Chapter Seventeen
16th June, 0035 hours – Thompson residence, Sunderland
He found himself in the bushes again. And tonight the rain was falling heavily. His black summer jacket and combats already soaked through. The good thing though, was heavy rain made it darker. He liked the dark, needed it even. Especially tonight.
He’d watched her leave the house at eight on the dot to head into the town for her night out with the girls. She hadn’t seen him, of course. No-one saw him unless he wanted them to. He’d already accessed her laptop from home and deleted all traces of him. Now he needed to check her room and make sure she hadn’t been stupid enough to write about him in the journal he knew she kept.
He had watched from the shadows as her guardian had turned her bedroom light out almost an hour before. Even allowing time for someone to drop off, he was confident she would be sound asleep under the heavily floral bedding in the chintzy, feminine bedroom down the hall from Clarice’s room. He had seen it when he installed the camera, had seen all the rooms in fact. He knew the layout inside, even what both women kept hidden at the bottom of their knicker drawers.
He smiled to himself at that thought. Knickers – it was such an old fashioned word. There had been a vast difference between the two drawers. Gill, the older one preferred high cut briefs, pretty and floral whilst maintaining comfort. And Clarice, his Clarice. Hers were functional, matching sets of plain knickers and bra’s, but buried beneath the top layer he found the pot of gold. Matching sets of thongs and balcony bras, in bright colours and patterns.
He wondered when she wore them, whether it was for nights out like tonight. And he felt himself grow hard. It wouldn’t be too long before he would find out.
Clarice had been chatting to him all night, he’d left the bar an hour before with the intention of doing his checks, but had said he would be back soon. He was confident that she would wait for him. Her friends were all very drunk by then anyway and dancing around their handbags. Clarice was more restrained, he had noticed, often ordering a coke instead of alcohol, but not telling her friends.
They wouldn’t even recall him being there.
He smiled into the darkness. Then again, neither will she.
He’d told Clarice to meet him at the end of the road leading to the club at 1.30 a.m. – she had agreed. He was a nice guy, had offered to walk her home despite the rain, had even gone to his place to get an umbrella so she wouldn’t get wet. At least, that’s what he had told her.
He had been picturing her in his head all night, pulling on her sexy underwear, dressing up just for him, applying her make up so that he would be pleased. In reality he hated make-up. It made women look like the tramps they were, attracting the weak men like moths to a flame.
Not him though, he wasn’t taken in by a sweep of mascara and a coating of lip gloss. All that meant was he had to try that little bit harder to make them understand that their place was not in this world. Girls like her, Clarice, they deserved to die.
He remembered his mother had liked make-up. Frowning he tried to conjure up her face in his mind. After losing everything, it seemed the best he could do.
But he couldn’t do it. Maybe it had been too long. Or maybe he just hadn’t cared enough to remember.
He stood, his head cocked to one side as he listened intently. What did I just hear?
Sometimes his hearing played tricks on him; years of being boxed around the head by his dad meant he suffered tinnitus and mild hearing impairments. He often had to strain to hear conversations, and had developed a habit of cocking his head to the side like a dog.
Appeased as he heard a man and woman pass by without noticing him, he emerged from the shadows and silently unlatched the window to Clarice’s room. Entering, he held his pen torch in his teeth and checked the journal. It made mention of a guy she had met, been flirting with even, but it didn’t mention his alias name. Flashing the torch around the room, he checked the university notes and files and was soon satisfied. There was nothing in here linking her to him. But he tore the page out just to be sure.
As quietly as he had entered, he climbed out of the window and closed it. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do about the latch from outside, but it probably wouldn’t even be noticed. And if it is? Well, that’s what gloves are for.
16th June, 0130 hours – Alleyway near Retox Nightclub, Sunderland
He stood under the canopy of one of the long closed down pubs, a few hundred feet from the entrance to Retox. It was getting late and a steady stream of the less hard-core clubbers was exiting the club to make their way home or to the kebab shop. A few queued to pay the astronomical ‘after midnight’ entry fee to the club, but none of them saw him. He’d already observed one of the bouncers handing some substance or other to a party goer, spotting the young girl handing over a folded note in payment. If the bouncers knew he was there they would have alerted their colleague. But no-one did.
His light jacket was stuck to his skin and he felt uncomfortable.
And she was late.
His eyes glowered in the dark of the doorway. Who the hell does she think she is? Making plans to see me then being late.
For a moment he wondered whether she was worth it, whether he should just give up and pick one of the other four women he’d been watching at the start. He hated being kept waiting for anything.
He was about to step out of the doorway to leave, when she suddenly emerged down the steps of the club, gingerly taking each step as she used the hand rail to steady herself. Her heels weren’t seven-inch wonders, but they were high enough, and she was plainly the type of girl who usually wore flats. She reached the pavement and looked up and down the street.
He could feel her asking herself what she was doing, arranging to meet a guy she hardly knew, faltering over her decision and thinking about whether she should go back inside. Pulling out his phone, he texted her before she changed her mind.
He saw her pull her mobile from the small clutch bag, and then stepped from the shadows, walking down the road towards her. As she looked up he waved, flashing his teeth as the right side of his mouth curved up in greeting.
‘Did I mention earlier how great you look?’ he said as he approached, popping the umbrella and holding it above her head. Might as well let her think he was a gentleman. At least for now.
He purposefully kept his gaze averted from the bouncers, and they ignored him completely. If they were asked to describe him, he was confident not one of them would even get his race right, let alone anything else.
He took hold of Clarice’s hand with his own as they walked. He wanted to squeeze hard to watch her wince. But he resisted. There would be plenty of time for that later. He had all night. And as far as she knew, they were just going for a walk. They would end up at the Outreach Centre, and she would say she recognised it. Then he would strike; take her inside and out of reach of the community’s prying eyes.
And she would wish she had never laid eyes on him.
16th June, 0150 hours – Sunderland Outreach Centre
Clarice was starting to regret leaving the club to meet Gareth. She hadn’t even told her friends she was leaving. That was stupid. She was pretty sure he fancied her, but after tonight she definitely didn’t like him back. The walk so far had consisted of his clammy hand holding hers and him trying to be funny when he plainly wasn’t. Prior to actually spending time with him tonight, she’d thought he seemed nice, liked the attention he gave with his messages. But in reality he wasn’t the guy she had been texting. She felt a shiver pass down her spine – something wasn’t right here.
She had to stop herself from bolting when he finally released her hand to put the umbrella down because the rain was finally easing up. She could hear the faint cracks of thunder as it approached from the sea, and despite it being near enough midsummer, she was cold. Wishing she had some ruby slippers so she could click them together and just be at home, she sighed and said, ‘I’m really going to have to get ho
me. Gill will be worried about me. I’ve had a lovely evening, though.’
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and she realised she was actually a little afraid. Of what she didn’t know, but she didn’t like it. Glancing around, she noticed the area was familiar.
It’s the Outreach Centre! Shit, I’m miles from home. How the hell did I not notice that!
‘I think I’ll phone for a cab. We seem to have gone way off track.’ Her voice sounded small to her ears, and when he didn’t react she wondered if he’d actually heard her.
Stopping, she reached into the small clutch bag and felt around. She frowned, realising that both her purse and phone were missing.
What the hell? Where the fuck is my phone? Gill’s gonna go spare.
‘Problem?’ asked Gareth smoothly, putting his hand into his pocket to reassure himself that her phone was in there with her purse. He felt the rectangular outline and smiled. Lifting them had been easy. He’d pretended to have an issue with the umbrella a while back, and she’d taken it from him to ‘fix’, handing him her bag as she did so.
‘Can’t find my phone,’ muttered Clarice, her gaze still focussed on the inside of the bag as her hand scrabbled about.
It was the perfect opportunity.
Silently, he moved around her, and before she realised what was happening, he had his arm round her throat, squeezing tightly as her body went taut then relaxed. The sleeper hold had its desired effect and she slumped against him. She hadn’t even managed to get out a scream, which boded well for him. The fewer people awake, the better.
Propping her beside the doorway to the centre, he unlocked it with his copy of the master key. He grabbed her shoulders and dragged her inside, aware that she wouldn’t be incapacitated for very long. Letting go of her, he grinned as her head hit the hard floor with a thud. Locking the door behind him, he acknowledged that the rush of adrenaline he felt was strong. This one was definitely going to go well. He just knew it.
Tying her hands with cable ties, he used them to drag her down the corridor and into the office on the left. When he had started with his first victim, he had used rope. But rope allowed movement. He’d learned that cable ties didn’t. Skin would cut and bleed and still they would hold their deathly grip.
The posters on the wall screamed about positivity, but he was certain Clarice wouldn’t feel positive. After roughly applying the gaffer tape to her mouth, he slapped her hard across the face, and smiled a lopsided smile as she groaned and opened her eyes. He watched as she registered she was tied and couldn’t speak, and then, he leant forward.
‘I’ve been watching you,’ he said, smiling as panic overtook and Clarice began struggling against the ties that held her immobile, screaming through the tape.
‘Struggle away, bitch. I’m here to teach you a lesson or two. And you will learn.’
16th June, 0205 hours – Sunderland Outreach Centre
Clarice had never been so afraid in her entire life. The taste of it settled on her tongue, and she felt like she could vomit at any moment. He had left the room a couple of minutes ago, to do what she didn’t know, but she’d already found out that struggling was useless, and the loudest sound she could make was a grunt. Tears had already streaked her mascara, and she could feel it starting to go crusty on the sides of her face.
What the hell is going on?
There was a faint glow coming through the window from the street lights outside, and she glanced around the room.
Holy shit. I’m in Gill’s office. She’s gonna kill me. Why the hell didn’t I just go home. What does he want with me? Please, God, somebody. Help me!
She felt the tears start to fall again, and again she tried to struggle. The ties cut into her wrists painfully, but she continued.
His voice suddenly echoed round the small office.
‘Stop struggling or you will be punished.’
His face appeared right in front of her, his words spoken softly but with loud threatening undertones, and the scar near his mouth glowed eerily in the dim light. His eyes were hard, calculating even. Clarice felt the scream well up from the depth of her lungs, but it failed to gather momentum and exited through the tape as a muffled grunt.
Suddenly seeing the knife in his hand, she mumbled ‘No!’ and tried to pull herself across the floor; anything to get away from him.
He grabbed her legs and pulled her back, the rough industrial carpet scraping harshly across her cheek as she twisted her body and tried to pull from his grasp. But she couldn’t.
He’s gonna kill me. What did I do to him? Why me?
He dragged her back to his position, and held her in place by sitting astride her. He watched as fear sparked in her brown eyes. She was petrified. Just how he liked it.
‘I’ve been watching you.’
His voice was soft, and he stared at her as his admission sunk in. He saw the moment she registered he’d said it to her previously when she’d woken up.
‘I had a camera in your bedroom. I’ve been watching you for weeks.’
A camera in her room? What the fuck?
He leaned over her, smiling that lopsided smile, and suddenly she knew for certain, he had no intention of letting her live. She felt the tears well up in her eyes again, her breath catching as her chest heaved in fear. The knife seemed to grow bigger before her eyes and she tried her best to let loose the next scream.
Oh God, I’m gonna die. He’s gonna kill me.
She found herself shaking her head again, doing her best to say ‘no’ over and over in the hope that he would listen and let her go.
‘You’ll beg before the end. You’ll beg me to kill you, to end it. They all did that.’
All? Realisation dawned. She wasn’t the first.
He drew the blade down the front of her dress, splitting the material in two like it was butter, and sat back on his haunches as he took in the lacy bra. He knew she had put the pretty underwear on just for him.
Her eyes were wide with fear but he knew they lied. She couldn’t be scared - he just knew she’d chosen it all for this special occasion. She’d expected it. She wanted him. And now, she’d teased him long enough.
It was time for her to have him. Or rather, for him to have her. He leaned over her and ran his tongue down the side of her face, tasting the makeup and faint tang of body butter.
Clarice froze in fear, feeling his slimy mouth on her face. Tears slid down her cheeks of their own accord. Why didn’t I go home? Oh God. I want my mum.
16th June, 0230 hours –Sunderland Outreach Centre
He picked the blade up off the floor and watched her face as he pressed it into the side of her stomach, smiling his lopsided smile as she tried to scream in pain. Drawing it out slowly allowed the blood to bubble past the blade and run gently down her side to the floor. She was whimpering now, fresh tears falling down her already streaked face. Leaning over her, he let his tongue catch one, tasted the saltiness as she tried to pull her head away from him.
He was so hard it hurt.
He cut through her black lace edged, pink satin bra, freeing her mocha breasts. He gasped as he took in her darkened nipples, and couldn’t help but lean over and bite one, hard.
Moving position, he knelt beside her, and drew the blade across her breasts, grinning as thick lines of blood appeared. He hadn’t don’t this since number four, had almost forgotten how good it felt. Sitting back, he noticed Clarice had wet herself.
‘Who’s a dirty girl then?’ he whispered in her ear, before grabbing the top of her leggings and yanking them down her legs.
He felt impatient now. It was time for her to learn.
He unzipped his fly, applied his protection and knelt beside her. He watched her eyes widen in terror, felt her fear permeate the air around him. The whites of her eyes were visible in the dull light of the street lamp outside of the window, giving her the appearance of rabid dog. She shook her head again, whimpering as used his knees to widen her legs.
16th June, 0510
hours –Sunderland Outreach Centre
He grabbed a rag off the table and carefully wiped his blade. He would clean it with bleach later, but this would do for now. Glancing down, he took in Clarice’s now pale features. Blood pooled beneath her naked body, her injuries stark against the glow of the lights.
The knife had sliced into her stomach like she was made of hot butter, and he loved the thrill it gave him. It had never been about the killing for him, more about the pain and satisfaction he got from it. And she had been very satisfying.
He walked back over to her, her face and body swollen and bruised from the beating. He had made sure she knew the reason why she had to be punished all the way through. Women shouldn’t be allowed to tease men, to tempt them and then say no. Women were nothing but the crap on the bottom of his shoe. They didn’t even deserve to be on the same planet. Men were far superior.
Reaching down he cut the cable ties that bound her hands, and carefully cut a section of her dark hair for his box. He made sure he picked up the spent condoms, and everything else he’d brought with him and placed everything inside his trusty black bag. He left through the back of the centre. It wouldn’t do for some nosy neighbour to see him coming out at this time in the morning. He made sure he locked the door, then made his way round the corner to where his car was waiting.
Turning the key in the ignition, he cranked the stereo up and grinned.
He turned and took in one long-lasting gaze at the centre, before whistling softly to himself as he drove off.
Chapter Eighteen
16th June, 0800 hours – Thompson residence, Sunderland
Gill yawned and took the last sip of her morning tea. It was getting late; if Clarice didn’t hurry up she’d end up being late for her class. Deciding it was time to intervene, she made her way to Clarice’s room.
‘Come on, lazy bones, time to get up,’ she said as she entered. A puzzled look passed over her face as she registered the room was flooded with daylight, the curtains wide open. The bed was made and had not been slept in.
I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series Page 19
