Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller (20 page)

The Origin of the
Tooth:

For many years now the Ghost had believed that something
malevolent travelled with him wherever he went. Anyone who assumed he was alone
when they passed him in the street, stood behind him in line at the supermarket
or waited next to him at the bus stop would have been wrong. They could have
never known the dark angels had attached themselves to him any more than they
could have known the things he had done.

The more he considered it the more convinced he became that
the faces
he
saw in the
cold water of Uncle Derek’s bathtub had shown themselves to him for a reason
and clung to him ever since, they had latched themselves onto his back and
looked over his shoulder as he committed his crimes. They watched the things he
did, the terrible things, and they joined him in the pleasure and the
excitement he felt when he took lives and tore worlds apart.

It wasn’t a one sided relationship; he was sure these dark
angels communed with him by rewarding his efforts. He was gifted with fresh
meat, new means with which to despatch them and elusive qualities that
confounded the authorities.

He was sure they had rewarded him for killing Tom Peterson’s
mother. She was his first and he was rewarded generously; he could never have
hoped or imagined a more perfect gift as the one received when he stumbled upon
Angela Baily.

His angel.

She satisfied him both physically and emotionally and sparked
the fire inside him that had burned ever since.

When he killed his own biological mother he did it for his
own personal vengeance and he worried that the dark angels might find that act
too self-indulgent and leave him forever but the reward that awaited him
confirmed his dark companions revelled in her death as much as he did.

His work took him to London; a thriving city which was,
amongst other things packed with potential victims.

He travelled the Underground at rush hour, more often than
not nursing an erection, they were so close to him he could smell them; their
morning perfume and their evening sweat, he pressed himself against them
knowing only thin layers of clothing separated their naked bodies and wished he
could see inside their minds.

He was going through a phase of targeting piglets in business
suits, he liked the fact that they spent a lot of time over their appearance
and they usually had more money and a better house than the pierced hippy chick
in tie dyed T shirt, frayed denim shorts and stripy tights that was his usual
target.

One morning a woman in a business suit really caught his eye
and he discreetly studied her as she read her copy of
The Virgin Suicides
. She was probably in her late twenties, she was
wearing a smart dark suit and her skirt sat just above her knees. He looked at
her legs and her shoes and imagined her naked. He looked at the curls of long
brown hair that spilled over her shoulders and watched her fingers as they
lightly touched the next page until it was ready to turn. He paid attention to
her every curve and every line until the train began to slow.

When he saw her mark her progress with a folded corner and
push the book into her bag he was careful to stand just before she did,
guessing the coming stop would be hers, and if it wasn’t, he would just look
confused and sit back down.

He had no need for concern, she stood shortly after he did
and waited close to him as the clacking rhythms slowed and the train gently
jerked to a halt. He exited the train just ahead of her and walked slowly along
the platform, she soon hurried passed him, allowing him to slip in behind her
and follow her to work while enjoying the view of her legs and the curve of her
sexy backside as she walked. She never looked back and even if she had, he knew
she would see right through him.

He watched the line of her underwear beneath her tight skirt
and considered how adept he had become at blending in. People rarely noticed or
remembered him and it seemed at times as though he was practically invisible to
the outside world, it was a skill he had worked on ever since meeting the
German man in the wood, a meeting he was sure the dark angels had orchestrated,
the man had called him Little Bear but he also told him he would need to be
invisible, like a ghost, and he had heeded his advice ever since.

The Ghost watched from across the street as she greeted a
colleague and entered the building together. He looked at his watch, it was
eight-thirty now, he had some things to take care of that morning but he knew
she probably wouldn’t be out for about eight hours. He would return this
afternoon, buy a newspaper and a big cup of coffee and wait for her on the
bench opposite. He couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a sunny afternoon
than waiting patiently for her to come out at the end of the day. And if he
missed her because she had to finish work early, then he would come back
tomorrow, and the next day if needs be. She was his, and now he knew where she
worked he would always be able to find her.

At half past four he positioned himself closer to the doors
and waited as the staff began to spill out of the building and onto the street.
His heart raced with delight when he saw her again and it didn’t take long for
him to notice she that had removed the dark tights she had been wearing that
morning. As he followed her high heels and naked legs he imagined her sliding
the tights from her legs and wondered why she had taken them off, had she
laddered them, or was she simply too hot? He wondered if she had them in her
handbag and he imagined strangling her with them. He kept his distance and
noticed with delight that she wasn’t heading directly to the Underground. He
loved it when he got a better insight into their lives. It was a Thursday, his
favourite day as they would often meet with friends directly after work. And it
seemed she was going to do just that. He was dizzy with excitement when he
followed her into a trendy wine bar.

He waited a beat before following her inside. The bar was
busy with after-work drinkers and it took him a while to locate her, but when
he did, he saw her sitting at a table with three other girls. He ordered a
drink and took a table close to theirs, making sure she had her back to him. He
opened the newspaper he bought earlier and listened to their chatter while
pretending to read.

The Ghost drifted between the sports section and the banality
of their conversation until a young man with a loosened tie approached their
table and sat down next to her. The Ghost watched them over the rim of his pint
glass and felt a surge of anger when the man kissed her quickly on the lips.
The man said, ‘Hi babe, I missed you yesterday.’ Her reply was lost against an
eruption of macho laughter from the bar but he saw her snatch another kiss and
rest her head on the man’s shoulder.

They ate and drank and after a couple of hours the group
broke up and she left the bar with her male friend.

As he followed them he wondered if they lived together and if
not whose house they were going to go to; he wanted to know where she lived and
knew he would be disappointed if it wasn’t hers. The couple rode the
Underground oblivious to the fact that they weren’t travelling alone and when
they reached their destination The Ghost followed them from the train and into
the streets. They walked along the main road and then cut into a narrow street
of houses. They soon turned and walked the short path to the front door of one
of the town houses and as the Ghost got closer he made a mental note of the
number and watched carefully to see who produced the keys and unlocked the
door.

A swell of satisfaction rose in his chest and his mind
flooded with glorious possibilities when she turned the key and went into the
house.

Their door snapped shut and the Ghost walked slowly by as if
he wasn’t there at all.

The following morning he battled the rush hour on the
Underground and got to her house just in time to see her leave. He was careful
when he broke in and was vigilant not to be seen, he rang the doorbell first to
make sure the house was empty as he couldn’t afford to be caught breaking and
entering by the boyfriend or a flatmate.

It was warm inside the house and it and smelt of toast and
coffee, but also of perfume. He buzzed with nervous energy and excitement and
found that he suddenly needed the toilet, the sensation distracted him and he
was startled when a cat silently appeared from the utility room. It looked at
him with vacant disinterest and padded back to its hiding space.

He moved from room to room and even though his hands were
gloved he was careful not to touch anything as he went and made sure he kept
well away from the windows.

His heart jumped and he stood statuesque when the letterbox
rattled and envelopes hit the floor. He waited for the postman to move on and
looked through her mail. It was addressed to Miss Mia Venditti. He liked it
when he learned their names.

The thrill of being in her space was exciting enough but his
heart pounded when he entered her bedroom, it was, after all one of the main
reasons for being there.

He stood by the door and looked around, the bed was unmade
and a messy pile of clothes filled a nearby chair but other than that the room
was in good order.

He went straight to the linen basket and flipped the lid.
There was a tumble of clothes inside and he picked them out one by one and put
them on the bed, a work shirt, three days’ worth of underwear, and a couple of
pairs of tights. He worked his way through her scent, he knew what he wanted
but he teased himself with the armpit of her work shirt and the perfume on the
collar, then her tights, the feet first and then the crotch. Finally he got to
where he wanted to be, and he had three days’ worth of used underwear to revel
in. He fingered the material; soft, lacy and used, he savoured the moments before
and after he brought them to his face and inhaled the intoxicating sour tang.

He put them in his jacket pocket with the tights and went to
search the drawers of her bedside cabinet and dressing table. He was satisfied
with what he found; fifty pounds in cash and some jewellery; a few gold rings
and a necklace made for a reasonable haul.

His stomach cramped again so he undressed completely, he laid
his clothes neatly on the bed and squatted in the middle of the room while he
emptied his bowels in a thick nervous stream that splattered onto the carpet
and over the back of his legs.

He showered, dressed and closed the bedroom door behind him.
He continued to search the rest of the house until he found a tin in the
kitchen with some more cash hidden inside.

He saw the cat again, staring at him from its basket in the
utility room and coaxed it from its hiding place by making kissing sounds and
saying, ‘Here puss puss.’ It appeared slyly with slinking suspicion and when it
was close enough he kicked it against the wall and stamped on its head with
enough force to crush its skull like an egg.

He was pleased with himself and wished he could see her face
when she returned home from work but he knew it wasn’t to be, so he left
through the back door and slipped away into the streets, and back to the
Underground.

She sat in the armchair smoking and she knew he was watching
her.

The Ghost had gone to see his fence, Jimmy; a small time drug
dealer and buyer of stolen goods.

It didn’t take long for Jimmy to look through the items of
jewellery and offer a price. When the cash was paid and the jewellery moved
into its hiding place the business side of the evening was over and Jimmy asked
if he wanted to watch some TV, ordinarily he would have refused but Jimmy had a
new girlfriend.

Jimmy was watching a VHS of
First Blood
and it soon became apparent that he was a fountain of
knowledge and bona fide expert in all things Sylvester Stallone. Jimmy was
talking about Stallone’s early years but no one was listening.

The Ghost sat in the other armchair and instead of watching
First Blood
, he watched Jimmy’s new
girlfriend. She was way out of Jimmy’s league; granted he was a tough guy and
had a bit of money in his back pocket, but he wasn’t exactly Billy Baldwin. He
had dirty skin and beady eyes and his nose was as flat as his head was square.
She on the other hand was a looker; she was dressed for a night out and her
short skirt was riding high. He watched her legs as she crossed and uncrossed
them, sliding the naked calf of one leg over the shin of the other slowly and
seductively while Jimmy droned on about the
Rocky
years. Her feet were bare and she looked bored. She made eye contact with the
Ghost and held it – it was just a flash but it was enough and then she
put her head back and melted into the seat in a cloud of yellow smoke.

‘Al Pacino was considered for the role of John Rambo,’ said
Jimmy as he produced an enormous block of pot. ‘Babe?’ he said to his stoned
girlfriend. ‘Babe? Karen?’

‘What?’

‘How many quarters can you shift tonight?’

She shrugged a lazy shrug. ‘Give me whatever; I’ll get rid of
it.’ She caught his eye again through the flame of her lighter as she relit her
joint.

‘Students have a hunger,’ said Jimmy as he pulled a knife
from a drawer in the coffee table and began heating the tip with his lighter.
The knife caught the Ghost’s eye; it was long and curved, majestic in its age
and even more alluring than the thoughts of raping the shit out of Jimmy’s
girlfriend.