Sunday, 17 November 2013

SILHOUETTES - Thirty-fourth instalment

Posted below is the penultimate instalment of the novel 'Silhouettes'. I will try to add the final chapters next Sunday for the few readers who are the more impatient. I did try to post consistently and regularly, though I know I have let myself become distracted at times and kept people waiting. Please forgive me for that!

SILHOUETTES - Thirty-fourth instalment - Chapter sixty, sixty-one and sixty-two. For more information on this novel, click Here.

SIXTY


Oswalk was desperate to get away and get on the hunt for Hartless, the fucking daft bastard. But she was stuck here, organising yet another crime scene, courtesy of Captain Cleaver, psycho Parker. As far as she could tell, there was a police presence in every street within a half mile radius, cars carpet bombing every alley way and cul de sac with constant patrols, and still no sign of the fucker, or Hartless. She was getting worried now, even though he had only been gone, ten, fifteen minutes perhaps. He was no match for a fucking axeman with an attitude.

SIXTY-ONE

He leapt out quickly, silently, as the blonde walked past the cut in. She was in a daze, miles away, he noticed, typical blonde, he thought. His left arm was around her neck as he drew up beside her, and as she was about to utter a scream and pull away, with his right he flashed the meat cleaver before her eyes, and his left closed off her mouth.

'Not a fucking word,' he hissed. She had involuntarily stopped. She tried to nod compliance. He pushed her forward with his arm. 'Walk,' he ordered.

Thoughts of how she would explain herself to Jo had gone from her mind and seemed petty now. There was a very large, blood stained, cleaver at her throat, and she was being pushed along, almost off the ground by the psycho who had shoved her aside the day before. She wondered if she screamed would he let her go and run, but she knew that wouldn't happen. If she screamed he would run alright, but only after cutting her throat.

She didn't realise she was being taken home till he manoeuvred her in a right turn at the gateway to the house. They were halfway up the path before she even wondered if there was anyone at home.

As they got to the door, he stopped her suddenly.

'Do exactly as I say,' he whispered in her ear, 'I will say this only once.'

Mad thoughts of some French-German wartime sitcom ran through her head to the soundtrack of Brian's homemade wailing instruments. This wasn't happening she had decided. This wasn't real. Then the blade was flashed before her right eye again, almost close enough to sense the coldness of the steel, and she knew it was real enough for pain.

'We're going to open the door, quietly, understand?'

She nodded, but she was shaking with fear and was unsure if the nod was understood, or taken as a shiver of terror. He smelt of death, her nostrils took in the stench of it from him, and she nearly gagged, but his hand was against her mouth again, clamping down.

'Open the door, we walk in, and you stop, understand?' the voice was a hiss, and she knew a false move on her part would be disastrous. She could only comply.

She turned the handle and opened the door, soundlessly, they manoeuvred the step over the threshold and they were in the hall. He held the blade before her as he let go with his left arm and ever so quietly closed the door behind him.

'The alien,' he whispered.

She heard what he had said, but hadn't understood. He urged her forward again, step by step along the hall. There were three doors off the hall. Two led to the bedrooms of Brian and Moira, the other door led to the living room. As he reached each door, he tried the handle. First Brian's room, the door was locked. He pushed them both on. Then Moira, locked, and they reached the final door to the living room. She knew Jo at least was home.

SIXTY-TWO

The only people he spied when he came through the path on to the street of Lomond Lane, was a couple going into a house down on the right, and a teenager on a BMX bicycle practicing wheelies by a bin shed up the street a bit.

His nerves were in tatters, and he kept darting a glance behind him in case he had somehow passed Parker who was now creeping up to ambush him.

He walked down the street towards the kid. As he drew level and halted, the kid stopped cycling in circles and eyed him suspiciously. His jacket and trousers were ripped from climbing over wire mesh fencing. He was caked in mud on elbows and knees from falling in the dirt.

'I'm looking for a man, maybe passed this way a few minutes ago?' he asked.

'No one passed here, mister,' said the kid, and feeling less threatened asked, 'got any smokes?'

Hartless nearly laughed.

'Don't smoke,' he said. 'Did you see anyone at all?'

'Only the man meeting his woman up there,' he pointed up to the path way Hartless had left.

'He came out there?'

'Just before you, mister.'

'You got a phone?' he asked the kid.


'No chance, no credit.'

Here, Hartless reached into his wallet, pulled out a £5 note. 'Dial 999 for me, I'll tell you what to say.'

Final instalment coming soon... 
To read this novel from the start go here

Copyright © Stevie Mach 2013 All rights reserved

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