The Stalker

by Sarah Alderson

  I’m barely eating anyway. I haven’t been able to get much past my lips since my mum died. But when I do manage to force something down, he controls how much I eat and of what. I’m light-headed, and the shadows under my eyes are more pronounced than the fading bruises on my face and body.

  In my dizzy state it’s hard to fight it. The thought of escaping him is too much: I can’t seem to imagine how to do it; I don’t have the energy or the clarity of mind to make a plan. And I don’t have anywhere to go to now, luckily for Liam. I have no friends and no family to turn to.

  Luckily for Liam. The thought rings in my head, circulating like the sound from a Tibetan bowl being rung. It echoes around my skull. Did he kill her? At first, I dismiss the idea, but then it’s as if it’s been planted in the weak compost of my mind and taken root. I look at him out the corner of my eye as he watches football on the TV. I study his hands as he picks up the remote and when he cuts through his steak. Did he push her down the stairs? Did he kill my mum?

  He was jealous of her; of the time I spent with her. And I have no shadow of a doubt that he is capable of killing. Sitting beside him on the sofa, pretending like we’re a normal couple, a shudder runs up my spine. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his body, and I feel myself tense; I order myself to relax so he doesn’t suspect anything and get angry. But the thought won’t shake from my mind. I woke up in the middle of the night on our wedding night and Liam wasn’t in the bed. I fell back to sleep, and he was there, beside me again, when I woke up in the morning. But what if …

  ‘What is it?’ Liam asks, frowning at me with an annoyed expression.

  I’m staring at him in shock, sick to my stomach, the terrible awareness sinking in that I’m right. I know I am. He went to my mum’s house in the middle of the night and he killed her. He pushed her down the stairs. He made it look like an accident. He knew about the carpet that was sticking up on the landing, because he had promised to nail it down. But he never got around to it. Of course he didn’t! He was setting it all up to get her out of the way. He wanted her dead. He didn’t want to share me. And if my mum was dead, I’d have nowhere to go. Oh my god. My brain struggles to process the thought. What if I’m wrong? I might be. But equally, as I stare at Liam, I know that it is within the realm of possibility. Well within it. And the fact that I can even think that about the man I’m married to is terrifying.

  ‘What?’ Liam asks angrily, shoving me away. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  I can’t stop staring at him. It’s as if I’m seeing a demon in human form right in front of my eyes. But quickly I force my face to return to blankness and offer him a smile. ‘I just love you, that’s all,’ I say.

  *

  I have guessed that Liam has been lying to me about his career. I should have figured it out sooner, but now it’s obvious he has no job to go to. I don’t know if he ever had one, or if he was even a detective at all. Did he lie to me? I imagine he plucked the profession out of the ether, knowing that him being a detective would lull me into a false sense of security. I wonder, too, if he pretended to work for the police in order to later scare me into submission. How can you report a policeman for domestic violence?

  I know he killed my mother. And I know he killed Tiger too. How can I have ignored for so long something that was staring me in the face?

  I have been such a fool that if I wasn’t so numb, I would die from shame. And I think, because of that, I am able to hold it back; to confine it in some far recess of my mind which I can ignore. I cannot face it. Not yet and maybe not ever. I try to tell myself that he’s fooled everyone, not just me. He’s a consummate actor – he charms everyone he meets, hiding the real Liam from the world. The real Liam is a monster, but he keeps that monster concealed. I do my best not to antagonise the monster. I don’t want to wake him.

  At first, I maintain a completely blank expression, but then, after he tells me I’m a miserable bitch, I learn how to fake a smile. Very quickly I come to realise that If I smile, speak only when spoken to, and never argue with him, criticise him or ask questions, I am safe.

  After two weeks, the bruises are mostly gone, and those that remain can be covered by clothes or make-up. Liam praises me for looking so lovely and slender and takes a renewed interest in my body. I lie there, stiff as a corpse, my bruised body aching anew. I close my eyes and pray for it to be over each night. Each time his lips brush one of my bruises I gasp, but he thinks it’s in pleasure. I worry about getting pregnant, as he’s stopped using protection, but I don’t bring it up as I don’t want to risk an argument.

  My mind wanders during sex, though I’m blasted back into reality when I hear him shouting at me to show some goddamn enthusiasm and stop being such a frigid bitch. I learn too to fake enthusiasm: I start hearing myself as though from a million miles away. It pleases him and he starts to treat me more kindly. Perhaps everything is OK, I tell myself. Perhaps I can do this. It isn’t so hard. I’ve found a way to manage. I just have to pretend. Pretend to the world and even myself. And always, always smile.

  The only time I can’t pretend is at night when the dreams come. In all of them, I’m trapped in some dark dungeon-like place and I’m being chased. I’m terrified, but no matter how hard I try to find a way out, I can’t escape. I wake up screaming and Liam is getting more and more frustrated, telling me I’m ruining his sleep and demanding to know what I’m dreaming about.

  To stop myself from annoying him any further, I force myself to stay awake. It isn’t hard. I drink a lot of tea, and my palpitating heart and taut nerves help too. Liam doesn’t even go out to walk Isis; instead he lets her out into the back garden to do her business. He orders groceries online using my credit card, and sometimes he orders a takeaway for one. He still controls my phone and I daren’t ask about returning to work. I daren’t ask anything at all. I wonder if we’ll continue like this forever, living imprisoned in this house, never leaving, but I know not to ask.

  The only time I let a tear slip out, Liam notices at once.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ he snaps.

  I bite my lips shut and blink away the remaining tears.

  ‘Do you miss your mum?’ he sneers.

  I don’t answer.

  ‘She was just your mother. I’m your partner. I’m your soulmate. I’m all you need.’

  I nod.

  Work calls to ask when I’m going to be back. It’s been two weeks. Liam can’t make any more excuses, and my bruises are mostly faded, so he makes me call them back and tell them that I’m quitting.

  *

  Liam returns to ‘work’. I don’t know where he goes. I don’t care. He knows that I won’t leave, so he doesn’t need to stay. The security cameras will tell him if I leave the house, and I assume he has installed a tracker on my phone, so I don’t use it or make calls. He takes my laptop with him so I can’t do anything online.

  I lie in bed with Isis every day, staring at the ceiling, then I make myself get up at four o’clock in the afternoon to take a bath, get dressed and cook dinner, making sure it’s piping hot and on the table at six on the dot. Three courses, every day, as Liam requests. He checks the fridge and cupboards every day to make sure I’m not sneaking food when he’s out of the house. The one time that he believes, wrongly, that I’ve eaten something in his absence, he removes all the food from the cupboards and padlocks the fridge, leaving out only what I need to make dinner.

  I wonder how the bills are being paid and keep expecting red notices to fall through the letterbox, until one day I notice that Liam is flush with cash. He has sold my mother’s belongings. I wonder if he’s banking on selling my mum’s house and then using the money. I almost hope that he takes it and runs, but the more acquiescent I get, the happier he gets, and I know that I’m digging my own grave either way.

  One day Liam comes home early. He finds me in the bath. I’m crying without even realising it. He kicks open the door and looks at me in fury. ‘Why are you cryin
g?’ he demands. ‘I am sick to death of your crying and moping and your sad face. You were supposed to be better than all the others.’

  I stifle my tears.

  ‘Do I not do everything to make you happy? Do I not worship and adore you?’ he asks.

  I nod.

  He lunges forward, takes my head in his hands and thrusts me under the water. I struggle but he holds me under. He’s going to kill me. I realise it with a shock. I swallow a lungful of water, my chest exploding with pain. I can see him grimacing as he forces me under. I kick and thrash but I’m no match for him.

  I start to lose consciousness and he suddenly lets go and hauls me upright. Coughing and spluttering, I hang over the edge of the bath, gasping for breath. I know not to let out another sob in case he thrusts me under again.

  Liam gets up and walks out of the room. I sink back into the bath.

  PART FOUR

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mia

  ‘Laura!’ Ethan yells again, looking past me to where Laura is standing with her back pressed to the tree. She doesn’t move.

  ‘She’s not going to help you,’ I say to him.

  He glowers at me, his lips white, stretched taut against the pain of the trap snapped around his leg.

  ‘Do you know why?’ I ask him.

  I see the understanding start to seep in even before I tell him.

  ‘That’s right. Because she’s been helping me.’ I gesture at the island. ‘We did this all together. Lured you here. I thought about all the ways I wanted you to suffer. I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine. How did you like it?’

  Laura appears at my side. She’s found the courage to come near the injured animal now that she knows he’s disabled in a trap. She hovers at my shoulder and Ethan looks between us, shaking his head in confusion, trying to piece it together. If only he knew what it had taken to plan all this; what lengths we’ve gone to, not just to escape from him and make sure he never makes another woman his prey, but to punish him the way he deserves to be punished.

  ‘Laura,’ he says to her, pleading. ‘Help me!’

  She doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Do something! My leg …’ he sobs.

  I stand up and look at Laura. She gives me a tremulous smile. I smile back at her and then we hug each other, clutching each other hard, leaning into each other. ‘We did it,’ I whisper in her ear.

  I feel her nod against my shoulder. Her body, rigid from months of tension and frighteningly skeletal, collapses like a building’s foundations giving way after an earthquake, and she staggers against me. But then she takes a deep breath, straightens and pulls back, finding another sub-foundation of strength within her. She looks me in the eye and even through the still pouring rain I can make out the glimmer of determination in her expression; the courage that I knew was in her all along, and which at first she doubted. Ethan couldn’t stamp it out, no matter how hard he tried.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ethan yells at her. ‘Laura, please?’

  Laura squeezes my hand and then she kneels down beside him. I worry for a moment that her softness and fragility will make her cave, that the sight of the blood on his hands and the gory mess of his leg will make her change her mind and want to help him. And I’m afraid, because that isn’t the plan. The plan is to watch him bleed to death.

  ‘Go to hell, you bastard,’ Laura says, and I realise she’s a lot stronger than she looks.

  Quick as a viper Ethan grabs her wrist and she lets out a yelp of fright, struggling to pull free. He won’t let go; he drags her towards him so her face is pressed to his. ‘You bitch,’ he hisses. ‘I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Like you did my mother?’ she shouts back at him, still struggling to free herself.

  I smash the stock of the gun into his shoulder and he lets go with a scream of fury. Laura scrambles back through the mud away from him, and I help her to her feet.

  ‘She was in the way,’ Ethan cries. ‘It’s your fault. All that time you were spending with her.’

  Laura lets out a sob. ‘You did kill her?’ she asks, almost plaintively, as if until that moment she hadn’t been sure. Now, faced with the confirmation, her agony is writ clear across her face. But then the grief twists into something new; into anger. ‘She was my mum! She’d been ill!’ Laura shouts. ‘She needed me!’

  ‘I needed you,’ Ethan says, still clutching his leg, the pain eating his face.

  He looks between us, seeming to realise that neither of us are going to help him and that there’s every chance we might leave him here like this.

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ he says, fear flooding his face.

  Laura wipes her hand across her face, drying her tears. ‘Yes, we will,’ she replies with a smile.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Laura

  Two Months Earlier

  I’m standing at the sink, peeling carrots, when I feel the strange sensation that I’m being watched. I’ve been feeling it a lot recently, and I’ve even started to wonder if it’s my mother’s ghost, watching over me. But when I look up, I see a woman, dressed all in black, despite the warm summer sun, standing still as a statue by the far fence.

  We back onto an alley. She must have jumped over. I don’t scream when I see her though – that instinct has been beaten out of me – but my heart rate doubles, and I grip the knife I’m holding tighter.

  The woman beckons to me. I stand there, frozen. But she beckons again. Finally, I move to the back door, as though in a trance. If it was a man outside I would call the police, but the fact she’s a woman reassures me. Isis is at my heel and when I open the door, instead of barking as she normally does at the sight of a stranger, she races across the garden towards the woman, her tail wagging furiously. She jumps up in delight, licking her face, and the woman pets her, smiling ear to ear, tears falling.

  It’s only then I remember the security camera that Liam installed. I glance up at it. It’s pointed at the back door, not at the garden. If he’s watching via the app on his phone, which goes off any time someone approaches the door, he will see me going outside. But he won’t see where I go in the garden.

  I walk towards the woman. She smiles at me. ‘Hi,’ she says. Though her words are warm, there’s a hardness to her.

  I shake my head, terror gripping me that Liam might return at any moment and find her there. I’ll get into trouble. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask in a whisper. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Mia,’ she says.

  ‘Mia who?’ I ask, confused.

  ‘I know what’s happening to you.’

  I stare at her in shock. ‘Who are you?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m the one before you,’ she says.

  I frown. What does she mean? It dawns on me then that she must be Liam’s ex. The woman who cheated on him. ‘His ex-wife?’ I ask her.

  She nods, her lips pursing in distaste. ‘Yes. I guess we’re still married though, technically, so not quite ex.’

  I almost collapse to the ground. He’s still married. I glance down at the engagement ring on my hand and my own wedding band. That must mean Liam and I aren’t married. Laughter bubbles up my throat, mixed in with relief.

  I notice that her gaze has followed mine and she’s looking at my rings. She gasps, a hand flying to her throat. ‘That ring …’ she says, staring at it with tears in her eyes, ‘that was mine.’

  I frown. ‘I don’t understand,’ I mumble, still in shock.

  She looks up at my face. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, instantly on the defensive. What if this is a trick? What if Liam’s put her to this to test me?

  ‘Is he hurting you?’ she asks, looking me directly in the eye.

  I freeze, my legs trembling.

  ‘I know what Ethan’s like,’ she goes on.

  ‘Ethan?’ I ask, even more confused.

  She nods. ‘Yes, that’s his real name. He’s not Liam.’

  ‘What?’ I say
, my brain turning inside out. I don’t understand. What does she mean, he’s called Ethan?

  She shakes her head angrily and snorts. ‘William Carrington. I can’t believe he’s calling himself that.’

  ‘He doesn’t,’ I tell her. ‘He goes by Liam.’

  ‘He’s not Liam or William,’ she spits angrily. ‘That was someone else. Someone I knew. Someone I loved. He stole their identity. After he killed them.’

  My mouth falls open. ‘What do you mean?’ I stammer.

  She studies me but doesn’t explain. ‘Is he hurting you?’ she asks again, this time squeezing my hand for emphasis.

  I start to say no, but then I change my mind. Something about her strength inspires me. I nod. ‘Yes.’

  And when I finally admit the truth to this stranger, I feel an unloosening in my body as though the knots keeping me together are coming undone. He’s done this to someone else, I think. He’s killed someone else. I reel from the confirmation that I was right.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Mia tells me. ‘I’m going to help you.’

  I blink at her. ‘You can’t,’ I whisper, glancing back at the house. ‘You need to go. He could be back any minute.’

  She nods. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow after he’s gone out. I have a plan. But I need your help.’

  I shake my head, terrified. ‘I don’t know. If he finds out …’

  She grips my arm tight and looks into my eyes. She’s blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful despite the scar running down her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes. ‘Do you want to get away from him?’

  I nod, tears welling up. ‘But I can’t.’

  ‘I know you’re scared,’ she says. ‘I know what he’s capable of.’ Pain is etched on her features. ‘But you’re going to get away from him. And then we’re going to make him pay for what he’s done. Do you understand?’

  The fierceness in her voice stirs a dormant part of me that I thought had vanished for good. I nod and she turns to leave, walking towards the fence at the back of the garden. I want to ask her a thousand things – how did she find us? What does she know about Liam and the things he’s done to me? How long has she been watching? What’s her plan? But the question I ask is: ‘Do you promise?’