Victim: An Extreme Horror Novel Page 5

  “No,” I gasped.

  “No, what?” asked the killer.

  I spun round on the spot, my mind whirring. I was standing between the killer and Scott, therefore obscuring the view of the lighter in Scott’s hand. Scott had timed it to be so, calling to me when I had blocked the view of him from the killer. That was my Scott, clever and resourceful to the end.

  “Just shut up,” I said, edging towards the door.

  The killer took a step towards me.

  “Stay back!”

  “If you were gonna shoot me, you would’ve done it by now.”

  But there still must have been some element of doubt in his mind because he didn’t make a move to wrestle the gun off me. I edged backwards, drawing level with my fiancé.

  “Scott? Don’t you even think about it.”

  His fist remained curled around the lighter. “I’ll never make it, Chlo. I love you.”

  A sob wrenched up from my chest, painful in its intensity. I looked down at him, my heart breaking. He managed a thin smile, but I could see the pain etched on his face. I saw the truth. He was dying, and he wanted me to live. There was nothing I could do to stop him. Yes, I could’ve taken the lighter from him as easily as I could’ve done candy from a baby, but what good would that have done? He was going to die anyway, at least this way he would do it with some dignity.

  So I edged backwards, making my way over to the door and keeping the gun trained on him.

  “Where do you think you’re going, bitch?”

  Behind the bravado, I could hear the confusion in his voice. Me simply walking out of here was not part of his plan and he wasn’t about to let me do that.

  Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a choice.

  “Run,” Scott mouthed.

  Out of the corner of my eye in the second before I hurtled through the door, I saw my darling Scott lob the lighter in the direction of the killer.

  Outside, I could hear the bastard’s high-pitched screams. I fancied I could hear the whoosh of the flames, too, but that was probably in my imagination.

  I ran for the car. As I fumbled with trembling hands to open the car door, I glanced over my shoulder at the living-room through the huge window. The glass looked like a wall of orange fire.

  “Fuck,” I sobbed, clambering into the car and starting the engine.

  I was free. It was over.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Greg stopped reading and let the exercise-book drop from his trembling fingers. He realised he had been holding his breath and let out a shaky sigh.

  Man, that was fucking crazy…

  If he was honest with himself, parts of her diary troubled him. Like, a lot. It wasn’t just that she had written the damn thing down in story form, it just seemed so…

  Cold? Wrong?

  Not to mention that the ending seemed a little…

  A little what?

  He scratched his head in confusion. God, he really was having difficulty organizing his thoughts. The diary was beyond troubling, it positively grated on him in ways that he fully didn’t understand. She had professed to love Scott, yet she had not seemed to put up much of a fight when it came to him sacrificing his life. She wasn’t a doctor, and he had been shot in the leg, how could she know for sure that he was going to die? Surely a blood transfusion at the hospital might have saved him?

  “So now have you finished it?”

  Greg had been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard her enter the bedroom. She stood in the doorway, still wearing only the towel wrapped around her beautiful body. His heart hammered uncomfortably fast in his chest as he regarded her.

  “Er, yeah, I guess I did.”

  “So now you know everything.”

  “Yeah.”

  Unanswered questions floated uneasily in his mind – there was so much he wanted to ask but at the same time didn’t dare. Like, for instance, who was this mysterious guy that had targeted Mr and Mrs Jones? Surely she had some idea?

  Everything about her ordeal was strange.

  But you knew the basics about her dark past when you got with her, why is it suddenly bothering you now?

  And he had no answer for that one, either.

  She smiled at him – one of her special little smiles that meant only one thing. As gorgeous a figure as she cut, right then sex could not have been further from his mind. Even when she let the towel drop to the floor, he felt dead inside.

  “I’m sorry, babe, I really am tired, do you mind if we just sleep?”

  Her smile fell as fast as the towel had. She stepped over it and joined him in the bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin and lying on her back. Greg reached for the bedside-lamp and switched it off, plunging the bedroom into darkness.

  She snuggled up to him, nudging her face against his upper-arm – her signal that she required to rest her head on his chest. He obliged, conscious that his cock was as flaccid as it was possible to get.

  Please don’t make the moves on me, he silently prayed when she did her usual thing of draping a thigh over his.

  “Are you mad at me?” she mumbled into his chest.

  “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

  “Because you’re being cold. Don’t you want to talk? You know, about what you’ve read, and stuff?”

  Can she hear my raised heartbeat? he wondered.

  Making a conscious effort to slow down his heartrate, he replied in carefully modulated tones. “I’m just tired, sweetheart, busy day and all.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you too. “ He kissed the top of her head. “G’night.”

  “Night, then.”

  He lay awake in the dark for hours, staring up at the ceiling as she gently snored on his chest.

  What in hell is wrong with me? I love her.

  I do love her, don’t I?

  Of course I do.

  But try as he might, he could not shake that strange sense of uneasiness. Sleep was a long time coming.

  His eyes snapped open to the racket of his ringing alarm-clock.

  It can’t be that time already, he thought as he fumbled for the ‘off’ switch. I’ve only just fallen asleep.

  He felt like shit. He had tossed and turned all night, plagued by nightmares that now he couldn’t remember; nightmares that had been so vivid, the fragments of which drained through the cracks of his mind like grains of sand with every waking second.

  He sat up and stared down at his sleeping fiancée. She looked the picture of innocence laying there with her long golden hair fanning out over the pillow.

  How can she even sleep, after what she went through?

  Being as quiet as humanly possible so as not to disturb her – even going so far as to use the downstairs toilet and skipping the whole, washing and teeth-brushing thing – he left the house for work while she slept.

  The day at work passed uneventfully.

  “You coming up to the office, mate?” Steve called over to him.

  “Yeah, in a minute, when I’ve finished up here.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t take too long about it.”

  “Sure.”

  Greg closed down his wood-moulding machine, looking forward to downing a few beers. Well, downing a few beers with Steve to be precise, the rest of his laddish colleagues could quietly go fuck themselves.

  And Susan the sexy secretary. Let’s not forget about her…

  As soon as he thought it, he instantly dismissed it. Just because Susan was a good-looking woman, it didn’t necessarily follow that he fancied her. And just because she had a personality to match those heart-stopping looks and he enjoyed the banter with her on the rare occasions he ventured into the office, it wasn’t like it actually meant anything. He was quite capable of admiring Susan’s beauty in an entirely objective fashion….

  “Hello.”

  Greg jumped guiltily, for the voice belonged to none other than the woman his thoughts had strayed to. He spun round to face her, his face hot.

  Jesus wept,
am I actually blushing?

  Susan smiled knowingly, like she could read his mind. “I come bearing gifts.” In each outstretched hand she held a can of lager and she chucked him one.

  He almost dropped it, he was so flustered. “Thanks, I was just shutting down the machine, then I have to lock up. Why don’t I join you upstairs in a minute?”

  He held out the unopened can of lager towards her, but she shook her head.

  “I’ll wait. I’m sure everyone will manage just fine without us for a moment or two.”

  Greg glanced nervously around, feeling inexplicably guilty.

  I’m not doing anything wrong, he had to remind himself. He stared at the all-too-familiar surroundings that suddenly felt different, somehow. Everything looked the same in the vast space; from the heavy, wood machinery, to the great stacks of timber and mini forklifts over by the huge, garage-style doors at the opposite end of the work-floor.

  But it felt wrong. Maybe because the place was usually teeming with life and the roar of heavy machinery, and the sudden, deathly quiet was jarring on him.

  Or maybe it’s because you’re alone with a beautiful woman and you know Chloe would go nuts if she could see you now.

  “Cheers,” he said, snapping back the ring-pull.

  “Cheers. So what’s up?”

  “You know, just the usual.”

  “You’re not your normal, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed self. What’s wrong? Girl troubles?”

  Her frank question disarmed him and he took a slug of warm lager before replying. “What makes you say that?”

  His eyes were unconsciously drawn to her full, red lips with the little smirk tugging at one corner. She is one seriously hot woman, came the treacherous thought before he could stop it.

  “It’s stamped all over your face. You’ve got that hounded look, like, all twitchy and tense and cross. Only a woman can make a guy pull a face like that.”

  “Twitchy? I’m not twitchy.”

  She laughed, and it was such a natural and easy-going sound that he couldn’t help but smile too.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Greg suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to talk. He worked with men all day; men that talked about nothing more profound than football or women in the crudest of terms.

  “Chloe, my fiancée, she…”

  His voice drifted off.

  What the hell am I doing? I don’t even know what I think anymore, so how the hell am I supposed to put it into words?

  “She what?”

  Greg looked at her, his gaze involuntarily drifting down to her large bosom straining against the buttons of her silk blouse. Fleetingly, his gaze travelled lower, taking in her tiny waist in the black pencil-skirt and the wide flare of her hips. She couldn’t have been more than five foot three, and physically so very different from Chloe. Chloe was tall, slim and muscled, despite her full breasts, but Susan’s curves were comprised of fat in all the right places.

  “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

  He turned away from her, disgusted at himself for mentally comparing the two woman like lumps of meat, and his fiancée, no less. Setting down his drink on the top of the machine, he busied himself turning off all the switches.

  “If you’re having doubts, now is the time to confront them, not after you’re married. Have you set a date?”

  He flinched when he felt her hand lightly touch his shoulder. Slowly, he turned round to face her and to his relief she dropped her hand.

  “No, not yet, I only asked her to marry me a week ago.”

  “Have you been together long?”

  “Five months.”

  “Wow, fast mover, huh? And to think, I only came to work at the fabulous Prescott Ingham ltd four months ago.”

  “Yeah.”

  The silence hung heavy between them; Greg wasn’t a complete emotional nitwit and got her meaning.

  If Susan had come to work here before that night I met Chloe, maybe I might’ve been with her instead…

  It certainly gave him pause for thought, and it wasn’t something he particularly wished to dwell on.

  I love Chloe…

  “Everyone here says she’s drop-dead gorgeous,” she said, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah, I guess she is.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Clever. Complicated.” Damaged…

  For a second, his thoughts strayed to the colourful past of her career, to her modelling days. She claimed she had only done fully-naked, bondage shoots a handful of times, but they had been ‘high-end’. Is if calling it ‘high end’ somehow made it better. Was he cool with it? He said he was, so he had to be, right? He had never actually seen any of her work, and when he had googled her name, no dirty pictures of her had surfaced.

  And he didn’t remember complaining when she bent herself into extraordinary positions during sex…

  But let’s be honest here, I’m not cool with it.

  “Hmmm, I can see your brain working. There’s nothing like an intense kinda gal to get the boys interested, ay? Makes me feel sad to be a simpleton.”

  “You’re not a simpleton.”

  She laughed that easy laugh of hers and his spine tingled. “Yes, I am a simpleton. All I want out of life is a nice man that loves me, treats me well and makes me laugh. And a family. I want three kids, at least. But I’m twenty-eight already, time is slipping away.”

  For the first time, it occurred to him that he and Chloe hadn’t even talked about kids. He wanted them, but did she? Christ, he hadn’t even asked.

  “You think twenty-eight is old? Try being thirty-three.”

  “Yeah, okay, you got me there, you old codger, you.”

  Playfully, he swiped her arm. “Watch your mouth, lady, or else.”

  “Or else, what? Will you spank my bottom?”

  A sudden image of Susan’s bare arse flared in his mind; all round and soft and womanly, so very different to Chloe’s honed backside that would put the average Victoria Secret’s model to shame.

  What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re engaged, remember? Get a grip.

  “A beautiful woman like you won’t have any problems finding a bloke to settle down with. Hell, I bet they’re queueing up,” he said, trying not to think about her arse.

  “Yeah well, all the best ones are taken.” She paused and the unspoken tension in the air was tangible. “How did you and Chloe meet?”

  “In a nightclub. She was there all alone, her friends had deserted her.”

  “God, I would never do that to a girlfriend.”

  I would never do that to a girlfriend…

  Greg frowned; those words had triggered something, deep in his mind. Because she was right, damn it. And come to think of it, he had never actually met any of her friends. They had been so wrapped up in each other they had let the real world slip by unnoticed…

  “Anyway, we got talking. She was so beautiful, and interesting. Turned out she was a self-published author that wrote extreme horror under the name Sam West, and by coincidence I happened to be a fan.”

  “Never heard of him. I hate horror, gives me the creeps.”

  “That’s kinda the point.”

  Give me a romantic comedy with Hugh Grant any day of the week.”

  “My God, you’re right, you are a simpleton.”

  “Shut up,” she said, punching his arm hard enough to hurt.

  It suddenly occurred to him he was talking about her in the past tense. Like she was an ex.

  “So what happened? Why are you so sad?”

  “Sad? I’m not sad.”

  “Troubled, then. Come on, you can tell me, maybe I can help.”

  He weighed up his options; maybe it would help to go over it with someone, get a fresh perspective. There was nothing wrong with that, surely?

  “She’s been through a lot of shit. Like, a serious amount of shit… A year ago, her fiancé and his parents were slaughtered in front of her.”

  “What? By who?”

&nbs
p; Greg shrugged. “That’s the thing. No one knows. It’s like, a total mystery.”

  “That’s weird. How come I’ve never heard of this?”

  “It was kept out of the press, you know, to protect her.”

  “And the killer?”

  “He died that night. Burned to death, along with the other three.”

  “Jesus. That is messed up.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But who was the killer? Have you never talked about it with her? Surely she has some idea of who did it?”

  “It was just random.”

  “Nothing is ever just random. ”

  Her words made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he shivered. “Sometimes they are,” he said defensively.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences. Coincidence is the word we use when we can't see the levers and pulleys.”

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Sometimes bad things just happen to good people. There is no rhyme or reason.”

  “Oh, please. Stupid people believe in coincidences, intelligent people believe in cause and effect. Coincidence is an explanation used by fools and liars.”

  “Christ, have you been reading all your fortune cookies today?”

  He cringed as soon as it had left his mouth, even if she was turning all sanctimonious on him.

  She smirked. “I never had you pegged as racist, Greg.”

  “I’m not, God, I’m sorry.”

  “My mum’s Chinese and she was always spouting proverbs when I was growing up. She is a wise, wonderful woman. My Dad, however, is northern and about as subtle as a brick.”

  Greg couldn’t help but grin. “So you take after your dad, then?”

  “So I’m told.” Her face turned grave. “I’m sorry if you think I’m prying, but as my mum would say; those who ask questions are a fool for five minutes, those who do not ask questions remain foolish forever.”

  “Are you talking about me, or you?”

  She shrugged. “Fucked if I know.”

  Greg burst out laughing.

  Fuck it, I need to talk about this. He opened his mouth and his worries tumbled out: