Liam Graynnil
The Taxi pulls into Mulberry Lane. I look at my house. The door is no longer there, the rectangular hole is covered with a wooden board; as are the windows on the bottom floor.
The window frames have black smears surrounding them from the heat. It looks as if charcoal has been smudged around them.
The taxi pulls up in front at the bottom of the path. The taxi driver turns to me.
“We’ll call it eight quid.”
I look in my wallet and pull out a five pound note and three pound coins.
“Cheers; have a good day.” He says as I get out.
I stand on the gravel path and look up to the house.
At least it’s all in one piece.
The grass closest to the house is flattened with black ash clogged in the blades of grass along with glistening slivers of glass from the shattered windows. The top of the path is also smothered in ash and glass.
I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. The hand tightens slightly.
“Hello Ryan.” Simon says behind me.
His voice changes my mood. My stomach tightens; the hairs on my neck stand up, the feel of guilt.
“Oh hello mate. How was your trip?” I say as I turn to face him.
“It was okay, a little boring out on the job but there you go, was pretty good to get away from here.”
“How come?”
“Oh you know it’s good to experience some change, a break from Sandy as well, no nagging whatsoever.” Simon says.
“Sandy doesn’t nag does she?” I ask.
“Naa course not. Mate I’m sorry about the house I really am. You can stay at ours whilst it’s being repaired. You’re more than welcome Ryan.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’m telling you Ryan, you have nowhere else to go so come round to ours.”
“Okay thanks Simon that’s really kind. I’ll come over later then.”
“Yeah sure, see you later mate.” Simon says as he pats my back and walks towards his house.
As I stare at my boarded up house, I hear Simon’s feet drag as he changes direction.
“Oh Ryan by the way I read your book whilst I was away.”
“Oh nice, so what did you think?”
“I did like it. I could tell that you based it on your past, you know with your wife and children. I’m guessing that Daniel is you and Lizzie is Tanya, am I correct?”
“Yeah sure.”
“Yeah. I thought it was interesting to see how you felt about her and all that you’ve done to get her back and to find her. I’m guessing that a lot of it wasn’t real though and was dramatised right?”
“Yes of course.” I reply, not really knowing which parts of the book he meant.
“Yes exactly. You also used the current stories of around here locally as well which I think is very risky to link the recent murders to blondes as a reason to why Lizzie was taken.”
“Excuse me?” I reply. I did not use the current blonde murders in my book, not at all.
“You know; the attacks around here recently. You used that to make people believe that’s how Lizzie was taken, but of course it isn’t, is it?”
I stare at Simon, not having a clue what he is talking about. It’s as if he’s talking about a different book. I wrote Killing for Your Love ages before the recent blonde murders.
“Errm Si are you sure you mean my book?”
“Yes of course I do. Daniel on the hunt for Lizzie and the kids. He searches for bodies of blonde women; he comes across difficult situations as he comes across dead bodies in the morgue but also discovers some bodies in homes and things. A gang is after him because they believe that Daniel is the killer of his own wife and kids but also responsible for the other murders.”
That’s not my book, yes Daniel is the main characters as well as Lizzie and the kids but none of the rest of that happens.
“Yes that’s right.” I say. “Can I have the book back please?” I ask.
“Yeah sure.” Simon puts his arm behind his back and pulls out my manuscript that I gave to him.
“Thanks” I say and snatch the papers from him.
“That’s fine. It was an interesting read mate and I like the pen name. See you around.”
“What? You like R. Milligan as my pen name?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh come on Ryan, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, I won’t let anyone know it’s you.”
What is he going on about? The book is by me, R. Milligan like on all my books.
“Simon, please elaborate I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How can you not know? Jeeze Ryan, surely you remember naming yourself as Liam Graynnil?”
Liam Graynnil? Who’s that?
“Oh right yes.” I look at the title and author name on my manuscript.
Killing For Your Love
By
Liam Graynnil
I did not write this. This is not my writing. It’s my title and some of the characters are mine, but the story simply is not me. I did not write this.
“Thanks Simon. Well I’ll see you later then.”
“Yeah great, we’ll have some drinks tonight and try to forget all this shit.” Simon says as he looks up to my house.
“Yeah sure, thanks. See you later,” and I turn back to my house.
“Bye Ryan.” Simon says as he jogs back.
Who the fuck is Liam Graynnil? It isn’t a name I have heard of, it’s no one I know or even know of. I wrote on this paper, I wrote the title page but on that page I put R. Milligan. I did not do this, someone else did this. But who?
I stare at the burnt house and I hear a front door shut. I look around. Mulberry Lane is empty; Simon is in his house.
I run up my path and try to move the boarded up door but it won’t budge, I can’t break in here; it will be too obvious.
Wow breaking into my own home, what a disaster.
I fold up Killing for Your Love and put it in the leg pocket of Simon’s jeans and move around to the back of the house.
Down to the side gate of the house, I enter the back garden. All of the back looks completely normal except the house. The back window is boarded up as is the doorway. Again, the bricks are coated with soot from the fire.
I kick the board across the back door repeatedly until it collapses, revealing my burnt kitchen.
“What the bloody hell are ya doin’?” I hear Paul’s voice ask from over the fence.
“Sorry Paul, trying to get into my house to get some stuff but I know I wouldn’t be allowed to.”
“That’s alright mate I’d do the same.”
“Paul, thank you so much for saving me. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it, the useless twats out the front were moaning and running around but not doing enough so I just jumped over and pulled you out, it’s no biggy.”
“Thanks Paul. Well if I ever need to, I’ll return the favour.”
“Cheers mate that’s good to know.” Paul says and he laughs. “Well I’ll leave you to it mate, have fun breaking in.” Paul says as he jumps behind the shed, still laughing.
Inside the kitchen, it smells of smoke. I remember the smell, I remember the heat. My skin heats up and beads of sweat form on my forehead and neck. I breathe slowly, to compose myself.
Past the kitchen to the hallway; the decor is completely gone and nonexistent. If somebody came here not knowing how it was before, they would not have an inkling of an idea what it used to be like. The old fashioned feel of the house has burned away.
I look up the stairs; the carpet on the stairs has also completely melted revealing the wooden steps leading up the stairs.
I poke my head into the sitting room which is completely obliterated by the flames.
I look over to the partially burnt drawers and furniture and spot the locked box.
“I completely forgot about you.” I say out loud.
The black paint has peeled off revealing silver metal with bronze patterns. The bronze areas curl along the silver patterns. One corner of the box has melted from the heat, it is no longer rigid; instead it’s lumpy and bubbly and the pattern has melted.
I try to open the lid but it does not open, shame the lock didn’t melt.
I really need to find the keys to this.
I pick up the box and lift it above my head. I launch it onto the floor in front of me, to no affect.
“Bloody thing.”
The arm chair is ruined.
“I can’t even bloody sit down.”
I leave the sitting room and look at the garage door which is still standing. I push it open and I’m surprised to see the garage is untouched.
I look at the basement door which is also still standing. I open that door and go down the creaking steps. I switch on the light and everything is normal down here too.
I walk back up into the hallway up the stairs.
I look up to the ceiling; it has black patterns across it. The patterns curl and twist on the grubby white.
I look in each room on the upper floor, they’re all completely untouched.
So really, I am lucky that I woke up just before the fire spread up here. If I hadn’t, I’d be dead now. What a lovely thought.
I sit on my bed and pull out Killing for Your Love from my pocket.
I look at the name again.
Liam Graynnil.
Who is this Liam Graynnil? I’ve never heard of the surname. I look around for my laptop. God I hope it wasn’t downstairs in the fire.
I get up from the bed, drop to my knees and look under the bed. Here it is, thank God.
I pull the laptop bag out, place it on my bed and unzip it revealing the laptop.
I open it up and wait for the thing to load. The fan turns, it makes a high pitched droning noise, the intensity and loudness quietens and I can eventually load the internet.
I open up Google and type in ‘Liam Graynnil’.
‘No results for Liam Graynnil
Showing results for Liam Gray Nail.’
Damn.
I then type ‘Liam Graynnil Author’ which concludes in the same result.
I then type ‘Graynnil’ - same outcome.
The name is not recognisable, not even on the internet. Someone is messing with me with all the writing on the tables and walls, with the fox in the shed, the person following me and watching me and now the fire. It must all be linked and it must be Shola, I mean there isn’t anyone else it can be.
I close the laptop and toss it to the end of the bed. I pick up ‘Killing for Your Love’ and I read the beginning of the book.
Killing For Your Love
Chapter 1
I look at her undulating blonde hair blow as we walk against the breeze.
“You look beautiful tonight Lizzie.” I say to her.
“Oh thanks Daniel.” Comes her timid reply.
I wrote that, that’s for sure.
I turn a couple more pages, this is all my writing. I get to chapter 5 and that is when it all changes. From chapter 5 onwards, that is not my work. Someone has tampered with my writing, but who?
The writing itself is very similar to mine it could easily be my work but I do not remember writing it; the aggression from the main character, the negativity toward the police and investigation to find Lizzie and the kids.
I read on, I reach chapter 6, which sends a shiver down my spine.
Killing For Your Love
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 bloody gums.
I put on my leather gloves to move her red stained hair to reveal all of her lumpy face.
The thought of me not writing this is odd. Why would someone tamper with my work and make it dark and spooky? This does not make sense.
Simon said that he liked the way I used the local deaths in my book, I would never use real life incidents like this; it shows a lack of respect on my part to the local society.
I flick through the pages, searching for anything to do with the local blonde murders.
The negativity, death, blood, gore none of this is me, it scares me, and someone must have come into this house. If they’ve done this what else could they do?
I go back onto the computer and type in ‘Surrey News: Blonde murders in Surrey.’ Many results come up with many names and deaths around this area. I click one that I recognise from seeing in the paper before.
I remember the article about Riley Clark, one of the many victims. She was killed in her own home after being ‘brutally raped and strangled to death.’ The online report also claims that she was supposedly tied to her own bed, arms and legs tied whilst she was raped and then strangled.
I look down to my manuscript and read.
Killing for your Love
Chapter 12
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 bloody gums.
It could be coincidence but this could easily be my character Daniel in the same room as Riley Clark’s body.
I close the article and look at another story. All these murders are similar. The victims are raped and then murdered. But a couple of headlines and newspaper reports stand out to me that also seem to feature in Killing for Your Love by Liam Graynnil.
Amanda Holmes’ death is one that really stands out. She was found dead in her home after ‘suspicious smells’ and ‘a large mass of flies at her window.’ She was found in her living room where she was ‘cut to death’. I continue to read the report: ‘Her stomach was cut open and her veins were removed from her hands up to her elbows.’
I look down and read a scene from the book.
Chapter 14
The smell is unbearable in the woman’s sitting room. She’s been here for some time. If this body was a fruit, she had gone past her sale date a couple of weeks ago.
The insects madly fly at the windows, stuck between the curtain and the glass. From the outside it looks like black beads throbbing, but from the inside it looks like flies trying to escape the stench left by the corpse.
The mass of blood and skin was once a human body. The blood looks like an infectious disease, spreading to all the furniture around it. Blood is spattered up the walls; it’s on the rug, the coffee table, the sofa, the arm chair, the cabinets and the body itself.
I kneel down next to the organs and stare at the arms and legs of this body. I see a jagged line all the way up the arm. I turn the hand over to see the lines also on her hands. Her veins have been cut from her hands up to her elbows. I turn the body over to reveal a gaping hole for her stomach.
In the fly infested window sill, there are ‘congratulations’ cards. I think nothing of it and walk upstairs to see if anybody else is in the house and could identify me at the scene of the crime. I leave the stench of the sitting room. Shutting the sitting room door, the house looks completely normal. I look at photo frames of this woman and her boyfriend or husband. He’s punching above his weight.
Upstairs, there are only a few doors but they are all shut. I go to the far end of the landing, to the far side of the doors.
The revolting smell of the sitting room leaves my nose and is moved by the new paint smell for this room. As I walk in, I see things hanging from the ceiling, half the room is painted pink and half blue with a white cot in the middle…
I finish reading chapter 14 and as I do, I get a lump in my throat. It is simply disturbing; there is nothing else to it, whoever wrote this must have been speaking about Amanda Holmes.
To make sure, I read on in the article.
‘Amanda’s stomach was cut open, which also killed her unborn child.’ The lump in my throat expands, as if it has outgrown my neck. My eyes well-up, my hands sweat as I clench my fists.
I close the Amanda Holmes article and move onto Mary Cole.
She was found in the streets, tied to a lamp post. She was beaten to death and raped.
Chapter 15
Her bruised wrists are bound behind her around the lamppost. This is not Lizzie. Lizzie would not do this to me. I look at this woman’s right hand and see the glistening ring on her finger. I kneel down to her ear and whisper.
“You’re a married woman, correct?”
“Yes.” The slut whimpers.
“And you have children, correct?”
“Yes.” She whines.
“And you decided to intrude on my evening trying to seduce me. You’re obviously unhappy in your marriage. I suppose the children keep you and your husband together so you come out at night dressed like a slut to get other men. But tonight, you found the wrong man.”
The blonde-haired middle-aged woman begins to howl. She shouts: “Help!”
“No one will help you. Let me tell you something. My wife left me, she ran away with my children. I will find her, don’t worry about that, but people like you remind me of her. She angers me; I want her to pay for making me feel like this.”
The woman begins squeal.
“Shut up.” I shout as I swing my fist onto her nose the crack as it breaks is audible…
I stop reading. Whoever wrote this could be the person responsible for all the blonde killings.
I flick back through a few pages to see how this began but another chapter stands out to me.
Chapter 13
This is a big house on a quiet road. The all-white painted house has an outline of bushes growing instead of a fence, surrounding the front garden, separating it from the pavement and the drive of the house…
I look at the enormous white American style house from my car. I see her; I think it’s her, it’s Lizzie. She walks up to a house, but whose, I don’t know.
She wears a long black coat and heels with her hair straightened.
She saunters up to the door, I see her hand move against the door and then hear the one second delayed knock.
I feel as if I remember this, I feel as if I have been to the house before. As I think of the house, I remember when and why I went there and with whom.
I went with Sandra for the anniversary of her friend’s death. We stood across the street to the house, I swear this is the same house and is most likely how the two people Sandra knew were killed. I read on.
I walk up to the dark house, looking around to see if there is anybody around, there isn’t.
I walk right up to the door and try the handle. The door is locked; I’ll go around the back…
I walk around the big white house, staring in through the windows. Lizzie is upstairs, why would she go up there with another man?
I walk into the back garden on the muddy grass and up the damp wooden steps to the back door. I hold the handle and turn it slowly. It’s unlocked.
I walk into the dark house, I don’t have time to look around; I’m going straight upstairs.
I go up the stairs. As I reach the top, I hear grunting and heavy breathing coming from the half-open door. The only light on in the house shines from that room. I look in to see Lizzie’s bare back as she sits on top of the man.
I push the door open slowly and step into the room. They grunt and breathe heavily, they don’t see me. When I get to the edge of the bed, I push Lizzie off of the man; his eyes open wide.
My knife is already in my hand and I stab it into his neck in a swift and vicious movement. He reaches for me and grabs hold of my jacket. I grab his arm and pull him out of his bed, tossing him onto the floor.
Lizzie is screaming. I look over to her and to my relief and disappointment, it isn’t her.
“Lizzie?”
The woman continues to scream but she runs over to the man on the floor. “Nick!”
I look down at my knife. I killed the man for no reason.
“Nick!” She screams. Her voice pierces the silence, her shouts echo throughout the house. It is resilient; her voice gets louder with each shout.
I’ve had enough; I walk up to the blonde woman, grab her by her soft hair and cut across her voice box…
Sandra said Ella and Nick. Whoever the author is, they are responsible for this, all of this.
I flick through more page and read about a morgue.
Chapter 20
I walk into the morgue to see the tall ebony man. I found out his name is Don.
Don is helping me out, every time a woman of Lizzie’s description comes in to his morgue, he tells me and I come along to see the whether it is Lizzie or not.
What Don is doing is wrong, I shouldn’t be allowed to look at these bodies but he lets me and if he doesn’t then I will let the authorities know what he has been up to and by that I don’t just mean him letting me see the bodies in the morgue, I mean his activities out of work.
Don is a dodgy man, he helps gangsters cover up the wrongs they commit. He’s the man to call if a body needs to be hidden, never to be found. He disposes of all evidence involved in a murder.
I know this because he told me. I know this because I watched him do it once. He has saved many people by doing it, preventing them being from being found out…
A morgue and someone called Don. I have no knowledge of either the man or the morgue.
I open up my tossed-aside laptop and go onto the internet. I type in ‘Morgue Surrey’ and a number of results come up. I go to ‘Google Maps’ and set a route starting from ‘2 Mulberry Lane’ to ‘Morgue’.
A few results come up on the map local to me. Only one stands out. It is located in woodland and fields up the road from here. I choose that destination and it is only a quick walk.
I must go here, get some answers from this Don.
I grab my jacket from the wardrobe. It’s one that I rarely wear; a heavy khaki jacket. It’s the type of jacket thugs wear. The type of people I could be dealing with would most likely wear this style of jacket.
I pull it over my shoulders and pull the zip up. I need to be careful now; I cannot trust anyone at all. I’m in danger and this will most certainly get nasty now.