The sharp taste of his own blood
swung him back around into consciousness. He blinked, and tried to move his
head into the direction of the light, but as he did, a wave of blackness
threatened upon him again, and he stopped trying. His lips were cracked and
dry, and the blood seeped into the rivets in his skin like water through the
desert. He coughed, and sparkles of light seared his vision as his head shook.
He might be a bit of a rookie
detective, but he had the distinct feeling that this was not good.
His mind flicked back to its last
moment of coherent thought before he awoke to his own blood in his mouth. He
had been here, on the brink of possibly the most significant deduction of his
short professional career, about to ambush the woman he thought was responsible
for the murder of three young, healthy professional men. All three had been
abducted and tortured before their untimely deaths, and the general consensus
was that they were murdered by one big mean monster of a guy, but he had had
other ideas from day one. The fact that he was correct, at this very moment in
time, served him no great comfort.
He closed his eyes slightly and
listened for the sound of life in the darkness. Was she here, watching him,
waiting to see if he awoke so she could begin toying with him for his life? Or
had she incapacitated him and gone off for her next victim? He knew he wasn't
her usual type of prey. He was young, yes, but unlike the other victims,
relatively uneducated and definitely not wealthy. He might have been pretty
highly regarded among his professional peers-he had a knack for putting the
pieces of a crime together that few could rival-but the other dead men had been
graduates of some of America’s finest universities, and had gone into careers
which meant that their bank balances left little to be desired. He was just
some cop, twenty six and pushed to the front of the professional queue. She
wouldn’t waste her time on him. Not normally, but seen as he had broken into
her house with the intention of arresting her for the murders of which she was
responsible, he could understand how he might have thrust himself into her
spotlight.
Wallis. He had told Wallis where
he was going. His partner, older and far wiser than he, had thought it was a
dead end, but he knew. He knew he was there. As the night drew on and he didn’t
return, Wallis would raise the alarm. The older man was pretty decent in
looking out for him. If Susanna called the station asking why he wasn't home
yet, Wallis would know to come here. Trouble was, he didn’t have any idea what
time it was. He might have arrived here an hour, or a day, ago. And was this
even the house he had broken into in the first place? And, God, what if Susanna didn’t bother to
call? She was checking on him less and less these days.
Shit.
In the darkness, he heard the
unmistakable sound of a door opening and soft footsteps on the wooden floor,
although they were making a concerted effort to remain silent. His head felt
hot, as though the wound that had been dripping down into his mouth had become
infected, and another wave of darkness threatened him as he tried to
concentrate on the room’s other occupant. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting
to lose the small element of surprise he had over his attacker.
She drew closer to him and he
knew it was her from the lightness of her footsteps, and as she came close
enough for him to tell, the gentle scent of her perfume. Although his eyes were
closed, he knew she was only centimetres away from his face. He could feel her
breath on his skin. For just a moment, Susanna flickered into his mind, and he
wondered whether he would ever see his wife again.
“Hello Jimmy,” she said into the
darkness, and it took every ounce of his self restraint to not react to the
surprise of her voice. She began to trace her finger over his face, and had he
not known better, he would have thought it was the touch of a lover. As it was,
it felt like the hands of death. Her
fingers danced over his skins, cupping his cheek slightly and running her hand,
almost gently, though the day-old stubble that shadowed his face. He kept his
face lowered, still maintaining his alleged unconsciousness, but when she
lifted her hands through his hair and plunged her fingers into the wound on his
skull, he lifted his head and howled in her face.
She kept her face only inches
from his, her bloodied fingers wrapped around his matted hair. “Did you think I
didn’t know you were awake, Jimmy? I have night vision cameras in here, you
know. You’re my little pet.”
There were streaks of lightning
rushing through his vision, and the steady stream of blood into his mouth had
returned. He looked deep into her hazel eyes, expecting her to be devoid of any
emotion, but he could see how much pleasure she was getting from this. Although
undeniably beautiful, her loveliness was robbed by the insanity which overtook
her delicate features. Her olive skin was soft, but was covered in flecks of
his blood and her full lips were curled into a snarl.
“What were you doing, coming
here? This isn’t even my home. You walked right into my…lair, I suppose. Right
into the den of the wolf. You must have known I would kill you. And I liked
you, you know? So handsome, and funny. One of the best cops I’ve ever worked
with. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it was you who figured me out. I
just wish it hadn’t been.”
He looked down and saw his badge
in her hand. Was that how she had known he was coming for her? He’d never
dropped it before. She flicked it open for him to see.
Oh, Godammit.
It wasn’t his badge. Although the
words were too saturated with blood for him to read it clearly, he could make
out one corner of Wallis’ face. His partner had
come for him, and it had cost him his life. The older cop wasn’t really all
that old. Forty three only a month ago. He still had a young son in high
school, less than ten years younger than Jimmy himself. And now he was dead.
Jimmy looked up into the eyes of the woman that he knew was going to end his
life, and spat in her exquisite face. She never even turned away, never made a
move to wipe her cheek. In fact, she allowed a brief, beautiful smile to cross
her lips.
“It wasn't my fault, Detective. I
never sent him here. I think you’ll find that was you. I wouldn’t have killed
him had it not been for you.”
She said these words quietly and
calmly, and Jimmy knew they were true. He could have waited, could have gotten
backup or called it in, but he hadn’t. He’d called Ian Wallis, who’d told him
he was a stupid bastard and that no ninety pound forensic examiner could be
responsible for three murders.
Four murders.
And now Wallis was dead, and he
was, he reckoned, only minutes behind. He had a strong suspicion that if left
alone long enough, the head wound which was pulling at the threads of his
consciousness would take his life, let alone whatever wounds he was undoubtedly
about to receive.
She flicked the badge wallet
closed again, and placed it at his feet. Her hair fell over her face slightly
as she did so, and Jimmy leaned forward, testing the strength of his weakening
body. A kick might disable her, he thought. He was a strong guy, ran every day,
and he liked to think he had a certain level of resolve. Injured or not, he
might be able to knock her out until help arrived. That was providing there was
help coming, of course. Wallis might not have called it in, tried to cover
Jimmy’s back and ending up getting them both killed. Jimmy was never going to
know what was happening out there. All he could do was try. All this ran
through his head in adrenaline filled seconds. He might not get another chance
like this, and he knew he had to take it.
He pushed his body backwards,
preparing himself to issue her with a kick that would knock those perfect teeth
out of her pretty little mouth. She was still looking down at the picture of
his fallen partner as he lunged forwards, ignoring the pain that ran through
his skull and the blood that clouded his vision. He propelled himself at her
and she fell, but the impact very nearly stopped him, too. She took the brunt
of the fall as they landed, but recovered far more quickly than Jimmy himself.
He lay on the floor, trying to breathe through the pain that invaded him as he
realised that although the head wound was probably his most sinister injury, it
wasn't his only one. He had at least two broken ribs and his ankle was soft and
mushy. How he had managed to run at her was a mystery, but he knew he had
little chance of getting up anytime soon. He closed his eyes, willing the pain
away. She scrambled to regain her footing, but Jimmy lay on the damp wood of
the cellar floor, no threat to her now.
“Nice try,
Jimmy. More than any of the others have tried. More than Ian tried.” Her voice
was smug, triumphant, but more than that. Every time she spoke, there was a
hint of sexual allure in her voice, a flirtation. Jimmy had heard it plenty
when she was talking to him-in fact; the tone was nothing new when it came to
the way women spoke to him. He was no fool, and he knew his good looks went a
long way in getting female witnesses to be that bit more helpful than maybe
they would be for other cops.
“It is a
shame that I’m going to kill you. I’m not a complete monster, you know. It’s
been a shame for all of them, in their own little way. But for you, and for
Ian, it does seem that little bit more tragic. Ian, because it was your fault
and not his. And you,” She leaned down so that her face was, once again, close
enough to kiss, “You because you’re so handsome, so good, and you have that
little wife of yours who adores you and a baby so newborn that you’ll only ever
be a tragic hero to her. A face in photographs that she’ll never know.”
He lifted
his face to hers then, anger blazing in his eyes. Numb from his pain for a
moment, he pushed himself up so that their skin touched.
“She will
not lose me,” he hissed, “You won’t take me away from them you psychopathic
bitch.”
Once again
she smiled. “Oh, Jimmy,” she murmured softly, “I already have.”
© Nicola Pearce
19.02.2008
