ABEL'S REVENGE_A gripping serial killer thriller like no other

by Ross Greenwood

  Chapter 31

  The model with no name and beautiful hair who ignores Judith

  The girl trudges along the street just before dawn. Tiredness and sadness fight for dominance in her brain. She keeps her head down in this scary land. The other girls whisper of bad men and missing friends. If they are to be believed, killers and rapists lurk at every corner. She comes from a tiny village by the seaside where things like that are unheard of. Sadly, nothing else exciting occurred either.

  Little tourism and even fewer jobs meant most youngsters left. She managed to get a student visa although she planned to work. Tears roll down her face as she thinks of the many hours she wasted before leaving. All that time daydreaming of being noticed and signing up to a modelling agency, or meeting a rich businessman.

  Back home, everyone knew who she was — The Prom Queen — and treated her with respect but also affection. Even at the airport her father had begged her not to go, while her boyfriend sobbed behind him. That was a year ago. She writes but dare not ring. Her mother would see through her strained voice during the first sentence.

  They promised her a live-in vacancy at a five-star hotel. No stars would be closer. The rundown flop-house where she works is infested with every kind of vermin possible; cockroaches right through to prisoners on the run. Her reception job studying the nuances of the English language is, in reality, a laundry role in the bowels of the building. She sweats and uses sign language to communicate with the Chinese madam who runs the show. No one cares what her name is.

  All she’d learnt was how to fend off unwanted advances whenever she was ordered to service the rooms. She doesn’t want to be a failure, yet she can take little more. To her amazement, the money she receives is poor by her own country’s standards. Even the animals back home aren’t worked so hard. The cash they take for her tiny room is so extortionate, there’ll never be spare to save. But, still she hopes for a miracle. Gold coins are available but she won’t do that.

  This morning she lingered by the hotel kitchen as she left. The smell of freshly cooked bread transported her back home. One of the chefs had walked up to her and given her a brown bag and a wink. The rolls under her arm make her skin sweat, and her mouth waters as she imagines them slathered with butter. She keeps her shopping in her room now as it lasted hours in the communal fridge of the rambling house where she stays. She lives with thieves.

  She hates these split shifts. Finishing at five a.m. and then having to go back at noon. At least it’s quiet at this time of the day and she has a place to sleep by herself. Others live in bunk beds. The back door is propped open as usual to release the stench of marijuana and fried food. She never feels safe here. Anyone could walk in and take, or do, whatever they wanted. No one knows her and she knows nobody. What kind of a life is this?

  The trap at the bottom of the stairs holds its brown victim for the fourth day. She can’t bare to move the mouse herself, so like the rest, she steps over it. The lock on her door has never worked, so she shuts herself in and rests a chair against the handle. The bread rolls are thrown on the bed. Struggling out of her ill-fitting uniform, she bends over and picks up the plastic container to locate her butter.

  As she removes the cutlery, she shivers, sensing someone else in the room. The man stands in the darkest corner. Mostly in shadow. He’s dressed in black but the full moon has no curtains to war with, so his profile is visible beneath the hood. Even she, living like this, has heard of Abel. He puts his fingers to his lips. She understands immediately, if she resists there’ll be no mercy.

  Slowly, he guides her to be seated on the bed. Then, he pushes her back and sits astride her and looks down. Now his face is in darkness. The scissors glint in the pale light. Her neck tenses as her raging mind pictures vampires from nanna’s stories. She closes her eyes.

  The first cut is painless, and then so are the rest. It’s her hair he is taking as opposed to her life. His manner is brisk but efficient. Time flees while it has the chance. She lies on the bed long after he’s gone. Neither crying nor tearful. She isn’t surprised. Nothing in this sinful place could do that. She almost expected it.

  Eventually, she rises and looks in her compact mirror. A petrified rag doll blinks back. An easy decision is made. She lifts the bedside table off the floor to retrieve her passport and money, only to find an empty space. She shrieks for five full minutes before anyone knocks on her door.

  Chapter 32

  Dan

  The next day

  I lost my temper at work today and shouted at a young girl. She left crying. Then, they ordered me into a meeting room with the sales director and the HR manager. I had to walk the entire length of the office. Everyone knew as their eyes followed me along the route. The only thing missing was a solitary drum beat.

  I expected to be at best, suspended, and at worst, fired. They asked me why I’d done it. Instead of explaining that she had too much work and struggled to prioritise, I told them she kept making the same mistakes. They said they understood and not to worry, and they’d tell her not to come back. I didn’t realise she was in her probation period because she worked on the blue team. I should have explained, but accepted the easy way out.

  They allowed me to leave early, so I walked for an hour to Ian’s office and sat outside until he’d finished. I tried not to think of how that girl is feeling. We’re now in a hotel nearby, Ian paying a ridiculous price for our drinks. Even so, I need to forget.

  ‘You don’t look good, mate. Are you pining for something?’

  I’ve caught sight of myself in the multitude of mirrors in this strange place, and I’m well aware of that fact. While sitting outside, I had a searing white light go off in my brain. My temperature levels soared and dipped for no reason, and my heart strained to leave my chest. Like a fool, I looked the symptoms up on Google. They match those of someone bitten by a deadly spider. That’s unlikely but I did look behind me just in case.

  ‘I miss what I can’t have. I want carefree travelling, man. I want to pack my bags and go. Everything’s too complicated here. Do you remember when we were at university?’

  ‘Birds and mates.’

  ‘Yep, girlfriends are for Christmas. Mates are for life. When you get past your teens, it’s good to have a bird at that time of year, or your presents are rubbish. Then, after the hot chestnut eating and mistletoe action, you set her free. Saves you the thankless bullshit of Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘Correct. Ruthless, but true. What’s your point?’

  ‘Well, it turns out kids are for life too, and the snarling monster that jettisoned them for you.’

  ‘You talk as though you moved in with a witch. I saw Olivia a few weeks back, she looked cracking.’

  ‘Would you shag her, given the opportunity?’

  His long pause is disconcerting.

  ‘Possibly. She is rather feisty for my liking. I prefer my women to have less ambition, or at the least be drunk most of the time. The problem with your missus is she’s a shark masquerading as a dolphin. She appears sweet and playful, but the real truth is your life’s in danger.’

  ‘Yeah, if you piss her off, threaten the offspring or if she’s hungry, she’ll rip off your head.’

  ‘Although, I recall you two used to be at it all the time. Once, in Thailand, I thought you would rattle the hotel off its foundations.’

  I remember that night. We stayed in a wooden guesthouse near a beach. It was a marathon session, and we ran out of bottled water. I was so dehydrated from the alcohol and frantic action that I drank out of the toilet tap because I wanted to stay in bed as opposed to locating a shop. Four days of the shits was my reward for that foolishness.

  I decide the best way to explain it is to use the biscuit analogy.

  ‘Olivia is a chocolate biscuit. The finest money can buy. When you first get a packet of these biscuits, you can’t believe your luck. Everyone wants one and is jealous because you have an inexhaustible supply. You show your mates to annoy them. The world
is wonderful.

  ‘To start with, you eat them everywhere. You grab one in the shower, have a couple while gardening, perhaps even sneak down an alleyway on a night out for some. In fact, they are so tasty, you don’t care if someone sees you. You get chocolately in your cinema seat, and you come home from work early, or nip back at lunch, just to have a quick bite. It’s the only thing on your mind.

  ‘Then, it fades. If the biscuit barrel is always full, then where’s the fun in biscuits. You think about crisps. If you fancy a biscuit, you’d prefer a different type. Something plain maybe, or one you haven’t tried before. Possibly even two of those at once. Like a multipack.’

  ‘Ha ha. So true. Sometimes you only want a cheap snack although you’d prefer not to be seen with one.’ Ian beams. ‘I take it you’ve not discussed this phenomenon with Olivia.’

  ‘Hell, no. She thinks I’m avoiding her, and keeps dropping heavy hints. The more she does, the more resistant I find myself. I can’t be right in the head. There’s a smoking hot woman chasing me around the bed, and I’m pretending I’ve got a migraine. The only time I feel up for it is after drinking, and then she’s never keen.’

  Ian leans back in his seat. ‘Ah, I know what the problem is. The technical explanation is you’re old and past your best. Women in their forties go through a renaissance. They want more, just as us men are capable of less. They want quality sex, like they read in those ridiculous magazines. Three hours of massaging, followed by sixteen of foreplay. Even talking afterwards. Basically, she’s gone shagging mad, and if you aren’t delivering, she will be doing everyone else she meets.’

  ‘What a smashing thought. Let me guess, her boss, the neighbour?’

  ‘Everybody. Your milkman, postman, this Abel guy, definitely all of her female friends, even those homeless dudes you keep moaning about.’

  ‘Wow. No wonder she’s tired. Chafed, I expect, too.’

  ‘You need to get out of this place. This city has gone rotten. All the guys at work say it. I’ve had enough as well. It’s time to move on. This is the longest I’ve ever worked for the same company. I’m stale. This Abel set fire to a rehab centre near me. The one where I always thought I’d end up visiting. The police received a business card with, ‘This is the beginning,’ on it.’

  ‘You’re going travelling without me? Jesus, Ian, that’s just what I need. You sending me pictures relaxing on a Greek beach, surrounded by tanned delights.’

  It’s monumentally depressing. I made my bed though, or sofa in my case, and have no choice but to lie on it. ‘Any ideas where you’ll go?’

  ‘A plan will turn up, it always does. Once you open yourself up to the idea, then life finds a way.’

  ‘Hmm. Are you sure you’re not quoting Jurassic Park? Please feel free to send me a picture of you gored somewhere painful by something unpleasant.’

  ‘What’s the latest with your job? Olivia loves hers, and you hate yours?’

  ‘Yes. Her company sneaked into The Top 100 Independent Companies to work for. Great benefits, excellent salary, and unlimited potential. My company came nowhere and my role is right at the bottom of the list, between sewage worker and street prostitute. I have to deal with tons of shit and get paid little for being shafted on a regular basis.’

  ‘Is Olivia still not keen on California?’

  ‘No, she’s considering it now. We’re going to chat to her parents. This Abel insanity has disturbed her. I thought we’d all go as a family, but it looks as though Olivia will be leaving without me.’

  ‘Shit. Although, I’m not surprised, bearing in mind what you just said.’

  ‘I know. I can’t pull myself together. We don’t talk anymore apart from arguing.’

  ‘Maybe she’s met someone else.’

  I laugh, but it’s not as if I’ve been attentive of late. Could it be true?

  Chapter 33

  Olivia

  The doorbell jars me from gazing into space. I open the front door and Mike is standing there with a bouquet. I think I’m dreaming, especially when he presents them to me with enthusiasm.

  ‘For you.’

  ‘They’re lovely, Mike. Too much, in fact. What are they for?’

  ‘Your birthday.’

  ‘My birthday isn’t for nine days.’

  ‘I know. I’m off to a conference in California tomorrow for two weeks, so I thought I’d drop them by before I leave. I paid extra to get flowers that last. You’re a great neighbour and deserve something pretty. They remind me of you.’

  ‘That’s so nice, Mike.’

  And creepy. He walks past me and heads to the kitchen as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Despite the fact I haven’t invited him in yet. Nevertheless, the waft of aftershave is so intoxicating, that I imagine jumping on his back. It’s a cross between a Viking’s armpit and summer rain.

  As I close the door, I recall placing the drying rack draped with my underwear outside the front of the house to dry in the sun. It’s not my date night stuff either. There are a variety of cigarette butts on the pavement, too. Most likely, Dan’s. We are scumbags.

  A cork pops behind me. I didn’t notice a bottle on Mike’s person and briefly contemplate where he had it secreted. I see the kitchen as a visitor would, and it looks like we’ve had an earth tremor. Despite Dan stating that dried milk and Weetabix is the hardest compound on the planet, he has, yet again, failed to clean the bowls away from breakfast. Mike has helped himself to a couple of glasses and hands me one. I’m so tired, I go with the flow.

  ‘Cheers, Mike. It’ll be like having two birthdays.’

  ‘It’s for your special day, and for your company’s success.’

  ‘My company’s success?’

  ‘Yes. I follow stocks, and I’m always reading big things concerning i-BLAM.’

  We only changed our company name this week, so he’s surprisingly up to date. I take a sip and can’t believe how nice it tastes. The bubbles slide down my throat and I relax. I’ve only just got the kids to bed and wonder if Mike knew that and timed his visit accordingly.

  ‘So, when are you going to Cali?’

  This is getting disturbing now. There isn’t anything in the news because it’s not general knowledge yet. He notices my face fall.

  ‘Don’t you recall? You told me a while back you had the chance to go there.’

  I don’t remember. Another sip of my drink makes that unimportant. I decide to probe Mike, for how he enjoys living here. If I heard it from a man’s angle, I might understand Dan better.

  ‘Do you like it here, Mike?’

  ‘Sure, you have a great house.’

  ‘No, I mean here, in this city.’

  ‘Of course! I love busy places.’

  ‘Dan hates it.’

  ‘What? It’s awesome here. Not as good as Cali, but great.’

  Mike opens another bottle of champagne, which makes me marvel at the speed we must be drinking it, and the capacity of his bottom if that’s where he’s been hiding them.

  ‘Okay, Dan doesn’t think that. Now, how should I explain it?’

  ‘Just shoot.’

  ‘A while before Dan met me, he and his friend travelled to Mexico for spring break. You know, where the American college students go for parties. In their minds, they’d pick up fit young chicks who’d drunk too much. When they arrived, they realised that they were fifteen years too old and with their dodgy, yellow, British teeth and beer bellies, they had more chance of farting sixpences.’

  It’s not often I’ve seen Mike stuck for words. I must admit, it made more sense when Dan told the story. Mike’s a bright guy and tries to work his way through it. His blank face tells of his failure, so I explain.

  ‘So, he didn’t fit in there. That’s how he feels here.’

  ‘Ah, okay.’

  He has no idea what I’m talking about. Best to get off the topic. ‘I spoke to our postman today. He’s unusual.’

  ‘Him. Nuts is what he is. I keep finding him lo
oking through my letterbox. He keeps asking me if I watch Star Wars.’

  Surely my life can’t be this weird. My head is heavy. It’s an effort not to rest it on my arms. I decide to do just that as Dan comes through the front door. It looks like I’m sucking Mike off under the table. Dan’s face is as drawn as mine. He walks into the kitchen, raises both eyebrows, pours himself a glass of champagne, gulps it in one go, smiles in appreciation, and slumps into a seat.

  ‘What we celebrating?’

  ‘Olivia’s birthday.’

  Dan’s expression is priceless. I save him the torture of thinking he’s forgotten. Again.

  ‘It’s for next week, Mike’s away in California. He goes there regularly.’

  ‘I know when your birthday is.’

  I’m sure Mike imperceptibly shakes his head. He takes over in a brash manner.

  ‘Yeah. I said to Olivia, I’ll show you the sights. I’m often in The Golden State, we can meet up for certain.’

  Sarcasm is what I expect from Dan, but he smiles and picks up a small picture of me from the shelf.

  ‘Do you have many girls over there as stunning as that?’

  He passes Mike his favourite photo of me. He took it as I posed next to a rickshaw driver on a Vietnamese street. It’s in black and white and the background could be from a hundred years ago. It’s the type of picture that stops you in your tracks. Dan states that when he looks at it, the buzz of the world quietens. I realise he says nice things all the time. I’m not listening because I have so much other stuff going on.

  The atmosphere changes as Mike stares at it. He gently places the frame on the table.

  ‘Not that attractive, no.’

  Grace comes downstairs to break the spell.