Some One's There

by Diane Saxon

  Where the fuck was she? Just where the fuck?

  Shrouded in dark, he slipped in through the back window of Carla’s house, the old, loose frame not so difficult to prise open. Each time he entered, it was a risk, but he needed to check what he already assumed was true.

  She’d gone.

  Bolted.

  Anger seethed beneath the surface as he peered into each empty room, clinging onto the wild explosion of anger which threatened to destroy his iron control.

  On silent feet, he sneaked upstairs to check, panning the light from his torch around the darkened hall and into the bedroom.

  She’d taken the fucking cat. If she hadn’t, he’d have slit its fucking neck, skinned it and left it hanging from the false oak beam in her living room to teach her a lesson, a small one before the ultimate one.

  He clenched his teeth so hard, his jaw popped.

  She’d gone.

  Fury leapt out to put a stranglehold on his throat. Desperate to release the wild howl, he flung back his head and let it burst out in a torrent of frustration.

  ‘Carla,’ he yowled.

  Louder.

  Veins, muscles, sinew all stretched to snapping point.

  ‘Carla!’

  He bolted down the stairs and burst into the kitchen. No longer in control, he slammed on the light, oblivious to whether anyone could see the glimmer of it through the blind he quickly yanked down. He didn’t care. She’d ruined the plans he had for her.

  His wild gaze skimmed around for something to break, anything to throw, smash, destroy. He snatched the small bone-china coffee mug she’d used that morning and placed upside down on the drainer. The one she used for her precious fucking espresso coffee.

  He flung it with all his might, satisfaction warming his chest as it exploded up the wall, tiny golden fragments of china shattering over the floor.

  A small sense of gratification curled in his belly, but it wasn’t enough.

  He pulled his lips back in a snarl and whipped his head around in search of something else. Something to rip apart.

  Carla had OCD and never left anything out on the surfaces, except the espresso machine. He snatched it up and yanked the plug from the socket, lifted it to shoulder height and then froze.

  His breath soughed in and out to burn his lungs. His flesh tingled. The pain in his right eye stabbed through from his brain and his arms went numb as the migraine hit.

  He crumpled to the floor, electrical circuits frying in his brain, and every thought process melted away. He loosened his grip on the espresso machine and pushed it away as he sank his head onto his knees and waited. There was nothing else he could do but wait. His speech, if he tried it, would be slurred.

  Lights flashed behind his eyelids and pins and needles stabbed at his hands. He’d make her pay. It was all her fault. She’d put him under too much pressure. He’d failed.

  He kept his eyes closed, let out a hum to comfort himself as the gentle vibration rolled through his throat. A few more minutes, that’s all it would take and the ocular migraine would lift.

  With a pained groan, he slid over onto his side and tucked himself into a tight foetal position, oblivious to the passage of time.

  The iciness of the tiles soaked through his clothes and skin, seeping through to stiffen his joints and make it impossible for him to slip into a recuperating sleep.

  He drew in a breath and raised his head. The bright sparks of light had moved to his peripheral vision and he squinted through the darkened tunnel.

  The need to move, leave the house, sneaked past the fog into his brain. It was obvious she wasn’t coming back anytime soon, and he had a schedule to keep. He blinked his vision clear and stared at his knees, so close to his face.

  Nausea rose in his throat as he unfurled, muscles cricking in protest at each slow movement. Pain wracked his head, so he had no option but to hold it in his hands while he gathered himself for the next move.

  Exhaustion nipped at him, but he pushed against the wall and staggered to his feet, picking up the espresso machine from the floor. Through his brightened vision, he stared at his hands. DNA. What had he learned? Don’t leave your fucking DNA all over the place.

  He fished in his back pocket to pull out a pair of medical gloves. The pair he’d meant to snap on just before he murdered her. He wriggled his fingers into them and opened the cupboard under the sink to pull out her bleach and a cloth.

  The shards of her favourite mug scattered over the kitchen floor made his face ache while he swept them up, trying not to dip his head as each movement thunked his brain against the inside of his skull. He poured them into the sink and washed each piece with the bleach, then dumped them in her virtually empty bin, except for two used sachets of cat food.

  She must have taken off straight after she got home from her run. He’d pushed her too hard.

  Anger boiled just below the surface, but he had a grip on it this time. His thought process wasn’t fully up and running, but it was clear enough for him to step his way through the treacly mess he’d created.

  He wiped the tiny particles of glittering gold from the wall, stepped back to check his work, then sterilised every surface in the kitchen, whether he thought he’d touched them or not.

  By the time he’d cleaned the entire room, control slipped back into place. He’d made a mistake. He should have withdrawn instead of being cocky. He thought he’d pushed her to the edge, but he hadn’t, he’d pushed her over it.

  He flicked on his small torch and made his way up the stairs, cleansing every surface he’d touched – the bannister, doorknobs, doors.

  It wouldn’t happen again. Control was the key. He knew that now. Control of her, control of him.

  He made his way back downstairs to the kitchen, placed his hands on his hips and ducked his head as his mind, still sparking, focused.

  If he was to stick to his schedule, he needed to move on. It grated on his nerves to leave her behind when his heart had been set on her, but he had no choice. She’d return at some point, but it was time to look further afield. That’s why he had developed back-up plans with additional women scheduled in.

  He dragged his thoughts back into line and scanned the room with a keen gaze. It was done. He dumped the cloth in the bin, lifted out the liner, replaced it with a clean one and let himself out the back door, turning the key before he pocketed it and slipped down the darkened alley next to Carla’s house.

  Six houses down, he opened their red-topped bin, threw in the rubbish bag he’d brought and kept his gloves on until he reached the car he’d parked further down the street where it wouldn’t be noticed amongst all the others.

  27

  Sunday 9 February, 12:25 hours

  They made it so easy.

  He wriggled his fingers into his gloves and lifted the key he’d found suspended from a nail in her garden shed and let himself into the little semi-detached house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Covered by a waterproof coat, she’d thought it was safe to leave the key there, but when your trade was breaking and entering, it didn’t take rocket science to figure out where to look for the emergency key. The one you left for your neighbour to call to water your plants, feed your cat, check your mail.

  Have an extra key cut. Give it to the fucking neighbour. If you can trust them to come into your house while you’re away, you can trust them all the time.

  He dropped his backpack with all the kit he needed on the floor and scanned the small kitchen, curled his lip as he checked out the sink filled with greasy, cold water and dishes. Dirty bitch. It didn’t matter how long their hours were, they could make time just to rinse a few fucking bowls.

  He yanked the chain attached to the plug and watched the water drain away. It would be good to study her face when she realised someone had been in and cleaned up after her. He’d install the small camera he’d brought in his backpack above the kitchen window blind, like he had with the one in her bedroom before he got disturbed. He’d link it to his phone
so he could take his time and observe her.

  His blood heated at the thought of her long, naked legs as she padded around her house with next to nothing on.

  He stared up at the window blind above the small, square window at the front of the house. It overlooked nothing but the pathway up to the attached house next door providing the privacy he needed to complete his task. Middle of the day was often the best time in a modern, secluded neighbourhood where the neighbours were all professionals who would be at work. From mid-afternoon onwards, when they all arrived home with their kids, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be there. The risk was too high.

  Satisfied with his plan, he pulled out the small white camera and checked the setting. It was good to go. At full stretch, he reached out, but without positioning the camera slightly behind the blind, it would be on full display. It had to be inconspicuous. Espionage. He’d have made a good spy.

  He grunted as he leaned further across the sink, overextending to place the camera too far forward. His lungs burned as he held his breath and poked it with the tip of his fingers. It gave a precarious wobble and toppled over the edge of the blind, held on only by its flimsy base.

  Frustration roiled in his stomach. He drew the camera back down and stamped on his rising temper. It was fine. Everything would be fine. Control was all he needed. Control and a longer reach.

  He raised his leg and hoisted himself onto the bench, made a quick job of fixing the camera so it peeped out from above the blind. Unless she was tall, very tall, she’d never see it from below.

  As he lowered himself back on his haunches, his gaze clashed with the young woman’s directly outside the kitchen window. His pulse spiked, the shock of it stole his breath, so he froze, unable to take his eyes from hers. Surprise lit her features as she stood, one hand halted halfway in greeting. She tilted her head to one side and her brows drew down.

  Shit. Who the hell was she? It wasn’t Julia.

  She could see him. Identify him.

  He scrambled off the bench and made for the front door, slipping his gloves from his hands so he wouldn’t raise her suspicions before she could take off down the street or wherever the hell she’d come from.

  Fuck it. And fuck nosey neighbours.

  He threw open the front door, plastered a wide smile on his face as he tucked the gloves in his back pocket.

  Fucking woman.

  ‘Hi, I’m Derek.’

  Her long blonde hair, flicked over one shoulder, shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Petite and slender, she hesitated, her weight balanced forward ready to take flight.

  Fuck it.

  He stepped forward, holding his hands wide in a friendly gesture. ‘Julia asked me to fix her blind.’

  ‘Julia?’

  Fucking hell. He cast his mind back. Had he got the wrong name? He couldn’t have. If he did, he needed to brazen it out.

  ‘Yeah, Julia. I’m Derek, her friend. Didn’t she mention me?’

  Her expression darkened. ‘No.’ The woman’s jaw settled into a solid line. He took a step towards her and she took one back, wariness streaking across her face. ‘Why would Julia mention you to me?’

  Confusion rolled over him at the gritty challenge. ‘I dunno…’

  ‘I don’t even like her. Why would she tell me anything? All she does is bitch about the volume of my TV and threaten to call the police if she finds dog shit on her lawn. She always blames my Alfie, poor little thing.’ She never confirmed or denied whether Alfie was the culprit.

  The tension drained from him and he bestowed her with another grin, this time more natural.

  ‘I’m sorry you don’t get on. I assumed when you saw me, you’d think I’d broken in. I’ve got a key.’ He dipped his fingers into his pocket and jangled it in the air, taking the risk that she’d never been asked to call around to Julia’s and recognised the spare key from the tiny shed at the side of the semi-detached house. ‘I didn’t want you calling the police.’

  Visibly relaxed, she threw back her head and laughed, her throat a slender, white column. She wasn’t the right copycat profile, but his hunger stirred. He preferred a blonde.

  With sly delight, he moved closer to her. This time, she never moved back.

  ‘I’m not too keen on Julia myself.’ He shot her an engaging smile, he knew it worked on the ladies, he’d practised it in the mirror. ‘She’s a bit of a user.’ He shrugged. ‘But she’s my sister’s friend and she asked me for a favour. I was a bit stuck. I didn’t want to upset my sister. She thinks Julia and I would make a good item.’

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot before taking a step closer, a hesitant smile curving fine lips. ‘I can imagine.’

  He reached a hand towards her, palm up. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

  She laughed and stroked a stray lock of hair back from her cheek, her lively blue eyes flirting back at him. ‘I didn’t give it.’ As though she’d made up her mind he was safe, she stepped forward and held out her hand. ‘Karen, hi.’

  ‘Hi.’ He enclosed the coolness of her fingers in his hand and held on while he gazed down at her, treating her to his most engaging smile. ‘I don’t suppose you’d…?’

  Her eyes lit with curiosity and a dark thrill warmed his veins.

  Almost.

  He’d almost got her.

  Softly, softly, catchy monkey.

  He made himself tuck his hands in his back pocket, shoving the key in deep. He took a step away from her, shooting a self-conscious glance over his shoulder. ‘I don’t suppose you have time to give me a hand for a minute?’

  ‘Doing?’ Sharp, the woman bore no naïveté. She’d evidently been around the block and lost a great deal of faith in human nature. They’d probably get along very well. If he allowed her to live. Which he couldn’t afford to do now she’d seen him.

  To keep her onside, he gestured to the front door he’d left wide open, controlling the excited tremor in his fingers. She needed to hurry. It was a quiet neighbourhood, but every second he stood outside with her, he ran the risk of someone else seeing him.

  Without making it obvious, he cast his gaze around and shrugged. ‘I dropped a screw down the back of the blind and I can’t find any spares.’ He wiggled his fingers at her, nudging aside the quick escalation in his heart rate as he sensed her compliance. ‘My hands are too big to fish it out. Would you mind?’

  Suspicion lurked in her eyes. ‘Don’t you have another screw?’

  He snorted, injecting derision in his voice. ‘They’re Julia’s screws. It’s the last one.’ He lowered his head in defeat. ‘It doesn’t really matter, it means I’ll have to come back.’ He peered at her from under his eyelashes and shot her a regretful smile.

  She skimmed a hand over her curvy hip and then crossed her arms under her pert little bosom to draw the soft swell of them to his attention. ‘What’s it worth?’

  Taken aback, his smile dropped from his face and he frowned at her. ‘I’m sorry?’

  Now she had the upper hand and stepped into his space. ‘If I help you, because this is not for Julia, what’s it worth?’

  ‘Umm.’ His mind blanked out. Dear God, did the crazy cow want him to pay her?

  ‘Oh, come on, Derek.’ Her lips curved up at the edges as she gave a flirtatious flick of her hair. ‘Coffee, lunch… dinner? Get your act together.’

  ‘Ah.’ Back on track, he laughed. Greedy little bitch. Manipulative. She thought she had it all her own way. ‘We can start with coffee.’ He ran his tongue over his front teeth, leaned his head closer to hers. ‘If that goes well, we could progress to dinner.’

  She tilted her head and blinked up at him. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Even if it was a plan to get herself laid with someone who was a potential boyfriend of Julia’s. Evidently, the woman was an even bigger bitch than he’d first suspected. Perhaps he’d do Julia a favour.

  Anticipation rode high as he turned away, confident he’d tempted her enough. His chest squeezed tight and his
breath came in short pants as he curled his hands into fists.

  Karen followed him through the narrow hallway into the kitchen and never saw it coming. The backhander he dealt her exploded her nose. The blood sprayed further than he could have imagined over the grubby little kitchen to leave a speckled pattern over the cabinets, lacing up the greasy tiles.

  Her round arse hit the floor with a neat little slap, and he yanked her lightweight body up again so he could administer another blow, splitting her lip this time. Her head lolled to one side and her eyes rolled backwards in a dead faint as he hit her harder than he’d intended.

  Irritated with the ease with which he’d managed to knock her out, he towered over her, feet either side of her body. His blood pumped fast and furious through his veins as he glanced out of the window at the empty street. Shit, if anyone came by, they would see.

  He yanked down the blind, spun around and raced out of the kitchen to slam the front door before any other nosey bitches came to see what was happening.

  He strode back into the kitchen, his skin buzzing with excitement.

  He stared at the inert body.

  More. He wanted more than the mere satisfaction of an easy kill. The bitch had spoiled all his plans for Julia, but right now he had someone he could take his frustration out on. If only she’d have the decency to wake up.

  He hauled her up again by the ugly green designer hoody and whipped the zipper down. Her head cracked on the floor with a satisfying thunk as he wrenched off her thin T-shirt and let her flop back, determined to see those breasts she’d deliberately flaunted at him. Breasts he revealed as he stripped the tarty pink lace bra from her and flung it on top of her hoody and T-shirt.

  The desire to see fear in her eyes had him slapping her across the cheek. ‘Wake up, you bitch. Wake up.’ He slapped her again, the sharp sound filling the little kitchen but not satisfying his bloodlust while she remained motionless. He needed her awareness, longed to watch fear fill her eyes.

  With plenty of time before Julia was due home at 6.00 p.m., he knelt by Karen’s side as the red curtain of hate closed around him. His pulse pounded like a runaway train, until no other thought could squeeze through. He wrenched her Lycra leggings and knickers from short, shapely legs and sat back on his haunches to wait, his breath soughing through burning lungs as desire buzzed through his veins to set his skin on fire.