by Lenny Brando
As he skulked in the shadows, he heard sirens approaching. Maybe the piss head in the pub hurt himself. Serve him right. He glanced at his burner, but there was still no sign of Alice going to bed.
Half an hour later, Cole began to sweat. His pulse rose and his fears fell. He smiled. Game on. Now all I need is Alice. He stared at his phone and saw the battery was getting low. Cursing, he willed Alice to bed. Minutes later, he received an alert and he switched to the live stream on his phone. He watched Alice do her thing. She stripped down to her panties and went into the bathroom. A short while later, she returned to the bedroom and switched off the light. He cursed the darkness and the poor picture quality, but he thought he could make out a shadow as she got into bed.
Now satisfied, Cole grinned in anticipation. He reached into his pocket and dry swallowed two more pills with some difficulty, figuring it would be worth the hassle. After a quick scan of the area to make sure no-one was around, he made his way towards Alice’s house.
Ten minutes later, he stopped and checked his phone. Once more, he viewed the stream from the bedroom camera he had installed. There had been no further movement in the room, and nothing suggested that Alice wasn't sleeping.
He waited while two people passed by, then he opened his bag and took out the gloves and balaclava. When he was alone, he placed the balaclava on his head, ready to roll down. Then he pulled on the gloves and walked to Alice's front door.
Cole took a deep breath and eased the key into the latch. After a careful jiggle, he opened the door and closed it behind him without making any noise. The alarm beeped, and he hurried to it. In seconds he had the code in, and he placed his hand over the small speaker to deaden the sound of the disarm message.
Then he held his breath and watched his phone for signs of movement in the bedroom upstairs. He remembered the high volume on the bedside radio and figured she was a heavy sleeper, so she was unlikely to have heard anything. Still, he squinted at the screen. He could see no sign of movement, but he watched for a few minutes to make sure. Once he decided she still slept, he rolled down the balaclava, took the knife from the bag and ascended the stairs.
66
Alice blinked awake. The bedside lamp was on. She gasped. A figure loomed over her, dressed in jeans and a tight black jacket. Masked and wielding a long, serrated knife in a gloved hand.
“Hello, Alice,” he said in a low, raspy voice. He switched on the radio, still at high volume. Then he bent down and held the knife to her throat. The cold metal pressed against her skin. Her eyes opened wide. Blood pounded in her ears. A cold tingle rushed through her and every hair on her body rose. Her heart hammered in her chest and her rib cage seemed to tighten. Despite frantic efforts, she couldn’t seem to breathe. Frozen to stillness, she willed herself to move, but her body wouldn't respond.
While he kept the knife pressed against her neck, she felt him grab her wrist and wrap something around it. Then he pulled her arm back tight against the metal bed frame.
“You know what, Alice,” he whispered. “I’ve been watching you. Dreaming of you.” He took her other wrist and strapped it through a bar in the bed frame. In the shock and confusion, she watched him in a detached manner. Not again. Deep down, she knew she had to act. Anything to stop this. She tried to take a deep breath so she could scream, but no sound would come.
He pressed the knife tighter against her neck and put a finger to his lips. He pulled the knife away and cut off a strip of tape. She tried to scream, but the only sound was a roaring inside her head that drowned out everything, even the radio. He dropped the knife and grabbed her by the throat. He squeezed and pressed the tape over her mouth.
Alice looked into the eyes beneath the balaclava, but they were dark and devoid of sparkle. Fear threatened to overwhelm her. Fear made her think about lying still and letting him have his way. Maybe she’d survive. Like before, she could blank it out later. But the recent spark of determination still burned within her, and she tugged against the restraints on her wrists.
He laughed and pulled the sheet off the bed. He threw it to the floor, and she kicked her legs like a desperate animal. Despite her resistance, he took hold of her right ankle and tied it to the base of the bed. She tried to kick at him with her free leg, but he brushed her off. One kick landed in his chest, but he didn't react. He ignored her efforts, grabbed her free leg and secured it.
Now the straps bound her to the bed by her wrists and ankles. The realisation dawned on her. He had her. She should have fought harder. Her fault again. The tape across her mouth tasted bitter, and she shook her head as if to free herself of it. What was he going to do? She stared wide eyed at him as he knelt by the side of the bed and ran the knife down her chest with an erratic movement. The metal dragged along her skin, and she wriggled to avoid it. She twisted her torso, and the knife cut into her skin.
“You know what, Alice? Best not to move.” He spoke so low, it was difficult to understand him over the noise of the radio, but there was something familiar about him.
She tried to keep still. But her heart pounded with great abnormal beats and she struggled to breathe. Desperate for any escape, she pulled again at her wrists. She thought she heard the Velcro give way. She pulled once more, but nothing happened. Then he ran the knife over her belly button and went further down. He slid it under the elastic of her underwear and cut. She felt the material give, and he cut the other side. Then he grabbed the elastic and ripped her thong off.
He laughed as he watched. Tears welled in her eyes and she sobbed. He sat on the edge of the bed and flexed his gloved fingers. She felt his hand tickle the sole of her foot. Then he stopped. She moaned through the tape and struggled against the restraints. He brought a finger to his lips again. “Shh…” But she couldn’t hear what he said.
His touch restarted at her ankles. Then he slid his hand up her shins, over her knees and along the inside of her bare thighs. She squirmed as his gloved fingertips brushed against her most intimate place. She moaned and shook her head.
“I’ve … you, Alice.” He voice was rough and garbled, as if he didn’t want her to hear him properly. “Ever since… …met. You’ve …. teasing …. on camera...” He adjusted his position and wrapped his other hand around her throat. She felt the pressure on her neck rise. “… you’ve … class.”
She shook her head and mumbled. It was difficult to breathe. She grew certain he would kill her. Choke her to death. She increased her efforts to struggle free. But she made no progress. Tears clouded her vision, and the light around her dimmed. Perhaps this was the end.
But then he let go of her neck, and she took great wheezing breaths through her nose. She watched as he climbed off the bed. He muttered something she couldn't hear, then he threw the gloves off and got back on the bed where he knelt over her chest.
Alice recoiled as he fumbled between her legs with clammy hands. When she felt his finger probe her, she flinched and bucked. One strap seemed to stretch. To take her mind off what was happening, she moved it a little more, and she heard the Velcro separate. The faint sound made her open her eyes. Had he heard it too?
He pulled back and Alice froze. “Bathroom…” He brushed the hair between her legs, whispered something about perfume. Then he swung off the bed and slipped the gloves back on. She recoiled as he put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “There are eyes on you.”
The bathroom door squeaked as he opened it. Cole pushed it back and forth several times to the rhythm of his thrusting hips and laughed. When he entered the bathroom, Alice pulled at the loose strap. She twisted her wrist and the loop loosened further. Her hand could almost slip through the growing gap. Another tug and it gave some more. She saw him through the bathroom door, hunched over the sink. He looked up at her and waved. She stopped.
When he turned away, Alice gave another determined pull and her hand came free. Her only hope would be the mace. She reached under the pillow and found the can. But what would she do? Keep calm. Think. Concentrate
. Regain control. Stop crying. What options did she have? She could untie herself now and run. Maybe she'd get out onto the street. But he might catch her before she got to safety. And she was naked. Where could she run to?
She replaced the mace beneath the pillow, close to her hand. Then she looked into the bathroom to make sure he wasn't watching, and she loosened the restraint on her other wrist. Then she put her free arm back in the loose strap and waited.
Her heart still banged in her chest with a wild beat and her body shuddered. She fought the panic and put everything into making her plan. She’d only have one chance. It had better work.
67
Cole looked at himself in the mirror. The damn balaclava itched like hell. He leaned forward so Alice couldn’t see him and he rolled it up. Sweat rolled down his forehead. The tee shirt clung to him beneath the jacket. He peeled off one glove and filled the sink with cold water. With a shaking hand he splashed his face to cool down.
The door to the cupboard was ajar, and he peered inside. Makeup and other toiletries lined the narrow shelves. He selected random perfumes with his gloved hand and sniffed them. One smelled good, and he put it in his back pocket.
His cock pulsed and throbbed from the effects of the pills and the anticipation of plunging into Alice. But the bag of Captagon in his jeans pocket chafed against his sweating skin, so he took the bag out and washed down a few more pills with water from the tap. The bag slipped from his trembling grasp and fell into the water. He fished it out, wiped it dry with a towel and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
His heart hammered in his chest, skipping beats with an irregular rhythm, but he ignored it. Thank Christ for the pills. He knew he’d have bottled it again without them. Now he felt as if he was a bystander watching himself play a role in someone else’s movie. Maybe he should give her some pills too, that way she’d enjoy it more. No, he thought. Too awkward. Fuck it. She’d enjoy it anyway. Once she got over the initial resistance, she’d get into it.
“Ain’t that right, Daz?” he whispered. He listened for a reply, but all he heard was Alice moaning in the bedroom. She must be getting impatient. The bulge in his jeans twitched, and for a moment he feared he would lose control of himself. No. That was going into Alice. The thought of DNA and forensics disturbed him, but the confidence instilled by the pills and the certainty Alice would soon be writhing in pleasure, made light of any doubts. In fact, he didn't care. He was filling her kinky fantasy. And his too. What a coincidence. Alice and Lewis. Made for each other.
He put the glove back on, rolled down the balaclava and returned to the bedroom. Cole pulled the bottle of perfume from his back pocket and sprayed a little on the tuft of golden hair between her legs. “Mmm. Nice.”
A snip of that hair would make a wicked trophy, he thought. He stopped rubbing and bent over to get the knife. When he looked up, he saw Alice swing her hand toward him. Something made a hissing sound. Then his eyes burned up.
He scrunched his eyes shut and rubbed them. Tears flooded his vision. Alice screamed. He could make out Alice untying her ankles on the bed, but that wasn’t important anymore. The pain in one eye became unbearable, and flight instinct kicked in. He fumbled on the ground and grabbed the knife and his bag. With great difficulty, he got to his feet. Through one eye, his impaired vision saw Alice coming for him again, aiming the stuff at him.
They stared at each other. He with the knife. She with the pepper spray. Cole thought about plunging the knife into her, but something stopped him. There’d be another time.
He dropped the knife into the bag and turned to flee, but she grabbed a hold of his jacket. He pulled away from her. She lunged at him again. He swung at her with a fist and he heard his jacket pocket rip. The move unbalanced her, and he escaped her grasp.
Cole hurtled down the stairs. Without thought, he yanked open the front door, ripped off the balaclava and ran down the street.
68
Alice grabbed the sheet from the floor to cover herself. Every part of her trembled, and she slumped onto the bed, taking huge, deep breaths. She reached for her phone, but her hand shook so much, it took several attempts to grasp it. A strange vibration pulsed inside her head, but she forced herself to regain a semblance of control.
She hit the off button on the radio to kill the noise. Silence descended. She stood, but her legs gave way and she flopped back to the bed. Once more she got to her feet, and this time she reached the chair and managed to put on her robe. She put the can of mace in the pocket and punched at the trembling phone.
“Hello, emergency service operator, which service do you require? Fire, police, or ambulance?”
“P…Police.”
“I’ll connect you now.”
Another voice answered, a man with a Northern accent. “Hello, where are you calling from?”
“Home. Portobello Close, W11.”
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
Alice hesitated and felt tears ready to fall in debilitating sobs. She took a long breath. “Someone j-just... he… he tried to… to rape me.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Here. At home. Portobello Close.”
“Is the intruder still present?”
“I… I don't know. I don't think so.”
“Was there a weapon involved?”
Alice trembled. Talking about it made it seem so much more real. “He had a knife.”
“What’s your name?”
“Alice.... Alice Madsen.”
“Okay Alice. I’ll send someone straight away. Did someone harm you?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Do you need an ambulance?”
“No. No.”
“Now Alice. I need you to listen. The intruder is probably gone. But we need to make sure you're not in any immediate danger.”
Alice sniffled. “If my home isn't safe, then nowhere’s safe. Anyway, I…” She stopped herself from mentioning the mace and paused to think for a moment. “I… I managed to fight him off and he ran.” She stepped into the landing as she spoke and looked around. Nothing. She started down the stairs. “I’m going downstairs now. I think the front door is open.”
“I’ll hold.”
Alice held her breath and listened. Nothing. Two steps down. Then another two. Halfway down the stairs, she stopped again. Still no sound. It took several minutes for her to build further resolve. If he was still downstairs, she would face him, despite every fibre in her body telling her to flee.
“Alice?”
“I’m okay.” In the hall, she saw the front door was ajar. “The front door is open.”
“Close it.”
She pushed it shut and set the alarm. Her breathing slowed, but her heart still fluttered as if it were trying to escape her rib cage. “I’m checking the rooms now.” She entered each room downstairs. “He’s gone.”
“Did you check upstairs?”
“No. Will you wait while I do that?”
“Yes.”
When she ensured the rear door was locked, she checked upstairs. “There’s nobody here.” Satisfied she was alone in the house, she turned on all the lights in the bedroom and threw herself on her bed.
“Well done Alice. That was very brave. Now, tell me, how badly are you hurt?”
Relief flooded her at having escaped the immediate danger. She sobbed. “I don’t know.”
There was a brief pause, before he spoke again. “There’s a police car on the way. Will you be able to let them in when they arrive?”
“Y-yes.”
“Would you like me to stay talking to you until they arrive?”
Alice took a deep breath. “No. I’ll be all right. But, t-thank you.”
“Maybe you could call a friend?”
“Yes. I will. T… Thanks.”
She let the phone fall onto the bed, drew her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. A friend? Who? Ian? Connie? Kristin? Ian was in Birmingham, Connie and Kristin in Copenhagen, leaving no-one for her
in London. She realised all she had was Ian, and she picked up the phone. Ian’s mobile rang straight to voice mail, but she didn’t leave a message. Instead she sent a text - Please call me. Someone broke in. Attacked me. There was no point in calling Connie or Kristin. She stared at the phone for a minute and called Ian again. Same result. She threw the phone down and grabbed a pillow to cling to.
She lost track of time. It could have been two minutes. Or twenty. After several deep breaths, she focused her mind on the rational rather than the emotional. Her thoughts went to the alarm, she knew she had set it earlier, but it had been unset while the intruder had been in the house. That meant two things. One, he knew the alarm code, and two, he had a key to her front door. She knew of only one person who had such access. The estate agent. Mark Flanagan. The guy with the clammy hands.
Alice thought of the things he’d said. About watching her. That eyes were on her. He’d said something about a camera too. A sudden shiver ran over her, and the peculiar buzz rose in her head again. She swallowed hard and sat up. Her eyes scanned the bedroom with an investigative zeal.
There was a small transparent bag on the floor. She got off the bed and picked it up by the edge. The bag contained about a dozen pills and she placed it on the bedside table, figuring Flanagan must have dropped it. She’d hand that over to the police.
As she looked around for anything unusual, she noticed a motion sensor above the bedroom door. Something about it didn't seem right. She rolled off the bed and dragged a chair to the door. Why was there a sensor it the bedroom? This was new. It didn't look like the one in the hall, and there was a dark circle near the top which suggested a lens.
At first, she refused to accept the possibility. The thought that someone, Flanagan with his lecherous grin, had watched in her bedroom. Exposed. Naked. She trembled and steadied herself against the wall. Her stomach convulsed. She rushed to the bathroom, where she lifted the lid of the toilet and vomited. Tears ran down her face. The foul taste of bile filled her mouth and the sense of invasion left her crushed. Alice hugged the porcelain bowl as if it was her best friend.
