Читать книгу The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller - T.M.E. Walsh - Страница 20

2^nd November – 00:48 a.m.

It was a welcome relief, as she slipped down lower into the hot bathwater. The man, who said his name was Aaron, had taken her back to his home and tended her wounds, fed her well, and explained how he’d watched her for some time now and felt he had to help her. Nola had thought it was creepy at first but the pull of a hot meal and a bath had been too great for her to dwell on it much.

She smiled as he handed her a bottle of shampoo. He returned the smile, for appearance’s sake, and went to leave her in peace.

‘Wait,’ she said, sitting up in the bath. ‘Would you mind?’ She held the shampoo bottle towards him. He looked down at her, his face blank. Only a few soapy bubbles covered her modesty, and he felt embarrassed. Eventually he nodded. He lathered up the liquid in his hands as he perched on the edge of the bath.

When he massaged the shampoo into her hair, he felt her shoulders relax beneath his touch. He realised that no matter how much mental and physical torture this whore could endure, deep down, when it came to it, at every opportunity she would use her body to her advantage. It made him sick. Still, it was this flaw that had made it easier for him to lure her into his house.

Stupid bitch.

Nola had no knowledge of his actions behind her, and he was free to cover her nose and mouth with the chloroform-soaked cloth he’d concealed inside his trouser pocket. She whipped her hands back, scratching at his arms as he held the rag tighter against her face. Bathwater sloshed over the sides as she thrashed her legs, until she became limp, sliding deeper into the unknown.

He dragged her body from the tub and let her fall, her limbs hitting the cold tiles, hard.

Nola Grant was not destined to drown in her own filth. All he knew was that she would be tested and she alone would decide the outcome. He would make her responsible for either her life or her death.

His face remained resolute as he dried her body and pulled her clothes on roughly, disgusted by her thin nylon underwear.

*

He barely struggled down the stairs to his basement; she was so light to carry. Once he had shackled her wrists, he looked down on her sleeping face and pushed stray strands of wet hair away from her eyes. In another life, she might have been pretty. Maybe she would have made her parents proud. Yes, maybe in another life. For now at least, Nola was going nowhere.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked back. His eyes did one final sweep of the room, then her body, before switching out the light and locking the door behind him.