17:00
Killing For Your Love
Chapter 5
The police lack the capacity to find my family. They don’t know my wife; she would never run away from me or cheat on me with another man. The forensics team couldn’t find anything so it’s easier to just blame my wife.
I’ve been interrogated on more than one occasion. I’ve been asked if anyone has a vendetta against me or my wife. The answer’s no, why would anyone hate a normal man and wife with a normal life and normal children and, more importantly, a happy family?
This is a job for the police, another opportunity for them to fuck it up.
This is my job. I’ll find them, I’ll get them back and whoever has taken them will pay…
Chapter 6
… I stand in the room of a dead woman. Her body is sprawled out on the bed. She’s been beaten to death and most likely raped.
I look at her rope-burnt wrists and ankles, her scratched thighs and arms and her swollen face. Her lips have split; the skin from her lips has lodged onto her bloody teeth that are attached to her swollen gums.
I put on my leather gloves to move her red stained hair, which reveals her lumpy face.
To my relief, it’s not Lizzie and there’s no sign of the kids.
It’s good that I’m looking in people’s properties; I wouldn’t have found this woman otherwise. The police can’t find out I was here, they’ll try to pin this murder on me.
I need to move on and keep looking. I will find them…
I set the alarm for 16:30 and it goes off at 17:00? Ridiculous.
While my eyes try to adjust to the light, I look on the ‘alarm lists’ on my phone. As I go through the different times, I spot something that is confusing.
02:30 Alarm ON
03:15 Alarm ON
05:30 Alarm OFF
05:45 Alarm OFF
06:00 Alarm OFF
07:15 Alarm OFF
07:30 Alarm OFF
17:00 Alarm ON
Why do I have two alarms on for that time in the morning? I scroll to the top two alarms and switch them off. I then look down the list.
“What the fuck?”
My 16:30 alarm is nonexistent - where has that gone? Could I have done it in my sleep?
Oh well, I need to get a move on to get to Sandra’s on time.
I scramble out of the warm duvet and run downstairs. I go into the kitchen to grab an apple. I take a crunch out of it as I’m just going down the hall. As I chew, I hear something in the kitchen over the crunching. I look back behind me into the empty kitchen.
I finish my mouthful and poke my head through the doorway. I feel a gentle breeze brush my face and hair. I enter the kitchen and the back door is open.
I walk out into the garden and see the back gate wide open. I walk across the grass and right up to the gate. I look into the woodlands. The leaves are undisturbed and the trees move in the wind.
I hold the gate and pull it closed. I lock it in place, pull and push to see if it’s locked. I look down to the side of the gate to see some ginger fur on the ground and some blood. My whole body stiffens. I look back into the woodland. Still, there is nothing in sight.
I turn around and look at the lawn. I notice flecks of blood spattered on the grass.
I follow the flecks of blood that go off to one side, leading me to the shed. The shed door has splats of blood on it too. The grass surrounding the shed door is bathed in blood. I walk up to the bloody grass and stretch to grasp the handle on the door without treading in the blood. My body stiffens again. I clutch the handle as hard as I held Sam’s hand. My arms straighten and my wrist turns. The door opens and a stench hits me in the face.
“Hi there, neighbour.” A deep cheerful voice bellows from behind.
My heart skips two beats; I slam the door as I turn to look behind. A man is poking his bald head over his fence, looking into my garden.
“Hi, I’m Paul Brooke. I live here with Leanne, my wife, and my two children.”
“Oh right, hello, I’m Ryan Milligan, it’s good to meet you,” I say half-heartedly.
“You know if you ever need any help, you can always ask me, I can help with anything. Especially DIY, I’m a plumber, ex-mechanic and the handy man of the family.”
I give him a fake smile. “Thank you for the offer.”
We both stand in silence for about four seconds.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it; you look busy.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry Paul; but we’ll hopefully speak properly soon.”
“Oh yeah definitely, speak soon… Ryan.”
His head drops behind the fence and I hear him whispering; most likely to his wife, and shuffling along the grass. I continue to wait until I hear the back door shut.
I look back to the shed. I know there’s something dead in there, or someone.
I grip the handle and begin to breathe in through my nose and out of my mouth.
I turn the handle. The door loosens and even before the door is open, I can smell it; it’s so strong I already feel nauseous.
I open the door and I look into my shed. It is drenched in blood; it looks as if the blood has been sprayed on everything inside.
Hanging down from the roof of the shed is a decapitated fox. Its fur is clumpy and clotted from all the blood. The paws are untouched but the legs are twisted and broken at the joints.
I look down to see the pulsating, maggot-infested head. All its teeth are shattered and scattered across the floor along with one eyeball; the other is most likely trodden and mushed in along with its intestines and blood.
This was not an animal attack, this has been done by someone and he has put it in my shed. But why? Is it a warning?
Someone doesn’t want me in this house. Why was nobody interested in moving into this house?
I continue to stare at the fox; I can’t take my eyes from it. My eyes begin to follow the flies flying around the fox’s body. They fly at a speed, weaving from left to right, occasionally landing on it, to then back-flip off and continue to fly.
I look down to its face. The eye sockets are bursting with fat, white maggots and I notice a black rubber strap next to the face with something smashed to pieces next to it. It looks as if it was a technological object. I want to go and see what it is but I’m not going in there, no way!
I have no idea what to do. I can’t call anyone, because it would look like I had done it. I hesitate for a moment. I shut the shed door and walk shakily back into the kitchen.
I stare straight ahead. Although my eyes are locked on the kitchen floor ahead of me, I can’t think of anything else but the fox. I’ve got to go to Sandra’s and pretend I’m okay. I have to pretend nothing has happened and I most certainly cannot tell her about it. But for now, I might as well go to the shop, get some wine for tonight and get some food in. I need to act normal, as if nothing has happened.
I walk up to my room and grab the whiskey bottle by my bedside and gulp straight from its neck.
Now it’s time for the shops.
I leave my house and look out onto the cul-de-sac. There is no one in sight. I look at the Cann’s’ to see all the blinds are shut. I look at the grubby house which is also shut up. I look at the houses on my side, once again nothing.
I begin to walk down my gravel path and feel off balance all of a sudden.
“Jesus.”
I put my hands out, palms facing away from me, I feel faint. Must be because I haven’t eaten all day and I’ve just swigged down all that alcohol.
I carry on walking and hear a door shut.
“Hi Ryan.” I hear the voice and know immediately that it’s Paul Brooke.
“Hi there, Paul.”
“This is my beautiful wife, Leanne.” Paul says, resting his hand on her back.
I look at Leanne. She wears a yellow blouse and denim jeans. She has strawberry blonde hair, pale skin and light blue eyes. Paul is right; she most certainly is a beautiful woman.
“Hi,” she says, smirking as she puts her outstretched hand out in front of her, bending her elbow and keeping her hand and outstretched fingers in between her waist and chest.
“Hi there, nice to meet you.” I say as I shake her hand.
“We best be off; speak soon Ryan,” Paul says.
“Bye.”
I swerve across the pavement. My sight is blurred and I have double vision.
I hear the cars occasionally passing me by. I hear swing chains clatter and children laughing and screaming as I lurch past what I can only assume is the park.
I continue on and I know I’ve reached the shopping centre. My balance is better and my sight has regained some clarity, but it’s still impaired. I can smell the bakery, I can hear doors opening and shutting to the shops, the heels of women walking past me. I get a waft of their sweet perfume. I hear conversations about prices: petrol and tax mostly. I hear ‘sorry’ repeatedly, I’ve never realised until this point how often we say sorry.
I keep walking straight ahead; the mini supermarket is at the top main road through the centre.
I get to the supermarket and feel worse. I need to sit down, now. Before I… I stumble, putting my hands out as my legs give way. Using my right hand I push myself back onto my feet.
Trying to find a bench, but with my blurred vision I can’t find one. I spot something long that looks as though I can rest on it. I walk up to it and fall onto my buttocks. Luckily, it is the hoped-for bench.
I sit for a moment. I feel so anxious, as if I haven’t had enough sleep or food and too much alcohol. I look ahead to see a figure standing across from me. I try to focus my sight on him. He wears a long coat and clumpy boots. I try to focus, and as I stand, he disappears. Where did he go? I try to look around the groups of people, but I can’t find him.
Who was that? Is that who put the fox in my shed?
I need to get out of here. I need to get the flowers and wine for Sandra quickly, and then I need to get home.
In the supermarket, I buy some food for home, a mixed bouquet of flowers for Sandra, white and red wine, and some whiskey for myself.
I begin my return home and feel much better, although the two shopping bags containing my very few items feel heavy.
I get to the park around the corner from Mulberry Lane. The park is empty which seems odd, the weather is okay today.
I walk toward the park bench. I put my shopping bags down next to me.
I look down at my watch. 18:02. Great, I’m late, I need to get a move on.
As I stand up from the bench, I look across to the tree line, there’s an opening in the greenery. The branches ping back into position as I begin to stand up. I grab my shopping bags and run to Mulberry Lane.
I turn onto Mulberry Lane and look down the cul-de-sac. There is no one in sight. I look to the tree line and the Cann’s. Then I look over to my house, all seems well, until I look over to the grubby house. The curtains twitch.
Is he following me?
“Ryan.” I hear Sandra shout.
Looking over to the Cann’s, I see her, poking her head out of the window. “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. Let me run these inside, then I’ll be straight over.”
“Sure. See you in a minute.”
She shuts her window and I quickly pace to my house.
I get inside, run into the kitchen and toss my bags on the kitchen table. I pull out the flowers and wine and then turn to the fridge and put the shopping bags in it.
I look around as I leave the kitchen, and notice my table has moved. It has been turned around. The side that was facing the wall is now facing me. I take a glance at the kettle; it has changed plug sockets and also faces a different way.
As I look at the table again, I notice something, on the end of the table. I run my hand along the smooth edge until I reach a rough patch.
What’s that?
I kneel down and look at the rough patch of the edge of the table. I brush over it with my index finger, it’s not a stain. Scratch marks. Where would those have come from?
I take a closer look. It’s writing!
Someone has come into my home, moved my furniture and scratched a message on the edge of my table.
I take a closer look. The writing isn’t completely clear and the message makes no sense. It reads: ‘beaten hints me’.
What does ‘beaten hints me’ mean?
I stare at the scratches for a moment. Who could have done this? Who could come into my house without any trace and without forcing an entry? The hairs on my neck stand up, my stomach lurches and twists as several thoughts process in my mind. The thoughts are fretful and fearful. My head spins.
Someone or something wants to scare me.
I go out of the kitchen and look around the house. I look in the sitting room. I go up to the bedrooms; all are normal except mine. I step in; the floorboards creak louder than I remember. I continue to look at the end of my bed. How the hell did that get there? It wasn’t there when I went for my sleep, I don’t remember it there, but then again I was in a rush.
The old teddy from the basement sits at the end of my bed, facing my pillows. The bear used to have one eye but now it has two red pins for eyes. I walk over to it and pull it off my bed. I hold the back of it and look at its dusty ear and pinned eyes.
Is this meant to mean something too?
I walk downstairs with the bear. I go towards the basement door and notice it’s open - just two millimetres, but open nonetheless. I pause then slowly step towards the door. My silence is ruined by the flooring that creaks as I balance my body weight. I walk over and swing the door open. I step under the stairs and through the doorway. The light in the basement is already on.
“Hello?” I shout, but there is no reply. “If someone’s down here, come out now and I’ll let you leave unharmed.”
I stand in silence.
I begin to walk down the groaning stairs. I get to the bottom and look around the basement. There’s nobody there.
I look at the bear and toss it onto the pink children’s table under the basement stairs and leave the basement.
I slam the basement door to make sure it is shut.
Right, now it’s time to go over to Sandra’s.