Читать книгу The One Who Got Away - L.A. Detwiler - Страница 14

Women are delicate and weak creatures who are delicious to prey upon. But they aren’t imbecilic, not by a longshot. And a woman always has a way of knowing when something is terribly wrong with the one she climbs into bed with. At least that is what I’ve come to believe.

Helen Deeley was no exception. Sweet and godly like the newspaper article says. She didn’t deserve to be cheated on by her scoundrel of a husband. And she knew it.

They always know it, subconsciously at least.

Mr Deeley deserves to die for his disgusting behaviour. But I won’t deviate from my plan. I won’t abandon the list. I will stay focused because I’m in the middle of it now. I’ve selected my chosen ones. Everyone else would just be a distraction. I can’t afford to be distracted.

Besides, I can’t be too livid with the bloke because his digressions left the perfect opening. When a woman is riddled with doubt, she’ll do anything to get to the bottom of it and set her perfect view of her life right again.

A letter strategically sent. A meeting place when John was going to be ‘late at work’. The perfect, secluded spot at Ifield – and an easy place to rid the world of the evidence. After I made my mark, of course. And after I’d planted the shoe. After all, it wouldn’t be any fun if she was never found, and those moronic bobbies are so incapable. The newspaper uses words like investigation and thorough, but I know the truth. They’ll never figure it out. They’re too easily distracted, so very easily thrown off the case. Bloody hell, I had to lead them to the body. Yet they think they’ll catch me? They have no idea. Wrapped up in dental records of the husband, the affair, of course, not painting him in a good light. They’ll be focused on him for so long that they’ll forget there is even another possibility.

I shake my head, smiling at their idiocy. It’s made the game easier, certainly. But sometimes I think it would all be so much more fun if they were actually smart – if it were actually challenging. What it must be like to kill in a place with real risk of being discovered …

But that’s not what this is about. This is so much, dare I say, more intricately beautiful? This dance between strong and weak.

Sickly boy. Frail boy. Weak boy.

Not anymore. I’m not that boy anymore. No, I’m not. I chuckle. No one has any idea, do they?

I tuck the piece of the newspaper between my front teeth, closing my eyes as I bite down. So thin, so delicate. My teeth click over it, creasing it. But I’m careful not to taint the actual words of the article. I need to preserve it, my trophy added to the collection.

Oh, Helen. Did you regret your mistakes? Did you think about everything that led you to me?

Helen hadn’t the slightest clue. The look of shock on her face when she saw me instead of the secret informant she was hoping for, the one to confirm her husband’s affair, to give her the proof that would shatter her world. But I shattered her first. Oh, did I shatter her.

It was laughable, really, the look on her face. They’re always so surprised. Someone they’ve seen countless times in town. Someone they’ve overlooked over and over. To them, I’m just the means to a necessary duty. I’m just a servant, in some ways. I’m just a nobody in West Green like I was all those years before.

But this nobody is certainly gaining infamy, even if it isn’t by name.

Helen was a little old for my taste, really. I usually like them younger, fresher. The skin is just better. Soft and supple between the teeth ­– it’s inviting. I savour the taste of vibrancy that seems to emanate from their skin. In truth, I’m not quite sure why Helen ended up on my list. I’d studied the women in West Green for weeks, thinking and pondering. Making the plan. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes day in and day out. Maybe it was the fact she just seemed so lonely. Was she a pity kill? I don’t know. I’d like to think it was more than that. I’d like to think there was something more there, calling to me.

But she was the second. And not the last. There are many more steps on my path to the end. It’s a lot of work, really. Exhausting if it weren’t so energising. And, when I ask if it’s all worth it, despite the intoxicating warmth that pulses in my blood, I know she will make it worth it.

The finale. The last one. The beautiful, wily one who will be the denouement to this masterfully executed plan. I’ve already found myself lurking, watching, peering at her through the darkness. I know I should wait. I’ve got the next one to worry about. I’ve got the next one to carry out. But she’s just so beautiful. And her spark is something magnetising.

It’s okay, though. I’m not jealous. Because I know I’ll be the last one to appreciate her. And I’ll get to put that beauty on full display soon enough.

But not yet. It’s just not time yet.

I take the article reluctantly from between my teeth. I blow on the wetness, staring at the intricate pattern before I tuck away the mementos with the others and close the lid of the box.