Chapter 66
Bradford
The Man in Black is in his den. Pacing back and forth. What happened at Karen Smith’s house might have been energising, might have given him a rush, but now, with the adrenalin fading from his limbs, he’s concerned.
That was close, very close, and who knows what will become of it. Will the CSI recover and remember what she saw in the attic? He is convinced that, although she initially thought he was some sort of vermin, just at the end, she recognised him as human. That aside, would the roof collapse lead the CSIs to explore the attic space? He doesn’t really think they’re smart enough to make that jump, but he can’t discount it completely.
So, what to do? What to do? He takes out his notebook and opens it to the page with his two lists and looks at each in turn. He could just tear up the non-ritual kill list and focus on the last two of his ritual kills. That would probably be the sensible thing to do. But since when have I ever been sensible? He puts his ritual list down and studies the other list. He’s already decided who’s next, he’s already planned out the where and the when, but isn’t it fun to change direction – to mash things up a bit. Plans are made to be broken and, well, I’m always up for the challenge.
****
They will never expect this – not in a million years. Why would they? The Man in Black isn’t wearing black. Instead, he’s wearing a uniform – one he stripped from the cleaner whom he injected with ketamine and hid among the cleaning equipment in the small storeroom. It’s a bit too big for him, but after all, he’s improvising, isn’t he?
The corridors are dark, but it had been easy for him to hack in and get a site plan. He’d initially intended to kill this target at their home, yet a revised plan proved that this would be equally effective. The smell of vanilla drifts down the corridor. He smiles. He prefers lavender, but – that’s a different story. The huge aquarium offers a momentary distraction as he stands in the dull outer office deciding on his weapon. Of course this time, he’ll have to use the ketamine again. He wonders if they’ll link that – surely to goodness they will – even they can’t be that stupid.
His hacking earlier on had told him where DI Gus McGuire was – he and his mum and the quirky psychologist. The Man in Black hoped that this would be enough to bring them hurtling back down to Bradford, where he could taunt them further. Their absence took some of the fun from his work and that he couldn’t tolerate. Besides, what are they doing poking about in Scotland of all places, that’s too close for comfort.
Back to the job in hand. It’s silent beyond the door, yet he knows his victim is there. He goes over to the bookshelf. The Life and Times of Charles Dickens – Yes, that would do the trick. Slotting it under his arm, he gets his syringe out. When he opens the door, he’ll have only a short amount of time before his prey realises he isn’t the usual cleaner. Working late at the office doesn’t have any benefits after all.
This is rather exciting for him. He loves this part of the process and the fact that he’s had to pull it together so quickly serves to heighten his enjoyment. He creeps over to the door and swings it open. The prey’s eyes change in an instant from an uncomprehending frown to a spark of fear as he rushes forward, syringe hidden until the last minute when he lunges over her desk aiming for her neck.
She’s quick though, Damn her! She jumps to her feet, pushing her chair away from the desk and he misses her neck by centimetres. But he’s not done. The noise is irrelevant because there’s no one here to help her – not now. He rushes forward and pushes the desk towards her at speed trapping her against the back wall. He’s still got the syringe in his hand as he jumps over the table and, narrowly avoiding her scratching fingernails, deposits the ketamine in her jugular as he’d intended all along. She slides to the floor, as he pulls the desk away from her to give him space to work. For the sake of consistency, he picks up the tome he’d selected and whacks her on the head. Her eyes register the pain, but she can’t move, can’t speak, can’t protest when he puts his silicon covered hands around her neck and squeezes the life from her.
Soon afterwards, he’s sitting in the Hare and Hounds, drink in hand, replaying his busy day’s work in his mind. Quite the achievement. He’ll sleep well tonight and hopefully Dr Mahmood’s death will bring his adversaries home.
Chapter 67
Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility, Scotland
She’s back! The girl with the brown eyes and dark hair but she’s not alone. I don’t like this. There’s three of them and they’re walking towards me. The tall one – the fella-, was talking to Jimmy earlier. Poor Jimmy took one of his turns and Bernie had to sedate him.
‘They’re coming to get you, Rory. If they catch you, they’re going to eat you, Rory.’
I jump to my feet and gather my drawing things together. ‘Stop it, stop it,stop it.’
‘They’re coming to get you, Rory. If they catch you, they’re going to eat you, Rory.’
I chant the words in my head again and again… ‘Stop it, stop it,stop it.’
‘They’re coming to get you, Rory. If they catch you, they’re going to eat you, Rory.’
‘Stop it, stop it, stop it.’
‘They’re coming to get you, Rory. If they catch you, they’re going to eat you, Rory.’
‘Stop it, stop it, stop it.’
‘They’re coming to get you,
