***WARNING***

The following book contains scenes and descriptions which some people may find upsetting. Please be aware this is an extreme novel intended for a mature audience.

***

Copyright©2014 by Matt Shaw

Matt Shaw Publications

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the author

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

TORTURED

M A T T    S H A W

CHAPTER ONE

I opened my scrapbook up. Pages filled with photographs taken of the different stages of the sessions with my victims - not forgetting the ‘before’ picture, a photograph of them before I’ve laid a finger on them. I like the before and after pictures. I like to see the state they end up in. Makes me smile. When I start my sessions  I usually start with the fingernails. A pair of pliers gripped firmly to the end of them - if you pull hard enough they usually rip out with relative ease, but with much pain and blood. Better yet, tug upwards when you pull and take skin off too. Of course, the person screams. They all do. The screams fill my heart with a healthy satisfaction as I drop the nails, one by one, onto the concrete floor of the cellar. They can scream as much as they want, no one is coming. No one ever comes. I stand back with a smile on my face and watch the person’s reaction. Their eyes are wide with fear and their mouth opens as wide as it can go as the scream continues to echo around the room. I like how wide their eyes go. I like that they don’t close them. They keep focused on what is happening to them. And just to make sure they remain so - the eyelids are next. Pliers are swapped for scissors.

* * * * *

As the sun slowly started to rise in the morning sky, the car backed into the driveway so the boot was facing the garage. Less distance to carry the bags from car to house that way. Ryan shut the engine off and ran his hand through his dark hair before undoing his seat belt and stretching his back. A satisfying click from his spine.

“You okay?” asked his wife, Dee. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was resting her head against the top of her seat belt - a makeshift pillow on which to doze whilst Ryan did the driving. She turned to him. Her blue eyes looked red from tiredness and her blonde hair, a mess from where she’d rested her head.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said as he yawned.

“Was trying.” She caught his yawn and mirrored it.

“See some people don’t have much difficulty,” he looked in the rear-view mirror to where his daughters were sleeping. Jen (the youngest at ten years old and with her mother’s looks and colourings) was sitting behind Dee with her mouth wide open. A small bit of dribble on her chin. “Shame the phone’s not charged. Could have taken a picture,” Ryan laughed.

Dee turned to see her daughters. “Don’t be cruel. Besides you’ll be wishing they were still asleep in an hour or two.” She looked across to Claire - the oldest at seventeen years. Unlike the blonde hair shared by her sister and mother, Claire was dark like her father. Her eyes too. Neither parent knew where the light freckles on her cheeks came from.

“That’s a point. Maybe we could leave them be? I’m pretty tired but I still reckon we could christen the new bedroom.” Ryan winked at Dee who just laughed. “It seems morning glory is…”

“Are we there yet?” a small voice piped up from the back of the car. Jen. Ryan looked at her again via the rear-view mirror. She was rubbing her eyes, helping to clear her foggy vision.

“Damn,” Ryan muttered.

Dee smacked him on the leg, “Stop it!” She paused, “Yes we are, honey.” She turned in her seat to see her youngest daughter. She smiled at her, “You ready to see your new bedroom?” she asked.

Jen didn’t say anything. She just smiled at her mother. It wasn’t a real smile though. It was a smile, which simply said ‘if I must’. Claire, who was slowly starting to stir, had the same feelings as her sister. Neither of them had wanted to move from their home. More importantly, neither of them had wanted to move from their schools and their friends. The prospect of making new friends in a new school, as put forward by their mother when their father explained they had to move home, didn’t fill them with confidence. Nor did it answer their questions as to why they had to move in the first place. Both of them liked it there. The reasons why they moved weren’t divulged to the children. Not the real reasons at least. That was strictly between mother and father. After all - no child wants to hear their family is broke. Ryan and Dee knew that if they hadn’t moved, then it would only be a matter of time before they were bankrupt and they’d have lost their house anyway. Not that their finances were spiralling through any fault of their own. Ryan had taken a pay cut in his job at the bank (it was that or redundancy and he hadn’t fancied that) and Dee’s school-teaching job never had paid her a great deal of money. Dee’s low income and Ryan’s sudden pay cut meant that they were soon living beyond their means.

“What do you think?” Ryan asked Claire. He was referring to the house. The girls had seen pictures of the property but neither had seen it in the flesh (so to speak). The decision of where they should live had been taken away from them. Even Dee didn’t have much say as to where they went. This was all down to Ryan - not that she didn’t trust him to make the right choice for them. Besides which, he’d said the move was temporary. He promised they’d soon be back to the standards they were used to, and back in another home.

“It’s small.” Claire said. She undid her belt and climbed from the car before anyone could say anything to her. She slammed the car door shut.

Ryan nervously turned to Dee, “What about you?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“We’ll make it our home,” she gave him a reassuring smile and followed her daughter from the car. Once Jen had followed her mother, Ryan was sitting in the car alone.

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered to himself. And it wasn’t that bad either. Certainly the best of what was available to them in the price range afforded. He climbed from the car.

CHAPTER TWO

I carried on reminiscing as I flicked through the pages. Sometimes they’d pass out whilst I worked on them. My specimens. It frustrated me to begin with, but I soon learnt to control my lack of patience. In the end, I think of it as a blessing - when their heads drop forward and they lose consciousness. It means the whole experience lasts longer. I don’t work on them whilst they’re out cold. I’d miss their screams too much. I’d miss the smell of fear coming from their bodies. So I wait. As long as it takes. And then - when they’re awake - I take things slowly. Perhaps start with the toes. The big toe to be more precise. Snap it first. The satisfying crack of bone splintering and the feeling of it of happening in my hands. A simple but effective procedure; you take the large toe in your left hand and grip the rest of the foot with your right hand. And then a sharp tug with the left hand, away from the rest of the foot. Might take a couple of tugs but, they always crack eventually. Satisfaction with more screams ensured. Only once all toes are broken do you go for the garden shears. One at a time, take the little piggies to market. Take a necessary break should the person pass out.

* * * * *

The online shopping, ordered before the Internet was cut off in their last home, arrived before the removal men’s promised time of delivery. One company was early and the second was late - typical considering it meant the foods necessary for refrigeration had the potential to spoil and even more frustrating for Dee, who could have sworn she put in the following day for the shopping to arrive. She walked the bags through to the kitchen where she piled them in one of the empty corners - out of the way of the impending delivery men.

“Milk, sugar, tea bags…No kettle. Good start,” she muttered to herself as she brought the last bag in - walking past her husband who was pacing the hallway on his mobile phone, waiting for the delivery men to pick up. “Any joy?” she asked as she walked back down the hallway to close the front door.

“It’s just ringing - not even going through to an answering machine.” It was nine o’clock. The delivery men were supposed to arrive at eight; half an hour after the tired family had pulled into the driveway (good timing Ryan initially believed). Dee knew she couldn’t say anything to alleviate any of Ryan’s stress so she just put her arms around him and gave him a loving hug. He hugged her back with one arm while keeping the phone still pressed to his ear as he hit re-dial on the touch screen. “Shouldn’t have paid them upfront. Once they have your money they don’t care. Should have done half at the start and the rest on completion,” he moaned. Dee hugged him tighter. Before either of them had a chance to break away from their comforting embrace there was a knock at the door. Ryan was first to pull away, “About time!” he said - clearly still irritated that the removal men were running late without at least giving the family some notice. After all, moving house was stressful enough. They didn’t need poorly run second rate companies adding to their stresses.

“Be nice,” Dee warned her husband as he walked to the door. She knew what his temper was like when he was irritated. Fair enough; it took him a while to get to that stage but once he was there - he’d be there for the rest of the day, and would become extremely snappy to anyone and anything. The last thing she wanted was for him to upset the removal men before they offloaded their furniture.

“Oh, sorry, we seemed to have dropped your television along with the box which said fragile,” she could hear it now.

“I’m always nice!” said Ryan as he opened the door with the best ‘fake’ smile he could muster. His smile nearly faded when he realised it wasn’t the removal men knocking on the door. Instead, standing before him, was a middle-aged woman and a young girl. “Oh, hello, sorry - I thought you were someone else.”

“We’re not intruding, are we?”

Before Ryan had a chance to answer the woman’s question (an answer Dee feared would be inappropriate), Dee stepped into view next to him to take over the conversation, “Hi, what can we do for you?” she asked. Now it was her turn to forge a smile for the strangers. Travelling all night and fretting about where your furniture had gotten to didn’t make you very sociable when people came knocking at your door uninvited, but Dee knew that first impressions counted. She just hoped they were neighbours - as she believed - and not trying to sell something.

“Sorry - we didn’t mean to intrude - it’s just we saw your car in the driveway and wanted to come and say hello. We live next door, number thirty-six…I’m Jackie and this is my daughter Kara.” A nice enough looking mother and daughter. Both had strawberry blonde hair. Jackie was a plump  woman in her mid-forties, and her daughter, who looked similar in age to Jen, was starting to shape up the same way.

“Pleased to meet you,” Dee extended her hand and the two mothers shook. Ryan did the same as soon as they’d broken their handshake. “I’m Dee and this is my husband Ryan.”

“My husband Mike had to go to work, but he said to say hello. Listen - I’ll leave you two to it as you’ve probably got lots to do, what with moving and all, but I just wanted to see if you fancied coming over to ours for dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure - that would be lovely. Thank you,” said Dee - unable to think of a valid excuse not to go.

“That’s great. What with modern technology these days, people rarely venture out of their houses so we thought we’d make an effort. Shall we say about eight? Shepherd’s Pie okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” said Dee. She was about to say goodbye and close the door when her neighbour spotted something behind her.

“Oh hello, what’s your name then?” she asked.

Dee turned around and saw Jen and Claire standing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re my daughters - Jen and Claire.”

“Well, bring them too…” Jackie turned to Kara and said, “Don’t be rude - say hello.”

Kara wasn’t as outspoken as her mother and only managed a wave. A wave mirrored by Jen. Claire being Claire simply disappeared around the corner of the landing and back into whatever bedroom she’d chosen for herself - even though she wasn’t going to get final say in the bedrooms like she believed she would.

“Sorry about that,” Dee was referring to her eldest daughter’s lack of manners, “she’s still sulking that we took her away from her friends.”

“Honestly - it’s not a problem. No need to apologise. Listen, if you want, your youngest can come over and play round ours. Be nice for the two girls to get to know each other before school starts in a couple of weeks.”

Both Dee and Ryan could sense, from the top of the stairs, their daughter wasn’t keen on the idea of being forced to make friends. Especially given the fact the other girl seemed just as uninterested in the idea. 

“To be honest we’re pretty busy with…”

“That’s fine - say no more - we will leave you to it. Don’t forget our date tomorrow evening; the whole family! And if you need anything while you’re unpacking, you know where we are!”

“Thank you again. It was lovely to meet you.”

“See you tomorrow, if not before!” said Jackie as she turned down the driveway with her daughter in tow. “Well they seem nice,” she said to her daughter as she reached the end of the drive. Ryan gently pushed his wife to one side and closed the door quickly, before the woman had a chance to turn back around with something else to say.

“She’s friendly,” Dee laughed. “And dinner tomorrow. Sounds lovely,” the sarcasm oozed from her voice.

“What? You couldn’t think of an excuse quick enough to get us out of it? Busy? Unpacking? Rather watch paint dry?”

“Don’t be like that - she was right, people rarely make the effort any more. It’s nice that she is.”

“I just can’t believe it…Every village has an idiot and we just happened to move next door to it,” said Ryan - still grumpy from the lack of delivery men on his doorstep.

“Don’t be horrible. She’s fine. Probably just nervous.” She turned from the door and noticed Jen was still sitting on the top stair. She looked upset, despite there being no tears. “What’s wrong?” Dee asked.

“She took my bedroom,” Jen moaned. She was referring to Claire who’d decided upon taking the biggest room for herself.

Dee sighed, “Let’s sort the bedrooms out, shall we?” she asked her husband. He walked off down the hallway and towards the kitchen.

“That’s your area,” he laughed, “I’m dealing with the removal men…”

CHAPTER THREE

A picture of the face. No lips. I smiled and licked my own lips. I don’t take their lips off immediately. Not until toes are broken and cut off, nails removed, eye-lids taken, nose cut off - sometimes that’s all I’ll do. And sometimes I’ll do more. It all really depends on the mood. But I always take the lips. I’m not sure why. Just seems like the right thing to do. The other bits I’ve removed - I leave those for people to find. Usually in a quiet back road, but not so quiet people won’t find them. I want them to be found. I need them to be found. Mangled body next to a cardboard box with the bits I had cut off. But not the lips. The lips are in another box. Dozens and dozens of them - all mixed up. Can’t put them with the owner anymore. Can’t even put them in the right pairs. Sometimes I like to open the box. I like to open the box, take a pair of lips out (be they mixed or the correct matchings) and…Well…I love taking the lips off. Scissors are the tools of the trade. Or a sharp knife. Truth be told it doesn’t matter which. I pull their lips away - bottom one first because it’s not as painful as the top. Blade to one side and slice across in a hacking motion (if using a knife) or - snip - with scissors. Blood. So much blood. And funny screams. Have you ever tried screaming with no lips? The sounds aren’t as satisfying as the screams of a person with full lips.

* * * * *

“I just don’t see why we need to take something round their house when they invited us,” Ryan moaned as he and Dee crossed their garden on the way to their neighbour’s house. The kids followed slowly behind - neither of them looking forward to having to eat at a stranger’s place. Although - in truth - their mum and dad were just as reluctant to go too.

“It’s the done thing to do. They invite you and you take a bottle round. It’s one bottle.” She stopped - causing Ryan to also stop, “Are you going to be miserable all night?”

“We’ve got so much to do to get the house in shape. We could really do with…”

“And we’ve done so much already. A night off will be nice.” Dee started walking again. Ryan followed.

He shrugged towards his children, “I tried kids.”

“And don’t encourage them to play up more than they already are,” Dee continued to berate Ryan as they got to their neighbour’s front door. She gave Ryan a stern look before she knocked.

“We don’t have to stay for pudding, do we?” Ryan asked as they listened to the footsteps walking towards the front door. Claire tried her best to hide the fact that she found her father’s comment funny. Dee answered him with a look.

The front door opened. Jackie was standing there with a smile on her face, which made Ryan think of the Stepford Wives. He tried to shake the image from his mind as she greeted them.

“This is my husband Mike,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Mike as he extended his hand to his new neighbours. “Please come in. Make yourselves at home.”

“Thank you,” said Dee.

“Here - this is for you,” said Ryan who’d gone from irritating his wife to a being a polite neighbour. He held out the bottle of wine they’d brought.

“You shouldn’t have,” said Jackie as she gracefully accepted it. “We’ll open it with dinner!” She turned to the girls, Claire and Jen, “Dinner’s going to be about twenty minutes. The kids are in their bedrooms. Just pop on up there and say hello! I did call them down but clearly they’d rather be rude.”

Claire went to say something, but was immediately shot down by a stern look from her mother. She rolled her eyes and led Jen towards the stairs. Jackie led her adult visitors through to the lounge.

“So how’d the move go?” asked Mike, “Finished unpacking yet?”

“Lots to do!” said Ryan. “Didn’t help that the removal men were late…Three hours in the end with no warning or anything. Didn’t even have the decency to answer their mobiles when I tried calling.”

“Don’t you just hate that?” Mike agreed.

“Oh please don’t encourage him,” Dee sighed.

“Perhaps it was a mistake getting these two together,” Jackie laughed.

“No. If someone says they’re going to do something, or be somewhere - if they’re suddenly not able to make it…It’s common decency to inform the people who are waiting for them,” Mike sided with Ryan.

“Exactly!” Ryan agreed.

“I’m going to check on the dinner,” said Jackie. She turned to Dee, “Want to come through to the kitchen with me? Leave them to their moaning?”

“Definitely.” Dee gave Ryan a little wave as she walked through to the kitchen with Jackie. “You said the kids were upstairs. How many children do you have?”

“Two. One girl and one boy. Kara is eleven years old - the youngest - and her brother Thomas is seventeen. Thomas, who is seventeen going on thirty. In fact, I’m surprised he’s still here. He told me he was moving out this morning.” In the kitchen Jackie put the wine onto the side, next to the cooker and glasses she’d already pulled from the cupboard.

“Sounds like my daughter. Although she hasn’t said she’s moving out. Not recently anyway. I think the last time we got that line was when we said we were moving from the city,” Dee laughed. She laughed now but at the time she remembered it was a stressful argument - one which resulted in tears, tantrums and Claire’s bedroom door being slammed shut. “She’s probably up there now telling your son what bad parents we are.”

* * * * *

Jen and Kara were in Kara’s bedroom whilst Claire was in Thomas’ room, sitting on his computer desk thumbing through his music collection which sat on the shelf above his large monitor. Thomas, a tall lad with dark scruffy hair, was lying on his bed with a book in his hands.

“So is there anything fun to do around here?” Claire asked.

“Depends on your definition of fun.”

“I don’t know. What do you do for fun?”

Thomas held his book up. “Read? There’s a library. Not the biggest, but it has a good collection.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I was thinking about clubs.” She held up a CD, “Somewhere to listen to music? Dance? Get drunk?” She put the CD back on the shelf, “Maybe not to that one though. Did you steal that from your dad?”

Thomas climbed from the bed and walked over to Claire. He leaned across her and looked at the CD she’d just put back. “Pink Floyd?”

“Dated much?”

“Classic.” He paused a moment, “Let me guess - you’re more into boy bands. Cheesy little pop tunes?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m right, aren’t I? Who is it? Westlife? Boyzone? One Direction?” he laughed as he returned to where he had been previously lying on the bed.

“You’re an idiot,” Claire turned back to the rest of the ‘dated’ music collection. “So basically the only thing you class as decent around here is the library?”

“Yep.”

Claire sighed heavily.

“I’m guessing you’re not happy about moving here?” Thomas asked. He didn’t really care. Truth be told he’d sooner sit and read his book in silence but it was obvious Claire wasn’t about to go downstairs and leave him in peace. He figured he might as well make an effort. Besides - she was easy on the eye at least. And the first girl who’d spoken to him without it being part of a bet.

“Yeah. I love being pulled from my school and taken away from my friends, forced to move miles away and then wedged into a tiny room. I’m actually having a blast. You couldn’t tell?”

“You like sarcasm, don’t you?”

“No. You think?”

Thomas smiled at her, “At least you’ll have no trouble making new friends at school.” He picked his book up again and thumbed his way through to the page he was previously on. He wasn’t being sarcastic with his statement. He knew she’d get on fine at the school. All the girls had a sarcastic streak about them. A nasty one at that. She’d fit in all right.

“Dinner’s ready! Get down here!” Mike called up the stairs. His voice started off strongly before fading as he walked through to the dining room where Jackie was dishing up the meals from the large pot of shepherd’s pie.

Claire stood up and left the bedroom without waiting for Thomas, “Least it’s one step closer to going home…”

Thomas put his book down and called out to Claire as she walked across the landing and towards the stairs, “But seriously - thank you for coming. Made my evening really pleasant. Thanks.” He rolled off the bed and followed.

CHAPTER FOUR

One of my earlier pictures fell from my scrapbook and landed in my lap. Needs more glue. I looked at the photo before sliding it back between the pages. Definitely one of the earlier pieces. No skin. The first time I tortured someone I tried to take their skin off. I wanted to do it in one. I wanted to make a suit. I’d heard of other people - like me - who’ve made them in the past. Had I managed to make one, I wouldn’t have worn it. I wouldn’t have dressed up as my victim; a morbid fancy dress costume. I would have displayed it on my wall. A trophy. Just as a hunter may display the head of a recently killed animal, I’d do the same with the skin. Never managed it though. The cuts would start off as good, full pieces of flesh but would get thinner the further down the body I went before eventually tearing off in my hand. Most frustrating. Disappointing. On the fourth person I gave up trying - and that’s when I started to take the lips. I closed the scrapbook and turned in my chair to the lady behind me. A pretty (untouched) blonde girl, bound to a metal office chair, which had been stripped of any comfort. I smiled at her. Enough reminiscing. Now to get to work.

* * * * *

By the fourth day everything was more or less put in its rightful home. The cupboards were full of food and everything had its place. All that needed to be done was a quick run to the tip to get rid of the many cardboard boxes which had been used in the moving process which had now served their purpose (some left in better shapes than others which had clearly been over packed). The tip run would wait until the weekend though. Dee and Ryan only had one car between them having been forced to sell the second vehicle in an effort to cut back unnecessary expenses. It wasn’t that big an issue - Dee’s school was fairly close to the bank where Ryan worked so it just meant she’d drop him off on the way through and then collect him when he’d finished later in the day. She usually finished before him so it gave her a little time to pop to the shops if need be before having to collect him. That being said - today Ryan was driving himself to work. The schools were still shut for the holidays and so there was no need for Dee to go out and about. If she’d needed to venture out she would have done so - it just meant she would have to get up earlier than she might have planned in order to take Ryan to the bank but at least that meant she had the day free to do as she pleased. Today was all about nesting though. Move the final few bits and pieces, tidy the house up and sit back with a cup of tea in hand whilst she stared at the walls wondering what colour she’d eventually like to paint them in an effort to put her own stamp on the building. Ryan had said the walls were fine as they were, but they weren’t and he knew this. He just didn't want to get involved with any of the decorating - a task he hated more than anything else.

“Might start looking at colour charts,” said Dee over the breakfast table when Ryan asked what she was planning to do with her day. “Don’t worry - I won’t ask you to look at them,” she continued when she saw his face drop. Despite her words of reassurance Ryan knew, at some point, he’d be forced to look at them. “And before you say it I know we don’t have the money to do it yet - just like to look at them.”

“I want to paint my bedroom black.” Claire piped up. Definitely the family teenager.

“You’re not painting your bedroom black,” Dee turned to her.

“And I want a pink room like Kara’s!” Jen shouted with a mouthful of toast.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“I want a pink room,” Jen repeated having swallowed the toast.

“No one is changing anything,” Ryan put his foot down. He took another sip from his cup of tea. “Everything is fine as it is. Let’s just settle in first, yeah? And - besides - as your mother pointed out, we don’t have the finances to do any decorating yet.”

Claire huffed. “You said I could decorate my room this year!” It was true, Dee had told Claire she could decorate. But that was before the pay cut and before they had moved house. That was back when they weren’t struggling as much. A time when Ryan simply did his best to hide the financial strains the family were facing in the hope they’d turn round before they had an impact on the way he - and his family - lived.

“I like Kara’s room. It’s pretty.”

Ryan stood up and walked with his cup over to the sink. He took another mouthful and tipped the remainder down the plug-hole. “I have to go.” Dee got up and kissed him on the cheek. She knew he still had another ten minutes before he had to leave but could sense his rising tension. The stress of the move, the stress of money and the worry of what was happening at work was clearly getting to him. He did his best to hide it but she’d been married to him for a while now (and they’d been dating a lot longer before that) and she could tell when he was struggling with his moods. “You sure you don’t need the car today?”

“No, it’s fine. Try and have a good day. Everything will be fine.” He smiled at her. Not because her words hit home with him but more so because he could tell she was trying to cheer him up. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you.”

“Gross.”

They both turned to Claire. She was staring into her breakfast bowl. They ignored her and turned back to each other.

“If you need anything just give me a ring,” said Ryan. He gave Dee a kiss and turned from the kitchen and walked down the hallway. Dee followed him to the front door where he put on his suit jacket.

“Try and have a good day,” she repeated. He just smiled at her again. “Girls are you going to say goodbye to your father?” she called into the kitchen.

“Bye!” both girls shouted.

“I’m sure they’ll miss you,” Dee laughed. Ryan just raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘yeah, right’. He opened the front door and stepped into the brilliant sunshine. “Might get in the garden actually,” Dee teased, “do a spot of reading in a sun spot.”

“Fuck you!” Ryan laughed. He hated having to go to work when she got to stay at home. Sure she had school work to complete during the long summer holidays but working from home was so much better than having to actually go into the school. It was the same every summer too. He’d book a week off to spend it with the family and the girls, (including his wife) would have six weeks off! Worse yet (for Ryan) was that Dee insisted they all did their work in the first week in order to get it out of the way so they could all enjoy their holidays before the next term started. Ryan climbed into his car and closed the door. The start of a hot day. No air conditioning in the car and no air conditioning in the bank. He sighed. “One day I’ll be rich and I’ll get to retire and do nothing,” he sighed again. “Yeah and pigs might fly.”

“Bye!” Dee waved from the front door.

Ryan waved back, slammed the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. Usually he felt good when he’d had any time off work. He felt as though his batteries had been nicely recharged. Not now, though. This time he just felt tired and he was kicking himself for not booking off two weeks to move. At least he could have put his feet up on the second week - enjoyed some quiet time before going back in. Too late to think about that now, he thought, as he set off to the bank hoping that it would, at least, be a quiet day.

CHAPTER FIVE

It is estimated that currently there are between twenty-five and eighty-six active serial killers in the United States of America. I’m not sure who made the numbers up and I’m not sure whether it’s the same in the United Kingdom. Surely it has to be less because the population is smaller. I hope it’s less. I don’t like the idea of people like me being out there. Not because I live in fear of them but because I don’t like the idea of others trying to outdo what I do. I want to be one of a kind. I want to be the only one. I put the other possible killers from my mind and turn to my latest plaything. A pretty brunette girl I picked up late one night. She was on the way home from a club - walking alone. Staggering from the amount of alcohol she’d consumed. Easy pickings. I smiled at her and bent down to where she was sitting in order to address her. She squirmed against the restraints which kept her bound to the old chair - the same chair I’ve used for all of my victims. The only piece of furniture in my old cellar.

“I’m going to remove the gag,” I told her in a hushed voice. There was no reason for the whisper. I’m not sure why I did it with her - or the other girls I’ve had down here (always girls). “Do not misunderstand me,” I continued, “I’m not inviting a conversation. I’m not going to let you go. You’re going to die down here. I just want to hear your screams.”

* * * * *

Ryan knew there was a problem at the bank as soon as he pulled into one of the staff spaces in the car park. The two police cars gave it away. He jumped from his car and walked to the front door of the building. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for someone to come and unlock it. It was his manager who let him in.

“Morning. How’d the move go?” the manager asked - a smile on his face.

Ryan spotted the two officers talking to some of the staff near the front desk. Two more people he didn’t recognise were walking into the manager’s office - a stack of tapes in their hands.

“What’s going on?” Ryan asked.

“Vanessa has been missing nearly a week now. What with everything that’s been happening in the press recently - I phoned the police.” Vanessa was one of the full-timers who worked on the front desk of the bank; helping customers with their various requests such as fund transfers, deposits, and withdrawals.

“You called the police? Maybe she’s just had enough.” Ryan knew that was highly unlikely. Vanessa had worked in the bank for two years now and, in that time he could not recall her ever taking a day off sick. Even when she was full of cold, she would still come in with a smile on her face.

“Fiona went round her house. Still has a spare key from when she house-sat for her. They were supposed to meet up but Vanessa never showed up so she let herself in when she failed to get hold of her on the phone…House was empty. No struggles, no mess, no Vanessa…On her file, I had her mum and dad’s number but we haven’t been able to get through to them. No answer.” He took a breath, “Police are going to want a word with you. Nothing to worry about. They just want to know if you noticed anything strange with Vanessa…”

“I’ve been away…”

“Before you went away. Just standard questions.”

Ryan nodded towards the manager’s office where he had noted the two men going through the bank’s security tapes. “And what about that?” he asked.

“Just going through the footage to see if anything is unusual. Anyway - put your stuff upstairs and come on down. We’re going to open a little late today to give the police time to talk to everyone without having to worry about customers.”

Ryan left the bank’s foyer and headed up the stairs, via the coded staff door. He couldn’t help but feel his manager’s reaction to Vanessa’s disappearance was a bit over the top. A young girl in her twenties who just didn’t show up for work? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had got bored with their job and walked out. At the same time though - deep down - a part of him worried for her safety. His boss was right; the news had been filled with the most horrific of stories recently. Stories usually restricted to eighteen certificate movies from the minds of sick writers. Numerous accounts of dead girls being found. More specifically ‘pieces of dead girls being discovered’. Hacked into little, insignificant pieces. Ryan felt a cold tingle run down his spine as though someone walked over his grave. Vanessa was a nice girl. A good solid worker. He hoped his initial thought was correct. He hoped she’d just got bored with her job and had walked out - perhaps taken herself on a nice little holiday to reassess her life. Hopefully it was just a coincidence that her disappearance coincided with the timings of what the press labeled ‘one of the most vicious serial killers of our time’.

Ryan bumped into another of his colleagues as he entered the staff room - a small room with lockers in one corner and a small table in the centre where they could eat their lunches.

“Do you think he’s got her?” his colleague asked - another young girl. “Do you think she’s dead?” Clearly, she was talking about Vanessa. Ryan shrugged. “You read about it in the papers but you never think it’s going to land on your doorstep,” she continued. Ryan couldn’t help but wonder whether the young woman was worried about her colleague or more concerned about the possibility of also being taken by the person responsible for the missing ladies.

“She’s probably just walked out,” Ryan said, “could even be on some nice beach somewhere.”

“You think?”

Ryan nodded. The more people kept making reference to the serial killer out there - the more he couldn’t help but think along the same lines as them. She’d been taken and was most likely dead already.

“I have to talk to the police,” she continued, “what do you think they’ll ask?”

Ryan shrugged, “Probably just ask about Vanessa. Whether you noticed anything unusual. Or, at a guess, whether you noticed anyone hanging around the bank acting suspiciously. That kind of thing. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” he said finally.

The young woman smiled at Ryan; comforted by his words. She left the room and walked down the stairs and towards her appointment with the officers. Ryan hung his coat up on one of the wall pegs. A little part of him couldn’t help but wonder whether he should phone home and warn his family that the serial killer could be moving closer to their lives. He dismissed the idea. Vanessa has probably gone away - just as he told his colleague. She’s probably fine. No point worrying Dee - and, besides, Claire and Jen didn’t know about the bodies being found. Neither of them had an active interest in the news so it was easy to hide it from them. Definitely no sense worrying them.

CHAPTER SIX

“What’s your name?” I asked her. She told me it was Stacey. She told me she didn’t want to die. She told me other things too, but by that point I had more or less zoned out. I told her, before I removed the gag, I didn’t want conversation so my lack of attention should come of no surprise to her. I took hold of her hand and patted it. A little reassurance, I thought. I picked the pliers up from the floor under her seat by the other tools of my trade. “This is going to hurt,” I told her as I gripped the end of the nail with the pliers. She begged me not to do it. She begged until she was blue in the face. I didn’t listen. I didn’t even look her in the face any more. I just looked at her nail gripped between the tips of the pliers. With my second hand, I gripped her hand before I pulled on the pliers. She screamed. Music to my ears.

* * * * *

Ryan was greeted by Dee as he stepped into the house at the end of his day’s work. She gave him a kiss on the cheek - one which he returned.

“How was your day?” she asked.

He shrugged, “How was your day? I’m guessing by how red your face is - you got some reading done in the garden.” He passed her and walked into the kitchen where he started to prepare himself a drink of squash. Dee was talking to him but he didn’t hear any of what she was saying. He was transfixed by Jen playing in the back garden. She was with Kara. The pair of them sitting on a blanket - a couple of Barbie-type dolls next to them. Ryan smiled. There was something beautiful about the innocence of children. It was just a shame it faded over the years.

“Kara’s staying for dinner. I hope that’s okay,” Dee said when she noticed Ryan watching the two girls playing. “Are you okay?” Dee asked. She realised he wasn’t listening to a word she’d been saying. If he had been listening - he’d have heard her discussing the colour scheme she’d chosen for the house. Ryan put his glass down and turned to her.

“Girl at work,” Ryan said, “she’s disappeared. We had the police in today asking questions about her.”

“Disappeared?”

“Failed to turn up to work. The manager phoned them to report it after he wasn’t able to get hold of her family. I thought his reaction was a little over the top but given what the police were saying today - I don’t know…”

“What do you mean?”

“They think she’s been abducted. There’s a chance she may even be one of the unidentified…” he stopped, “…You know…I don’t actually want to talk about it.”

“They think she’s dead?”

“One of those days,” Ryan sighed.

“Who’s dead?” Claire asked from the kitchen doorway. Her voice made both Ryan and Dee jump; neither of them had been aware she was standing there. “Is this to do with the stuff on the news about the missing girls coming back in pieces?” she asked.

“How do you know about that?” Dee asked.

“How could I not know about it? It’s in all the papers and all over the news.” Claire walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a packet of crisps.

“And you can put those back - dinner isn’t far off from being ready,” said Dee as she took the crisps from her daughter.

“So come on - who’s dead?” she asked again.

Ryan remembered what he had thought about the innocence he had seen in his youngest daughter. How beautiful it was and yet how quickly it disappeared as evident by his eldest. Seven years between them and yet, as much as he hated to admit it, his eldest daughter’s innocence was all but gone.

“No one is dead,” said Dee.

“Someone from work has gone missing,” said Ryan. “She’s not dead.”

“They think she’s dead though?”

“They’re not sure what she is,” Ryan said, “other than missing.”

“Go and get your sister,” Dee interrupted them from their conversation, “I’m about to dish dinner up. And don’t say anything to her!” Although dinner wasn’t ready right at that moment it wasn’t going to be long. Dee was just trying to give Ryan a break from all of the questions. No doubt he’d be tired of them and - even if he wasn’t - she was sure he’d be bored with talking about the missing girl after a whole day of having to do it with various people.

Claire muttered something under her breath and walked from the kitchen, via the back door, which she slammed shut behind her.

“They’re growing up fast,” Ryan said - more or less to himself. He turned to Dee, “Things were different when we were younger,” he said, “safer…Do you think - if we knew what a shitty place this world was going to be…Do you think we’d have still had children?”

Dee smiled, “Of course we would have.”

“Dangerous place out there,” he said.

“It’s always been a dangerous place out there. We just weren’t as aware of it when we were young. Our parents protected us from it just as we’re supposed to protect our children from it.” She cuddled in close to Ryan, “I’m sure your work colleague is fine. She’ll show up.”

“I hope so,” he said. Ryan wasn’t particularly good friends with Vanessa. He liked the girl but not enough to want to socialise with her outside of work, but that was irrelevant. She was a fellow human being and he wouldn’t wish any harm upon her. Also - to have a girl taken from his place of work by some demented psychopath - it just made things even more real than the various reports on the news station and in the papers made it. It made it closer to home. If someone from his work was able to be taken then there was nothing to stop one of his daughters being taken - or even his wife. A cold chill ran through him again. Second time that day.

“Come on,” said Dee, “go and get washed up. I’ll dish up dinner.”

He gave her a peck on the cheek and left the room. “Want me to take next door’s girl home before you dish up?” Ryan called through.

Dee rolled her eyes.

CHAPTER SEVEN

She was begging me to kill her. She begged me to do it quickly. Begged. I told her - one time only - that I was going to kill her. I’ll oblige her on that one. Her second plea; I told her that wasn’t going to happen. I whispered in her left ear, moments before I bit it off, that she was going to suffer. I wanted her to suffer. I longed for her to suffer. Just as I did with the other girls. And what I want - I get. I thought she was going to scream the house down when I bit her ear off. I didn’t mind though. No one will hear her. No one ever hears them. I positioned myself until I was face to face with her and then I smiled. Blood trickling from my mouth and down my chin. I flashed her a cheeky wink as I started to chew. It’s tough. I won’t be swallowing it. Just curious about the taste and texture of it on my tongue. And curious to see if it’s even easy to chew it into smaller pieces. Not the first time I’ve bitten an ear off someone but it is the first time I’ve chewed on it. A dirty habit which I won’t be repeating. I spat it onto the pretty girl’s lap and sat back, a moment, to admire the mess I’d made of her face. I wonder - if I let her go - would she ever want to take another selfie with her phone camera again? That’s the problem with girls of today; so vain. If only they knew that their vanity made them appear to us men as this girl appears to me now. I laughed. She was looking at me with soulful eyes. She wasn’t talking anymore. Just crying in pain. She wasn’t talking but her eyes were saying everything. They were doing the talking. They were begging me to release her. They were begging me to let her go or just get it over with. Her eyes. I think I’ll take one. Just one. I don’t want her being completely blind to what is coming.

* * * * *

Dinner was finished now and he had been relaxing in the living room with his feet up on the sofa. Claire was lying on the floor. The two girls were upstairs playing in Jen’s room and Dee was cleaning the dishes away in the kitchen. Dee and Ryan usually shared the cleaning duties. One would cook and the other would clean. But whilst she was off work - she tended to do everything. It was only fair - what with Ryan being out of the house all day working in the stuffy bank. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. The News, playing on the living room television set, started it’s bulletins with the announcement that another body had been discovered in the woodlands close to the edge of town - about six miles away from where Ryan now lived with his family. It wasn’t the story, as such, which made his heart jump. It was Vanessa. The thought of the dead girl being her.

“Can you take Kara home now?” Ryan asked Claire. She was on the floor, surfing the Internet on her laptop for nothing in particular.

“It’s just next door…” Claire started to put up a fight.

“Now!” Ryan didn’t usually raise his voice as it wasn’t something he usually needed to do but - when he did raise it - whatever was being asked was done without further argument. Claire sighed under her breath and slammed the lid of her laptop shut before scrambling up to her feet. As she left the room, Ryan leaned forward with the remote control and turned the volume on the News up. His heart beating hard in his chest as he waited for the story of the dead girl to come back round when they’d finished running through the other stories.

A picture of a pretty schoolgirl was shown on the screen. A young redhead with freckles and braces. Light brown eyes. Not Ryan’s work colleague. Not Vanessa. He breathed a sigh of relief and - almost instantly - felt a pang of guilt. Just because it wasn’t his work colleague, it didn’t mean it wasn’t someone else’s daughter, or friend.

The news lady explained over video footage of woodlands that the dismembered girl was found in a clearing just off the path. No attempt had been made to hide the body - just as there hadn’t been any attempts to hide the victims on the previous occasions either. The brazen killer not even trying to cover his tracks. The news anchor stated that the police were appealing for any witnesses to come forward and even offered up a confidential line if they were too afraid to go public with potentially seeing something strange taking place. Ryan looked towards the door when it opened without warning. Dee walked in.

“They’ve found another one,” he told her as she looked at the television set to see what had made him sit up. “It wasn’t the girl from work.”

“Well that’s good,” said Dee. A strange choice of words - she knew it and Ryan knew it but neither of them said anything. They both knew what Dee had meant. Good that it wasn’t Vanessa but not good they’d found another body. She took a seat next to her husband. “Do you think they’ll catch the person responsible or whether he’ll just stop?”

The killings had been going on for weeks now. It wasn’t the first time the town had made the news (local, national and international) due to bad things happening. A couple of years ago it had been in the news too. Children had been taken from a shopping centre only to be found with smiles cut into their faces like something straight from a horror story. Reports stated a group of clowns were going round turning unhappy children into happy children - snatching the children from their parents and scarring them for life. Ryan remembered worrying about the state of society then too. The driving force of a group of individuals pushed into doing such atrocities.

The latest bout of murders on the television - although not involving young children - were just as horrific as what’d taken place in the shopping centre. This time - a new body being discovered every couple of days or so. Always found in the same woodlands with the exception of one occasion when the pieces of the body were found in a small bag in a shopping centre’s car park. On no occasion had anyone stepped forward to state they’d seen anything suspicious. For all intents and purposes these dead girls just appeared out of nowhere. Ryan had already considered the possibility of the culprit getting away with it. Perhaps they’d wake up one day and just stop before the police had enough leads to get a trace on them? Part of Ryan hoped that’d be the case and another part of him hoped they’d catch the son of a bitch and bring back the death penalty. Make them suffer just as they made their victims suffer.

“They’ve said police have stepped up their patrols but that’s all they’ve really said. I wouldn’t be surprised if vigilantes don’t take to the streets, and woods soon to see if they can fare better with catching the sick son of a bitch,” said Ryan. All the time the story had been playing on the television - his mind had already started playing its own movie in his head; what he’d do to the killer if he caught him. Dee didn’t say anything. “The world is a cruel place,” Ryan continued. He picked up the remote control and killed the television. The screen went black. They sat in silence for a moment, or two.

* * * * *

Thomas was standing in the doorway of the neighbour’s house with a smile on his face. It wasn't the smile of someone being friendly. It was the smile of someone being sarcastic. “Well thank you very much for bringing her all the way home,” he was saying to Claire, “we were all sitting in here worrying that she might have got lost on the way - what with it being so far away.”

Kara had already pushed past her older brother and run inside (and straight up the stairs) so Claire didn’t feel too bad when she returned Thomas’ sarcastic smile and said, “Asshole.”

“Now come on, that’s not very neighbourly. Okay. I’m sorry. Thank you. I mean it.” He hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Claire to maybe think he was being serious, before he finished up with, “We were genuinely concerned something may have happened to her from your front door to our front door…Those forty steps, or so, are pretty treacherous.”

“If you want to be a dick about it, my dad made me bring her so - if you want - I’ll go and fetch him so you can show him your amazing talent for wit and sarcasm? I’m sure he’ll be just as impressed as me.”

Thomas laughed at how easy it was to wind Claire up. For someone who didn’t have many friends (what with being considered the outsider at school) he had a somewhat unhealthy trait of enjoying being able to rub people up the wrong way.

“What are you doing standing on the doorstep?” Jackie asked. She’d walked through from the living room to see who was at the door. “Did you want to come in? Thomas - why haven’t you invited her in?”

“No - no…It’s fine,” said Claire. Unlike with Thomas she tried her best to be pleasant when speaking to Jackie. “I was just bringing Kara home.”

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Jackie asked. “It’d be nice for Thomas to actually make a friend…”

“Mum…”

“No really, I can’t. But thank you for the invite.”

“And thank you for bringing Kara home,” Jackie smiled.

“I think my dad was worried that she may have been snatched by that guy on the news if I didn’t,” said Claire. Thomas’ ears pricked up. “One of his work colleagues was taken by this person,” Claire continued (even though it wasn’t confirmed her father’s work colleague was in the hands of the murderer), “and now I think he’s worried we could all be taken.”

“Well, tell your father I’m sorry to hear that and I hope they find her…” Jackie was cut off mid-sentence.

“…They’ll find her okay - in pieces,” Thomas interrupted.

“Thomas…”

“No, it’s fine. He’s probably right…Anyway, I best get back before dad sends out the search party for me.”

“Did you want Thomas to walk you back?” Jackie offered.

“Mum….”

“No, it’s fine,” Claire repeated. “Not exactly far is it.” She turned and walked away from the house as Jackie shouted out goodbye to her as well as asking to say ‘hello’ to Claire’s mother for her. Seconds later and they closed the door. Claire stopped at the end of their garden. A strange sensation washed over her - the feeling she was being watched. She turned back to her neighbour’s front door. Closed. She shook the feeling from her mind and hurried the last few steps to her own (open) front door. The feeling of unease replaced with a feeling of stupidity for being sucked into her father’s own paranoia.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Reports of my work were on the news last night, which made me happy. The police, led by a Detective Andrews, appealing for witnesses to my crimes. I’d gone to bed in a good mood. The progress I had made on the young woman and the thought of someone finding the other girl - all pleasing to me. I even woke up in a good mood too but that soon changed. My girl, the new one, she’d bled out during the night. She had wanted me to let her out of the restraints last night. She had wanted me to undo the ropes around her wrists. I told her I wasn’t very good at undoing knots. Good at tying them but not so good at removing them. So I took her hands off with an axe which had been hidden under the chair she was sitting on. I should have known that would have caused a lot of blood loss. I should have thought it through more carefully. Carried away by the moment again. Her face, when I slipped the ropes over the bloodied stumps, was priceless. The sight of her dead, knowing I wouldn’t hear her screams anymore - that was the start of my bad day and my mood continued to dive further south when there was a bulletin on the television about another missing girl. Some young girl who worked in a bank, close to the city centre. She’s nothing to do with me. She’s not one of my dolls. She’s no one to me. It wasn’t the fact she was missing that bothered me. It was the fact she was being linked to my crimes. The police fear for her safety and are asking people to step forward with information, if they have any news on sightings. The main thing, which pissed me off, though, was the fact someone out there might be abducting girls in an effort to do what I do. Someone out there might be copying me, and claiming my work as their own. They say it’s a form of flattery when someone copies you, but it’s not. It’s far from it and if it turns out someone is attempting to carry on with my work - even though I haven’t finished yet - I’ll spend every waking hour I have in trying to find them. And when I do…They’ll find themselves on my red-stained chair before being found, dumped, in the woods. This is my game. These are my rules. I do not play well with others.

* * * * *

Dee drove Ryan to work the following morning so she could be left with the car. Neither of them had really spoken during the thirty-three minute drive. Ryan had hardly spoken since the previous evening - after he’d watched the news. Dee hadn’t seen him like this before. It was rare for anything to really bother him - especially the news. She just presumed it was because of his work colleague.

“Maybe she’ll show up today,” Dee tried to reassure him. He looked at her and smiled. They both knew the chances of her rocking up - as though nothing had happened - were extremely remote. Especially as both of them had seen the news whilst eating their morning cornflakes and toast. Her picture had been all over the channels. People don’t get reported as missing, on the news programmes, until all possible stones had been overturned and - in this day and age - by the time they were reported as such it was usually too late for them. They’d already be dead. Dee turned down the final street which took them to the bank’s car park. A car park shared by some of the other businesses on the road. She stopped the car before the entrance, “Look.” Ryan had already spotted what she was looking at. Numerous police cars all parked in the free spaces with extra cars on the road. Ryan twisted in his chair and looked towards the bank. A hive of activity with police officers going in and out. “What do you think is going on?” Dee asked.

Ryan shrugged. “Wait here.”

He removed his seatbelt and climbed from the car, closing the door behind him with a gentle shove. Dee watched as he ran across the road towards the bank. As soon as he was near enough, a police officer stretched out his hand as though to stop him from going any further. She watched as they exchanged words. Ryan’s boss appeared in the doorway and walked out to greet Ryan. A few other members of staff left the building with him. Some started walking down the road and others crossed over - towards the car park. Dee watched as they climbed into their cars. A couple got on their mobile phones whilst the others just drove from the car park and headed down the road - away from the building. By the time Dee turned back to see what was going on with her husband, he was already on his way back to the car. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking from the expression on his face.

“Well,” he said as he climbed into the car, “I have an unscheduled day off today.” He closed the door behind him. “Bank isn’t opening today.”

“What’s going on?”

“The police officer didn’t say anything but John said a parcel was delivered. He opened it up and there were two hands in there.”

“Hands? Real hands? As in human?” Dee looked disgusted. Ryan nodded. “Your colleague?” He shrugged. She realised the expression on his face. It was one of concern. “So what’s happening now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. John said he’d call us all later to let us know what is going on. From what he said - I don’t think he even knows what is going on,” he said. “Looks pretty shook up. Everyone does.”

Dee turned the key in the ignition and did a u-turn in the road. Seconds later and they were driving back the way they had come. The same silence filling the car which had accompanied them on the way down. When Ryan had first told Dee his work colleague was missing - she didn’t really tie it in with what was happening in the news. Had it been someone in her school who’d gone missing - she may have done so - but it wasn’t, and so it was still hard for her to think of something so evil being so close to her little world. After all, the world is a big place. It’s pretty bad luck to have something like that happening on your doorstep and - generally - it’s not something you believe will creep into your world. It always seems to happen to someone else. With the discovery of the hands, though, it was hard for her to ignore the possibility of the work colleague being taken. It was hard to believe the evil hadn’t crept into their comfortable little lives. And it was hard for either of them not to believe the hands belonged to Vanessa.

“Did you want me to stay home today?” Dee offered. “I can cancel my plans. I was only going into town with Jackie.”

"No. It's fine," he said. It was going to be the first time Jackie and Dee were meeting up after the meal they had shared the other night and Ryan didn’t want to stop that. Especially for something like this. He wanted her to go out. He wanted her to make friends.

"I don't mind." Dee reiterated on the off chance he was just being polite so as not to ruin her day. Just as Ryan was fine with her going out, she was fine with changing her plans in order to stay in with him. Especially if he needed her to.

"Really - it's fine. It'll be nice for you to make a new friend. At least one who lives so close anyway."

"As long as you're sure."

"I'm sure."

The rest of the drive home was completed in silence; broken only when Dee couldn't stand it anymore and turned the radio on. When the latest news bulletin started - she switched the radio onto the CD function. Ryan didn't stop her.

* * * * *

Claire ignored the first knock on the door in the hope Jen would answer it. After all, more likely than not, it was only going to be Kara enquiring as to whether she wanted to go out and play with her. Kara, or Jackie looking for Dee, or a salesman trying to sell something Claire would have no interest in (and certainly no authority to pay for).

"Jen! Door!" she called out when a second rap was heard against the wooden frame. She heard Jen mutter something from her bedroom before she heard the sound of her sister running down the landing and stairs towards the front door. She smiled to herself. If she was going to be forced to move house and then forced to stay in and keep an eye on her younger sister whilst her mother drove her father to work than she'd at least treat her as though she were her own personal slave. Which reminded her, "And fetch me some crisps!" she called out loudly to ensure Jen heard her. Another mutter from down the stairs. Loud enough to know it was her sister moaning but not loud enough to make out what was being said. It didn't matter to Claire though. She'd hit her later regardless. Especially if she didn't bring her the packet of crisps she'd asked for.

Claire was sitting at a small desk in her bedroom drawing in a plain-papered notepad. When she was forced to move home, and taken away from the people she cared about - Claire was surprised when her mother and father left her with the note-pad. She thought (even told them) that they may as well take that from her too - if they're taking everything else from her then they may as well take her main passion (drawing) as well. Dee just told her not to be so melodramatic and that she'd make new friends.

"I don't see why I should have to!" Claire had ranted. "Why do I even have to change schools? It's not as though we're moving country!" and she was right. They weren't moving country. Unfortunately, though, they were moving far enough away to mean Claire, and her sister, were no longer in the right catchment area for their current school. Hence the need to move to a new one and the need to make new friends.

A knock on her bedroom door made her turn around. Jen didn't make a habit of knocking on the door. She'd just burst in and interrupt Claire (something which she often got in trouble for). Claire jumped when she saw Thomas standing in the doorway with a packet of crisps in his hand.

"Hi," he looked at the crisps, "your sister picked out prawn cocktail. That good enough?" Before Claire could answer - or even ask why he was in her bedroom - he threw the packet at her. It landed on the desk next to where she was working.

"What do you want?" Claire asked.

“What? Nothing. I just thought I’d pop over and say hello to my new best friend!”

“Best friend?”

“Best friend!”

“Yeah because you’ve been so friendly from the moment we first met.” he walked across the room and sat down on Claire’s bed. Claire didn’t say anything but he could see his choice of seat annoyed her so he stood up again.

“Sorry,” he said, “I can be a bit of a dick sometimes. Nothing was meant by it. Promise. Can we just start again?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He leant forward and extended his hand towards her, “Hi, I’m Thomas. Pleased to meet you.”

Claire laughed and took his hand. They shook. “Claire.”

“Such a pretty name,” he said.

“Really? That’s how you make new friends?” she laughed (at him, not with him). “I think I understand why you don’t have many friends,” she said.

“Who said I didn’t have many friends?” He changed the subject, “Is your dad at work today?” he asked.

Claire raised an eyebrow. She didn’t expect Thomas to come over but she expected that, as a question, even less. “Why?”

“Just wondered,” he said. “That girl show up yet? The one who works with him.”

Claire paused a moment as she came to the sudden realisation Thomas hadn’t come over to see her, or even make friends with her. “You didn’t come to see me did you?”

“What - yes. I said so.”

“Uh huh - look, I’ve got a lot to do today. If you want to see my dad and ask him all these questions, your best bet is to come around this evening.” She turned her back on Thomas and started to draw on her pad again.

“No. I came to see you. I was just wondering that’s all. Being neighbourly.”

“I know who he is, you know.”

“Yeah. He’s my dad.”

“No. I know who the killer is. The one in the papers. I know him.”

CHAPTER NINE

I felt like a hypocrite sending the girl’s hands to the bank. Especially giving them a sign to say she’s not with me - the girl missing from the bank I mean. The sign was clear to say I hadn’t taken her. I’d taken the girl who the hands were originally attached to. Hopefully they’ll be able to run some tests and see it’s not the same person. It was never in my plan to send off packages to people. My idol, Art, did when he toyed with the police but - I want to be my own person. I don’t want to be perceived as a copycat to him. Especially given my hatred for copycats. Sure, I was inspired by news of his gallery. More so when the photographs of his exhibits were leaked to the Internet (albeit for a short time only before they were pulled). By sending the hands - I just wanted them to know I was innocent of the crime they now believed I was responsible for. Sure I could have taken credit for it - at least until the girl was found - but that’s cheating. I want to be known as the worst (best) serial killer of all time by my own merits. I don’t need help from other people. I’m my own person. I’m my own killer. And I can do this by myself. Well, by myself and with my victims anyway. Speaking of which, I need to find a new victim. Someone else to play with. I fancy a brunette.

* * * * *

Claire was standing next to the desk in Thomas’ room. Various handwritten notes were sprawled across the worktop with Thomas sitting in front of them, thumbing through the various snippets of information.

“This is what you do with your free time?” Claire asked. The notes - all handwritten - were various scribblings based on some of the most infamous serial killers of all time; Gacy, Dahmer, Art, Bundy, Sutcliffe and even Gein and Manson were amongst them although - technically speaking - the latter two weren’t serial killers. They still had their place in this list though.

“It’s interesting to me.”

“It’s a bit sick.”

Thomas found the piece he was looking for, “This is the latest one.” He handed it over to Claire. She took it and started reading. Thomas had been writing about the kidnappings and brutal murders in explicit detail. He’d written the dates and times the bodies were found, he’d written how long each of the girls had been missing for and the state in which they’d reappeared - discovered by unfortunate walkers who’d stumbled across them whilst out and about. Claire couldn’t hide the fact she found what she was reading disgusting. For some reason, it also made her feel a little nervous. Here was a guy, standing so close to her, who seemed to idolise these monsters. An unhealthy obsession for which she couldn’t see a reason. Despite Claire’s obvious concerns, Thomas hadn’t noticed and carried on excitedly, “I want to write when I’m older. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at,” he said - bustling with an energy she’d not seen before. “Eventually I want to compile all of these into books. You know, True Crime…Massive market for it and it’s fun to write about…”

Claire couldn’t contain her disgust anymore, “Fun?” She held the pages up, “This isn’t fun - these are lives. These girls are daughters, sisters - maybe even mothers…”

Thomas shifted uneasily, “I don’t think of them as that. I just detach from it…” He realised what he was saying probably wasn’t going to make her feel any better about what he’d been spending his time working on and tried to change tact, “True Crime has such a massive market…Can you imagine if I had an interview with your dad in here?”

“What?”

“About his…” he looked at his notes, “…work colleague Vanessa…If he talked about her to me, told me a little about her. It’d make her more real to the reader and…”

“I’m sorry,” Claire handed the notes back, “I have to get home.”

Thomas blocked her way. “Wait. Don’t you want to know who it is?”

“You think you know who the murderer is and yet you haven’t gone to the police? Even if I had the slightest of inklings as to who it could be - I’d have reported it on the off chance I was right. And if you were right, if you reported it, that would have made for a more impressive end to your book. Certainly more impressive than a missing girl’s work colleague. If I were you, I wouldn’t even try talking to my dad about it. He’ll just say the same as me.”

Claire side-stepped Thomas and walked towards the bedroom door.

“It’s your neighbour!” Thomas called out after her.

Claire turned back to him, “You’re my neighbour,” she said.

“On the other side. It’s him.”

“I think you need to get out more,” Claire said. Clearly, she’d had enough of Thomas. “This…” she pointed to the notes, “…this isn’t a healthy hobby. It’s just…Weird.” She turned and walked from the room, and down the stairs as Thomas called out after her. She didn’t hear what he said and she didn’t care - no doubt he was just trying to scare her. Some kind of sick prank to make her feel less welcome than she already felt in what was supposed to be her new home.

“Oh hi!” Jackie appeared in the lounge doorway as Claire reached the bottom of the stairs. “Staying for dinner?” Claire didn’t even bother to answer her, she just opened the front door and stormed out. Jackie watched her from the doorway - a perplexed expression on her face.

Ryan and Dee pulled into the driveway of their own home to witness Claire storming from one house to the other. Ryan immediately rolled his eyes - as though he needed any more drama in his life right now.

“Now what?” he sighed.

“It’s fine,” Dee reassured him, “whatever it is - I’ll deal with it.”

Ryan paused in the car as Dee opened the door and headed after Claire - calling her name as she did so. Ryan sighed heavily. Whatever it was, he just couldn’t be bothered. Not today. Not after what’d happened at the bank.

“Claire!” Dee called out to her daughter who’d already disappeared into the house. She chased after her allowing the front door to close behind her. “Claire, talk to me!” she insisted from the bottom of the stairs. Claire was already halfway up them.

Claire stopped and turned to face her mother, tears rolling down her face. “I didn't even want to move here!” she yelled at her. “I was happy where we were.” She shouted again, “I don’t want to live here!”

“What brought all this on?” Dee knew Claire wasn’t happy with the move. She didn’t exactly make her initial feelings hidden from her mother and father. Even so - she thought Claire was at least, starting to come around to the idea of it. Albeit slowly.

“That freak next door!”

“Who?” Dee knew who her daughter was referring to. She had known her daughter and the neighbour’s son weren’t going to get on from the moment she met him. He seemed rude when he finally came down to eat dinner with them. In fact - he seemed to be identical to Claire and that was how she knew they wouldn’t get on. It was true, the old saying, opposites attract. Claire and Thomas were so similar they were always going to clash.

“You know who!”

“Well what’s he done?” Dee asked. If she could understand the outburst, there was a chance she’d be able to fix it before it became more of an issue.

“He wants to talk to dad…”

“Who wants to talk to me?” Neither Dee nor Claire had heard Ryan walk in through the front door. Dee was the first to look at him. She shrugged. He looked up to his distraught daughter, “Well?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas?” Ryan looked at Dee - clueless as to what was going on and who the hell Thomas was, despite being introduced to him only a couple of days ago.

“The boy next door.”

“Ah - the plot thickens.”

“No. No plot thickens!” Claire said. “I went round there earlier - when you were out - and he said he wanted to talk to you.”

“Me?” Ryan pointed to himself.

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know him - why does he want to talk to me?” Ryan asked. Claire sighed heavily. She didn’t want her dad to know what Thomas was doing. She knew it wouldn’t upset him, so to speak, she just knew he didn’t suffer fools gladly. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” he snapped. The stress of the move, the stress of money, the stress of work - everything was getting to him and the last thing he needed was his daughter kicking off for whatever reason she deemed necessary this time.

“He wanted to talk to you about your work colleague,” Claire blurted out.

“My work colleague? What? Vanessa?”

“Yes.”

“How did he even know about her?”

“I might have said something yesterday.”

“And why would he want to talk to me?” Ryan was starting to get angry. The fact some jumped up little snot not only upset his daughter but was also trying to stick his nose into his business - a step too far from someone who hadn’t earned the right to take any steps at all.

“He’s writing about the killer. He’s written about lots of them. He thinks he is going to be some big shot True Crime writer…”

Ryan turned to Dee, “Can you believe this? You want to do me a favour and nip this in the bud when you go out with your friend later? Please?”

“I’ll get her to talk to him.”

“I told him you wouldn’t want to talk to him!” Claire shouted to Ryan as he walked off and into the lounge.

“Yeah, you’re right!” Ryan shouted back.

Dee turned to Claire. She knew she’d take Ryan’s frustrations personally. She was at that age where any form of negativity would be taken the wrong way - as though she were the one to blame for whatever was the cause of upset. Just your average teenager. “Your father’s just upset,” she told her daughter, “he’s not angry with you.”

“I just want to go home!” Claire yelled before she turned around and ran off towards her bedroom, straight past Jen who’d come to see what the shouting was about. Dee sighed as Claire’s bedroom door slammed.

“This is your home!” Dee called out to her.

“What’s the shouting for?” Jen asked.

“Nothing,” said Dee. Jen didn’t need to know what was happening. As far as Dee and Ryan were aware - she knew nothing of what was happening in the news or at her father’s workplace. And that was the way it needed to stay. Dee quickly changed the subject, “I’m popping out later with Jackie, did you want to come?” she asked. “See if Kara wants to come as well?”

Jen nodded and smiled. At least one of them was happy.

* * * * *

It didn’t take long for Ryan to calm down. He knew none of what had happened was his daughter’s fault. Yes, she probably shouldn’t have said anything to their neighbours, about Ryan’s work colleague, but she wasn’t specifically told not to. And regardless of whether she should, or shouldn’t have, at least she had put Thomas straight by telling him that her dad wouldn’t be interested in talking to him. Hell - even if the young lad were a proper qualified journalist, writing an important piece, he still wouldn’t talk. Vanessa was someone’s daughter and a friend to many people. She shouldn’t be the subject of gossip-mongers. Especially whilst she was still presumed missing. If she had been taken - the fact people were talking - it could push whoever took her into doing something stupid. A panicked move to get rid of her before being discovered with her.

Dee had gone out with Jen, Jackie and Kara. She’d offered Claire the chance to go with them too but Claire had just ignored the knocking at her bedroom door. She was in no mood to talk to anyone; still sulking about the move and the fact her dad seemed angry at her with regards to what Thomas had asked.

Ryan knocked on Claire’s door with his knuckle. A little time-out, in the living room, made him realise he’d probably reacted a little stronger than necessary. Certainly a reaction which had been aimed in the wrong direction. Ryan didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door.

“Go away!” Claire said (not quite a shout) as the door creaked open. She hadn’t looked up from her drawing pad, where she was furiously scribbling. Had she done so - she probably wouldn’t have told her dad to go away. Not because she didn’t want to. She just rarely dared speak to him like that. She was fine to bark such orders at her sister, even her mother, but rarely her dad.

“If I went away I wouldn’t be able to apologise,” he said - a guilty smile on his face. Claire looked up and shot him a look before turning her attention back to the drawing. They both knew she wouldn’t stay mad at him forever. She’d have a little sulk and then he’d treat her as though she were eight years old by jabbing her in the side - something which always made her laugh and encouraged play fighting between the two of them. “Just pretty stressed today,” Ryan said, “what with the moving and what’s happening at work…”

Claire spoke to Ryan but didn’t look up from the drawing, “She hasn’t shown up then?” She was referring to Vanessa of course.

“No.” He wanted to tell her what had happened at work but figured she was still a little too young to hear the grisly details.

“Thomas said he knew who the killer is,” said Claire.

“Oh yeah. Who does he think it is then? Jack the Ripper?”

Claire hesitated a second, “He thinks it is our neighbour.” She turned to her window and looked out of it. Her window was the one which overlooked the neighbour’s garden. Their house was joined to Mike and Jackie’s home but there was a small alleyway between their home and this unknown neighbour’s own place. The garden was overgrown and messy, whoever lived there clearly didn’t care about the look it. Obviously they preferred to stay indoors - a statement backed by further proof in that neither Ryan nor any of his family had ever seen the person who lived there despite a car being in the driveway suggesting that someone was probably in.

“Well,” said Ryan with a smile on his face, “why don’t we go and say hello?”

“What?”

“Come on - about time we started making new friends!” he walked over to the bedroom door and turned back to Claire when he realised she wasn’t following. “Come on, I’m not joking. We need to introduce ourselves anyway and it might stop your little friend from trying to force silly ideas onto you again. Let’s go.”

Claire knew she didn’t have a choice. She put her sketching pencil down and followed after her father who had started down the landing.

CHAPTER TEN

The new girl is sleeping for now. I’ve used my time to watch the television - news channels in particular - to see if there is any mention of what I’d sent to the bank. Nothing. Now, only now, do I truly understand the frustration of Art when he first set up his pieces of artwork only to have them snubbed by the media. In his case it was probably for the best; it forced him onto the path of making a gallery. It forced him to make something so truly remarkable that no one could ignore it. And, to his credit and my admiration, he succeeded. With regards to my own work - I’m happy my main pieces have made it to the papers and television programmes. I think I’m glad the details of the package haven’t been leaked though. The fewer people who know I resorted to such copycat tactics, just to tell the world the missing bank woman isn’t with me, the better. I don’t want to be remembered as a cheap imitation. I want to be remembered for the people I leave in the woodlands. The pieces of the people at least.

I heard the girl scream and couldn’t help but to smile. The girl is awake now. How exciting. Of course I’ll start with the nails as per usual…A knock at the door from upstairs. Funny. Not expecting any guests. I dart towards my new house guest, with fist clenched, and hit her on the side of the temple. Her scream is silenced immediately. I just hope it stays that way. Long enough, at least, until I get rid of the unwanted attention.

I hurried up the stairs towards the front door and my waiting visitors.

* * * * *

Ryan was standing closer to the front door than Claire. She knew, deep down, that Thomas was wrong. Of course the killer wouldn’t be their neighbour. And if he was - if it was so simple that someone like Thomas could figure it out - then surely the police would have already found him. Even so she couldn’t shake the feeling - what if he was right? What if the person, about to open the door, was the killer the police were hunting? Claire felt the butterflies flutter within her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to run home. Not to the house next door. That wasn’t her home. She wanted to go back to where she lived before. That was her home.

“Maybe they’re busy killing people,” Ryan said - a smile on his face.

“Let’s go.”

“Ssh…” Ryan craned his ear to the door. He could hear footsteps on the other side of it. “Someone’s coming.”

“I just want to go home!” Claire whined quietly in case the person coming could hear her.

“This is home and we need to make friends with the neighbours. That is what grown-ups do when they move somewhere new. They try and make friends.” That was Ryan’s excuse but he was more interested in disproving Thomas’ theory that the person who lived here was the culprit for all the recent killings. Not just for his own piece of mind but to also help settle his daughter.

The front door opened but not all of the way. Just a little crack. A gaunt looking face with dark hair peered through the gap. A hand on the door ready to slam it shut if he wasn’t in the mood for visitors. His eyes were bloodshot as though he hadn’t slept for many nights and his complexion pale.

“Yes?” his voice was quiet. A hint of a shake in the tone.

“Hi,” said Ryan. He compensated for the man’s deep suspicion by making his own tone more upbeat and his smile wider than it usually would have been when greeting someone new. “Don’t worry - we’re not selling anything - we’ve just moved in next door. Been there nearly a week now and thought it about time we came and introduced ourselves…”

“Okay…”

Ryan shifted on his feet - a little uncomfortable by the standoffish attitude of the strange man standing on the other side of the door. “I’m Ryan.” He turned to his daughter, “This is my daughter…Claire.”

“Hi,” Claire gave a little wave. She was already backing away from the front door. The man’s gaze fixed upon her. She thought she saw a little smile spread across his thin lips.

“So - yeah - nice to meet you,” Ryan was waiting for the man to open the door and, at the very least, offer his hand for a shake. Usually it would be polite for people to invite neighbours in, maybe offer them a drink or two. A way of building bridges and getting to know each other. Ryan noticed the man was still looking at his daughter. He took a step to the right and blocked his view - instantly feeling that Claire felt a little more comfortable. “We’re having a party this weekend. Inviting the neighbours in an effort to get to know everyone - we just wondered if you’d like to come?” Ryan said. A make-believe party in order to try and get something, (anything) from this strange little man.

“I’m sorry. I’m busy.”

“Oh - yeah - well of course. It’s short notice. Well if you get a minute, a moment off from whatever you are doing, you’re more than welcome to pop round. Especially if the volume is too loud…” He was trying everything he could to try and get a response from the man but there was nothing. Other than a vacant look. Still there was nothing. “Well it was good to meet you. And if you ever fancy it - we’re only next door.” He smiled again at the man. The man just nodded.

“Okay.” And he closed the door with a slam.

Ryan turned to Claire. He could see from Claire’s face that the visit had not inspired confidence in her. “He seems nice,” said Ryan. A second later and he couldn’t help but burst into laughter at how surreal the whole experience had been. Another second, or two, later and Claire couldn’t help but laugh too. Her laughter being more of a nervous one. “Come on,” Ryan lead the way down the driveway – back towards the safety of their own home. He stopped when he got to the end of the drive, though, distracted by an oncoming police car. It slowed to a stop next to where Ryan was standing with his daughter. The passenger door opened and a police officer jumped out of the car and approached Ryan.

“Mr. Reynolds?”

Ryan shook his head, “No.”

“This your house?” the officer asked. He pointed towards the front door Ryan and Claire had just walked away from.

“We live there. We just popped around to introduce ourselves. Is there a problem?” The smile from both Claire and Ryan’s face had faded. Replaced with a genuine look of concern.

The officer didn’t answer him. He stepped past the two of them and approached the front door. He was closely followed by the second officer who’d been in the car. Ryan recognised the second of the officers from the bank. He’d been one of the men helping with the questioning of the staff on the first day Ryan had gone back to work after his time off moving.

“Come on,” Ryan took hold of Claire’s arm and pulled her towards their drive - out of the way of the police and whatever they were about to do. From the safety of their own drive he turned back towards the neighbour’s house. The front door opened and he saw the police exchange words with the same gaunt-looking man they’d earlier introduced themselves to. Seconds later and the man stepped from the house, he closed the front door, and followed the police officers back to the car. There were no cuffs. There was no struggle. He simply got into the back of the car before being driven back down the road after a quick u-turn by the officer in charge of the wheel.

“What do you think that was about?” Claire asked.

“I have no idea,” said Ryan, “but let’s not tell your mother. No need to freak her out when it could be something entirely innocent. Like, maybe, he’s a police officer and he needed a lift to the station…” Of all the possible excuses he could think of - as to why his neighbour would have been picked up - this was probably the worst. After all, had he been a police officer, then there was no reason why the officers wouldn’t have known Ryan wasn’t the person they were looking for. They would have simply pulled up, gone to the door, and retrieved their colleague from his house. Ryan opened his front door and Claire stepped in. Ryan hesitated though. Someone was watching. He turned around, slowly, and noticed Thomas was standing by the front door of his own house. He was looking in the direction of the police car. He turned around and caught Ryan’s own eye. He raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’. Ryan turned away and stepped into his house, slamming the door behind him.

Claire was standing at the foot of the stairs, “So Thomas was right. It is him?”

“What?” Ryan knew what Claire was talking about. She’d jumped to the conclusion that he’d jumped to when he initially saw the police taking the neighbour away. The only reason he said what he did was to have a little more time to think about what he was going to say to diffuse the situation. Thankfully he didn't need much time. “If they thought it was him, if they really believed it, then they’d have arrived with back-up. And search warrants. For all you know - it could be something completely unrelated that they want to talk to him about.” And that was the truth. Just because it was bad timing, on their part, it didn’t mean it had anything to do with what Claire and Ryan had been discussing. Just a strange coincidence. One which was made that little bit weirder by Thomas. Ryan knew it had been him who’d phoned the police. That would have been too much of a coincidence for it not to have been. No doubt boasting of what he supposedly knew before Ryan or Claire got to the police first and told them. Just a little boy trying to claim glory - even if his beliefs were completely misguided (or so Ryan hoped). Claire opened her mouth as though she were about to say something but stopped herself short when the front door swung open and Jackie, Dee and the girls walked in. All laughing. All armed with bags of shopping.

“Now what?” Dee asked as soon as she saw Claire and Ryan and - more importantly - the guilty looks on their faces as though caught red-handed. Surely not another argument?

“Nothing.” Ryan was the first to speak. Dee didn’t need to know what Thomas had said. It would have only worried her unnecessarily and - again - it was completely unfounded. He turned to Jackie, “Mike home?”

“Not sure what hours he is working today,” said Jackie. “I can find out for you?”

“Did you want a cup of tea?” Dee asked - ignoring the fact Jackie and Ryan were talking.

“That’s fine,” said Ryan, “I’ll just pop over there and see.” He turned to Dee, “I’ll be back in a minute - and yes - I’ll have a cup of tea too, please.” He flashed her a cheeky grin before leaving the house.

“Go on, girls, go and play upstairs…” Dee told Kara and Jen. They didn’t need telling twice and both ran up the stairs past where Claire was standing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ryan hurried across the garden towards his neighbour’s house. He didn’t care if Mike was home or not. It wasn’t him who he really wanted to see. It was Thomas. He wanted to know whether the police had arrived because of Thomas or whether it was because the police had the same feelings as Thomas - albeit without enough proof to really act upon it other than to question him down at the station.

Ryan knocked on the front door. Thomas opened it - just as Ryan had hoped he would.

“Your dad home?”

Thomas shook his head. Ryan stepped into the house, pushing past Thomas. Thomas closed the door behind him and turned to talk to Ryan. “Claire told you?”

“That you wanted to talk to me? Or that you believed our neighbour was the one responsible for what’s been going on in the news? Yeah - she told me. Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

“Don’t play clever. Did you phone the police?”

Thomas shook his head.

“You didn't phone the police? You didn’t tell them about your half-arsed theory about the neighbour?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you phone them? You think our neighbour is a murderer and you keep it to yourself?” Ryan was starting to get angry. It wasn’t the fact Thomas believed the neighbour to be the killer which made him angry. It was the fact he’d dare to try and upset his daughter by scaring her. Especially when she was already struggling to come to terms with the move. At this point, after all the stress they had had with the move, all Ryan wanted was some peace and quiet. Thomas backed up a bit. He could see Ryan was getting angry.

“It’s just a theory I have,” said Thomas. “I have no proof yet. I couldn’t go to the police. They wouldn’t take it seriously. Not without proof. I write books…” he went to explain but Ryan cut him off.

“I know - Claire told me. And you want a chat about my work colleague Vanessa. Well here you go. Her name is Vanessa. At least her name was Vanessa. It looks as though the sick son of a bitch, who took her, killed her. He cut her hands off and sent them to the bank,” nothing was confirmed. The hands hadn’t been identified yet - at least not to Ryan’s knowledge - but he knew the chance of the I.D coming back positive was more than likely.

“What? That’s great…” Thomas spoke without thinking. He wasn’t thinking about it being someone’s life. He was thinking about how great the story would be for his new book. Ryan wanted to knock him to his arse with a punch to the face - something to knock some sense into him - but he didn’t. He knew better than that. Could have been a different story had Thomas been a little older. He wouldn’t have felt bad for hitting him had they been the same age. Even though he couldn't hit him, he still couldn’t help but crack a little smile at the thought. He quickly hid it.

“Listen I don’t care what you think you know. I don’t care. And I don’t want to talk to you about your book. Truth be told I think the whole thing is silly. Stupid even. You need to grow up a bit. Find a sensible hobby - at least something you can make some money from. Writing is notoriously hard to do. This is me being a nice neighbour. Pointing you in a better direction…”

“I’m good at writing,” Thomas argued.

“…More importantly I’m trying to point you in a direction other than my daughter. She’s young - like you - she’s impressionable. I don’t want you filling her head with silly little ideas which make her feel uncomfortable in her new home. She’s already finding this move hard enough without you putting these thoughts in her head. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Thomas nodded. He hesitated for a moment as though he wanted to say something. Ryan decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, “What is it?”

“I didn’t call the police,” Thomas said. “I thought Claire did. You know, after I told her. If you’re saying it wasn’t her and it wasn’t you…And I’m telling you it wasn’t me.” He paused. “Why did the police take him away?” He put two and two together and quickly came to five, “I was fucking right! I told you!”

“No - you weren’t. If you were right then they’d have come with a search warrant and an army of police - which is exactly what I told Claire. Look, just stop putting silly ideas in her head and leave her alone. Okay? That’s all I ask. Leave all of us alone.”

“What’s going on?” Mike had walked in through the front door. And once again Ryan was caught having an awkward conversation with someone in the hallway. “There a reason you’re asking my boy to leave your family alone? Something I should know about?”

“Your son has been telling my daughter his theories about the recent spout of killings. I’d rather he didn’t. She’s having enough difficulty in adjusting to her new home without being scared of the neighbour…”

Mike had already turned his attention to his son. When Ryan had finished talking, he half expected Mike to have a go at him but - to his surprise - he wasn’t too bothered by his son’s revelation, “You told them too?”

“His work colleague was snatched by the guy. I just wanted to get an interview…”

“You and that fucking book,” Mike cut in.

“You know about all this? You don’t think it might be worth getting him to spend his time doing something a little more…”

Again, Mike cut in, “I won’t tell you how to raise your children and you won’t tell me how to raise mine. Okay?”

Ryan went quiet almost immediately. He hardly knew Mike and wasn’t sure how far he could be pushed before he’d lose his temper. He turned his attention back to Thomas, “I’ve said what I wanted to say so…Just keep your theories to yourself.” He walked over to the front door, which Mike was blocking, “Excuse me, please.”

“If it was him,” Mike said with a lowered voice, “wouldn’t you want to do something about it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This guy - whoever he is - he’s been hacking up girls and leaving them lying around. Could be your daughter. Could be mine. It’s already close to our home if it’s already reached your place of work…What if it is him? Wouldn’t you want him to taste some of his own medicine? See how he likes it?”

“I’d want him to go to prison and serve time.”

“Really? A private cell? Meals? Yard time? At the cost of the tax-payer. Scum like this guy - whoever he is - they don’t deserve to be alive. Should bring back the death penalty for people like that…”

“Look as lovely as this is - I’ve said what I came to say…Excuse me please,” Ryan said again as he tried to get to the front door.

“And if it is him - do you really want him living so close to your family?”

Ryan snapped, “The police are with him. They came around and collected him. If it is him - he’s already in custody so I don’t need to worry about it…”

“The police took him?” Mike turned to Thomas. Thomas nodded. “You called them? We spoke about this - we’d get some proof first. Wait for him to leave his house and then get in there…”

“Wait. What? You were planning on breaking into the guy’s home? What - you were hoping to find a stack of body parts, or something incriminating? And you’re encouraging this? Jesus Christ!”

“He rarely leaves his house since his wife was murdered a few years back. When he does - he enjoys spending time in the woods. I’ve followed him up there before now. The same paths the dead girls have been found on. Yes, I’ll break into his house if it helps get evidence of who he is.”

“And you think the police will thank you for breaking and entering?”

“The police would never find out.”

“Oh - sorry - I forgot. You’re the judge, jury and executioner. Should have told me over dinner the other day.” He took a deep breath before he slowly let it back out again - trying hard not to let the rage overcome him. “Just let me out of this fucking house and stay away from my family. Your wife too. Stay away from us.”

Mike and Ryan held each other’s gaze for a moment before Mike took a step to the side, giving Ryan access to the front door. Ryan paused a moment - half expecting another back and forth. Nothing was said. He opened the door and left. As he walked over the garden he didn’t bother minding the flowers like he had on previous trips across the grass. He just stepped on them. Squashed flowers symbolising the crushing of neighbourly relationships. He opened the door and stormed through to the lounge where Dee was sitting with Jackie - enjoying their hot drinks and a couple of biscuits.

“Sorry,” said Ryan, “Mike was asking after you. I said you’d be right over.”

“I’m sure he can wait five minutes,” Jackie laughed as she took another sip from her drink.

“Your drink is on the kitchen side,” said Dee - not sensing the foul mood Ryan was trying to hide from his neighbour.

“I think it was important,” he pushed Jackie. She took the hint.

“Oh, right,” she turned to Dee, “well I’d best get back and see what’s wrong. He’s been acting strange all week so clearly there’s something he wants to talk about.” She laughed, “As long as he’s not having an affair…I think I can handle anything else he throws at me.” She stood up. Dee stood up with her and walked her to the front door.

“Thank you for today,” she said, “we’ll have to do it again sometime soon.”

“Of course but I think my credit card needs a little time to heal first,” Jackie laughed.

“Tell me about it!” Dee opened the door and Jackie stepped out, calling her daughter as she did so. Kara came running down the stairs and joined her mother on the doorstep. “Got everything?” Kara nodded. “Okay well - take care and chat later.” She closed the door after her neighbour had also said her goodbyes. When she turned back to the living room she noticed Ryan was standing there - a pissed off expression on his face. She presumed it was to do with the credit card admission. “Don’t fret, I didn’t spend much!”

“I don’t want you seeing her again.” Ryan snapped.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t want you seeing any of them again. You hear me?” He waited for her to agree to his demands.

“Where did this come from? I thought you liked them?”

“I don’t want to go into it. But I don’t want you, or the girls, hanging around with them. Okay? They’re not right. Trust me…” He turned and walked towards the kitchen where his cup of (now lukewarm) tea was waiting for him. Dee followed him.

“No - you can’t just stop me from seeing them without telling me why. What brought this on?” Ryan didn’t answer her. He just stopped by the back window and stared out of it - cup of mildly-warm tea in his hand and a blank expression on his face. Unknown to Dee, he was replaying the whole conversation he’d had with Mike and his son back through his head; haunted by how obsessed they both seemed to be with the recent killings. And to think - he had said to Dee that it was only a matter of time before people set up vigilante groups. Was this the start of it? Had he moved into the worst possible area? Vigilantes on one side of his home and a killer on the other side? And what of his other neighbour - the quiet one - why’d the police come for him? Is it all related?

He was still wearing the trousers he’d worn to work for the last two days. He reached into the pocket and pulled out a business card belonging to Detective Andrews - the lead detective in charge of Vanessa’s disappearance. Ryan contemplated phoning him. He figured he had a right to know why the neighbour was pulled from his home. He had a family to protect after all.

Dee pulled him back to reality, “Until you tell me what your problem is - I’m going to do as I please.” She turned from the room and shut the door, closing him in with his thoughts. The last thing he heard from his wife as she walked down the hallway (back to what he presumed to be the living room) was that he was being ridiculous. He was tempted to call her back, bring her back in, and explain everything but she’d probably still think he was being silly.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I looked at the pretty girl. Claire. All this time and she was right on my doorstep. Just goes to show I needed to get out a little more. Met my neighbours. Had it not been for them coming around my house, I might never have noticed her. The fear in her eyes was evident. And for good reason. The news programmes had done a really good job of sensationalising what I do. Not saying that the reality of the situation will be better than what’s reported - it’s just nice that it gives my ladies something to expect. Something to look forward to. Something to dread. I smiled at her as I pressed the knife against her cheek. She tried to pull away but I stopped her with a strong grip of the back of her head with my other hand. She whimpered. I smiled. I like it when they whimper. Their pain, their fear, their sense of dread - it’s all music to my ears. I love it. With no warning (for her) I threw the knife onto the cellar floor. The blade pierced the floor andthe knife was left quivering upright. She screamed out with fear. Don’t blame her. It was quite close to her foot. Such a pretty foot. I’d already taken her shoes and socks off so that I could see her feet. Her prettily painted toenails…Her toes…A shudder of excitement ran through me as I thought about what I was going to do to those pretty little toes. Not yet though. As always I start with the finger nails…I reached under the chair on which she sat and pulled out the pliers. I held them up to her face so she could get a good look at them. Rusty gold pliers tainted with the dried blood of the other ladies who’d had the displeasure of meeting them. I moved them down to her hand and gripped the nail of her index finger with them, applying enough pressure as to make it go white. I wonder - does she have any idea as to how much this is going to hurt? I do hope so. Still, I suppose it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t realise for it won’t be long before the pain makes itself known.

“Please don’t. Whatever you want. I’ll get it for you. Anything. Please.” The voice didn’t belong to my pretty neighbour. It belonged to her father. The idiot who introduced me to his daughter. The idiot who introduced me to my new play-thing. “Please,” he said again.

“Ssh.”

She went to open her mouth again so I yanked on the nail. It split away from the girl’s hand with ease leaving a little bloody slice of skin gaping behind. She screamed. He screamed. We all screamed together.

* * * * *

Ryan woke with a start and bolted upright in his bed. The moonlight spilled in through the window illuminating his room as though it were day as opposed to night. Ryan’s heart was beating ten to the dozen. Beads of sweat were running across his forehead as though he’d recently run a marathon.

“You alright?” Dee asked from her pillow on the bed next to where he lay. He looked around to her. The sleepy look in her glazed eyes told him he’d disturbed her sleep.

“Bad dream,” he said, “it’s fine. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.” Dee didn’t need telling twice. Before he’d even finished his sentence she was practically asleep already. Ryan carefully crawled from the bed so as not to disturb her again. He looked out of the window and noticed a taxi sitting in the road just outside of his house. The driver of the cab reached up and turned the interior light on illuminating both himself and his fare. The neighbour. What had the police officer called him? Mr. Reynolds was it? Mr. Reynolds leaned forward to the driver and handed him what must have been some money before he opened the car and slid from the seat. He slammed the door and watched as the taxi drove off. And then he froze. What was he doing? Ryan squinted into the night to try and see. The tall man slowly turned around until he was staring right up at Ryan’s window. Ryan panicked and ducked down. He couldn’t have seen him watching him. He couldn’t have. It’s not as though they had any lights on in the room. Maybe he just sensed he was being watched? Slowly Ryan positioned himself next to the window so he could move himself up in order to see over the ledge and outside once more. Mr. Reynolds was still standing there - staring straight back into the room. What was he doing? Ryan continued to watch as the man slid his left hand into his trouser pocket. Seconds later he pulled out some keys and a few more seconds after that - he finally turned his attention towards his own home (his front door in particular). Without looking back, he continued down his own drive and out of Ryan’s vision. Ryan didn’t dare move from where he was still crouched next to the window even though he knew he was being stupid. If the man had been released from questioning - surely the police didn’t consider him to be dangerous. Clearly he wasn’t the man they were looking for. He’d helped them and they’d let him go. Everything was fine. Mike and his son, Thomas, were wrong. He wasn’t the threat they believed. He was just a quiet man who preferred to keep himself to himself. Ryan didn’t understand how he wasn’t able to move then. If he really believed that - surely he had nothing to fear from him?

* * * * *

The rest of the night had dragged. It was hot and sticky, but Ryan wasn’t comfortable in opening the window to let some air in. His imagination got the better of him. So, the neighbour looked to be innocent of whatever the police wanted to talk to him about. So what? It didn’t detract from the fact that somewhere - out there - a killer was lurking and there was nothing stopping said killer (in Ryan’s imagination anyway) from climbing in through the open bedroom window and killing everyone in the household whilst they slept.

By the time Dee stirred from her sleep, Ryan was already dressed in a fresh suit ready for a day at the bank.

“You’re going to work then?” Dee asked.

“I haven’t heard anything so I guess we’ll be open today.” Unless another package was sent to them - a thought which passed through his mind but remained unspoken. There was no point in saying anything like that to Dee. She’d only worry that whoever took Vanessa could come back and hurt her husband. Ryan internally told himself off. There’s still no proof that Vanessa hadn’t just walked out. Just because they can’t get hold of her, or her parents, it doesn’t mean she’s been taken. Chances are she’s just been taken on holiday by her mum and dad. Somewhere nice and hot, Ryan hoped. Besides - there was no evidence that suggested the person in the news took old people; like Vanessa’s mum and dad. If he did take them all then it meant he’d changed his pattern and Ryan knew - admittedly from the films he watched - that it was rare for serial killers to act in such a manner. “Did you need the car?” he asked Dee. She shook her head and snuggled back down into the bed as though telling him she planned to stay there all day. Bitch. Not long left now before the school holidays were over and she’d be getting out of bed at the same time. Not long at all. She should just enjoy it whilst she could. Part of Ryan wished he still had more holidays to take at the bank. If so - he’d be sure to time it with Dee’s first few days back in the classroom. She’d have to get up and he could snuggle down in the comfort of their bed. See how she liked it.

Dee stretched and reached over to her phone, which rested on the bedside cabinet, “Look at the time. Why didn’t my alarm go off?”

“You looked peaceful. I was up so I turned it off. Thought you might have wanted to sleep in.”

“I could have made you breakfast.”

“I’m sure I can work a toaster.”

“So I get breakfast in bed?” she asked with a cheeky grin.

He smiled at her, “If only I’d got dressed a little quicker. Now I just have to grab my toast and run. Sure one of the kids will sort you out though,” he smiled again. Not because he knew one of the girls would look after their mother but more because the thought of one of them actually doing anything to help around the house tickled him. He opened his cupboard and reached for his tie before putting it around his neck, “What are your plans for the day?” he asked.

Dee shrugged. “Not sure.”

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he continued, “I don’t want you seeing the neighbours.”

“What did they do to piss you off so much? I happen to like Jackie.”

“Just trust me, okay. They’re not good people.”

“They’re fine.”

“I’m not going to argue about it with you, Dee. Just, for once, listen to me…” he shot her a stern look. A look he didn’t often give her but one which always made her feel like one of her naughty school children.

“Fine. But you’ll have to tell me sooner or later. In the meantime - what do I do if Jackie comes over? I’m not just about to be rude to her without knowing the reasons.” Dee knew she would still see her neighbour. They were friends after all. In her eyes it was Ryan who was being stupid. Maybe he did have reasons for his family to keep their distance from the people next door but, if he wasn’t prepared to share his them - she had no reason to listen.

“Just make an excuse. Same goes for the kids.” Ryan turned to Dee. He finished putting his tie on and straightened it. “How’s that?”

“Fine.”

Dee didn’t continue the conversation about the neighbours. She could see it would only escalate to an argument she couldn’t be bothered with and Ryan didn’t continue it either (for much the same reasons).

“Are you sure you don’t need the car today?” he asked.

“No. It’s fine. I’m going to stay home. Thank you.”

Ryan walked over to Dee and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Every morning when one of them had to get up (and the other didn’t) it was the same. Never kiss on the mouth. Not first thing. Not with the morning breath given off by the one who’d only just stirred from their slumber.

“Coming downstairs?” he asked. “I literally have time to brown some toast and I’m gone.”

“Do you mind if I stay in bed?” she asked. She snuggled down again.

“I hate you sometimes,” Ryan smiled at her. “I’ll text you at lunch.” He walked from the room after giving her another kiss on the forehead. As he made his way across the landing, towards the stairs, he stopped by Claire’s bedroom. The door was shut. He went to knock on the door but stopped himself. He wanted to tell her he’d seen the neighbour come home during the night - just to put her mind at ease that he couldn’t have been that bad if the police let him go again. It wasn’t important though. At least not enough to wake her. He’d tell her in the evening when he returned from the bank. He continued across the landing.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

My visitors annoyed me. Of all the times for them to come round - uninvited I hasten to add - they had to choose then; the moment I’d chosen to introduce myself to my new play-thing. I was standing in front of her. She was still unconscious. I had tried slapping her in the face, gently, to try and bring her back to consciousness but there was nothing. The lights were well and truly out. I was so frustrated my hands were visibly shaking. I shouldn’t have hit her so hard but I didn’t have a choice. Had I not silenced her, she would have alerted them to her presence and the game would have been over. Looking at her now, I wonder whether she’ll even wake up. She’s breathing funnily. Unless…A fleeting thought passing through my mind…maybe she is pretending. Maybe she’s playing dead in the hope I’ll leave her alone. I couldn’t help but smile. One way to find out. You know, just to be sure. I reached under the chair she was still sitting on (and bound to) and pulled out the pliers again. As always, I start with the fingernails.

* * * * *

Ryan pulled up into the car park - across the road from the bank - with his thoughts still stuck on his broken dreams. His imagination working overtime questioning what he’d do if the serial killer did manage to get his hands on his daughter. His thoughts were so poisoned with dark scenarios - he barely remembered the actual drive to work. They called it driving amnesia. He pulled the key from the ignition and sat back in the seat.

“Come on, pull yourself together, pull yourself together…” He took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm his thoughts. When he realised they weren’t going anywhere any time soon - he threw his seat belt off and climbed from the car. He slammed the door shut. Already he could tell today was going to be a bad day.

When he was out of the car he surveyed the car park. Only one police car today - parked in the far corner of the car park as though it had been there, tucked away, all night. Ryan wanted everything to be over now. He wanted Vanessa back at work - where she belonged - or at least for the bank to have received word that she was alive. He wanted the murderer caught so he could relax and he wanted his family to be happy. Better yet - he wanted them back in their own house. The one they had had before the financial difficulties. The one they had before moving to where they were now. He couldn’t help but feel this whole mess started when they moved. He knew Vanessa’s absence was nothing to do with changing house. But the paranoia he felt, that the murderer was close to his own life, was no doubt brought about by the stress of moving. Stress, lack of sleep and the fact he didn’t feel comfortable in the new home yet. He felt out of place - a feeling he knew would have passed had he had the opportunity to relax in the new accommodation. Instead of the chance for relaxation, though, he just found more stress. The argument with his neighbours hadn’t helped but - after last night’s dreams - he couldn’t help but think about what they’d said.

“Scum like that doesn’t deserve to be alive.”

All the time they’re alive they’re a burden to the society they once plagued. They cost the tax-payer money and they live their lives in what some prisoners have called ‘luxury’ (despite others saying to the contrary). It would just be society’s luck that, if they did find the killer, they’d realise he was one of the ones who relished living within the prison walls. And if that were the case - clearly the justice system would have failed the victims’ families. Ryan felt himself getting worked up and immediately felt stupid for doing so. They hadn’t even caught the man (or woman) responsible for the killings and yet here he was getting worked up at the prospect of the person enjoying his life in prison. He shook the irritating thoughts from his mind and hurried towards the  main entrance of the bank where he knocked on the door. A brief pause before the manager opened it - as per usual.

“Good morning!”

“Morning,” said Ryan. It had been the first time since coming back to work he’d seen his manager remotely jovial. He couldn’t help but wonder whether he knew something Ryan didn’t. He stepped over the threshold and instantly noticed two officers monitoring camera footage in the manager’s office. “Have they found anything yet?” he asked. He knew the answer. Had they found anything he was sure they wouldn’t still be sitting in the office reviewing footage of the customers who frequented the building.

“Still reviewing footage,” he replied. “It’s strange - we see the customers come and go on a daily basis but…Well I was watching some of the footage. I didn’t realise some of the customers came in more than once a day. And some of them only wanted to be served by Vanessa. You can see it in the footage. They purposefully let other people go in front of them just to ensure they’re served by her.”

“Really?” Ryan hadn’t noticed this before either. As his manager stated - when you’re busy working you rarely notice little things like that. It was definitely odd though. Most of their customers they’d only see once (maybe twice) a week.

“Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Reynolds in particular. Both of them came in multiple times on the last day Vanessa was in.”

“Mr. Jenkins? As in Peter?” Ryan knew Peter. A man in his early thirties. Tall with dark hair. There was no denying the man had a soft spot for Vanessa. Even if he wasn’t served by her - he still couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering over to where she was serving her customers. He certainly wasn’t a murderer though. At least - not that Ryan believed. He was a quiet spoken, but polite man. Multiple trips to the bank as he was trying to get his affairs in order. Something he had said in passing - he was leaving soon. He hadn’t said where he was going but - at one point - he’d thanked Ryan for all his help over the past few months.

“From what I understand the police are talking to them both - and a few others from the tapes - in the hope of ruling them out from anything suspicious.” He shook his head, “The whole thing seems silly to me but I guess they daren’t leave any stone unturned.”

“Did they say anything about the,” Ryan hesitated, “package which was delivered?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Wait a minute - did you say Mr. Reynolds?”

“Yes.”

“He’s my new next door neighbour!”

The manager laughed, “Best hope it’s not him they’re looking for then!”

Ryan didn’t laugh. He turned and ran from the building. The manager called out after him but he ignored his voice and continued across the road and back towards his car. In his mind all he could think about was the possibility of Mr. Reynolds being in on what was happening. Yes, the police had taken him in for a few questions which related to the disappearance of Vanessa but what if he was clever enough to appear innocent despite being anything but. And the dream - the dream of the man cutting his daughter - was plaguing his thoughts too. What if this was nothing more than a premonition? He quickened his pace until he was at the car. A quick twist of the key, in the door lock, and he was in, guiding the same key into the ignition. If Ryan had stopped, for a moment, and listened - he’d have heard a quieter part of his consciousness screaming at him that he was being ridiculous. But he didn’t stop for a moment. He just wheel-span from the car park and sped off down the road - back towards home.

* * * * *

Claire was sitting at her desk. She’d not long been out of bed and was back to doodling in her pad again. There was not a lot else to do in a place you didn’t know and where you’d not had the chance to make new friends - other than the weirdo next door who seemed a little too obsessed with serial killers. She stopped sketching as a coldness rushed through her. That feeling again. The sensation of being watched. She turned to her bedroom door. It was still shut. Just being stupid. She glanced out of the window and froze. Out there - standing in his garden - was the next-door neighbour she’d met (briefly) the day before. He was standing in one of the only clearings of his garden and staring right up at her window. He saw Claire had noticed him and smiled. She couldn’t help but smile back. A smile of nervousness. He waved. Slowly Claire moved back away from the window and - more importantly - his line of vision. What the hell was he doing out there? Just standing there waiting for her to appear at the window? And when did he even get home?

She crossed the room to where her mobile phone was charging on the bedside cabinet. She knew her father was at work but it didn’t mean she couldn’t text him. He wouldn’t get the message immediately - what with being stuck with customers - but he’d see it on his break at least. And with any luck, she thought, he wouldn’t have had his first break yet. She opened up a new text and quickly tapped out a new message asked for him to give her a call. Little did she know - he was only five minutes away now.

Ryan couldn’t help but wonder whether Mr. Reynolds (what was his first name?!) had recognised him when he had gone to introduce himself. Maybe that was why he hadn’t wanted to open the front door to him? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to be recognised by the bank worker? Why? Did he have something to hide? Why else would you hide away? Ryan pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. Fuck the possible speeding fines, he just wanted to get home in a timely fashion.

His mobile phone signalled the arrival of a new text message. Despite knowing better, he reached into his pocket and read it. His daughter’s text message made his heart skip a beat. She rarely text him asking for him to call her and he couldn’t help but over think the situation until he’d settled upon the worst possible scenario. It was now he wished he had a faster car.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The smell of desperation emulating from the play-things turns me on greatly. The only time I ever really noticed scents. Growing up - my friends used to say they loved the smell of a hot meal cooking (usually a roast) on a cold, rainy day. Other friends said they liked the smell of fresh cut grass and others were attracted by the smell of rain after a hot spell. Not that we get a lot of hot spells in this dirty country. I guess, growing up, they went abroad a lot. Those smells never did anything for me, though. Sure I could smell them but they never made me feel alive. Or maybe they did but only now do I realise it wasn’t as much as I’d first believed - now I finally knew a scent which really got my juices flowing. The girl was awake now. Finally. And the fear and desperation coming from every pore of her skin - most arousing. I ripped the final nail from her right hand and relished in the sound of her scream. I dropped the pliers onto the floor - along with the nail - where they landed with a bloodied thump.

“Please stop!” she kept screaming again and again. Not sure why. Just as I tell all my play-things, I won’t stop no matter how much they beg or what they offer.

I reached under the chair and onto the tray, which rested there. My little tray of tricks. I opted for the knife. I’m not sure why but I kind of fancy having another go at slicing skin from bone. Another attempt at making myself a suit from my play-thing. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll manage it and venture out of the house dressed as them. See if I can continue living their lives as they did before I stole them away. I laughed at the idea. I know it’s crazy. I know it’s stupid. But it’s still funny. Imagine going to see her parents. Imagine if they don’t see through the mask. Imagine spending a whole Sunday with them, perhaps sharing lunch, and finding out more about who I’d be pretending to be. Maybe - at the end of the evening - I’d pull the mask away and show them who I really am. Reveal The Evil Lurking Within.

I nicked the top of her forehead with the knife. Just enough to be able to get a good grip on the skin. Something to hold onto as I pull it away whilst making further incisions with the sharpened blade. I just hope she sits still. Such a delicate procedure.

I stopped what I was doing and looked her in the eye, “Are you ready?” I asked.

“Please don’t.”

“You may wish to brace yourself.” I gave her a comforting smile.

* * * * *

Ryan was standing in Claire’s bedroom. He was looking out of her window, straight into the neighbour’s garden.

“And he was just standing there?”

“Yes!”

“Well what was he doing?”

“Nothing. He was just staring up at my window.”

Ryan stepped away from the window and turned to his daughter. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, “He’s just a bit strange. Just ignore him. If he were dangerous - or if there was even a chance of him being the man they were looking for - the police wouldn’t have let him go. Just think of that. They picked him up. They released him…”

“Yeah because they never make mistakes do they!” the sarcasm was thick in her tone of voice. Ryan chose to ignore it as Dee walked into the room.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“The bank was shut again,” Ryan lied. He shot Claire a look - a look which told her to keep her mouth shut and not to say anything to her mother.

“Really? What - no one was there?”

“Only the manager and a few police officers again. They’re still reviewing the footage…”

“Anything?”

“Not yet.”

“You’d think they could open though. Must be losing money…”

Claire looked uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as how Ryan was feeling. They both just wished Dee would drop it. Better yet - leave them alone again so they could continue their conversation.

“Maybe they’ll open tomorrow,” he said.

Dee nodded. “Well I’ll leave you two to it.” She turned back to the door, “Oh - just so you know though - your manager phoned. He was wondering if everything was okay and asked that you call him when you get in.” She didn’t wait to hear Ryan’s reaction (which was only to mutter the word ‘shit’), she simply walked from the room and closed the door behind her.

Claire looked at her father’s (now anxious) face. “Why don’t you just tell her?” she asked.

“Because it’s something else to stress about, isn’t it? You hate it here, our neighbours on both sides are weird, everything is just weird at the bank…” he felt himself off-loading to Claire. He hadn’t meant to but it had been only a matter of time. He could only keep everything buried, within, for x amount of time. And this - the fact he’d been caught lying to the woman he’d promised never to lie to - was the final straw. The one which broke the camel’s back. “Fuck!” He realised his language, “And don’t let me hear you say that either.”

“Just tell her, dad. She needs to know.”

Ryan sighed. Claire was right. Even if he didn’t want to tell Dee - he didn’t have a choice now anyway. Not now he’d been caught out lying. “You’re right,” he said. “Okay - keep your sister out of the way, yeah?”

Claire nodded. “And then we can move back home.”

“This is home.”

* * * * *

Dee was washing up in the kitchen. She didn’t need to. They had a dishwasher. Ryan had bought it with a month’s bonus a few years ago because he hated the deal the married couple had; Dee did the cooking and he did the washing up. Now it became - Dee did the cooking and he put the dishes in the dishwasher. Sometimes he even made the girls do it. When he did, Dee didn’t moan. It wasn’t as though they did anything else to help around the house and it still meant she didn’t have to do it herself. Ryan walked in behind her and closed the door so no small ears could hear their conversation. Dee knew he was there, behind her, but she didn’t turn to him. She just continued washing up the dishes from breakfast.

“We have a dishwasher,” Ryan pointed out, “you don’t need to do that.” Dee didn’t answer him. Just carried on washing up. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” Those were the magic words. She stopped washing up and turned around.

“Why did you?”

“Didn’t want to worry you.”

“What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange for days now. What is it?”

“This whole thing at the bank.”

“Vanessa?”

“Not just her but the girls in general - the ones in the newspapers.”

“The dead ones?”

“If Vanessa’s been taken by the serial killer - that’s right on the doorstep. That’s practically in our home. It might as well be for how it’s affected me.” Ryan shifted on his feet. Dee could see that just talking about it was getting him stressed again. “Could have been Claire. Or Jen. Imagine if they’d been taken?”

“But they haven’t.” She paused a moment, “So what’s the story with our neighbours then? Why am I not allowed to see them?” Ryan shifted on his feet again. “Ryan…” Dee pressed him.

“Their son…”

“Thomas.”

“He started telling Claire that our other neighbour is the killer.”

“What?”

“You came in yesterday with Jackie and the kids. I went next door to tell him not to put silly ideas in her head. She doesn’t need them. You know, as much as I do, she is struggling with this move. And that little prick isn’t helping her settle, you know?” He took a breath. “Well I went there to tell him to keep his ideas to himself and Mike walked in. He thinks the same. He agrees with his fucking son. More than that - they’re talking about breaking into the man’s house to get proof. Something about him going mad after the death of his partner, or something like that…”

“They want to break into his house?”

“Yes. Find proof that he is the murderer.”

“They’d find the killer and then get arrested for breaking and entering? It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - I’m pretty sure there isn’t some get out of jail free card you can use. What does Jackie think?”

“I don’t know - she was here with you. For all I know, though, she feels the same way. And that’s why I just want us to keep our distance from them. Oh - with regards to the police - the way they were talking; they weren't discussing taking the matter to the law. They were talking of taking the law into their own hands.”

“What?”

“A taste of his own medicine.”

“A taste of his own medicine? What’s that even supposed to mean? What - they want to torture him? They think that’s acceptable?”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Dee. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you! These people think it’s okay to break into someone’s house and they think it’s okay to take justice into their own hands. They’re trouble.”

“I don’t think Jackie…”

“Please don’t argue with me on this,” Ryan cut in. “I mean it. They’re trouble. And I don’t need them upsetting Claire anymore. Or accidentally saying something in front of Jen.” He leant back against the kitchen worktop. “The move was hard enough,” he whined, “we don’t need this too.”

Dee hesitated. She wanted to say something to make him feel better but could only think of one thing to say, “What about the neighbour? The other one? The one they believe to be a murderer. People don’t just decide someone is a murderer without something prompting them to do so. So why would they say it?”

Ryan shrugged. “I went round there yesterday to introduce myself,” he explained, “the guy is quiet, yes, maybe even a little weird but I don’t think he’s a killer. A hermit perhaps. Besides - if the police thought he was a risk they’d have kept him in.”

“Kept him in?”

“They picked him up yesterday,” Ryan said. “But they let him go. So clearly the guy isn’t who they’re looking for.”

“Well they must have had reason to think he could have been responsible or else they wouldn’t have taken him in.”

“They just needed to rule him out. Hell, the only reason he was picked up is because he’s a one of the bank’s customers. It just so happened he was caught on camera frequenting the bank more than once a day and that he’d always insist on being served by Vanessa…”

“What and you still think he is innocent?”

“What?”

Dee sighed, “Your colleague is missing. He has been stalking her…”

“I wouldn’t say he was stalking her…”

“He went in - more than once a day - and only got served by her? And now she is missing? Ryan, alarm bells are ringing!”

“The police let him go!”

“A lack of evidence to keep him in doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty. Maybe the neighbours are right about him. Maybe we should be talking to them and telling them why he was taken in.”

“What are you talking about? What you think their way of dealing with it is right?”

“You’d rather live in ignorance when there is the slightest chance we could be living next door to a….”

“Why is everyone shouting?” Jen asked as she walked into the room. Claire was with her. She mouthed, to her father, she was sorry for interrupting them. Ryan didn’t react. Neither he nor Dee even realised they’d been shouting in the first place. Their voices must have gradually been creeping up the more they spoke about the situation. “I’m hungry.” Jen whined.

“Well you’re in luck,” Dee said with a false smile on her face, “your father has offered to take us out for food…Exciting, huh? Go and get your coat.”

Jen hurried from the room with an excited bounce in her steps.

“We’re going out?” Claire asked, confused as to how that had come about.

“Sure. Be nice to get out of the house, don’t you think?” Dee asked.

“I guess.”

“Then go and get your coat.”

Claire followed her sister. Dee turned back to her husband, “You need to talk to Mike and his son. Find out their exact reasoning as to why they feel he may be dangerous. There’s no smoke without fire and the fact he has been seen - often - in your bank should be enough for you to realise there’s more to him than what you believe. I mean it. Apologise to the neighbours and find out what’s what.”

“And then what? You want me to break into the man’s house and sneak around with them too? Maybe I could keep a look out for them?”

“If he’s dangerous, we have a right to know. I just want my family to be safe.” She stormed from the room leaving Ryan to his thoughts. He’d rushed home because he was worried about his family. It was an instant reaction to the situation he was presented with. He was worried about the neighbour - yes - but he was also worried about the attitudes of Mike and Thomas (and maybe even Jackie). On the drive home, he envisioned packing his family up and running away - back to the house where they once had lived. But as soon as he had pulled up in his driveway, he realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. All he knew was that his head was absolutely pounding. Stress, anxiety a lack of sleep and a horrible feeling they were all in this position because of him. He had forced the move, he had chosen the property. If they had gone anywhere else, Vanessa would still have been missing, but at least they may have had normal neighbours.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Her face was off now and she was unconscious. I couldn’t do it in one piece dammit! Her head was tilted back. A bloodied mess. Still, disappointing though. And speaking of mess - I looked down at the piles of gore I’d hacked off with the knife. Need to sharpen the blade again. The more I cut off, the harder it became to slice the skin. That’s probably why I failed to hack it off in a single satisfying cut. I tilted her head back by a handful of hair and moved my own face closer to get a good look at the mess I’d left behind. It’s beautiful. I reached under the chair and pulled another of my tools from underneath where she sat. A little trick I found to wake them up - a bottle of vinegar.

“Time to wake up,” I whispered to her. We have much to do and I’m worried it has been too long since I’d left a present for someone to find out in the woods. Need to speed this up and get something out there before I’m forgotten or no longer the leading story on the news programmes. If you’re not the top of the news - there’s little point in even being mentioned. No one remembers the little stories. I don’t want to be one of them. Jesus - starting to sound more and more like my idol, Art. I’m not him. I’m not him. I’m my own person. I’m something worse (better) than him. I’m better. Bigger and better. And to prove it - I tipped the vinegar over the play-thing’s face. She screamed herself awake. I continued to pour the vinegar.

* * * * *

Ryan and his family were sitting around the table of their local Harvester restaurant in silence. With the exception of Jen, all of them were thinking about the situation with the neighbours.

“Why is no one talking?” Jen asked. She was young, but fairly astute as to what is going on around her (with the exception of things which are hidden from her - such as horrific stories in the local papers).

“What would you like to talk about?” Dee asked her. Jen responded by shrugging. “We’re all just thinking about what to choose for dinner - that’s why everyone is quiet.”

“Well I know what I want,” Jen replied. “I’m having the chocolate fudge brownie.”

“And for your main meal?”

“Same.”

“Chocolate fudge brownie for your main and your pudding? Yeah - I don’t think so, kiddo. Nice try though.” Dee handed her the menu again, “Now why don’t you see if there’s anything you’d rather have for your main meal.”

“What are you having?” Jen asked her sister. Claire shrugged. Anyone at another table could easily spot they were sisters despite the different looks about them. They used exactly the same mannerisms.

“Gammon and egg, I think.” Ryan had chosen his meal. He closed the menu and placed it on front of the table in front of him. “Or ribs.” He tried to lighten the obvious mood at the table, “Maybe I’ll have both. Two plates. I’m a growing lad, after all…”

“Growing outward, fatty!” Dee seized the chance to join him in lightning the mood. Ryan shot her a look. He knew what she was trying to do (the same as him). Her comment was a little mis-judged though given the frosty atmosphere between them.

“I’d like a burger,” Claire placed her menu on the table on top of the one her father had used.

“That’s what I want!” Jen said.

“Well you can both have burgers!” Ryan snapped. He immediately regretted snapping at them. He leant back in his seat and rubbed his neck in an effort to try and ease some of the tension from it.

“This is nice,” Dee continued - ignoring Ryan’s comment. “We should do this more often.”

Claire looked at her. She knew something was up between her mother and father and - more importantly - she knew exactly what it was.

“Can I go and play round Kara’s when we get home?” Jen asked.

“No!” Ryan said.

“Yes. Of course you can,” said Dee. She shot Ryan a look. “I’ll take you around there when I go and see Jackie,” Dee said. She knew her comments would annoy Ryan but she didn’t care. She wanted the whole mess sorted out and the sooner the better as far as she was concerned. After all, if the neighbour was as innocent as the police believed him to be then nobody had anything to worry about from him. If anything, they might even get to know him a little better. And it meant that it didn’t matter what Mike and his family felt towards him - the man would be innocent so they’d obviously leave him alone. Everyone would go about their lives just as they had before everything had kicked off. On the flip side of the coin - if the man was a danger to their family then Mike and his son should be allowed to act accordingly. Besides - despite what Ryan told her - she didn’t actually believe they’d do anything other than hand him over to the police if they did discover something off which proved his guilt. Just because they said they’d like to give him a taste of his own medicine it didn’t mean they’d actually go ahead with it. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had mouthed off about ‘sorting’ something.

A waitress came over with her plain note-pad in hand, ready to scribble down the family’s order, “Good afternoon…Have you guys had a chance to decide what you’d like to order yet?”

“You know what - can we just get the bill?” Ryan asked her. The waitress looked surprised but nodded anyway. She went off to fetch the bill for the four drinks they had ordered when they first took their seats at the table.

“What are you doing?” Dee asked. She felt her face redden from embarrassment. It wasn’t every day someone went into a restaurant just to order four drinks before leaving again.

“You heard Jen. She wants to see Kara,” Ryan said in a shitty tone of voice, “and you want to go and see Jackie…So…Let’s go! I didn’t want to come out anyway. This was your idea and now you’ve clearly changed your mind. Well let’s save some money and go home. Jen can play with Kara, you can see Jackie and I’m sure Claire and I will find something else to do.”

Dee went to say something back but fell silent when the waitress returned with the bill in hand, “Here you go. Do you need the card machine?”

“That’s fine, thank you.” Ryan took the bill from her and opened his wallet, revealing a handful of small notes. “Sorry to mess you around. My wife thinks she knows better.” He threw some money onto the table (more than enough to cover the bill) and slid out from his seat before heading towards the exit. The waitress just stood there with a dumbfounded expression on her face. She may have seen someone come in and order a round of drinks before leaving but she’d rarely encountered an outburst like that.

“I’m so sorry!” said Dee. She kept her face averted to try and hide her embarrassment. The waitress told her not to worry as Dee ushered her family out of the door.

* * * * *

“Girls cover your ears!” Dee called back to the rear of the car as she climbed in next to Ryan who’d already started the engine up with the key. “You’re an asshole!” she said to him.

“Fuck you!” Ryan snapped straight back at her.

Claire reached across to Jen, in the back, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. When Jen looked across to her sister, to see what she wanted, Claire gave her a little wink and a smile. Her way of letting her sister know, without saying anything, that she was there for her and - despite appearances - everything was okay. Jen smiled back but her face clearly showed she wasn’t convinced everything was alright. In fact - her expression revealed she was extremely nervous about the situation. Probably more so because Ryan and Dee usually tried their best not to argue in front of the children.

“Just take me home!” Dee demanded despite the fact Ryan was already driving out of the multi-storey and heading back towards their new home. “And for the record, when we get home, I’m going to see Jackie and Jen is going to play with Kara.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I don’t want to go round,” Jen piped up from the back seat. Her mind had been changed after the arguments started - not because she didn’t want to go but because she thought her request had been the root cause of the sudden hostility between her mum and dad.

“You’re going!” Dee snapped at Jen. She was so wound up by Ryan that she didn’t even noticed. Nor did Ryan. Claire noticed though and gave her sister’s hand another squeeze.

“I’ll come with you,” Claire whispered to her. Jen smiled at her.

The rest of the drive was completed in silence - more or less. A few sniffles from an upset Jen in the back of the car and the quiet seething of both parents in the front, which was only drowned out when Dee leaned forward and turned the radio on.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The girl has no eye-lids, most of her facial skin is missing or pealed back at the very least. Her breathing has become shallow; raspy even. Her finger-nails have been removed, fingers individually broken along with her toes. Her pleas for release have stopped now. I know she’d be calling out if she could. I know that. But she’s dying. We’re getting to the end of our time together. A pity. I’ve enjoyed myself. Good stress release; an added benefit of my sexy little hobby. Anyway no time to think about that. Each moment which passes, she gets weaker. If I want to have one last bit of fun - I need to act quickly.

I kicked her chair over. It slammed back, with her on it, onto the concrete floor of my cellar. She’s barely conscious; didn’t even groan from the force of the slam. I need to be really quick if I want to feel pleasure from what’s coming. It’s not fun if they’re dead or they don’t feel what’s coming…

I walked over to the corner of the room with a newfound sense of urgency and grabbed the sledgehammer, which rested up against the battered brickwork in the corner. It’s rare they’re usually still alive at this stage of our relationship so - when they are - I like to really enjoy it. I took the sledgehammer back across to my plaything and lined it up with her kneecap. I raised the tool high up in the air and held it there - for a moment - with a tingling sensation running through my body. Not only is this fun but it also makes it easier to cut the limbs with the hacksaw, when I’m gearing up to deposit the bodies in the woodlands. The sledgehammer makes such a mess of the bone…So much easier to cut through it. A final smile and I brought the sledgehammer down hard and fast. Not only did her leg crack, her kneecap smash, but so did the chair. Foolish mistake. I should have taken her off the chair first. I should have laid her down on the cool concrete of the floor. Especially given the fact she isn’t in a position to make a run for it. One more kneecap to go and then the same for the arms - right about at the elbow joint. She isn’t screaming. Still breathing but not screaming. Pretty sure she’s out for the count again. She will not wake up again.

* * * * *

Ryan sat in his living room, alone. He’d closed the curtains blocking out the outside world. Dee and the girls had gone round to Jackie and Mike’s despite Ryan’s protests. Dee didn’t listen to him and the girls didn’t have a choice either way. Dee just wanted them all away from Ryan. Two reasons; she was angry at him and didn’t want to be around him and also because she hoped the time alone would give him some time to think about what was going on in his life. He couldn’t keep letting the stress get to him. And - more to the point from Dee’s perspective - he couldn’t keep taking it out on his family. He’d been shitty ever since he had found out that his colleague was missing from their work place. But Dee didn’t know the whole truth. She couldn’t. Ryan had wanted to tell her on more than one occasion - but he knew it could spell the end of his marriage. The end of his family. His wife would hate him. His daughters would hate him. He’d be the bad guy.

He leant forward in his seat and reached for his mobile phone, which he’d stuffed in the back pocket of his trousers. A quick search of the contacts until he came to the number he was looking for. Her number. Vanessa’s number. Of course it hadn’t been stored under her name. The number was stored under John. Ever since he found out she was missing he had wanted nothing more than to give her a ring but he was sure she wouldn’t answer. Especially if she wasn’t answering the calls from people she actually classed as true friends. What Ryan and Vanessa had - it was one night. Not even a full night. A drunken fling a few months ago, at the Christmas Party. Drunken kissing led to drunken fumbling and that led to a drunken fuck. An encounter which temporarily confused Ryan as to what he wanted with his life and an encounter which led Vanessa to believe she had a chance with him - a married man.

“I can’t,” Ryan had told her, “I’m married. I’m sorry. That,” he had paused a moment to think about what he was going to say so as not to cause more upset than necessary, “ was a mistake.”

He sat there, on the couch, and cursed himself for the choice of words he’d used when talking to Vanessa the next time he’d seen her at the bank. He threw his mobile phone down onto the coffee table in the middle of the room. He can’t call her. He can’t. If the police check her phone records (which they will) and see he’s been calling then they’d get in touch with him. They’d want to find out why he was so desperate to speak to her. Obviously he’d tell them it was because he was concerned for her - just like everyone else at the bank - but he wasn’t sure whether they’d know he’d had that encounter with her. Vanessa said she wouldn’t tell anyone but what if she’d told one of her girlfriends? And what if one of those had told the police. Ryan regretted that night more now than he’d ever regretted it before. It was months ago and he’d thought he’d got away with it but now it was more than possible for it to come back and bite him on the arse. He knew, if people had been talking, it would have been easy for them to add two and two together and come up with five. And when people come up with five - it meant he’d be a prime suspect in why she had vanished.

Part of him wondered whether he should just tell the police, on the quiet, what’d happened between him and Vanessa. Let them have the full facts before they came to him with half of the facts and a handful of half-truths. He worried though that, even doing it on the quiet, word would still come out and find its way back to his family. His family - who were currently playing happy neighbours with the psychopaths next door. The folk who seem to think they’re allowed to take the law into their own hands and act as they want. He stood up and started to pace the living room as he wondered when everything had gone so wrong for him. He regretted not taking the redundancy the bank had offered. Sure it could have led them to more problems - what with not having a job - but at least he wouldn’t have ended up moving to this house. And if he had taken redundancy when it was offered - he wouldn’t have been at the Christmas party either. His sordid little rendezvous with Vanessa would never have happened. He probably wouldn’t even be aware of the fact she was missing - although, chances were, he’d still have seen the reports on the news between the programmes he actually gave a shit about.

He picked up his now-cold cup of tea and took a swig from it. He spat the liquid back out and threw the cup against the wall where it shattered into tiny pieces.

“FUCK!” he screamed. He dropped to his knees, onto the carpet and stared into space with his mind darting in different directions before settling down upon his neighbour, Mr. Reynolds. What if Mike and Thomas are right with their conclusions? If they were then it meant Mr. Reynolds was the man responsible for taking Vanessa; snatching her away from her quiet life. Ryan still presumed the hands, posted to the bank, belonged to Vanessa and understood it meant the chances of her being alive were slim. But, what if she was still alive? What if the sick son of a bitch had kept her alive and was just teasing the other bank employees and the police department? What if there was still time to find her? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Mr. Reynolds had been questioned by the police, and they had found no reason to keep him in or go back to his property. As far as they were concerned he had been ruled out completely and was free to do as he pleased. If she were still alive and he was the killer - it wouldn’t be long until the rest of her happened to show up either at the bank or in the same woods where the other girls had been discovered dotted around the place. “Shit!” Ryan’s brain was trying to convince him that Mr. Reynolds was the murderer now and that he’d got away with his crimes. His brain was even trying to tell him, despite knowing  how unlikely, that Vanessa was still alive next door. No hands but still with breath in her lungs. The more he thought about it - despite fighting with the various options running through his mind - the more he started to worry that Mike and Thomas were actually correct with their assumptions and that they did need to get into the house to see what they could uncover. If they did it - as in Mike and Thomas…If they were the ones to break into the house then nothing could come back to Ryan or his family. It would be down to them. They’d be the ones in trouble with the law. If they didn’t find anything then - so be it - the man was innocent but if they did then Ryan could convince them to get the authorities involved. They’d arrest him, he’d go through the justice system and - more importantly - the police questioning Ryan about that night with Vanessa would never come into play meaning his marriage wouldn’t collapse. The mess it was in now, after the arguing, that was fixable with an apology or two. Definitely fixable. Dee finding out her husband had fucked a girl a good few years younger than himself - even with alcohol to blame - that probably wouldn’t be fixable.

Ryan clambered to his feet and walked over to the mirror. He stared at the reflection of the man who had risked his marriage for a drunken fuck and hated what he saw. There was no need for his marriage to fall apart. There was no need for this dirty little secret to come out into the open. No need at all. If Mike and Thomas are right - and Ryan got the police involved before they could take justice into their own hands - then everything could be fixed without any secrets being spilled.

“And if they’re wrong?” Ryan asked himself. “They won’t be wrong. It’s him. Think about it. The man was picked up by the police. He only ever let Vanessa serve him in the bank. He saw her multiple times during the day. Clearly, the guy was infatuated with her. Maybe he asked her out and she said no and so he did to her what he had done to other girls who refused his advances?” The more Ryan stood there, in front of the mirror, thinking about it - the more he convinced himself that Mr. Reynolds was the man the police were looking for and that, somehow, he’d managed to throw them off his scent. What Claire had said - in the bedroom earlier - was right; it wouldn’t be the first time someone had fooled the authorities into believing they were innocent.

Ryan hurried from the room and out of the front door, slamming it shut behind him. A desperate hope in finding Vanessa alive with Mr. Reynolds, and catching the killer red-handed clouding  his judgement.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Her kneecaps were unrecognisable now. Nothing more than smashed up mush. I envisioned the bone being but a chalky powder under the ripped skin. She’d long since stopped breathing, the shock of everything I’d put her through finally taking her to what people believe to be a better place. Part of my cruel torture being to tell them - before I start -that there is nothing better for them when they do die. There is simply nothing. Just as we remember nothing from when we’re in the womb, when we’re dead we also remember and experience nothing. We simply stop being part of the human rat race. We are simply no more.

I lifted the sledgehammer again. I don’t need to hit her joints anymore. My work on those is well and truly done. I am, however, curious as to see what would happen if I were to bring it down upon her head with as much force as I could possibly muster. How many hits before her already bloodied face is completely flat? I’m not sure but I’m willing to find out. I brought the heavy tool down flat onto her face. The loudest crack I’d ever heard in all of my life; a sound which seemed to echo around the room along with my uncontrollable laughter. I pulled the hammer away from her face and noticed her nose had completely caved in with the force of the blow. Some of her teeth had shattered whilst other teeth had ended up pointing back into her open mouth. Her jaw was also at a funny angle with the bone from the top of the jaw line poking through the bloodied mush of her face. I couldn’t help but drop the sledgehammer and fall to my knees with a fit of the giggles. I’m glad I had taken a photograph of her before I started. I’ve already forgotten how pretty she was when we first began our time together and it’ll be good to compare the before and after shots. I only wished I’d taken it a step further and videoed the blow.

* * * * *

Jackie opened the door to Ryan. She was usually a friendly, bubbly woman (bordering on irritating with how happy she appeared to be) but this time Ryan was confronted by a completely different woman; a hostile one who looked displeased to see him.

“May I come in?” Ryan asked. He felt sheepish. He wasn’t sure who’d spoken to Jackie about what he’d been saying about her family - whether it was Mike, Thomas or even his own wife - but clearly someone had been saying something to her.

Jackie held the door open, letting him walk in. She couldn’t very well say ‘no’ when his wife was sitting at their dining room table clutching a cup of tea in her hands.

“She’s through there,” Jackie pointed the way before she closed the door.

“Thank you.” Ryan walked through, kicking his shoes off before he did so, and stopped in the doorway to the dining room. Dee was sitting with Thomas, Claire and Mike. Another placemat, with another hot drink, showed where Jackie had been sitting before Ryan disturbed them. Scattered on the table were Thomas’ many handwritten notes. Everyone in the room looked up at Ryan when they noticed him. “I, er, I owe you all an apology,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been behaving and I’m sorry about what I said about your family,” the latter part of the apology being aimed at Mike.

“What brought this about?” Mike asked. He wasn’t expecting an apology. He wasn’t even expecting to see Ryan again after their last conversation. God knows he was surprised enough to see Dee and the girls standing on the doorstep when they knocked as he had been under the impression that the whole family had been banned from speaking to him (and his family).

“The police are at work,” he continued, “I know why they came to see Mr. Reynolds - our neighbour. It’s because he is a customer of the bank. Well, we have footage of him being served by my colleague - the lady who went missing…” he didn’t want to say her name again as he didn’t want to sound as if he was that friendly with her. He thought if he kept mentioning her by her name - at some point Dee might have started to become suspicious. He thought incorrectly. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. But then - his thoughts were most likely down to the guilt he felt. He continued, “They wanted to talk to him because on more than one occasion he had visited the bank to see my colleague…As in - more than once a day. The tapes showed he would let others go before him if another of my colleagues called him over. He’d let as many people in front of him, each time, as necessary until she was ready to serve him. And then, he’d go over and see her. It’s a bit strange and enough of a lead to have made the police want a chat with him.”

“So he did take your colleague then?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know,” Ryan admitted, “but it’s odd. I was thinking about what you and your boy were saying. You know, about wanting to look around his house…See if you can find anything…”

“You said the police let him go again,” Claire piped up.

“You said it yourself,” he reminded her, “it wouldn’t be the first time they’d got it wrong and let a guilty person go free.” Ryan took a seat at the dining room table. “Look I’m not saying it is him. I’m not saying he is a murderer. I’m just saying that maybe it would be worth taking a look around his place, when he is out. Hopefully you’ll find nothing,” Ryan was careful to use the words ‘you will’ as he had no intention of breaking into the man’s house, “and we can just forget this whole thing…Maybe even laugh about it.”

Mike looked him dead in the eye, “And if we find out he is the man they’re looking for?”

Ryan locked eyes, “We let the authorities know. The families who’ve lost their loved ones because of his crimes will get some closure and your son gets some great bits for his first novel. Everyone is a winner,” he finished. It felt wrong saying ‘everyone was a winner’ but it helped him get his point across. The group sat in silence around the table - each thinking about what had been said.

Dee was the first to break the silence, “You owe an apology to your other daughter,” she said. She was referring to Jen who was busy playing upstairs - well away from the adult nature of this conversation. “And you owe us a meal out.”

“Fine and, yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my plate what with one thing and another. The sooner this is dealt with - one way or the other - the better.” Ryan’s brain had almost stopped telling him that there was a chance the neighbour was innocent completely now. In his mind he was as guilty as sin, just as he was in the minds’ of everyone else sat in the room.

Mike turned to Jackie, “Why don’t you go and start dinner?” he suggested. “I take it you and your family would like to stay for something to eat?” he asked Dee.

“We wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Right, honey?” Mike looked to his wife for back up. She shook her head as if to agree with him; it would be no trouble.

“Then that’s sorted. Perhaps you and Claire would like to help Jackie? Or at least keep her company in the kitchen so she doesn’t get lonely.” Mike finished. Ryan looked at him. Not only was the guy a possible psychopath but he was also starting to come across as a male chauvinist with how he spoke to the girls. It wasn’t without reason though. He wanted the girls out of the room so he could converse with Ryan about what they needed to do next. Specifically it would be a conversation about breaking into the neighbour’s house to see if they could find anything and the less the girls knew about that, Mike thought, the better. Especially if anything went wrong - at least this way the girls could deny knowing anything. Jackie led the way through to the kitchen with Dee and Claire following. None of them protested at the orders as they all read between the lines. Mike turned to Thomas, “Want to give them a hand?” he asked.

Thomas shook his head. He knew his father was looking out for him. He wanted what was best for him plain and simple but - at the end of the day - Thomas was the reason they were all sitting around the table. He’d got Claire involved and - subsequently - Ryan and, even before that, it was his discussions with his father which had made Mike realise all was not right with their seemingly quiet neighbour. Although, in fairness, Mike didn’t need much encouragement to take a dislike to his neighbour. From the moment they had first met, back when Mr. Reynolds wife was around, he thought he was ‘odd’.

“I want to be a part of this,” Thomas said. He was smiling. The idea of breaking into someone’s house - who may or may not have been a killer - clearly turned him on and fired his senses.

“So when are you going to do it?” Ryan asked.

“We.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re going to do it. You’re a part of this now too…”

“I can’t,” Ryan protested, “he knows me. He comes to where I work…”

“He knows all of us,” Thomas pointed out, “we live next to him!”

“We’re not doing this without you. You’re as much to do with this as we are now,” Mike said. The tone in his voice was enough for Ryan to know he wasn’t joking around. “Besides it’ll be quicker if there are three of us. In and out.”

“I don’t know anything about breaking and entering!” Ryan said. The panic clearly written all over his face - never mind the fact his voice was shaky.

“And you think we do? We just put gloves on and go in via the back where no one will be likely to notice us. We’ll go down the alleyway next to your house and over his fence…If need be, break a window to unlock the door…”

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Already things were going wrong. The idea was to get Thomas and Mike to do the donkey work. They go in, he watches from the safety of his own home. Anything goes wrong - he could deny everything. “I’m not happy about this,” he pointed out.

“It’s the only way it’s going to happen,” Mike said. “Unless you’re happy to sit back and pretend everything is okay and we’ll just drop the whole thing. Hopefully, he’s innocent anyway. As you said, the police let him go so there’s a good chance all is good with him…And even if he isn’t - I’m sure he wouldn’t shit on his own doorstep…” Mike sat back and watched Ryan’s reaction. His words hit home just as he knew they would. By shitting on his own doorstep he was referring to snatching girls from where he lived. Specifically Claire who was closest to the age bracket of the girls being taken. Any age between seventeen and thirty-two so far. Again, Ryan shifted in his seat - his mind imagining the look on the man’s face when he was looking up to Claire’s bedroom window. In reality the look was that of a curious man looking into the window of a pretty girl - which wasn’t ideal - but in Ryan’s head he could picture Mr. Reynolds rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Claire into whatever room he liked to torture girls in. There was a long pause.

“So when do we do it?” Ryan asked. Ideally they’d get it done as soon as possible, in his mind. Especially if there was a chance Vanessa was still alive - a stupid thought which his brain struggled to let go of even though he knew it’d be easier (safer for his marriage) if she were dead. What happened to her now wasn’t really a priority for Ryan. Saving his marriage and family were and if that meant breaking into someone’s house to do so then so be it. Especially as he knew there could be a strong chance of the police knocking on his own door again - with the additional information, to hand, of the affair. Ryan shouted at himself internally. It wasn’t an affair. It was one night. Not even the whole night. It didn’t matter, though. When people spoke of it - if they were to speak of it - they’d blow it out of proportion.

“As soon as he is out,” Mike said. A smile spread across his thin lips. Ryan wasn’t sure whether this was because he was planning to do something to frame him (just as Ryan planned to use Mike and Thomas as the fall guys) or whether it was because Ryan was finally on side with him; driven there by sheer desperation.

“Right and how do we know when he is out?” Ryan asked. His mind already told him they’d need to be setting up some sort of surveillance on the property.

“The easiest way is to knock!” Thomas pointed out. The two grown men looked at him. It was simple, yes, but it was also effective. If he answers - clearly he is in. If he doesn’t answer then the coast was clear. Mike smiled at his boy as though it were all something to be proud of. Ryan bit his tongue. There was nothing proud about this moment. If anything this was what was wrong with society.

“Well,” Mike stood to his feet, “no time like the present.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I always fall into a little depression when I’ve finished with my play-things. My relationship with them is over and I find myself alone again. It has always been this way. Before I started taking people - things weren’t much better but my solitude wasn’t the driving force behind my choices. I couldn’t tell you what the driving forces were. I don’t know where the urges initially came from. I know I was inspired by people but that didn’t mean they were what made me actually do it. I didn’t wake up and decide to be them, or like them. It just happened. And now it has - I want to be the best I can. A strange compulsion but one I’ve grown accustomed to.

I leant back, on the cellar wall, and looked at the mess that laid across the floor before me. The blood, the mush, the various bits I’d cut off. I miss her already. Once again my time with her was far too short for what I had planned - not that I’ve finished with her completely. Not yet. I need to bag her up, later. I need to take her out. I need to dump her for someone to find. Then - and only then - will I be done with her and, once again, on the lookout for someone else to play my games.

Another knock at the door, upstairs, pulled me back to reality. My heart skipped a beat. I don’t get people visiting me. Ever. This is the second person within the space of a couple of days. Another knock. Harder this time. Ignore it. They’ll leave. Another knock.

* * * * *

Ryan was hoping the door was going to open but it was looking less and less likely to be the case. Mike knocked on the door again; three hard hits with the side of his clenched fist. Thomas watched on, smiling. Unlike Ryan, Thomas was hoping the neighbour was out. A teenager on the verge of breaking into someone’s house knowing they couldn’t get in trouble for it. Not when he had his father’s permission to be there.

They’d left the girls in Mike and Jackie’s kitchen. When asked where they were going they didn’t try and hide the truth from them. They told them they were going around to knock on Mr. Reynolds’ front door. They didn’t tell them - though - that they were going to break in if he was out. That was their little secret and would stay that way until the task was done and - more importantly - they’d gotten the facts they needed whilst also getting away with their crime.

“I think it’s fair to say he’s out,” Mike said. “We ready to do this?” Now he was the one who was looking unsure Ryan noticed. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as Ryan first believed him to be.

“Fuck, yeah!” Thomas piped up. Mike turned to him and gave him a look. Not because of his enthusiasm as to what they were going to do but because of his son’s rather colourful language. Mike’s look was enough. Thomas sheepishly looked down the side of the house, “So - that way, yeah?” He walked past his father and Ryan - leading the way down the alleyway towards the back gardens. Mike followed him as did Ryan - although Ryan did have the sense to have a quick look up and down the road to see if anyone was there, or watching them. Sadly there was no one there. No one to see what they were about to do. No one to stop them…

Ryan took a deep breath and disappeared down the alleyway.

* * * * *

Dee and Jackie weren’t really talking. They weren’t stupid. They knew what was going on. They knew where the men had disappeared to and why. It’s not as though they’d been really secretive talking about breaking into the house to have a snoop around. The only sense they had was to not discuss it in front of the younger children. The two mothers just got on with preparing the meal. Chili Con Carne tonight - mainly because it was easy to cook and Jackie had the bits in the house. It’s not as though she was expecting to cook for Dee’s family. Earlier in the day she had thought she wouldn’t be seeing any of them again - after Mike had told her what’d happened with Ryan. She thought that was it. Another neighbour living next to them that they’d know nothing about.

Jackie was browning off the mince whilst Dee was preparing the kidney beans and onions. Claire was just standing there - watching the two of them. She felt nervous of the situation still. The neighbour standing in his garden, watching her had spooked her even though her father had said he was most likely innocent. If he really believed that she couldn’t help but wonder why he was going around there now. If he was innocent there’d be no reason to go. They could just leave him be…Not that she wanted him to leave him. She wanted him to at least have a word with him. Tell him not to look into his daughter’s bedroom. Warn him off. She nervously took a sip from her summer fruit drink Jackie had earlier made for her. She swallowed it so noisily that her mother couldn’t help but to turn and look at her. Claire seized the opportunity to say what was on her mind, “Do you think they’re talking to him?” she asked.

Jackie stopped what she was doing. Claire had asked exactly the question which had been on all of their minds. She slowly turned around to Claire. Jackie had an expression on her face which neither Dee nor Claire had seen before. It wasn’t that she didn’t look as friendly as she had done previously looked. She just appeared to be more in charge than before. Whereas Mike appeared to be the man of the relationship and Jackie seemed to be the one who simply toed the line - when Dee and her family had first met them - now she appeared to be the one in charge of the situation. She was the one leading the way.

“I think you need to put the whole thing out of your mind.” Jackie said. Her voice suddenly stern. She turned to Dee, “You too. All of us. We just need to forget about the whole thing. We didn’t hear any of the conversation.”

“Why?” Claire asked.

“Do as she says,” Dee butt in. She knew exactly why Jackie said what she said. She wasn’t trying to lay the law down. She wasn’t trying to dictate what they should or shouldn’t do. She was trying to protect them if things went South. A wave of uncertainty washed through Dee all of a sudden and a sickness hit her stomach. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” she asked Jackie. Jackie looked at her. She didn’t answer her vocally but her face said everything Dee needed to know. “Claire - why don’t you go and watch the television,” Dee said to her. “Nothing else to do and we’ll be through soon.” In truth Dee didn’t want Claire out of her sight - not with everything that was going on but, at the same time, she didn’t want Claire to be part of the following conversation. Not just that, she also worried that Jackie might not open up to her if Claire was there listening too. She hoped that, with the two of them talking woman to woman, she’d be more inclined to open up to her.

“It’s fine,” Jackie said, giving Claire permission to go on through to the living room to watch the television. Claire didn’t put up any protest; she picked up her half-empty glass and walked through to the living room. Jackie followed her to push the door shut. She turned back to the kitchen worktop where she added the beans and onion to the mince. From the other room - they heard the television buzz into life.

“How many times have you found yourself in this position?” Dee asked her.

“Cooking dinner?” Jackie asked. She smiled at her. Playing dumb.

“How many times have you found yourself covering for your husband while he runs off to break into people’s homes?” she pressed her further. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been in this position, is it? I can see it in your eyes.”

“We live in a bad world and sometimes the only way to feel safe is to take a really good look at your neighbours. And to do that…We do what we need to do.” Jackie said it in such a matter-of-fact way it was clear she didn’t think there was anything wrong with their actions. “You want to keep your family safe, don’t you?”

Dee didn’t answer her. She didn’t say anything. The two of them just stood in silence for a moment. The drone of the television humming still in the background of the house. The noise of two young girls happily playing upstairs. A few more minutes went by before Dee broke the silence between the two women, “You invited me out. And the girls. Claire stayed home but ended up here, with Thomas…You knew Ryan was at work,” she hesitated a moment unsure as to whether she really wanted to hear the answer, “…Did you break into our house?”

“I was with you.”

“Your husband wasn’t. Mike wasn’t. Did Mike break into our house?”

“Of course not!” Jackie acted as though she were offended. “We’re friends!” She didn’t act well enough though and Dee saw straight through her. She had broken into their house. Not her admittedly. Her husband. He’d seized the opportunity to sneak in when they were all out. No doubt annoyed that Claire had stayed behind - Thomas had gone round and pulled her from her room, dragged her back to his place to show the many pages he’d written detailing serial killers; nothing but a ruse to get her out of the house and give Mike the necessary time to snoop around to see if they were ‘suitable’ neighbours.

The two women stood in silence again. Jackie quietly hoping she’d thrown Dee off with her lie. Dee quietly regretting that her husband had gone off with Mike and Thomas. She wanted him back by her side. More than that - she wanted them all back in their own home with the front door locked. She wanted to move away - a feeling completely  violated by what her neighbours had done.

“Just think,” Jackie said, “if they find anything - they’ll put a stop to it. They’ll be able to make the neighbourhood a safer place.”

“By breaking and entering into everyone’s houses?”

“A necessary crime. Think about the bigger picture. It’s for the best.” She looked up at the clock mounted on the wall behind Dee. “They shouldn’t be that much longer. Normally he’s in and out.” She smiled at Dee. “Did you want another drink while we wait? Could crack open a nice red wine?”

Ryan’s earlier words went through Dee’s head. His stark warning that not all was right with their neighbours. His order to leave them alone. She smiled at Jackie, “Sounds nice,” she said. She watched as Jackie pulled a red wine from a wine rack over by the microwave and couldn’t help but wish she’d listened to her husband.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I heard a door from somewhere upstairs splinter as someone used force to come through it. Did someone really just break into my house? For once did my play-thing come to me? I won’t pretend to be a little disappointed. I do enjoy the hunt - looking for new prey - but it’d be rude not to play with whoever has dared breach my property. Especially as they’re uninvited. Despite the fact someone had just broken in - I couldn’t help but smile. Most people would have been angry. Some people would have even been scared. Not me, though. I’m actually finding it a little funny. Of all the houses they chose to broke into…Boy did they choose the wrong house…I quietly reached down for the knife I’d earlier used to slice my play-thing’s skin. The trick will be to maim them enough that they can’t get away but not so much that they bleed out before I’ve gone through the motions with them. It’s a fine art. I walked to the stairs of the cellar and paused. I listened intently. A voice. Someone is calling out up there.

* * * * *

“Hello?!” Ryan called out into the darkness of the house.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Mike asked.

“Making sure he’s out.”

“He’s out. We knocked. Remember?” Mike snapped.

“I guess. And if he didn’t hear the knocking - I’m sure he would have heard the door breaking, right?” Ryan had had enough of Mike’s shit; the way he went around thinking he was the one in charge. He wasn’t. No one was in charge of the situation as far as Ryan was concerned. The whole thing was a train wreck. A point proven when Thomas broke the back door. So much for sneaking in and out without being noticed. There was no way Mr. Reynolds wouldn’t notice a broken back door when he did get home.

“Just shut the fuck up!” Mike snapped. His earlier disapproving look at Thomas, for his use of bad language, seemed somewhat hypocritical now but no one picked him up on it as he started looking through the various cupboards in the kitchen. Thomas started at the other end of the cupboards - pulling each one open, having a quick root around before closing it again.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Ryan asked.

Mike didn’t even look at him when he spoke, “Anything that’s out of place…Suspicious…”

“I’m sorry - I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” Ryan snapped back having sensed a tone in Mike’s voice. After tonight, no matter what they found, he wouldn’t be speaking to him again even if Dee did want to stay friends with them. He wanted nothing to do with them. More so, a tiny part of him just wanted to cut his losses and move out. Find somewhere else to live. Perhaps rent for a while - somewhere in the countryside (they couldn’t afford to move there). A nice quiet house in the middle of nowhere with no neighbours. The sound of a plate crashing to the floor, smashing into a dozen small pieces, pulled him back to his current situation. He turned around, in the direction of the noise. Thomas was looking sheepish and Mike was looking angry.

“It was an accident,” Thomas said quietly.

Mike looked at me, “There’s nothing in here. We need to check the rest of the house.” Mike walked out of the kitchen, pushing past Ryan in the process.

“What about the broken plate?” Ryan asked.

“What about it? As you already pointed out - door’s broken anyway…No fixing that in the little time we have,” Mike walked into the living room. Thomas joined his father in the living room and started going through everything. Ryan followed but stopped in the doorway. Now he was in the house and snooping around, he couldn’t help but think he had been wrong. Especially with Mike’s erratic behaviour. The more he opened his mouth, the more Ryan felt he’d made a mistake - something he’d always known deep down. His judgement blinded by his need to keep his sordid secret and desperation in keeping his family safe.

“Maybe we’re wrong,” Ryan said. Thomas stopped what he was doing and looked at him. A disappointed look in his face. Just as Ryan had made a mistake - he was starting to think he too had made an error in judgement. He shouldn’t have trusted Ryan that was capable of doing this. He wasn’t a potential part of the unofficial neighbourhood watch. “There’s nothing here,” he continued.

“We’ve checked one room. You think we were ever going to find anything in the kitchen? We never find anything in the kitchen!” Mike stopped. He realised, all too late, what he’d said. Ryan had picked up on it too.

“You never find anything in the kitchen?”

“A slip of the tongue. Who’d hide anything in the kitchen? Nobody with any sense.”

“Look we should just go. This was a mistake. There’s nothing in here.”

“What about this?” Thomas was sitting on the floor by an open bookcase. He had a shoebox in his lap. Both of the adults turned to see what he was talking about and what he’d found. He held the box up. “Look.”

Mike shot Ryan a look and walked over to his son. He took the box from him and started filtering through it. He took it over to where Ryan was seemingly rooted to the spot. He thrust it towards his gut and Ryan caught it before looking down at the contents.

“Still think he’s innocent?” Mike asked.

Ryan reached into the box and pulled out a handful of photographs. Seemingly hundreds of photos - all of which were of young women who appeared to be completely unaware they were having their photo taken and all of them captured, in the polaroid, going about their daily lives.

“What the hell?” Ryan wasn’t talking to anyone in particular.

“If he wasn’t guilty - why’d he have this? This isn’t the behaviour of someone normal.”

Ryan threw the box of photos on the sofa and reached into his trouser pocket. He pulled his mobile phone out and unlocked the screen.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mike asked.

“What do you think? I’m phoning the police…”

“The police?”

“They need to come down here. They need to look around for themselves. What if we contaminate the evidence? What if we…?”

“We’re not getting the police involved. You do realise we’ve broken into this house…”

“….And found this.” Ryan went to dial the number. Mike stopped him by swatting the phone from his hand. It landed - screen side down - on the floor. “What the hell, Mike? We need to call them. If we touch anything we could ruin the whole investigation.”

“There isn’t going to be an investigation. You really want the police to come here? We get in trouble for breaking and entering. He somehow talks his way out of it again…Do you want that? Keep going through the pictures,” Mike picked the box up and started to thumb through the photographs again, “have you checked to see if there is one of Claire in here? Or even Jen? People like this - they don’t deserve justice. We, the people, deserve it…”

Ryan reached forward and grabbed Mike’s arm - stopping him from thumbing through the pictures anymore. “Wait!” He snatched the photographs from Mike and went back a couple. There, in the middle of the photographs, was a picture of Vanessa. She was stood outside the bank, unaware she was caught in the framing of a photo just as the other girls had been. Dressed to impress at work. “That’s my work colleague…”

“Well - damn - I guess we best phone the police…” Mike taunted Ryan. He turned around to his son who’d just been watching the two of them arguing, “What else is there?”

“I haven’t been looking.”

“Well don’t stop. There must be more.” Mike joined his son in the search.

Ryan hesitated for a moment and then helped - turning the place over in the hope of finding more than just photographs. Ryan figured he’d argue about calling the police after they found more evidence despite knowing, for sure, he had found the man the police (and media) were looking for.

“What are you doing in my house?” a meek voice asked from the hall. All three stopped their search and turned to see Mr. Reynolds standing there, in the doorway, watching them. A large kitchen knife in his left hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ryan shifted uneasily; embarrassed at being caught in Mr. Reynolds’ house and nervous as to his next move (and the fact that the man was standing a few feet away from him with a knife in his hand).

Mr. Reynolds asked again, “What are you doing in my house?” Mike noticed he was shaking as though he wasn’t comfortable with the blade in his hand.

“What are you doing with these?” Mike countered his question with another question and pointed towards the box of photographs. He didn’t take his eyes off the man although he did slightly step in front of his son. Mike didn’t think his neighbour would use the knife. He didn’t think he had the balls. The fact he was shaking suggested as much. The knife was there not for violence but rather to defend himself if the need arose. It didn’t matter though. Mike still blocked the path to his son. After all - it was better to be safe than sorry. Mr. Reynolds looked across to the photographs. His face reddened at the sight of them. He knew he’d been caught out. His hand tightened its grip on the blade’s black, plastic handle. Mike noticed that too. “I asked you a question.”

“You don’t have any right to be in here,” Mr. Reynolds said. His voice was shaking as much as his hand but it didn’t make Thomas, Ryan or Mike any less nervous about the situation they found themselves in. Mike had broken into other homes, to snoop around, but - until today - he’d never actually been caught. Not like this.

“You’re right,” said Ryan. He saw a potential way out of the mess. If he had thought about it in depth, a little bit more, he might have realized that it wasn’t a way out. It was a way of escalating the situation. “Maybe you should phone the police. Let them know we’re here,” he continued. Mr. Reynolds turned to him. The first time he’d properly looked him in the eye. These weren’t the eyes of a killer. These were the eyes of something else. Something Ryan couldn’t put his finger on. Not a killer though.

“And then we can show them these pictures too,” Mike jumped into the conversation.

“They’re not mine,” Mr. Reynolds snapped his gaze back to Mike and Thomas.

“So the police won’t find your prints on them, or anything else in the house which shouldn’t be here?” Mike asked.

“We’ll go,” Ryan pressed, “and forget the whole thing. You can go about your business and we can go about ours.” He moved - slightly - towards the door but Mr. Reynolds didn’t budge out of his way. He didn’t even make a hint as to move out of the way.

“Like hell we will!” Mike raised his voice. His gaze was fixed upon Mr. Reynolds. He tried to back him -verbally - into a corner, “What are you doing with these photographs? What? Are they pictures of the girls you killed? What’s the betting we go through here and find a picture of your wife?” he continued. He moved slightly towards Mr. Reynolds. Mr. Reynolds responded by backing away slightly.

“They’re not mine!” he continued.

“Then why are they in your house?” Mike asked - taking the lead in the showdown.

“You put them here.”

“We put them here?”

“Yes.”

“Now we both know that’s not the case.”

“Mike, let’s just go. Now isn’t the time.” Ryan said.

“Then when would be the right time? We leave and - before we know it - he’s moved out. Disappeared into the city, perhaps another city…Gone without a trace to carry on whatever the fuck it is he does.”

“I work the night shift in a supermarket,” Mr. Reynolds said - his voice still shaky and meek. If he was the killer the press had reported about, he was doing an excellent job of keeping it hidden from them. The quietness in his voice, the shaking - he wasn’t coming across as a killer. He was coming across as weak. Pathetic almost. Ryan couldn’t help but think how he’d have reacted if he were in this man’s shoes; standing in his home confronting people who’d broken in.

Ryan turned back to Mike, “I’m telling you - this isn’t right. Something feels wrong. We’ve made a mistake…”

“Then how do you explain the pictures?” Mike snapped at him.

“They’re not mine.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah shut the fuck up!” Thomas chimed in, peering around from behind his father..

Ryan turned back to Mr. Reynolds, “There are intruders in your house. You need to phone the police,” he said. “The police can deal with this.” The perfect outcome for Ryan. He’d say he was coerced into helping Mike and Thomas - for fear of his family - and the police could investigate the nature of the photos along with anything else which may have been in the house. No one would get hurt though. At this stage, with the knife pointing towards him, that was the important thing.

“He won’t phone the police,” Mike shouted, “because he knows he is in the wrong. He knows what he is. He invites the police into his home and he’s shut down. Finished. No more. Prison for him.”

“I haven’t done anything…”

“No - of course you haven’t.” Mike laughed.

“Then you have nothing to fear by calling the police. Call them. It’s okay.” Unlike Mike’s voice, Ryan’s voice was calming. Mr. Reynolds looked between the three men standing in his living room. The telephone was sitting on a small coffee table to the side of the settee. It was evident to see he wanted to use it. He wanted to phone for the police. He leaned, slightly, towards it. Mike seized the opportunity to make a dash for him - helped by the fact Mr. Reynolds was still looking at the telephone and there were only a few steps between the two of them. He hit him with his whole body weight and the two of them crashed down onto the floor. The impact caused Mr. Reynolds to drop the knife. Thomas cheered as he too rushed over to help his father. Ryan just stood there, on the spot, frozen. Part of him wanted to make a dash for the back door, part of him wanted to make a move for the phone and the other part of him was curious to see how this played out; the latter being out of morbid curiosity. Was this really the man the authorities had been hunting? He did have the photographs after all.

* * * * *

Jackie, Claire and Dee were sitting in the living room unaware of what was taking place a few houses away from them. The three of them sitting in silence as the end of a soap opera played out on the television set. All of them were watching the screen but none of them were really paying it any attention. Claire was thinking about where she used to live, and the friends she missed. Jackie was thinking about what the men were doing and Dee was wondering whether any of them would get away with what was happening. She knew it had always been the plan, on their part, to break into the house but now it was happening - and now she knew it was something they did regularly, she couldn’t help but wish she’d never become a part of it. Too late now, though. She knew she couldn’t turn back the clock.

Kara and Jen came into the lounge.

“Mum, I’m hungry,” Kara whined.

“Dinner won’t be long,” Jackie reassured her. Her tone held no emotion. Dee couldn’t help but think she’d turned off from everything - including her daughter. Perhaps that was the way she dealt with what was going on? She simply switched off. The friendly woman, Dee met when Jackie first came around to the house, making up for the times she’d turned her emotions off. Overly happy to compensate for the times she’d switched off to the world around her when she needed to be more subdued. It was a theory.

“Where’s dad?” Jen asked.

“Just popped next door with Mike and Thomas,” Dee said. She knew she wouldn’t think of ‘next door’ as being the neighbour’s house. She’d just think they had nipped to their own home.

“Why?”

“Because they did.”

“Can I go and see them?”

“Not yet - they’re busy,” Dee told her.

“Can we have a biscuit?” Kara asked her mother.

“No, you’ll ruin your dinner.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Well, I said, dinner won’t be long!”

“Well how long?”

“When your father gets back.”

“When is he getting back?”

“Why don’t you and Jen go and play upstairs,” Jackie said. Her patience clearly running out. She shot her own daughter such a look, Kara wasted no time in going back upstairs to the sanctity of her bedroom with Jen right behind her.

“We didn’t get a biscuit though,” Jen moaned before the door was closed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“This is fucking crazy!” Ryan protested. “We can’t do this!” He was pacing the living room where they’d pulled the curtains shut - blocking out the outside world from what was happening within the now-darkened room. Mike was standing in front of Mr. Reynolds who was sitting on the corner armchair. Mike had hold of the knife now and - unlike Mr. Reynolds who was whimpering - he didn’t look out of place with it in his hand.

“We’re already doing it,” Mike hissed. “Now you’re either part of the problem or you’re part of the solution. Which is it? Time to pick a team.”

“The photos…They’re not mine…” Mr. Reynolds kept saying over and over again.

“Shut up!” Mike shouted. He put the knife against Mr. Reynolds’ cheek. “Shut, the hell, up!”

“Mike, think what you’re doing. This takes it way out of breaking and entering territory into something much worse…We need to phone the police. We need to let them deal with it.”

“We’ll see what’s what when the boy comes back.”

Mike was referring to Thomas. Whilst Mike and Ryan watched their neighbour, Thomas had been instructed to search the rest of the house for more evidence pointing to the crimes Mr. Reynolds was responsible for - not that, in Mike’s eyes, any further proof was really necessary. He had everything he needed, hidden in the shoebox, as far as he was concerned. The man was guilty and punishment needed to be issued.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan told Mr. Reynolds. He didn’t know why he said the words. Perhaps to try and appease his own guilty conscience for what the man was having to go through.

“You’re sorry? You think he’s sorry for the women he cut up? You read all the reports? You read what he did to them before he let them die? Did you? I did. Let me tell you - it made for some horrific fucking reading, you know?” Mike was ranting. Any chance of a sensible conversation with him was long gone. It was clear he only had one thing on his mind. Revenge.

“We don’t know that he…”

“The pictures! What more proof do you want?”

“They’re not my pictures!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Mike turned around and hit Mr. Reynolds in the face with the back of his hand, splitting his lip in the process. Mr. Reynolds winced in pain. “You know what - that felt good.” He hit him again; a clenched fist this time. The bridge of Mr. Reynolds’ nose split open to the sound of a satisfying (or horrifying) crack. Again, Mr. Reynolds cried out; a cry drowned out by the cheer of Mike and the voice of Ryan telling him to stop. Thomas walked back into the room. He was empty handed. He froze when he saw what his father had done. A sadistic smile on his face showed Ryan’s hope of the son talking the father down was out of the window. Mike turned to him, shaking the sting from his fist, “Well - what did you find?” he asked. Thomas shook his head. “Nothing?”

“No.”

Ryan didn't feel any relief. If anything he felt worse. So far all they’d found were pictures which was suspicious but hardly enough to condemn the man. If anything Ryan would have felt better had Thomas come back with reports of dead girls stashed in the rooms upstairs. At least then he wouldn’t have felt as guilty about what was happening. Guilt? So many mixed feelings ricocheting around his soul.

The three of them stood in silence. Only the whimpering sounds of their now-hostage were audible. Mike slowly turned around to him, “You’re a piece of shit and you’re going to hell!” he said. “We know what you did to those girls. We all know. The fucking world knows. Been enough reports about it in the press. But you have a real chance to help yourself now. A chance to cleanse some of your twisted soul. And if I were you…if I were in your position - about to meet my maker - I’d take that chance of redemption. Confess…”

Mr. Reynolds stuttered over his words, “I didn’t do anything.” His protests of innocence were met with a clenched fist directly to the same spot as the previous punch. He let out a wail of pain as his head jarred backwards from the force. Thomas laughed. Ryan couldn’t do anything. Stuck to the same spot. People like him - they weren’t built for scenarios like this. It wasn’t in their programming. His place was sitting behind the desk at the bank or in his home (wherever that may be) with his family.

“What’s with the pictures? And, God help me, if you say they aren’t yours…”

“They’re pretty….” he screamed.

“What?” Mike wasn’t expecting that as an answer.

“The girls. They’re pretty. I liked them…”

“So much that you killed them?”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“You did. You cut them into tiny pieces and left them for people to find. You’re sick.”

“No. I didn’t.” He was crying now. “I just took their picture. I wanted to ask them out. I wanted to see if they’d like me but I never could. I just took their picture…”

“Are we going to find pictures of your wife in the box too?”

“My wife left me. She said she didn’t love me anymore. She said she’d met someone else from her work…”

“So you killed her!”

“I didn’t kill her! She left me!” he wept. “I loved her.”

“You killed her and you killed the girls in these pictures. Like his colleague at work.” Mike turned to Ryan, “What was her name?”

“Vanessa,” Ryan said quietly.

“I didn’t kill her. I didn’t touch her. I liked going there. I liked talking to her. I asked her out once but she said no…”

“You’re lying!” Mike shouted.

“I’m not! I just wanted someone to like me again. I just…” his words cut short by another punch to the face and another cheer from Thomas.

“Stop it!” Ryan shouted.

“He’s lying to us. Don’t you want to hear the truth from him?”

“What if he’s not lying?” Ryan asked. His tone full of desperation.

“He is!”

“I’m not!”

“Well…” Mike stood back a moment. “We’ll see…” He walked from the room.

“What are you doing?” Ryan called out after him. He wanted to follow, to keep trying to talk him down, but he didn’t dare leave Thomas and Mr. Reynolds alone. The possibility of one hurting the other being too great and - at this stage - he wasn’t sure who’d be the one dishing out the hurt.

* * * * *

Jackie was making fresh drinks for her guests who were waiting in the living room - still not talking whilst the television played whatever programme was on in the background. Jackie was so lost in what she was doing, she jumped when the back door opened and Mike walked in.

“How’s it going?” she asked. “You’ve been longer than usual.”

Mike smiled. He put his arms around his wife and gave her a hug before kissing her on the lips, “We found him, baby. We found the sick son of a bitch. All this time, right there. Just as Thomas said…”

“You’ve found him?” She smiled.

Mike released her from his grip and walked to the cupboard in the corner of the kitchen. “That’s right, baby. He has pictures of the girls collected together in a shoebox. Sick, son of a bitch had the box in his living room - in plain sight of anyone who’d come by.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bag. Sticking from the top of it was a hammer.

“What are you doing round there?” Jackie asked when she noticed the bag.

Mike flashed her another smile, “Getting a confession before passing sentence!”

Jackie didn’t know what to say and Mike didn’t wait to hear what it would be. He simply walked out of the door, closing it behind him, as though what he was doing was perfectly normal and acceptable. It hadn’t been the first time he’d broken into a house - to snoop around - but it was the first time he’d passed out punishment on the individual. The strange thing was Jackie didn’t have the words to say to him. She didn’t know what to say. Yet she didn’t seem to mind what he was doing. In fact, she took the news as though it were something as every-day as her husband going off to fix something around the house. She guessed this was because he was fixing a fault with the house. Not their house admittedly. But the fact a killer was living a few hundred yards away from where they lived - definitely a fault to be dealt with. A few more seconds as his news sunk in before she smiled to herself. She didn’t run into the other room to tell Claire and Dee though. She thought it best to keep it to herself until the task was done. She returned to making the drinks, proud of her husband. He was keeping the family safe and also saving a drop in properly value. After all - if people found out this was the neighbourhood where all the murders took place - property prices would plummet.

By the time Mike got back to Mr. Reynolds’ house all hell was breaking loose. He heard the shouting as he crossed the back garden, from the fence to the broken door. The voices belonging to his own son and Ryan. Of course one of the voices would belong to Ryan. As for the sound of Thomas’ screeching - Mike couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. This must be what their other neighbours could hear when Mike and Thomas were having one of their arguments.

He hurried through to the living room where Thomas was blocking the doorway - stopping both Ryan and Mr. Reynolds from leaving.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mike barked.

“They’re trying to leave, dad!” Thomas backed up, letting his dad through. The very act of Mike walking through pushed Ryan and Mr. Reynolds back into the living room.

“What is it with you?” Mike asked Ryan.

“Me? Look at what you’re doing!” Ryan shouted.

“Keep your fucking voice down. We don’t want anyone coming round.” He looked at Mr. Reynolds, “Sit!” Mr. Reynolds did as he was told without hesitation.

“I don’t deny he’s not strange, I’ll give you that, but he isn’t the man being hunted for the murders. He isn’t. Come on, look at him. He has made absolutely no move to try and get away or fight us…Nothing. He’s just…Fucking weird!”

“I told your wife we caught him,” Mike lied. His voice was calmer now. He hoped the words would offer some form of comfort to Ryan. A little sign that what he was doing was okay. Acceptable even. “You know what she said? She said good.”

“What?”

“She was happy. I told her what we were doing. You think she was upset? You think she reacted like you did? No. Still happy. She thought we were doing the right thing. For the sake of the neighbourhood and our own families. More than that though - we’re making things better for society. We’re getting rid…”

“Getting rid…What the hell are you talking about?”

Mike put the bag of tools onto the table, next to where he’d dumped the knife earlier, and opened it up. He took the hammer out and handed it out to Ryan who didn’t take it, “We’re getting rid of the trash. One way or the other - this is how it plays out. He confesses and we deal with him fast. He drags it out…Well we drag it out too. We do as he did to his victims.”

“What?”

“We torture him.”

“Are you messing with me? Is this some kind of sick joke?” Ryan turned to Mr. Reynolds, “Are you in on this? Some kind of sick welcome to the neighbourhood prank…Something to see the type of family we are?” He could tell by Mr. Reynolds’ expression that he had no idea what was happening or what was going to happen. He turned back to Mike, “Very funny. You got me. I believed you. You tricked me. Boy - don’t I feel stupid now.” He laughed but it was more out of nervousness as opposed to finally getting the ‘joke’.

Mike smiled at him. Ryan smiled back - he foolishly thought this was the end of it now. Mike proved to him it wasn’t. It was just the start. He smashed Mr. Reynolds in the kneecap with the hammer. Mr. Reynolds screamed out in pain and reached for his leg. Thomas laughed, as did Mike. Ryan screamed out too having also felt the pain despite not actually receiving the blow himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Mr. Reynolds was weeping, still clutching at his knee. Mike was still standing next to him with the hammer in his hand. Thomas and Ryan were standing close to the living room door - neither one of them knowing what was going to happen next. In fact no one did. Other than Mike. This was his show now.

“Why did you kill the girls?” Mike asked Mr. Reynolds. “Is it because they turned you down? You asked them out, they said no and so you killed them brutally…Made sure you did it in an ugly fashion? You take away their beauty with violent acts? Make sure no one will want them? Am I close?”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“Nope. Not the right answer.” Mike made a sudden move forward and grabbed Mr. Reynolds’ still shaking hand. He forced it down onto the small coffee table and kept it held there. Mr. Reynolds was screaming already - the knowledge of what was coming nearly as painful as the act itself. Mike raised the hammer high in the air and brought it down hard into the middle of the sweaty hand. A crack signalled that it was broken. The force of the hammer broke the skin and blood trickled out. The area, around the rip in the skin, already purple. Mr. Reynolds screamed again. “I can keep doing this all day. Just tell us why you did it.”

“I didn’t!”

Mike hit the man’s hand with the hammer again. This time straight onto the fingertips, which also broke upon impact. Another scream.

“You’re going to have to tell us the truth if you want this to stop!”

“I just took pictures of the girls. I liked them. I took their picture. I didn’t do anything else.”

“Liar!” Mike hit him again. Another hard blow, which sounded off with another satisfying crack. Another scream from Mr. Reynolds.

“Just tell him for God’s sake!” Ryan yelled at Mr. Reynolds.

“I didn’t hurt anyone. They hurt me!” he screamed. Mike let go of his hand and Mr. Reynolds snatched it back. He held it against his chest with his good hand. “I didn’t hurt anyone,” he said again, “they hurt me. She walked out. She left me. The others, they didn’t want me either. No one does.”

“So you kill them!” Mike shouted.

“No I didn’t! I’m not a murderer!”

Mike slammed the hammer down on the man’s second kneecap. He screamed out in pain once more. Tears streamed down his face as the pain was almost too much to bear.

“Please stop!”

“Is that what they said?” Mike him hit again. Another scream.

“Just fucking tell him!” Ryan said again - if only to make the pain stop for the man he wanted him to say something, anything. Even if it were a lie. “Just tell him! Something! Anything!” The amount of pain he was taking, without spilling anything, it was easy to see how he’d have managed to fool the police.

“I’m not a killer!”

Mike stepped back and dropped the hammer to the floor. Ryan audibly breathed a sigh of relief. “Son,” Mike said, “fetch me out the hacksaw.”

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked. He still couldn’t move from where he was rooted to the spot. Everything was too much for him to take in. That wasn't the case for Thomas though. He was relishing the whole experience. As per his father’s request, he hurried across to the tool bag and pulled out the hacksaw. He handed it to his father who took it with a friendly wink - a little sign, to his son, that he was proud of him.

“Make things easier for yourself,” Mike told Mr. Reynolds, “just tell us why you did it. Tell us why you killed the girls.”

“Please - I didn’t - I didn’t kill anyone,” he stuttered. He was starting to look pale. Ryan wasn’t sure how much more pain the man could take yet he knew there was going to be a lot more issued before he was released (one way or the other).

“You expect us to believe you’re just some fucking pervert going about taking pictures of girls he fancies? Collecting little mementos of girls who’d knocked him back? We don’t buy it. The police wouldn’t either, if we called them. Not that you’ll ever know what they think. They’ll never know of this. They’ll never know of what happened to you…” Mike reached forward and grabbed Mr. Reynolds’ battered hand from the grip of his good hand. He placed it on the table and held it there with his own hand whilst he lined up the teeth of the hacksaw blade - right where the fingers connected to the hand. Ryan wanted to call out. He wanted to tell him to stop but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything. He knew there was no point. He turned his back on him and closed his eyes. “Last chance. Tell us why you did it. Help us understand. Maybe we’ll understand. Maybe we’ll carry on your fine work. Convince us. Why did you do it?”

“I’m just a dirty pervert,” he stammered his words out, “I just take pictures of girls. I take the pictures and I keep them in a shoebox,” he started to cry again, “and then - occasionally - I’ll masturbate over them…”

“You’re fucking disgusting…” Mike pushed down with the hacksaw. He pulled back with his arm. The teeth tore straight through the flesh and into the bone. A sound, reminiscent of cutting wood, echoed through the room. Mr. Reynolds screamed the house down. “Shut him up!” Mike ordered anyone else in the room. He didn’t care who it was. Thomas stepped forward and clamped his neighbour’s mouth shut with his hand quieting his scream. Mike continued sawing. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before the fingers dropped to the floor with splashes of blood. It was only then that Ryan gave any thought to D.N.A evidence and the worry of what they were going to do with the body if they followed this through to the end as Mike had suggested. “You can make all of this stop,” Mike said, “just tell us why you did it!” He suddenly started slapping his neighbour in the face, “Oh no…Wake up…Don’t pass out…You’re not allowed to pass out…Tell us why you did it and I’ll let you sleep…”

Ryan turned back to face the carnage. He nearly threw up at the sight of the bloodied hand missing its fingers. “Mike - it’s one thing to break into someone’s house but this…How the fuck do you think we’re going to get away with this? You’re taking things too far. Please stop. Stop whilst we can still put things right…” He knew there was no putting things right. Things had gone too far the moment they’d broken in the house. As far as Ryan was concerned - they were already heading for a prison sentence (a thought which made him feel sick to the stomach knowing he’d be leaving his family behind), the question was now how long they were going to spend there. At this rate - most of their lives.

“All he needs to do to make this stop is tell us. Don’t you want to know what happened to your colleague? Don’t you want to know what happened to her and where she is? I do believe they haven’t found her yet. What was her name again? Vanessa. Was that it? Don’t you think her friends and family deserve to know what happened to Vanessa? This motherfucker - this cunt - he’s the one who knows what happened. He’s the one with the information.” He turned back to his son, “Hold his mouth shut again.” Thomas did as he was told. Mike took a hold of his good hand and forced it onto the table despite a brief struggle from his neighbour. He lined up the hacksaw again. He laughed as he started to saw away - he didn’t care about the prospect of prison. He knew there was plenty of time to worry about that (and fix it) after the event. For now, he just wanted to enjoy what he was doing. All the time his thoughts telling him he was in the right despite the atrocities he was committing. He was protecting the neighbourhood, his family and society. He was in the right no matter what anyone else thought.

“Stop it!” Ryan grabbed the knife from the table and dashed forward with it. Thomas jumped back, as did Mike but Ryan didn’t go for either of them. He plunged the knife into Mr. Reynolds’ throat. If the man was going to die - he’d rather it was over and done with quickly. He couldn’t let Mike and his son continue torturing him. They didn’t care why he had killed the girls. At least, Mike didn’t. He was just looking for an excuse to torture the man himself. Was that why he broke into people’s homes? Some dark desire to find someone bad enough to warrant hurting? It didn’t matter. Ryan couldn’t allow it to continue. With the knife in Mr. Reynolds’ throat, he fell backwards onto the sofa. His eyes transfixed on his neighbour as he struggled to breath around the knife poking from his throat. Bubbles of blood spilling from his mouth as he gasped. Mike and Thomas were just as transfixed with the final death throes of Mr. Reynolds. Unlike Ryan, the pair of them were smiling. A sick satisfaction at witnessing his death. A death which came fairly quickly as he breathed his last.

“What the fuck did you do?” Mike snapped. Now the man was dead, he was angry at Ryan’s interference. He had denied him his pleasure and denied Mr. Reynolds what he deserved.

“I put him out of his fucking misery!” Ryan snapped back. He didn’t move though. He was fixed to the sofa, unable to take his eyes off the dead body. In Ryan’s eyes - they were all just as bad as Mr. Reynolds. They’d become what he was perceived to be. A torturer. A murderer. But what they had become was worse and the truth of the situation was played, on the television set, in the house two doors down.

* * * * *

Dee had gone through to the kitchen to help Jackie who seemed to be taking her time with the drinks. She’d left Claire in the living room with the television playing. It was the News. Breaking News no less. Reports were coming in stating they’d found the murderer. Claire hadn’t paid much attention to the start of the report and only managed to pick it up halfway through. Something about DNA evidence found on a parcel the killer had sent to the bank. Prints which lead the detectives directly to the culprit. They’d gone around his house and kicked the door down. They’d found him red-handed, literally. Standing with the corpse of another dead girl. Claire screamed for her mum to come and see what was on the television. Both Dee and Jackie ran through and were both left, dumbstruck, by what they saw; video footage of the guilty man (some unknown man with only one minor prior) being lead to a police car. He was smiling directly at the camera and boasting he’d killed more than Art. Boasting he was Britain’s most prolific serial killer. The report ended and all three women just sat there. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to break it to the men who were busy going through the neighbour’s house (so Dee and Claire thought). Jackie was panicking slightly more. She knew the full extent of what was happening in the next house. And she knew there was very little she could do about it now. Her husband (in fact both of them) wanted their neighbourhood and family to be a safe place to live and yet - unwittingly - they had become the problem.

“We need to tell Mike!” she said. A slight crack in her voice. Before either mother could do anything to stop her, Claire jumped to her feet and ran from the room exclaiming that she’d go and tell them. When she realised what was happening - Dee chased after her daughter, followed by Jackie who knew what the girls were about to run into.

“No! Wait!” Jackie called out as she ran after them.

EPILOGUE

A neighbour from across the road had phoned the police. They’d driven home from work and pulled into their drive, just as they did every day, and had heard the screams of a man coming from across the road. At first they didn’t think much of it until the screams continued. By the time they had walked across the road, to investigate, they realised all was not right in the house. The screams were loud originally but, by the time they reached the front door, they could hear they were being muffled - as though something held over the screaming person’s mouth. They didn’t even wait to get home before they phoned the police. They pulled their phone out immediately and dialled the number.

The police didn’t take long to get there and - when they did - they were confronted with a horrific sight. Three men and three women - all in a panicked, excitable state - standing in the same room as the homeowner. Mr. Graeme Reynolds. A knife sticking out of his throat. The fingers on both (bruised) hands cut off. Two bloody patches on his knee-caps. A bloodied hacksaw on the floor next to a hammer and the back door hanging off its hinges from where they’d seemingly forced entry.

As the police lead the six of them out of the house in handcuffs they stepped over a mobile phone with a cracked screen. A message flashed up on the screen. A message Ryan would have received earlier had he phoned his boss back as his wife had instructed him too.

“Hi Ryan, just wanted to inform you…Detective Andrews phoned. They ran some tests on the parcel. The hands didn’t belong to her. They belonged to another girl who’s been missing for a couple of days now. I mean, I know it’s not good news but at least it’s not Vanessa, right? Gives us some hope. Not just that - they think they’ve found the man too. They said there were another set of prints on the box. Someone who’s known to them. That’s all they said but - could well be over now ,hey! Anyway, call me. I need to know if you’re coming in tomorrow. We’ll just put today down as a holiday day, if you want?”

A crime scene investigator scooped the mobile up, from the floor, and dropped it into a clear bag. He sealed it shut.

T H E    E N D

Discover what happened to Vanessa in‘Happy Ever After Volume 1 and Volume 2’

Discover the inspiration to The Torturer in‘ART’

Discover other hidden Easter Eggs in further reading of Matt Shaw’s work

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