CHAPTER SEVEN
6.18 a.m. I wake without drama, peaceful and soothed. Remaining still, I strain to capture all sound but hear only the ticking of a wall clock and the gentle, swirling hiss of the gas fire.
I stand, pause for a second then rush upstairs where I scan the view from the front and back windows. The only beat of concern is a helicopter that is speeding my way. This concern quickly flatlines as the helicopter’s blue and white paintwork becomes clear. These colours reveal it to be neither police nor pursuers but a helicopter from the flying school at Portmand Airfield. Such helicopters cross the local skyline all day long. The local landscape of hills and coast is considered ideal for training pilots.
This poses a question, would my pursuers base their helicopter at Portmand? I answer yes, why wouldn’t they? Where else for somewhere to land and refuel? I refuse to think too much so quickly make my decision.
I rush downstairs and hunt for food. My quarry is two frozen meals taken from the freezer, a fish pie and pasta dish in some sort of tomato sauce. As they cook in the microwave, I pack my clean, dry clothes into my rucksack, put on my boots then go looking for keys. I know a brand new Golf is parked in the garage, and I need to replace the Land Rover, which no doubt is already reported stolen. I find the car keys, both car and garage, dangling from brushed chrome, wall mounted key hook rack.
With the laptop connected to the internet, I check to see if anyone has replied to me as Oakley, but no one has. Checking the Inbox, I see nothing but Spam, so I click on New Mail and, off the cuff, compose a note to Oakley.
"Not speaking to me, Oakley? Why the silence? Trying to deal with your failure? Let me say, you are a gutless piece of futile shit. I repeat, you are a gutless piece of futile shit. I am one, you are many, and still you fail!! Why kill your mother? Was it because she didn’t want to fuck you? Did she turn you down you ugly, perverted freak?! It takes a lot to get me angry but let me assure you, when we meet, you will feel the full force of all my fury. I’ve been saving it up for many years. Didn’t know what for, but now I do, for a gutless piece of futile shit, named Oakley. Meet you soon, Sam."
I click, Send and feel an empty sense of satisfaction. Words, for now, are all I have.
Packing the laptop away, I gulp down my breakfast. All I taste is salt. Once finished, I clean my mess, slip on my rucksack then exit the house. After locking the door, I return the key to the paving slab. I then unlock and open the garage door, reverse the Golf out and replace it with the Land Rover. With the garage door locked, I post the garage key through the letterbox, get back in the Golf and pull quickly way.
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