by Shaun Hutson
‘What about a boy called Trevor Harvey? Craven was picking on him this morning. Is there some kind of antagonism between them that I should know about?’
‘Harvey is a little slow, for want of a better word. Again, you know that children like that are usually the butt of jokes. You can’t accuse Craven of persecuting Harvey as well. You seem to have taken a dislike to this boy, Mr Hacket and it appears to be clouding your judgement.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with judgement. I’m not talking about character references, for Christ’s sake, I’m telling you what I saw today. And I don’t like it.’
The two men gazed at each other for a moment, their concentration broken by a knock on the office door. Brooks’ secretary popped her head around the door and coughed rather theatrically.
‘Mrs Craven is here,’ she announced.
Brooks smiled and instructed the secretary to show the woman through.
She was dressed in a loose fitting tracksuit and trainers. Hacket saw that part of a bandage showed beneath the left sleeve of the tracksuit top. Her hair was long, jet-black and tied in a pigtail. She bustled into the room, smiling at Brooks then at Hacket. The headmaster greeted her then introduced her briefly to the younger man. Brooks offered her a seat but she declined.
‘There’s nothing wrong with Phillip is there?’ she asked.
‘There’s been an accident, Mrs Craven,’ said Brooks. ‘Involving your son. A fight.’
‘Is he hurt?’ she asked, anxiously. ‘I saw him sitting outside the room.’
‘He’s not hurt,’ Hacket interrupted. ‘But another boy is. Phillip injured him badly and I’m sure it was intentional.’
Brooks shot the younger man an angry glance.
‘There was a slight fracas, Mr Hacket is right,’ the headmaster said. ‘We thought it best if Phillip stayed at home for a couple of days.’
‘What happened?’ Elaine Craven wanted to know.
Hacket told her.
She looked at him for a moment then turned to Brooks and smiled politely.
‘I’ll keep Phillip at home, if that’s what you think is best. I hope the other lad is better soon.’ Then she turned back to Hacket. ‘I think you’re a little too eager to blame my son for what happened.’
‘I saw him do it, Mrs Craven.’
‘He could have been provoked,’ she said, defensively.
‘Provoked into biting a boy’s ear off?’ Hacket shook his head.
She pulled up her sleeves and shrugged her shoulders, a gesture which signified, defiance. Hacket caught sight of the heavy bandage which encased her left arm from wrist to elbow.
‘I think it’d be best if I left now,’ said Elaine. ‘I’ll take Phillip with me.’ She turned and headed for the door, followed by the headmaster who waved Hacket back into the office. He waited there, listening to the mutterings coming from outside then he heard the door of the outer office close and, a second later, Brooks re-entered the room, making straight for the radiator. He pressed himself to it.
‘Satisfied, Mr Hacket?’ Brooks said. ‘I believe you have a class to take.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I trust there’s nothing else you wish to discuss.’
‘As a matter of fact there is something on my mind,’ the teacher said. ‘I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me the truth about the previous occupant of my house.’
Brooks looked vague.
‘The teacher who shot his wife and child then committed suicide,’Hacket continued.
‘It’s not something I like to talk about,’ said Brooks rubbing his hands together.
‘I had a right to know before myself and my wife moved in. Why did he do it?’
Brooks shrugged.
‘You’re asking me to give you answers I can’t give now, Mr Hacket,’ the headmaster said. ‘Who am I to see into a man’s mind? I had no idea he would do something like that. He may have been unbalanced. There were no outward signs. I’m a teacher not a psychiatrist.’
Hacket was silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the headmaster.
‘You should have told me,’ he said finally.
‘Would it have changed your mind about the job? Would you have decided not to live there if you’d known all the facts?’
Hacket shrugged.
‘I don’t know. It’s a bit late for that now though isn’t it? The main thing is, you should have told me.’
Brooks looked at his watch again.
‘Your class, Mr Hacket,’ he said, sliding his hands along the radiator.
Hacket hesitated a moment longer then turned and headed for the door.
Brooks turned his back and gazed out of the window. He could see Elaine Craven driving along the short driveway that led past his office.
Phillip sat in the back, a slight smile on his lips.
As Hacket passed through the annexe he paused for a second and looked at the painting of the owl on the wall.
The owl holding the eyeball.
Phillip Craven’s painting.
Perhaps it would have been more appropriate if the owl had been holding an ear, he thought bitterly.
All around him bells sounded, signalling the beginning of another lesson.
Hacket looked at his watch.
1.30 p.m.
It was already turning into a long day.
Fifty-seven
As he pushed open the front door the smell of stew greeted
him.
Hacket inhaled deeply, the mouth-watering aroma a most welcome one. He dropped his briefcase and sports-bag in the hall and wandered through into the kitchen.
Sue was standing by the cooker stirring the contents of a large saucepan.
‘How did it go?’ she asked, cheerily and Hacket was pleasantly surprised by the lightness of her tone. She was wearing a pink T-shirt and pair of faded, tight-fitting jeans. Both items of clothing served to highlight both the shapely curves of her figure and the fact that she wore nothing beneath the outer garments. She turned to Hacket and smiled.
He wondered if he’d walked into the wrong house.
It was as if time had somehow been reversed.
Her hair had been washed and, beneath the lights in the kitchen it seemed to glow. She wore just a hint of makeup on her eyes and her face looked as if it had been purged of any lines or shadows. She looked closer to twenty than twenty-five. And when she smiled at him he felt the breath catch in his throat.
It was like finding a long-lost possession again.
He moved towards her and kissed her, surprised when she stopped stirring the stew and, instead, snaked both arms around his neck, drawing him closer to her. Their lips brushed together and he felt her tongue flicking urgently against his teeth, pushing deeper to stir the moistness of his mouth. He responded fiercely, allowing one hand to fall to her bottom, squeezing its firmness. She ground herself against his groin, pulling away for breath, smiling as she felt his penis beginning to stiffen against her.
‘The stew will burn,’ she said, touching his lips with her index finger. Hacket backed off and sat down, a little bewildered.
Why the sudden change?
He looked at her and smiled.
‘I asked how the day went?’ she repeated.
He told her, deciding to skip details about Craven’s antics on the rugby field. She listened intently, dishing up the dinner, sitting down opposite him as he spoke. Occasionally he would look up at her and, sometimes would find her gaze on him. Hacket’s bewilderment at her change in attitude was rapidly overtaken by his joy and relief.
Was this the turning point?
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What sort of day have you had?’
‘I finished tidying up,’ she told him. ‘Things actually look respectable in the bedrooms now. I put your clothes away. There’s just some stuff that needs to go up in the loft and that’s about it.’
‘And the doctor? How did that go?’
‘Fine,’ she told him, getting to her feet and swiping the remains of the s
tew into the waste-bin.
‘Did he give you any pills?’
‘Sleeping tablets. And don’t worry, I won’t get addicted.’ She smiled.
Hacket looked at her for a moment then he reached out, pulling her to him. She didn’t resist but instead allowed him to lift her onto his knee. She put her arms around his neck, feeling the strength in his grip as he held her. He wanted to speak, wanted to say something to her, to tell her how she’d changed. Tell her how much he loved the change. But the words wouldn’t come. Hacket was worried that if he spoke to her about her change of mood then she would revert to the way she’d been before. He was both elated and frightened by this new face she was showing.
Face or mask?
She kissed him and he felt sure that it was with genuine warmth.
Had he been forgiven?
He doubted it but he didn’t question, he merely enjoyed the moment, savoured the sensations he was feeling.
He wanted her badly.
When he felt her hand gliding across his groin he knew the feeling was reciprocated.
She stroked the inside of his thigh then trailed her fingers across his penis, squeezing it through the material of his trousers; coaxing its stiffness. She took one of his hands and raised it to her breast, anxious to let him feel her own excitement. He kneaded her breast gently, feeling her nipple stiffen and swell. She moaned softly and they kissed, deeply, wantonly. She slid from his lap onto the floor beside him, unzipping his trousers, easing his penis from the confines of the material. Then she leant forward and took the bulbous head in her mouth, slowly lowering her head until more of his stiff shaft disappeared into the warm orifice.
Hacket gasped as he felt her tongue lapping around his glans while, with her free hand, she gently rubbed his testicles. He unfastened his trousers and eased them down, not wanting to disturb her then, as she continued sucking he reached down and pulled at her T-shirt, easing it over her head.
She kneeled beside him, moving back slightly, allowing him to reach her breasts, to squeeze them in his eager hands, to tease the hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
She stood up and unzipped her jeans, wriggling out of them until she stood naked in front of him.
Hacket stood too, slipping out of his trousers and pants, allowing Sue to unbutton his shirt and tug it free.
Naked, they embraced and he felt her hand close around his shaft, urging him towards her slippery cleft, demanding that he penetrate her.
She moved back, her shoulder blades against the wall, raising herself up onto her toes as he took his place between her spread thighs.
His penis nudged the entrance of her vagina for a moment and she gasped as it rubbed her hardened clitoris then, with a grunt, he slid into her.
It was a pleasure he’d almost forgotten.
She raised one leg, snaking it around the back of his calves, allowing him deeper penetration, gripping his buttocks, unable to stand the torment any longer. He began to drive into her, long slow strokes which caused them both to gasp. Hacket bent his head to her breasts taking each nipple between his lips in turn, flicking his tongue over the hardened buds. Licking the mounds until they glistened with his saliva.
Sue looked into his eyes, her own eyes glazed as if she were in a trance, aware only of the thrusting of his penis and the sensations which were building between her legs.
She pressed her head against his shoulder as he increased the speed of his movements. Looking beyond him her eyes opened for a second.
‘Come and see me’.
She knew that this was her husband who held her but she felt another.
‘Come and see me’.
Curtis.
She mouthed his name as her ecstasy grew. Mouthed it but did not speak it.
And as the orgasm grew in intensity she closed her eyes, saw Curtis driving into her. Felt him bringing her to the brink.
She heard her name whispered but it seemed vague, muffled.
She cried out as she climaxed, reaching down to squeeze those swollen testicles.
Hacket felt her body trembling with the exploding pleasure, heard her moan her joy. Then, as her hand grasped him gently he too felt the beginnings of his orgasm. He thrust harder into her until he poured his thick fluid into her.
She groaned once more as she felt him come.
The image of Curtis filled her mind. It was his penis which throbbed inside her. His semen which filled her.
‘Come and see me’.
Hacket slowly withdrew, his breath coming in gasps. Both of them were covered in perspiration but, even as he tried to pull away she gripped him hard, pulling his face close to hers, kissing him deeply.
Then she leant forward, licking his chest, lowering herself slowly, her tongue flicking over his belly until it reached his flaccid organ, now wet with secretions. She took it into her mouth, tasting herself on him. She licked, sucked, coaxed.
She demanded him again.
And Hacket responded, surprised at his own recuperative powers. He felt the stiffness beginning to return.
She led him, almost dragged him, towards the sitting-room and there they loved again. More slowly this time but with as much intensity.
Hacket felt as if the night had blurred into one long bout of glorious copulation.
Nothing else seemed to matter. He found reserves of strength he didn’t know he had, spurred on by Sue’s insatiability. She was tireless.
‘I love you,’ Hacket whispered as she lay with her head on his chest, licking the beads of perspiration from his flesh.
Her eyes were open, her breathing low. She didn’t answer him.
All she could think of was Curtis.
And it began again.
Fifty-eight
It had all been so easy.
Much easier than he’d anticipated.
Ronald Mills sat at the table in the flat, smiling, looking down at the objects which lay before him.
At the .38 and its ammunition. The knife. The pad which bore the one word: HINKSTON.
Walton had always done most of the thinking when he’d been alive. Any deals to be worked out, they had been Walton’s province. Any financial connivings, Walton had sorted them out, but now Walton was dead and Mills had to think for himself.
He spun the cylinder of the .38 then snapped it back into position, raising the gun so that he was squinting down the sight. He aimed at a dirty vase which stood on top of the sideboard and squeezed the trigger.
The metallic click sounded loud as the hammer slammed down on an empty chamber.
He put down the gun and picked up the knife, holding it almost lovingly in his hand. The hand which still festered from the tattoo. He grunted and picked a piece of the scab off, rolling it between his fingers for a moment before dropping it onto the floor. Then he reached for the sharpening stone, and began carefully drawing the blade back and forth across it, pausing every now and then to press his thumb to the edge.
After nearly five minutes of this task he pressed his thumb to the blade once more.
The knife split the skin effortlessly, opening the pad of Mills’ thumb from the nail to the first joint.
He held it before him for a second, watching as the blood welled from the split and ran down his hand. Then he pushed the digit into his mouth, tasting the salty crimson fluid as it flooded onto his tongue. He sucked it as a child would suck on a nipple, coaxing more fluid from it.
Finally he lowered his hand, lowered the knife, his gaze drawn once more to the pad.
He had rung the estate agents and asked about Hacket’s house. Said that he wanted to put in a bid for it. And they had believed him. Those fucking idiots who only cared about their commission, who only cared if they sold the house or not. They didn’t care who bought it, who enquired, as long as there was the possibility of some money at the end of it all.
‘Easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God,’ chuckled Mills.
He didn’t want money. He didn’t care about money.
He wanted revenge.
He wanted Hacket.
The estate agent had tried to arrange a meeting with him, to show him round the house but Mills had hesitated. He had asked to speak to Hacket personally, he wondered if he would be willing to take a smaller offer.
The estate agent thought it might work.
Mills had smiled.
He had asked for a way of getting in touch with Hacket.
The estate agent had given him a phone number and an address in a place called Hinkston.
Ask and ye shall receive.
Mills looked at the word written on his pad then at the gun and the knife.
And at his bleeding thumb.
He knew where Hacket was, all he had to do was find him.
Slowly, Mills wiped his thumb across the pad, leaving a thick red stain.
It was just a matter of time.
Seek and ye shall find.
He began to laugh.
Fifty-nine
The frost crunched beneath his feet as he walked from the back door of the house.
Curtis made his way across the large lawn at the rear of the building, moving slowly, inhaling deeply. The early morning air smelt clean and unpolluted. When he exhaled his breath clouded before him. A watery sun was dragging its way up into the sky but, with dawn having broken scarcely fifteen minutes earlier it seemed to be finding the climb difficult. It wasn’t yet strong enough to melt the frost.
The silence in the back garden, indeed all around the house, was almost total.
It was too early for any traffic to be either leaving or entering Hinkston, and the house was set sufficiently far back from the road to mask the sound even if some early morning traveller was passing.
The only sounds which Curtis heard as he made his way across the back garden were those of birds singing in the trees around him. Just two or three of them. A sparrow paused in its early morning song to peer quizzically at him as he passed beneath the branch where it sat.
Curtis drew closer to the bottom of the garden, towards the high, perfectly cropped privet hedge which towered a good nine feet.
