Читать книгу The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller - T.M.E. Walsh - Страница 23

02:43 a.m.

Her feet were like blocks of ice. Nola flexed her toes to ease the numbness. She’d wolfed down her food, without a moment’s thought to savour the taste. When she heard the door unlocking again, she closed her eyes with dread. The man was soon beside her and she noticed he was carrying a large leather pouch. He laid it on the table carefully, his fingers lingering on the drawstring cord. He was trembling. He forced himself to move away.

She shut her eyes tight, as if it would make him disappear when she opened them again. She prayed silently that this was all a dream. A twisted nightmare she would safely wake from.

She’d be frightened but unharmed.

He cleared a space for himself on the floor in front of her and waited for her to look at him. When she finally did, it was through bloodshot eyes.

‘Can I have some socks and shoes, please? My feet are so cold… so cold.’ Her heart sank when he shook his head. She sat up straight and leaned closer. He seemed so normal towards her most of the time. It was only if she pressed him, or became agitated, that he changed, like a switch being flicked on and off. She guessed if she played along with him, acted normal – or as normal as she could be – she might find a way out of this.

‘I won’t try to escape,’ she said. His eyes narrowed, suspicious. ‘If you promise you won’t hurt me, I won’t try to escape.’ She spoke with such conviction that he almost believed her.

He shook his head.

‘Do not make promises you have no intention of keeping.’ He paused, allowing his words to sink in. ‘Now’s the time when you should be thinking about the life that grows inside of you, rather than yourself.’

His words visibly shook her.

Her eyes widened. ‘How’d you… How could you know…’

‘Know that you’re pregnant?’ He smiled. ‘You should dispose of your rubbish more carefully. You can tell a lot about someone by what they throw out each week.’

He saw the shock on her face. She spent the next few moments thinking back to the longest three minutes of her life, when she’d taken that pregnancy test. She knew what the answer would be before the double lines appeared in the results window.

She’d been throwing up regularly and her body ached all the time, like she was expecting her period, but it hadn’t come. The aches continued and she was so tired, much more than usual. When the test had shown positive, she’d discarded it and buried her head in her hands, feeling nothing but despair.

She knew if Daryl found out there would be big trouble and she could kiss goodbye to her earnings. Then there was her life. It wouldn’t be worth living. This business had a strong hold on her and she doubted she had the strength to fight it.

‘How far gone are you?’ he asked. When she didn’t reply, he looked at her, eyes fierce. ‘You’ve been to see a doctor, haven’t you?’ Her head lowered and she shook it solemnly.

He got to his feet and glared down on her. ‘Why not? Don’t you care?’

‘No, I don’t care. Why should I? I obviously don’t know who the father is. It could be anybody.’

He looked exasperated, turning away with a mock laugh, running his hands roughly through his dark hair. He paced up and down, before turning on his heels and peering down at her.

‘So, you were going to carry to full term then drop it down some side alley like it’s rubbish and carry on business as usual?’

Nola snapped. ‘Who the fucking hell do you think you are?’

When she saw the surprised look in his eyes, she felt a wave of confidence grow inside her. She pulled herself to her feet. ‘It’s not as if I was planning on going full term. Not that this has anything to do with you,’ she said, jabbing her finger hard in his chest. ‘Who are you to judge me?’

He rushed at her then. He gripped her face with both his hands, forced her eyes to look at his.

Inside he was reeling at the insolence. It took all his strength not to lose control completely and snap her delicate neck. He tried to focus on why he was doing this, why she was there.

‘I’m trying to help you. Give that life inside you a chance, yet you mock me,’ he spat, his mouth just inches away from hers.

A look of defiance washed over her face. ‘I’ll scream the place down before you even lay another finger on me!’

A cruel grin spread across his face. He pulled her head violently to the side and whispered in her ear. ‘Soundproof room, Nola. Do your worst.’ He released her head and took a step back, before swinging his fist square into her jaw.

*

03:36 a.m.

Second chances. Second chances. They could be tricky things. Obstacles almost. He wondered if it was a sign of weakness to break his own rules, bend to anyone and suffer the consequences. He’d given people second chances before. His mother had been one of them.

No, he thought. His mother had more than a second chance. She’d had many, and failed each time. They’d been wasted on her. He didn’t want to be tested. He was the teacher, not the pupil. She would bend to him and if she didn’t, that was it. Literally game over, even if it did hurt him a little.

Sometimes a conscience, be it small and almost invisible, had its drawbacks. Its hidden problems. A conscience was overrated.

He’d tried. It wasn’t working.

Despite wanting to offer her a second chance, he found she was leaving him with little choice. He’d expected some resistance, but unlike the woman before Nola, he’d expected her to fight for her life to save the baby that grew inside her.

Nola Grant wanted to live, but for herself, not for her child. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her body when he touched her skin. The need to survive radiated from every pore but she was only making it harder and harder for him to justify letting her live.

He felt sad, desperate, and that he’d failed. Failed her, the child, himself… and because of this, he could feel the familiar knot of shame pull at his insides.

A conscience is overrated. He was trying to believe his own thoughts, but his heart tugged away at him inside.

Nola Grant must die. She must die, so that others might stand a chance to be touched by his hand and steered back to the right path.

She must die… she has to.

*

04:06 a.m.

Nola had spent the last half hour swearing at him, spitting her filth like a person possessed. Her legs lashed out at him violently whenever he tried to come near and calm her.

Inside his head, he could hear his mother’s voice screaming obscenities at him back when he was a small boy. Nowadays, he couldn’t abide the language. It tapped into a pain deep within him and he knew he couldn’t stand much more. He was nearly at breaking point.

‘I won’t tell you again,’ he said, turning to face her, his finger pointing. ‘This is your last warning.’

Her head shot backwards as she laughed. It didn’t sound human.

He used his hands to cover his ears, drowning her out.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He was acting like a little child. She half expected him to start stomping his feet in a paddy and she felt more confident the more he seemed to crumble in front of her.

His spine stretched upright, as if he’d just been shocked. He looked at the pouch he’d put on the table earlier, then at her mouth.

Sound seemed to be sucked from the room, and all he could see was her mouth moving, spouting more poison.

Open. Shut. Open. Shut.

He reached for the pouch, pulled away the cord, and took out a pair of scissors. He hadn’t intended on using any of the items in the bag: the knuckleduster, the pliers, the lighter. He was only going to frighten her with them, so that she’d fear what he might do if she didn’t obey him. If she didn’t see reason.

Nola Grant was beyond seeing reason by now.

He thought she’d have been ideal for his plans. That she would embrace the new life offered to her. A second chance to teach her. A chance to leave her current way of life behind and raise her child with none of the trappings that life entailed. But she was pure filth, inside and out, and she would never change. She didn’t want to… There were others. Others more worthy, deserving, more in need. He’d had enough of her abuse.

He clasped the scissors in his palm.

He edged closer.

She kicked out, screaming insults at him. He blocked out her words, let them wash over him. She meant nothing to him any more.

A conscience is overrated.

As her leg kicked out again, she caught him in the thigh. He stifled a groan, but remained focused. He grabbed her leg, pulling hard, knocking her off balance.

Her body crashed to the floor, collapsing in a heap at his feet. Before she could react, he was down on her, grasping her in a headlock with one arm. With his other hand he gripped the scissors in his sweaty palm, and weighted her body down with his own.

He released her head, pried open her mouth and pulled at her tongue.

She gagged, spluttered, but he maintained his grip, forcing the scissor blades either side of the thrashing muscle.

She froze.

She felt the metal edges scrape her soft flesh. She whimpered, helpless.

‘Hold your tongue or lose it!’

He roared so close to her ear, she thought the drum might burst. ‘Do you understand me?’ He felt her head nod. He could feel the fear radiate from her body in waves so strong, he could almost taste it.

She had to die. He knew this now, but it had changed his plans somewhat. Nola had been a mistake, but he’d learn from it.

She whimpered when he removed the scissors and released her body from under him.

She curled herself up into a ball, her back towards the wall, head tucked down with her chin resting on her chest. He saw her body shake violently as sobs overcame her. He allowed her a few moments of respite before the inevitable came.