What Lies in the Dark (23 page)

He must have met Madison somewhere near here. Brandi had originally romanticised this. They had met in secret in the park and then gone into the bushes … then he had cut this baby university student’s throat. At the point in her life where she should have been having fun, she was dead. Brandi’s eyes cross over to the flower displays; this is where Madison had died, leaving only wilted stained memorial poppies. Strangers have come here, leaving cut flowers, most were old and rotting but there were some fresh Christmas flowers. Someone even left a cookbook and a teddy bear. A teddy bear, alone in the cold, wearing a jumper
that reads,
Miss You.

The girl had died just where Brandi is standing. Brandi’s heart double beats. Just right here, she could die just as fast as Madison. Just like that. Murderers come back to the scene of the crime don’t they? He could be anywhere here and she is alone. If he strikes her first then she won’t have a chance, despite her preparations. What had she been thinking earlier? About being on the television, with her face plastered all over the news. She is more likely to be a victim than a hero. She really doesn’t want to be a victim or a hero anymore.

This is really stupid. Why is she being so stupid? She should go home now before … is he here? Is he watching her already? Brandi feels sick, her body begins shaking. Could she even get home safe now? What if he follows her home? Oh god, what should she do?

“What are you doing out here?”

Brandi’s heart rockets through her throat. She is going to die, she knows it, she is going to die here in the park because she has done something stupid. She can’t even run in these stupid heels.

“Don’t you know there is a killer on the loose?”

Brandi turns to see a mousey woman bearing down on her. The fear melts away and she nearly hugs the woman in relief. Should she say what she is really doing? She doesn’t want to be laughed at.

“Nothing,” Brandi mutters defiantly. What is this woman doing out here alone? Hypocritical woman! They square off. The mousey woman eyes Brandi’s dress up and down, narrows her eyes. A lecture is being prepared. Brandi in turn is alternating between decisions. Does she stay, this woman could help protect her or does she run away from the judgement? She can’t run that well in these shoes. Her mother will never stop laughing if she hears about this one.

“Jen?” A male voice pants out of sight. Brandi can hear footsteps running closer. What had the newspaper said? That there might be two of them? Her fists clench up. Her homemade mace is still in her handbag. She should have taken it out ages ago. Stupid! Stupid! She has no chance if
there are two of them.

“Jen?” the voice pants again. The mousey woman stops studying Brandi and calls out, “Over here.”

“Jack’s gone crazy, Jen, he says, he is going into the Krill’s house.”

Jen closes her eyes and inwardly curses.

Joe finally comes into view, a red flushed face with a purple black eye. “I tried to stop him Jen. I am sorry.”

Jen had her worries about Jack but never expected him to do anything this stupid. Damn it. She notices the panic flaring on the other woman’s face and makes her decision.

“Walk this woman home, Joe.” She snaps and hurries off towards her car.

“Umm. Hi.” Joe murmurs bashfully. “I don’t have to walk you home if you’d rather be alone … she is a little paranoid.”

“No, please, I would really like that.”

Joe walks home with the satisfaction of a job well done. He texts Jennifer to let her know that the woman is home safe and he is done for the night – unless, of course, she needs help with Jack. He hopes everything is OK but he has to be up in a few hours for work.

Luckily his wife supports his efforts and appreciates what he is doing. He walks into the kitchen, wolfs down a ham sandwich before retiring to bed.

In bed, lying next to his sleeping wife, he lies awake, contemplating his next move. Should he patrol some of the previous kill sites or should he start on new territory?

Another Sunday evening, he has lost count of the Sundays he has sat here. Officer Jayman has been watching this house for far too long. They can’t get a warrant to go inside but people won’t stop calling the police help line about this house. It is clearly abandoned, people! No one home! Why is he still watching it? This is such a waste of time. He should be patrolling elsewhere. Perhaps maybe elsewhere he would
have a chance of helping someone. Maybe he should just go. No one would notice if he just slips off for a while, would they? Just to warm up a little.

Jayman hears the sound of a door being kicked open, a loud splinter on the quiet night. He fumbles for his radio and calls for back-up before nervously getting out of the car. What the blazes is going on?

Jack takes a deep breath and kicks as hard as he can at the rotting door. If the police aren’t going to do anything about this creep then he will. The smell of damp hits his nose as the door falls open. There is no going back now.

The house is dark and musty. Jack hasn’t bothered bringing a torch. He knows that splitting open the door is going to bring attention. No point creeping around like a murderer. The Krill, he has been reliably told, “masturbates to your wife’s picture every night.” He doesn’t question how they might have known that. No thinking at all. In his mind, he is going to storm this house and see the truth. All evidence will be on show for the admiring cops. He is going to pummel the bastard’s head in and then this will all be over. If he can just find the bloody bastard. Jack runs up the stairs to the bedrooms. Both are completely empty, no beds, no wardrobes, just musty rooms with the wallpaper peeling. Fuck. This is supposed to be easy. Jack can hear the sirens blazing already. He doesn’t want to run away, doesn’t want to leave without finding this guy. Kitchen, empty. Living room – nothing but spiders. Wait. Back to the kitchen. What is hiding in the shadow of the refrigerator? Another door. He yanks it open. Storms down the steps, rage erupting and the police close behind.

Jack is first hit by an overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke. When his eyes focus again he can see a small makeshift bed is in one corner, a pile of clothes folded next to it. Another corner, he can see several bulk packages of cigarettes, water and pot noodles. A few jars of coffee and clang, a kettle clunks against his head as a figure whacks him onto the floor and makes for the stairs.

It was dirty cream, perhaps it once was white. Time and other activities yellowed and disfigured the once clean ceiling. In the centre was a dirty brown patch. A pulsating patch that transformed in shape and size the longer Kayla stared. To her, the patch whispered secrets that she did not wish to hear.

Some people found it peaceful to lie down and just stare. Kayla had been an active person and this was the longest she had ever been still. The dirty throbbing patch was all she could focus on. She was blinkered to it, all so her eyes didn’t have to see the flakes of reddish brown splattered across the walls.

She had started talking to the patch; to it she had promised to be good from now on. She had threatened the patch and she had cried to it. She had tried to reason with the patch but despite everything, nothing. The patch was as unforgiving as the straps that bound her. She was reduced to begging. “Please let me go home … Please let me go home.” A mantra on her trembling lips. “Please please Please let me go HOME!”

Around her the creaks began to whisper warnings as he slithered in. Slowly moving his hands across her navel, gloating over his damaged prey. His fingers moved upwards, brushing away long strands of soft hair. Then he leaned in, breathing noxious curry breath into her face. Panic bubbled within her as she choked on his rancid warm breath, as he invaded her skin and senses.

“I am going to make you beautiful.” He murmured tenderly before reaching for his scalpel.

The knife cuts deeply into her cheek, arching down into a cruel smile. Kayla screamed as blood cascaded into her mouth, a bubbling scream as the coppery blood threatened to drown her. Breath comes in gasps now, all thoughts of screaming blanketed in blood.

“Hush, let me work” he soothes. Pushing her bleeding face downwards, draining her mouth again.

Kayla can’t focus as the pain crackled and exploded.
No! he is going to do the other side! Her hands and legs had fight against the straps and now are crying with their own pain. She can’t breathe. He strokes her hair.

“I could take out this skin here and replace it with this … or I could take this bit out? Which do you prefer?” a thoughtful pause. “No I think we should take this part off. You need to stop moving so much, you are putting me off,” he admonishes.

That’s the last thing Kayla remembers. It was the last time Kayla was really Kayla. After the hospital stay, after the endless investigation, the questioning, the counselling, Kayla just did not want to be Kayla any longer. Kayla was the girl who used to be pretty. Kayla was the girl who wanted to be a model. Kain is the girl who wakes up, choking on the taste of her own blood most mornings. Kain is the ugly girl, who sometimes forgets she is still a girl. Kain is the being taken away from the world and hidden safe in the cellar. Kayla Rill is the person who does not want anything any more except to play computer games and drink coffee, alone, where no one can admire her beautiful hair or stare at the scar running down her face, a piece of Kayla that can never be hidden not matter how hard Kain tries.

The police grab her shrieking on the stairs. Kain can’t comprehend where all these people have come from. Why are they in her house? Get away! Leave me alone! Why her? Why can’t they leave her alone? They bundle her, still kicking, into Officer Jayman’s car and drive away into the dark.

Kayla Rill has left the house for the first time since she moved here, four years ago. Moved in and went straight to the cellar. She chose the house because it looked secure, bars covered the lower windows (not just on her house, on the whole street.) Only problem was the park down the road. But out of all the houses she had seen in this new city, this one looked the safest. It may have stayed safe, had she kept
up repairs and replaced the doors, but instead she went straight downstairs and stayed downstairs. The only time she came up was for food deliveries (once every couple of months, when she couldn’t hold out any longer.) She never told anyone where she lived, didn’t even speak to the people on her online games for fear they might … do something.

She is driven away from her home that night and never returns.

Bullface watches through the glass as Fletcher patiently sits with Kayla. This is the longest Kayla has been without caffeine and nicotine and it is not going well. It’s not going well at all. She has almost completely bitten off her nails and her hands won’t stop shaking. She can barely breathe, no matter what Fletcher says. Fletcher knows this, Fletcher knows he could be talking another language and it wouldn’t matter. What is needed is a soothing voice and patience. Kayla has begun to rock herself; occasionally Bullface sees flashes of that long red facial scar as Kayla’s head bobs forwards and back. She sees pallid skin and dark shadows under the eyes, not too dissimilar to her own dark shadows. Kayla is going to the overpopulated observation ward, it’s going to take a long time before she will be released. Nothing will ever feel safe again.

Jack Sasha has been taken to hospital with a concussion. Physically, he will be fine. Bullface is waiting to hear if Kayla wants to press charges. Lawyers will be involved regardless.

Bullface and Robert Leona glare at each other across the table.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“We were just trying to do what you failed to do.”

“Go on, tell me all that crap, Shannon wouldn’t want this for me. This won’t bring Shannon back.”

“Shannon would never forgive you if you were arrested.”

“I had to do something.”

“Do you really think we were just sitting around?”

“No, but it wasn’t enough.”

“So attacking an innocent woman, that’s enough?”

“I didn’t think Jack would break into her house.”

“Oh, so what were you trying to do?”

“I just … I was just trying to stop Jennifer Taylor from getting hurt. She was going to go out patrolling the streets alone. I couldn’t just sit at home, knowing she was out there with no back up. What if she had been hurt?” A deep breath. “I never thought they would do anything like this. We had agreed that the house was abandoned, that the Krill was probably just an urban legend. I never thought Jack would …”

“I think you need counselling, Robert.”

“I need you to do your fucking job and catch this bastard.” He lowers his head again. Part of him knows that is a little unfair. A lump forms again in his throat. “I just want Shannon’s wedding ring back.”

“We have reason to believe that the killer may live in this area.” Chief Constable Morkam announces, tracing an outline on the map. “We are asking all males aged between eighteen and fifty to give a DNA sample within the next twenty days.”

Morkam has agreed to Bullface’s plans. They have a warrant and HQ’s blessing. There will be outrage but Morkam is willing to tackle it. They will announce that these samples will not be kept on file, not be used to prosecute other non-violent cases, just to ease the uproar. There will still be refusers. They are going to be very interested in the refusers. It will overload an already overworked lab but it will be worth it. It will mean narrowing an area of five hundred potential suspects to hopefully no more than a handful. Maybe also, now that they are seen to be doing something, the public might trust them again. Maybe this will stop any other outsiders from being targeted. They hope.

“They can’t arrest us for walking around in the streets. We can’t let this stop us.” Jennifer says.

“They can arrest us for disturbing the peace.”

“Until they impose a curfew, I am staying out.”

Robert Leona’s voice is final against his friends. “I am not joining you.”

Chris and Joe stare at him in disappointment. Jennifer studies her coffee cup.