by Stuart Keane
You there?
S?
It’s been nine hours, I thought you would have replied by now.
S? Okay, now I’m concerned.
I have some excellent news, can’t wait to share it with you.
Hello?
S?
Okay, this isn’t funny anymore.
You know what? Fuck you. You suggested the texting idea, so not replying is a dick move.
S, did you have anything to do with that nightclub attack?
Are you okay? Please tell me you got out alive?
S?
You fucking sicko. ANSWER ME!!
XV
Odette paced the floor of her hotel room, a flexed hand clutched to chin, her pace somewhat laboured yet unevenly tense. She felt her thigh muscles twitching beneath her jeans, and her back trembled along to a dull, throbbing ache.
Why doesn’t she answer me?
She slipped the mobile phone from her pocket and glared at its dull screen. Her eyes flitted back and forth, expecting the screen to light up, waiting for the arrival of the seemingly inevitable text. Nothing happened. She felt her shaking hand squeezing the device tightly, and eased off. She placed it on the table and turned her back on it.
Funny. I didn’t have you down as the possessive type.
It’s just plain rude, not answering my text straight away.
Oh no … you’re one of them.
What? One of who?
Them. The sad people who watch their phones like it’s their only source of life.
I’m not. This … well, these are different, extraordinary circumstances.
If this was Facebook, I’d be blocking your dramatic stalker arse right now.
Good luck in getting an account. You’re just a figment of my imagination.
Figment? Hilarious. Believe what you want.
Odette shook her head and chuckled. What the fuck am I saying?
You’re chatting nonsense, is what.
I agree with you.
First time for everything … well, I suppose.
Odette ran her hands over her rump and slid her hands into the pockets there. She breathed out and realised she was stressed. Stressed and a little worried. A small knot of contempt pulsed behind her sweating temple, and the frantic throbbing was beginning to induce a migraine. She clutched her head between her hands and shook it, closing her eyes.
It wasn’t like Shay to go off the grid, to disappear. True, she didn’t know the woman extremely well, but Shay was the type who liked to boast, a woman who loved to share her successes. Her night out was clearly a way to have fun and blow off some steam, and she deserved it after being locked up for so long, but she had a strong feeling about one thing; the woman planned to find her next victim, or victims, during that night out.
And if she had done, and was successful, Odette would be hearing about it by now.
But she wasn’t, and that didn’t sit right with her.
Odette walked to the window and leaned on the sill. Clenching her arms until they bulged with sinewy muscle, she glanced through the dusty pane and surveyed the standard scene before her. The woman watched several people navigate the pavement and head to their homes or jobs or social plans. A car awkwardly reversed into a parking space that was clearly too small for its chassis, a dog barked at a fleeing cat as its owner tugged helplessly at its leash, and an ice cream truck passed by, its monotonous tune alerting children to its incoming presence.
Odette raised her gaze and watched the horizon. “Where the fuck are you, Shay?”
The first sign of madness is talking to yourself. Or is it drinking your own piss? I’m not sure anymore.
I’m certain that having an internal monologue also counts.
Touché.
Do you think she’s bailed on me?
I don’t fucking know, I’m not her keeper.
But you have a working knowledge, right? Of the psychopathic brain.
Do I look like a fountain of information? I’m purely here to guide you, to harness your sick side. I don’t exist in the real world, or outside of your head. I know nothing about what Shay’s thinking or doing. All I know is what stirs inside your cerebral cortex, and even then that’s iffy at best.
But if you had to hazard a guess?
Really? We’re doing this?
You got anything better to do?
If I put forward a possible scenario, will it shut you the fuck up?
Yes.
A pause. Odette ran her hands through her bedraggled hair and sighed, her hot breath hissing on the air. She felt a tight knot in her stomach; she hadn’t eaten for hours. She reached over to the bedside cabinet and plucked a room service menu from the plastic clip.
There’s two possible scenarios, well, maybe three.
“Go on,” Odette said aloud. She chuckled, and opened the menu.
One. She’s still out and about. Simple.
Okay, but it’s nearly midday. Surely she’d be home by now?
She’s been locked up for four years. It doesn’t sound like unusual behaviour if she’s missed it for so long. Have you never been out that late, pulled an all-nighter?
Don’t be stupid. Gavin was boring like that, we hardly ever went out beyond midnight.
How lame. But, it’s totally plausible. Anyway, two. Something bad happened to her. Likely?
Odette shook her head. She can look after herself. Even if she did attack the wrong person at that nightclub – if that was even her doing – I think she could have handled herself. I doubt she was in any serious danger, she knows what she’s doing, and even so she has that temperament. Some psychos don’t care, and Shay is definitely one of them.
Which leaves only the third possible scenario.
Which is?
She’s bailed on you.
Odette shuddered at the very mention of it. Rocking her head, she stood up and circled the bed, tossing the open menu onto the pillow. She ran her fingers through her hair, clutching the fluffy strands and pulling them taut across her scalp. Her eyes widened and stared at the wall, blistering anger now coursing through her veins. She heard her jaw click as she gnashed her teeth together.
I’m sorry. Did I touch a nerve?
No. I reckon you’re right. How did I not see this coming? Bitch!
Well, the clues point more to the other scenarios so…
It’s clear she’s done a runner. Shay didn’t seem happy in the text conversation yesterday. I bet she changed her mind. Didn’t she seem odd to you? Now I think about it, it’s clear she feels threatened by me. She must have had me down to lose from the beginning, maybe reckoned I would bottle it. You remember when she asked me not to count the first kill?
That’s hardly indicative of fear, though, or a threat. She’d want it to count if she was worried, surely. She’d want to get the three no matter what, and removing one from the equation makes no sense.
Yeah, maybe. So – why hasn’t she responded?
I just told you!
I’m not sure. This seems awful suss.
As you keep saying. I think you’re reading into it too much.
We’ll soon see.
I assume we will.
Odette reached for the phone and flicked the screen, staring at it. Still nothing. No text messages and no missed phone calls. She threw the device on the bed and screamed. Odette kicked the bedside table, splitting the wooden door down the middle, and shoved at the wardrobe. The empty storage container wobbled sideways and slowly toppled, before falling back into place and rooting itself upright.
How did I fall for this? How could I be so fucking stupid? I threw my life away for this shit. My job, Gavin, everything! And for what? A bit of petty murder and bullshit.
The challenge.
What?
You threw it away for the challenge. Three murders, in a game of cat and mouse to decide who the best killer is. You against Shay. That’s why you threw your life away.
No, you’re wrong. We didn’t have the c
hallenge in place when we started killing Gavin.
Oh. Yes, you’re right.
So I threw it away on a fucking whim. For fuck all.
Or because he was a cheating bastard, don’t forget that.
That’s not a reason. I realise that now. People work through issues like that.
Bit late now, isn’t it?
Odette sat on the bed and sighed.
Why did I do this?
Why worry about it? Stop concerning yourself with something you have no control over.
If I’d just come home a few hours later, none of this would have happened. I’d be at home drinking coffee and reading a good book with Gavin curled up beside me.
But he would have cheated on you.
I wouldn’t have known. Oblivious. Ignorance is bliss.
Really?
Yes, I would have been none the wiser and happy.
You don’t know that. You were miserable anyway.
I wasn’t miserable.
You weren’t happy by any means.
True. Odette sniffed, reliving the thoughts of her previous life, one that had only ended less than forty-eight hours ago.
A nostalgic smile lifted the corners of her lips. What do I do?
You’re asking for my advice?
Odette nodded. Said nothing.
Finish the challenge. Prove yourself. After that, the whole world is your oyster. Shay is the only thing keeping you here. You can go on the run after that, and no one has connected you to anything yet. You have money and the wherewithal. You can vanish.
Odette smiled. Yes, but … I need a victim. A third victim to finish this.
You have a whole hotel at your disposal.
No, too risky. One is enough. If too many people disappear without checking out, that’ll bring attention to this place, and I can’t have that. I still need to lie low.
Then go outside, find some poor fucker in the street.
Odette chuckled. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it? It’s so fucking simple.
What?
It’s staring me right in the face.
Pray tell…
Shay.
Huh?
I can kill Shay.
Okay, hold on, wait just a minute…
It’s perfect. Finish the challenge by killing my competition. It’s genius!
Except Shay is more experienced than you. She’s been doing this for a lot longer. She’ll run rings around you before gutting you like a fish.
Everyone loves an underdog.
But no one loves a fool who isn’t prepared. I can’t believe I’m using that word again.
It’ll be fine.
Oh, and how do you plan to find her?
It’s simple.
How? You nearly had a fucking hernia earlier because she didn’t respond.
I have a plan.
Care to share?
Yes. But not yet. Soon.
I don’t like the sound of this.
You don’t have to. The plan is simple: find Shay and kill her. The challenge is mine.
I hope you know what you’re doing.
I don’t, really, and that’s the joy of it. Shay will be my number three.
In that case, you better hope she hasn’t completely snapped. Otherwise, you’re in trouble.
XVI
Shay walked down the main road that led towards the east end of town. Despite the brightness of the morning sun, the cold breeze bit at her bruised face, a stark reminder of her violent ordeal the previous evening.
She cast her mind back to earlier that morning, most of the details still sketchy and unclear, the overall experience a total blur. She relived the feeling of total helplessness that she had felt, whilst Trent had practically butchered the other woman in front of her.
As the cold wind continued to nip at her sore cheeks, she remembered Michelle. She recalled how the woman was slumped over the side of the hot tub and treated like nothing but a slab of rotting meat, bleeding out into the tub as Trent continued with his perverse, cruel torment. For a brief moment, she thought about Michelle as a person; she seemed fairly young and attractive, she appeared to be quite bright and driven.
I wonder if she had any family that would miss her. For perhaps the first time in Shay’s life, she began to feel the internal hammering of a mild conscience. I really hope she didn’t have any kids, anyone that relied on her.
Returning from her musing, Shay grabbed the mobile phone from her inside jacket pocket and checked for any new messages; nothing. She flicked through the menu until she found the last text message from Odette, one begging her to reply. She shivered. Even for a psychopath like Shay, that sort of possessiveness unnerved her. Condescending bitch.
She hadn’t replied, and on the neediness of the current text conversation, she didn’t want to either. Shay couldn’t be bothered trying to explain her absence, not right now.
A feeling of anger and resentment began to rise from her stomach and tingle at the back of her throat. It felt like the familiar burning sensation of unwanted acid reflux.
Fuck Michelle.
I hope she had fucking kids, it’s the way of the world. The little bastards would have to learn to deal with the harshness of a real life and its unpredictability, the same way that she had.
The experience from the previous night had caught her off guard, shocked her, hell, maybe even scared her, but that was then and this was now. Only one thing sat at the forefront of Shay’s mind, and that was a way to truly erase the horrific ordeal from her memory forever. There was only one thing left for her to prove, and only one chance for her to truly make her mark.
Odette. And the challenge.
Taking one last look at the disdainful message from Odette, she activated the key lock on her phone and slipped it back into her jacket pocket without a reply.
I’ll get back to her when I have something to report, and no sooner.
Pausing, she took a quick look around her. She’d somehow walked into a large park during her reminiscent daze. Across the pebbled pathway before her stood the black gates to the Diana Memorial Playground, which glistened in the chilly morning air. Shay chuckled as she gazed at the two black memorial plaques positioned beside it, both of which paid homage to the late Princess Diana. Shay still remembered the day she died, but then again, didn’t everyone?
To her left, she noticed a small building. The side door stood wide open, but the windows were hidden by corrugated metal shutters, the rusted grooves smeared in messy graffiti. Slowly, she approached the opening with caution, checking around her to see if anyone was watching, but the coast seemed clear. As she entered the unit, the annoying sound of a radio stuck between two stations filled the airwaves. It sounded like the combination of a current chart hit mixed with irritating white noise and a rock classic from the early eighties.
She frowned as the noise continued to grate at her already fragile nerves. Approaching the source of the noise, she attempted to fiddle with the dial, which did nothing but intensify the sound of interference. Annoyed, she switched off the radio altogether.
A muffled noise suddenly emanated from floor level, next to where she stood.
“Hey, what the hell? I was listening to that.”
Shay looked down and spotted two battered steel toe-capped work boots, poking out from below the chassis of an old red Volkswagen. The protruding legs reminded her of the Wicked Witch of the East from The Wizard of Oz, after the farmhouse had landed on her.
Then, she realised.
A vehicle repair garage.
She smiled as she spotted the hydraulic ramps that were keeping the vehicle suspended above the hidden man. Stepping closer to the control panel, she observed the various functions. The operation was basic; three buttons consisting of upwards and downwards motion of the ramp on hydraulic cylinders, and an emergency brake.
Too lame, this kill needs to be something special. The stakes are too high.
As she observed the set-up once more, a thought
occurred to her. Crushing him would be too quick, and far too easy. However, if she could get him manoeuvred into the correct position, she could slowly lower the vehicle inch by inch so that one of the front tyres was suspended directly above the man’s face. With the driver’s door held open and first gear engaged, she could easily accelerate the vehicle up to twenty miles per hour while it slowly lowered down onto him. The tyre tread would make light work of his facial features, and obliterate his visage like a blood-soaked muck spreader. Burnt flesh, ruptured muscle and gore would be sprayed around the garage like a grisly version of the mechanic’s cheap, sub-standard paint jobs.
Looking down, she observed as the man began to slowly slide himself from beneath the car. She resisted the urge to stroke the man’s crotch with the sole of her foot.
Pack it in. You don’t have time for that.
She continued to observe as the man slid from beneath the vehicle. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the cliché of the hot, topless mechanic with a muscular chest, chiselled waist, and deep tan. Maybe the toned physique would be streaked with dirty oil. She imagined the modern-day Adonis eyeing her up with a mischievous smile, and agreeing that they could come to some mutual arrangement for the repayment of her repair bill.
That illusion was immediately shattered when the man’s rounded midriff came into view. The buttons on his filthy blue overalls were fit to bust under the sheer pressure from the man’s bulging gut. A few seconds later and Shay was experiencing the man in all his glory. Shay did her best to camouflage her displeasure as the man struggled to his feet, his cheeks red and his breath ragged. Grabbing an already oily rag from the work surface, he continued to clean the grime from in between his filthy, chubby fingers.
The man looked at Shay curiously, as if it was the first time he had ever been in the company of a female. Raising an eyebrow, she was immediately overcome by the stench of motor oil, mixed with stale cigarette smoke and utter disappointment. The man had a thatch of thick, ginger hair hanging from his scalp. It clung to the side of his face like a dull mop head. His green eyes seemed almost boss-eyed in self confusion, the orbs partially concealed behind a pair of thick, black-rimmed spectacles. His offensive facial features were completed by a misshaped mess of tangled, matted hair; a messy beard that matched the colour of his locks. A slim sliver of spittle adorned the hairy clutter as it dribbled down his chin.
