Spare Key

The estate agent was beginning to look a little flustered as he struggled with the lock but Ben’s eyes weren’t on him. As the fat, balding man cursed under his breath, Ben Fowler’s attention was all focused on the shapely woman attempting to unlock the door of the next flat while juggling four overloaded bags of shopping.

He could feel his penis stirring to life at the jiggle of her buttocks as she shifted her weight and managed to lodge her key in the lock. His gaze stripped away her black skirt revealing the flesh underneath and a shortness of breath hit him as he scanned upwards, peeling the black T-shirt away to reveal the slope of her breast with just a hint of nipple visible beneath the cascade of red hair that hung over her face like a curtain.

‘You, my friend, are a godsend.’

Ben started. The image of her flesh banished in an instant as he shot a glance back at the estate agent. The man smiled toothily at him, obviously unaware of how his flop sweat glinted beneath the fluorescents that lined the stretch of brown-brick flats. He was still jiggling the key in the lock and seemed to be trying to cover his difficulty with what he no doubt thought was slick and charming small talk. Ben wasn’t impressed but kept silent. It wouldn’t do to get off on the wrong foot. Not when he was trying to start over again; start over and leave the past behind.

‘The last tenants left us in a pretty big lurch,’ the agent continued, ‘gambling debts apparently. Legged it pretty damn sprightly.’ Ben snorted before he could stop himself but the agent seemed to take it as agreement. ‘That’s what I thought. Left owing about four months…’

The agent’s voice drained away as Ben turned his gaze back to the lady. She’d managed to open her door but had paused on the threshold. Ben gaped when he saw her smiling at him and the air seemed to press in too close, thickening until it felt like he was gulping mouthfuls of sticky soup. The angular features were there. Just like what he used to look for. The hair colour was right. The eye colour too. And the figure…The figure was perfect.

As he watched he could see those luscious lips ripping open in a rictus-scream, the eyes widening with realisation and his mind jumped to the jar of pills that Slavia had given him.

Where were they? In the car still? Stuffed in the duffel bag with the other things? The other things that he still wasn’t certain why he’d retrieved from their hidey-hole. It was stupid of him to leave them there. Even if he was currently having doubts about their effectiveness. Who cared what his brother’s girlfriend had said, surely they wouldn’t have released him without proper medication. Surely not...

…Maybe he should have brought the whole bag with him… Shit, no, that wasn’t right. He was starting over. He couldn’t afford to get caught again. He’d been lucky last time. If the boyfriend had been ten minutes later…

Ben was uncomfortably aware of the full-blown erection that was tenting the front of his trousers. The smile had dropped from the lady’s face and she was now peering oddly at him. He attempted to mould his features into a smile but had no idea whether he succeeded or not; whether his muscles were obeying him. Maybe he should go and say hello? No that would just make it worse… He should really stop staring. Ben tried but he couldn’t take his eyes away. Thankfully, before even the faintest glimmer of red walls could appear in the background, the lady disappeared behind her slamming door and the air thinned again. Ben gulped it down as he peered across the weed-choked gardens that pathetically bordered the front car-parks.

‘Used to be prime rental property here but then the murder happened and suddenly no-one wanted to stay anymore.’ The agent was still focused on the lock and apparently blissfully unaware of the moment that had transpired between Ben and the lady. A fact Ben was immensely grateful for. He had to be much more careful. Dr Slavia had told him how difficult it was going to be. He’d said you have to want it to work. And he did want it to work… Didn’t he?

…But that was part of the problem wasn’t it? The fact he had to want it to work. Exactly what did that mean? Maybe Mandy had been right. Maybe the pills were nothing but placebos… No that was ridiculous; they never would have released him… Surely not…

…Of course not…

‘Only the really desperate folks stay here now…’ The estate agent looked up sharply from the lock. ‘Not that I’m saying you’re desperate or anything like that. Don’t take it the wrong way or anything.’

Ben dismissed his comment with a shake of the head that was more directed at the rapidly spreading stains that were dyeing the man’s voluminous and immaculately pressed white shirt yellow.

‘Are you having some trouble there?’ Ben coughed and muttered when he saw that the agent was expecting some sort of verbal response. His voice came out all cracked and croaky though as just briefly, flitting across the mental equivalent of his peripheral vision came a glimmer of red. It was only a hint. The briefest suggestion of a hue but it was enough to start Ben’s heart pounding. He needed his pills…

‘Nah, there’s just a bit of a knack to it you know.’ The agent paused and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky as he mopped up some of his brow-sweat with his sleeve. ‘Don’t worry,’ he continued, renewing his struggle, ‘nothing to worry about. It just sticks a little… Ah there we go.’

The agent sounded ridiculously triumphant as the tumblers clicked and the door swung open.

‘After you good sir.’

Ben took a last, lingering look at the closed door of the flat next door, focusing on the tarnished number seven screwed to its front, and then allowed the agent to usher him over the threshold.

The erection was still hot against his thigh.

* * * * *

‘As you can see, quite a bit of work has been done to fix the place up. The landlords sunk a fair wad of cash into it, getting it back up to scratch after the last tenant legged it,’ the agent called from the living room as Ben stood surveying the kitchen. Yeah right, Ben thought as he ran his finger over the bumpy laminate of the bench, his mind transforming its cool surface into the warm flesh of her body beneath his touch. He tried hard not to think of the flash of red and when he realised his touch had become a caress, he removed his hand and shook his head to clear the image. Looks more like a weekend’s work from a couple of mates.

He wished that the estate agent would just fuck off so he could take his pills. Although he’d only seen the lounge and kitchen so far, it was enough for him to know that a professional had not set foot in the flat. The revolting, lime-green walls were patchy and lumpy from shoddy plasterwork and the joins in the cornices were almost shapeless blobs, giving the impression they had melted. The paint must have been on sale because everything was lime-green: the walls, the trimmings, the doors, the light-switches. The only thing breaking it up was the off-white ceiling that sported a rather large water-stain across its middle.

Even the carpet – a deep, burgundy colour that clashed horribly with the walls – was thin and cheap-looking and, judging by the way it was lifting in the corners, poorly tacked down too.

‘Ah, admiring the kitchen I see.’ The agent poked his head around the door. ‘That oven’s brand new, so are the bench-tops.’ Although poorly fitted, the bench-tops did look new but judging by the grime encrusted on its front pane of glass, the oven had been in place for a good many years.

Why the fuck was the agent still giving him the spiel? Ben had already signed the lease back at the man’s dingy office. If anything the man’s continued rabbiting was just going to lead him to say fuck off, I don’t want it anymore. Ben rubbed at his temples as he watched the agent’s mouth flap. He’s probably just a lonely old guy. Doesn’t get much of a chance to talk to anyone. Wife’s probably dead, kids moved away, probably going home to an empty house…

No matter how much he tried to justify the man’s behaviour, Ben still wished he’d just leave him in peace. He needed time to relax. To take his pills; stop the thoughts before they could coalesce; before the glimmer of red could solidify and spread. Because the lady next door was not her. He forced the thought forward strongly, just as Slavia had taught him to. It’s not her.

‘So are you happy or what? Such a bargain too.’ The agent was now resting on the bench, balanced on the crook of one arm in a manner that suggested he was settling in for the long haul. ‘The only place you’ll find in Brunswick for under two hundred a week.’

Ben bit back his irritation and forced a smile as he thought about just abruptly punching the man. Feeling the gristle of his nose crunch beneath his fist. It was only the absurd image of the man crumbling then rebounding