The Stalker's Song

by Georgia Brown

  Suddenly he heard Carol’s tinkling laughter, and looking up, spotted the two women, one dark-haired, the other blonde, coming out of the apartment. He watched as they made their way across the terrace. Carol was wearing a white fitted top with a long flowered skirt. The outfit showed her curves off to perfection.

  By the light of the garden lamps, they began to climb the uneven stone steps at the side of the villa, both holding up their hems to avoid tripping. He knew the steps led up to street level at the front of the house. Spotting the open patio door, he thought to himself, Perfect, just perfect.

  Without hesitating, he scrambled over the rocks at the base of the cliff and climbed the rough wooden steps. After vaulting over a gate set into the low wall at the edge of the terrace, he hurried towards the open door. As he passed the table, he noticed the two champagne flutes and the remains of the meal. Spotting an empty Bollinger bottle, he thought to himself, The ladies have obviously had a cosy evening. Smiling in delicious anticipation, he slipped inside the apartment and found himself in a large, simply-furnished open-plan room,

  After taking a quick look around the apartment - it was quite spacious, with a huge bedroom, complete with super-king-size bed, and a rather magnificent marble bathroom – he returned to the main room and concealed himself behind the shutters to await Carol’s return.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The perfume of the bougainvillea was strong in the night air and I breathed in deeply, savouring the heady scent. I’d really enjoyed Fiona’s visit, despite the brief discussion about Jack. She’d been on pretty good form, telling the most outrageous jokes in her own inimitable way.

  Once I reached the terrace again, I stood for a long time by the whitewashed wall looking out over the dark mass of the sea, watching the lights of the fishing boats bobbing in the distance. Nestling beneath a small crescent moon, Venus hung so low and bright, I almost felt I could reach up and pluck it from the sky.

  My thoughts strayed to occasions when the sea got rough and huge swells brought waves crashing on to the rocks below the villa. At those times, plumes of spray would drench the terrace. Peter and I would stand by the wall and just watch the drama of the elements, laughing when the spray from a particularly big wave rained on us. Then at night, we’d lie entwined in bed, listening to the sea pounding in the hollows under the rock beneath the house, feeling snug and cosy in our cocoon. The high seas sometimes lasted for days on end, but once the novelty wore off, we longed for the waves to calm down again so we could swim safely once more.

  Oh, well, enough reminiscing for one night, I thought to myself, then with a deep sigh, I turned away from the sea. After clearing the dishes from the table and putting them in the dishwasher, I picked up the empty bottles and dropped them into the recycling bin.

  Before locking up, I looked around the lovely open plan living room with its whitewashed walls and simple rattan sofas, scattered with jewel-coloured cushions, and thought how lucky I was to have this gem of a place; a bittersweet thought now that Peter wasn’t around to share it.

  Oh God, Peter, I wish you could be here I thought, with a sharp pang of longing, as I plumped up the cushions Then, with another sigh, I went through to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of filtered water from a jug in the fridge. Taking the glass through to the bedroom, I put it on the bedside table and switched on the reading lamp. Hitching my skirt up bit and slipping off my sandals, I climbed onto the bed and propped myself up against the pillows, to Whatsapp Julia at home in cold old England. It would be the middle of the night at home, so I knew I couldn’t ring her, but I was suddenly longing to hear her voice. I contented myself by writing the message - told her I missed her and how much I was looking forward to her coming out at Christmas and that I’d booked a table at the Cliff for Christmas Day, where Fiona and Simon would be joining us. I wondered vaguely what Jack would be doing and fervently hoped he’d made other arrangements. I pressed ‘send’ after adding ‘love you darling’ then swung my legs over the side of the bed, plugged in my phone to charge overnight, and headed for the bathroom.

  I pushed the bathroom door open, groping for the light pull. Even before the door swung back, a sixth sense told me something was wrong. My hand froze in mid-air, as I stood, rooted to the spot, gasping in shock. A man was standing there, unmoving, his large silhouette clearly outlined against the window. As I stood, momentarily transfixed with fear, he spoke in a quiet voice.

  ‘Hello Carol, I’ve waited a long time for this.’

  With a moan of terror, in blind panic, I turned to flee. I hadn’t got very far when I felt his arms come round me from behind and a large hand was clamped over my mouth. I was struggling, kicking and trying to scream. He was too strong. He was big, much taller than me and solidly built. We were in the hall, just outside the doorway to the bathroom and he pushed me harshly into the wall. Pulling my head back with the hand still held over my mouth, he shoved his considerable body weight against me, winding me. My chest was hurting badly as I gasped for breath.

  Oh God was he going to kill me? My heart was thudding wildly and the noise of my laboured breathing was loud in my ears. My lungs felt as though they were on fire.

  I felt his mouth against my ear and could smell beer on his breath, mingled with an aftershave I recognised but couldn’t recall the name of.

  ‘There’s no-one around to hear you. Now be quiet and calm down, I’m not going to hurt you… just take it easy.’ His voice was soothing and vaguely familiar and after a few moments I stopped struggling, alert to what he was going to do next.

  ‘I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you promise not to scream when I do?’ I nodded and he eased his body weight off me a little and removed his hand. His arms were still tightly around me.

  ‘You’re hurting me…’ I gasped. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘I want you, Come with me.’ Gripping my arms tightly, he steered me forcefully ahead of him, across the hall, towards the bedroom door. My breathing was still laboured, my mind in turmoil. I was desperately trying to think of how I could get away from him. I knew there was no-one in the apartment above, remembering that Liz and Dave weren’t coming back until tomorrow. There was little chance of anyone hearing me. The doors and shutters were all locked and I knew that even if I got free, I wouldn’t have time to unlock any of them before he was upon me again. I realised with dread that I’d unwittingly locked myself in with him.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked again, trying to plant my feet on the tiled floor, to slow our progress. ‘How do you know my name?’ The pain in my arms was intense in his strong grip. I tried in vain to twist my head around to see his face. He didn’t reply.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I was whimpering in pain and fear. We were getting closer to the bedroom.

  Still holding me tightly, he propelled me through the doorway and flung me, face down, on to the bed. His fingers digging cruelly into my arms once more, I felt his weight on my back as he climbed on to the bed and straddled me. This can’t be happening. Please don’t let this happen.

  ‘I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you, Carol.’ he was astride me, pinning me down, whispering into my ear. I remembered the aftershave, it was Davidoff. ‘You’re mine.’

  ‘No!’ I screamed. ‘I… I don’t even know who you are. Why are you saying these things? Why me?’ I was desperately trying to identify the voice. It was familiar, but I just couldn’t place it.

  Bizarrely, he started singing, his lips pressed against my ear:

  ‘Oh Carol, I am but a fool. Darling I love you though you treat me cruel... But that’s not right Carol, is it? Unfortunately for you, I’m the cruel one.’ With that, he bit my ear lobe, hard, and laughed. I screamed in pain and he suddenly flipped me over, so that I was on my back and able to see him. Still astride me, he put one hand over my mouth, pinning my arms down with his other arm and his bodyweight. He was heavy, and I could barely breathe. His face was in mine and the smel
l of beer was nauseous.

  ‘Naughty, naughty. You promised you wouldn’t scream, Carol,’ he said in a sing-song voice. I could see his face then, and recognised him at last. I was astonished.

  ‘You? But I don’t understand...’

  He was smiling down at me. Oh God, I think he’s mad.

  He removed his hand from my mouth again and grasped my left arm in his strong grip. He now had me pinned down by both arms and his body was heavy on top of me.

  ‘I’ve been planning this for a long time. Since I first saw you. I’ve been watching you, waiting for the right time. Let me tell you what I have planned. I have to hurt you; I’m going to...’ he began to describe in graphic detail what turned him on.

  ‘No!’ I yelled. ‘Stop this now!’ My instincts told me to try not to let him see how scared I was, and I tried to sound assertive. ‘Don’t you dare do this. Get off me. Now. Get out.’ I was struggling, trying to get my arms free.

  ‘Bitch,’ he shouted. Then without warning, he punched me hard in the mouth. It felt like an explosion in my face and I could taste blood. I was shouting and thrashing about, trying to break free, trying to knee him in the groin. He punched me again, shouting,

  ‘Bitch! Shut the fuck up!’

  Realising he was out of control and that I was in grave danger, I stopped struggling. I told myself Don’t fight it. Just get through this, and stay alive. Do whatever he wants... Don’t antagonise him... I found myself praying Please, God, help me to stay alive. I lay there, hurting, terrified, but determined to passively endure what was happening.

  At that moment, I thought I heard a noise from the apartment above, and with the possibility of being rescued, I screamed again, at the top of my voice, and renewed my efforts to get him off me. He heard the noise too, and quickly smothered my screams, stuffing the corner of a pillow into my mouth.

  ‘You fucking cow,’ he said quietly. Then he leant over me, his weight pinning me down, as he stretched his arm towards the bedside table. Suddenly, there was excruciating pain and a flash of light in my head and everything went black.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Why did she make me do that? he spat furiously, immersing himself in the sea, rubbing frantically at his clothes, his body, his hair, trying to erase all traces of her blood. The bitch had tried to fight him off, screaming and struggling… just like the last one. What was wrong with her for God’s sake? It was all her fault. In the end, she’d left him with no choice but to finish her off.

  The weight of the stone turtle she kept on the bedside table was considerable, and he’d used all his strength to lift it high and bring it down forcefully on to her head. Blood spurted everywhere from a gaping wound on the side of her head. He was certain he’d killed her, although he didn’t hang around to make sure. He needed to get out of the apartment quickly, in case the noise he’d heard meant someone had returned upstairs. He crept through to the living room, unlocked and slid open the patio door without making a sound, and listened for a while… nothing. He swiftly and silently crossed the terrace, jumped over the gate and soon found himself on the beach.

  Once he reached the safety of the dark sea, he looked back at the villa but could see no lights showing, other than through the faint crack around the shutters in Carol’s bedroom. It seemed that no-one had returned upstairs after all. Thinking of her gorgeous body, he felt cold fury - what a fucking waste! Stupid fucking bitch! Having watched her and wanted her for so long, it was now all over, leaving him feeling cheated and frustrated.

  Splashing around, chest-deep in the salty water, he continued scrubbing at his head and body in an attempt to remove every trace of her blood. Suddenly, a voice called out in the darkness, asking him if he was alright. Realising there must be a fishing boat nearby, he ignored the voice and turned, swimming away from it as fast as he could. He was a powerful swimmer and kept going for quite some time, staying parallel to the coast. He eventually emerged from the sea, wiping his face with his hands. In the balmy night air, he walked along the coast for a long time until his clothes had dried enough to allow him to return to where he was staying without attracting undue attention.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Carol failed to arrive at three as arranged, Simon wasn’t surprised. After all, they both knew she wasn’t the most punctual person in the world, and Simon had often remarked that she would be late for her own funeral. After checking there were a couple of bottles of sauvignon chilling in the fridge, he watched Fiona as she added a vase of freshly cut Bird of Paradise flowers to the table on the terrace and stood back to admire her handiwork. She always liked the table to look pretty.

  As four o’clock came and went, and Carol’s phone continued to go unanswered, Fiona became worried and voiced her concern to Simon.

  ‘She should be here by now, Simon? It’s getting far too late for lunch. And it’s strange she’s not answering her phone; it just keeps going to voicemail.’

  Simon looked up from the newspaper he was trying to read, and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, she’ll be here soon, full of apologies. Something must have held her up,’ he growled. ‘You know what she’s like. Totally unreliable as far as timekeeping goes.’ He went back to his paper.

  However, by four thirty, even Simon was beginning to think it odd. He gave another big sigh. ‘I’ll give her another half hour. If she’s not here by then, I’ll drive over and see what’s keeping her. Ok? At this rate, I won’t have bloody time to eat anything. I’ll be too busy with the prep for tonight.’ He frowned, running his hand through his short, wiry hair.

  After thirty minutes or so, with still no word from Carol, he jumped to his feet with an audible groan, grabbed his car keys from the console table and stomped from the room, muttering under his breath, ‘Damn the woman. I’d better go and see what’s happened.’

  Simon was in a temper. He worked long hours in his restaurant and treasured the few hours leisure time he managed to take. He supposed he could have let Fiona find out what was keeping Carol, but he knew she liked to fuss with the food, making sure everything was just perfect. She’d prepared coconut shrimp for the first course, which had to be cooked at the last minute.

  He drove as fast as he could in the busy traffic, and after half an hour or so, parked on the roadside above Carol’s villa and made his way down the steps in the side garden. It was another very hot day, and as he descended, Simon could see the turquoise bay beyond the terrace below and wished he had time for a quick dip before going back. The Caribbean Sea had never looked more inviting.

  He reached the bottom of the steps and as he crossed the patio, he noticed that the sliding door was slightly open. Calling Carol’s name, he knocked on the glass, and when there was no response, slid the door further open. As he did so, he noticed some brownish stuff on the white wooden door frame and wondered vaguely what it could be.

  The living room was quiet and empty. No sign of Carol. He called out to her again but still there was no response. Feeling uneasy, he made his way tentatively along the short passageway leading to her bedroom, calling out to her as he went.

  ‘Carol, are you there? It’s Simon.’ Still no response. Strange he thought. He knocked on the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, then pushed it slowly open, a strong feeling of trepidation making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The room was in semi-darkness.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him as he entered the dim room. His eyes were still adjusting from the bright sunlight outside, and at first he couldn’t take in the carnage before him. As his vision cleared, however, he gasped in disbelief, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes could see.

  Carol was lying on the bed, motionless. She was on her back, arms by her sides, her top ripped and pulled up, exposing the bloodied white skin of her midriff and breasts. Blood seemed to be everywhere; on the bedcover and pillows and even splashed up the wall behind the bed. The whole scene was garishly lit by the dim glow of the bedside light. He s
teeled himself to look at her face and recoiled. The corner of one of the blood-soaked pillows was jammed into her mouth. Around it, her face was swollen and discoloured, drenched in dark blood. She was unrecognisable. Her hair, normally a soft blonde, was matted and dark with blood, almost black. He noticed a metallic smell in the air and was aware of the swish swish of the overhead fan. She looked lifeless and with dread he approached the bed, pulled the pillow out of her mouth and picked up one of her bloodied arms, feeling the wrist for a pulse.

  ‘Carol... Carol, can you hear me? It’s Simon.’ There was no response, but he thought he could feel a faint pulse. Remembering the first aid training he’d had years ago, he put Carol into the recovery position, pulling her limp body on to its side and making sure her tongue was not choking her. He’d never seen so much blood. He turned then, and hurried from the room, stumbling along the passageway and back through the living room, onto the terrace, where he knew he could get a signal. He took his mobile from his pocket and tried to key in 211, but his hands were shaking so violently, it took three attempts to hit the right buttons.

  ‘Emergency. Which service please?’

  ‘Ambulance... Something terrible’s happened... a woman’s been attacked... she’s in a bad way. I think she’s still alive... Please come quickly.’ He could hear his panic reflected in his voice.

  ‘Slow down, sir. Can you give me the address please?’

  Realising he’d been gabbling, Simon took a deep breath and made an effort to speak calmly as he gave the address to the operator.

  ‘An ambulance is on its way, sir. Is the patient conscious?’

  ‘No. I thought she was dead at first... but I think I felt a pulse... she’s covered in blood. She’s got a head wound. I’ve put her in the recovery position.’