The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  The boarded flats loomed, desolate and soulless, all of the entry points covered with solid metal grids. However, one window was covered in zig-zags of slatted wooden panels like a nonsensical puzzle. Leaning back against the cool metal of the gridded door, Layla scanned the balcony for signs of movement before yanking the huge metal bolt and tugging at the padlocked chain. It wouldn’t budge. Next, she turned her attention to the crisscross pattern of wooden panels. She ran her hand along the rough wood and dug her fingers between the slats with urgent prods and probes. She cursed at the raw crack and rip of her fingernail and cursed again as she sucked on her throbbing finger. She pulled it from her mouth with an intake of breath as the cool air stung the exposed tender skin beneath the hanging scarlet painted fingernail. Squinting, she examined the mess left beneath and began the painful process of digging out the visible splinters embedded under her skin.

  Wood rubbed against wood, and the creak of resistant nails caused her to squeal, a high, short, and alien sound. As the slats opened upwards as a whole unit, the tingle erupted into an electric current that jumpstarted her heart into overdrive. For once, she listened to inbred instinct and backed away until she felt the balcony at her back, then inched her way to the far end. On hands and knees, she hid around the next corner of the balcony wall and peaked back towards the empty buildings.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t Charlie who emerged from the open hole in the wall. She squinted into the gloom of the ill-lit passageway and watched as the figure climbed through the opening with cat-like agility and straightened to his full height, which she estimated as over six foot. She clamped shaking hands over her mouth as he looked her way. The last involuntary squeal had been a slip up. It wouldn’t happen again. Recognition of the figure came to her in an instant. It was the bloke living with the caretaker. He’d caused quite a stir when he turned up on the estate—returned, some of the older residence whispered between themselves. She hadn’t given much thought to the gossip. She was definitely more interested in his looks, and, if pushed, she might admit to developing X-rated fantasies involving the two of them in her mind. Now the thought of their meeting under these circumstances had her clawing at the buttons around the neck of her blouse as heat crept from her collarbone and flamed her cheeks. A tame swish of breeze conjured by the flap of her fingers in front of her face did little to help, although it had given her a moment to ask herself what the man was doing inside the boarded flat after dark. After some thought, she shrugged and answered her own question. He’d been doing work in some of the maisonettes. In fact, she’d deliberately smashed the fire alarm in the hope he’d be called to replace it, but instead her dad had just shrugged and said they’d another somewhere in the loft. He hated strangers in his home. She should have known he’d not report the damage or replace the alarm. So, far from spending the morning ogling the repairman, she’d instead put the family’s lives at risk.

  Layla was unsure of how long she waited after the man left, but it was ten o’clock by the time curiosity got the better of her. The theme tune of the News at Ten rang from the nearest occupied home as she stood with a wobble on numb legs and shook them out one at a time until feeling began to creep up from her toes. She ran back to the window, feet bare, and flinched at the feel of cold concrete on the soles of her feet. This time, she ran her fingers along the underside of the bottom panel until they hit a metal latch.

  “What ya doin’?” The familiar voice cut through her, and she spun, pulled back her arm, and punched Charlie hard in the chest.

  “Hell! Don’t creep up on people like that,” she screamed at his bowed head. “You scared me shitless.”

  He grabbed both her flailing arms and forced her back against the door. The side of her face twisted and pressed against the jagged edge of the wooden slats.

  “Thought I’d told you to stay away.”

  Layla balked at the stench of garlic as his hot breath hit her face. White hot fire shot through her jaw as the tip of a rusted nail left circular gash. Layla struggled, and tried to pull away from his vice-like grip. Pushed further into the protruding wood, tears threatened, and she bit down on the fleshy side of her mouth and tried to ignore the drool escaping the side she could no longer feel. If only she’d kept her stilettos on, she thought, as in one swift move she rose her knee and pounded her heel onto the top of his foot and then his shin. It was the unexpected rather than the move itself that caught Charlie off-balance. As he toppled back, she raised her knee higher, broke free from his grip, and watched as he doubled over. Then she ran.

  Once she’d put enough distance between them, she turned, continued to walk backwards, and shouted. “Keep your hands off me, you bastard. I’ll go where I wanna go. I ain’t one of those slags you can knock about.”

  Streams of abuse followed as she made her escape. She wasn’t stupid. There would be consequences, but the more time and space she put between them, the more her actions would be like yesterday’s news and the less severe the punishment. She slowed as she backed up past the last front door on this side of the balcony and froze as vine-like limbs entwined her arms to her side in a tight hold. Unsure of who had caught her in their trap, she flinched as he grabbed a breast with his wart decorated hand. Her blouse was no shield as his sharp fingernails gauged her skin. Tears pricked her eyes.

  “Keep still and shut up. You’ve been asking for this.” Layla choked back a sob. She recognised the voice even though it cracked with excitement as she continued to struggle. Rattler, that was his name. She doubted it was a family name, just a nickname he’d gained and probably not for his charms. Unwelcome flames danced from her nerve endings as he clamped her nipple between his fingers. She wriggled and squirmed in his suffocating embrace. With each movement, his sinewy arms clung to her like a leech. She flopped like a rag-doll in his arms as he dug a knee into the back of her legs and concertinaed onto the cool concrete passageway. Stale beer breath induced a dry wretch as he leaned over her fallen body.

  “Looks like you’ve really pissed Charlie off this time.” He nodded towards the bent figure on the opposite balcony, still clutching his knees. Layla felt Rattler’s fingers in her hair, he wrapped it around his hand once, twice, then with a yank that brought water to her eyes, he lifted her to her feet as she clenched the roots of her hair with both hands.

  Charlie stared at her across the balcony, a smirk on his face that tightened her stomach and quickened her pulse. Trouble was not a new concept to Layla. Her chance of escape was slim, and although Rattler was lanky and skinny, his strength was deceptive. As if reading her mind, Rattler tightened his grip around her body with one hand and grabbed her crotch with the other. For the first time, Layla couldn’t mute her scream.

  “That’s more like it, girl. We’re gonna have some fun. Prick tease.”

  She fought against him with every breath of fight in her body, but he just drew her closer. His bulge dug into her tense buttock. The stench of his breath overwhelmed her, and white spots darted in front of her eyes. He covered her mouth and nose with his filthy fingers while he assaulted her neck and ears with his tongue. He lifted her feet onto his and danced with her towards Charlie, like lovers enjoying the final waltz. Each time she gasped for breath, Rattler opened his fingers just enough for her to inhale. Then he sank his teeth into her earlobe, he ripped her earring from her ear and spat it to the floor. Layla slipped from his hold, slid to the floor, and heaved. A bile based vomit just missed Rattler’s grubby trainer as it made contact with her cheekbone. If she curled into a small enough ball and stayed dead still, she hoped they’d get fed-up and find another form of entertainment.

  “Show this bitch how to behave. She’s all yours for the next half hour. Have fun.” Charlie passed Rattler and slipped something into his back pocket before he patted his back. Layla caught the glint of metal as Rattler bounced the knife from one hand to the other. His smile widened as he drew the blade across his palm and squeezed globules of blood onto Layla’s distraught face.


  “She won’t misbehave again, Chaz. That’s a promise.”

  Layla made one last frugal attempt to escape as her boyfriend’s footsteps disappeared into the night.

  35

  Tanya giggled as Frank’s stomach grumbled for the third time in as many minutes.

  “Surely you’re not hungry again?” She nudged him in the side. “Not after the size of the lunch you ate in the canteen.”

  “I didn’t get to eat it all. Remember? You dragged me away. And I always save the best bit ’til last.”

  Tanya grinned. “I’m sure I don’t know where you put it all.”

  “I’m a growing lad, y’know.” He rubbed his stomach. The radio crackled, and he leaned across the dashboard to answer. The crackle distorted the speaker, and Tanya had to strain to hear snippets of the conversation. She heard Fennick Estate, shook her head and waggled her finger at her companion, who ignored her gestures.

  “I suppose we’re close. Why? What’s going on there?”

  “…disturbance, anonymous caller…boarded flats. Can you follow up?”

  “No problem. On our way.” He slipped the radio back in its cradle and tried to ignore the frown on his colleague’s forehead.

  “They do a mean fish ’n’ chips in the parade of shops on the Fennick.”

  Tanya gritted her teeth and completed a three point turn with precision.

  “Only saying,” he added as she drove on in silence.

  36

  She was scared. A coward. Terrified, it seemed, of everything, especially speaking to the police. However, it was preferable to the thought of another encounter with Chaz and his cronies. Next time she might not be so fortunate. For the first time since Tyler had last paid her an unexpected visit, she felt vulnerable. She lived alone, surrounded by empty maisonettes with a deaf old dear her nearest neighbour. That’s what she’d told them when she’d phoned, the truth. She just imagined a pretty young telephonist noting her address and yawning as she told her tale. After all, Fennick Estate. What did the tenants expect?

  Josie’s body jumped in time to the upbeat ringtone that bounced off each wall. She had no choice but to open her eyes and take a first glance at her surroundings since she’d hidden, crouched under the stairs behind oak look draws which housed a lamp and bowl where keys lived. She clenched her teeth and fumbled in her pockets, released the phone, and answered without looking at the screen.

  “Josie. Finally. It’s Olivia. Olivia Devine. Open the door, will you?”

  Instead, Josie tugged her legs closer to her body into a tight ball. She heard the letterbox squeak, then spring shut with a bang.

  “Josie. I need you to come to the door. It’s important I see you’re safe.” Seconds ticked like the insistent peck of a woodpecker at her temple. “Josie, can you hear me?”

  A muffled inaudible growl escaped her lips as she uncoiled and dragged her body forwards. At full stretch from sitting, her fingers trembled with each shift of the bolt and rattle of the chain as she fought the desire to scoot back under the stairs. Olivia sidled through the tight gap between the door and the outside world, kneeled, wrapped her arms around Josie’s shoulders, and held her close until trembles decreased.

  Relaxed into the corner of the settee, wrapped in a throw, Josie sat hypnotised by the twirl of steam as it escaped the coffee cup. The aroma tickled the back of her throat, but rather than take a sip, she preferred to take comfort in the warmth of the cup in her ice cold hands.

  An abrasive rap on the front door and both ladies were awakened from the silent calm around them.

  “Open up. Liv, on three this door's coming down.”

  Olivia began to unlock the door in time to see Albie’s leg raised ready to kick the door inwards.

  “Why the hell are you here?”

  Without a word of acknowledgement, Albie barged past her through the partially open doorway. Olivia raised her arms and backed away, but Albie lunged, gripped her upper arms and shook her. Fingers tightened as she struggled from his restraint but without release. Instead she was dragged closer.

  The silence they’d cherished before the intrusion settled over them as Albie slowed his breathing and loosened his grip on Olivia. He watched, fascinated, as her pupils shrank, the tension left her shoulders, and her mouth relaxed.

  Olivia rubbed the top of her arms to numb the pain from his fingertips with a frenzied build up of warmth.

  “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you. You’ve got no right to…” Olivia stammered and tears pricked the corner of her eyes. She pointed towards the living room.

  “Instead of acting all manic with me, you should interview Josie.”

  He stood for a few moments and stared at her long auburn tinted hair which hung like a drawn curtain hiding her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead shook his head and walked into the living room.

  Josie hadn’t moved from the spot on the sofa. She still cupped the mug in both hands and waited as he perched on the seat near her bent knees before edging further into the corner. In the harsh light of the uncovered bulb, Josie’s pale skin had the translucent look of tracing paper, and her hair was only one shade darker. Dark circles under her eyes had swelled into small bags, and red rims tattooed her pale blue eyes.

  Albie forced his mouth into what he hoped was a concerned smile. Even he was surprised by the mellow tone of his voice. “Josie, you called and asked for me?”

  Josie took a sip from the mug.

  “It was reported that you sounded distressed.” Albie took in the uncluttered surroundings. Apart from the tatty sofa, the armchair where Olivia now sat, her head still bowed, the telly, and a few toys, the room was empty.

  “It was nothing really.” She placed her cup on the floor, fiddled under the sleeve of her jumper, and blew her nose on a scrunched up tissue before stuffing it back. Albie counted to eight before she broke the silence again, pleased to have implemented the count to ten before speaking strategy Tanya had given him that morning. Or was it to count to ten before losing your shit? Either way it had just worked.

  “It was just a few teenagers from the estate.” He leaned in closer to catch her whisper.

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head grabbed for the tissue and dabbed her eyes. “Like I said, nothing really.”

  Olivia’s hand enclosed her own with a quick squeeze. “It’s okay to tell him. He’s here to help.”

  Josie nodded and continued. “One of them pushed me against a wall and threatened me. Then they followed me here and shouted things through the letterbox.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Threatened me.” She pulled the throw towards her face and fiddled with a loose thread. Olivia wrapped an arm around her and drew her shaking body into her side. “Sexually…he said he’d come back for me.”

  “Do you know this lad?”

  She shook her head. “They’ve hung around the empty flats for a while now.”

  Albie nodded and made his way to the door. “I’ll get some colleagues to take a statement and have a look round.”

  “He said he’d shared a secret with my slutty mate…” She choked back a sob.

  Albie stopped in his tracks. “What were his exact words?”

  Josie leaned so far into Olivia they looked like they were conjoined down one side.

  “It’s okay, Josie,” Olivia said as she stroked her hair back from her face. “Think carefully.”

  Josie closed her eyes. Her body shook as tears mingled and dripped from her cheeks. They made expanding dark patches on the throw.

  “I wonder if you’ll scream like her…? He said. Will I scream like her?”

  37

  Frank paced the balcony. He’d faced a number of difficulties in an attempt to follow his sergeant’s orders. To keep people away from both the outside and inside of the property was much more burdensome than he’d originally anticipated, and he wished he’d taken Tanya’s offer of help. So far, he’d turned away one council worker,
a young lad who wanted to play with the tenant’s son, the young caretaker, and the tenant’s father. The latter had been the most difficult to appease and would probably return soon. However, keeping Miss Devine inside the property was proving a real headache.

  “Look.” She closed the distance between them. “You can’t keep me here. I haven’t done anything wrong. Where’s Albie anyway?”

  “I’ve already explained this to you. I have orders to keep you in…” He paused to answer his phoned and turned his back. “PC Gibbs. No, not really, Sarge. Miss Jeffries is sleeping, her father’s upset. He’s waiting in the car. No, it’s Miss Devine. She insists she has to leave.” Frank Gibbs held the phone towards Olivia. “He wants a word.”

  “Hello? Well, guess what? I don’t give a shit. I’m going. Goodbye, Albie.”

  Frank waited until she’d reached the end of the balcony before he laughed. He had an image of his enraged boss when she cut the call. As far as he knew, no one had ever dismissed his boss without regrets.

  Frank leaned against the wall and fumbled with the switch on his torch, thumped it a couple of times against his thigh, then turned the intermittent illumination on the grimy wall opposite. Turning the flashlight towards the interior of the maisonette, he took tentative steps towards the closed doors at the end of the passage. A dart of movement at the edge of the light beam caught his eye. Images of vermin from a documentary he’d watched the previous evening were resurrected into his irrational thoughts to remind him of his fear of all things small and furry. Breathing deeply, he continued forward, frustrated with his annoying imagination. He reached forward with a shaking hand towards the closed door. Sweat beaded his hairline as he fought for composure. His skin, cooled and clammy, was sensitive to a draft from a concealed source that caressed his neck.