Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
ISAIAH
Icouldn’t believe what I was seeing. It wasn’t often I was speechless, but tonight, I was.
I turned to look at Abigail as she stood in the doorway, looking like she was about to throw up, holding a knife I wasn’t sure she had the balls to use.
“Please...” I gestured from her to the woman strapped to the armchair. “Don’t stop on my account.”
I wasn’t sure she’d speak; she looked mortified that she had company. Then she stated in a monotone voice, “You need to leave.”
I smirked and dipped my head, then peered up at her as I said, “I don’t think that’d be a good idea, do you?”
“You have no idea what you’ve walked into. But you need to turn around and leave. Trust me.”
“On the contrary, Abigail, I know exactly what I’ve walked into, and I have to admit, although part of me is...” I shrugged, trying to find the right word. “Intrigued, the other half of me is appalled.”
“Then leave.”
“Oh, I’m not appalled at what you’re about to do here. Don’t get me wrong. I’m appalled that your planning has been so shoddy.”
“Excuse me?” She popped her hip, her grip on the knife tightening, but I wasn’t scared. I thought it was cute.
“As kill rooms go, Abigail, this is the worst one I’ve seen, and trust me, I’ve seen a lot.”
She took a few deep breaths, holding her tongue before snapping, “I have no idea what you’re on about.”
That made me throw my head back and laugh.
“Come on, the duct tape, the gash on her head.” I pointed at her hand.
“The knife. Don’t tell me you cut the phone wires to a house that hasn’t had a working phone for over two years to pay a cosy visit.
What’s the knife for? Are you cutting a cake?
” I leaned back like I was peering around her into the kitchen.
“Nope.” I pointed behind her. “And that kitchen does not look party ready.”
She frowned so hard I’d bet her forehead was aching.
“Two years?” she responded. “The phone hasn’t worked for two years?”
I grinned to myself.
“Some of us know how to do our homework. I could teach you a lot.” I glanced around the room with a disapproving look and shook my head. “Including how to create the perfect kill room.”
She didn’t respond. Just stood there holding the damn knife and glaring at me.
“Let’s start with the lack of floor covering. If it was me, I’d cover the whole place in plastic, roll the carpet up maybe. Do you know how many hairs and clothes fibres you’ve already scattered in this place for the police to find?”
“You’re here too,” she added.
Touche.
“And the armchair,” I went on. “What are you gonna do, stab her in the chair and let the fabric soak up all the blood and evidence?”
Angela Maynard’s eyes went wide as she glanced from Abigail to me, sweat trickling down her face.
“Why even do it here?” I added. “It’s so much better to coax them out of their home, get them to a place you choose. Then you can control the narrative.”
“You’re insane,” she said, and I took it as a compliment.
“Thank you. I’ve done this a lot.”
“I don’t need your help,” she said through gritted teeth. “You need to leave.” She moved to stand behind the armchair, keeping her eyes on me, waiting for me to do what she said. But I wouldn’t.
“And leave you to deal with this mess on your own?” I tutted. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“I work alone,” she stated.
“So do I,” I shot back.
“Then go.”
Again, I shook my head. “No.”
She huffed and held her arms out. “So now what?”
“Now, I give you an ounce of my wisdom, and you’ll leave here wondering what you ever did without me.”
She gave a wry smile. She wasn’t convinced yet, so I carried on.
“What were you planning to do with the body once you’d killed her? No offense, but you don’t look like you could drag fifteen stone of dead carcass across a shitty ground like the one outside.”
Angela Maynard started to struggle, her cries muffled by the duct tape, tears rolling down her face.
“I brought bin bags. Heavy duty ones. I know what I’m doing.” Abigail nodded to the backpack on the floor.
“So, you’re going to cut her into pieces and move the body in stages?” Abigail went white.
“No. I just thought—”
“You didn’t think. That’s the problem. But I’m here now... to help you.”
Her knuckles went white from gripping the knife so tightly, and she positioned the blade on the back of the armchair, pushing it into the fabric in annoyance.
“I already told you; I work alone.”
“I get that. But let me give you some pointers.” She didn’t want to hear what I had to say, but I was going to say it anyway. “Rule number one, always have an escape plan. What were you gonna do if she got out or someone called the police?”
“I... I don’t—”
“And how are you planning on getting home after this? Gonna call the cab company again, get them to pick you up covered in blood? Or were you planning on using her shower before you left? Spreading even more DNA around for the police? Do you know how much evidence they can get from handles, taps, and towels?”
“I knew you were stalking me,” she said, her jaw clenched as she glared at me.
I cocked my head. “Stalking and following are two completely different things. I followed you tonight to make sure you didn’t put yourself in danger or make any stupid mistakes. But stalking? That is a mistake, don’t you agree?”
“You coming here was a mistake.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”
Angela Maynard was sniffling and sobbing through her gag now, but I kept going.
“Rule number two, secure the area. I just walked right into this house through the back door. So could anyone else. You needed to lock that shit down at the same time you cut the useless, out of date phone lines.”
“Why would anyone else come in here? You’re only here to taunt me,” she sneered, giving me a look that would have me dropping down dead if I wasn’t immune to that shit.
“Anyone could come in here,” I told her. “You have to plan for every eventuality. And I’m not here to taunt you, Abigail. I’m here to help.”
She didn’t respond, just clenched her jaw even more, so I continued.
“Rule number three, bring your own fucking weapon. Why are you using her blunt carving knife?”
“I wasn’t planning on using this,” she replied, looking affronted.
“I’ll refer you back to the rule about planning for any eventuality. And please don’t tell me you were gonna take her out with the wrench on the floor there, the one that’s already left a lovely gathering of DNA and evidence on the carpet underneath it.”
“I don’t use weapons,” she said, and I narrowed my gaze.
“Clearly you do. You have one at your feet, one in your hand, so... let’s cut the crap, shall we? And while we’re at it, why aren’t you wearing gloves?”
She huffed, and I reached into my pocket.
“Lucky for you, I brought a spare pair.” I threw them across to her, but she didn’t catch them.
She let them fall to the floor and kept her eyes pinned on me.
I wagged my finger at her and told her, “And don’t wear the gloves and leave them behind.
” I chose to ignore her blatant disregard of my help.
“They can still get fingerprints from the inside of a latex glove.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” she replied in a bored tone.
“And rule number four,” I went on. “The most important rule. Don’t get caught.”
“If it’s the most important, why isn’t it at number one?”
“Semantics.” I shrugged.
“I don’t think that’s the right word to use here.”
“Says the girl about to commit the messiest murder that’s going to end in her doing a life sentence.” I tutted again. “You don’t want me here, but admit it, you need me.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you want this to be fun?” I moved closer to the armchair. “Look, she can’t even talk. Where’s the fun in that? Don’t you want to hear what she has to say?”
I leaned forward, ready to tear the duct tape from her mouth, but as I did, Abigail panicked and plunged the knife right into her neck, severing her carotid artery and causing blood to spurt everywhere.
“Oh God.” Abigail dropped the knife and put her hand over the wound, but it was pointless. The woman was about a minute away from death, and all Abigail was doing was dousing herself in more evidence.
“Yep, that’ll do it.” I took a step back as blood pooled on the floor beneath me. “I’ve gotta admit, I wasn’t sure how this was gonna go, but you’ve just surprised me.”
Abigail started panting, her breaths becoming more rapid as she stared down at the woman, and then, when she lifted her bloody hands, she started to panic.
“What have I done? What have I done?” she repeated over and over, and seeing her so distressed broke my fucking heart.
“It’s fine. You did what you had to do. Whatever your reasons were, I’m sure they were right.” But she couldn’t hear me, she was too caught up in her trauma.
“Was this your first time?” I asked, but again, she didn’t respond. So I moved to stand in front of her, taking her bloody hands in mine to get her attention, telling her, “Breathe, Abigail. You’re okay. I’m here. Just breathe.”
I started to take slow deep breaths, encouraging her to copy me as I held her hands, and stroked her gently with my thumbs. Feeling my touch and hearing my voice seemed to help ground her. She looked in my eyes and copied my breaths, nodding as I told her, “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”
The vulnerability in her eyes reached inside me and grabbed a hold of some part of me, a part that I didn’t know I had. A fractured inner chasm that wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe from the world. Hide her in the crevices of my very soul, never to share her with anyone.
I’d never seen her look as beautiful as she did in this moment, and I wanted to take the moment and cling onto it forever. I never wanted to let her go. We were standing in the aftermath of a murder and yet, I hadn’t felt so connected to another person in my whole life.
Without a second thought, I let her hands go and placed my hands on her face, blood smearing her cheeks. I moved closer, so close I could taste the sweetness of her breath as she stared back at me, her mouth opened slightly as she gave a silent gasp.
With my lips a whisper from hers, I sighed. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.” And then I leaned into her, pressing my lips against hers, praying she wouldn’t pull away.
She didn’t.
She closed her eyes and kissed me back, igniting a fire in my smouldering soul. And as her lips moved against mine, I felt myself melting into the kiss, wanting so much more. Our tongues teased and tangled in the most sublime dance as the kiss deepened.
We were two strangely broken people, standing in the middle of a crime scene, getting lost in the chaos the only way we knew how.
By embracing it.
Holding on with both hands.
My head swam, giddy from a feeling that was so alien to me, and yet I craved more.
Why had I waited so long to do this, to feel this?
Kissing her was everything.
A high as sublime as any kill.
I held her face as we kissed, thankful that in her distress she’d opened up to me.
She’d let me in and accepted me for me. I’d all but admitted who I was just now, as I stood in front of her and gave her my rules.
I’d never done that before, not with anyone.
But with her, it felt right. And it dawned on me, as she pulled away, breaking the kiss and biting her now plump lips, I’d had a first with Abigail.
This was my first proper kiss, a kiss that actually meant something.
A kiss that wasn’t stolen but given freely.
She touched her lips as she cursed to herself, “What the fuck am I doing?” Then she shook her head like she was trying to shake some sense into this situation.
“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes hazy as she stared back at me with a bewildered gaze.
“The other half of you,” I replied.