by Sam Herrera
There followed a long silence as Eve shook her head. I was gratified to see some confusion on her face, though.
“I’m going to bed. Oh,” she added, pausing in the doorway, “I would like to meet this new boyfriend of yours, if that’s alright with you?” I shrugged, nodded and watched her go. New country. New shit.
*
I collapsed on my bed, on my stomach, and exhaled, blowing out both cheeks. That was harsh. I reached for my own laptop. Daniel Harper, I googled.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. Caleb’s home had been the lair of The Manhunter, as the police called him. This guy had been truly sick. His basement and pine forest backyard, from the look of the photos, had been used as a hunting ground/charnel house. Using his good looks as a lure, he’d brought young women to the woods, set his dogs on them and disposed of the remains in his kiln. When he went abroad, to the States, he did pretty much the same thing: using his army training to hunt and gun down tourists, burying them in the woods afterwards. The horror story didn’t end there either: aged thirty-five, and still keeping well under police radar, he’d married an Englishwoman named Celia Leeds and had had two daughters: Caitlin and Kristen. She had died giving birth to Kristen. Clicking on Caitlin’s name, I found a real-life Norma Bates. She had been a daddy’s girl through and through. Taking his sickness and sadism to a whole new level, she’d turned her bloodlust onto children, claiming over thirty victims while marrying herself, a guy called John Grey, and raising a daughter of their own, Abigail. I clicked on her name and found a spark of hope in this grim, bloody saga. Abby had been the one who had blown the whistle on them, bringing both father and daughter to justice. Daniel Harper had received nine consecutive life sentences, later dying of a knife wound to the throat in an “inmate altercation”. His daughter had been committed to Broadmoor nuthouse. Shit! This was just too sick for words. Disgusting. So Redstone house had been a haunt for serial killers. Was it still? I doubted it. Caleb had seemed decent enough. But then, maybe his grandfather had as well, to many people. Ah, fuck. I dug out my phone and called Kyle, needing to hear from someone I trusted totally.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“You shouldn’t be calling me.”
“Fuck ‘should.’ I want to hear from you.”
“Why?”
“Why?!” I squinted. “You know full well why.”Because I love you. I froze as the thought came into my mind. It was true; it was breaking my heart to think of him facing that. “Oh,” I said, suddenly remembering, “I took a look at that letter.”
“And?”
“And I think someone from England wrote it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Maths with an S? Flavour and savour with U’s? Since when do we spell or say it like that? I mean, when you were a kid, did you ever have a mathssss lesson, go to a car park?”
“No, I guess not. Damn, I never noticed that. I’ve got this photo of the killer caught in the act. It sure looks a lot like me. If I get it emailed to you, could you make something of it?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know what.”
“You might surprise yourself. You sure have surprised me.”
“The words were there, just waiting for someone to find,” I smiled modestly.
“But you are the one who found them. Keep it up, Shirley Holmes. I’ll send you the photo. See what you can find.”
“Okay,” I exhaled, hanging up and, turning off the laptop, rolling onto my back. Poor bastard, sounding so hopeful. Who was I, a master detective? No, I was a schoolgirl. What did I have to offer? Shirley Holmes my ass.
*
Over the weekend, I went shopping at the local Sports Direct to prepare for track running. I needed to get out of the house anyway. One more silent-as-the-grave dinner between Andy, Eve and I, with the upcoming charges and my nasty suspicions about Caleb hanging over us like a stormcloud, and I would have gone insane. I browsed the racks of gym clothes and trainers, unsure of what really to look for. I knew, of course, that trainers were for running, but which were good? Which were bad? In the changing rooms I tried on a skin-tight, black tank top and matching jogging pants. I thought the look suited me, contrasting nicely with my white skin and hair, which I tied back in a ponytail to get a better look. I need some underwear to go with it, I thought, blushing a little at the way, way skin-tight fit. I put it back on, after finding a sports bra in my size, and was glad the look was now more modest and that it fitted perfectly. I even did a twirl in front of the mirror to view the end result from all angles. Maybe I would show Aunt Sarah.
KYLE
“‘Ere comes the mastodon,” Dave smirked, seeing the now-clearly pregnant Sarah doing her drinks rounds. “Should she be doing that in her condition?”
“She can still walk.”
“Really? I’m surprised, carrying all that weight around.”
“You’re talking about my unborn child; show some respect.”
“Oookay. Do you know what it is?”
“A boy,” I smiled, nodding.
“Aw, fuck, another one of you.” I flipped him off as we went back to scanning the crowd. I thought that Dave had a point. I had been against Sarah coming here, knowing how dangerous it was. But she had insisted. “If you’re going to be dodging knives and shit, there’s no way in hell I’m just staying at home all day and night.”
We headed back home in the early hours, well and truly beat; I’d been quelling fights, and Sarah had been on her feet, all day. “I’ve got blisters,” she complained.
“I’ve got strain in my muscles,” I sighed. “But,” I smirked, throwing an arm around her shoulders, “I have the perfect solution.
*
“Mmmm, this is heavenly,” she purred, resting her head on my shoulder. I sighed and threw my head back against the cold, hard rim of the bathtub, loving the feel and intimacy of her skilled hands sponging away the blood from the cuts I’d taken. I smiled as I felt myself stiffen under the water. She could do that to me whatever condition I was in.
“Come here,” I murmured, beckoning with two fingers. She moved deeper into my arms, all softness and warmth, and kissed me. How can anyone’s lips be this soft? I stroked her belly, enjoying the small stirrings my son made in response to my touch. It was a boy; we had been to the gynecologist and she’d confirmed it. “What’s his name, baby? We’ve got to think of one.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I just can’t think.”
“Try,” I probed, running my fingers up and down her stomach and then up to play with her right nipple.
“I really can’t think when you do that,” she sighed, her body moving in tandem with it, swirling the water. “Kevin?”
“One Kevin in the world is enough,” I smirked as our lips joined again. It was a shame we were too tired to do anything but cuddle and play around a little.
“Stuart?”
“Stuart Thayer? I don’t think so.”
“Phillip?”
“That’s…even…worse,” I told her between kisses.
“Adam?” I considered as her nimble fingers played with my shaft. I gasped as she gave it a squeeze.
“Maybe.”
“Michael?”
“Hmm, Michael Kyle Thayer. I kinda like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. We kissed and held each other. Our son had a name.
“Aww, who the hell is that?” I scowled, reaching for a robe at the sound of the doorbell. In a fine mood, I stomped downstairs with a worried Sarah wrapping a towel around herself and following.
“Who are y—?” I started to snap at the tall, moustached guy on the doorstep when I suddenly recognized him: Detective Franklin, NYPD. We’d met many times and had had many pleasant little chats. “What do you want?” I scowled.
“You were told not to leave America, weren’t you?”
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“Yeah, but I did anyway,” I grinned, closing the door in his face. I sighed as he started rapping again. I shot a resigned look at Sarah before reopening it.
“Kyle James Thayer, you’re under arrest for multiple murder. You have the right to remain silent…” He smiled at me as he carried on his spiel, bringing out the cuffs as he showed his perfect white teeth. I’d so often longed, and did long now, to knock out a few of them.
MARA
I smiled smugly at the British snobs, raising brows and looking down noses at me, determined to outdo them all, to spite them. Phillips was taking a bunch of us on a cross-country race in the Langdale Valley. On the bus I’d sat right next to my old buddy, Summer, and smiled broadly at her. Tight-lipped and fuming, she looked out the window, ignoring me. I gasped as I got off the couch and took my first look around. All around me was vivid green grassland and heathery, high cliffs in the distance. At their foothills were dark green, spiky pines and directly ahead of us was farmland as far as I could see. I had been to Central Park, but this was no park. It was the England I had read about in the travel brochures that drew in hundreds of my fellow Americans. I grinned as I rolled my head around my shoulders in the bright sunshine. The start of our track was unmarked, just a grassy path stretching out ahead of us. I flexed my quads and thigh muscles and bounced on the balls of my feet, wondering what Caleb was staring at.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothin,’ just like your new look.” I smiled as he walked down the line to a spot two people down from me, getting into the starting position. His sister was right beside me, scowling.
“On your marks. Get set. Go.” I began jogging along with the others, keeping up a steady pace. There were about ten of us, all dressed in gym gear. As we progressed, I saw some guy come jogging the other way. He stood by to let us pass and when I drew level, I saw it was Caleb’s father. There was no mistaking him for anyone else; he was Caleb, only with his daughter’s gray eyes and twenty years older. What’s he doing here? Working out just like the rest of us from the look of it. He was dressed in gym gear, there was a ring of damp around the neck of his T-shirt and he, like me, was breathing hard. He smiled and nodded at his son and daughter and then blinked a few times at me. Seeing I’d caught him staring, he quickly put on a reassuring smile. I nodded and smiled back as I passed him, used to it. Someone tripped me. Fuming, I glared up at Summer, getting a smug grin over her shoulder in reply as she raced on ahead.
“I’m good,” I told Caleb once he’d come back to help me up. I started racing in earnest, soon catching and overtaking them, picturing Summer’s smug face and recalling the poundings she’d given me for nothing. She was, so far, the leader of the pack, her red hair flying back behind her and her long legs propelling her forward and she was totally unaware of me. I drew closer and closer. Hearing my racing steps on the grass, Summer whipped her head around and stared, stunned, as I drew level and overtook. Sticking her leg out again didn’t do shit; I, thanks to Kyle’s intense training, was ready this time. I skipped, mid-stride, over and hit the finish line at least five yards ahead of her. Who’s smug now? I felt great, over the moon. As we were driving back for a welcome shower and the day’s lessons, I saw Caleb, sitting a few seats down with a sweaty shirt and a big grin on his red face, give me the thumbs up. I smiled and nodded, leaning back in my seat and wiping away my sweat. I found that I was liking his smile more and more every time I saw it.
*
I sat in Mrs. Smart’s office, later that day, nursing the swelling under my left eye. That fist had come out of the blue. The bitch that had swung it, Summer Grey of course, and a gang of others had just, again! jumped me, and this time they’d truly beaten the shit out of me. I wished Eve would stop continually yelling in my ear. I kept my eyes on the carpet and my grip, tight, on the armrests, feeling Summer’s father’s gaze on me, again, as the school princess protested about my manner, my accent and my shirts. I looked down at my plied-red shirt, wondering what was wrong with it. Bullshit excuse.
“Thank you, Mrs Smart.” I watched, nonplussed, as the two of them just left. The teacher and I looked at each other, puzzled, and then I left too, right then hating England.
*
“Hi.”
“Caleb, hi,” I smiled, watching as one of my adopted nation’s rare, yet undeniable highlights came in sight.
“I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh, any good?”
“You did great on the forest track.”
“Weeelll,” I smiled modestly.
“No, really. Stamina like that is rare. Wanna grab a drink sometime after school?”
I considered. “Sure, why not?”
“What happened to your face?” My disparaging look was answer enough.
“I told her to stop picking on you.”
“What a waste of breath.”
*
Caleb studied the photo I’d just handed him with a frown. It was the photo of the crime scene. I looked up at the latest story on the news: the killer had gunned down the Sullivans, broken into their house. But he’d been discovered by the elder son who’d been awake this time. He’d got his brother and ran. The killer had chased the two boys out of the house and gunned them down on their back lawn, but not before being caught on a witness’s mobile.
“It sure looks like him,” I sighed as I looked around the small, out-of-the-way Costa we’d come to. I had ordered the mocha cooler while he had a regular cappuccino. He handed the photo back and looked at me long and hard. “What?”
“You have a lot of faith in this guy, don’t you? Why? Who is he to you?”
“Like I told you, he’s a friend in the truest sense of the word,” I frowned.“I’ve known him since I was a kid. We’ve been through a hell of a lot together.”
“Oookay,” he said, wide-eyed, raising his hands in a “peace” gesture.
“Sorry,” I smiled reassuringly. “I just feel strongly about this. You’ve got some shit in your past as well, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel Harper was an asshole.”
“Yes, he was, I’m sure,” Caleb grinned. He took a long look out the window, which left me free to again study his freckles and long lashes, accentuated by the bright sunshine. I especially liked the russet-red streaks it brought out in his hair. I’d often wondered what it would be like to run my hands through it. What’s wrong with me? God! I was getting all dreamy. I quickly looked away as he turned his attention back to me, willing my face to cool. “So, he sent you this, hoping you could…What?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged, picking it up again. What the hell could I do with this?
I studied the photo long and hard. Something about it was bugging me.
“Oy, freak.” We looked up as a pack of skinheads walked by, sneering and rapping the window.
“Arseholes,” Caleb scowled, watching them go. “I’ll go pay,” he told me as we both stood up at the same time.
“Alright,” I nodded, sitting back down. I watched as he left, smiling as I recalled that he had dwarfed me when we’d stood just then. He must be what, six one? Kinda like Kyle. I froze then looked carefully at the photo. Kyle was a really tall guy; his head could have easily cleared the top branches of the tree he stood beside in this photo, but this guy’s didn’t. He must be only average height. Caleb frowned when I told him this and studied the photo carefully.
“So, what are you thinking?”
“That this isn’t him. It’s a mask or something. What?” I frowned, seeing he was looking very thoughtful.
KYLE
I sat in interrogation, listening to them drone on and on about yet more proof they had found in my house. Things that still made no sense to me, that meant nothing to me: the photos, the precise shootings, the air force training that I had and, of course, the appeals to my conscience.
“
Where’s my lawyer?” I asked when they’d run out of breath.
“What about her?” Franklin asked, shoving another photo in my face. “You know her? You do know her.” I stared at the photo, confused. What’s she got to do with this?
“Her you didn’t just kill: you planned her death very carefully. You went out to sabotage the brakes on her car, guaranteeing that the next time she took a drive she would crash. Didn’t you?” My mind suddenly began racing. It couldn’t be…could it?
“Charge him,” Franklin told his stooge over my head.
*
“It was awesome,” she gushed. “I was really going for it. I was just steady at first but then that bitch, Summer Grey, tripped me and that. Was. It! No way was she winning. No way. I was up and at ‘em, going like a bat outta hell. I caught up with her and overtook her, hitting the finish line at least five feet ahead.”
“Wow,” I grinned. “Tell me about this place where you go jogging.”
“It is beautiful,” she sighed. “It’s called Langdale Valley and it’s all high, lonely hills and miles upon miles of open country. At the feet of the mountains, you can see all these pine trees. I so wish I could view them up close. The actual track is like a path that winds around the farms and sheep pens. I tell ya the lambs are soooo cute.”
“Aw,” I grinned, wrinkling my nose. “How remote is it? Does anyone go there, at all?”
“Yeah, a few farmers and people like that.”
“But very occasionally, right? I would imagine that during the evening they would all be at dinner or watching TV and that.”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just wonderin.’”
“Kyle, I know you; you never just wonder. What are you thinking about?”
“Well as you’re becoming a pro athlete now—” I heard her chuckle into the earpiece. “It’s a damn shame the Winter’s gone. Especially with all the horror stories you hear of disasters and shit like that. We could still be going up against them like we did in Tokyo. Do you remember?”