ABEL'S REVENGE_A gripping serial killer thriller like no other

by Ross Greenwood

  I don’t regret not telling Dan as him saying no was a risk I wasn’t prepared to take. I have the children I dreamed of. That’s not to say there’s no shame at how I did it. But I’m selfish. I think most of us are.

  Even my dad is happy with the current living arrangements. He gets to spend as much time as he likes with the children without being ultimately responsible. On the plus side, he and Dan seem to have made a truce from their bickering. I suspect they won’t be going for a beer together, but it’s better than I hoped.

  As always, Beau has been brilliant. He told me to take as long as I needed. I’m hoping for closure from today. Then, we’ll go to California as a family. That decision is final. If it doesn’t work out, so what? We’ll have done it together and given it our best efforts.

  I find myself staring at my hands. The questions won’t go away. Did I need to kill Mike? I know it was self-defence, but sometimes it feels like I executed him. Should I have just stabbed him in the stomach, or slashed his face. Who made me God?

  Dan has been more attentive of late. He holds me close and doesn’t judge me. He loves me for who I am. I need to return those feelings, because we are lucky to have him.

  Chapter 74

  Olivia

  The doorbell rings. The police said they would be at our house around midday, and they are punctual. My parents have taken Grace and Charlie to the park, so Dan and I wait alone. He gets up, and drones, ‘duh-duh-durrr’. He pulls the curtains to one side and sneaks a peek out the window.

  ‘There’s a prison van parked outside. Do you think it’s a coincidence?’

  ‘Shut up, idiot.’

  Detective Constable Sharpe and Detective Inspector Jordan walk into the room. They politely decline Dan’s offer of a drink. They’re both smiling, so it’s good news. DI Jordan talks first.

  ‘I’ll get to the point. This was clearly a case of self-defence, so there’ll be no trial. There will be an inquiry, of course, which you must attend. The powers that be are happy for you to continue your life as normal with no restrictions. I know you’re moving, so you are clear to proceed.’

  ‘Phew.’

  It’s still a release, even though I’m expecting it. But what other outcome could there have been?

  ‘Everything that happened to you has been kept out of the press for the moment, but it is unrealistic to expect it to stay that way. We’ll release a statement tonight. We believe Mike was Abel. At the moment, we can’t know for sure as there have been so many copycat crimes. Put simply, we’re overrun.’

  ‘Why do you think Mike was Abel? Couldn’t he have just been deranged? Those texts were weird.’

  ‘The messages are part of it. The photos in his house were concerning, as was stealing the picture of Olivia from here. You confirmed that it was your underwear he had. The texts show he was plunging down the slippery slope. Unless that is, you were going to elope with him. Perhaps he lived in a fantasy world. However, it was the other things we located that gave the game away.’

  He pauses and gets out a notebook.

  ‘There was a fake beard in his kitchen cupboard, along with a pair of mirrored sunglasses. In his wash basket, we found a black scarf and a hooded sweatshirt. He owned black jeans and a big black coat. There was a Taser in his bedside cabinet, and a large lock-knife under the bed. A locket with an old lady’s photo and a used hair brush were there too. His DNA was over everything. In one of the kitchen drawers there was a gold tooth which we believe came from some gruesome crimes not far from here.’

  ‘We’ve yet to match the DNA to any of the crimes attributed to Abel, but there are so many, we don’t know which is which. He couldn’t have done all of them. Saying that, he was clever. There’s so little evidence. We might never have caught him if he hadn’t been obsessed with you. It won’t feel like it, but you’ve done the city a service.’

  DI Jordan stands, walks over and sits next to me.

  ‘Try not to be too hard on yourself. You did what any normal person would have done. You should get a reward, but I’m not sure we do that for taking a life. Maybe he isn’t Abel, but we found bondage magazines, too. Not complete filth, but kinky stuff. I assume that might leak first. We think he was a deviant, but we’ll never know for sure what he did and didn’t do. I don’t think the world will miss him.’

  ‘I thought Abel died in that supermarket massacre.’

  ‘Mike will be the third Abel to die although he is the most likely candidate. It turns out Mike beat a sexual assault rap five years ago on his wife. We’ll re-open the case. We’re trying to trace her, but by all accounts, she disappeared with his son soon after the trial.

  ‘The press will be outside his property when this gets out. There’s nothing they like more than this. You must be prepared for that. It’s good you are staying with relatives until this blows over. I wouldn’t talk to the newspapers. Nothing good can come of that.’

  My resolve is firm. ‘We won’t be living back here again. Not after this. All I see is that river of blood. I covered my children in it. I had to tell them it was ketchup.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope he was Abel. It looks that way as the incidents where he ‘confesses’ have dropped to almost nothing. That said, the lull in crime we experienced is over now. It’s business as usual.’

  I show them out. Dan stands next to me, and I put my arm around his waist. A fresh start with my family is what I need.

  Chapter 75

  Dan

  A month later

  ‘Passengers, please fasten your seat belts for take-off.’

  Mine is already secured. I redo Charlie’s, for the sixth time. He looks at me displaying a satanic grin, then kicks the seat in front of him. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s done that, despite me telling him if he does it again he’ll have to go in the cargo hold with Bailey.

  The bloke whose chair is being booted turns around and gives me a death stare. I say sorry to him, but hey, what can you do? He has a turbulent journey ahead. Grace has her colouring pencils out but is staring wide-eyed at the air stewardess. She must look glamorous to a seven-year-old.

  Grace flew on a plane before when she was three but can’t remember anything, so everything is new. I think back to my conversation about seeing hippos and giraffes for the first time. Imagine flying for the first time. Her exhilaration, anticipation, and joy make me happy, and that, in a nutshell, is the pleasure of parenthood.

  Olivia is across the aisle sitting next to her parents. She gives me a smile that says a thousand words. We’re bonded now, in life, but also in death. She’s recovered from our ordeal like the trooper she is. Yet, I detect a shadow where there wasn’t one before. I’m sure she’ll be fine.

  There’s been a marginal decrease in nagging levels, and I’ve made friends with the hoover. Neither will last.

  Her parents are sitting beside her. I get a thumbs up from her mother. She’s wise and feisty, and scary. I’ll need to watch out for her. Olivia’s dad catches my eye, too. He mouths ‘dickhead’ at me. How lovely.

  My passport is still in my jeans pocket after going through the departure gate. I flick it open and smile at my convict picture. My finger traces across the details. Imagine if I’d used my real name. Abel Daniel Smith.

  I have no explanation for what I did. It seems when I’m stressed, a dark and dangerous part of me comes to the fore. My mother called it the sickness. I don’t recognise the person I became. I don’t recall my actions. Even now, it’s hard to comprehend that it was me that instigated this torrid spell.

  Yet, deep down, in the part of us all that knows the truth, I knew it was me.

  I have no pity for Mike. That’s what’s wrong with me. Who else have I damaged beyond repair? Innocent people, for sure. Mike, however, was broken. Many others are. He’d also have killed me, given the chance.

  What is it about our society that makes us become animals as soon as order breaks down? It’s the herd mentality. Like when seemingly normal people join in with l
ooting. Have their lives before this been a disguise, and is the creature climbing through the broken glass who they really are? We stampede over the cliff-edge together.

  I’m glad I planted those things in Mike’s house though, because I’ve escaped scot free. It was genius to rub everything over his dirty laundry to get his DNA on it. They found me sneaking about the place on Mike’s CCTV, but Pete backed up my burglary story.

  It’s hard to believe I’m capable of such horror. I believed there’s enough murder, violence, and slaughter without me adding to it. Yet, from a young age there was something missing inside of me. What I do remember is owning up to those black acts and then sewing them together into a dark cloud that hung above the city. Indeed, it was poison rain.

  I became soulless. My time was spent walking the streets when everyone slept, or trawling the web for dark doings to confess to. I’d find myself posting letters I had no memory of writing, finishing calls I didn’t remember starting. Then, it was as if Abel slept, and poor stressed out, tired Dan was dragged into the light.

  It wasn’t all me. An old lady called Judith was found swinging from a beam in her house a week ago. She left a detailed, dated, suicide letter confessing to pushing a man in front of a train. She said he became the focus of her hatred. Her scrawled writing somehow ended up in the newspapers. Her words provoked a debate on isolation and being neighbourly.

  The note concluded: ‘I’m lonely and scared in this place, and I wanted to be noticed. I don’t even think I’m sorry. At least I felt alive. There is nothing after this life as no God would permit such acts. Therefore, I choose oblivion.’

  Judith, the birdwatcher, was discovered many weeks after her untimely death. No one missed her. Raymond, her husband, was in bed. His mummified remains were in the only inhabited room upstairs. Social services and the police are investigating.

  Whereas before, when I was little more than a child, my recollection of the cruel events was hazy. This time, I recalled nothing. I don’t know what I did. However, there were signs. Three times I found my spade covered in fresh mud, and once, there was skin on it. I’d find strange mementoes in my pockets. Weird things like combs and even a tooth once. Twice I had to clean blood splatters from my car.

  I forced the being that was Abel away many years ago. I hoped never to see him again. This wretched city dragged him through the veil and set him upon an unsuspecting population who cowered in his fury. The fact others joined in, shows civilisation is just a façade.

  I have flashbacks. Are they from my life, or from movies I’ve watched? There’s a memory of a sad and lonely old soldier, images of scared women and isolated graves, and a drunken reveller. Before, there seemed to be rules. No children or pets. The Abel who returned was too long in the gloom. This beast was angry, vengeful, and pitiless. He was a devil to be feared.

  I read that the UK has two active serial killers at any one time and over twenty-five in the US. There are always escalating murderers. Any number of violent, ruthless people who kill or destroy for sex, profit or personal gain. Others lose their minds and then commit terrible crimes. I’m not unusual.

  Don’t tell me you haven’t been cut up by another person while driving your car. There will be people who have taken advantage of you over money or time. I’ll bet there was a little part of you that wanted revenge. Occasionally, you let your mind wander and imagine the terrible acts you’d do. Then you jolt out of it and, with a shake of your head, carry on your way. When I thought that way, I later found out from the news I did actually do those things.

  I have to accept I’m crazy. Well, to me, there’s a hint of jollity to crazy. Insane would be more appropriate. I understood at the time when I suggested other people were Abel, that I was distracting them from the truth. I trained myself long ago not to dwell on my actions. I didn’t acknowledge my acts. You too may remember fragments when you wake, but soon they are gone from your grasp.

  Nowadays, if you want a reminder of what you’ve done, you can just type unsolved crimes into a search engine. Keeping the odd memento gives you a personal connection but they are dangerous. My brain was so frazzled, I kept forgetting where I’d put them. Imagine my shock when Charlie came in wearing that runner’s sunglasses. It’s lucky no one suspects what’s right in front of them. It was worth it though because every time I opened that chess set, it felt like I was lifting the lid of a cabinet freezer.

  As for who chased Olivia that night; I’m afraid I was also responsible. The homeless guy from the park picked up that task for me for surprisingly little. He did say he was looking for a job. It was a final roll of the dice from a desperate man. I wanted her to hate this city as I do. Worryingly, I don’t think Abel had anything to do with that decision or the one to hide her underwear.

  What about the other crimes I confessed to? Who broke into that woman’s apartment and cut her hair? Who took that girl to the woods and fried her alive. Not me, surely? Yet, our scissors went missing at the same time, and I’ve enjoyed a nice fire since I was a boy. I’ve never owned a chainsaw or hammer, yet I found a receipt for both, paid in cash.

  But what can I do? That chapter is over now. I’m back to being Dan. As we leave the nightmare behind us, it could just be a dream. Summer is here. Today, we start a new journey together. It’s a fresh place, and a clean slate. I hear California is beautiful. There will be long, quiet beaches and sun-drenched vineyards. Out the window of the plane, the sky is golden. I wonder, should somebody warn them I’m coming? Let them know that even though he sleeps now, Abel is half of me, and he is alive.

  The End.

  Dissociative identity disorder (DID)

  DID, which used to be known as multiple personality disorder, is a complex psychological condition where a person's identity separates into two or more distinct personalities. It can be caused by many things but often it's due to severe trauma during early childhood. This may be repetitive physical, sexual, or emotional abuse.

  Usually, the primary identity is the actual person but they are often passive, guilty, and submissive. Each personality state, or ‘alter’, may be similar or completely unalike, even to the point of a different voice and mannerisms. They could have a new accent, or even be a different sex or animal. The alters' characteristics contrast with those of the primary identity. Situations such as stress can cause a particular alter to emerge. The various identities might not be aware of each other or if they are, they may deny it. Some refuse to acknowledge their actions even if they're obvious.

  Switching can be instant or take minutes, or gradually occur over several days. People with the condition share symptoms as well as the split personality problem. Night terrors, sleepwalking, insomnia, substance abuse, panic attacks, flashbacks, mood swings, anxiety, hallucinations, amnesia, and time loss are common complaints. They may find themselves feeling possessed.

  In other cases, the host with the person's real name is oblivious of the existence of the other personalities.

  There are no specific medications to treat the condition. Indeed, some are not convinced of its existence. Whatever, it is distressing for individuals with symptoms and those around them. Sadly, over two thirds of people with the disorder have attempted to take their own lives. Perhaps, surprisingly, some studies have shown those with DID often aren’t violent. What is true though, is that they may self-medicate, and substance abuse is linked to all types of crime including murder.

  The International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation calls for more research and understanding of this little-known condition and is a good first port of call for those wanting more information.

  Stress caused the demon inside Dan to take control. I wonder, and worry, how modern life affects people’s mental health. Our children are especially vulnerable.

  This book started off its life as a simple story about relationships, so I’m not entirely sure what that says about me!

  Thank you for reading, I hope you were entertained.

  Acknowledgem
ents

  As always, many people helped with this book. A special thank you to Richard Burke for his ongoing support. Alex Williams and Marika Dworzak edited and proofread this book on numerous occasions during its many incarnations. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  I would also like to thank, in no particular order, Yvette Smart, Nicola Holmes, Alex Knell, Mark Blackburn, Kate Symonds, Louise Holmes, Emma De Oliveira, Jo Curtis, Jamie Jones, Steve Mansbridge, Barry Butler, Jono Hill, Caroline Vincent, Ros Rendle, Jim Ody, Yvette Parker-Radford, Nessa Stimson, Sarah Northwood, Jennifer Bradley, Sarah Muxlow, Louise Brown, Teresa Maher, Tina Griffin, Louise Brown, Sarah Hobbs, Justin Whitehouse and Mark Gregson.

  And finally, Amanda Rayner, for letting me know what a woman really thinks.

  If you enjoyed this, you’ll also love Ross Greenwood’s Fifty Years of Fear.

  Serious stories told with a sense of humour.

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