by Matt Shaw
* * * * *
Dee drove Ryan to work the following morning so she could be left with the car. Neither of them had really spoken during the thirty-three minute drive. Ryan had hardly spoken since the previous evening - after he’d watched the news. Dee hadn’t seen him like this before. It was rare for anything to really bother him - especially the news. She just presumed it was because of his work colleague.
“Maybe she’ll show up today,” Dee tried to reassure him. He looked at her and smiled. They both knew the chances of her rocking up - as though nothing had happened - were extremely remote. Especially as both of them had seen the news whilst eating their morning cornflakes and toast. Her picture had been all over the channels. People don’t get reported as missing, on the news programmes, until all possible stones had been overturned and - in this day and age - by the time they were reported as such it was usually too late for them. They’d already be dead. Dee turned down the final street which took them to the bank’s car park. A car park shared by some of the other businesses on the road. She stopped the car before the entrance, “Look.” Ryan had already spotted what she was looking at. Numerous police cars all parked in the free spaces with extra cars on the road. Ryan twisted in his chair and looked towards the bank. A hive of activity with police officers going in and out. “What do you think is going on?” Dee asked.
Ryan shrugged. “Wait here.”
He removed his seatbelt and climbed from the car, closing the door behind him with a gentle shove. Dee watched as he ran across the road towards the bank. As soon as he was near enough, a police officer stretched out his hand as though to stop him from going any further. She watched as they exchanged words. Ryan’s boss appeared in the doorway and walked out to greet Ryan. A few other members of staff left the building with him. Some started walking down the road and others crossed over - towards the car park. Dee watched as they climbed into their cars. A couple got on their mobile phones whilst the others just drove from the car park and headed down the road - away from the building. By the time Dee turned back to see what was going on with her husband, he was already on his way back to the car. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking from the expression on his face.
“Well,” he said as he climbed into the car, “I have an unscheduled day off today.” He closed the door behind him. “Bank isn’t opening today.”
“What’s going on?”
“The police officer didn’t say anything but John said a parcel was delivered. He opened it up and there were two hands in there.”
“Hands? Real hands? As in human?” Dee looked disgusted. Ryan nodded. “Your colleague?” He shrugged. She realised the expression on his face. It was one of concern. “So what’s happening now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. John said he’d call us all later to let us know what is going on. From what he said - I don’t think he even knows what is going on,” he said. “Looks pretty shook up. Everyone does.”
Dee turned the key in the ignition and did a u-turn in the road. Seconds later and they were driving back the way they had come. The same silence filling the car which had accompanied them on the way down. When Ryan had first told Dee his work colleague was missing - she didn’t really tie it in with what was happening in the news. Had it been someone in her school who’d gone missing - she may have done so - but it wasn’t, and so it was still hard for her to think of something so evil being so close to her little world. After all, the world is a big place. It’s pretty bad luck to have something like that happening on your doorstep and - generally - it’s not something you believe will creep into your world. It always seems to happen to someone else. With the discovery of the hands, though, it was hard for her to ignore the possibility of the work colleague being taken. It was hard to believe the evil hadn’t crept into their comfortable little lives. And it was hard for either of them not to believe the hands belonged to Vanessa.
“Did you want me to stay home today?” Dee offered. “I can cancel my plans. I was only going into town with Jackie.”
"No. It's fine," he said. It was going to be the first time Jackie and Dee were meeting up after the meal they had shared the other night and Ryan didn’t want to stop that. Especially for something like this. He wanted her to go out. He wanted her to make friends.
"I don't mind." Dee reiterated on the off chance he was just being polite so as not to ruin her day. Just as Ryan was fine with her going out, she was fine with changing her plans in order to stay in with him. Especially if he needed her to.
"Really - it's fine. It'll be nice for you to make a new friend. At least one who lives so close anyway."
"As long as you're sure."
"I'm sure."
The rest of the drive home was completed in silence; broken only when Dee couldn't stand it anymore and turned the radio on. When the latest news bulletin started - she switched the radio onto the CD function. Ryan didn't stop her.
* * * * *
Claire ignored the first knock on the door in the hope Jen would answer it. After all, more likely than not, it was only going to be Kara enquiring as to whether she wanted to go out and play with her. Kara, or Jackie looking for Dee, or a salesman trying to sell something Claire would have no interest in (and certainly no authority to pay for).
"Jen! Door!" she called out when a second rap was heard against the wooden frame. She heard Jen mutter something from her bedroom before she heard the sound of her sister running down the landing and stairs towards the front door. She smiled to herself. If she was going to be forced to move house and then forced to stay in and keep an eye on her younger sister whilst her mother drove her father to work than she'd at least treat her as though she were her own personal slave. Which reminded her, "And fetch me some crisps!" she called out loudly to ensure Jen heard her. Another mutter from down the stairs. Loud enough to know it was her sister moaning but not loud enough to make out what was being said. It didn't matter to Claire though. She'd hit her later regardless. Especially if she didn't bring her the packet of crisps she'd asked for.
Claire was sitting at a small desk in her bedroom drawing in a plain-papered notepad. When she was forced to move home, and taken away from the people she cared about - Claire was surprised when her mother and father left her with the note-pad. She thought (even told them) that they may as well take that from her too - if they're taking everything else from her then they may as well take her main passion (drawing) as well. Dee just told her not to be so melodramatic and that she'd make new friends.
"I don't see why I should have to!" Claire had ranted. "Why do I even have to change schools? It's not as though we're moving country!" and she was right. They weren't moving country. Unfortunately, though, they were moving far enough away to mean Claire, and her sister, were no longer in the right catchment area for their current school. Hence the need to move to a new one and the need to make new friends.
A knock on her bedroom door made her turn around. Jen didn't make a habit of knocking on the door. She'd just burst in and interrupt Claire (something which she often got in trouble for). Claire jumped when she saw Thomas standing in the doorway with a packet of crisps in his hand.
"Hi," he looked at the crisps, "your sister picked out prawn cocktail. That good enough?" Before Claire could answer - or even ask why he was in her bedroom - he threw the packet at her. It landed on the desk next to where she was working.
"What do you want?" Claire asked.
“What? Nothing. I just thought I’d pop over and say hello to my new best friend!”
“Best friend?”
“Best friend!”
“Yeah because you’ve been so friendly from the moment we first met.” he walked across the room and sat down on Claire’s bed. Claire didn’t say anything but he could see his choice of seat annoyed her so he stood up again.
“Sorry,” he said, “I can be a bit of a dick sometimes. Nothing was meant by it. Promise. Can we just start again?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He leant forward and
extended his hand towards her, “Hi, I’m Thomas. Pleased to meet you.”
Claire laughed and took his hand. They shook. “Claire.”
“Such a pretty name,” he said.
“Really? That’s how you make new friends?” she laughed (at him, not with him). “I think I understand why you don’t have many friends,” she said.
“Who said I didn’t have many friends?” He changed the subject, “Is your dad at work today?” he asked.
Claire raised an eyebrow. She didn’t expect Thomas to come over but she expected that, as a question, even less. “Why?”
“Just wondered,” he said. “That girl show up yet? The one who works with him.”
Claire paused a moment as she came to the sudden realisation Thomas hadn’t come over to see her, or even make friends with her. “You didn’t come to see me did you?”
“What - yes. I said so.”
“Uh huh - look, I’ve got a lot to do today. If you want to see my dad and ask him all these questions, your best bet is to come around this evening.” She turned her back on Thomas and started to draw on her pad again.
“No. I came to see you. I was just wondering that’s all. Being neighbourly.”
“I know who he is, you know.”
“Yeah. He’s my dad.”
“No. I know who the killer is. The one in the papers. I know him.”
CHAPTER NINE
I felt like a hypocrite sending the girl’s hands to the bank. Especially giving them a sign to say she’s not with me - the girl missing from the bank I mean. The sign was clear to say I hadn’t taken her. I’d taken the girl who the hands were originally attached to. Hopefully they’ll be able to run some tests and see it’s not the same person. It was never in my plan to send off packages to people. My idol, Art, did when he toyed with the police but - I want to be my own person. I don’t want to be perceived as a copycat to him. Especially given my hatred for copycats. Sure, I was inspired by news of his gallery. More so when the photographs of his exhibits were leaked to the Internet (albeit for a short time only before they were pulled). By sending the hands - I just wanted them to know I was innocent of the crime they now believed I was responsible for. Sure I could have taken credit for it - at least until the girl was found - but that’s cheating. I want to be known as the worst (best) serial killer of all time by my own merits. I don’t need help from other people. I’m my own person. I’m my own killer. And I can do this by myself. Well, by myself and with my victims anyway. Speaking of which, I need to find a new victim. Someone else to play with. I fancy a brunette.
* * * * *
Claire was standing next to the desk in Thomas’ room. Various handwritten notes were sprawled across the worktop with Thomas sitting in front of them, thumbing through the various snippets of information.
“This is what you do with your free time?” Claire asked. The notes - all handwritten - were various scribblings based on some of the most infamous serial killers of all time; Gacy, Dahmer, Art, Bundy, Sutcliffe and even Gein and Manson were amongst them although - technically speaking - the latter two weren’t serial killers. They still had their place in this list though.
“It’s interesting to me.”
“It’s a bit sick.”
Thomas found the piece he was looking for, “This is the latest one.” He handed it over to Claire. She took it and started reading. Thomas had been writing about the kidnappings and brutal murders in explicit detail. He’d written the dates and times the bodies were found, he’d written how long each of the girls had been missing for and the state in which they’d reappeared - discovered by unfortunate walkers who’d stumbled across them whilst out and about. Claire couldn’t hide the fact she found what she was reading disgusting. For some reason, it also made her feel a little nervous. Here was a guy, standing so close to her, who seemed to idolise these monsters. An unhealthy obsession for which she couldn’t see a reason. Despite Claire’s obvious concerns, Thomas hadn’t noticed and carried on excitedly, “I want to write when I’m older. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at,” he said - bustling with an energy she’d not seen before. “Eventually I want to compile all of these into books. You know, True Crime…Massive market for it and it’s fun to write about…”
Claire couldn’t contain her disgust anymore, “Fun?” She held the pages up, “This isn’t fun - these are lives. These girls are daughters, sisters - maybe even mothers…”
Thomas shifted uneasily, “I don’t think of them as that. I just detach from it…” He realised what he was saying probably wasn’t going to make her feel any better about what he’d been spending his time working on and tried to change tact, “True Crime has such a massive market…Can you imagine if I had an interview with your dad in here?”
“What?”
“About his…” he looked at his notes, “…work colleague Vanessa…If he talked about her to me, told me a little about her. It’d make her more real to the reader and…”
“I’m sorry,” Claire handed the notes back, “I have to get home.”
Thomas blocked her way. “Wait. Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“You think you know who the murderer is and yet you haven’t gone to the police? Even if I had the slightest of inklings as to who it could be - I’d have reported it on the off chance I was right. And if you were right, if you reported it, that would have made for a more impressive end to your book. Certainly more impressive than a missing girl’s work colleague. If I were you, I wouldn’t even try talking to my dad about it. He’ll just say the same as me.”
Claire side-stepped Thomas and walked towards the bedroom door.
“It’s your neighbour!” Thomas called out after her.
Claire turned back to him, “You’re my neighbour,” she said.
“On the other side. It’s him.”
“I think you need to get out more,” Claire said. Clearly, she’d had enough of Thomas. “This…” she pointed to the notes, “…this isn’t a healthy hobby. It’s just…Weird.” She turned and walked from the room, and down the stairs as Thomas called out after her. She didn’t hear what he said and she didn’t care - no doubt he was just trying to scare her. Some kind of sick prank to make her feel less welcome than she already felt in what was supposed to be her new home.
“Oh hi!” Jackie appeared in the lounge doorway as Claire reached the bottom of the stairs. “Staying for dinner?” Claire didn’t even bother to answer her, she just opened the front door and stormed out. Jackie watched her from the doorway - a perplexed expression on her face.
Ryan and Dee pulled into the driveway of their own home to witness Claire storming from one house to the other. Ryan immediately rolled his eyes - as though he needed any more drama in his life right now.
“Now what?” he sighed.
“It’s fine,” Dee reassured him, “whatever it is - I’ll deal with it.”
Ryan paused in the car as Dee opened the door and headed after Claire - calling her name as she did so. Ryan sighed heavily. Whatever it was, he just couldn’t be bothered. Not today. Not after what’d happened at the bank.
“Claire!” Dee called out to her daughter who’d already disappeared into the house. She chased after her allowing the front door to close behind her. “Claire, talk to me!” she insisted from the bottom of the stairs. Claire was already halfway up them.
Claire stopped and turned to face her mother, tears rolling down her face. “I didn't even want to move here!” she yelled at her. “I was happy where we were.” She shouted again, “I don’t want to live here!”
“What brought all this on?” Dee knew Claire wasn’t happy with the move. She didn’t exactly make her initial feelings hidden from her mother and father. Even so - she thought Claire was at least, starting to come around to the idea of it. Albeit slowly.
“That freak next door!”
“Who?” Dee knew who her daughter was referring to. She had known her daughter and the neighbour’s son weren’t going t
o get on from the moment she met him. He seemed rude when he finally came down to eat dinner with them. In fact - he seemed to be identical to Claire and that was how she knew they wouldn’t get on. It was true, the old saying, opposites attract. Claire and Thomas were so similar they were always going to clash.
“You know who!”
“Well what’s he done?” Dee asked. If she could understand the outburst, there was a chance she’d be able to fix it before it became more of an issue.
“He wants to talk to dad…”
“Who wants to talk to me?” Neither Dee nor Claire had heard Ryan walk in through the front door. Dee was the first to look at him. She shrugged. He looked up to his distraught daughter, “Well?”
