Matt Shaw Publications

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may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

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The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The Farm 2

Matt Shaw

Warning:

Although this is not a Black Cover Book, there are some nasty scenes which may cause offence or upset. If easily offended, it might be worth skipping this title.

CHAPTER ONE

A Familiar Face.

Present Day.

(Canada)

i.

Rhiannon pictured her children, Alyssa and Lucille. Sixteen year old Alyssa was showing her younger sister, aged eleven, some of the purchases she had made during a trip to the stores. They were both laughing, they were both happy. A pleasant change given the fact that they often drove their mum crazy with their hormones and various boy dramas. Rhiannon smiled, wishing this wasn’t just a memory and that she was actually with her children now. She wished she could hear their laughter for real, hold them and even tell them how much she loved them - something she feared she didn’t say enough.

I love you.

Despite wishing they were together, she was grateful that they weren’t. Unlike Rhiannon, her children were at least safe and would continue to be so with their father, her husband, caring for them. Brian. Rhiannon wanted to apologise to him, for leaving him alone even though it wasn’t her fault. She wanted to tell him that, had she had a choice, she would have never left him. She’d have grown old with him and they would have watched their children grow up and get families of their own. They would have been an old couple walking around town, reminding each other of times gone by as certain landscapes and structures triggered long gone memories.

Do you remember when…

Rhiannon’s eyes started to well up. She closed them tight and a single tear spilled out, rolling down her cheek. She tried to push thoughts of her family from her mind. They weren’t helping now. Not here. If anything, they were going to make this whole situation harder for her. She didn’t want it harder.

Think about something else.  The pets. Three cats. There’s Zeus, S’more and Sweetness. And the dog too. Zooey. No, don’t think about the annoying dog. Friends. Think about the friends.

Rhiannon, or “Rhy” to her friends, held a few close people to her. Janna, Amy and one best male friend, Josh. All three of them were divorced and all three of them were desperately searching for their own Mr. or Mrs. Right although with little success. They did meet a few Mr. and Mrs. Wrongs though, recounting their dating disasters to Rhy, who’d always laugh - embarrassed for them. The sudden realisation that she wouldn’t hear such stories again hit her just as hard as the thought she wouldn’t be able to hug her family one last time either. For the second time this morning, she fought back the tears: a losing battle as thoughts of her mum and dad popped into her mind. Marilyn and Scott. Her brother Chris. Extended family: Stepmom Linda, stepfather Larry and her siblings from that side of the family - CaryAnn, Larry and Chris. It tended to get complicated at Christmas time when writing out the greeting cards.

Which Chris was this? And is this my brother Larry’s present or my stepdads?

ii.

Rhiannon shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. The restraints binding her wrists and ankles were tearing at her sore skin. Her limbs were cramping up and her back aching from where she’d been laying down. It felt as though she had been there for hours yet, in reality, it was probably less than one. Despite being on the verge of tears she tried to remain as silent as possible. She didn’t know who had brought her here but - whoever it was - she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing she was scared. She’d seen enough horror films, and read enough horror novels to know - that was what they wanted. The werewolves wanted their prey to run, the vampires wanted their victims to be seduced, the serial killers wanted to hear their captives scream. It’s what made them tick. It’s what gave them purpose and pleasure. She wanted to give her captor neither.

Give them nothing.

Desperate to get out and get home, she pulled again at the restraints but they weren’t going anywhere. Heavy knots tied tightly in the thick rope. She’d need a saw to get out and there was no such tool. She pulled again. Definitely not getting out. She stopped struggling.

Rhiannon was tied down in a small wooden shed. There was just enough space for her to be spread-eagled on the floor whilst still leaving enough room for the door to open. As for the door, it was barely hanging on its hinges. One weak kick or strong gust of wind and it would come down. There was no one in the room with her. Certainly there was no space for them to hide but it didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone standing beyond the door. The door…  Rhiannon tried to kick out towards the door but there wasn’t enough give in the rope tying her to the floor. She let out a frustrated scream and tried to kick it again. Still nowhere near close enough. She stopped fighting again and rested her head back on the hard wooden floor. Her head - once filled with memories of her loved ones - was quickly filling with questions that came with no answers. Where was she? How did she get there? Who brought here her? What did they want with her?

Will I ever see my family again?

Thoughts of her family came flooding back once more, forcing the questions to the back of her mind and catching her by surprise. Tears. One at first, followed by a second and - then - before she could get a grip, she was crying.

‘Stop it!’ she hissed at herself angry that - by crying - she was giving her captor exactly what he wanted. ‘Stop it!’ Slowly she swallowed back the tears until they were nothing but a sniffle. She knew the tears wouldn’t help. She knew they’d only give him whatever he wanted and make her situation seem more desperate. Another question brought the others back to the forefront.

Him? Was it a him?

How did I get here?

She tried to recall what had brought her here despite the fact her head pounded - a side effect of whatever had knocked the consciousness from her. The more she tried to remember, the more her brain seemingly banged: a throbbing so hard she felt nauseous.

Come on! Think! What happened?!

She remembered the cinema. She remembered the stress of the journey…

iii.

‘Will you two please keep it down!’ Rhiannon turned to face her children in the back of the car. The tone of voice was enough to temporarily silence them but Rhiannon knew it was only temporary. They both had that look in their eye: mischief. Whispering and giggling to each other, it was obvious they were up to no good. At least they were getting on though. That was a bonus. The last thing Rhiannon needed whilst stuck in this traffic jam was for them to be bickering back and forth the way they normally did. She let out a heavy sigh and turned back to the traffic jam. ‘Come on!’ Despite knowing it would do no good, she leaned heavily on the horn. The driver of the car in front - as equally stuck as Rhiannon - gave her a dirty look via his rear-view mirror. ‘This is ridiculous!’ she muttered to herself.

The journey wasn’t a long one. Usually it took them about twenty minutes to get there. They had left in plenty of time - a full forty minutes before needing to actually be there - and yet here they were, in danger of being late. The traffic moved a little giving Rhiannon her first glimpse as to what the problem was. Somehow a car had managed to roll onto its side and was now blocking the fast lane. The fact that both lanes were still open suggested it was recent and the emergency services weren’t yet on the scene to take charge - something which would include closing the fast lane a mile or so back. As it stood, with the lane open, cars were staying in the fast lane for as long as possible before cutting into the slower lane and - therefore - holding back the drivers patiently waiting. Driving like this irritated Rhiannon: impatient drivers causing more of a traffic jam by trying to cut in at the last possible minute. It always happened. Even had the fast lane been near empty, some idiot would have rushed down it as far as they could possibly get before cutting in. All for the sake of overtaking a handful of cars. Rhiannon wouldn’t be one of those people. She indicated and worked her way into the open lane. A car overtook her and pushed its way in a little further down the way.

‘Dick!’ Rhiannon muttered to herself.

Rhiannon wound the window down to let some much needed air into the stifling car. She hated being stuck in traffic at the best of times but it was always worse when she knew she had somewhere to be.

It was a hot day. The sun was starting to set but it didn’t make it any cooler as it blasted down onto the Earth. Dazzled by the light, Rhiannon pulled the sun-visor down and promptly screamed as a large black spider dropped down onto her lap. The two girls in the back burst into fits of giggles as Rhiannon flapped about, pushing the spider off her and down into the footwell where she started stamping and kicking - hoping to squash it. Her foot pressed down on its body and she realised then that it was plastic. A prank.

‘You stupid girls!’ she hissed, turning back to ensure they could see the anger in her eyes. ‘What if I had been driving? We would have crashed! Very clever!’ She paused a moment giving her heart a chance to go back to a normal rhythm. At least she knew why the girls had been giggling back there. She faced forward in her seat. Damned traffic. She rubbed her chest hoping it would help settle her startled heart. God only knows how she hadn’t had a heart attack. The kids knew she hated spiders. Everyone knew. Damned traffic. She hit the horn again as another car pushed in having sped by her in the fast lane. ‘Asshole.’

‘Why can’t we just go home?’ Alyssa whined. Now that her prank had taken place, she was bored with sitting in the back of the car. She hadn’t even wanted to leave the house in the first place. She had only agreed to go to the cinema with her sister because Lucille didn’t have anyone else to go with. Her sister had promised to do her chores for a month if she agreed and - before getting stuck in the traffic - it seemed like a fair deal. Leaning round the seat in front of her, staring at the non-moving traffic, she couldn’t help but wish she had got Lucille to agree to two months of chores. That would have been fairer. ‘We’re probably going to miss the start of the film anyway.’

‘And even if it was an option to go straight home,’ Rhiannon addressed her without looking back at her, ‘where exactly do you suggest I turn around?’ With a barrier on one side of the car and a wrecked vehicle on the other - they weren’t going anywhere. And as sirens rung out in the distance, it was obvious they weren’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon either. Rhiannon let out another long sigh. What she’d give to be at home right now…

iv.

Rhiannon wished she’d gone home. She should have just turned that car around at the first opportunity and headed back like her daughter wanted. Had she done so, she wouldn’t have been in this vulnerable position now. She turned her head to the side and coughed with a deep retch from her stomach. Still feeling sick with worry, she tried to put the uncomfortable feelings to one side desperate not to throw up on herself something - she was sure - would give him satisfaction and delight.

Undergrowth from beyond the shed’s door cracked and shifted noisily snapping Rhiannon’s attention away from trying to recall how she had found herself trapped here. Given the loudness of the crack, she knew something heavy was on the other side of the door. A person. Him? Natural response would be to call out but she stayed quiet hoping that - if it was him - he’d turn away and leave. More movement from beyond the door. Closer. Whoever was out there, they weren’t leaving. As Rhiannon’s heart rate increased dramatically another thought popped into her mind: what if it was help? What if someone had stumbled across the shed and was actually nothing to do with how she got there? They could help her. They could free her but… Before they can, they would need to know she was here. She would have to call out.

‘Hello?’ she called out. Her voice trembled, both scared and nervous as to what was coming. Please be help.

Another crack of undergrowth and the door handle twisted before the door itself was pulled open. A male figure stood before Rhiannon. She didn’t recognise him but, then, she couldn’t recall how she had got there anyway. Was he the reason for her current position or was he a way out of it? Without a word, the man stepped into the shed. With barely enough space to do so - he closed the door behind him, it was an act in itself which suggested he was there to torment as opposed to help. The smile on his face cemented that. Rhiannon didn’t say anything to him and tried her best to show no fear although she knew that - despite her efforts - it oozed from every pore.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. He rested it on Rhiannon’s covered stomach and squatted down next to her. For a moment, they both stayed in an uncomfortable silence during which they both kept eye-contact, neither one wanting to break away - a sign of weakness.

The man laughed to himself before asking her, ‘So tell me, was I right?’

Rhiannon didn’t say anything.

‘What’s this? Silent treatment? Or - when I hit you - did I knock the ability to talk from your head?’ He paused a moment, waiting for an answer from her. Still no response so maybe she didn’t understand what he had meant. He clarified, ‘Did you recognise me? You looked at me as though you had.’

‘I have no idea what you’re taking about.’ Rhiannon finally broke her silence.

‘In the car park. I was walking to my car and you looked at me. You looked as though you recognised me.’

‘I don’t know you…’

‘But you looked as though you recognised me.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before in my life.’ She sounded as though she believed what she was saying but the man still didn’t entirely believe her. Even if she hadn’t recognised him, she might if they played the news reports again. The programs didn’t show his actual face but it did show a sketch of a man the authorities wanted to talk to and she may have recognised that which would have led to a phone call bringing the police closer to him than he wanted.

The man explained, ‘The authorities are wanting to talk to me…’

‘I don’t want to know,’ Rhiannon said. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t know the man and she didn’t know what the authorities wanted to talk to him about. The less she knew, the better.

‘I was in England for so long, I thought they would have forgotten me but - apparently not. A shame really as I came back over to your country to get away from the mess I had made back home. At the moment, I’m just travelling around trying to find myself a new place to call my own - a quiet farm somewhere - and I had to get me some supplies and… Well… Then I met you and here we are.’

‘I want to go home. I have a family.’

‘I can’t let you go home.’

‘They’ll be looking for me.’

‘They’ll give up. America is a big place. Lots of places to hide a body.’

Rhiannon didn’t say anything. She realised she was in trouble given her position but this was the first time her captor had confessed to her that she was going to die.

‘Please - just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I just want to go home to my family.’

‘You’ll talk.’

‘I won’t.’

‘They all say that.’

‘Please - I’ll do anything. I just want to go home to my family.’

There was a brief pause.

‘I didn’t mean for this to happen,’ the man told her. ‘Like I said, I’m just looking for a place to settle down. Somewhere I can keep a low profile. You recognised me…’

‘I didn’t.’

He carried on, ‘You recognised me and forced my hand but…’ he hesitated. ‘I don’t want to kill anyone. Not yet anyway…’

‘You don’t have to kill me. Please, I want to go home to my family. I want to go home to my girls Alyssa and Lucille. I want to see my husband Brian… I want to cuddle up with my cats…’ She hoped that the more she made herself appear human, the more he would struggle with his conscience. She wanted to get him to the point that he was unable to take her life.

‘I can’t risk you talking.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You say that…’

‘Really, I won’t.’

‘Your family will want to know where you’ve been.’

‘I’ll make something up.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something.’

The stranger shook his head. ‘I don't believe you.’

‘My husband and I are part of a ghost-hunting team,’ Rhiannon continued with her plan to paint herself more as a person and less as a victim. ‘There are nine of us in total including Randy who I went to school with… His partner Amanda is part of the team too. They make a great couple and…’

‘I had a partner once. Didn’t work out.  Turns out she preferred the company of her brother. Her fucking brother?! Tell me, though… Your husband and you talk about everything?’

‘Yes.’

‘No secrets?’

Rhiannon realised where this was going and told him, ‘This will be my secret.’

The man laughed, impressed with her quick thinking.

‘You want to live?’ he asked again.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ll do anything to survive?’

Rhiannon pictured the man on top of her. She imagined his cock penetrating her dry pussy. She imagined him ejaculating inside her and the feeling of his cum leaking out of her. It was a thought that repulsed her but if it meant she lived - she’d take him and she’d act as though she enjoyed every fucking moment.

‘I can’t risk you talking so…’ The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sharp knife. He explained, ‘Cut your tongue out.’

‘What?’

‘I want you to cut your tongue out. Prevent you from talking…’

‘We don’t need to do this.’

‘You want to live?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then cut your tongue out. Prove to me that you’re serious.’

‘I can’t do that. Please…’

‘What if I do it for you?’

‘Please don’t do this.’

‘Your option is to die here, today, or cut your tongue out and live another day.’

‘Please…’

‘What’s it to be?’

‘Please don’t do this.’

‘It’s your choice. Live or die?’

‘Please.’

He repeated himself again, holding the knife up, ‘Live or die?’ He paused a moment, waiting for an answer. With no answer forthcoming, he reminded Rhiannon, ‘You’re lucky - once I have people in my care, which is what you are now, they don’t tend to get to make the decision. I make it for them.’ He stopped suddenly as a thought raced through his mind. He laughed. ‘If you do end up dying here today… Do you think your husband, and your fellow Ghostbusters, will try and communicate with you?’

‘Please don’t do this…’

‘You think I want to hurt you? You forced my hand. You recognised me…’

‘I didn’t.’

‘… And, had I left you there, you would have phoned the authorities…’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I came here to hide away, keep a low profile while I worked out a plan for my future… You caused this to happen.’

‘Please…’

‘So - for the last time - what’s it to be? Life or death?’ He looked at her with a look of frustration in his eyes. He realised this wasn’t a perfect situation for either of them. No doubt she wanted to be at home, with her family, and he wasn’t ready to pick up his little hobby again - even though he had been itching to do so. Previous murders had taken place on farmlands. He hadn’t killed, or hurt, anyone until he was sure the property he did it in was secure from prying eyes. The only exception to that being when he had killed the owner of the first farm he’d stumbled across - the kind old man who’d invited him in for a drink. He sighed as the woman made no signs of cutting out her tongue, looks like this will be another exception. He raised the knife again and pressed it to Rhiannon’s throat. She flinched at the touch of the cold metal. ‘This is your fault,’ he told her.

To be continued.

CHAPTER TWO

Where We Left Off

One Month Ago.

(England)

i.

Shane looked around the bedroom that he had claimed as his own. It had one of the most comfortable beds he had slept in and he loved the way the light shone through the windows early in the morning. Not only did it help warm the room up but it also helped him wake naturally - so long as he left the black-out curtains open, which he often did. He was going to miss this room but it was time to move on. The media was still urging people to keep an eye out for his latest guest and they showed no signs of letting up looking. Every time he turned the television on there he was. The detective in charge of the investigation. Detective Andrews. Andrews kept appearing on News channels asking for people with information to come forward. Usually they’d go quiet after a week or so but the reports were just as vocal now as when she first had failed to go home. Something which only usually happened if the victim was underage or famous. The woman in the barn now, pigs feasting upon her, was neither. At least that was what he had presumed. Who knows. Maybe she did have some television show on one of the many cable channels. Some shitty reality show following a nobody around. Whatever. As a result of the noisy investigation, he knew it was time to move on. Maybe even leave the country and head back overseas. America was nice. More importantly, America was big and had similar style properties scattered throughout the country. Properties that would be perfect for him to move into… But then - he hadn’t tried Canada yet… Maybe try and live a normal life and…

The woman’s scream penetrated the air again.

Shane turned and looked out of the window - his eyes drawn to the large barn across the way. The woman’s scream came from inside for a second time. Shane smiled. His thoughts weren’t of moving now. Nor were they of him trying to live a life without this little hobby. He enjoyed the screaming too much to turn his back on this, no matter how many times he considered jacking it in. Another scream. She wouldn’t last much longer now. He pictured the flesh being ripped from her body by the hungry pigs as they nosily chowed down on her. The packing could wait. He didn’t want to miss her final moments. He didn’t want to miss that last look on her pained face. With a smile on his face, he turned away from the open window and left the room - heading down the stairs and towards the front door. A short walk across the driveway and he’d be back at the barn. Back with her, hopefully - in time to say goodbye. Goodbye to her, goodbye to the pigs and goodbye to the farm and this country. Goodbye.

ii.

The pigs wouldn’t starve. They were making short work of the woman - yes - but there was still enough of her to last for a little while longer and, even if all meat was stripped from the bone, their stomachs were full.

The woman - Sophie - was dead. The only movement from her body now was caused by the still-hungry pigs tugging the fleshy strips from the exposed bones of her legs. One pig had started eating into her stomach with little contented oinks. Blood smeared around it’s once pink snout. A couple of other pigs joined the one tucking into her gut and Shane couldn’t help but laugh as her exposed breasts wobbled from side to side with each tear of her gut. The smile faded from his face. He’d had a speech planned for her, one he had planned on her hearing. A speech which would’ve given her hope, a little glimmer of sunshine in this dark, dark world. Her husband was looking for her. The police were looking for her. People were coming… She might yet be saved. He sighed. He should have done the speech before unleashing the pigs. A rookie mistake from someone who wasn’t a rookie. He knew better. He had just become complacent.

He looked at the deceased girl, ‘I won’t make the mistake again.’ He stood there - just a moment longer - and watched as the pigs continued disposing of the body. He wondered, momentarily, if there would be any trace left of her for the police to find. He doubted it. Should have always used the pigs. At least that way he wouldn’t have had to keep running whenever they got closer. He could have stood his ground with nothing to fear. They’d look around his property. They’d find nothing. He laughed at how ridiculous he was being. A tired brain rambling. They wouldn’t find nothing. They’d find a man living in a farm he didn’t belong in. That alone would raise questions. He had to keep moving. With the police refusing to let this woman’s disappearance go, and her now dead, it was time to move on. America was calling - and not for the first time. Just need to pack up, dig out one of the un-used passports and keep a low profile for a while. Avoid being seen and then - when the heat was off - he could carry on with this little hobby. He could come out of the shadows and enjoy the only thing he seemed to have a passion for anymore.

‘And this little piggy went into hiding,’ he said as he stepped back into the shadows.

iii.

Shane traveled light with just a backpack slung over his shoulder. It was easier to do so, given the fact that - when between places he called home - he preferred to walk as opposed to use one of the many vehicles he had stolen since choosing this lifestyle. A paranoia that he’d be pulled over due to the car being reported as stolen or identified as being of interest - maybe caught on camera when he’d used it to drag his latest victim away. Shane couldn’t remember who it was but one of the more infamous serial killers was finally apprehended because of the car he was driving. Embarrassing when you think about it: you can get away with murder but not a traffic offence.

He gave a final look round the old farmhouse and smiled. Good memories. He looked towards the barn, still smiling. Better memories. How much of the girl was left now? He turned away, facing towards the long drive down to the edge of the property, and started walking. The sun would be up in a few hours and traffic would slowly start to intensify on the main road. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before someone pulled over and gave him a lift. And - just as a precaution - he was already starting to formulate his cover story as he neared the property’s wooden gate.

iv.

‘Problems at home,’ Shane said to the driver who was concentrating on the road.

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t be. Been brewing for a while now. To be honest - she’s dead to me.’

The driver - male, in his fifties - laughed. ‘Women, hey, you can’t live with them and you can’t shoot them.’ The driver took his eyes off of the road momentarily to wink at Shane. ‘Well, you can, you just don’t always get away with it.’ The man laughed again taking his dark joke further. ‘That’s why I stay on the road. Keep on moving.’ He turned his attention back to the road.

Shane had been picked up about two miles from the farm he’d been staying in. There had been plenty of opportunity to be picked up beforehand but he hadn’t wanted to be linked so closely to the property. As was almost always the case, when he hitchhiked, it was a large rig that stopped for him. The drivers weren’t necessarily friendly people keen to do a favour for a stranger, they were usually tired people looking for some company having been on the road for so long. They were the sort of people who wanted someone to chat with just to pass the time, driving through the country for as long as the passenger required. They were the sort of person which made a back-story all the more important as they’d be asking questions. If someone asks questions and you don’t have the answers - you raise suspicions. If you’re confident and chatty with them, giving them as much detail about your life as possible - you appear normal.

‘So - what - you just packed a bag and hit the road? Fair play, man. Fair play. Thankfully I don’t have that kind of shit to deal with back home. Always on the road so my life doesn’t really have room for a lady back home waiting for me. Besides, least this way I can have a different lady every town I stop in.’ He laughed again. ‘Even if they do charge by the hour. Fuck ‘em and fuck off. No hassles, no shit. Just fun and games, know what I mean?’

‘I hear that.’ Shane didn’t point out it was a waste of money, booking a whore. Nor did he point out the risks of catching a sexually transmitted disease - be it a minor, curable infection that only really causes spots and embarrassment or a full-on end of life virus that sees you die a withered shadow of yourself. It was his life and he could do with it as he saw fit.

‘So what now then? Go lay low in a hotel somewhere? Have a little you-time and wait for the bitch to call you up, begging you to come home?’

‘Something like that. My passport is in my pocket and my overseas friends are waiting to greet me at the airport.’

‘You’re skipping country?! Fuck, man, that’s fucking awesome. She must have really fucked you off, hey?’

‘Like I said - she’s dead to me.’

‘Cold. Real cold.’

Shane shrugged. ‘Deserved.’

‘So whereabouts you headed?’

‘Nowhere in particular really, just going to stay at their place whilst I re-evaluate life goals. Most of my work is done online so I can do it from anywhere in the world.’ Shane knew the driver was more interested in where in the world he was headed but he didn’t want to disclose that. If - for some reason - he did end up getting linked back to the property and the driver did step forward admitting he had given him a lift into town where the airport was, at least the driver wouldn’t be able to tell the authorities details about the flight or destination.

‘Got some balls, man.’ The driver laughed again, suitably impressed with Shane’s story.

‘So what kind of thing do you transport?’ Shane asked the driver a question to prevent any more questions being fired in his own direction. He had been polite, he had given the driver some conversation and details about his life - now it was time to redirect things away from himself.

‘Mostly electronics. Take them from one warehouse to another. Half of the time it’s all palleted up so I don’t have a clue as to the specifics. Don’t really give a fuck either, to be honest, just want to get paid - know what I mean?’ Shane didn’t give a fuck either.

‘No bodies then.’ Shane explained. ‘You hear about that guy who traveled the country in a truck like this? In the back - he had a torture room. Can’t remember how many people he killed…’

‘I read about that, sure.’ The driver didn’t seem impressed, almost as though the murderer’s existence put shame on people in this profession. If not shame than certainly doubt about the type of person they were. If one person could do it, what was to stop them from being the same?

‘Then you had that guy in Essex. He was a truck driver too. Going about murdering prostitutes all those years back.’ Shane was staring out of the window, unaware of the offence he was causing. To him, he was just talking. These killers was all he knew about the trucking industry, as well as it being a subject close to his own heart - not that the driver knew that.

‘You think all truckers are like that?’ the driver asked. ‘And that begs the question - if you do believe it to be true - how come you climbed on in?’ The driver cast him a sideways glance. A subtle look that went unnoticed.

‘Death wish.’ Shane said. ‘You’d understand if you’d met the other half. Or - maybe - I’m in the market for someone to kill her for me? Figured I’d pull a murderous trucker over and offer them an obscene amount of money to carry the task through for me.’ Shane slowly turned to the driver. The driver’s look had gone unnoticed but his tone hadn’t. Shane realised he had caused offence. ‘I’m joking.’ He continued, ‘I didn’t mean to cause you any offence. Just passing the time with conversation.’

‘About serial killers.’ The driver pointed out, ’You know, in America, they think the British only talk about the weather. Can’t imagine their faces if they ever started a conversation with you…’

Shane frowned. ‘Who said I was going to America?’

‘No one. I’m just saying…’ The driver was confused by the outburst. ‘I mean you said you were going overseas and I…’

‘This will do.’ Shane pointed beyond the window towards a bus stop. ‘You can drop me off here.’

‘It’s cool, man, I can take you all…’

‘Really. Here is good. Thanks. I forgot, there’s something I need to do.’

‘Well, okay then. Your choice.’ The driver slowed the rig to a stop, alongside the pavement and close to the bus-stop.

‘Thank you for the lift,’ Shane said. He opened the door, grabbed his rucksack from the footwell, and jumped down onto the hard concrete below.

‘Yeah, good chatting. And good luck with the other half. Hope you get it sorted.’

Shane said again, a smile on his face, ‘Nah - she’s dead to me.’ He slammed the truck door shut and started walking towards the bus-stop. A split-second later and the truck slowly started to roll away, gathering speed before heading off into the distance. As soon as the truck was far away enough, Shane started walking once again. The truck had given him enough of a lift. The airport was probably no more than thirty minutes walk from here. With each step taken, Shane couldn’t help but feel he had made himself look as guilty as sin with the way he had acted with the stranger. Why had he talked about serial killers? Why had he kept saying his partner was dead to him? When the police find the body - or what DNA was left of it - they would appeal for witnesses. They would put out the location of the farm, where the corpse or DNA was found. The driver would see the News and remember the lift he’d given the stranger. He’d recall the strange behaviour and the fascination with serial killers. He’d step forward and give a description. Nothing he could do about it now though. No sense worrying. Just get to the airport and get on the plane before anything was found. Get across the sea before the driver started talking. Started talking? Should have cut his tongue out…

CHAPTER THREE

Tongue.

Present Day.

(Canada)

i.

Shane put the knife on the floor and took a step back away from Rhiannon. Even though her hands were bound, she could reach it. And, if she really tried, she could have lunged for him if he were close enough. Taking a step back, there wasn’t much she could do now - other than to do as he instructed.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His demands had already been made clear enough. If she wanted to live, she had to remove her tongue. If she didn’t want to… Well… He reached into his other back pocket and pulled out a second blade equally as sharp as the one he’d put down for her.

‘Please… They’ll be looking for me. My family will be looking for me.’

‘Yes, they will be. And - you know what?’

‘What?’

‘They won’t find you.’ He corrected himself, ‘Or rather they won’t find you alive. Unless, that is, you do as I said.’ He stretched his arm up in the air so that the sleeve rolled back from his wrist revealing his watch. He tapped the clock face with the tip of the knife’s blade. Dink. Dink. Dink. Time is running out. Time to make a decision. ‘Look it’s not hard. I’ll show you.’ He opened his mouth and reached in with the fingers of his spare hand. Taking a hold of his tongue, he stretched it out from his mouth before placing the serrated edge of the blade against the fleshy underside. Rhiannon didn’t want to see what he was going to do next yet couldn’t pry eyes away. He pulled the knife away and released his tongue. ‘Then all you have to do is saw it off. Side to side motion with the knife.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Rhiannon was crying again. It was clear he was going to make her do this or - if she refused - kill her. Even if she did do it, even if she did slice out of her own tongue, there was still no guarantees that he’d let her go. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘You’re boring me now!’ He shouted, ‘Cut your tongue out or die, right now. Which is it to be?’ He positioned himself above her with the knife in hand ready to thrust into her if she failed to do as he ordered or tried to lash out towards him. She screamed at the sudden ferocity in his voice. The anger bubbled over. ‘Don’t make me wait any longer!’

Rhiannon took the blade in her hand via the rubber handle. She opened her mouth and pulled her tongue away in the same way Shane had just shown her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands trembled. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to see her family again. She wanted to watch her children grow up and have families of their own. She wanted to hug the man she loved. She wanted to live. Ignoring the metallic taste of the blade she pressed it against her tongue and closed her eyes. Another scream from her throat as Shane watched on, wide-eyed and fascinated. Is she going to do it? Is she going to go through with it?

‘Do it!’ He gave her some more encouragement. ‘The sooner it is done, the sooner this is over with,’ he assured her.

Rhiannon screamed again and then - without a second’s pause - she started hacking backwards and forwards on her tongue. The serrated blade ripping the flesh into tatty chunks with each sawing-motion. The blood gushed out, filling her mouth and running down her chin as her screams of pain grew louder and tears more frequent. Shane didn’t look away. He watched every pained moment until the tongue came away in her hand. She dropped the knife first and then the fleshy stump of the tongue whilst all the time still crying out and screaming as the fresh wound burned.

‘Good girl,’ Shane said. He kicked the knife away and it slid across the small space and up against the wall. She couldn’t reach it there. ‘Of course, you know why all this happened, don’t you? Because you saw me. You saw me and I had to act upon it. Now I’ve stopped you from being able to talk to anyone…’ His words were nothing but noise to Rhiannon who was struggling to keep conscious with the searing pain. Regardless, he carried on talking. ‘I can help you in the future too… I can stop something like this from happening to you again. I can make it so you never see something you’re not supposed to again. Just a quick procedure…’ He was trying not to laugh as he continued tormenting the petrified - and hurt - woman. There had never been any intention to let her go. Even if she couldn’t talk, she could still write things down and - no matter what she’d say to him to get away, she would do just that to ensure he was caught and no one else had to suffer at his hands. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this. He knew this just as much as Rhiannon knew she wasn’t getting away from him. The only reason she went through with his instructions was the hope that - if he was to kill her - he’d at least be kind about it and do it quickly for her. More quickly than if she had annoyed him whereupon he’d be more inclined to torture her. Please make it quick. Shane knelt down over her body, a knee either side of her stomach. The carrier bag he’d placed on her chest earlier was now between his legs. He paused a moment to warn her. ‘I won’t lie,’ he said, ‘but this is going to hurt. But keep in mind that at least it means you’ll never see something you shouldn’t see again. This will be good for you in the long run. Short term pain, long term gain.’ Still screaming, still bleeding, Rhiannon leaned forward and spat a mouthful of blood in his face. ‘You fucking cunt!’ He frantically wiped it away with the back of his hand. ‘Now I’m going to make sure this hurts.’ Without a further word, he plunged the tip of the knife straight down into her eyeball. Her screamed echoed around the confined space.

ii.

Two bloody sockets. Burst, mashed eyeballs on the floor. They had been cut away - with a swipe of the knife blade - from the optic nerves. She was quiet now having passed out from the pain and shock of what was happening to her. Shane couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that she wasn’t going to be conscious to experience all that he had in-store for her. The knife was sticking out of the wall where he’d stabbed it. Easy for him to reach but - if she ever woke up - impossible for her to grab, thanks to the restraints. Not that she would have seen where it was.

Leaning forward - and curious - he dribbled into the left eye-socket. A frothy mess of spittle he’d swilled around in his mouth first to ensure there was enough of it. It just sat there, down in the gore, slowly turning pink due to the blood. He hocked some phlegm up and dribbled that down too. No different reaction from down in the hole although he wasn’t really sure what he expected. Would it pool around on the brain, would it cause her body to go into some kind of spasm or - as was the case - would it do absolutely nothing? With the distinct lack of reaction, it did raise the question, what will these do then?

Shane turned his attention to the small bag he’d placed on her chest. He opened it up and peered inside as a little shiver ran down his spine. Funny - all the things he had done to people and witnessed… Funny how these still made him feel uneasy. Spider egg sacs. Same with the spit, he didn’t know what would happen if he collected these and he didn’t know what would happen when he emptied them into the woman’s now empty eye-sockets. They could do nothing (disappointing) or they could hatch. Thousands of spiders running around inside her head. Would they survive in there? Would she survive? Would they crawl out of her ears or nose? Maybe come out of her mouth. Although - for there to be a chance of that to happen - he’d need to ensure they were sealed into the socket. Seal them in to stop them from simply climbing back out again. Which was why - also in the bag - he had a small tube of glue. What would they do? Only one way to find out.

iii.

Shane stepped out of the small shed-like building and closed the door behind him. There were a few splatters of blood on both his shirt and his face, the blood on the latter mostly wiped off with the exception of one or two spots. The bitch had spat at him again, for a second - and final - time. A little ‘fuck you’ and all she could do given her position. He walked over to a nearby bush and used the lush green leaves to wipe the blood from his hands. Disgusting. At least when he worked in farms he could go and have shower when he had finished his little hobby. Out here though, some random building he’d stumbled across on one of his many walks - there were no such luxuries. In fact, there was nothing but…

‘Jesus. Are you okay?’

Shane froze at the female’s voice. It had come from behind him. Slowly he turned around. Standing near bushes on the other side of a small clearing was a woman in her early forties. Brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, harmless enough. In her hands was not a mobile phone, with which to attempt to call for help, but - instead - a can of Pepsi.

The woman asked again, ‘Are you okay? What happened?’

Shane realised what she was seeing. She wasn’t seeing a woman lying dead in what he thought to be an abandoned shack. She was seeing a man seemingly bleeding. The momentary look of panic on his face was quickly buried as he immediately switched to an impromptu cover story, one which allow him to get close enough to kill her before she’d have a chance to run for it, or call for help. Was there anyone else nearby she could call out to?

‘Upset some locals in town,’ Shane said. The perfect example of an embarrassed man. And the Academy Award goes to… The woman instantly heard the accent and knew he wasn’t from around these parts.

‘Someone in town did this to you?’ she asked, almost surprised. The woman’s name was Christa and she’d live around these parts most of her life. Corbyville in Ontario, Canada, to be precise. A town of about fifty thousand people. There was trouble occasionally, just like there was in any town, but it didn’t tend to get aimed at tourists - not that they had many tourists - and wasn’t usually so violent. Christa continued. She didn’t need an answer from him. ‘Can I call someone for you?’

‘No - really - I’m good. But thank you.’

‘I feel bad that you came all this way just to have that happen…’

Shane shrugged. ‘It’s fine. Superficial.’

Christa looked at the shack behind him. ‘So what are you doing here?’ she asked. Without waiting for an answer she continued, ‘You don’t have any place to stay?’

Shane shifted on his feet. He wasn’t shifting his weight due to being uncomfortable or as a sign of guilt. He did it as part of the act. Embarrassment. Silly little tourist came to town, got in trouble and then ran away and hid.

Again, Christa didn’t wait for an answer. Nor did she take any steps closer to either Shane or the shack - keeping her distance from the stranger whilst she asked him the various questions. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She didn’t know him and hadn’t been expecting to see anyone out here. Especially given the fact that this was on her property. ‘You can’t stay here,’ Christa said. ‘I mean that shack… We didn’t even know this was here and I can guarantee it’s not in a liveable condition…’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this was private pro…’

Christa cut him off. She said, ‘We have a farm not too far from here. Short walk beyond these woods. Come back with me and you can freshen up, sort yourself out. Then we can try and find you somewhere to stay… Some nice Bed & Breakfasts in the area. What do you think?’

‘You have a farm?’ Shane smiled.

‘Been in the family for generations.’ She continued, ‘I can’t leave you here. Especially in that thing!’ She pointed towards the shack behind him. ‘Honestly - it won’t be a problem.’

CHAPTER FOUR

The Farm.

Present Day.

(Canada)

i.

Christa filled the silence on the walk back to her property. She explained that the farm had been in the family for generations and that her mother-in-law, Nancy, owned it now but she, and her husband David, had moved in when things got a bit too much for Nancy to cope with alone. Nancy was in her seventies and very able bodied but a farm of this size took a lot of work and was certainly too much of a strain for her. It definitely helped having David and Christa there. It was even more of a help when Sarah was there too. Christa told Shane about Sarah, her nineteen year old daughter. She was a Trent University student in her late teens who always came home for the summer. A smart girl studying history. Shane listened with feigned interest. In his mind, he was wondering less about the people as individuals and more about how he could take the farm for himself and - more to the point - whether he’d get away with it. Corbyville was a small town for sure and that would definitely make it harder for him. In bigger towns, it was always easier to make people disappear. The smaller the town, the more people tended to notice if things weren’t quite right.

ii.

‘This is Shane.’ Christa introduced her houseguest to the rest of the family. They were sitting in the main kitchen of the large farmhouse, ready to eat supper - a vegetable soup with large slices of homemade bread. They were all shocked at the sight of Shane - a man splattered in blood.

‘You okay there?’ her husband asked, genuinely concerned at the state of the stranger.

‘He had a run in with some locals. I found him out in the woods, staying in a little shack.’ She turned to Shane and said, ‘You can just put your backpack on the side there when you’re done with it.’ She pointed to where a good place for it would be and then turned back to David. ‘Did you know we had an old shack out there? Never even seen it before!’ The shack was new to all of them because they very rarely ventured that far into the woods. With so much work to do on the farm, and enough to see and do around the vicinity of the house, it made it seem like a pointless exercise - walking in the woods. David shrugged. He’d not seen it either. David was a heavyset man of average height. Dark hair with lots of flecks of grey which made him look distinguished, and a moustache. ‘I offered him a place to freshen up,’ Christa explained to her family - but mostly her husband who still looked shocked at the sight of the blood on the stranger. ‘Is that okay?’

‘What? Yes. Of course. Yes.’ David turned to Shane. ‘I’ll show you through to the washroom. You alright for clothes? I mean - can’t very well let you leave dressed like that…’

‘I have spare in my rucksack,’ Shane said as he tried to not make it obvious he was looking around the room - more interested in the building than the generosity of the people offering him a helping hand.

‘That’s good. And - as you can tell - we’re about to dish up. Did you want to join us? There’s plenty to go around.’ David gestured towards the table. Sarah shot Nancy a look, hoping she would speak up and say something like actually, there isn’t that much to go around. Nancy said nothing despite feeling just as uncomfortable as Sarah. Even David, not that he made it obvious, wasn’t feeling very comfortable with this new situation. There were some troublemakers in town - that much was true - but they didn’t tend to go around starting fights unless they had a good reason. And, looking at this man, there was little sign that the blood was actually his. He was splattered in it, yes, but - where were the cuts?

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Shane said.

‘It’s not trouble,’ said Christa with a warm - genuine - smile. ‘Anyway,’ she started introducing everyone, ‘this is David, my husband, this is my mother-in-law Nancy and this,’ she pointed to Sarah, ‘is my daughter, Sarah.’

Shane smiled at them, ‘Hello.’

Sarah looked at him but promptly looked away when his gaze met her own.

‘Set another place at the table,’ David told Christa. ‘I’ll take you through to the wash room,’ he said to Shane.

‘Thank you.’

David led Shane from the kitchen through to the living room. Without stopping he exited the living room via an adjacent door and turned down a hallway. He pointed to a door on the right, ‘Just through there.’

Shane smiled, ‘Thank you.’

‘Not a problem.’ Shane walked to the door and opened it, revealing the washroom on the other side of the door. ‘I’ll wait here,’ David told him - both a promise and a warning: the latter being said so the stranger didn’t get any bright ideas and try to have a nose around the home. Shane thanked him for a second time as he closed the door behind him.

Back in the kitchen Sarah was asking Christa more questions, ‘What did he do?’

‘Does it matter?’ Christa asked. ‘He’s hurt. The least we can do is offer him a place to get cleaned up.’ The look on Sarah’s face suggested she wasn’t convinced they should be helping at all. It was none of their business and she shouldn’t have got involved. If the man was innocent, why would he run and hide out in the woods as opposed to going to the authorities? ‘What?’ Christa challenged her.

‘I don’t think you should have brought him back.’ Sarah said. She looked at her Nan for support. ‘You agree with me, right?’ Christa turned to Nancy.

‘You think I should have left him out there alone? He’s a stranger in our country, he has been hurt… You honestly think I should have just left him?’ Although she was looking at Nancy, the question was directed to both of them. Neither answered. Christa started preparing another place at the table. ‘I wasn’t just going to leave him out there. And thanks for waiting until I got back before eating…’ With an extra place setting laid, Christa took her seat next to Nancy. ‘God help you if you find yourselves needing help from a stranger one day…’

‘It’s not that we wouldn’t help someone,’ Nancy said, ‘it’s just - it’s all a bit strange.’

‘Strange?’ Christa looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

‘If he was beaten up, like he said, then why would he run and hide out in the woods miles from town? Surely he’d go to the police? Especially if he were a visitor to the country?’ Nancy continued, ‘I can’t understand why he would run and hide unless it was because he had been the one to start something… He said, or did, something which upset locals. They responded with violence and he ran off before he got in even more trouble. I just don’t see a victim. I see someone with a guilty conscience.’ Christa shifted her weight in her seat nervously. She hadn’t thought about it like that. She’d just seen a person in pain, out in the middle of nowhere, and she went to help. She didn’t even consider the circumstances with which she came upon him.

‘Well I didn’t invite him to eat with us. He was just going to get cleaned up and then I was going to help him find a B&B in town.’ Christa paused a moment. ‘Okay,’ she continued, ‘we’ll offer to phone the cops for him when he comes back into the room. The reason he probably ran from the town and hid out was because of fearing the locals would stick together and paint him to be the trouble-maker.’

‘Really? You actually believe that?’ Sarah asked.

‘He’ll probably be grateful for our support when we offer to make the call. Locals willing to help out a visitor because they’re embarrassed by some off-the-rail members of their own town.’ She paused a moment. ‘We’ll see what he says.’

Sarah looked back to Nancy. Nancy shrugged. Besides, there wasn’t much they could do now. He had been invited to stay for supper. Now it was just a question of letting him wash, eat and then make a couple of calls.

Nancy told Sarah, ‘He’ll be on his way soon enough. What’s a couple of hours?’

‘I don’t trust him!’ Sarah said again.

‘Yes, you’ve made your feelings clear. Please try and be civil until he leaves, okay? Then you can rant and rave all you want.’

‘Even if he didn’t want to go to the authorities, you’d think he would at least have gone to the hospital to get himself checked over. What if there…’

Christa cut Sarah off mid-sentence. ‘That’s enough.’ She had snapped. Sarah looked shocked at Christa’s sudden reaction. She glanced towards Nancy for some back-up but she didn’t say anything to defend her granddaughter. There was little point in going on, they had had their say and Christa had had her say. Besides, he’d already been invited in, and for food. It would have been rude to kick him out now, especially with no explanation.

Nancy tried to change the subject and said, ‘Food will be cold if they don’t hurry up.’ With no warning a severed head flew through the open doorway and landed on the table with a heavy thud causing all three women to scream. David. The head rolled to the side and came to a rest. His eyes blinked a couple of times and then fixed upon Christa. His mouth opened and closed as though he were trying to say something but no words came out. Each woman jumped up from the table and took a step back as Shane came into the room - a battle-axe slung over his shoulder. The edge of the blade, dripping in blood.

‘Seriously - as awesome as it is - who has a battle-axe hanging in their living room? That’s just weird.’ Shane had spotted the battle-axe hanging on the wall when David led him through to the washroom. On the walk back, he had decided to use it. David had been walking in front. He had heard a commotion behind him. He had turned around. The axe had already been in mid-swing. He had put his hands up to try and protect himself. His fingers fell to the floor, pathetic stumps left behind spewing claret, and then his head had followed.

The women screamed again. In the next room, David’s body finally stopped twitching as the once-fountain of blood turned to nothing but a trickle soaking into the carpet. And just like that - with a simple swinging motion of his arms - Shane’s intentions, and Sarah’s concerns, were confirmed.

Sarah made a sudden rush for the back door but stopped at the sound of her mother’s frantic scream. She turned and saw Shane standing next to her, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other pressing the axe against her throat. A quick pull back of his arm and her neck would split open. ‘Not one step further,’ Shane warned Sarah. His voice was low. Intimidating. ‘Sit down.’ He turned to Nancy who was deathly silent. All of the colour had drained from her face and her eyes were locked to her son’s unblinking gaze. ‘You too,’ Shane said, ‘sit down.’

To be continued.

CHAPTER FIVE

With Style.

Present Day / Earlier

(Canada)

i.

David crossed his arms as he leaned back against the hallway wall. Shane smiled at him despite knowing the fact that he knew the man didn’t trust him nor necessarily want him in the washroom cleaning himself up. He closed - and locked - the bathroom door. Turning to the sink, he ran both the cold and hot tap whilst he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked tired. It had been a month now since he had left England. A month of traveling here and there. He’d flown to America, hitched most of the way to the border between America and Canada and then taken a coach service into Canada. Here, he had stayed in various motels - some of which were nice and some of which were a step up from a flea-pit. During this time he had spent most of the time watching the News from across the seas: BBC news detailing what was going on at home although, despite it being a British Broadcaster, they seemed to spend just as much time, if not more, talking about current affairs from everywhere but Britain. Even so - there was no story of the girl found in the farm. There were no drawings - artist impressions - of Shane and there were no more bulletins from Detective Andrews - the man who’d been on the various channels every day almost a month ago. Had the case been closed or had they found the body and were now working behind the scenes to try and find the murderer? Shane would never know. Not unless he went home or he suddenly felt the long arm of the law on his shoulder. No plans to go home. No plans to get caught either but - was it just a matter of time?

The woman out in the kitchen, with the majority of the rest of the family, was kind in helping him out but did she really trust him? And even if she did trust him, what if she went walking back through those woods again and - specifically - back to that shack? What if she found the body? She’d know it had been him who had killed the lady. She would phone the police, she would describe what he looked like. This time there would be no what ifs, there would just be a man-hunt. A man-hunt that he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide from.

The reflection of the tired man staring back at Shane was not a man with a plan or a man with a future. It was a man who was at the end of the line. This was it - his journey had come full circle now and the time he had left was borrowed. To think, this was her fault. His girlfriend. Had she been a loving partner, as he had first believed, then none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be here, people wouldn’t have died and these people wouldn’t be about to die. She did it. She caused it all by fucking her own brother, dragging him into the incestuous relationship and making him feel like nothing but a filthy animal.

‘Everything okay in there?’ David called through the door snapping Shane from his thoughts.

‘Just finishing up,’ Shane lied. Using a flannel he wiped the blood splatter from his face before he quickly removed his top. He fished a clean one from the rucksack he’d placed on the side and slid it on, over his body. Thankfully most of the other woman’s blood had hit only cloth so not much washing was actually required. Scrunching up the dirty shirt, he placed it back in the rucksack before he turned the taps off, killing the flow of water.

He looked back up at the reflection. He appeared more presentable but still looked tired. He knew his days were numbered. He knew she’d find the body. He knew she’d report it and him. They’d come looking for him. There’d be no place big enough to hide. He smiled. If his days were indeed numbered then - he shrugged - he at least might as well live the last days in relative comfort as opposed to going on the run. And - as well as being spacious - the first impressions he’d got from this farm was that it was comfortable. Added bonus - he kills the family and he also bought himself some more time. She wouldn’t find the body, she wouldn’t report it, the police wouldn’t come looking. Kill the family and live here as long as possible before someone raises an alarm. An alarm rung due to the fact that nobody had seen any of the family for a while. Another thought popped into his head - maybe his time wasn’t running out? He could stay in this farm until someone came looking for the family. He could murder whoever came knocking on the door - one final kill under this roof - and then he could hit the road before anyone else came. Hell - living like that - he could carry on surviving for years. Not much of a life, other than getting to indulge in this new hobby, but it was still a life better than being behind bars. He’d still have his freedom. And even if he was caught - at least he would be going out with style. Out with a bang as opposed to simply rolling over and taking it.

Another knock on the door. ‘Sorry to rush you but the soup will be getting cold.’

And he would start with him.

Shane unlocked - and opened - the door. David was standing there, a mild look of irritation on his face due to being kept waiting for his food. Food which David felt would be cold now for sure.

‘Okay?’ David asked out of politeness.

‘Much better,’ Shane said with a smile.

David led the way back down the hallway into the living room with Shane close behind with his rucksack one-strapped over his shoulder. Sarah was heard in mid-conversation through the other room, ‘Even if he didn’t want to go to the authorities, you’d think he would at least have gone to the hospital to get himself checked over. What if there…’ Christa cut her off - not that Shane was listening. He was looking at the battle-axe mounted on the wall, above the fireplace. He had spotted it on the way through the room the first time. Now he wanted to actually touch it. Go out with style. He reached out and took a hold of the axe.

CHAPTER SIX

Ultimatum

Present Day

(Canada)

i.

Shane locked the back door using the key that was already in the lock. With the exit sealed, he removed the key and slid it into his pocket before turning to the terrified women sitting at the table, just as they had been instructed to do so. No one said anything, not even when Shane sat down with them - at the head of the table. He looked at the severed head which was still resting on the table as a kind of fucked-up centre-piece. Nancy and Christa were looking at it too, both sobbing uncontrollably at the sight. A dead husband. A dead son. Only Sarah wasn’t looking at it. Her eyes were fixed on Shane - a look of pure hatred in her watery eyes. Realising the head was a distraction, Shane got up and fetched a tea-towel from where it hung on the oven door. He tossed it towards the head where it landed - perfectly aimed - ensuring it was more or less completely covered. Satisfied the corpse could no longer stare at him, he took his seat once more. For a few minutes more, no one spoke.

ii.

Christa was the first to crack, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

‘So what now?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to kill the rest of us?’ Shane didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The answer should have been obvious to all who were present, an answer given by the fact that he’d already killed one of them with little provocation. ‘Why are you doing this?’ Christa asked when she realised the first question was going unanswered. Shane looked at her. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t be bothered to explain how it had all started: his girlfriend cheating on him with her own brother, the accidental death in the farm and then the revenge killings on those he considered to be the same as his ex. Incestuous whores deserving an early ticket to an eternity in Hell. Nor did he need to explain about the other deaths. The murders he had gotten wrong, such as Sophie. He thought she was waiting for her brother, Sam, for a sneaky night out pretending to be a couple. He hadn’t realised that they were husband and wife for real. And Rhiannon, the girl in the shack. He was convinced she had recognised him so he had had to despatch her. Oh, and then there was the case of David. Shane laughed to himself as he realised he was just on a killing rampage now. Any reasons he had had to do this, any reason for starting, were out of the window now. Now it appeared he was happy to kill anyone and everyone, including these three women sitting with him today. ‘You won’t get away with this,’ Christa said. Shane’s smile faded from his face. ‘People will find you. They’ll arrest you and - when they do - they’ll throw the book at you.’ She paused a moment to let that sink in. ‘If you let us go, they may be more lenient towards your sentencing.’ Shane laughed again, a hearty laugh which - somehow - made them feel that little more uncomfortable. He stopped suddenly and tried to compose himself. A couple of seconds went by of more silence.

‘How about I let two of you go?’

‘What?’ Christa panicked. If he let two of them go, what would he do with the third? Would she be a hostage? Would he just kill her? And how would they decide which one stayed behind? ‘I don’t understand.’

‘One of you dies and the other two get to live. That’s quite reasonable, I feel.’ He quickly continues, aware they were about to refuse or ask a multitude of questions. ‘Here’s how it will happen. As a threesome you all get to decide who should live and who should die.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Christa sobbed.

‘And then - when you have decided - you have to kill that person yourselves. Now you can do it any way you wish and I won’t think any the less of you. Even if the person who is chosen to die takes her own life, I don’t mind. It’s entirely up to you.’

‘We can’t…’

‘I’ll do it,’ Nancy said without hesitation.

‘What? No!’ Sarah cried out.

Shane turned his attention to Sarah. ‘And if you don’t decide amongst yourselves, if one of you doesn’t die then…’ He paused, enjoying the moment and the power. ‘All of you will die.’ Sarah started to cry again as the fear buried the anger. Shane waited a moment, enjoying the sound of the crying, and then asked, ‘So what is it to be?’

For a second time Nancy said, ‘Kill me.’

‘How do we know you will let us live if we do this?’ Christa asked. She had already seen the good in a person once and been fooled. She refused to be fooled again by foolishly thinking he would let them go. He couldn’t let them go, could he? They had seen his face. There was no way he was going to let them just walk out the door - or that he was going to just leave. No way in Hell.

‘Christa - just kill me. I’m in my seventies. I’ve had a good life. I’m happy. Please… If we don’t all have to die… Just kill me.’

‘I can’t do it,’ Christa said. She corrected herself. ‘I won’t do it.’

‘Neither will I,’ Sarah said, still weeping.

‘This isn’t a open-ended offer I’ve made,’ Shane warned them. ‘Time is ticking. You need to make a decision.’

‘Fuck you!’ Christa snapped. Her reaction didn’t take Shane by surprise. He was pushing her. He was pushing all of them. He expected a reaction. He wanted a reaction. He smiled.

‘Tick tock…’

‘I’ve had a good life,’ Nancy said. She was crying. ‘If it means there is a chance you two can go on living…’ Christa was crying, as was Sarah - the pair of them with mixed emotions flowing through them: anger, fear, sadness. ‘Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.’

‘You may get a knife from the drawer,’ Shane pointed towards the kitchen side with the head of the axe. ‘But if you try anything…’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Nancy stood up to get a knife. Christa stood up and said, ‘No. I’ll get it.’ She swallowed back some more sobs as she walked across the room to the drawers. Shane watched her closely as she opened the top drawer. She pulled out a large bread knife and turned back to the table. Shane nodded, impressed with the size of the knife. He had half-expected her to pick up something smaller, something less likely to do any real damage.

‘So what is it to be then? Who is going to do it?’ Shane stood up to get a better view of what was about to happen, excitement obvious on his face - the axe still held firmly in his hand.

Sarah looked at Christa, the sudden realisation that - if this was to happen - one of them would have to be the one to actually do it. Christa wouldn’t put her daughter through that as well as everything else too. No mother would. Before she could say that she would do it, Nancy said, ‘I’ll do it.’ Christa looked at her, shocked that she could be so blasé about it. Nancy continued, ‘Pass me the knife.’ She held her hand out. Christa started to walk towards her slowly, the knife held out in front of her with the blade pointed towards Nancy. With no warning she suddenly turned towards Shane, thrusting forward with the knife. Sudden, yes, but also predictable.

iii.

Christa woke to the sounds of the tractor. David’s pride and joy. The sounds of Sarah’s screams too. She opened her eyes and her blurred vision slowly focused on her surroundings despite her pounding head from where Shane had hit her with the butt of the axe-handle. Sarah was in front of her, just a few feet away. Still in the kitchen. The kitchen table was turned on its side with the plates and bowls, once sitting on top of it, strewn across the floor - much of it shattered. Sarah was on one of the chairs - bound to it, with blood coming from a gash in her forehead. Christa went to help her but soon realised she too was bound to one of the chairs.

‘What happened?’ Christa asked, panicked.

‘He killed her. He killed her… He killed her…’ Sarah kept saying the same thing again and again, over and over. Fear oozing from her petrified voice. Christa fought against the restraints - plastic cable ties - keeping her on the chair, desperate for them to break so she could get to her scared daughter. No joy. ‘He killed her mum and he said… He said we’re going to die because of what you did… He said he’s going to kill us…’ Sarah was near hysterical.

‘It’s okay… Everything will be okay… I promise…’ Christa didn’t know why she was promising. Nothing was going to be okay. She knew it, Sarah knew it. They were dead. No way out from this. Even so, she called out over the growing noise of the tractor, ‘It’ll be okay…’

Sarah was the first to turn her head. She looked towards the kitchen door, a horrified look on her face that suggested she knew what was coming. Christa nervously followed her gaze. The door was open, facing out into an open space. Tractor getting louder.

‘What is it?’ Christa asked Sarah. ‘What is he doing?’ It was a question she immediately regretted. She didn’t want the answer - not that Sarah had the chance to respond before Christa saw him with her own eyes. First she saw the red front of her late-husband’s tractor. Then the driver’s seat with Shane at the wheel, laughing as he looked into the kitchen through the open doorway, then the rear of the vehicle…. Then the rope…. Then - at the end of the rope - Nancy’s naked body being dragged behind. Christa screamed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Another One Bites The Dust.

Present Day / Earlier

(Canada)

i.

Christa’s body slumped down hard. The thud of her body on the tiled kitchen floor was drowned out only by the screams of Sarah and Nancy. Shane turned to the two women, shaking his head.

‘I told her not to try anything,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘Now she has signed your death warrant.’ He paused a moment, letting that sink in. ‘Now you’re all going to die.’

Sarah was weeping uncontrollably. Nancy didn’t say anything, not to Sarah nor Shane. There was no point pleading with him not to do anything. It was obvious from the look on his face that his mind was made up. Besides, she knew, he hadn’t been going to let them go even if she had killed herself as he had instructed. They were all going to die in this house. She glanced over to her son’s severed head. It was still hidden by the tea towel. He was the lucky one. His pain was quick and - more importantly - it was over now. He was the lucky one.

‘The question is,’ Shane continued, ‘who is going first?’ He leaned down and picked the knife up from the floor, where Christa had dropped it. Standing back to his full height he pointed the tip of the blade first to Sarah and then to Nancy. ‘You can decide but be quick. We don’t have all day… Well, I do, you don’t.’ He laughed.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Nancy asked, stalling for time in the hope that someone, someone, might come by. The closest neighbour was the next farm, five minutes to the east of their own property. Maybe they would swing by for something?

‘You really want to know?’ Shane asked. He walked up to Nancy who stiffened. In one hand he still carried the battle-axe, in his other hand he had the knife. ‘You really want to know?’ he asked again.

‘Yes.’

Shane shrugged and then plunged the knife into Nancy’s chest piercing her heart. Sarah screamed and jumped up on Shane’s back, hitting him violently with clenched fists. Five foot two of nothing. He tossed her off onto the kitchen table. She rolled off and crashed to the floor, pulling the table down on top of her too. Shane turned his attention back to Nancy. She was standing there with a look of shock on her face, looking down at the blade with wide eyes. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. Shane put his hand on the knife handle for a second time. He smiled at Nancy and then - without a further word - he pushed the blade deeper into her. The old girl coughed a splatter of blood. When Shane released the knife she dropped to the floor. A clatter from behind stole Shane’s attention away from Nancy’s last breath. Sarah was pulling herself up from the floor. Shane smiled at her.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ Sarah said. Her voice was trembling.

‘Ssh…’

He took a step closer to her with both hands on the battle-axe.

‘Fuck you!’ Sarah’s attitude changed.

Shane stopped in his tracks, taken aback by her sudden change.

‘I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was going to kill you but I wasn’t going to hurt you… But… That was really rude. What’s the matter? Your mother and father not teach you about manners?’ He shook his head and - without a further word - lunged forward and cracked her on the side of the head with the axe. She slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Shane looked around the kitchen. A severed head, a dead body and two unconscious women. It had been a busy morning. He focused on Nancy’s body and smiled as a sudden thought popped into his head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two Left…

Present Day

(Canada)

i.

Shane was sitting on the kitchen worktop. He had emptied the knives from the kitchen drawer and placed them next to him, along with the battle-axe. The kitchen door was still open with the tractor abandoned just beyond with its engine shut off. Shane was staring at the petrified girls who did their best to avoid his gaze, all of them sitting in silence until he finally broke it.

‘So how many animals do you have in this place then?’ Shane asked. No one replied and - still - they tried not to look at him scared that, if they did, it might trigger him into doing something more physical. ‘Well, I guess if we’re done talking… Might as well start with the torturing.’ He picked up a small butter knife. ‘I’m thinking we start with this. I’m going to push it up between nail and nail-bed. When it is up as far as it can go, I’m going to lever it upwards so that your nail pops right up, away from your finger. Then, when that is done…’

‘We have eight cats!’ Christa said quickly, just to shut him up.

‘Saw a dog hiding in the other room…’

‘Two dogs.’ Christa continued, ‘Sixteen horses…’

‘Sixteen horses? Impressive.’ Shane paused. ‘What are their names?’

‘What?’

‘The animals. What are their names?’

‘What difference does it make?’

‘If I am to take over this farm, I want to get to know them. Unless of course you would rather I just put them all down? I mean - can’t promise it will be done humanly…’

‘Dude, Sam, Logan, Harlequin, Rolo, Hank, Luna, Spitfire…’

‘Jesus, who chose those fucking names?’

‘The dogs are Sydney and Tildy…’ She paused a moment, ‘I’m surprised Tildy has been so quiet - she usually…’

‘Barks a lot. I know. I’ve met Tildy…’ He smiled. ‘She won’t be barking for a while.’

More tears. ‘What did you do?’

‘Does it need saying?’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Because I can.’ He paused a moment before jumping down from the kitchen work-top. Grabbing the knife from the side, he walked over to where the two girls were bound. ‘So… The question is… Who is going to die first?’

‘You won’t get away with this. You should just run while you still can…’

‘I came here for a peaceful life whilst I figured stuff out. Things got a little carried away, you know what I mean? It was her fault but… That’s a story for another day. Another day you won’t live to see. The bottom line is - I know I am going to get caught. I know my life is over. I’m just going to live each day as it comes and enjoy it whilst it lasts. I’m going out with a bang. With style, not like a pussy quivering in the corner. Now I just want to ensure I am remembered and what better way to do that then…’ He swiped the knife’s sharp blade across Sarah’s face, cutting her open. She screamed in pain, as did Christa who experienced a different kind of agony. Shane slashed the blade in the opposite direction, slicing the screaming girl for a second time. Back the other way, a third cut, back again - forth. Each cut enough to open the skin, spilling blood, and no doubt leave a scar but not enough to do any further damage. Certainly not enough to kill her - an act which would silence her deafening screams.

‘Stop it! Please stop it!’ Christa was screaming over and over as she watched her daughter’s face got torn up until it was coated in red and barely recognisable as her Sarah. She pleaded again, ‘Please stop it!’ Shane continued until Sarah stopped screaming and her head slumped forward. Not dead, but unconscious. No point in continuing. Shane turned to face Christa with a twisted grin on his face. Slowly he approached her until he was standing directly in front of her. He leaned down into her face and held the bloodied blade up for her to see. Not just blood, but slithers of flesh hung from the serrated edges. Still smiling, he wiped the dirty blade down Christa’s front. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked again. She knew the answer wasn’t coming, just as help wasn’t. With her daughter now unconscious, she knew it was her turn to face his aggressive sadism and she’d soon die - still with no answers. She swallowed back some tears and attempted to compose herself when a sudden realisation hit her. The realisation that - actually - she didn’t care what happened to her now other than she hoped it would be quick. Her mother-in-law was dead, her daughter was going to die, her husband was dead. She didn’t want to live without them. She didn’t want to be rescued. She just wanted it over with. What’s more - she realised he was getting off on their fear and, knowing that, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction anymore.

Shane noticed a change in her composure and frowned, puzzled by the sudden lack of emotion on display. Trying to get a reaction he told her, ‘How about I strip your daughter off now and fuck her with this knife? Stick it up her tight cunt and twist the blade around? In fact - what if I do that and then let her live out the rest of her life as a disfigured freak?’ Christa looked at him blankly. A single tear, left-over from previous sobs, snaked down her cheek. ‘Maybe get you to kiss her better after I’m finished with her. Did you do that when she was younger? Did mummy kiss her little girl’s boo-boos better when she fell over and hurt herself? Would mummy do it now?’ He mimicked Sarah’s voice, ‘Mummy my face hurts.’ He mimicked Christa’s voice, ‘Let mummy kiss it better for you.’ He mimicked Sarah’s voice, ‘Mummy my pussy hurts.’ He mimicked Christa’s voice, ‘Let mummy kiss it better for you…’ Still nothing from Christa. ‘See if you like fucking your own family as much as my ex did.’ Still nothing. He frowned again. Had he broken her? Had something in her head just snapped? Will she react to anything? With the same knife used on Sarah, Shane suddenly thrust downwards with the tip of the blade pointing the same way. Christa screamed in pain as the knife pierced just above her knee-cap. She still felt pain. That was good enough for him. Shane’s confused frown was replaced with his sadistic grin once more. He gave the knife a twist - another scream - and let go of the handle. It can wait there, for safe keeping.

‘We’re going to have some fun,’ he warned her. He looked over at Sarah and then back to Christa, ‘But first… There’s something I want to try with your daughter.’

ii.

By the time Sarah woke up, she was stripped to her underwear in the barn and spread-eagled. Thick rope was tied to each of her limbs keeping her in the spread-eagle position. It wasn’t the same piece of rope. It was different pieces each leading off. One tied to her left wrist, one tied to her right wrist, one to her left ankle and another to her right. A final rope was tied around her neck making it hard for her to breathe and lift her head from the hard floor. She tried to call out but struggled with the words because of the rope and the blood in her mouth. She gagged as the gore hit the back of her throat.

‘Oh good. You’re awake.’

She could hear Shane but she couldn’t see him.

‘I was starting to wonder if you’d wake up.’

Sarah murmured through the pain and mouthful of blood. She was barely conscious - fighting against the agony of the cuts and shock of what she’d been through. What was he doing? Where was he? Shane was standing beyond the barn doors to the left. The big doors on the opposite side of the barn were also open, as were the individual stables which held the horses - four of which had rope tied to them…

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the familiar sound of her father’s gun get cocked. A split second later and she understood where she was and what the anchor points of the ropes were, keeping her in place. She opened her mouth again, to the sound of another choking sound and - Shane pulled the trigger of David’s shotgun. The blast echoed in the barn, the horses reared and bolted towards the nearest exit points, the slack in the ropes went taught and the victim’s limbs popped from their sockets accompanied by a fountain of blood from each stump. Death came quickly. Shane laughed as the horses disappeared into the distance. Sixteen less mouths to feed. From across the way, in the house, Christa was screaming. She knew what the gunshot meant, even if she didn’t know the full horror of the situation. Shane walked back towards the house with the gun over his shoulder and smoke still billowing from the barrel. He opened the backdoor and stepped into the kitchen.

‘You screamed so you know she’s gone but… I bet you don’t know how…’ Shane stopped talking. His eyes fixed to Christa’s chair. Christa’s empty chair. ‘Oh. This is an interesting development.’ He cocked the shotgun, ready to fire it again. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are…’

CHAPTER NINE

Freedom

Present Day / Earlier

(Canada)

i.

‘You just make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.’ Shane winked at Christa as he undid the restraints keeping Sarah bound: rope around her wrists and rope around her ankles, tying her to each arm and leg of the chair. ‘Your daughter and I have a little business to take care of.’

‘Just kill her. Please. She has suffered enough. Kill her before she wakes up. Please.’ Christa was pleading. Her daughter had suffered enough now and didn’t need any more pain. ‘Please… You’ve had your fun…’

Shane shook his head. ‘I’ve had some fun,’ he admitted. ‘There’s always more to have, though. Besides, I’ve already told you, there’s something I want to try.’ He finished undoing the restraints. ‘Like I said, you just wait here. I’ll be back for you in a minute.’ He reached under both of Sarah’s arms and pulled her from the chair.

‘Where are you taking her?’ Christa asked. Shane started dragging the unconscious girl towards the back door. ‘What are you going to do?’ He didn’t answer her with anything but a smile as he disappeared out of the door. Christa screamed, a pathetic attempt to anger him enough to come back into the farmhouse - a pathetic attempt that failed. The door slammed shut. She screamed again as she started fighting against her restraints, ignoring the burning pain in her kneecap: the knife still wedged into the bone. Christa strained her leg muscles hoping the ropes keeping her attached to the legs would give and she pulled and twisted her arms and wrists hoping those ropes would also give. With each movement she let out a wail of both frustration and pain. ‘Come on, come on, come on, please,’ she said, talking directly to the ropes, begging them to give her enough slack to break… Her left arm had more movement.

She looked down.

The rope had given. Frantically, she started to wriggle her wrist from side to side in the hope that it would either slip out or continue stretching the rope enough to allow her to pull free. With each move, she carried on talking to the rope as though it would help, ‘Come on, come on, come on… That’s it… Yes… Come on, you son of a bitch… Come…’ Her hand slipped from the restraint. ‘Yes!’ Desperate to free herself completely, she grabbed the knife handle with her free hand and yelped in pain as the blade hit a nerve, sending searing pain straight up to her brain. She immediately let go of the handle and took a couple of deep breaths. This was going to hurt - no question about that. It was going to hurt like a son of a bitch but if she wanted to be free, if she wanted a chance to get help and get away… She needed the knife to be able to cut away the last of the ropes - certainly quicker than if she struggled with the knots one handed.

She held her breath and closed her eyes before - carefully - taking a hold of the knife handle again. Slight bolt of pain. Ignore it. Okay. This is it. Just like pulling off a plaster - just rip it off in one straight motion. She gritted her teeth and then… She screamed just as a gunshot sounded from somewhere outside.

CHAPTER TEN

Hide and Seek

Present Day

(Canada)

i.

‘Oh. This is an interesting development.’ He cocked the shotgun, ready to fire it again. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are…’ Christa panicked at the sound of his voice. She had known that he would be coming back but not this quickly. She thought she had more time. ‘Question is,’ Shane continued, ‘have you phoned the police? Am I on borrowed time before the authorities get here and try and arrest me?’ She had phoned the police. It was the first thing she had done when she got free. She had painfully hobbled to the house phone and made a frantic call, begging them to get here fast. ‘You know I don’t care about being caught, don’t you? I’m not going to run. We are going to see this through to the bitter end. Will I find you? Will you get away? Will the police catch me? Will I go quietly or…’

Downstairs, Shane looked at the gun in his hands. He wouldn’t go quietly.

‘Come on, where are you?’ Christa was in Nancy’s room quietly hunting around for the gun she knew her mother-in-law had kept in there. She knew it was in the closet, Nancy had said as much. But where? ‘Come on… Please…’ She pulled an old box down which had been hidden behind a stack of magazines. Lifting the lid, she felt instant relief when she saw the old magnum. Nancy’s ex-husband had brought it back from the States for her. Next to the hand-cannon was a box of ammo. She grabbed both from the box and took them - quietly - to the bed where she proceeded to load the gun. She didn’t want to live, not without her family. She wanted to join them in the afterlife but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to send him to Hell first. With the final bullet loaded, she clicked the ammo chamber shut and cocked the hammer back. Ignoring the almost-unbearable pain in her leg, she tucked herself behind the bed and aimed the gun at the door. The moment he steps through it, the moment he shows his face, she’d blast the fucker straight into the underworld. And then… Well… Then.

‘I’ve killed people before. Not just in Canada but America too. And England.’ Shane was creeping from room to room, pushing each door open with the barrel of the gun. ‘Jarod Barbee. Texas. He managed to stay conscious for five whole minutes as I skinned him with an electric kitchen knife.’ He paused a moment listening for a reaction. There was nothing. ‘Would you be disgusted if I told you I tried some of his flesh? I didn’t cook it. I’m not a freak. I just put it in my mouth and gave it a little chew…’ Shane started to laugh. ‘I didn’t really. Just wanted to put that image in your head.’ It was hard to put any image in her head that would block out the one of him slashing her daughter’s face repeatedly. ‘I got bored with Jarod when he passed out. No fun when they don’t react. Cut his throat from ear to ear and watched him bleed out.’ He paused for a reaction. Something to give her hiding position away. ‘Can’t remember why I killed him,’ Shane continued. ‘You know - when I started this - there were only specific people I killed. Those who reminded me of my ex but, then, I stopped looking for an excuse to kill them. I killed anyone and everyone. I no longer felt the need to do it. I just wanted to do it. Nicola Forbes. She was another one. She was begging for her life. I stabbed her up through the chin. You could see the blade in her mouth. It pierced the roof of the mouth and penetrated her brain. It was a good ten seconds before she died. Just stood there, blinking repeatedly - her eyes fixed on mine.’ Still no reaction. ‘They say you can see the soul leave when the person dies. Don’t know about that. I’ve never seen that for myself. One minute they’re there, the next they’re gone.’ He paused, standing in the doorway of the washroom. ‘Nothing. They’re gone.’ Still no reaction. Shane started to wonder whether she was even in the building. Had she called the authorities and run into the woods? He continued regardless, as he made his way down the hallway towards the next room and the stairs. ‘Nancy Loudin. Also dead. I actually killed her the same way this other serial killer murdered one of his victims. I stuck her head in a deep fat fryer and watched her skin bubble away. You never smelt burning flesh? I thought it would smell like a nice barbecue but - no. It stinks. A rank scent that really gets up your nose…’ He paused and waited for a reaction. A sign of repulsion maybe? Anything? Nothing. This wasn’t the way to get her to lash out and give away her position. ‘I don’t remember everyone’s name. I forget a lot. Take your husband for example - I’ve already forgotten his name. And your daughter. I mean - your daughter? I can’t even remember what she looked like before I cut off her pretty little face…’

‘Fuck you!’ Christa screamed. Her voice came from up the stairs. Shane smiled and slowly - quietly - made his way up them with the shotgun pointed forward. He should have started with her family. Thinking about it, it was obvious that would be the thing to get a reaction. Still - didn’t hurt for her to think of the other people he had killed. It didn’t hurt to give her more fears as to what he was going to do to her when he caught up with her. He was smiling to himself. She should have stayed silent, he thought, she might have survived this. Now… No chance…

ii.

Christa didn’t care about death now. She knew she could have survived this. She could have kept herself hidden until the police got here and - even then - she could have stayed put until they themselves found her in her hiding place, only coming out because they’d reassure her everything was okay. They might have found him too and arrested him but Christa didn’t want him arrested and neither did she want him to have the opportunity to either run or open fire on the investigating officers. She wanted him dead.

Sirens screeched in the distance as the police made their way. Another couple of minutes and they’d be at the property. Another couple of minutes and it would be all over. She called out again, ‘Fuck you!’ in the hope that she’d encourage him to hang around until she was dead too rather than having him run from the scene before he was arrested. He said he didn’t care about being taken into custody but was that really the case? Now - with the police looming ever closer - would he suddenly cherish the freedom he had? Her heart suddenly skipped a beat as a floorboard creaked from beyond the door. She realigned her aim on the gun. The moment the door opened, she’d fire. She’d put a bullet in that son of a bitch and send him straight to Hell where he belonged. An eternity of pain and suffering - the likes of which he had inflicted upon others.

Open the door, you motherfucker.

iii.

The first of the squad cars tore onto the scene and skidded to a halt, kicking up dust and dirt behind. With the headlights illuminating the area, the two officers leapt out - both of them quick to grab their fire-arms and flashlights as the following cars also arrived with the officers jumping out ready for the worst.

‘Take the barn! We’ve got the house!’ The officers split into groups and headed for their designated search areas and only stopped when a gunshot rang out into the air. ‘The house!’ They all changed direction and charged towards the house, some headed for the front and others headed for the rear. Another car arrived and those officers climbed from their car and ducked down behind the vehicle’s doors - their own pistols aimed towards the house offering covering fire if required.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The End

Present Day / Earlier

(Canada)

i.

The police were here. It was over. He could still come into the room, he was only the other side of the door, and Christa knew she had the drop on him. The moment the door opened she could fill him with lead but then that would be it. The police would storm the building, they’d take the firearm from her and they would take her to hospital before asking a million and one questions. The questions wouldn’t stop there either. The press would come by asking more questions, friends and relatives would ask more questions of their own. No one would forget, least of all Christa that her daughter, her husband, her mother-in-law - were all dead. She would be left alive to pick up the pieces. Pieces, she thought, which wouldn’t be fixable. She didn’t want to live life a broken woman, haunted by this day. She didn’t want it.

‘I know you’re in there,’ Shane said. ‘I know you’ve probably set a trap for me too. The question is - can I get past it and get to you before the police get to me? Well. Only one way to find out. I’m coming in. Three seconds, okay? Three, two….’ A gunshot startled Shane who ducked to the side. He expected another hail of bullets to follow but there was nothing - just the sound of the police outside. Puzzled, he carefully pushed the bedroom door open. Lying on the floor, next to the bed, was Christa. Half of her head was missing and her brains were splattered on the far wall. A smoking magnum in her hand. Shane lowered his gun. He hadn’t expected that.

Doors splintered from their hinges downstairs as the police stormed into the building calling out, warning the occupants that they were there. Shane stepped backwards, out of the bedroom. Without knowing what else to do he turned back down the hallway and raised his gun. He could kill a couple of them before they got to him. A couple more for his kill-count. He smiled as he pressed his finger against the trigger and waited.

It was a good run, he thought, but now it’s time to pay the piper.

Shane’s mind started to wonder what Hell was like. He knew he was going there and wasn’t sure what to expect until his mind mocked him, Imagine if it’s an eternity with your ex. The bitch who started all of this. Imagine an eternity of having to watch her fuck her brother. Imagine.

Shane’s smile faded as the police started up the stairs.

THE END

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