The Games We Play, page 16
I could lie in bed, close my eyes and relive each moment of every murder. Or go to my bathroom in my office and do the same. I could experience all the feelings and sensations from killing that bum. I could remember stepping into the park. I could feel my breath easing and slowly quietening as I controlled myself. The sounds, the smells, and the sensations in my fingers were also vivid as I remembered ripping the wound in his neck. Small doses. That was enough for now. My mind and urges were satisfied, and I could go back to sleep.
It had been a long day at work, and I was exhausted. Pete’s reactions to killing that girl had bothered me the entire day. The way he simply left those eyes in the bin.
Unbelievable.
I went back soon after lunch and removed them before someone else got hold of them and called the cops. It was stupid things like that that got people caught, and I knew that if they got to Pete, they could sooner or later get to me. If he was going down, he would take me with him.
Now, lying in bed, I looked over to my side and could just make out the silhouette of Linda lying beside me. I could hear her heavy breathing as I moved closer to her.
I moved my arm over her body and around her, holding her tight. She stirred and rubbed my hand. The feeling of her flesh brought back the memory of the teenager I’d encountered earlier this evening. I went for a run in Hyde Park, which I often did. The route took me past Kensington Palace and eventually to Bayswater, where I followed a backpacker from one of the hostels I had been carefully studying recently. She was lost and asked me for directions to Hyde Park. I offered to show her the way. I led her away from Hyde Park to a small, quiet, dark park in Notting Hill. Ten minutes later, she was dead. I left her amongst some bushes behind a hostel. She was one of the easiest victims the London Strangler had ever had. The memory of the warm flesh of her neck under my hands lingered for some time. After reliving every moment, I fell asleep.
Chapter 42
I woke the following day after dreaming of rain falling outside. I don’t know how long I’d been lying there listening to the rain, but the rain had a strange glassy sound, and after a while, I realised that it was water running against the glass doors in the shower. I opened my eyes and looked over to where Linda had been sleeping. The bed was still warm, and through the open bathroom door I could see the blurred reflection of the shower in the steamed up mirror. Linda was washing her hair. I rose slowly out of bed, tensed the muscles in my legs and bent over to give my back and hamstrings a good stretch.
Oh, that feels good.
I stood up too fast, my sight suddenly disappeared into blackness as the blood rushed to my brain. I sat down and put my head in my hands, waiting for the head rush to pass. It took a very long time, so I lay back again and held my hands over my face, waiting for my sight to return. This was always a scary moment, because I was never sure if my vision would return. I was lying there looking at the ceiling. My mind was totally blank.
“Boo!”
I jumped up. My heart was beating fast, trying to recover from the fright.
“Wake up!” Linda said.
I looked over at her and gave her a fake smile. She knew she had frightened me. I watched as she dried herself and began to dress. She had an amazing figure. I watched as she placed every item of clothing on her body. She was a vision of perfection. She knew I was watching her, and she loved it. She, of course, would never let on that she knew, but I loved to play along by not making my attention too obvious. She knew she was beautiful, and I let her know as often as possible. That’s what normal people would do, I thought.
“Why are you up so early?” I asked. I was usually the first one up, showered and ready for work.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“Oh, why?”
“You were tossing and turning the whole night. I don’t think I got any sleep. Did you have bad dreams?” she asked.
“Not that I can remember.”
“Well, you were sweating and talking and moving the whole night!”
Talking? Well, that’s a fucking worry.
She wasn’t angry, but I knew how she felt. She’d had flu a few weeks ago and kept me up the whole night while she tossed and turned with a fever. She had snored and sweated, moved around and kicked me.
I got up and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I’d brushed my teeth and was about to get out of the shower when I heard a loud retching noise. I turned the water off and opened the door. Linda was on her knees in front of the toilet, throwing up. I grabbed the towel, wrapped it around my waist and rushed over.
“Linda, are you okay?”
She was bent over with her head right inside the bowl. She had gotten rid of all her dinner from the previous night and wouldn’t stop gagging. I could see she wanted to say something to me, but found it difficult between catching her breath and then throwing up again. I moved away from the toilet bowl. The smell was terrible. We had eaten seafood for dinner, and the smell was pungent.
After a few more attempts at emptying her stomach, she lifted her head and looked at me, tears running down her face. “I feel much better now, thanks,” she whispered, clearly through a sore throat.
I helped her up and walked her back to the bedroom. “I hope you don’t think you’re going to work like this,” I said.
“I have to go,” she protested. “Judy is leaving on vacation tomorrow, and I have so much work to do before she goes. She has to go through so many things that I have to do while she’s on her honeymoon.” Judy was her boss and had married over the weekend.
“Sorry, but I can’t let you go to work like this. I’ll phone Judy and tell her myself.” I started undressing her. “Besides, you look like a ghost, and I wouldn’t want you scaring all the kids in the neighbourhood!”
“Not very funny, mister,” she smiled. She started to get some colour back in her face, but I still didn’t like the idea of her going to work. I removed all her clothes except her underwear, then reached over the bed to get her nightgown. I pulled it over her head and gently laid her onto her back, moving the blankets and manoeuvring her underneath them. She didn’t protest and lay back on the pillow, looking sorry for herself. At times like this, pretending to actually care, I felt what I thought might be love. But it was always a fleeting sense—I wasn’t sure.
She hadn’t slept the night before, and I felt she could do with some rest. I ensured she was warm in bed and went to the lounge to phone Judy. Judy’s mobile phone number was written in our little alphabetised telephone book. I skipped to ‘J’ to look it up and dialled the number.
I had met Judy only two or three times previously. She was a lot older than we were, and looked older still. She had facial hair problems and wore too much makeup. She had curly blonde hair that had looked dirty every time I met her, and a voice that could easily be mistaken for that of a man, rough from years of smoking I guessed.
It rang a few times. I thought I would go through to the messaging service when she finally answered.
“Hi Judy. It’s David Sinclair here, Linda’s partner.” I waited as she tried to remember who I was.
“Oh, David. How are you?” she said with a hint of scepticism.
“I’m okay, thanks. It’s Linda who’s not well,” I said.
“Oh, really? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. She’s been sick this morning and doesn’t look too well. I want to take her to the doctor later to get checked out.”
“No problem at all, David. Please let me know what the doc says.”
“I will. I’m sorry—I know you’re leaving on your honeymoon tomorrow, so hopefully, she’ll feel better by this afternoon. It might be one of those twenty-four-hour stomach flu things.”
I hope it is.
“Please tell her I hope she feels better soon,” Judy said.
“I will, thank you. Bye.” I hung up. An image of Judy on her honeymoon popped into my head.
That poor guy!
I called the doctor and made an appointment at nine-thirty that morning. It was an awkward time, unfortunately, and meant there was no point in me going to work that morning. The appointment would take half an hour, so I could be back in the office by lunchtime. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was still too early for anyone to be in the office, so I couldn’t call Lisa yet to let her know that I wouldn’t be in.
Do I have anything important to do this morning?
I couldn’t think of anything. I walked back down the hall to the bedroom.
“Linda, I’ve made you an appointment with Dr Richards for nine-thirty,” I said, then saw she was fast asleep. I watched her for a moment, wondering what I would do for the next two hours. I decided to watch TV. I went to the bathroom to grab my robe. The room still smelled of vomit. I walked over to the toilet to see if it had been flushed, but it hadn’t, and there were particles of food floating in the yellow water. I leaned over and flushed. I put my robe on and walked back into the bedroom.
“I feel better already,” Linda said, surprising me. The sound of the toilet flushing must have woken her.
“You still don’t look too good,” I said, trying not to let it sound like an insult.
“But I really do feel okay,” she protested and started sitting up.
I walked over to her and gently pushed her back down. “I’m glad to hear that you’re feeling better, but I still want you to see the doctor. I’ve made an appointment for you at nine-thirty. I’ll call Lisa at work and tell her I won’t be in this morning. I’ll take you to the doctor myself. So, go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you when it’s time to go. Besides, you need the rest after last night.”
“Okay.” She laid her head back down on the pillow. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead as she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
Chapter 43
I flicked through the channels for a while before rechecking the time; Lisa would be at the office by now. I grabbed the portable phone and dialled the office number.
Lisa sounded concerned when she heard my voice. Being late was unusual, and I rarely took time off without notice. She had been at work for about thirty minutes and would have been wondering where I was.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Linda’s not feeling very well, so I’m taking her to the doctor this morning. I’ll be back in the office around lunchtime. Did I have anything on this morning?”
“No, not that I know of,” she said. I could hear her paging through the diary to check.
“Okay, good. I’ll call you later if I get held up.”
“I hope Linda’s okay. See you later.”
She’s such a lovely lady.
“Thanks,” I said, pressing the button to end the call, then placed the phone in the cradle.
I retrieved my clothes from the closet in our room as quietly as possible, keeping an eye on Linda, watching if she would wake. She didn’t.
It felt so good to be out running in daylight again. I hadn’t been running out this way since the night I killed that homeless man, so I had no idea what the scene looked like or what to expect. I wasn’t one for revisiting my murder scenes. It didn’t interest me, and it always gave a higher chance of being caught. A lot of serial killers visit their crime scene while the investigation is taking place—classic. They supposedly stand around in the crowd, trying to get some information from the cops and enjoying the general feeling of excitement that a murder stirs up. My interest ended as soon as I left the scene, and this time was no different. I was not ‘revisiting’ the scene—merely passing by on my daily run.
There were many other joggers in the park this time of the morning—most of them groups of women running together. There was the odd male jogger and a few cyclists. I ran along the pathway as usual until I reached the area where I’d killed the bum. A few ripped pieces of white tape with red stripes floated in the breeze. Other than the tape, there was no indication that something terrible had happened there. I slowed and carefully looked in that direction. I couldn’t see anything other than the tape and the leaves. I felt a little disappointed. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see, but seeing nothing felt empty.
Who cares?
An hour later I opened the door to our house and listened for Linda. I couldn’t hear anything and assumed she was still asleep. I needed to shower, and decided to use the other bathroom.
I wrapped my towel around my waist when I was done and walked down the hall to our bedroom. The room smelled like vomit and stale air. The blackout curtains had left the room in almost complete darkness. I waited for my eyes to adjust, then looked over to the bed—Linda was still fast asleep. I could hear her breathing deeply, and could make out the rise and fall of the blankets. I got changed and walked over to the bed to check on Linda. I was surprised she was still asleep. I leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Linda.” Nothing. She didn’t move. “Linda,” I said again, a little louder. I rubbed her shoulder, gently waking her. She would still not wake up. I turned the bedside lamp on and noticed a bit of blood on the exposed part of the top sheet. I pulled the top covers off her, revealing blood—everywhere.
Shit!
I shook her firmly, which worked—she started coming around.
“Linda, something’s wrong!” I shouted. She lay there looking up at me, moaning from the pain. “Linda!” I shouted. I pulled the sheets away from her and located where the blood came from. The inside of her thighs were soaked. She had her hands between her legs, her arms up to her elbows were red from the blood which she had smeared all over the sheets. Her nightgown looked like something from a murder scene.
“Don’t move,” I said, running down the hall to get the phone. I dialled the emergency number and ran back up the hall to the bedroom. “I need an ambulance!” I shouted.
The ambulance arrived five minutes after I made the call. They put Linda on a stretcher and drove away with the siren on and lights flashing. They asked if I would like to go with them, but I thought it would be better to take my car and meet them there. I drove very fast and parked in a ‘No Parking’ zone, but I didn’t care. I ran inside and asked the receptionist where they would have taken her. She pointed me in the right direction, and I met a doctor in the emergency reception area. He explained that Linda had suffered severe haemorrhaging in her uterus and had lost the baby.
Baby?
I had no idea.
I didn’t think Linda knew either.
It seemed like an eternity sitting in the waiting room. A television mounted on the far wall showed a popular soap, but the volume was turned down so nobody could hear it anyway. I watched the other people wait and wondered what they were there for. The waiting room was next to the emergency entrance, so I watched as three people were wheeled in from a car accident, a guy with a gunshot wounds and a couple of young guys soaked in blood following rival gang fights. A few older people were brought in, as well as a handful of mothers with their sick, coughing children. I was surprised by how busy it was.
I stood up when the doctor finally returned from the operating theatre.
“Mr Sinclair,” he said. “Please sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit. I’ve been sitting for the last hour waiting! Just tell me how she is,” I said, frustrated.
“She’s fine,” he said. “She’ll have to stay overnight, but she’s fine—and can still have children.”
“What happened? Why did she lose the baby?” I asked.
“We’re not sure. We can never be sure in cases like these. The main thing is she pulled through and will recover fully.” He looked at me and gave me a reassuring smile.
I sat down, processed all the information and relaxed.
She’s fine.
“What was it?” I said, looking up at the doctor.
“Sorry?” he seemed confused by my question.
“Was it a boy or a girl?” I asked.
“A boy,” he replied—a boy.
I felt something I had never felt before. It only lasted a moment, but there was definitely something new there.
Linda had no idea about what had happened. She’d lost a lot of blood from haemorrhaging and was hooked up to an IV. She had needed a blood transfusion. I stood at the entrance to the room where she was recovering. She was lying on her side in the standard recovery position, blankets drawn up to her neck with one arm exposed. The IV stand was next to her bed, and I could see the saline fluid slowly dripping into the chamber and then flowing down the tube into her arm. I walked over to her bed and pulled the chair out from underneath. Sitting down, I put my face up close to hers. I could feel her breath on my cheek as I stared at her closed eyes.
My mind was drawn back to that unexpected flutter of something I hadn’t felt before. Part of what I felt, I think, could be described as helplessness, perhaps. I wasn’t in control of any of this. But it was mixed in with some other feeling.
Maybe dread?
Fear of loss? A boy—loss.
That same emotion rose again, briefly. A tear formed in my left eye.
My son was taken away from me. That’s what happened—and it hurt, I thought.
Then it was gone. I opened my eyes and saw Linda trying to do the same, her eyelids trembling with the effort. She would still be groggy from the anaesthetic, so I held her hand in mine and squeezed it tight.
“Sleep…” I whispered into her ear. “Sleep now.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t want to tell her what had happened. I wondered if she knew or had suspected that she was pregnant. She opened her eyes slowly, and I wiped the single tear from my eye. She looked around the room as much as she could without moving her head, and then focused on my eyes.
