Her eyes blinked open and, this time, slowly focused. She experienced surprisingly little pain as she lay there trying to digest what was happening to her.
“Not long now,” he whispered gently. He felt intensely aroused, and could hardly breathe as he reached behind him for the knife.
She began moaning softly in the darkness, a pitiful noise signifying her distress. It was important that she remain awake for this, to share the experience with him. He needed her to understand what was happening. Leaning close to her, his face only inches away from hers, The Disciple drove the Bowie knife deep into her genitalia. “This is for leaving me riddled with venereal disease,” he snarled, closing his eyes in relish as she shuddered.
Placing a gloved hand over her gagged mouth to muffle the screams, he moved the blade deeper into her, probing and twisting, exploring with it. It was his penis and he was fucking her, thrusting deeper and harder until he reached the point of no return.
She was still alive, but only just. He wanted to postpone the final moment, prolong the experience for as long as possible.
This was all so intense. His nervous system felt electrified. Time itself seemed to slow down as every sense he possessed became unbelievably enhanced.
His hearing had somehow become painfully acute, to the extent that he could discern the distinctive rustle of all the different fabrics as their clothing touched. He could isolate the sound of her dying heart, still beating defiantly inside her chest but growing weaker as the life force ebbed out of her. He listened attentively to the glorious sound of her soft flesh tearing as he slowly moved the knife inside her. He paused momentarily, lifting his head to sniff the air like a wild animal. He could smell everything.
Everything!
He could differentiate between the thick layer of dust on the banister and an old newspaper across the hall. He could smell the fur of the rodents inhabiting the old house, and the pungent aroma of their droppings on nearby floorboards. He clearly recognised the rich coppery smell of fresh blood, a distinctive odour that triggered vivid recollections of his final moments with Tracey Phillips. The killer would not have been surprised to learn that scent tends to foster memory more readily than any other sense. Fragrances he had never noticed before were suddenly accessible to him. It was incredible, beyond his wildest dreams. It was as though he could now smell with his whole body and not just his nose, as though the various odours in the dank building were being suffused into his skin.
As the last embers of her life were extinguished, one question burned brightly in her mind. She struggled to ask it but her body wouldn’t respond. Her tongue felt thick, as if it had swollen to fill her entire mouth. The Disciple saw the unasked question in her eyes as they tried to focus on him one final time. He smiled cruelly. “You want to know why I chose you, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” His voice was barely audible above her death rattle.
Another blade, a Finnish skinning knife, appeared in his left hand. Placing his right hand on the centre of her clammy forehead he rested the knife against the side of her neck.
“I’d gladly tell you,” he said, conversationally, as the knife began to slice downwards with tremendous force.
“But then I’d have to kill you.”
CHAPTER 18
Jack was sitting at the bar feeling mightily annoyed when Dillon finally showed his face.
He slid onto the next bar stool and signalled for the bartender. “Sorry, Jack,” he said sheepishly.
“What took you so long? I thought you’d gone home until I remembered that it was me who’d driven us here.” Jack looked at his watch. He had been sitting there, alone, for twenty-five minutes.
“Do you want another drink?” Dillon offered.
“I’ve already had two,” Jack said, angrily. “What the hell happened to you?”
Dillon tried again to catch the bartender’s eye. “I got talking, lost track of the time.” He shrugged and spread his arms disarmingly. “You know how it is.”
“No, not really,” Jack said, huffily folding his arms across his chest and fixing Dillon with a cold stare. He was extremely unhappy that he’d been kept waiting, and he could just imagine the ear bashing he’d be getting right now if their positions had been reversed.
“Never mind, mate, I’m here now.”
“You’re unbelievable!” Tyler said, knocking back the last of his orange juice. He stood up to leave. “Come on, let’s go.”
“No, wait! Sit down, relax, and have another drink. It’s my round.” Dillon signalled the bartender again, successfully this time.
“Be with you in a minute, sir,” the man called from the other end of the bar.
“What are you up to?” Jack asked suspiciously, but he sat back down nonetheless.
Dillon decided to be frank. “Look, I got talking to a girl called Karen. She’s a real babe, and she’s agreed to have a drink with me tonight.”
“I see. Well, in that case, I don’t want to play gooseberry so I’ll leave you to it.” Jack made to stand up again, but Dillon waved him back down.
“No, don’t go. I need you to keep her mate occupied for me.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Her mate?” That didn’t sound good.
“Yeah, she’s with her BFF, a girl called Fiona. I told Karen she could join us, so I need you to keep her company while I chat up Karen.”
“I’m really not in the mood for this, Dill,” Tyler said. And he wasn’t; he was tired and grumpy, and his mind was preoccupied with the case.
“Don’t be silly, it’ll do you good to have a little female company.”
“No offence, but any woman you try to set me up with must have something wrong with her, otherwise you’d be sniffing around her yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that this Fiona bird is probably a real pig or a certified bunny boiler or, knowing you, both.”
“She’s lovely, Jack, honest.”
“She was
