A Killer Came Knocking

by S. B. Caves

  ‘Well, that’s too bad. Because I don’t want anything to do with this any more.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Jack’s bushy eyebrows rose.

  ‘You fucking heard me. I don’t want anything to do with this any more. I’ve done my part, and that’s it.’

  ‘No.’ Jack shook his head, laughing humourlessly. ‘No, that’s not it. There’s more to do.’

  ‘Then do it yourself. You seem to have everything else figured out anyway.’

  She went to walk past him. He stepped in front of her, preventing her progress.

  ‘Your chance to back out has been and gone. You don’t get to pick and choose how much participation you have in this, not now. You’re in it until the end.’

  ‘I’ve done my fair share,’ she said, trying to remain firm, but couldn’t quite project the confidence she needed. She could feel hot blood rushing in her ears. ‘You seem to forget that it was me who got him off your back in the car park. He was going to kill you and I hit him with the hammer. If it wasn’t for me they’d be reporting your murder on the news instead of Morley’s disappearance.’

  ‘So?’ Jack shrugged. ‘This is a partnership. That’s what you were supposed to do.’

  ‘Can you move out of the way?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So now I’m your prisoner too?’

  He made a disgusted spitting sound and scowled. ‘You’re not the victim here, Emily. This isn’t about you. It’s about Kate, or have you forgotten that?’

  She opened her mouth to say something but no words came to her. Jack rubbed his forehead and said, ‘Look, he’s tied up wrong down there. I need to untie him and make it so that he has some movement.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Because if I don’t he’s going to end up soiling himself. I need him to be able to use a bucket. And besides, if he stays all cramped up like that for too much longer then he might get blood clots, you know, like how you get on aeroplanes.’

  ‘So what? I thought you wanted him dead anyway?’

  ‘I don’t want him dead before he tells me the truth. And I don’t want him sitting in his own shit and piss for days on end, because it’ll make an already difficult task that much harder.’

  ‘I don’t think I have the stomach for this,’ she said. ‘At first, when we were just talking about it, I thought I did. I thought I was tough. But I’m not.’

  ‘I know that now.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I thought you were like me. I thought you wanted to put an end to the torment.’ He stepped away from the door. ‘It doesn’t mean you love Kate any less. I don’t want you to feel guilty about that too.’

  She stepped toward the door in preparation to leave, and then stopped abruptly. She thought about their twenty-first birthday, when she and Kate and a bunch of their girlfriends went out to a nightclub to celebrate. Emily had just bought a vodka and Coke, and as she was leaving the bar, some drunk girl banged into her, spilling the drink all over Emily’s new blouse – a birthday present from Kate. Emily protested and found herself surrounded by a gang of girls, all screaming and shouting at her. And then suddenly Kate appeared, like a wild cat, forcing her way into the circle to Emily’s side. Emily had never seen Kate so fierce. In that instant she looked like she could have ripped the whole club apart with her bare hands. The girls sensed it too and backed down, fleeing to the dancefloor.

  Then a thought occurred to her, with such certainty that it heaped a whole new helping of shame and guilt onto Emily’s plate. If it was me that had been murdered, Kate would not think twice. She would kill him.

  She would do it for me.

  ‘What do you need me to do?’ Emily asked.

  ‘I have a nail gun downstairs. It jammed up on me earlier but I’ve got it working again. I just need you to keep it trained on him while I undo his ropes and then tie him up again. I’m gonna make him a leash so that he can crawl to a bucket.’ He looked down at his boots and said, ‘Just help me do this and then that’s it. You can go home and I’ll take care of everything else.’

  She nodded. ‘Fine.’

  They began downstairs. Emily noticed that Jack was limping as he walked. Madonna was singing ‘Lucky Star’ when they reached the oiling room. Jack turned the volume down a touch and then fished the keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and opened it wide.

  Morley wasn’t there.

  Chapter Thirty

  Snatches of masking tape and a tangle of frayed ropes lay in a bundle by the pipe. To Jack it seemed like an optical illusion he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.

  Jack felt in his pockets for the folding knife. It wasn’t there. When had he had it last? He had cut Morley’s cheek with it and then what? The doorbell rang and it was Emily, but what had he done with the knife?

  He had just remembered leaving the knife on top of the boxes when Morley burst out from behind the door. He charged over the threshold and tackled Jack back into a metal shelving unit, dislodging a stack of shower radios. Pain arced through Jack’s lower back. Morley brought his hand up and drove the knife toward Jack’s chest. Jack caught Morley’s wrist but still felt the knife tip bite into his skin. It didn’t sink deep enough to cause any major damage, but it hurt enough for him to scream out. Morley swung his other fist and connected with Jack’s temple. Jack’s teeth clicked together and a blast of pain boomed through his skull.

  Emily stood stunned, watching as Morley hurled Jack to the floor like a rag doll. Jack’s body bounced and slid across the floor, the knife still sticking out of his chest. He tried to sit but Morley was already there, sweeping a foot across his face. The trance broke and Emily’s head whipped around, looking for something to use as a weapon. She knew that once Morley had beaten Jack into oblivion – or killed him outright – then he would turn his attention to her. A whisper of déjà vu sang in her mind as she thought back to the car park, of how she had struck Morley with a hammer. She thought she had killed him and now look. He was like a bull raging through the stands of a bullfight. He was literally fighting for his life, and all at once she felt a hollow sickness inside of her, knowing that she would not be so lucky with him in the rematch. In the car park, they had the element of surprise; now, it was the complete opposite.

  ‘Stop it!’ she screamed. It was such a pathetic thing to say, something a child might say to her arguing parents. Jack curled up into a tight ball while Morley stomped down upon him with all his weight.

  The closest thing to a weapon that she could see was the old radio. She yanked the cord out of it, cutting short the static-crackly sound of Whitney Houston’s voice, and carried the radio over to Morley. She gripped the handle and swung feebly. The radio thumped into Morley’s back, but did no damage. Morley did not seem surprised by her interference. He swatted her with the back of his hand, his knobbly knuckles knocking against her forehead, but the adrenaline kept her on her feet.

  She had provided just enough distraction for Jack to get himself to a standing position, reeling from the culmination of blows. He yanked the knife free from his chest and lunged for Morley, but he was too battered to launch any kind of attack. Instead he lumbered into Morley, and they became entwined in a drunken dance.

  Emily saw tendrils of Morley’s greasy hair flapping from beneath the bandages and grabbed two fistfuls. He arched back, momentarily at her mercy. He started to regain his composure, bending his head toward the direction in which she was pulling his hair, when Jack slugged him. Morley fell back on top of Emily, pinning her to the ground. The immense weight of him was like a hydraulic press, flattening her against the concrete.

  Jack pulled his arm back, ready to drive the knife straight into Morley’s windpipe, or maybe puncture one of those gremlin green eyes. But at the last second, he folded the knife away, removed his belt and wrapped it around Morley’s neck, rolling him off Emily. Jack crossed his arms over behind Morley’s head, strangling him with the leather. Morley’s arms flailed and fought for purchase, searching for something of Jack’s that he co
uld clutch, squeeze or claw, but his face quickly bloomed with colour and he passed out. Jack let go of the belt and Morley crumpled to the ground.

  Jack collapsed, his back finally betraying him. He could feel the nagging ache of the knife wound, but the enormous pain in his back completely eclipsed it.

  The three of them lay on the ground in a triangle.

  ‘We’d better tie him up quickly… he won’t stay quiet for long,’ Jack eventually gasped.

  A second later, he fainted.

  When Jack regained consciousness, he heard Morley snoring. Jack’s entire back and neck were numb.

  ‘Em…’ he said, wiggling his fingers, thankful that he was still able to feel them.

  ‘I’m here,’ she replied quickly.

  ‘Can you give me a hand, please?’

  She leaned over him, her face waxy and pale. ‘What’s wrong? Can’t you stand up?’

  ‘I think I can, but I just need you to help me.’ He reached out a hand to her. She took it and heaved back, playing tug of war with his dead weight. He groaned as the numbness gave way to flaring pain. He paused for breath and then used the metal shelving unit to assist him the rest of the way. He touched the tuft of bloody stuffing poking through the hole in his body warmer and hissed.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ Emily said, blinking through her astonishment. ‘He stabbed you.’

  ‘Just a scratch,’ he grunted. ‘If it had been a couple of inches higher…’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He palmed sweat from his forehead, biting his bottom lip as his sciatic nerve screamed. He waited a few minutes until he felt confident enough to walk unassisted, and then fetched the trolley. He had the distinct feeling that the moment he bent down to load Morley onto it, his back would finally quit on him. Having no choice, he delicately crouched by Morley’s head and grabbed hold of him by the armpits.

  ‘His legs,’ Jack said through fresh sheets of sweat.

  Seeing him struggle, Emily used every ounce of strength she had to hoist Morley’s lower half onto the trolley. Jack’s face brightened to a feverish red as they picked him up, a thick vein bulging on his forehead.

  Once Morley was on, Emily pulled the trolley back to the oiling room with Jack limping behind her.

  ‘How did he get out?’ she asked as Jack uncoiled more rope and went about tying Morley’s wrists together again. Jack had to stop every few seconds to hiss from the pain, and as he hobbled or held his back to support it, Emily thought he looked very old.

  ‘I made a couple of mistakes. I tied his hands in front of him with… I probably shouldn’t have used masking tape. Normally it wouldn’t have mattered but I left my knife on top of those boxes.’ He flicked his head toward the incriminating tower of toasters. ‘He must’ve kicked the boxes, the knife dropped and…’

  ‘He could have got away,’ Emily said, raking her fingers through her sweat-greased hair. She didn’t have the strength to yell, nor could she summon the energy needed to give him the lecture he deserved. She flopped against the wall, her blood turning to treacle in her legs, weighing her down.

  ‘I know,’ Jack said in a low voice. ‘It was an error on my part. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘I just can’t…’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘Why’re we even using fucking masking tape and rope? I mean…’ A dull ache stretched through her ribs as she exhaled. They were probably bruised from the impact of Morley’s weight. ‘How badly did he stab you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jack said, working at the knots.

  ‘Maybe I should look at it.’

  ‘He barely nicked me. I’m telling you it’s nothing.’

  ‘Jack?’ He winced and looked up at her. ‘Can you do this?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry,’ Jack said, looping the rope around Morley’s wrists. ‘He’s out like a light.’

  ‘Maybe I do need to worry,’ she groaned as she breathed in. ‘He nearly got away.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jack said through clenched teeth. ‘I know.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was dark and raining lightly when Emily left the warehouse. She walked through the desolate industrial estate and found her way to the train station. She stood swaying on the empty platform, struggling for a deep breath.

  Her hands were shaking badly by the time she reached her doorstep and her key scratched around the lock until it slid home. She trudged upstairs, a new layer of dread enveloping her as she neared her and Roger’s bedroom. She couldn’t hear the sound of his laptop, which was strange, and the thought of him being asleep gave her a small pinch of relief.

  When she entered the room, he was awake and sitting on the edge of the bed. She could smell the alcohol as soon as she walked in. The stink of belched Budweiser hung in the air like smog.

  ‘You’re back,’ he said sloppily, without turning to face her.

  ‘Yeah.’ She kicked out of her shoes and began to undress, letting her clothes fall to the ground where she stood.

  ‘How’s Jack’s mother?’

  Wearily, she said, ‘She died.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Earlier tonight.’ She got into the bed, and when she lay down on the mattress, she thought she might be all right; she felt herself sinking, deeper and deeper, and it was lovely.

  ‘She died tonight?’ he asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

  ‘Mmm. It was sad.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s been a sad night. I just want to go to sleep if that’s OK, Roger?’

  He remained quiet enough for her mind to drift away, and just as she neared the precipice of sleep, he said, ‘You’re a fucking liar.’

  She hadn’t heard all of what he’d said, not in the low, throaty way he was speaking. But she caught the tone and that snatched her back to reality.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, you’re a fucking liar. You weren’t at the hospital.’

  Her eyes snapped open and she was wide awake. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You’re fucking him, aren’t you? Just admit it. I know the truth anyway.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Roger, I’m not in the mood for this.’

  ‘How convenient.’

  ‘I’ve had a dreadful evening, all right? His mum’s just died and you accuse me of sleeping with him? He was my sister’s husband, for god’s sake.’

  ‘Yeah, twin sister, so I bet there’s a natural attraction.’

  ‘You’re drunk and you’re talking shit. Go to sleep.’

  The bed springs whined as he stood up. ‘His mum’s already dead. She died when he was a teenager. Jack’s fiancée came by tonight and told me, so don’t bother denying it.’

  Emily pulled the quilt back and got out of the bed. Now she had no idea what was going on.

  ‘Are you gonna deny it?’ he asked, with a sour smile on his lips. ‘Go on, deny it like the liar you clearly are.’

  ‘What is all this?’ she asked, not quite ready to dig herself any deeper into the hole she’d found herself in.

  ‘I want you to stand there and look me in the eyes and tell me that you were at the hospital with Jack tonight. If you can look me in the eyes and say that, then I’ll have no choice but to accept it and believe that his fiancée got her facts wrong.’

  It was strange, considering she’d already woven a web of lies to protect herself, but she found that she couldn’t do it. Lying to him about her whereabouts had been self-defence, a necessary evil. But he deserved better than that. Then she felt that unmistakeable tremor in the air, that same one she’d encountered so many times before in her life in varying degrees of intensity. They were going to break up.

  ‘Fine. I lied,’ she said, and the air sailed out of her lungs. She felt herself wilting beneath his wounded gaze. ‘We weren’t at the hospital.’

  He straightened up, pinned his shoulders back. ‘So, you’re sleeping with him then?’ he asked casually, as though her answer made no difference to him.

  What alternative did she have? Ther
e was no other logical reason that she could offer Roger to explain why she was spending so much time with Jack. She was about to say that she was working for him at the warehouse, but closed her mouth again.

  ‘Roger,’ she began, his name little more than a brittle whisper. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘I just… away. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I see. Just like that? No explanation at all? Well, why would I get an explanation? You seem to keep everything so close to your chest these days.’ His mouth pulled into a pout and in that instant he looked like a scared little boy. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered, her voice thick with grief and exhaustion. ‘I just need to get away.’ Her hands trembled at her sides, the anxiety riddling her body, tenderising her muscles. A helpless scream was locked behind her lips, ready to leap out at any moment.

  ‘Without me? And there’s me thinking we were going to get our own place,’ he said with a derisive snort. He swallowed down a burp and shook his head disapprovingly at her, his distended belly pressing against the fabric of his stained T-shirt.

  ‘Did you really think that? Or was it just something we told ourselves?’

  Suddenly, he slapped his chest and yelled, ‘I thought it! Why do you think I’ve been saving like a dog for all this time? Look at me! I haven’t bought any clothes, I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been here’ – he spread his arms and stumbled, off-balance – ‘I’ve been right here with you because I thought you loved me!’

  She looked at the carpet, saw a pair of his socks that he’d peeled off and left on her side of the bed a few days ago.

  ‘I thought so too,’ she said. ‘I thought we could’ve had our own life together, I really did, but…’ But I threw it all away, she wanted to say. How much easier would this be if she could just explain everything to him properly? She was sick of always feeling like a horrible person, but this was the best way – the only way – to ensure he didn’t get caught up in it all. Their relationship simply wasn’t strong enough to endure the strain of what she was now involved in.