Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
ABIGAIL
It felt strange, letting him into my apartment.
I didn’t invite people back. This was my safe space.
But having him at my door, especially after what’d happened tonight, I felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
He wasn’t my stalker, that was clear after we walked in to find that fucker trying to break into my apartment.
At least, I assume it was my stalker; otherwise I had the shittiest luck in the world, and honestly, things could not get any worse right now.
Isaiah stepped into my living room, and I closed the door behind him. Thank God I had my camera to record everything. My little teddy bear cam. It wasn’t a hotline to the police, but it was something.
“How about we start by you telling me exactly who Angela Maynard is.” Isaiah sat down on my sofa and laced his fingers together as he sat forward.
“Do you want a drink or anything?” I asked, trying to stall for time and give myself chance to think.
“Angela Maynard,” he pressed. “Come on, Abigail. Drinks can wait; the answers can’t.”
I stood in my living room, trying to decide how I should play this.
“She isn’t anyone important,” I said, still not sure how much I wanted to divulge.
“She was important enough for you to risk everything. Or do you make a habit of breaking into women’s homes and tying them up, you know, just for fun. Because if that’s the answer, that’s totally fine. But let’s be real here. We both know that’s not the truth.”
“I just... I...” I was stumbling over my words. I didn’t want to admit who she was, and my dumb brain couldn’t figure out a clever enough answer.
“I’ll rephrase my question then, make it easier for you. Or harder, depending on your answer.” He regarded me for a moment, then cocked his head and asked, “Why did you target her?”
“Because she deserved it,” I blurted out, letting my mouth override my brain.
“Why?” He sat forward, looking at me intently, eager for my answer.
“Because she’s a shitty human being.”
He nodded like he understood. “There’s a lot of them about. And I’ve learned over the years that some humans don’t deserve to be here. It’s doing a service to mankind to take them out. So, now we’ve got that part out of the way, tell me exactly why Angela Maynard was a shitty human.”
I faltered, unsure what to say.
And then, I remembered, this guy had watched me kill a woman.
He’d burned her house down to destroy the evidence and helped me to dispose of her body.
He’d chased my stalker, and now he was sitting in my living room, telling me he got it, that some people deserved to die. I had to tell him something...
Fourteen Years ago...
“It’s probably best you don’t come in. This home isn’t like yours, Abi. The springs on the sofa stick into your ass when you sit down and you don’t get to choose what you watch on the TV,” Stacey joked as we stood on the street where her children’s home was.
But it wasn’t a joke. She really didn’t want me to go in. I knew she felt embarrassed about living here, maybe a little ashamed, but she didn’t need to be. It wasn’t her fault that she had no other choice.
Some of us aren’t lucky in the parent department.
Stacey’s parents were drug addicts who were either in jail, some kind of facility, or on the streets.
I’d lost track of where since I’d met her.
Being in a stable home was better for Stacey than being with her parents, but that stable home didn’t look the same as it did for me.
“I don’t care about the sofa or the TV,” I told her, wishing she could see this through my eyes.
I didn’t care about any of it. She was my friend.
I just wanted to be with her, and make her laugh like she did at school.
“I need help with my maths homework, and my dad is at work till late tonight, so your house is better than mine right now.”
“I highly doubt that.” She sighed, and then her shoulders sagged like she was resigning herself to me being here. “But fine. You can come in. But we’ll have to stay out of Jilly and Angela’s way. Be quiet when we go in, and we’ll head straight to my room.”
“I can be as quiet as a mouse.” I grinned and followed her to the front door of the home. “They’ll never know I’m there.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Stacey replied as she unlocked the door.
We both stepped inside, and the smell of cooking made me wrinkle my nose.
It wasn’t the nice kind of smell, like when my mum cooked the dinner.
This smelt like steamed cabbage and rotten vegetables.
I looked at Stacey, but she didn’t seem to react.
Maybe this was what the home smelt like all the time.
Perhaps I was being too fussy. I didn’t want to be a snob.
So, I started to breathe through my mouth and hide the distasteful expression on my face.
Stacey held her finger to her mouth to tell me to shush, and I nodded.
There was the sound of a TV coming from the room to the right of us.
It was playing some kind of game show, and I could hear an older female voice shouting out the answers.
I’d have expected cartoons or kids TV to be playing at this time of the day, but it wasn’t.
There were a few girls sitting at a table in what appeared to be a dining room directly opposite where we stood. I smiled at them, but they didn’t smile back. They just bowed their heads and carried on writing, probably doing their homework.
“This way,” Stacey said, leading me to the stairs, and we started to climb up to the next floor. “My dorm is the one at the end of the corridor.”
“Dorm?” I asked. I’d always assumed Stacey had her own room. “How many girls do you share with?”
“There’s four of us altogether,” she said, a blush spreading on her cheeks. She was embarrassed, and I felt like an idiot for putting her on the spot.
“That’s cool.” I smiled a little too eagerly, trying to make her feel better. “Like a sleepover every night. I bet you never get lonely.”
She put her head down, staring at the floor as she shrugged. “I never get any peace either.”
She creaked open the door to her dorm and peered around, and then she let out a breath, saying, “It’s empty, thank God.”
I walked in and glanced around at the bare white walls and plain covers on the four beds.
There were no posters on the walls like I had.
No teddy bears on the bed, or even fancy cushions.
My mum loved buying fancy cushions for my room.
I was always throwing them on the floor because there were too many.
In my room, I had curtains to match my bed linen, and stuff on my bedside table and my drawers; make-up, perfume, things I’d collected over the years. Here, there was none of that. It looked like no one slept here. Or if they did, they didn’t plan on staying long.
“This one’s my bed,” Stacey said, throwing her school bag onto a bed by the window. I put my bag on the floor and sat down on the edge of her bed.
“Do you play music in here?” I asked, looking around to see if I could spot a CD player.
“We don’t have stuff like that in our rooms. Sometimes, they let us bring a book up here to read if it’s something we’re studying for school.”
I was always being told I played my music too loud, or had my TV blaring, as Mum so eloquently put it.
I had bookshelves full of books that were not school approved, and my dad had said he’d buy me a PlayStation for my birthday.
I’d told Dad I wanted a puppy instead, but he said no.
They both did. I thought my parents were the worst in the world for saying no to me.
But I bet Stacey wasn’t offered a PlayStation for her birthday.
I bet they didn’t even buy her anything, and that made me feel bad.
“Do you like living here?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“It’s the only children’s home I’ve ever lived in. I have nothing to compare it to, so I guess it’s all right.” She paused then added, “Millie says her last home was way better. But I don’t know. At least we aren’t out on the streets.”
That wasn’t the best answer, saying she’s just glad she has a roof over her head. And as I looked at her, I could tell she felt on edge. Was that because I was here?
“What part of your maths are you struggling with?” she asked, changing the subject, and then there was a knock at the door and she froze, her eyes going wide as she stared at the door like it’d turn into a monster at any minute.
She put her finger against her lips to tell me to be quiet.
Then, she stood up and walked slowly and hesitantly over to the door.
She took a breath as she gripped the handle, then she opened it.
Her bed was behind the door. I couldn’t see who was there, but Stacey said, “I don’t have chores until four-thirty today. I was doing my homework in my room.”
The look of guilt spread like a cherry bloom on her cheeks and neck.
Why was she guilty about doing her homework?
“Did I say you could do that?” a shrill voice hissed.
A voice that sounded like they were rehearsing for Halloween with how evil it sounded, and I imagined a witch behind the door, with warts on her nose and green skin, a black hat, and the smell of rotten food circling around her.
Maybe that’s why the house smelt so bad?
“No, Angela.” Stacey hung her head in shame. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“You’ll be down in two minutes, or you know what’ll happen,” the witch replied.
Stacey started panting as she stared at the floor, and a bony arm shot out from behind the door, grabbing Stacey around the throat, making her head snap up and her eyes bulge as she gasped for air. She clawed at the hand that was cutting off her breathing, and I stood up, ready to fight her too.
“Pl.. plea... please,” Stacey gasped, and just as I was about to intervene, the witch let her go, and Stacey doubled over, gasping for air as she rubbed her neck. Then the hand reappeared and smacked her hard across the face, making her fall to the floor.
“You ever disobey me again and you’ll live to regret it,” the witch hissed.
“Hold up.” Isaiah held his hand up to stop me. “I’m really invested in the story, and I can see where you’re going here. But I have to stop you.”
The way he looked at me like he was trying to access some inner chamber of secrets inside my mind made me stand tall, throw my shoulders back and fake confidence I didn’t feel right now.
“So, what you’re saying is, your friend was treated in a really shit way in her home, so years later, you decided to get revenge on those people by breaking into their houses and cutting their throats?”
“I didn’t cut her throat.”
“Stabbed, cut, it’s all the same shit. But you know what? I don’t buy it.”
He sat back, shaking his head at me, and I clenched my jaw.
“What part of it don’t you buy?” I snapped, irritation burning inside, making me feel jumpy and agitated.
“It’s noble of you to want to do something for your friend who was hurt. I get that. I see it all the time. But I know you’re lying.”
“My friend was hurt; I’m not lying about that.” I could feel the burn in my face as I argued with him.
“Okay. Maybe lying is a bit harsh.” He grinned at me, throwing me off and turning my irritation to confusion. “But you aren’t giving me the whole truth. We both know that.”
I wasn’t giving him the whole truth.
That would go with me to the grave.
“They hurt my friend, and I wanted to make them pay.”
“They? So, there were more?”
Why did he have this annoying knack of reading into everything I said, decoding it, psychoanalysing me, and getting it so fucking right?
“Why were you following me tonight?” I asked, popping my hip and turning the tables.
“Aren’t you glad I did?”
“No.”
Great, now we were in some weird staring competition as he watched me from his position across the room, and he was clearly getting off on this, judging from the sparkle in his eyes. Ugh. Why was I noticing sparkles and the cute way his lip curled as he tried to suppress a smile?
“I don’t think there’s anything left for us to discuss. I thinks it’s better if you leave,” I announced, but he didn’t move. He stayed sitting comfortably, making himself at home on my sofa. He clearly wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
“I understand why you don’t want to tell me what really happened, or why you went after that woman tonight. You have your secrets and that’s fine. I can wait. But when you’re ready to come clean, I’ll listen.”
“I have nothing to come clean about.”
He raised his brows. “Really? Are you sure about that? Because your dad—”
“My dad has nothing to do with this. And neither do you.”
He rubbed his hand over his jaw, and then he said, “I think I do. I think I have a lot to do with it.”
“Just leave,” I told him, but my words fell on deaf ears.
“Back at the house, you asked me who I was. And I think we should play a little game.”
“What are you talking about?” I frowned, having no idea where this was going.
“I want to play a game.” He stood up and turned to face me.
I don’t know why, but I backed up, pressing my back against the wall.
“You wanted to know who I really was, and on my body, I have a tattoo that’ll tell you exactly who I am.
” He lowered his gaze, staring at me like a devil with an evil smile. “I dare you to try and find it.”