by Tara Lyons
All the shops were shut, most covered by graffitied iron shutters. The street was dimly lit, and shadows frolicked around her on the ground. Panic set in. She began running along the pavement, the sound of her breathing vibrated in her ears. Her high heels awkwardly slapped against the concrete, and the noise echoed the length of the road. She was too afraid to turn around. Oh God! Why did I leave the pub alone? She bolted round the corner so fast, she didn’t notice the towering figure dressed head to toe in black, and ran directly into his solid frame. A piercing scream escaped her lips, and she cowered. I’m going to die tonight.
“Grace! Grace!”
Relief washed over her when she peeped through her fingers and saw Eric standing in front of her. She threw her arms around his waist and stayed in that position for a few minutes, calming her erratic breathing in his safe hold.
“Grace, why are you running through Neasden high street at this time of night? You must know this park is a hunting area for local gangs.”
Safe in her mind that she could finally let go of Eric without falling over, she released his waist and noticed he was right. If he hadn’t stopped her, she would have run straight into Royals Park, a notorious stomping ground for muggers. She suddenly remembered the footsteps that had followed her and forced her to take flight. Spinning round, she scanned the street, frosty air passing through her lips. But the thick darkness of the night covered everything. The odd tree cast a fluttering shadow, but no one was there.
“I left the Oak and thought someone was chasing me. I couldn’t remember where the closest taxi office was. What are you doing here? I mean, thank God you are—you stopped me blindly entering that park. What a fool I am.” She feared her drunken babble and flustered appearance would be a complete turn off to him.
“Yeah, running towards that hellhole probably wasn’t your smartest move to date, babe.”
Eric’s choice of endearment affected her; the pit of her stomach somersaulted, and her earlier doubts about him disappeared. He slid his arm around her shoulders and she contentedly allowed him to lead her away from the park entrance.
“Well, you obviously haven’t had enough alcohol tonight.” He chuckled, and she snuggled closer under his arm. “Come back to mine, and we’ll have a drink together.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I stalked her, spied on her through the trees, hidden in the darkness. She was obviously pissed—she could barely walk in a straight line. This will be easy. She continued to wiggle her arse as she walked, exuding confidence and a flirtatious attitude. Even when she thought she was alone, she was a cocky bitch. It was about time she learnt taunting people with her sexiness, as if she were the most important person in the world. This was not something I enjoyed watching.
She entered the iron gates of the park, the perfect place for what I had planned. I was concealed by the shadows because of the council’s unwillingness to replace broken lamps. Lucky for me it’s a shitty town. The winter chill raged around her, and she burrowed down into her expensive-looking beige coat. Twigs snapped under her four-inch stilettos; the leaves rustled in a mini whirlwind close to the ground. The sound of her heels clicked and scraped the pavement, driving me insane. My anger grew, the closer she came. She ridiculed innocent people. How fucking dare she? I’m the only one powerful enough to stop this, to put her in place.
The exit gate was closed, and I laughed as her pace quickened. The park was even darker there. I pounced from behind the shrubs. She shrieked, and a rush of adrenaline surged through my body. It felt good to be in control again. Her eyes were wide in fear, the colour had drained from her skin, and she was desperate to scream. But she didn’t—or couldn’t. I didn’t care which. The domination was exhilarating. My dark clothes and hood concealed my identity as always.
She was distracted for a split second, peering at my gloved hands. The glint caught her eyes. I lunged, knocking her to the ground, silencing her cry for help. Straddling her waist, I strapped her arms to her side with my thighs and covered her mouth with my free hand. Her face showed the fear and pain. It was euphoric. She thrashed about under me; it must have been painful.
She focused on me, her captor, and I saw a spark of recognition. Her eyes widened, and a panicked squeal escaped from under the glove.
“Yes, it’s me.” I smiled, so she would know I was enjoying myself, and ran the blade along her cheek. She didn’t move. The knife glided farther, and the cold metal caressed her bare skin until it reached the top of her blouse.
“You really should be careful who you tease. It’s not nice to upset people I care about. I don’t like it.” The blade rested on her chest.
She swallowed loudly. Her fear sent me into a frenzy, and the authority made my skin tingle.
I released her mouth but gave her no time to scream out. In one swift movement, I clutched her hair tight in my fist, yanked her head inches from the ground, and smashed it down onto the concrete path. Blood seeped from the back of her head. Her eyes glazed over.
“Don’t leave the party just yet.”
I wrapped both hands around the handle and plunged the knife straight through her heart. Full of rage, I did it again and again and again. There was blood everywhere—it matched the release flowing within my body. I stood up and looked down at her lifeless body.
“I’ll leave your clothes on, you filthy slut. Too many people have seen you naked already.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grace felt the crisp white sheets slide across her naked skin before she opened her eyes. Oh shit! She found the courage to open her eyes and quickly scanned the foreign bedroom she had woken in. Perplexed, she contemplated where she was and what the nightmare haunting her meant this time.
“Well, good morning, you.” Eric appeared at the doorway wearing only his boxer shorts.
Grace briefly closed her eyes, and her memory was jolted with images of a dark street, naked bodies, a kitchen table, and a full moon. She squinted and rubbed her temples.
“Did we…?” She opened her eyes just in time to see Eric’s cheeks blush slightly and a hint of a smirk.
“We did. And I must say, Grace—wow! You’re a firecracker.” He chuckled at her confused expression. “I would have never expected it from you. I always thought you were quite timid, you know. But after we got back here and had a few more drinks, it was like you were on heat. You were all over me, and to be honest, it was difficult to resist. It got a bit intense in the kitchen, and we did it on the table, and then again on the stairs before we finally made it in here and collapsed.” He laughed again, animated with his story as he walked into the room. “It was sexy, Grace. I’ve never seen you so full of passion. You should let that side out more.” He winked and waltzed off to the en-suite bathroom.
She cringed, embarrassed by how Eric spoke about her. She wanted to run away as fast as possible and hide. I guess that explains the dream. She inspected the room again. The king-size bed took up most of the space, and she was surprised there were no personal photos, but the dressing table held a large vanity mirror adorned with small lightbulbs. Beech-coloured french blinds kept prying eyes out of the huge bay windows behind the dressing table. Very classy, not like my nets and heavy curtains. Clothing was strewn over the white, fluffy carpet; Grace lifted the duvet and got out of the bed to retrieve her clothes and cover her naked body.
“So listen.” Eric peered round the bathroom door, forcing her to pull the cover back over her. “I really enjoyed myself last night, Grace. Seriously, you were awesome, and it was fun. But…”
She could feel him struggling with the end of his sentence. Her face was on fire. Shit, could this be any more embarrassing? “Eric, don’t worry. No one will find out about this.”
He responded with a goofy smile and stuck his thumb up before returning to the bathroom. Shame washed over her as she searched the floor for her clothes. After throwing on her black skirt and bra, she raced downstairs to find her panties and shirt in the kitchen. Once dressed, she paused in fr
ont of the large hallway mirror and looked intently at her shabby reflection. Horror and disappointment simultaneously crowded her mind, and she took flight from Eric’s apartment.
The fresh morning chill hit Grace’s face as she strolled home. She knew the wise thing would be to jump in a taxi, rush home, and hide away for the weekend, but she wanted to clear her hangover and bemused thoughts. She turned onto her road twenty minutes later and slumped in despair as her neighbour walked out of his front gate and turned towards her. Her mind scrambled. Should she turn back and hope he hadn’t seen her? Maybe she could power-walk past him as if she were in a rush? When he lifted his hand and waved in her direction, she realised neither of those scenarios would work. She groaned inside, gave in to fate, and plastered a fake smile on her face.
“Good morning, Grace,” Mr. Wilson said.
He walked swiftly towards her. She dreaded that he wouldn’t stop until his nose was touching hers.
“Good morning, and hello, Simba.” Grace bent down, more in attempt to regain her personal space than to stroke the German shepherd.
“I’m just taking the bitch for a morning walk,” he complained.
She cringed at his lack of affection and gave the dog some extra attention.
“So, you’re not usually out and about this early on the weekend. Stayed over with a friend, eh?” Mr. Wilson winked mischievously, making her shudder.
“Yes, I did,” she replied as she stood up, keen to keep their conversation short.
“Really? Male or female?”
“Does that matter, Mr. Wilson?”
He laughed, mouth wide open, displaying teeth discoloured by years of smoking. Actually, she was surprised he didn’t have a tobacco stick hanging from his mouth, as he usually did.
“Come now, don’t be shy. Neighbours share gossip when they bump into each other, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t really know,” she snapped, irritated by his assumption.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t. I’ve noticed you don’t tend to venture out much any more. Since your grandfather died, I mean. Shame that was. He was a decent guy. Always gave me a ciggie when I tapped him up for one. But I only see you heading in and out to work now, not a lot of partying in your skimpy outfits any more, not like you used to. Except for last night maybe, eh.” He winked again and prodded her arm lightly with this elbow.
Grace felt enraged that a married man in his late forties would speak to her in such a way. She squashed the urge to slap his face, knowing the scene would cause her mum embarrassment in the neighbourhood.
“I think it’s quite rude to speculate on my life, Mr. Wilson.” She watched the grin slip from his face.
He frowned but remained quiet.
“What I do in my private life is exactly that—private,” she said, uncomfortable with the prolonged silence.
He leered. “I was just making polite chit-chat, girl. No need to be rude to me.”
Grace hated the direction their exchange was heading and wished she had turned back when she’d had the chance.
“You should be friendlier to your neighbours. Come on, Simba.” He yanked at the dog’s lead and barged past Grace.
She shivered, disgusted by his touch, and crossed the road towards her house.
“The walk of shame at thirty-one, Grace. Really? I can’t believe you sometimes.” Valerie didn’t wait until she was in the door to start the attack.
She grimaced. “I’m not in the mood, Mum. I’ve already had a run-in with old man Wilson across the road.”
“Don’t you think I worry about you? Out of respect for me, you could have let me know you were staying out for the night. There are young girls being murdered out there.” Valerie glared at her daughter, obviously waiting for a response.
Grace returned the silent stare for a few moments, her hangover enticing no interest in her mother’s words. Valerie raised her eyebrows, and she knew the lecture was imminent. She curled her upper lip and inched her face closer to her mother’s.
“Shut up!” she roared. Grace whirled round, her long black coat following with such speed, it lashed against Valerie’s legs. She yanked open the front door, and it ricocheted off the wall while she stormed back out onto the street.
By the time Grace arrived at the cemetery, heavy tears were falling down her face. She sat against her grandfather’s temporary headstone, put there solely to distinguish who was buried under the mound of earth. In a few months, the black granite memorial stone would be erected, and Grace and Valerie had agreed it would be a special place they could visit together. At the moment, she sat alone on the cold muddy ground, bare of grass. With her knees bent and drawn in close to her body, she rested her chin and let the tears stain her cheeks.
“I don’t know what’s happened to me, Granddad. I feel so emotional all the time. I really thought returning to work would help; keeping busy with people constantly around was a great distraction. But sometimes it’s more frustrating because I feel like I’m constantly putting a face on. Just plodding along, doing what’s expected of me, and smiling at the right time. But deep down, I’m angry and sad and I miss you.”
Her sobs quickly became uncontrollable. Tears mixed with snot as she sank further into her grief. The breeze circled and howled through the swaying trees. She mirrored Mother Nature’s wail, using her sleeve to wipe her sodden face.
“And the way I’m speaking to Mum! You would go ballistic if you were here. I know they say you take your pain and frustration out on those closest to you, but I have to remember she’s lost her dad. She’s dealt with the past few months so well, been so strong. And here I am, acting like a fucked-up freak. We had time to say goodbye to you. We knew the cancer would take you, so I can’t understand why I’m so emotional all the time. I’ll have to apologise to her. She’s more than my mum. She’s my best friend, and we don’t speak to each other like this.”
Grace slammed the ground in frustration. The tears had dried from her puffy eyes, and she vacantly looked out across the cemetery for another half hour before moving. She wiped her swollen cheeks aggressively and filled her lungs with a deep breath. “I have to pull myself together. I can’t keep blaming your death for my emotions.”
She got to her feet, rubbed her bum to regain some feeling there, and placed her hand on the headstone. “Guide me if you can, Granddad. I need to get back to my normal self.”
Grace walked leisurely back to the cemetery entrance, welcoming the coolness against her burning face. When she reached the gate, just before the main road, a beautiful white butterfly flew around her head for a moment before soaring into the sky out of sight.
She smiled. “Thanks for listening, Granddad.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hamilton crouched over the dead body.
“This attack was definitely more aggressive, Inspector,” Laura said during her preliminary findings. “The knife wounds would lead me to suggest we’re dealing with the same killer, but there are some obvious differences with this victim.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, devastated that another woman had been brutally murdered on his patch. “Yes, it is obvious, Laura. This amount of blood indicates his violence has significantly escalated. She suffered a worse torture. We assumed the last murder was personal, but that seems nothing compared to this one. Interestingly, he’s chosen a blonde lady this time.”
Clarke joined them and winced as he examined the victim. “Jesus, this one took a bloody beating.”
Laura’s mouth set in a hard line, and Hamilton cringed at his partner’s unprofessionalism. He thought it best they leave the pathology team to get on with their work as soon as possible.
“Boss, I’ve got the victim’s identification from her purse. It was left behind again,” Clarke said.
“Lewis, just go and get the motor started. I’ll meet you out there. Laura, it’s imperative I get the post-mortem information as soon as possible, so I’m going to send DS Morris and Wedlock over to the mortuary to be present.
If that’s okay with you?”
“No problem at all, Inspector. My team and I have some more work to do here. We need to thoroughly check the scene for DNA before we pack up. Send them to the mortuary in about two hours. I should be ready for them then.” Laura returned to preparing a body bag for the fourth victim.
Hamilton marched to the car and jumped in. “That was not acceptable, Lewis. Be careful how you speak about the victims when it’s not just my company you’re in.”
Clarke frowned, and Hamilton hoped he wasn’t considering a sarcastic retort. He raised his own eyebrows to warn his partner of his foul mood and was satisfied when Clarke nodded without saying a word. The journey to the station was driven in complete silence; not even the radio played. Clarke was sulking for being reprimanded, but he understood his partner needed time to mope before shrugging it off and returning to his jovial self.
When they reached the incident room, he called for the attention of his team while Clarke updated the information on the board.
“Okay, listen up.” Hamilton cleared his throat. “Our victim is Emily Donovan, twenty-five years old, so our youngest victim. She lived with her parents in Shepherd’s Bush. Kerry, I want you to go with Lewis and inform the family.”
“But, sir, I’ve never done that before,” Fraser interrupted him.
“We all have to start somewhere, sergeant,” he snapped and instantly regretted it as the colour rose in her cheeks. “Look, Kerry, I know this is something I usually handle, but I have a meeting with DCI Allen that, annoyingly, I can’t get out of. Lewis has done this plenty of times, so use this as an experience to learn and just follow his lead.”
