Simon was relieved to find that Firdy hadn't forced the door to his mother's room. Sarah’s room, however, had been devastated. Firdy had turned over her table and trampled everything that had been on it. He had smashed her photo frames and ripped up individual photos. He had pulled out every drawer in her chest of drawers and dumped the contents, before overturning the chest itself and kicking in the back. Her bed sheets lay coiled on the floor in a soggy, stinking pile. These were not the actions of a man who was simply looking for something. Firdy's rage was such that he had done this even while the creature had been watching. Knuckles turning white on the doorframe, Simon was immobilised by thoughts of what Firdy might do now that he was off the lead.
Eventually, he continued to his own room where the rope securing the dog was taut and still. He leaned out of the window and saw the animal hanging below. Its body was limp. Hand over hand, he hauled it towards him, pausing twice to catch his breath. When it was within reach, half-resting on the window sill, he stabbed it three times in the back of the neck, twisting and pulling the knife out, before dragging the dog completely into the room.
It looked as though it should never have been alive. As he suspected, it wasn’t all dog. There were other things in there. It was part rodent perhaps. And those teeth …
He cut its throat for good measure, which produced little blood, and wiped the knife on a dry patch of fur before sliding it into his trouser pocket.
One dead.
Two to go.