by Adam Croft
Laughing like a crazed maniac, Michael slung open the kitchen door, and waltzed up the stairs. A thousand thoughts flew round Wendy's mind but she was unable to see any of them for the one which pervaded all: she was going to die.
As he re-entered the room a few minutes later, Wendy's hysterical fits of sobbing had ceased and Michael's face seemed much calmer; resigned to what he would have to do. It was almost as though the post-interval curtain had just lifted on a whole new act of the play. The dismembered member was now laying at a jaunty angle at the foot of the kitchen cabinet to Wendy's right. She felt that overwhelming doughnut-sugar urge to lick the blood from her lips and mouth but decided against it. She spoke just two words.
“Why, Michael?”
“Why? Why? Ho ho! That's a good one, Wend!” Deranged Michael was back. “Who knows? Who truly knows? I may have my reasons, but does that mean I truly know? Maybe it was the long, drawn-out hell of a childhood that I put squarely on your shoulders.”
“I didn't bring you up, Michael.”
“No, you didn't, but you're the reason no-one else did. Mum and dad doted on you. Why was it always you who was destined to go far? Why was it you that dad had earmarked for the police force and me for your first nick? Speaking of which, maybe it was the fact that my own sister had me banged up!”
“I didn't have you banged up, Michael. I tried to help you kick your... your problem. All I did was try to help.”
“That's all you ever do, isn't it, Wend? Try. You don't know what trying is! My whole life I've spent trying to come to terms with the fact that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I worked, I would always be nothing. Do you have any idea what that's like? Being tied back with an enormous elastic band? When no matter how hard you pull away, it recoils and pulls you back twice as hard?”
“That's no justification for killing those girls, Michael.” Wendy's voice sounded strangely calm, if a little grave.
“I don't need justification, Wendy. I have a— thousand— and one things going through my head right now, whizzing around inside. Do you have any idea? Do you?” Michael's frantic, throbbing temples were inches from Wendy's face now. “No. You have no idea. I grew to resent every small piece of happiness you felt. You made me do that, Wend. You pushed me to it. I never had parents. Alright, so I lived in the same house as two people who fucked and gave birth to me, but I never had parents. I had to bring myself up, a child, knowing my slut whore sister was getting everything she wanted.”
“It wasn't like that, Michael! I don't know what is giving you these ideas but it's all totally wrong. You have some problems, Michael.”
“I have plenty of fucking problems, Wend! Six of them, to be precise! And I'm about to make it seven.”
“Michael, I...” Wendy's voice trailed off as she watched Michael slowly remove a length of rope from his pocket. It was tied in a bowline knot.
“Y'know, I gave the others all a chance to say goodbye. Only if they were good, like. That Nicole Bryant tried screaming instead and she got what she asked for. The others all played it very nicely and pleaded for their lives. Do you have any idea how powerful that makes me feel? I've never felt powerful before, Wend.”
“Michael...”
“Do you have any last words? Better make them good...”
Wendy paused and shook her head as a tear rolled from her eye. Through the salty kaleidoscope she could just make out Michael's face. It was smiling. As her body and mind fell short of any thought or feeling for the first time in her life, she realised it would also be the only time. No thoughts crossed her mind; no feeling flowed through her veins. Only the gentle rasp of the rope that passed around her neck and tightened; tightened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As lucidity and sensitivity flowed back into her, her only sense was that of a fading sensation; a totally different one to the physical indifference she had felt just moments ago. This time, she was slipping. Her chest heaved violently and gasped for air as her cells used up the last of their precious oxygen. She could feel her lungs thrusting against the inside of her ribcage as they lunged desperately for an intake of that precious nectar. But none was forthcoming. As her vision faded to black via dancing stars, she felt a new kind of consciousness. As black faded back through dancing stars, the nectar flowed back into her lungs, which gasped and gulped at that precious air. She had heard no sound. Not, that is, until she looked up in the direction of where her killer had been stood.
“That was bloody lucky. Thought I'd got the wrong house for a minute.”
“Guv!” she choked, desperately looking around her, “Where is he? Where's Michael?”
Culverhouse raised his hand to show Wendy the blood-spattered remains of the kettle.
“I don't think he'll be getting up for a while. Fancy a cuppa?”
“Not right now. What made you come here? I said I would be fine.”
“And I said you wouldn't. Was I wrong?”
“You never are, are you?” she said with gritted teeth.
“Bloody good job too, eh?”
EPILOGUE
The cheers rang out through the incident room as Wendy walked with modest grace between the desks. Even Jack Culverhouse was applauding.
“Didn't have you down as a clapper, guv.”
“I'm not, but it's been a long time since I've seen a pair of legs and an arse like that.”
“Hospital food. Enough to make anyone lose three stone.”
“I'll bear that in mind next time my brother is strangling the shit out of me.”
Wendy managed a wry laugh. She could either laugh or cry and she had done enough of one of those over the past few weeks.
“Well, welcome back. I think it's safe to say we probably won't have another case quite like that again.”
“We definitely won't. I don't have any other brothers left.”
Culverhouse matched her wry laugh of relief.
“Tell me, Knight. Did you really not have even the slightest inkling that Michael was involved?”
“No, how could I?”
“Hmmph. Bloody good job I put PC Baxter's name forward for a fast-track promotion instead of yours then, isn't it!”
“You did what?”
“Well, are you surprised? Four bloody weeks off work doesn't quite cut the mustard either, does it? Back in my day, I'd've been back at work by eight the next morning.”
Wendy had the feeling that some things were just never destined to change.
About the author:
Adam is a professional author and ghost-writer. This novel, Too Close For Comfort, is his first full-length novel published under his own name. Adam lives in the Bedfordshire countryside and enjoys reading, travelling and meeting new people.
You can connect with Adam online:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/adamcroft
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/adamcroft
Adam’s blog: http://adamcroft.net/blog
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
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