“Please Danny, I’m trying here.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll go out and have a few drinks. And we’ll talk some more. Okay?”
I nodded, trying to look enthusiastic. “Sounds good.”
Believe it when I see it.
Becky pulled the visor down and checked out her reflection. As good looking as she was, even she couldn’t pull off the drowned-rat look. Also, her make-up had dried in streaks down her face and cheeks.
She didn’t look good.
Clearly distressed with the image staring back at her, she snapped the visor shut and glared at me.
“I look awful.”
I shrugged. “I’ll see you on Saturday then.”
Her gaze softened slightly. “I do care about you, you know.”
“I care about you too, Becky. Things are just hard for me at the moment. I have a lot going on.”
Becky nodded. “My mum is driving me crazy at the moment. Always on my back about one thing or another, so I’m not exactly feeling top of the world either. Then you go and dump me.”
She grinned and bumped my shoulder with her own so I turned away and stared straight ahead.
I’m okay though, thanks for asking.
Was she just really self-absorbed, or didn’t she care? I couldn’t figure it out but I thought at that moment neither answer would make me feel better.
“I’ll see you on Saturday night then,” she said. She kissed me lightly on the cheek, and off she went.
I watched her walk down the street for a short while, then I turned my van around and drove away. I hated the way I always felt after being with Becky.
She made me feel worthless, invisible, used.
I struggled with my feelings. Was the way I felt a normal reaction to the way she treated me? Would any other man have felt the same way, or, was my past the reason I felt this way. Was I so desperate for affection that I was simply acting insecure and sensitive, or did I have every right to feel like a doormat?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t like not knowing.
Was it okay for a man to feel cheap?
Shaking my head, I drove home.
Chapter Nineteen
I had just stepped out of the shower, trying to wash away my shame of Becky’s seduction, when my mobile rang. Dread causing my stomach to tighten, I went ahead and answered it, my stomach feeling worse when I saw the unidentified number on the screen.
“What do you want?” I answered, trying to mask my fear with anger.
“Well, how rude,” the killer retorted, “you should really work on your telephone manner. What if I’d been the police?”
I said nothing and the killer laughed. “Anyway, your manners aren’t my concern, so I’ll leave that with you. Let me start with a congratulations, Danny. You did very well last night.”
I continued to stay silent, hoping the killer would verbally torment me then leave me alone. I was feeling really bad about myself after my afternoon with Becky; this conversation was like the cherry on my stress cake.
“You needn’t worry about her, Danny, she was merely a personality test. As far as I know, she’s neither a prostitute nor into drugs; I just picked her at random to test you.”
The feeling of relief that washed through me was powerful and I sank into my sofa. The killer took a deep breath then said: “I’ve found this to be a very effective way of testing a person’s character. The threat of harm on a complete stranger with no threat on the person themselves can tell you a whole lot about someone. Some people will sat back and let it happen, not bothered in the least since they’re in no direct harm. I have to say, Danny, I’m quite surprised with you, pleasantly so. I didn’t think you had it in you, especially since I’d led you to believe I was going after a woman just like your mother.”
My jaw hardened as I stared straight forward. I remained quiet since the killer had just expressed pleasure with me; last thing I needed to do was ruin his pleasure with my mouth. The killer’s next words popped my silent bubble: “So, since you passed your test, I feel you’re now ready for your exam.”
I felt like the bottom had fallen out of my stomach. A breath blasted from me as I jumped to my feet. “An exam?” I shouted. “What do you―”
“Now, now, Danny. If you get yourself all excited, you’ll risk the life of this young lady currently tied to her bed.”
The words did register in my mind, I knew they did by the terror that blasted through me, but I desperately tried to persuade myself that I hadn’t what I thought I had. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t.
Without realising I was on the move, I found myself standing in front of my window.
“A pretty young thing,” the killer’s voice continued in my ear, ” she has her whole life ahead of her―provided you get here in time, of course.”
“I don’t believe you,” I stammered, hoping this was another of his sick mind-games. “I think you’re pulling another trick on me, just like you did last night.”
The killer was silent for a few moments. Then, I heard a door open and close and footsteps on creaky stairs. Another door opened. “Hey,” the killer said cheerfully, “would you be a dear and let our boy know this is for real.”
A slap followed by a muffled shriek reached me and I trembled. Oh God, he really does have a girl there.
“Rachel Watts,” the killer told me. “17-years-old and preparing for an exam tomorrow. Problem is, she isn’t preparing for it by way of buckling down and studying hard, no, her friend is giving her all the answers; she’s going to cheat.”
A muffled cry rang out followed by pleading, at least it sounded like pleading, I couldn’t tell. “Now, now. Don’t worry, help is on the way.” The killer chuckled meanly then a door slammed.
“The girl is spread-eagled, tied to her bed by her wrists and ankles,” the killer continued. The creaky sound of the stairs accompanied his terrifying words. “The poor girl’s wrists are turning blue, so her ropes are good and tight.” Unable to speak, I merely panted as I stared outside my window in shock. “Are you listening, Danny? It’s very important that you understand what’s happening here. If you don’t listen, the girl will die.”
“Oh God, don’t hurt her,” I blurted, the word ‘die’ hitting me like a slap in the face.
“Well, technically, I’m not going to hurt her. I’m simply…setting the scene. It’s you that will hurt her by not getting here in time.”
“What do you want from me, you sick bastard!” I yelled. I can’t even put into words how I felt right then: angry, terrified, horrified, grief-stricken and ashamed; all these feelings rolled into one giant emotion that had me by the throat. Perhaps the worst feeling, the one that acted as the fuel to fire all other emotions, was helplessness. I was the little boy again, wanting to run and hide so I wouldn’t be found and hurt. Only this time, I couldn’t run and hide. This time, the monster didn’t want to hurt me.
“If you call the police and have them save the girl, I’ll be forced to find another subject for your exam. Though, instead, I’ll pick someone closer to you, someone you will care about.”
I shook my head as hot tears stung my eyes. “Perhaps your Aunt or Ricky would be good subjects.”
I lost it. I began shouting into the phone, spittle flying as I cursed and raged. Samson became a blur of black fur as he scuttled off the windowsill and into my bedroom. I cursed until I ran out of breath. I was shaking from head to toe as sweat oozed from every pore on my body. My legs felt like jelly and my stomach cramped, causing me to double over in pain. Tears streamed down my face as I began to beg. I begged him to leave me alone, to leave my family and the girl alone. The killer remained quiet, listening to me. Though he said nothing, I could hear his breathing down the phone.
Finally running out of breath, I lowered my head and sniffed, exhausted and feeling the most helpless I’d ever felt my whole life.
“You know, Danny,” the killer said, his tone clipped and hard, �
��just because you’ve impressed me so far doesn’t mean I’m willing to put up with your little tantrums. You got yourself into this. Now, are you interested in saving this little girl’s life, or should I just light the match now and choose another subject for your exam?”
The word ‘match’ and the implication of choosing someone close to me jolted me back to reality. I sniffed and trembled, my thoughts tumbling around my mind like clothes in a dryer. Pleading, tears and cursing weren’t going to help me now. I forced myself to stand as I tried to control my breathing. “What do you want me to do?” I asked, trying to sound angry, mean.
“That’s better. Look on the bright side, Danny, you’ll be a hero―providing you get here in time to save the girl and don’t die yourself, of course.” The killer chuckled an a rush of cold assaulted me, taking my breath away.
Until that moment, the burden of having the girl’s blood on my hands, or someone close to me being hurt, had sent mind-numbing fear through me. Now I realised the chances of being killed were high. The killer had just said it―“If I didn’t die myself”. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, a nightmare that I just could not wake up from.
The killer took a deep breath. “Now, listen up. The girl is tied to her bed by her wrists and ankles and she’s tied good and tight; there’s no way she’ll be able to free herself. Do you understand, Danny?”
I grunted a response.
“Okay. Now, there’s flammable liquid spread throughout the rooms downstairs and I’m holding a box of matches in my hand. I will light one as I leave the house.” I pictured a young girl, helpless and tied down as fire crawled its way towards her, causing her to bellow in agony as it begins to feed on her young flesh. The churning in my stomach intensified. A wave of nausea hit me so hard that I fell to my knees. Dropping my phone, I clutched my stomach and vomited. The pain was excruciating; I’d hardly eaten a thing all day and my stomach cramped painfully.
Finished heaving, I hung my head and panted for air, tears dripping from my eyes. My vision swam and a strange roaring sound filled my head; I wondered if I was going to pass out. Suddenly, I heard the tiny sound of the killer shouting from my mobile. I picked my phone back up and placed it to my ear, my pants punctuated with whimpers. “You’re really starting to piss me off now,” the killer told me sternly. “There’s a life at stake here; we don’t have time for your meltdowns. I almost feel sorry for this girl since she only has you to save her.”
“Fuck you,” I gasped. Okay, so I know it wasn’t the most mature or witty of comebacks, but I did feel a little better.
The killer chuckled. “As I was saying: I will light this match as I leave the house. Now, I will give you a five minute headstart, meaning, you have five minutes to get as close as you can before the match is lit. And remember, no police. If you ring them, I’ll choose someone from your family next time.”
“Don’t do this,” I begged. “It’s not too late, you can untie the girl and walk away.” I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded; If begging put an end to this nightmare, then beg I would.
“It’s already done, Danny,” the killer replied coldly. “It was done when you decided to follow Michael from the bar. If you’d minded your own business, this wouldn’t be happening to you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. This girl could die an awful death tonight because of me. That thought was far more numbing than my own death. A strength started brewing from somewhere inside me. I would not let this girl die because of me.
“Where are you, you sick bastard,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Ah, a bit of anger. Much better than the crying, whimpering and vomiting. That’s not really the image one has in mind when picturing a hero.”
“Where are you?!”
“Not far from you, Danny. Not far at all.”
I struggled to my feet and rushed to the front door, snatching up my van keys from my side-table as I dashed past.
“Stymer Street, Danny. You know it? It’s just around the corner from your flat.” I did know it and I ran faster down my stairs that led to the shared front door of the block of flats.
“Look for a house with a ‘For Sale’ sign on the front. Oh, and Danny?”
I hesitated with dread, my breath catching in my throat.
“You lost two minutes due to your little hissy fit. You have 3 minutes to get here before I light the match. Hurry now, won’t you.”
The killer hung up and I hurried to my van as if in a trance. I felt like I’d left my body, like my brain and body had become two totally different beings. In a daze, I started my van and began to drive.
Chapter Twenty
To be honest, I don’t remember the drive to Stymer Street. It’s like my body took over for me while my brain took a break. Thoughts tumbled around my mind but they were all muddled and really bizarre.
There was a man who used to visit my mother when I was a child. Of all the men who came and went, he was my favourite. A tall skinny man with a big bush of curly hair, I called him Snake and Knife man on account of the tattoo depicting such on his right arm. He wasn’t my favourite because he was nice to me; in fact, he was one of the meaner men. No, he was my favourite because whatever he did to my mother, she always slept for hours after he left.
For that, I liked him very much.
I don’t recall much of the drive to Stymer Street that night, but for some reason, I do remember considering the possibility that Snake and Knife man was behind this. Don’t ask me why that thought entered my mind because I have no idea. The rational side of my brain, the side that was still slightly working, knew this wasn’t possible, but I just couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe at that point I was just desperate to give my tormenter a face.
The next thing I know, I’m on Stymer Street.
Anxious and more afraid than I’ve ever been, I slowed my van down as I looked left to right, checking out the darkened houses.
For Sale sign, I thought, the killer’s words repeating in my mind. Straight away I saw three houses with For Sale signs out front.
Please let this end like last night, I thought. I would’ve given anything at that moment to see the killer walk out of the shadows and shrug at me as he’d done the night before. I remembered the scream and sound of flesh smacking flesh from the girl tied to her bed, and I knew that, this time, it was real. Whether I felt upto it or not, this girl’s life depended on me.
I had my eyes on a house to my right as I slowly approached, the sign out front catching my eye, when flickering movement to my left caused me to turn. The house on the left had no sign out front, but it lay immediately in front of the house with the sign, the two houses facing each other like boxing opponents in a ring.
The flickering movement that had caught my eye was the fire dancing in the front window.
“Oh God. Oh no.”
I stopped my van and jumped out, leaving the keys in the ignition. Running towards the house, I halted and searched the upstairs windows for any signs of movement. Seeing none, I sprinted to the front door. Pounding on it I yelled: “Hello? Can anyone hear me?” I tried the door handle, surprised when it turned and the door opened easily. I pulled the door wide open―then gasped and staggered back as a blast of heat hit me full on.
The killer had said I couldn’t call the police; he hadn’t said I couldn’t call for help.
“Fire,” I shouted. “Help, help. Fire!” Stumbling away from the front door, I once again checked the first story windows, hoping to see a young teenage girl, cut ropes dangling from her wrists as she worked her way out of the burning house. The empty windows stared back, mocking me.
The girl was still inside.
At the same time this thought registered in my mind, I noticed the large ladders propped up against the side of the house and the open window on the first floor; the master bedroom, I suspected, since the window was slightly larger than the other two.
Ladders and an open window. Maybe left by the killer, to make things easier for me. But wh
y make things easier when he created this situation, this situation where myself and a young girl could die. I didn’t really have time, however, to stand and consider the psychology of a brutal killer.
It’s funny, you know. Perhaps you see something on the news, a story of heroism and the selfless sacrifice of someone’s own safety to save another and you think: I could never do that. When pondering what we’d do in a given situation, it seems that, whenever placed in that situation, we react the opposite way to how we thought we would. Gone was the terrified Danny, the Danny filled with self-doubt and self-pity. There was so much going on that I should have been crippled with fear and horror: a girl tied and left in a burning house for me to rescue, her life over in an agonising and cruel way if I failed; a killer who’d already claimed two lives and was now tormenting me; two police detectives who had me in their suspects radar, and with good reason; my own death that could happen right now in this burning house, or sometime in the near future should the killer tire of his games.
Without thinking, only acting on what I knew to be the right thing to do, I tugged the ladders away from the wall, my balance immediately thrown off by the height. Finding my feet again, I rushed to the front of the house and propped the ladders up to the open window. Without hesitation, I made my was up as fast as I could without falling.
“Hey man!” a voice called from below me. “Don’t go in there; fire brigade’s on its way.”
I ignored the voice as I reached the window. Pulling it open wider, I saw heavy smoke hanging in the bedroom beyond.
“Shit man, you’re gonna get killed. I said the fire brigade’s on its way.”
Twisting and looking down, I spotted a man wearing a tied dressing gown standing by the ladders, his head tilted as he stared up at me. He held a mobile phone to his ear and he nodded in response to something said into his ear.
“Okay,” he said into the phone. “They said to stay out of there,” he called up to me. “It’s too dangerous!”
“There’s a young girl trapped in here,” I called down. “They won’t get here in time.”
Stalked Page 12
