Deadly Secrets. Part 28

Part 1, Part 27

God. It was such a rush. He had never stolen a car before. This was living. This was life. He’d gone far enough. He pulled into a side road, there was no one around. Good. Better than good. Perfect. He got out of the car and walked calmly around to the trunk, he opened it and took out the container. He had left all the windows down. This was the easiest way to get rid of the evidence. He opened the container and started to pour it liberally over everything, the stink of petrol filled the air. He lit a match and threw it through the window, he waited for a second until there was the muted whumf of it catching. Soon it was burning merrily. He turned and started to walk down the alleyway, at a fast pace. He stepped out of the alley and onto the streets. There were a few people around, not many. No one paid any attention to him. He was invisible. Invincible. He breathed deeply, then smiled. He slowed his pace slightly and continued walking. A few moments later he could hear the whine of a car horn. His smile broadened. He had never done something like that, so hands off, the feeling of taking two lives at once was indescribable, the thud and jolt as they struck the car. He could barely believe it. Never had he done something so daring. People saw. People actually saw him in action. He stopped into a coffee shop and bought himself a hot chocolate and cookie, putting his change in the tip jar. He knew they would taste amazing. Everything always did after he had taken a life. He took a bite, then a sip of the drink. The flavours danced over his tongue, he closed his eyes, enjoying them. He ate slowly, he was right. Everything was better. He finished his drink and the last bite of cookie, then he left the shop. He breathed deeply once outside, the sound of the horn had stopped, but he could still detect the faint smell of burning plastics. There would be nothing left of the car. No evidence at least. He’d never be found. No one had seen him steal it, no one had seen him destroy it. He was safe.

She stretched, enjoying the freedom. He had unchained her. Actually unchained her, she was completely free. Well, free to wander the room, which she took full advantage of. She didn’t know why he was so happy, he didn’t tell her his plan, though she knew he was up to something. The deal was he would let her be free around the room, then she would sit on the bed and chain one of her wrists, then she would call out and he would add the rest of the restraints. She wanted to try something to escape, she might not get another chance, but if she screwed it up, that was it. Game over. She considered it as she moved until she came to a decision. She would wait a little longer. He didn’t seem like he would go into a rage and kill her, he seemed to keep hold of himself. If she showed she could be trusted, he might let her loose for longer periods, maybe even while he was gone. He might decide she could be a valuable asset, a partner even, she wouldn’t stick around for it to get that far, by then she would be long gone. She sat on the bed, shifting slightly. Maybe he’d let her shower. God that would be nice. She hadn’t felt clean since she got here, even though he had cleaned her. She had expected him to do something the first few times, but he hadn’t. It seemed clinical to him. He had no attraction to her. At least none that she could tell. He knocked sharply on the door. Reached across the bed and cuffed one wrist. As the lock clicked back into place, she wondered if she could have hidden a weapon underneath her pillow or something. Stupid. Shit. As he opened the door she felt panic rising, what if that was what he did? What if this was his ritual. She tried to breathe. No. It wasn’t. He told her. He didn’t take people from the chair. She laid out obediently as he moved over her. She didn’t struggle as he cuffed her again. He loosened the chains slightly, she had more movement. He smiled. “I have a surprise for you.” He left the room and returned a moment later, carrying some books. “I thought these might give you something to do while I’m not here.” She smiled, “Thank you.” He placed the books down, just in her reach. He reached under the pillow and felt around, then he pulled up the corners of the mattress slightly, peering underneath. “Not that I don’t trust you. Just making sure.” “I understand.” She picked up one of the books and scanned the back, not taking in the information at all. “It sounds good.” “I quite enjoyed it when I first read it.” Shit. He would want to talk about it. She’d have to read it now. She skim read the back. It sounded familiar. Was it a movie at some point? She opened the cover and flicked a few pages. He stood again, “I really do hope you enjoy it.” “I’ll start it right away.” “I’m going to get a start on dinner.”  He left her alone again. She started to read. This was good. He was seeing her as a person. Maybe she’d ask him for something small, another book maybe? Tell her it was her favourite perhaps.

He cooked dinner carefully, he was feeling pretty good. The lust for death had gone, something he had not expected. He had thought that it might be dulled slightly, but removed completely? It didn’t scratch the itch in the same way, but it still stopped it. She was behaving too. He wasn’t sure about letting her go, but it had been a good idea. She could be trusted. He didn’t think she was messing with him, but still, he would need to be sure. As he cooked he replayed what happened over and over in his mind, listening to the crack. Visualising the windshield fracturing. He shivered in pleasure. Life was good. He put the food on the plates carefully, making sure it looked right. He would tell her what happened while they ate dinner. That would be best. He’d know how she really felt, if she was being truthful. If she wasn’t she wouldn’t be able to eat while he described it all to her.

 

 

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 24 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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One Response to Deadly Secrets. Part 28

  1. Pingback: Deadly Secrets. Part 29. | Alan James Keogh

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