Jackson.

  “We don’t know, but he’s certainly capable. Davis is the main suspect in his wife’s disappearance two years ago. She left him after years of domestic abuse, then simply disappeared. We’re positive he killed her, but could never prove it since no body ever turned up. He was smart that first time, perhaps this time he’s slipped up.”

  Something was definitely wrong here. This could not be the same man who’d been contacting me.

  “Do you understand Danny? You’re no longer a suspect?”

  I looked at Jackson and nodded.

  “I guess we’ll never know what you were doing outside of Sunnyside Apartments that night, or how you just happened to be on Stymer Street last night” Dobson said, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I ignored him. I was no longer a suspect, that was all that mattered.

  “We’re working on the theory that Davis had some unfinished business with your mother and planned to finish off what he began years ago” Jackson sighed. “And that he tried to frame you for it.”

  “I’ve never even heard of him.”

  Jackson shrugged. “It’s the only theory we have, the only one that connects the dots anyway. The killings’ at Sunnyside, then the attack on George with the incriminating overalls left on the scene. We’re still waiting for DNA results to confirm it’s the blood of our victims, but certain fibres connect the overalls to the apartment. Then comes the murder of your mother. Davis would have known we’d establish the link between himself and your mother. Given our suspicions regarding his wife, we think he planned all this to frame you to divert all attention from himself.”

  I stared blankly ahead as snippets of my nightmare from the night before kept flashing in my mind’s eye.

  Was it over? Was it really over?

  “We’ll get going now,” Jackson told me. Both detectives moved to the door, then Dobson turned around abruptly. “You seen anything of your girlfriend?”

  I shook my head, suspicious of the question. “Not since the other day.”

  He smirked. “We contacted her to confirm your alibi,” he paused for dramatic affect, the glint that suddenly lit his eyes telling me this wasn’t going to be pleasant to hear. “She claimed not to know you. Well, she admitted to knowing you, but claims she hasn’t seen, nor spoken to you since leaving school. And she vehemently denied being in a relationship with you.” Dobson winked at me. “Seems as though you still have some major problems going on there.” He smirked at me once more, a real mean smirk that said he knew how much his words had stung me and that he was delighted at having the honour of delivering them.

  Then he turned and both detectives left my flat.

  ***

  I groaned and threw my mobile down onto the coffee table. It was easily the 10th time, at least, that I’d rang Becky’s phone. That she was ignoring my calls was bad enough, but now her phone was switched off.

  Why would she deny being with me?

  My mother, whom she knows I had only recently got back in contact with, is murdered, then two detectives turn up to question her and she denies being with me.

  I was furious, and hurt.

  She had to know that by denying she was even going out with me was going to make me look very suspicious to two homicide detectives who are trying to establish my alibi.

  Did I mean so little to her that she didn’t care at all about the trouble her lies to protect herself could get me in?

  Obviously so.

  I wandered into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich.

  They may have questioned her in front of her parents. Perhaps that’s why she lied.

  It didn’t condone it though, not in my eyes. If she loved me like she claimed just yesterday, then to hell with her parents finding out about us, she’d have backed me up.

  If I ever needed slap-in-the-face proof that Becky was not emotionally attached to this relationship, or me, then this was it.

  I’m done with her.

  I slammed the cutlery draw shut, my stomach turning at the thought of food in spite of the sickish shaky feeling I had.

  It’s time to find a decent girl and move on with my life once and for all, I told myself.

  I felt better, but not by much.

  The sugar daddy that has the young hot girl on his arm knows why. The rich man who is crawling in women who seem to adore him knows why. The man whose business suddenly goes belly-up and loses his money, then his woman shortly after, knows why. Women like that are easy to read.

  But Becky baffled me. She never asked for money, had told me many times that she couldn’t accept any type of gift since she couldn’t take it home and wouldn’t even let me treat her to a fancy meal and drinks. All she ever really wanted from me, all she ever seemed to crave from me, was sex.

  She was hot-to-trot, I believe is the way it’s worded. She was up for it anytime, and enjoyed trying anything that would please either or both of us. She was a selfish woman, but not in the bedroom and I had to admit that sexually, Becky had done wonders for my confidence.

  But did women use men for sex?

  Because she couldn’t have a real relationship with a man due to her son, parents’ and ex boyfriend, did she channel her energy into a sexual relationship without the emotional ties?

  Was I a ‘friend’ that provided benefits?

  Well, whatever I was to her, it was over now. I had let Becky get away with so much, but this I couldn’t ignore. The sooner I moved on and let it go, the better I’d feel.

  I spent the next half hour or so thinking of the killer. Did I believe that was over?

  No I didn’t, so it came as no shock to me when he called me that afternoon.

  “Hey Danny,” the killer greeted me when I answered my phone. “Feel somewhat better after your visit from the police?”

  I stayed silent.

  “Aw, come on Danny. I thought we’d bonded.”

  “You’ve set up an innocent man for three murders and one attack; what do you want me to say?”

  The killer scoffed, then spoke an
grily. “Innocent? The man is a killer who got away with his crime. His wife was innocent. She stayed with him, naively believing her love for him would change him, and she paid for that mistake with her life. Everyone knows to this day that he did it, but it could never be proven. The evidence I’ve planted will ensure prosecution. You should be happy, Danny. For a while there, I wasn’t sure whether to kill you or set you up.”

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, emotion causing my voice to quiver.

  “I think you’re entitled to lead a happy life, I think you deserve a happy life. And that’s what I’m giving you.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. Though, there is one loose end to tie off.”

  Dread stirred within me.

  It’s not over, it’ll never be over.

  “What?”

  “Your slut of a girlfriend.”

  His words struck me like a blow to the stomach. “You haven’t…you haven’t…”

  “You ever wondered why she doesn’t answer her phone and turns up at your place late then leaves early the next morning? It’s because she has a live-in boyfriend, Danny, the father to her son. They all live together with her mum and dad like one big happy family.”

  “Please don’t hurt her,” I whispered, hurting and angry at the revelation, but still fearful for Becky’s life.

  “She insults me, Danny. She’ll end up on one of those daytime talk shows. She’ll have you on one side and her boyfriend on the other, you and the boyfriend going after each other as the host reads out the DNA results of her baby to the boos, jeers and applause of the audience. She’s a filthy slut and a liar, no better than the late lovers’ Michael and Dianne.”

  I gasped in grief, my head bowed.

  “Trust me, Danny. You’re better off without the slut.”

  The killer hung up and I jumped to my feet. I grabbed the keys to my van and hurried out of the door. I had done exactly this yesterday and found my mother’s body. I prayed I wouldn’t find Becky’s today.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I sped to Becky’s parents house, praying that I wouldn’t get pulled over by the police for speeding. Reaching her road, then her house, I was relieved to see all was quiet.