Читать книгу Remember Me: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist - D. White E. - Страница 13

People have always judged me on my appearance. I don’t blame them. I mean, we are all a bit fickle like that, aren’t we? We say, ‘She’s all right, but what’s she doing with that ugly fucker?’ or we assume that if you are one of the beautiful people you can’t have a brain, or maybe that you can’t have beauty and brains. Luckily I am one of the beautiful people. Even at school the other kids would like to be around me, share bags of sweets with me, and tell me their secrets… Stupid, stupid, because with secrets comes the power to fuck people over.

My days are filled with activity, and whilst I go about my meaningless tasks, I consider my players. They are ready to go now, lined up neatly in their start positions. All I need to do is roll the dice.

There’s no keeping secrets in this village, which is pretty funny when you consider what I do. Nobody looks beneath the surface, do they? By midday I’m sure everyone knows what Jackie and Peter have done. I make it my business to find things out. I was a bit shocked when I first heard, and then I wanted to laugh out loud. The presence of this pathetic private investigator merely adds another thrill to the mix. He arrives tomorrow and I really can’t wait to meet him. He’ll be staying at the Birtleys’ with Ava. The irony of this makes me smile to myself.

My phone pings with a message, and without thinking I tap out a genial reply. I also take another phone out of a drawer, and quickly, while I think of it, send a message to someone else.

Cofiwch fi

Remember me

I wish I’d thought of this years ago, but in retrospect maybe now is when it all comes together. This was meant to happen, and I am in total control of the blood rush that will inevitably follow. I chuck the phone back with a dozen more I bought especially for this purpose.

I check my emails, logging quickly into my secret accounts, adding a few pictures to my regular forums. Of course, I always hide my true identity, using the latest software to cloak and mask my addresses, my names. In most cases, depending on the customer, I am neither male nor female – a nameless, faceless entity, but a powerful one. People rely on me to deliver what they crave. I have rich customers, young, old and male and female. They all share that same dangerous taste, and they all know I deliver for their delectation.

I knew it would be a while before I got some new pictures, so I’ve been stringing these out. She has long dark hair, and a full, curvy body. I went into town, hunting, with the venue and guests all arranged. Behind the screen I can do anything, as can my guests. The questions and requests all come at an alarming speed during my parties, and I enjoy the challenge of fulfilling them. This time, as we talked, I felt that throb of excitement. She was the one. My own body fizzed with energy, and suddenly I was back in a world of bright colours and endless possibilities. She would never have considered me a threat, because that would be laughable, so we chatted for long enough for me to know what I would do with her. It’s important to know what they enjoy, and what will bring them to the edge of that hellslide. It is always a risk, but luckily, occasionally, there are others who are willing to take risks for me. They also have to hide their predilections from the world. I am lucky to have cultivated such contacts. I do it for the money and the thrill, they do it because they have to. It is their obsession, their sickening guilty pleasure, and I have them all hooked. When I play a game like that, every sticker-fingered invite is treasured, and every payment is made promptly.

I fed them fit to bursting with the pictures of her dusty bare legs, and pink painted toenails. It was business of course, but still worth it for the fun and the money. She was sprawled across the floor, brown eyes dull and glazed with defeat. The dark, glossy hair, that attracted me earlier that evening, was now greasy with sweat. I watched the blood pool, and dipped a fingertip into the gooey redness. It was pleasant on my tongue, but missing that special sweetness that comes with reality.

My clients believe what they see, because they want to, but for the two of us, in our little hotel room, it is all mirrors and smoke. I paid her well, but for me, she wasn’t special. She asked for my number, and I gave her a fake card.

I would never contact her.

We both knew it.

I drift back to a type of reality, and open a drawer, considering the line of keys inside, neatly labelled. Nearly time to make my next move.

Mrs Birtley has always been too polite to say what she really thinks of me, so she was happy to let me in for a chat. She’s a boring, jumped-up bitch, but as she scurried off to get the cake, it was simple to snag the spare keys off her rack. I copied them, and slipped them back the next day when I delivered that history book she wanted. I always try to plan ahead for the big games.

Now Ava occupies one of the rooms and the private investigator hired by the poor, deluded Smiths will soon be snug in the same building. It’s time to start playing. I should feel a little sadness that this is the last time, but instead I am overwhelmed with excitement. I need to keep up appearances, so I give my face a quick wash to get rid of that sheen of sweat, drying it with a soft towel. See what this does to me?

There are voices outside, so before anyone else can disturb me, I lean down to the cupboard, and take out the board. Drawing a long breath, I shake the two dice in my right fist, pause to kiss my bunched fingers, and release the dotted cubes.

They fall with a clatter, soothing my thundering heart, as they have so many times before. A double six. Of course, it would be. I pick up Ava’s piece, caressing the wooden curves as though it was her flesh, and move her out onto the board.

‘Wyt ti’n barod, Ava Cole?’

‘Are you ready, Ava Cole?’