New Title 1 (14 page)

Just get myself thinking clearly again.

DAY 5

Rachel didn’t look back as she locked the door and headed down the driveway. Despite her fatigue, she felt exhilarated. Her anger was still there, bubbling away beneath the surface but it had lessened somewhat after the lengthy session with Walter and the photo albums. Lessened as the realisation had grown that yes, she was going to do this.

She hadn’t slept at all the previous night. She’d spent the time sitting on the bed, staring out past the half-wedged-open blind. Staring and waiting but he hadn’t made an appearance.

So instead Rachel had sat and stewed.

The voice had made a few, last-ditch efforts but had finally given up with a disgusted sigh and left her to it. She had sat and thought and watched as the sky gradually lightened outside.

When the alarm sounded, she’d stood and slowly walked over and turned it off. Then stowed Walter and the albums back in the box and slid it safely under the bed, pleased that there was only a slight tremor in her hand.

After dressing mechanically her hand had been scabbed and crusted with her blood so she’d washed and bandaged it again. Then she’d gone and packed.

And as she hefted the overnight bag and settled the strap more comfortably on her shoulder, Rachel ran a mental list of its contents and a smile broke across her face as she made her way down the driveway.

She could feel his eyes on her the whole way.

* * * * *

Ben watched her go; his eye pressed to the crack as he rolled up the canvas and stuffed his knives back in his duffel bag. One by one he fed the other items in as he watched her walk out of view. Watched the way her figure shifted beneath her clothes, the erection hot against his thigh as he imagined it being revealed to him in its fullest. When he would remove more than just the clothes; strip it right back to the bare bones. He watched her until she was out of sight and then turned and sat in a crouch with his back to the wall as he knotted the drawstring of the duffel bag.

He sat and waited, staring down at the bag as he listened intently. He wanted to make certain she was gone this time; didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Although she was in her uniform, it was best to be certain. There were niggling doubts in his head about the bag she had slung over her shoulder –
was she going away? Did she somehow suspect and was going to stay at a friend’s house?
He pushed them out of his mind though. It didn’t matter how long she was gone for. Once he got in, he could wait.

In fact, he found the idea rather alluring.

Ben fingered the key in his pocket as he slowly began to count in his head. He’d wait until he got to a thousand and then he’d head out.

* * * * *

As he reached nine hundred and fifty, Ben heard an engine roar to life outside. To be safe, he went to two thousand.

His heart was racing as he exited the flat, casually looking around while he locked his door. He found it strange that the estate agent had so much trouble with the lock. The key always seemed to glide smoothly for him.

It was difficult to control the excitement that was racing through him. His mouth was dry and as he looked around, he felt the air thickening, just as it had when he’d looked over that first time and seen her standing there.

His legs felt like jelly as he took the first step, still scanning around. Her door was only twelve steps away, but to Ben, it seemed a marathon. He couldn’t stop looking toward the end of the driveway, certain she’d reappear at any moment. He gulped down the thick air as he reached into his pocket and exchanged his flat’s key for the other one.

The beating of blood in his ears was deafening and Ben felt a slight panic as he realised he wouldn’t hear a door open. That someone could sneak up on him now. He forced himself not to look around again. He was being too suspicious; darting glances left and right. It was just too easy to imagine Theo or one of the other neighbours watching him. Watching him and then reaching for the phone to warn
her
. And then
she’d
be in there waiting for him,
her
face wreathed in smoke and the kitchen knife in the hand hidden behind
her
back.

You’re being ridiculous
, he told himself as he drew level with her door but the air didn’t thin at all and the duffel bag was dead weight in his hand.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what you’re planning
, he repeated over and over to himself, much as he had all those nights that he’d stood over
her
as
she
lay in bed.
She doesn’t know what you’ve planned; she doesn’t know about the Red Room that you built for her…

But his thoughts couldn’t allay all his fears.
She was his mother; she knew. She always knew what he was thinking…
Ben drew the key out of his pocket. The sight of it forced an exhale from his lips. He shook his head.
What was he thinking? He wasn’t defenceless now. He would have the upper hand; the element of surprise…

Despite his best intentions, he looked around once more as he slotted the key into the lock. Everything seemed clear but his nervousness lingered.
Maybe he should wait? Maybe it wasn’t time?

No
, he pushed away the doubts; they were what had cost him his revenge in the first place. There was no need for hesitation.

Ben turned the key and the lock clicked open. His doubts began to fade as he twisted the handle and eased the door open.

* * * * *

The air thinned the instant the door closed behind him and Ben stood, gasping, his heart pounding with excitement as he surveyed the flat.

He could smell her in the air: a heady mix of shampoo, perfume and deodorant with a faint undertone of make-up. An undeniably feminine smell that evoked such memories of his mother’s bedroom that Ben almost expected to hear her summons. It thrilled and disgusted him equally but his penis, still half-hard, immediately sprung to life at the connotations and as he looked around, Ben reached down and eased it from his pants.

It felt silky between his fingers as he walked a few paces inside, his mind already seeking out a linkage, something he could use to tie this back to
her
. It didn’t take him long but then again it never did.

The interior of the flat was a world away from his own. The wall separating the living-room from the kitchen had been knocked through, opening it out, combining with the beige walls to give the interior a light airy feel. And it was in the kitchen that he found the linkage: the slightly battered looking knife-block with the black handles jutting from the top. It was nearly a replica of the one
she
had owned and the empty slot in it only added to the realism. He could picture
her
there beside it,
her
face wreathed in smoke; that one arm twisted behind
her
back.

It was perfect; it was what he needed.

He saw there were more links too and he circled the room, slowly building it up until
she
was inhabiting the space. Until the horrible things
she
had done had taken place here. And if he thought the excitement he’d felt earlier was immense, it was nothing compared to the sensation that swelled through him as he pictured it all.

He was back in the house now and
she
had gone out. But
she
would come back and this time he’d do it. He wouldn’t hesitate. This time he’d take
her
.

Well then you better get ready
, he thought and headed for the bedroom.

* * * * *

Ben stripped the mattress bare and ran his hand along it, imagining
her
stretched out before him. His penis throbbed with excitement as he moved across to the cupboard and yanked some of the clothes out and scattered them on the floor.

The bedside table was disappointingly empty except for a freshly opened pack of condoms that Ben assumed were the leftovers from the man’s visit and a small box. When he opened the box it only contained a few cheap looking necklaces but Ben grabbed them anyway and stuffed them into his pockets.
Might be worth a couple of bucks.
As a last touch he swiped the clock radio onto the floor. It clattered down and his eyes followed its path and fell on the shattered phone. He looked up and saw the dent in the wall and then looked back down in confusion.

A slight worry began to creep into the back of his mind. It was undefinable, not really focused on the smashed phone itself but more a general unease. He clamped down on it quickly.
It’s good
, he convinced himself.
Shows she’s a fighter, a little bit fiery.
He would be prepared.

Still it was unsettling and as he crouched down beside his duffel bag, he couldn’t stop shooting glances in the phone’s direction.
Must have been one hell of a bad call.

His worry vanished as he unknotted the drawstring on his bag and slipped open the neck. He saw all his tools in there and a smile split his face as he lifted them out one by one and reverentially placed them on top of the now empty bedside table.

The duct tape.

The plastic ties.

The hunting knife…

He removed the canvas roll of knives last, laid it on the floor and slowly unravelled it. His mouth felt a little dry as one by one they were revealed. His fingers found his penis of their own accord and began to pump.

The bundled underwear on the floor caught his eyes and his hand snaked out and snagged one from the pile. When he brought it up to his nose, it smelt mainly of detergent but there was a faint lingering hint of another odour. One that excited him immensely.

He pictured
her
there in front of him, slowly lowering the underwear; slowly revealing
her
slit while he wanked for
her
. He wrapped the panties around his cock and imagined it was
her
tight grip. His orgasm rocketed out of him as he heard the echo of
her
voice.

Mummy needs you…

His smile grew even wider as he studied the sodden panties in his hand. He knew there would be no punishment this time. As his orgasm subsided he began to wonder if there were any eggs in the fridge.

* * * * *

The smell of it surrounded him as he sat down on her couch with the plate of scrambled eggs nestled in his lap. The ghost of
her
had been there with him the whole time he’d cooked. Standing just off to the right, smoking steadily, the wisps framing
her
dead eyes.

He’d had to restrain from giggling as he’d scraped at the pan. He hadn’t wanted to give
her
any idea of what was happening. What was going to happen.

Ben swallowed his first mouthful as he looked around. The taste of it was momentarily sickening but the sensation lessened with the second mouthful. His eyes continued to rove as he ate mechanically until they fell on the remotes lying beside him on the couch. He picked up the first one and the television burst to life at his touch, displaying a blue background with AV1 nestled in the corner.

He studied the other remote for a moment and located the play button. He paused before pressing it and looked around at the scattered covers. The scream ripped from the screen unexpectedly, causing Ben to jump and drop the remote.

He scrambled with the television remote and turned the volume down a few notches, his heart rate gradually settling as he stared in fascination at what
she
had been watching.

The film had obviously been shot on a shoe-string budget. The lighting, the framing, the actor’s dismal attempts to indicate pain all pointed to it but what money the production team had possessed had obviously been funnelled into the make-up and effects.

As he watched the lady drilling into the man’s skull, Ben was momentarily taken aback at the realistic blood spray and the chunky goop that was seeping down from the drill bit. The colour was slightly off but apart from that it looked like the real deal and for a moment Ben watched fascinated.

He spooned another mouthful of his eggs and then set the plate aside on the couch. He chewed slowly as he walked over and sorted through the scattered cases on top of the screen. Another little warning bell went off in his head as he perused cover after cover. Each seemingly more and more garish with its gruesome imagery and hyperbolic promises of gore and horror.

So she likes horror films
, he told himself, trying to pinpoint why he seemed to find that fact so disturbing.
Lots of people do
, he thought and pushed the niggling doubt to one side. But there was something still bothering him as he returned to the couch and his plate of eggs. The scene had changed and now showed a buxom, young lady in a cheerleader’s outfit, hacking at a man with a machete. The man was backed into a corner, his hands raised in a pitiful attempt to ward off the attack and just briefly, it was his face the man was wearing and the demented leer of his attacker belonged to
her
.