Читать книгу The Element Of Death - Steve Wilson - Страница 13

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December 26th

Catherine wipes away a tear as she leaves the graveside. Even though it has been more than twenty years since Alfred passed away, the pain still feels as raw as if it has only just happened. Christmas is always the worst time, as she finds it difficult to get by when everybody else is celebrating so much. She has nothing to celebrate; the season for her will forever be tainted by the memory of finding her husband dead in bed beside her when she woke up that Christmas morn.

She can understand the grandchildren not knowing how she feels, for they were barely born when it happened; but for her own children to so cavalierly blank it from their minds? That is what she finds hardest to forgive.

She knows exactly how Queen Victoria must have felt after the loss of her dear Albert. She mourned for the remainder of her life. Almost forty years, double her own period of grief. Catherine prays that her own suffering will not last that long.

It is quiet in the crematorium; in fact, she realises, she is the only visitor. On reflection, she doesn’t remember seeing the area this quiet before. No doubt everybody else is at home having gorged themselves to the limit yesterday. No, she is wrong. There is somebody else here. A rather smart young man carrying a bag. How nice of him to tear himself away from the pleasures of life to pay his respects to the departed, she thinks.

He seems to be waving to her, and she walks towards him to see what he wants. He is gesturing towards a line of gravestones furthest from the road. Perhaps he needs her help in deciphering the ancient lettering? Tcch, these young people. She sighs.

She decides to help, as the alternative is to return to her cold, unwelcoming flat and await the visit of her daughter’s family for the annual post-Christmas ritual. Every year she dreads it; every year she promises herself that she won’t put herself through it again; every year she says nothing and endures the ordeal. At least this time, she thinks, I’ll have spent my morning helping somebody else.

She has almost reached the man now, but when she sees him, she pauses. She cannot see his face. In fact, she cannot see any part of him. Even though it is so cold, she would have expected to see at least a modicum of skin. He carries a black bag, as a doctor would, and she watches him reach inside it.

Then, in a sudden increase in pace, he pulls his hand out and launches something large towards her. She watches, unable to move, as the rock comes straight towards her face.

*

He walks across to where the old woman has fallen. He knows he is taking something of a risk this time, as it is morning and he is out in the open. But he has figured that it will be quiet today, after the excesses that most people would have subjected their bodies to on Christmas Day, and he is right. Perhaps it will get busier as the morning wears on, but, by then, he will have completed his third task. He checks his watch to make sure of the time; it reads 08:08.

He has carefully researched his victim, watching her visit her husband’s grave on this day at the same time each week. He knew that she would come today, but he had made contingency plans anyway in the unlikely event of her not turning up; they will not be needed now.

He drags her unconscious form behind the line of gravestones. Even if anybody were to pass by, they would not be able to see him. He decides against humiliating the woman; he almost feels sympathy for her. “Tonight, you will be with your husband,” he whispers as he picks up the rock and repeatedly smashes it into her face.

He takes a brush from his bag, smears it in her fresh blood, and begins to scribe his message on the back of the nearest gravestone.

He reaches into the bag and takes out four small devices. He opens her coat and cardigan and unbuttons her blouse and places them inside, one by her left collarbone, one by her right collarbone, one over her left kidney and the final one over her right kidney. He switches all four devices on, buttons up her blouse, cardigan and coat, and departs the scene.

The Element Of Death

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