by PT Reade
“Please. Hear me out,” I added through the door. “It took me less than a week to find you. Actually, all the clues started popping up after your car crashed. That’s been two days. And here I am, at your door. I don’t have a lot of resources, but the cops do. If I found you this easy, they’ll find you, too. I want to help you. But I can assure you that the cops won’t. Think about it.”
She didn’t think long. Within ten seconds, I heard the rattle of a chain and the sound of a bolt sliding back. The door was cracked open and a single blue eye peered out at me.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Thomas Blume.”
“Get inside. Quickly.”
She stepped away, and I followed her inside, partly closing the door behind me. When I turned around, it was a relief to finally have Christina Bishop in front of me. Without studio lighting and the powers of Photoshop, it was incredible how different she looked from the ads and magazine covers. Especially now that her hair was a dark auburn, tied back. But the gentle rise of her lips and almond-shaped eyes—free of makeup—gave her a natural beauty. She looked fantastic. If anything, more attractive.
Aside, that was, from her unfortunate habit.
“Christina?” I asked.
She nodded as she placed a cigarette into her mouth. She lit it with the trained reflexes of a chain smoker. “I suppose you have questions,” She began. What do you need to know?”
“I need to know what happened,” I said. “I need to know why the cops are so sure you killed Jimmy Hughes. And I need you to tell me the absolute honest truth or I can’t help.”
She drew deeply off of the cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. I was never one for women who smoked but damn if she didn’t make it look sexy…even if she was nervous beyond comprehension.
“Ok, look. I would never have killed Jimmy. I loved him. Not loved him, not like the rumors said, but you know what I mean. That man was the reason I had a career. Sure, we argued sometimes, but he was responsible for all the jobs I picked up; all my success. He was a dear friend.” She paused here to take another long drag and, from what I could tell, to fight off a bout of tears.
“I didn’t kill him. We were at the party…he was schmoozing it up with some executive types, and I was talking to some friends of mine. At some point, I had to go to the bathroom. I wasn’t familiar with the house, and I was drunk, so I kinda just stumbled around looking for the toilet but ended up away from the party in this office or study or whatever.”
Christina paused, hands trembling. The smoke from the cigarette danced in a little jitter. She dumped ash into an ashtray on a small table, and started to cry, before mustering the energy to continue.
“I walked into the office, and I saw…well, I wasn’t sure what it was at first. I saw Jimmy on the floor, and there was another guy on top of him. Jimmy was gay—he was into fellas—so I assumed I had walked in on something, you know? But then I saw the knife in the other man’s hand and…the blood. All the blood.”
“So what happened?”
“The one with the knife, he came charging at me. I was so scared.” She looked at the ground, trembling as she recalled the details.
“He had on this weird raincoat. I guess it was to catch the blood. I shouted and ran to get help, but I must have hit my head on the washbasin. I…I remember thinking he’s going to kill me now when I went to the floor. But the next thing I knew, someone—one of the party guests, I guess, was shaking me awake. Jimmy was dead when I came around, and the police were coming. I heard the sirens in the distance, so I ran. Maybe, that wasn’t clever. It probably made everyone at that party think it was me. I mean…it was stupid, but I was so scared, Jimmy’s blood was everywhere.” She absently rubbed at her temple, as if the action would ease the pain. “Oh God, the blood. The next day I also heard that my prints were all over the place.”
The room was warm, and I had no need to hide the gun, so I removed my jacket and hung it over a chair. We moved into the kitchen as my mind churned through the details of Christina’s story. “The police report didn’t mention anyone else at the scene. The attacker must have been wearing gloves,” I pointed out. “I think you’ve been set up.”
“No shit,” she said, snubbing out her cigarette.
“Do you have any idea who the killer was? Did you get a good look at him?”
“I think it was the stalker.” She said quietly, as if the mere words terrified her.
“Stalker?” I asked, recalling the case notes from before.
“It’s hard as a model. I know how lucky I am to be successful and I shouldn’t complain, but …. When I started to win the bigger modeling gigs last year, my online profile took off. But then I started getting all sorts of freaks messaging me. It’s a part of the business I figured, so I just blocked them or reported the worst ones. But this one guy, this creep, has been stalking me for about a year now. He sends me emails and pictures no matter how often I change the address; messed-up things about me and him. But never direct threats, so the cops couldn’t do much. I see him at fashion shows too. He’s everywhere I go, but he’s crafty. By the time I get security on the scene, he’s a ghost. I reported him, but I think in the end the police thought I was just some bimbo model who couldn’t handle the attention. I know it’s the same guy though. I know it.
“And that’s why I’m in hiding. I think he’s going to kill me. It’s as though if he can’t have me, nobody can or something.”
“Have a description of him?” I asked, wondering how it could all be connected.
She laughed nervously. “No. He’s always dressed in a baggy hoodie or some hat. I’ve never really seen his face much.”
“And your car?” I asked. “Based on what I know and the folks I met in Silvertown, I assume you left it there on purpose. You wanted it to get stolen, right?”
“Yeah. I knew it would get nicked on the waterfront area. I thought it might help get the cops off me for a while. A wild goose chase sort of thing. I know it was a shitty thing to do, but I was so happy when the thief wrecked it and there was a woman inside, almost unidentifiable. Everyone assumed it was me, you know? Oh god, I’m a monster, aren’t I?”
“I’m not one to judge,” I said quietly, perfectly remembering the scene of the crash. I felt pangs of anger inside. Christina seemed to have little remorse for her actions. Someone had died as a result of her mistakes. But I also related to her. Sometimes life deals us an awful hand, and we have to do awful things in order to survive. Some of us had to run from the law and hook up with sad characters like Damian to feed our egos. Others have to break some punk kid’s arm in an elevator or become a raging alcoholic.
“You swear you’re not the police?” she asked, suddenly looking terrified.
I laughed. “Positive,” I said.
“Then you must be tons smarter than anyone on the force.”
“Maybe. Then again, most people are smarter than the British cops I’ve run into.”
“So how did you even know I was innocent?” she asked.
“Your boyfriend got in touch and hired me.”
She looked confused and as we stood in the small kitchen, I could actually feel the unease coming off of her.
“Boyfriend?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“Right,” I said, “You know the guy–5’10”, skinny, all plaid shirts and floppy hair. Damian Slater? He hired me to find you.”
“Some guy hired you to find me?”
“Yeah,” I said. But a creeping doubt suddenly slithered down my spine. Had I been that blind?
“But I—,” she started to say but stopped. Her eyes grew wide, and she raised an arm to point. She let out a cry, but it was too late.
I wheeled around at the same time as reaching for my gun. I saw the figure behind me for just a second, but then the world was encompassed by a blur of cold metal.
The noise it made when it struck my head seemed distant. Everything darkened. My knees buckled, and I felt the worl
d being pulled away. My first thought as I fell to the floor was that the thugs from the elevator had come back for vengeance.
But I looked up and saw Damian Slater standing over me.
He was leering down at me with the bloody weapon still in his hand. My groggy mind struggled to process his appearance.
Damian must have followed me here, but why?
Then the truth hit me like a freight train. Damian wasn’t the concerned boyfriend.
He was the goddam killer.
FIFTEEN
My world was a blur of black and red.
“Well done, Blume. You performed better than I could have imagined,” Damian said.
Blood coursed down my head, dripped into my right eye. I focused on that, trying to keep myself from fading. If I blacked out, Damian would finish the job, and I’d lose Christina for good.
To my dark delight, luck shined down on me once again. Damian was clearly unhinged, and I guessed, a little proud of his plan. He wanted to rub my face in the fact that he had played me. It wasn’t good enough for him to have me at his mercy and with easy access to the object of his obsession. He needed more. He needed to make sure I got it loud and clear.
I’d seen it countless times with aggressive perps. When Damian’s hands landed on my shoulders, and he pulled me clumsily into a sitting position, I silently thanked him. The bastard was keeping me from going totally under. While my vision was narrow and my head filled with a buzz of throbbing pain, I felt my senses sliding back into their place.
I let the lunatic ramble. It was good, kept me awake.
“Yes,” he said gleefully. “I told you Christina was my girlfriend. I couldn’t very well tell you the truth. I doubt you’d have taken me on as a client. You see, she and I are meant for each other. I’ve known it since I first saw her. I just had to make sure that fucker Jimmy was out of the picture.”
Jesus. I led a goddamn stalker straight to Christina. Nice going, Tom. At this rate, you’ll get a bonus.
“Imagine my surprise when my lovely stumbled upon Jimmy and me concluding our business.” Damian’s cheeks were red and his eyes wild as he remembered the details.
“I tried to talk to her, to explain our love, but she ran and hit her head. I couldn’t stay. I knew there would be too many questions, so I left. I just had to find her again to make her understand. You do understand, my lovely?” He looked at Christina across the room
She simply stood frozen, mouth open, eyes glassy and wide.
I tried to mumble something, but my tongue was lazy, and the words wouldn’t form.
A blur of motion registered, then a spark of pain as Damian slapped me hard across the face.
“Come on, Blume. Wake up. I want you to realize how badly you fucked up before I kill you and take Christina as my own.”
The slap did revive me. It warmed the side of my face and stirred angry hornets in my stomach.
“When I’m done and—”
His mouth finally gave Christina the opportunity she needed.
I caught a blur of movement again and from the thump of footsteps and Damian’s curse, I pieced together that Christina had bolted past us both and out of the room. A flash of action and another set of rushing footsteps told me that Damian was on her heels, baseball bat in hand.
Using the wall as a support, I scrambled to my feet and groped for my jacket and the weapon within. Every movement was like shoving a piece of hot metal into my head. I resisted the urge to touch the place where Damian’s bat had connected with my head. I knew it would be swollen, and I still felt blood oozing out of it. I’d be damned lucky if I didn’t have a fractured skull.
With the gun in hand, I allowed myself a moment to get my balance and focused on the opened doorway beyond the front of the kitchen, leading out into the hall. All the shapes were blurry, but as I strained, the doorframe became more defined.
That was good enough for me. Grunting in pain, I pushed myself off of the wall and started forward. I almost fell on my face, my head not quite ready for the onslaught of motion and exertion.
Get it together, this is your fault.
Damian had played me like a secondhand violin.
Now it was time to change the tune.
That was all the motivation my brain needed. I tried walking again and then was able to stumble out of the doorway. I couldn’t see Damian or Christina, but I heard her cries for help coming from the right. I headed that way, going as fast as my aching head and the growing nausea would allow, gripping my gun tight. I rounded the corner. Two shapes lay on the floor in front of me in the communal hallway. The two Chavs from earlier were lying in a pool of blood.
Poor bastards.
I’d wanted to teach them a lesson. Damian had decided school was out, permanently.
I staggered past the two bodies and reached the end of the hallway. Confusion set in. Nowhere to go.
There.
The stairwell entrance was open. I took a deep breath and shoved through the creaking door. My head hammered, the pulse thundered into my brain.
Focus Tom…focus.
I took the first flight of stairs down, following Christina’s cries for help and Damian’s manic pleas.
SIXTEEN
The curtain was falling, but I played on.
I made it only three flights down before I puked. It came out of nowhere, and I doubled over on the stairs. The scent of what had been in my stomach filled the stairwell. Almost an improvement.
Concussion.
A deep breath. I pushed on.
The hell of it was that after puking, my head seemed to clear a little. It was still filled with thunderous pain with each step I took, and the blood was now trickling down my shoulders and into my shirt, but my sight was clearer and my legs worked better.
I sprinted down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, pushing past the pain and anchoring myself to the feel of the gun in my hand. Using the handrail for guidance.
A sound from below. Rusty hinges, a door being pushed open.
I was on the fourth-floor and winding down the stairs, meaning that they were a good distance ahead of me. This worried the hell out of me, but I knew that I only needed to get within sight of them to take action. One shot was all I needed. I wouldn’t kill Damian unless I had to, even if the son of a bitch deserved it. Maybe I’d take out a knee and call the police to handle the rest.
I made it to the last set of stairs and burst through the door, headed back out into the lobby. The stragglers from before were still there. They had all been distracted by Damian and Christina rushing through only seconds earlier but had not stopped to help.
Rushing past the onlookers, I bolted through the main door. My foot struck something and I nearly fell down the steps and onto the street. My head was swelling so when I stopped suddenly, it felt like my body was still moving. I almost collapsed to my knees.
I steadied myself, sure that I would throw up again, but it passed. Scanning in both directions, the shapes of two people moving quickly were just visible to the left. Damian in the rear was holding a bloodied length of metal and was closing in on Christina.
I bounded down the stairs and gave chase. I didn’t bother calling out because I wanted to take Damian by surprise. It was tempting to try taking a shot, but my vision was still not trustworthy, and the streets were far too dark.
All I could do was try to keep them in my sights and hope that Damian’s need for satisfaction would prolong the chase. I staggered after them as quickly as I could and watched as Christina took a hard right turn into an alleyway. I winced at this, as it was the worst thing she could have done. It was obvious that she didn’t know the area.
Damian chased after her, the bat slung low in his hand. I half-ran-half-stumbled to the alleyway and peeked around the corner in time to see Damian turning to the right, down a narrower gap between two buildings. It then occurred to me that Christina might not be as dumb as I had thought. Going that way, another few roads would bring her to the end of the
block where I had seen a convenience store on my way in. If she could make it there and to the safety of lights, she might be okay.
I gave chase, heading down the garbage-strewn alley and made a right where they had turned. As I rounded the corner, though, I came to a hard stop. I wheeled back around, hiding behind the corner taking deep breaths.
Christina was down.
SEVENTEEN
A symphony of pain.
I took a deep breath to clear my senses.
Christina was on the ground, fallen. Damian stood over his prey, the bat slung over his shoulder.
“You’re mine now, lovely,” he said. “If you stop running right now, I’ll let you live. Better than that, we can go back to your apartment, and I can finally show you what it’s like with me inside you. I know you’ve dreamed about it. I sure have. It will be beautiful.”
Christina was losing it, making gasp-like sobs from the grimy concrete floor. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because we’re meant to be together,” he said. “I’ve always known it, right from when I first saw you. And soon, you will, too.”
Damian was too deep into his obsession and had no plans of seeing reason.
I had to move.
I clumsily advanced around the corner, trying to be silent while holding the gun straight out. I walked slowly and cautiously, the sight on my weapon swayed while I tried, and failed, to force the marching band in my head away.
Fifteen feet.
Ten.
I made it within six feet of Damian, the Beretta still held directly towards the back of his head.
“Drop it, Damian!” I commanded.
The kid froze on the spot. He spun quickly and fixed me with wild eyes. “You!”
“Drop the bat. It’s over.”
“No, no no no!” He looked to the ground fuming, fists clenched white in anger.
