by Mel Sherratt
The disco was in full swing when he arrived there with Daz and Lefty. The three of them stood in a corner together. Patrick could see a girl from his class giving him the eye as she danced to The B-52s’ Love Shack. He ignored her – he wasn’t going to fall for that again. There was no way he’d be beaten up now that he was leaving school, not after last month’s attack.
Just as he was starting to relax, in walked Mickey Taylor and his gang. Kath Clamortie was holding Mickey’s hand, even though she wasn’t leaving school that year. Sandra Seymour was hanging onto Johnno’s arm. Alongside them were Whitty and another girl from their class, Belinda Evans. At the back of the group, Matthew Thompson had teamed up with Karen Baxter. Patrick checked his watch: quarter past eight. The disco was nearly over so if they started any trouble, he would leg it before it got out of hand.
But Mickey and his gang stayed away. Patrick watched the girls dance for a while, kept an eye on the boys. Thirty minutes later, Lefty nudged him, tried to tell him something, but he couldn’t hear above the music. When he looked again, Johnno, Whitty and Mickey were making their way across to him. Patrick braced himself for one last thump.
They stopped in front of them and Mickey held out his hand. ‘Truce?’ he shouted. ‘Now that we’re leaving school.’
For a moment, Patrick hesitated. He glanced at Lefty and Daz, who must have been thinking the same as him, surely? Mickey was never nice to them – it didn’t have anything to do with it being the last time at the school. But as Mickey held out his hand, and the other guys behind him seemed to be mellowing, he shook it too. While Mickey shook hands with Daz and Lefty, Johnno followed Mickey’s lead; so too did Whitty.
Then the lights went down and the up-tempo music slowed.
Sandra grabbed Patrick by the hand. ‘Come on – dance with me, then.’
‘No! Wait. I can’t!’
She pulled him into the middle of the floor. ‘Yes, you can.’
Patrick turned around to see Johnno egging him on. As Sandra wrapped her arms around his neck, Patrick held his breath and waited for the knife to stab him in the back. But it didn’t come. Still uncomfortable, he danced with Sandra but, after a couple of minutes with no mishap, he began to relax. It was strange to dance with a girl. His hormones getting the better of him, he tried to think of football as she pushed her body closer.
Once the record had finished, Sandra dragged him over to where a bunch of teachers were chatting. She tapped Miss Roper, their biology teacher, on the shoulder.
‘Patrick would like to dance with you.’ She smiled innocently.
Patrick couldn’t speak. Miss Roper was hot. He reckoned she was the woman in most of Reginald High School’s boys’ wet dreams right now.
‘Just this one, Patrick,’ Miss Roper smiled.
As Patrick followed her back on to the dance floor, he wondered if the plan to humiliate him had backfired. Sandra had returned to Johnno now. Had they thought Miss Roper would say no and make a fool out of him? Well, who was laughing now?
To his right, he could see Whitty walking onto the dance floor with another teacher, Mrs Berry. Patrick was happy inside: he had bagged the best-looking one by far. As he walked past, Whitty patted him on the shoulder, twice in succession. ‘Lucky bastard,’ he grinned and then carried on.
They danced for another minute before Patrick saw someone point at them and start to laugh. He looked around; there were other people laughing. Were they pointing at him too? When he caught Johnno’s eye, he saw him make the shape of an L with his hand. He didn’t understand. Above the music, he heard someone shout ‘loser!’ And then they all joined in.
‘Loser! Loser!’ he could hear them chanting.
Miss Roper looked a little puzzled. ‘What’s happening, Patrick?’
He couldn’t speak to her, just held on to her. If he didn’t stop dancing, he wouldn’t find out what they were laughing at. This moment could go on forever if he let it.
‘Patrick!’ Miss Roper cried. ‘Please, I’d like to leave the dance floor now. Patrick! Let me go.’
She pushed him away and he landed hard on the floor with a thump. More laughter. It was then that Mr Andrews, the maths teacher, marched across to them.
‘For God’s sake, stand up and turn around,’ he said.
Patrick did as he was told. He heard a peeling noise. The teacher turned him back to face him and held out the sticker.
‘I assume this is yours, Patrick? It’s on the back of your shirt.’
Patrick took the sticker. Written in colourful capital letters was the word ‘Loser.’
The chorus, the chant: loser, loser. It started again. Patrick ran towards the exit. If he could get out, it would all be over and at least he’d never have to face any of them again. But he might have guessed that Johnno wouldn’t let him off that easily. He didn’t see him stick out his foot until it was too late.
He tripped, tumbling forward, landing heavily on his face. Glancing up, he saw everyone laughing; even Daz and Lefty had joined in. When they saw him watching, Lefty stopped, turning his head away for a moment, but Daz carried on.
Patrick got up again and ran.
It was the ultimate humiliation.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nathan Whittaker, Whitty to all his old friends, drove into the car park on Waterloo Road and parked up. He turned to his wife, Mia, in the passenger seat.
‘Our first family outing,’ he grinned, squeezing her shoulder tenderly.
Mia smiled. ‘Don’t be long.’
Nathan climbed out of the car. He looked back over his shoulder, waving at Mia before hopping over the low wall and disappearing onto the walkway that would take him down the side of the Indian takeaway. He’d already placed their order before they left, so hopefully it would be ready when he got there.
As he approached the back of the building ahead, the brightness of a security light lit him up in the middle of the pathway. Before it went off again, he took out the small photograph that Mia had slipped into his wallet only the day before. He ran a finger over the image, a huge grin appearing on his face. Ridiculously cheesy but he was so in love. Casey Rae Whittaker, born December thirty-first 2014. Three point four five kilos, she’d certainly ensured they’d started the New Year with a bang. Fourteen days old as of today and boy, how she’d changed their life during those two weeks. It was the reason why they were all in the car now. Casey had been screaming since she’d woken an hour ago and Mia didn’t want to be left alone with her.
It was his last day off; he’d managed to tag a few days’ holiday onto the Christmas break to be with Mia, and he wasn’t looking forward to returning to work in the morning. He’d been at Machine Mart for nearly twenty years and although he enjoyed it, since Casey had been born he felt like he wanted so much for more for his family. Before he’d left, after a frantic call from Mia as she’d gone into labour, Nathan had been fairly content with his life. Working as a sales rep behind a counter wasn’t a glamorous job but it was safe by today’s job security standards, and steady with a regular income. They were comfortable, and able to cover all the bills. They only had three years left to pay off their mortgage; they drove a car apiece. Life was good, made all the better by Casey’s arrival. So why now did it feel inadequate?
And then it hit him. Now, with the responsibilities of a father, he didn’t want his daughter to grow up thinking her old man had no ambition. Nathan grinned, still unable to think of himself as a father after all this time. Even though he had only just left them, he pulled out his mobile phone and sent Mia a quick text message.
How is my girl doing?
Fine – so is Casey ;)
Nathan laughed. He and Mia had been married for nearly fifteen years and had wanted to start a family almost straight away but things hadn’t gone smoothly for them. Whereas his brother’s wife had gone on to have three children in quick succession,
Mia hadn’t been able to stay pregnant, suffering five miscarriages before finally carrying Casey to full term. She was their little miracle.
Five minutes later, the takeaway in his hands, he made his way back along the walkway to their car. The security light came on and went off shortly afterwards as he passed. The smell of curry from behind filled his nostrils as he reached for his phone to send another silly text message to Mia. He grinned: he had never texted Mia this much, ever. They were one of those couples who never felt the need to repeatedly check up on each other all day, every day.
Head down as he pressed buttons, the blow to the back of his head came completely out of the blue. Nathan stumbled forward, dropping the bag of food on the ground, his phone sliding along the pathway. Only just managing to stay upright, he turned around to face his attacker. A man stood before him holding a piece of 3-by-3 wood in his hand like a cricket bat. He was dressed in dark clothes and a beanie hat pulled down to cover most of his eyes, and Nathan couldn’t see him clearly.
‘What’s the fuck’s wrong with you?’ Nathan put his hands up to protect himself. He was no fighter, but he would have a go to defend himself if necessary.
‘Loser.’
‘What?’ Nathan frowned. Silence except for the sound of traffic from the road.
He stole a fleeting glance at Mia. When the man made no further moves, he made a run for it, but he was pulled back by an arm and twirled round with force. He threw a punch but it missed its target. He tried again, connecting with the man’s shoulder this time.
‘What do you want?’ It was then he saw the glint of the blade. ‘Hey, wait. I –’ He put up his hands as the man lunged at him and stepped backwards. He avoided him twice until his luck ran out. The man ran at him again, pushing the knife into his stomach.
Nathan groaned, winded by the force of it as the blade penetrated his jumper. Before he had time to react, he felt a fiery heat as the knife swished out of him. All he could do was gasp as it was pushed in again, further this time.
He stumbled forward when the knife was removed for a third time, felt something being shoved into his pocket before the man moved away again.
When his attacker made no attempt to do anything else, Nathan shuffled his feet until he had managed to turn back to face the car park again. If he could just get to Mia, she could raise the alarm.
Clutching his stomach, he took slow, faltering steps, all the time knowing that his attacker was behind him. But a weird sense of optimism washed over him. He held on to a concrete post and stepped gingerly over the low wall, first one foot and then the other. He could feel a burning in his stomach, blood oozing between his fingers. Why hadn’t he put a coat on instead of braving the cold night in a jacket? He didn’t dare look down. He didn’t dare look back.
Mia was looking at her phone, her mouth moving as her fingers pressed the keys. She must be singing. She was texting someone – was it him?
He took another step, then another. He pulled his hand away from his stomach as he fell to his knees. The release of pressure nauseated him, but he got up again. Nearly there. He stretched out a hand.
Mia had spotted him at last. Thank God, she was getting out of the car. He was safe. She would get help.
He began to shiver.
‘Nathan?’ She opened the door. ‘Nathan, what is it?’
‘Mia.’ He held out his hand.
She ran to him, took his hand, screaming as he dropped to his knees. This time he couldn’t get up.
‘Nathan? Nathan!’
No more steps.
‘NATHAN!’
From the walkway, Patrick watched as the woman screamed, looked around helplessly and then spotted him.
‘Help me!’ she cried, looking at him. ‘He’s been attacked. Help me. Please!’
Patrick smiled to himself and stayed where he was. Would she remember him later, and then wonder why he didn’t rush across to her? Would she realise that he was the killer? He’d like to think so. He liked that she’d noticed him too, knew he wouldn’t go to help.
From where he was standing, the woman seemed attractive. Lovely long dark hair she kept pushing away from her face as she knelt beside her man. He’d picked a good one there; he’d give Whitty credit for that much. Patrick wondered if she was his wife.
He listened: beyond her screaming, he could hear something else. A baby crying – was it coming from the car? He had a family. Even better.
His view of the scene didn’t last long. A couple walking back to their car ran over to help. Patrick moved into the shadows and down the path in the opposite direction. He rounded the corner to flashing lights from an approaching ambulance and put his head down. They wouldn’t spot him; no one would remember him until later, when he’d be long gone. And there were less than three days left now before he would have completed the game anyway.
Leaving the chaos behind, Patrick started running, happy in the knowledge that he could tick number five off his list. A few minutes later, he threw down the piece of wood he’d tucked inside his fleece, got into his car and drove off.
He was behind her, she could hear him; she could smell him. She scrambled up the path, her feet slipping on the wet grass as she tried to get ahead. Footsteps, a twig breaking, a kick of a can. She tripped in her haste, falling on one knee, keeping in the gasp of pain as it shot through her and into her spine. She heard him again, pushed herself to her feet and ran.
Ahead, she could see the road, lights of houses in the distance. If she could just make it to one of them, she would be safe.
She felt his hand clasp her ankle. Screaming, she kicked back at him. He loosened his grip, allowing her to think she was safe for a second, letting her crawl a few feet further away until he grabbed it again, pulling her towards him and over onto her back. He straddled her legs, pinning her down with the weight of his body, quickly moving to grab hold of her hands with his. He held her there for a moment as she bucked underneath him, screaming out, knowing that no one could hear her.
His breath was rancid, disgusting. She heaved, her own breathing becoming raspy at the thought of what he was about to do, what she was powerless to stop. Oh, God, she didn’t want to end up like her sister.
‘Look at me,’ he said.
She wouldn’t, kept her eyes to the left.
‘Fucking look at me!’
She turned her head slowly but all she saw was an outline of a face. It had nothing to do with the darkness enveloping them. The man had no features, except a mouth that was sneering cruelly at her. She would never be able to tell anyone what he looked like, help with enquiries. He would get away with whatever he was going to do.
When she realised there was no escape, her rigid body went limp beneath him.
He administered the first punch. A full-on hit to the centre of her face. She tasted blood almost immediately, felt it trickle from her nose, groaned as lights exploded inside her head. A knee on each arm now, yet still he could stop her legs from moving – he knew what he was doing: had he done it before?
Now he had both of her hands above her head, held in his one. Should she struggle or let him do it – let him violate her, get it over with? Maybe she could get away if so. She felt a lone tear fall from her eye as his free hand reached for the button on her trousers.
‘Hey.’ A hand on her shoulder.
Allie screamed. Lashing out in the darkness, she sat up with a jolt. ‘Mark?’ she cried. ‘Mark – where are you?’
‘I’m here, Allie.’ Mark sat up too, his voice soft, soothing. ‘I’m here.’
She laughed with relief. Tears threatened to fall but she held them in. For a moment, she pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself. Thank God – she’d been dreaming.
She heard the bed creak, a click. Allie squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. When she could see properly, they flicked to the clock. Ten past one:
they’d only been in bed for an hour.
‘It’s hardly surprising you’ve had a nightmare after your day,’ Mark said gently.
‘I didn’t think I’d dropped off fully.’
‘It’s bound to play on your mind.’
Allie turned her face towards his and nodded, reached for him. He pulled her into his arms and they lay back down together while their breathing returned to normal.
‘I thought we’d seen the back of your nightmares,’ he stated, rubbing his fingers up and down the length of her arm.
‘So did I.’ Allie faked a yawn and snuggled into him some more. She didn’t want this conversation now, didn’t want to think of Chloe Winters.
A few minutes later, Mark switched off the light. Allie knew sleep wouldn’t come to her again for a while. The dream had been vivid; her heart was still pounding. She could feel her fear, still smell his rancid breath.
But she couldn’t talk to Mark about it. Because then he would know that she hadn’t told him about the note she’d received three years ago.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Overnight, the details of the attack on Nathan Whittaker, along with the orange plastic magnetic letter they had found inside the pocket of his jacket, had come into the station. The fact that it was a letter G introduced the idea that the killer could be spelling out the word revenge if the letters Y and N weren’t taken into consideration, although Nick still wanted everyone to keep an open mind. With no letter R forthcoming, it wasn’t a certainty that they had missed something, but Allie wondered if that was part of the game too. She also couldn’t stop thinking that if a letter R did show up, that would mean another victim. She shuddered involuntarily.
After the team briefing, she was asked to visit Nathan Whittaker in hospital. She decided to take Sam with her. Before leaving the station, she phoned to check with the ward sister for the latest update on his condition.
