Memory Scents: A Psychological Thriller

by Gayle Eileen Curtis

  Tim chuckled to himself. There was only one woman he needed to sort out, and that was his mother. He didn’t need her mouthing off about him, especially if she was going round the twist and having spontaneous outbursts. He couldn’t have anything said about him that might connect him to the murders. Even if it did sound ludicrous, someone might just take notice if she went on about it for long enough.

  Once the police connected Alice with the other murders, there’d be a massive investigation, which would spread nationally. The urge to move away and start a new life overwhelmed him again. It was becoming more and more apparent to him there were more positive points to going than there were to staying.

  He had no memory scents, which was his first reason. He’d even burnt the ones he’d stolen from Chrissie, and in light of what happened last time he was in her house, there’d be no chance of getting anymore.

  He could start all over again if he moved away. Get some new memory scents. Take himself out of the picture before things got too heavy with the police.

  His mind wandered back to his mother and settled like a gnat on a potential piece of flesh. What he couldn’t work out was how she knew what he’d done. He’d searched her face for a clue, because he hadn’t been sure if she was calling his bluff. That it was just a wild guess because she knew him so well. It must have been. How else could she know?

  It was a mother’s intuition, Daphne thought as she sat in her magnolia overdosed room, watching the telly. Coupled with the fact she knew him so well, she’d been able to piece it all together. She had seen his elation each time a body was found. His excitement when he relayed the details to her, and how he revelled in the facts.

  All through his life he’d stolen obscure items of clothing from people. She just thought it was a phase he was going through and it would pass as he got older. But it didn’t.

  Ever since she’d told him about his sister Verity being murdered when she was seven, before he was born, he’d become obsessed with clothing. She’d kept Verity’s bedroom as it was the day she was taken. Not a thing was touched, even her clothes still hung in her wardrobe, the pain so great that Daphne couldn’t face getting rid of them. She’d caught him in there a few times, sniffing her clothes. The door had been locked throughout his childhood and the room passed off as a storage area, but after they’d told him the truth she’d permitted him in there once to have a look. After that, he’d regularly stolen the key so he could unlock the door and go inside the mysterious room. She put it down to him grieving for the sibling he’d never had.

  He’d had an unusual fascination with the details of his sister’s murder, wanting to visit the library to read newspaper cuttings. This was the only way he learned the facts of what had happened because Daphne wasn’t prepared to discuss it with anyone. She’d only told him when he turned twelve because she didn’t want him finding out from someone else, and he seemed to be mature enough to take the news. She told herself she hadn’t wanted him poisoned by it as a child; for him to be aware of the black cloud that hung over the family. The real reason had been because it was all too painful for Daphne to speak of.

  When the police reported that each child had a piece of clothing missing, she’d had a feeling. It had felt like being plunged into a pool of ice cold water. But that idea of knowing had quickly altered in her mind, as denial set in.

  She knew the thrill he got out of producing his own crime; she could see that much. And in some perverse way, she thought he could justify his acts, because it was keeping the local police force busy, a bit like a manufacturer producing the goods. An atrocious thought to have, but she knew how his mind worked. She had thought of every excuse conceivable, anything to protect her son and herself from this whole ghastly mess.

  Then her denial took over, convinced her she was wrong about it all, and she’d swatted it away like an annoying fly.

  It was the discovery of Alice’s body that had stirred it all up again. She knew the area they’d found her remains very well. It had been the area that had given the game away. That and how he’d reacted to what she’d said when he visited the other day.

  The place where Alice had been found was, to anyone else, just a rural piece of woodland. No footpaths or bridleways marked out. You wouldn’t know it was there unless you stumbled across it accidentally.

  And that’s exactly how Daphne had discovered it, chasing the family dog when they were all out for a walk and a picnic. It had become a favourite place for them. Undisturbed, unspoilt.

  His reaction to her words the other day had almost broken Daphne’s heart. She’d seen it all in his eyes, those eyes she knew so well, because they were like looking into her own.

  Her dilemma now was where to go from here? He was still her son after all. But Daphne saw herself as an upstanding moral citizen and she remembered only too well the pain she had suffered all those years ago when it had happened to her. Ironic she should be the mother of a victim and then perpetrator years later.

  Thinking of his privileged upbringing, she wondered how he’d turned out to be such an abhorrent human being.

  Because I wasn’t given enough attention, Tim thought to himself.

  He was pondering over his bottle of rum why he hadn’t achieved more in his life. He was convinced it was his mother’s fault, always leaving him with Dora who shut him away for hours in the cellar. When his mother was there she was always entertaining people and telling him to go to his room and stay out of the way.

  His father was hardly around so it was unlikely he’d ever known. He remembered so clearly the times when Dora had left him with some friend or another, while she went off on “business”. He realised now, looking back, that “business” had been her having an abortion.

  She’d always told him, but he’d never understood.

  “I’ve got some business to clear up,” she’d leer at him; “I don’t want a little bastard like you, do I?”

  The words moved around in his head, as clear as if they’d just been said to him. Dora had been like a mother to him and it had cut him like a knife. She’d picked him up and dropped him as she’d pleased. All he’d wanted was some attention from his mother. And his father, who was so wrapped up in his work he didn’t have a clue what was going on. He always knew his mother had been so disappointed he’d been a boy and he could never live up to Verity. She always gave him a look of dismay and dissatisfaction, even when she was being kind to him. As the years had gone by she’d become more bitter and twisted.

  The memories were jumbled. One thing was clear to him; he’d been such a horrible child she hadn’t wanted anymore. He thought about all the lost siblings he had never had the chance to know.

  Somehow, and it was hard to tell when it had happened, but Tim’s emotions towards his mother had shifted. Drained away like water through a sieve. Tim put it down to his survival instinct kicking in, which may have happened when he realised she knew his secret. And now he just felt cold emptiness for her, as he did for most people he’d ever known. He needed that detachment towards her in order to get rid of her without remorse.

  *

  Chrissie knocked on Grace’s back door, tentatively. She didn’t like calling round to people unannounced, but she’d been out for a stroll and found herself nearby. Thinking Grace was out and not wanting to risk Tim answering, she began to walk away. When it opened and he peered through the gap like a wizened old man, Chrissie jumped slightly and the hairs on her arms began to rise.

  He looked dreadful, and for a few seconds Chrissie found herself staring at him.

  “Yes?” he snapped at her.

  “I’m Chrissie, Grace’s friend. We met in the pub for lunch?” Chrissie was a bit taken aback by his rudeness.

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, well….I just called by on the off chance that Grace was in? But I see she’s not. I’ll call round another time.” Chrissie moved to walk away again, not wanting to be near him any longer than necessary. She hadn’t remembered him being so vile.
>
  Tim opened the door a bit wider. “She’s at her sister’s house, if it’s urgent.”

  “No, it’s not urgent. I was just wondering how she was.” Chrissie said, staying rooted to the spot. She suspected he smelt as bad as he looked.

  “I can give you directions if you want to go over there. Come in for a minute.”

  Tim hadn’t wanted to invite her in when she’d first arrived; he’d got a stinking hangover. But her perfume and the smell of her body were riding on the breeze that had travelled through the open door and now he was desperate to get her inside and smell her.

  “It’s fine, thank you. I’ll see her another time.” Chrissie shoved her hands in her coat pockets and turned on her heel.

  “Why don’t you come in for a bit and wait for her. She’ll be back soon.” He hadn’t a clue when she’d be back, but he was willing to try anything to get her in the house, his urge to smell her getting the better of him.

  Chrissie turned, frowning at him.

  “No. Thank you. Just tell her I called.” Her voice was clipped, but she managed a smile.

  “Suit yourself.” He muttered and slammed the door.

  “Weirdo.” Chrissie said back to him through the closed door. She shivered. There was something really peculiar about him. As she closed the gate behind her, Grace pulled up in the car.

  “Oh Chrissie, am I glad to see you! What a spot of luck.”

  “I know what great timing. Tim did ask me in to wait for you. He said you wouldn’t be long.”

  “Did he?” Grace frowned.

  “Yes, but I told him I’d call another time.” Chrissie noticed the frown and she didn’t want Grace to think Tim had been suggestive.

  “Well, actually, he wouldn’t know because I didn’t tell him. I’ve just popped back for some things.”

  Chrissie continued to frown.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything later. Have you got time to come in with me, and then I’ll take you back to my sister’s?”

  “Err…yes, yes ok.”

  “Oh sorry, I’m being terribly bossy. Was it a flying visit?”

  “No, not at all. I was hoping for a pot of tea and a chat?”

  “I can do better than that. How about supper and a bottle of wine? If you haven’t any plans?”

  “At your sister’s?” Chrissie didn’t want an evening with Tim.

  “Oh god yes. I wouldn’t inflict him on you any longer than necessary.” Grace flicked her hand towards the house.

  “Yes, that’d be lovely!”

  “Good, I could do with the company. Right, let’s get this out of the way. Excuse my husband and please excuse the mess he will have left the house in.”

  Chrissie waved her hand and told her friend not to worry, as she followed her back up the path to the house.

  “Hello, again.” Tim leered at Chrissie more from the amount of rum he’d had than from anything else.

  Grace glared at him.

  “I’ve just come back to get some fresh clothes and things.”

  ”Oh, I thought you were coming home?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  They stared at each other for quite some time, which made Chrissie feel very awkward. She looked at Grace’s face and saw an absolute look of hatred. It changed the look of Grace altogether and it unnerved Chrissie slightly.

  “Shall I make myself useful and put the kettle on?” Chrissie said, trying to break the excruciating awkwardness.

  Tim and Grace broke away from their silent conversation.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea, Chrissie. I won’t have one, but I’m sure Tim could do with a strong coffee.” Her voice was clipped and she didn’t take her eyes away from him.

  “Thank you, Chrissie. I’ll have a cup of tea.” Tim looked at Grace pointedly.

  “Right then I’ll sort that out while you do what you need to do.”

  Chrissie walked between them in the hope it would shatter the invisible frosted screen that was hovering in the middle of them. Tim sniffed hard as she walked passed. Grace glared at him harder and Chrissie stopped in her tracks. A flash of the pathway at the bottom of her garden down the side of the shed flittered across her vision. She shook it off, putting it down to another random flashback. Sarah had told her she’d get those.

  Grace went off to pack some more things while Chrissie made herself and Tim a hot drink. Chrissie could feel Tim staring at her and she was desperately trying to think of something to say to break the silence. The atmosphere was unbearable. It didn’t help that all the curtains were shut, making the place look dingy, coupled with the fact it looked like it had been burgled.

  Chrissie placed two mugs of steaming tea on to the old kitchen table where Tim was sat. Chrissie prayed as she gripped her mug for Grace to be quick.

  “So, have you settled in Chrissie?”

  “Yes, just about.” Chrissie wasn’t one for making small talk to people she didn’t like, so she picked up the newspaper that was laid on the table.

  “Do you want to do the crossword while you’re at it?” Tim leered at her again, throwing a pen in her general direction. It rolled off the table and onto the floor. Chrissie glared at him and reached down to pick it up. As she did, he leaned down towards the floor with her and sniffed her hair. Her hand hovered over the pen as the memory of him flooded her vision, like the shock of cold water hitting her skin. Her fingers felt for the pen as she looked up into his face.

  The smell, his voice, everything, it was all slotting into place and the film began to run freely in her mind, without the pauses and the editing.

  She quickly composed herself, wanting to digest the information without him noticing. Not that he was capable of noticing anything, the state he was in.

  Grace breezed back in, dispersing the icy moment.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Yes. Fine. Why?” Chrissie was finding it hard to take her eyes off Tim.

  It was all too huge to digest. She can’t have just discovered something in a few seconds that the police had spent years trying to work out. She must be getting muddled with someone else. She was finding it hard to connect the information that if he’d snatched her when she was a child that could quite possibly make him the serial killer. Or was she mistaken? She couldn’t be sure of anything at that moment.

  “Are you ready?” Grace’s voice broke her train of thought.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” She wanted to tell Grace she needed to go home, but the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Something inside Chrissie was urging her to go with Grace. She needed to talk to her, to glean some sort of information from her without her knowing what she was doing.

  “Get this place cleaned up.” Grace snapped at Tim on her way out of the door.

  “I’m going fishing at the weekend. I’ll do it when I get back.” He slurred, not bothering to get out of his chair.

  “Oh do what you like!” Grace snapped, and slammed the door.

  Chrissie’s mind was whirring, flitting from one memory to the next, as she felt Grace’s footsteps behind her on the path. They got into the car, both silent.

  Chrissie reasoned with herself that the Fisherman’s Friend and the rum smell could belong to anyone. But there was something else. A familiarity when she’d got close to him.

  “Has Tim said something to you?”

  “Um…Sorry?”

  “Tim. Has he upset you?” Grace was trying to figure out the change in her friend.

  “No not at all. Sorry Grace, he just reminded me of someone. Have you left him?”

  The question startled Grace at first and it was a few seconds before she answered.

  “I’m not sure. I think I’ve done it without realising it.”

  Grace filled Chrissie in on what had happened with her sister as they made their way to her house. Chrissie was finding it hard to pay attention to what was being said, but as Grace rested on telling her about Tim, she noticed a change in her tone.

  Chrissie was b
eginning to wonder if Grace knew what her husband had done, but then she realised what a ridiculous thought that was. If she knew she would have reported him, surely?

  Chrissie physically shook herself; the whole thing was ridiculous. He was a retired police officer, an upstanding member of the community. He didn’t even look like a serial killer, Chrissie thought to herself. But then it dawned on her; what was a serial killer supposed to look like?

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Grace said, again.

  “I’m fine. I just had some news from my parents that disturbed me a bit.”

  “Oh. What?” Grace pulled the car into her sister’s drive.

  “I told you about the regression therapy and all that? Well, Sarah told me it could be a childhood memory, a theory that I dismissed until my mother phoned. But it turns out it’s true, only I got away. From whoever snatched me, I mean.”

  Grace was silent as the information penetrated her mind.

  “You’re Christine, the one that got away.” Grace’s voice was almost a whisper. It was all rushing to her like a head on collision.

  “How did you know that?”

  “It was all over the papers. Why hadn’t I connected it before?” Grace was talking to herself more than to Chrissie.

  “That’s why you’re so familiar to me. I recognise you from the pictures.”

  A flurry, a bit like a snow storm flittered through Chrissies mind and fragments of memory melted as they landed in her head.

  They sat in silence for some time before they made their way into the house. There was so much said in that silence. They were both going over the same thing in their heads, only from completely different directions. But eventually their minds would bring them onto the same path. It was just a matter of time, which of them was going to say it out loud first.

  Grace sighed, knowing they both knew the same thing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  For what he thought was the last time, Tim pressed the buzzer on the double doors of the retirement home. One of the usual voices greeted him over the intercom; Veronica, the home manager. But instead of buzzing him in as she normally did when she heard his name, she asked him to wait there.