Sam West

HOME INTRUDER

An Extreme Horror Novella

PROLOGUE.

“Please don’t hurt us,” the woman said between hitching sobs.

Jason Jacks looked dispassionately down at her and took a drag of his cigarette, the hunting knife dangling loosely from the fingers of his other hand. She lay on her side on the concrete floor of the basement, her hands tied behind her back with rope. Her husband watched on helplessly. His wrists were also bound by rope, his arms stretched high above his head, the end of the rope looped in a secure knot around one of the meat hooks that hung from the ceiling.

Like his wife, he was naked. Unlike his wife, three small fish hooks had been inserted deep inside his rectum, piercing the walls of his rectal passage. The three correlating strands of the thin fishing twine attached to each hook extended out of his anus and all the way up to the hook above his hands where the ends were tied.

He was shuddering in pain, Jason noted with some satisfaction.

Jason crouched down next to the trembling woman.

“Don’t cry. I want you to live. Really I do. I want you both to live. I want love to win.”

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. But he knew they wouldn’t live. None of them ever did.

“You sick fucking freak!” the man screamed through what must have been unspeakable pain.

“Now, now,” Jason replied, having to speak loudly because of the woman’s persistent sobbing. “Please don’t shout at me, or insult me. Every time you do that, I will do this. Or something much worse.”

He stubbed the cigarette out on the hysterical woman’s shoulder. She howled in agony and tried to slither away from him using her feet as leverage.

Jason didn’t want her crawling away like she owned the place and he stood up, kicking her square in the stomach with the tip of his steel toe cap boot.

“I didn’t say you could move either.”

Her beautiful body was sheened in sweat and he felt a pang of arousal.

Not yet, he told himself. Patience. I’ve barely even started…

He went over to the man and reached up to slice through the rope, freeing him from the hook. His hands, however, were still secured tightly together and fell down to cover his flaccid penis. Whether that was intentional or not, Jason didn’t know.

“I’m going to have some fun with your wife now,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back over to the woman who was making pitiful noises like a run over cat. “Feel free to come and stop me. If you can prove to me that the love you have for your wife is stronger than the pain you will inflict upon your flesh, then I will let you both live.”

The lie tripped easily off his lips and he stood over the terrified woman.

“Don’t do it,” the woman sobbed. “You’ll rip yourself open.”

Her husband didn’t answer. Jason watched in fascination the way the veins in his neck protruded and his tightly clenched jawline as he stupidly tried to reach round for the hooks in his anus. There was no way he was going to be able to insert his fingers into his rectum to remove the hooks with his hands tied before him like that. The only way to remove them was by brute force. For his next move he reached up and tugged on the twine. Neither the hook screwed into the ceiling nor the twine budged.

Nothing was going to snap that twine, you could land fucking Jaws with that stuff. The man must have realised this for he let go with a howl and Jason could see the bloody streaks where the twine had bit into his palms.

Jason turned his attention back to the sobbing woman.

What should he do first? Sever the toes or the fingers? Perhaps gouge out an eye? Or maybe just jump in and do what he was dying to do. That is, to fuck her with the husband watching.

He rubbed the crotch of his black jeans just thinking about how good she would feel.

An ear splitting scream from the husband commanded his attention.

Wow, he’s really going to rip open his arsehole for his wife. How sweet.

Jason leaned down and fisted the woman’s long hair and lifted up her head. He placed the edge of the knife at her hairline.  Blood spurted, momentarily blinding him as he drew back the knife, sawing until her scalp came away in his hand. He held the bloody wig out in front of him, waving it at the husband like a red rag to a bull.

The woman had stopped screaming. She wasn’t dead though, just out cold. Probably in shock.

The husband let out an inhuman sounding howl and lunged forward. The hooks pulled free in a spray of blood that erupted from his anus in a red fountain. The man went sprawling, landing heavily on his stomach.

He dragged himself across the floor with hands like claws, drawing closer. Jason stomped on his buttocks and the man flattened out like a human rug, arms and legs spreads wide.

Jason smiled. “Come on lover boy. Let’s play. Let’s see how far you will go in the name of love.”

CHAPTER ONE.

Edward Sullivan pulled up into the driveway of eight Dallam Avenue, his childhood home, killing the engine of the white Hyundai hire car.

A small shiver ran through him. It hadn’t changed a bit.

Hs wife, Jazmine, immediately flung open the passenger door to let some air into the stifling hot interior.

“It’s lush. I think we should live here.”

Ed turned to look at her beautiful profile as she gazed up at the house. A small knot of apprehension twisted in his guts because he knew she was only half joking. She might have been only twenty-five, but the stresses of her London career had been getting to her lately. He could imagine her carving a life out for herself in Cornwall, as one of those bohemian artist types. She was almost as good an artist as she was a photographer. A life here would suit her.

But not him. He felt sick just thinking about it. He reached over her slender, bare thighs and clicked open the glove compartment for his cigarettes.

“And give up everything we have in London?” he asked, lighting up and keeping his tone deliberately light. “Our friends? All the money we make? Our lifestyle? Should we chuck it all away to become country hicks?”

“I would hardly call Treeve the back of beyond. It’s a proper town.”

“Barely. It’s not dubbed the poor man’s St Ives for nothing.”

“If you’re so down on it, then why bother coming here at all? Why not just stick the house on the market and forget about it?”

Because you made me…

“Let’s just go in, shall we?”

“Fine.”

Jaz swung her long legs out the car and Ed briefly admired her derriere in the blue denim cutoffs before it disappeared from view.

“Come on then,” she called out to him when she reached the front door, her irritation at him apparently forgotten. “And you needn’t think you’ll be smoking inside. Same rules here as at home, mister.”

But he barely heard her. The fingers of one hand remained curled around the steering wheel as he stared up at the house, thoughtfully drawing deep on the cigarette. Dallam Avenue, perched on the cliff top and overlooking Leven Bay was by far the quietest, most upmarket and sought after spot in town. This was the only street that consisted entirely of Victorian detacheds, not cute cottages or new builds that made up the rest of town. It was number eight in a row of eight. Beyond this house was nothing, just a meandering cliff path that eventually led to St Ives.

“Ed! Come on.”

Jaz calling him snapped him out of his trance. When he got out of the car, he found he was trembling slightly. So many memories from his childhood, both good and bad, suddenly at the forefront of his mind. He ground out his fag with the sole of his flip flop and followed her inside.

Inside the hallway it was dark and cool, a total contrast to the blazing heat of outside.

“You okay?” Jaz asked, circling her arm around his waist.

“Yeah, fine. It’s just strange being back here, that’s all. It looks so different, yet it’s exactly the same too. God, I know how stupid that must sound.”

“Not at all. It’s been used as a holiday let for years, right? The décor must be totally different to what you grew up with.”

“Yeah.”

She was right, of course, but it was more than that. The house had changed, and so had he. They no longer had any business being together, he could feel it in his bones.

We should never have come, he thought for the umpteenth time.

He followed Jaz into the front room, a big, white washed space with a deep bay window that looked out over the cliff path to the sparkling sea.

“Wow, what a view.”

“You should see upstairs.”

He went to her as she gazed out the window, wrapping his arms around her slender middle and breathing in the flowery scent of her long blonde hair.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she sighed wistfully.

“Yeah. Complete with a beautiful leaking roof.”

Jaz elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to almost hurt.

“Hey! You can’t hit guys who wear glasses.”

“Stop being such a pessimist. Roofs can be fixed. I’m starving, I’m going to go to the car and get the supplies, maybe rustle us something up to eat in the kitchen.”

“It’s too hot to cook. Why don’t we head into town and I’ll treat you to a Cornish pasty?”

“You really know how to spoil a girl.”

“And if you’re really good I might even buy you a pint after.”

“Now you’re talking. Come on then, what are you waiting for?”

She dodged out of his embrace and skipped into the hallway. In that moment he loved her more than anything in the world. She was his life, his everything. How did he ever get so lucky? How did the geeky, skinny guy with glasses ever land a babe like her? Not only was she beautiful, but she was smart too. Her blonde hair, slim but curvaceous figure, and angelic face completely belied her intelligence and creativity. She may have only been twenty five to his thirty three, but she was wise beyond her years.

“I love you, you know that?” he called out to her.

Mixed in with in with the sudden rush of love was something else. Something dark. He was suddenly terrified of losing her and an inexplicable sense of foreboding washed over him. Just as quick it was gone again and he followed her outside into the sunshine.

They took the cliff path into town, greeting strangers on the way in.

“That’s what I love about this place,” Jaz sighed, “no one says hello in London.”

“Can you imagine Liverpool Street in rush hour if they did? It would be a cacophony of hellos, like a sketch out of a comedy show or something.”

Jaz laughed and gazed out to sea, her clear blue eyes hidden by dark glasses.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said again.

It was. The sea glistened emerald green under the azure sky. Colours seemed so bright, so fierce after the drab monochrome of London. The cliff path opened out at the end of the steep incline, revealing the edge of town.

Such as it was. Ed didn’t recognise any of the shops, but then, he hadn’t been back here since he was eighteen.

Fifteen years ago. God, had it really been that long?

Leven Bay, the miles long stretch of white, sandy beach abruptly ended where the town began. A stone pier extended outwards, signalling the end of the beach and the coastline curved inwards, providing a natural, horseshoe shaped harbour that was mainly used for mackerel fishing. Beyond the harbour and the manmade sea defences that protected the town, the sea beat directly against a rocky cliff face for many miles.

He steered them right, up the cobbled, main high street that ran parallel to the seafront. And there it was, just as it had been all those years ago.

“Treleigh pasty’s. The best in all of Cornwall,” he said with some pride, like he had cooked the damn things himself.

But it was nice to see the old guy’s shop was still here.

It was even nicer to see the very same man behind the counter. He wondered if old Jow still recognised him.

“Edward? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the passing of your mother.”

“How did you hear about that?” he asked, more harshly than he had intended to.

Jow shrugged. “Tis common knowledge that Trelisk holiday lets no longer have Dallam Avenue on their books due to the demise of your mother.”

“This is my Jaz, my wife. Jaz, this is Thomas,” Ed said, changing the subject.

“Please, call me Jow. Ain’t been called Thomas for sixty eight years since the day I was born.”

“Jow?” she asked.

“Cornish for geet lazy bastard,” he said with a smile, revealing a row of blatantly false choppers. “Married, ay? Congratulations, the pair of you. When did you tie the knot?”

“Last week, as it happens,” Ed said, putting his arm around his wife and pulling her close.

“Congratulations again. So shouldn’t you two lovebirds be off on your honeymoon then?”

“We’re going to the Bahamas next week.”

“That’ll be rich, my ‘andsome. Are you here to put the house on the market? Or are you going to move back home and start a family now you’re married?”

“Here to fix the leaky roof before the summer ends and sell it.”

“Ay. That’s a shame you’re selling. But I hear you got yourself a fine ol’ career up in London.”

“Well, you know, I have a job that I can’t afford to leave.”

Jow cocked an enquiring eyebrow.

“I’m an editor for a paper,” he said by of explanation.

“You have done well for yourself, son. Your old mum must have been so proud.”

“Yeah, she was,” he replied, a lump forming in his throat.

Her death was too recent for comfort, and had been a complete shock to him. A massive heart attack had claimed her life at the relatively young age of sixty-five. He had attended his mother’s funeral and got married in the same week. To Ed’s utter heart break, the funeral had come first.

“Treeve is gorgeous. I’d move here in a heartbeat if I could,” Jaz said.

“And what do you do, young lady?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Artistic, ay? If you can paint too that’s a job to be had here. Real strong artist community here in Treeve and St Ives. Best in Britain they say.”

Jaz looked wistful for a moment, her eyes glazing over. “I do paint a little, as it happens.”

A queue of people had built up behind them.

“We’re holding you up,” Ed said, quickly asking for the pasties, suddenly keen to go before Jaz got any more ideas about moving to Treeve.

“He was nice,” Jaz said, once they were sat on a bench on the seafront eating their pasties.

“Yeah. I’ve known him pretty much since the day I was born.”

“You never talk about your childhood much.”

Ed shrugged, suddenly uneasy. “There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell.”

“Not really. You know it all. I grew up here and when I went away to uni, I never came back. End of.”

“Why didn’t you ever come back?”

“Why would I? Mum moved in with her sister in Kent after my dad died and she let the house out. There was no reason to come back.”

It was too painful to come back. So many memories of Dad. And now my dead mum too…

“You don’t talk much about your father.”

“What do you want me to say? He was a good man and I loved him very much. When he died in a car accident just before I left for university, neither me nor Mum could bare to come back here again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up you past and make you feel bad.” She wrapped her arm around his back and lightly rested her head on his shoulder. “I hope being back here helps. I hope that you can start to remember the good times and not let the bad sour your memories.”

Another lump formed in his throat. He knew she was right. They were happy memories. Until his dad’s horrific accident ripped his and Mum’s world apart.

He tilted his pale face up to the late afternoon sun, stemming the flow of tears. He wasn’t going to sit here crying like a god damn girl.

“Ed?”

The voice came from behind them. A familiar voice with a strong Cornish accent.

He twisted round his head and found himself staring up into the face of his childhood sweetheart.

“Oh my God, I knew it was you.”

“Linda. God, hello. How are you?”

He jumped to his feet, walked round the bench and pecked her on the cheek.

His first thought was that time hadn’t been kind to her. She was thirty-three, the same age as him, but she looked a decade older. Her obviously dyed blonde hair looked garish against her weathered face and she was no longer the slender girl he had known.

“Ed,” she said, the delight shining in her eyes as she gripped his shoulders, holding him away from her at arms’ length. “What are you doing back here? Oh, of course, stupid me. I’m so sorry about your mum.”

Jesus, was nothing secret in this town?

“Yeah, well, thanks.”

“I guess you’re going to put the house on the market then? Or maybe you’re going to move back?”

Her look of moist eyed eagerness was all too obvious and it embarrassed him.

“Linda, I’d like you to meet my wife, Jaz. Jaz, this is Linda,” he said, dodging the question.

“Did you say wife?” Linda asked.

“Yep, I sure did.”

Linda turned pink. A funny look came over her eyes, like she was about to burst into tears, but just as quick it was gone again. Ed decided he had imagined it.

“Hi,” Jaz said, getting to her feet and extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Linda accepted the offered hand. “Likewise.”

The two women stared at each other for a fraction too long than was polite, leaving Ed feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Not that he had anything to feel uncomfortable about, he reminded himself. Linda was ancient history and there were absolutely no pangs on his part, nostalgic or otherwise. They had ended because he had fallen out of love with her and university had been a natural break.

“It’s just so good to see you, Ed. What are you doing tonight?”

Ed was crap when put on the spot. At work he thrived under pressure but when it came to his personal life, he was a total pushover. His mind went blank and out came the classic:

“Nothing.”

“You are now. Me and Boko are going to come round tonight with a takeaway. I’m just dying to go inside the house again, I haven’t set foot in it since you left. And you can tell us all about you getting married.”

“Well, I… Yes. That would be lovely. Who’s Boko?”

“You know Boko. He was in our year at school. Boris Coleman.”

Boris Coleman?

For a moment Ed just couldn’t think. He pushed his glasses back up his nose as he tried to place the horribly familiar name. Then it came to him.

Bully Boris Coleman? The same guy that once flushed my head down the toilet?

“Yeah. Now I remember.”

“Good. Me and Boko have been together years now. That’s that settled then. Nice to meet you, Jaz.”

Ed and Jaz stood side by side, watching her retreating figure.

“The ex?”

“Uh huh.”

“Cosy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Although he could tell from her tone that it probably did.

“How about I buy you that pint now? I have a feeling we’re both gonna need one.”

They chose The Fox and Goose opposite the harbour slipway. It was a popular spot with tourists and locals alike, who congregated in the busy, concrete beer garden overlooking the fishing boats. Ed and Jaz elected to drink inside, away from the crowds.

“Nice pub,” Jaz said, instantly soothed by the dark interior and black wood.

“Yeah. I didn’t really come in here much. Wasn’t much of an underage drinker.”

“Bet you made up for it when you went to uni.”

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

Her tone was light, but truth was, she was shaken up by the meeting with Linda. Not to mention slightly pissed off. How the hell had that woman managed to wheedle her way into their home tonight? Honestly, when he wasn’t at work, Ed really needed to grow a pair.

Home. If only. Jaz had only been here a few hours but she was already head over heels in love with the place.

“She still fancies you.”

“What? Who?”

Jaz rolled her eyes.

“You know who.”

“Don’t be soft. Course she doesn’t.”

Jaz regarded her fiancé thoughtfully. Part of his charm was that he genuinely didn’t believe women were attracted to him. But they were. In droves. He had this kind of geeky charm, this hapless, bumbling quality. He was the kind of guy that flew around the house looking for the glasses that he was wearing, or the keys that he was holding. He was the type that made five cups of coffee for himself in the morning in quick succession because he couldn’t remember making them and he always came home from work to find full cups of cold coffee languishing on every window sill and table top.

He was also incredibly good looking. Tall and slim to the point of thin, he had big, puppy dog brown eyes and a narrow nose, lending him a studios quality. His face was lean but comprised of hard lines, and his upper lip curved upwards in a pronounced cupid’s bow that reminded her of Jonny Depp’s mouth.

Sometimes it was charming that he didn’t believe women fancied him. Other times, like now, it was just plain annoying.

“Okay, fine, she doesn’t fancy you. She’s just coming round tonight to get to know me better.”

“She has a boyfriend. He flushed my head down the toilet once when we were at school.”

Jaz sprayed beer across the little wooden table.

“He did what?”

“It was only the once. I said that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again I would ram his head up his arse and shit down his neck.”

Jaz could well believe it. Ed was more than capable of looking after himself. He looked like a victim, up to a point. He was sweet and skinny and studious, but he could turn in a heartbeat.  A look would come over his eyes like he was capable of murder. She had only seen it once, in a nightclub when some guy had groped her breast as she stood talking to Ed at the bar. The man had been much bigger than Ed, but that hadn’t stopped Ed from pinning him to the bar by his neck and very quietly warning him that if he so much as looked at Jaz again, he would not be responsible for his actions. It was his calmness that had unnerved her, rather than the threat of violence.

“And you want to spend an evening with these people? A woman that still fancies you, with her boyfriend that wants to beat you up?”

“I’m sure that Boko can’t even remember flushing my head down the toilet. We were only fourteen at the time.”

“Trust me. He’ll remember.”

Ed looked lost in thought, his big brown eyes glazed over.

“I didn’t start dating Linda until we were sixteen, but looking back I suppose there was the whole love triangle thing going on. Or love square, if there is such a thing.”

“How so?”

“I was totally in love with a girl called Kerry Brown, but I guess Linda had always liked me and we had been friends since forever. I always knew Boko liked Linda. Probably why he flushed my head down the toilet.”

Jaz couldn’t help but giggle, despite her irritation at him.

“So what happened to Kerry Brown?”

“She and her family moved away on my sixteenth birthday. She never even knew I existed and I just kinda fell into seeing Linda.”

“I had no idea you were such a Romeo.”

“You’re the one that wanted to come back here so you brought all the history of my teenage angst upon yourself.”

“Yeah.”

Jaz liked to consider herself an easy going kind of girl. But there was something about Linda that put her on edge. A look in her eyes that, if she was honest, made her flesh crawl.

She’s not right and I don’t like her.

You sure that’s not sour grapes talking, Jazzy baby?

Thoughtfully she sipped her pint.

“Penny for them?” he asked.

“Just a bit apprehensive about tonight.”

“Don’t be. We’ll get rid of them as soon as possible, I promise.”

She smiled across at him, but the vague sense of unease remained.

Linda paced the front room of the tiny, basement flat that she shared with Boko on the outskirts of town. The rough end of town. Seeing Ed had shaken her to the core. She had dreamed of the moment they would meet again after so many years. How their eyes would lock over a crowd of people and the world would stand still in respect for their profound love.

Except it hadn’t happened that way. He had that bitch with him. That skanky whore. How old was she anyway? Was she even fucking legal?

Linda seethed and twisted herself up into knots just thinking about him with her.

And then she thought just of him. He had hardly changed at all, and certainly not for the worse. Still the same floppy brown hair and those big, soulful brown eyes. His boyish good looks had morphed into something manly and handsome.

God. Those eyes… They still made her stomach turn wild somersaults.

She closed her eyes, his face branded in her mind, like it always had been. She glanced at the clock. Boko wouldn’t be home from the job centre for a little while yet, she had time.

Her hand snaked between her sturdy thighs, feeling the heat radiating out from the crotch of her jeans.

Without bothering with the bedroom she eased her jeans down over her chunky hips and lay back on the tatty sofa.

Her fingers delved into her knickers and were instantly wetted with her own arousal.

“Ed, oh Ed,” she sighed, massaging the aching nub of her clit.

The orgasm quickly built and the nearer she came to release, the more her lurid fantasies starring Ed morphed into something else. The images in her head jumbled together; Ed between her thighs, his mouth and chin wet with her arousal, smiling up at her. Jaz’s head, a sizeable gap between it and the neck that had once carried it, lying on the pillow next to hers in a pool of blood.

Ed fucking her from behind as she crouched on all fours over Jaz’s decapitated, naked corpse. In her mind’s eye she smiled down at Jaz’s neck stump as she came.

CHAPTER TWO.

Jason Jacks stood in his little office overlooking Hyde Park, smoking a cigarette. His rucksack was packed and rested at his feet, ready for the train journey to Cornwall.

It wasn’t however, the view from the window that had captured his attention, but the thousands of photographs that lined every available inch of the four walls. Not a crack of wall showed between them from floor to ceiling.

With trembling fingers, he removed an A4 sized, glossy, black and white photograph.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, tracing a fingertip over the contours of a close up of Jazmine Sullivan’s smiling face.

The photograph he held was a wedding photo, as was ninety percent of the photographs that adorned the walls. Jason Jacks, he of J.J. Photography, was a damn fine wedding photographer, even if he did say so himself.

The other ten percent were snapshots of the couple taken from a distance. Edward and Jazmine emerging from the church where Edward’s mother’s funeral had been held. Edward and Jazmine, walking hand in hand down the busy streets of London.

Blurry images of Edward and Jazmine making love, taken from the bushes outside their London flat. Jason always found it amazing how many people kept their bedroom curtains open a crack.

He pondered on the smiling face of Edward Sullivan.

“How much do you love her, Edward? Will you lay down your life for her?”

Everything was set, Jason was confident he had covered all angles. He was tired of anonymity, tired of keeping his work a secret. No more bringing back the couples to his torture chamber and adding to Britain’s already extensive missing persons list. For the first time he was going to treat himself; he was going to have a married couple whose wedding day he had photographed. It could be the one and only time, he knew this.

On some level, Jason knew that Mr and Mrs Sullivan would be his last. But that was okay. So much pain, and not just for the couples he tortured. Yes, he was ready for it all to end.

Jason picked up his rucksack. It was time to take his show on the road.

Ed’s easy going charm also hid an unwelcome angst. Why had Linda invited herself round tonight? Okay, so they had been each other’s first. First love, first sex, and they had grown up in the same town.

Had being the operative word. He pretty much hadn’t thought of Linda for fifteen years. And now here she was, exploding back into his life like she had always been there, like it was her God given right.

Shit, he knew coming back here was a mistake.

They walked back up the cliff path in silence, weighed down by carrier bags from a trip to the local Co-op.

Ed was the one to break the silence as they neared the house, both of them slightly puffed from the steep incline.

“Why don’t we crack open the wine and sit on the front porch and watch the sunset?”

“A dying man’s wish before he’s executed.”

Ed opened the front door and gestured for her to go in first, frowning slightly.

“That’s a bit dark, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ll be fine, really, I don’t mean to be a sour puss.”

His frown deepened. Linda had had a dark side, he remembered that now, Jaz’s words had jogged his memory. Although why he should think of that, he did not know.

Damn Linda and her impromptu little visit. It was casting a morbid glow over their time here.

Jaz busied herself in the kitchen, opening the wine and preparing snacks, and Ed wandered out into the hallway.

Yeah, Linda’s dark side. Sometimes she had scared him. He remembered her cruel streak well, now he thought of it. On the surface she was bright, warm and bubbly, but underneath it all he caught glimpses of coldness. When she was seventeen for example, she had developed a thing for Nazis. Maybe that was normal, he didn’t know, but he sure as hell didn’t share her fascination with mass genocide, human skin lamp shades and the sick experiments Nazi doctors performed on live subjects. At the time he told himself it was just a silly, school kid phase, but now, looking back, it did seem a little strange.

“Ed? Where are you?” drifted Jaz’s voice from the kitchen.

“I’m coming,” he said, shaking his head as if to dislodge the musings over Linda.

“Here.”

She passed him a glass of red in the hallway, and he accepted it with a thanks. Together they made their way outside, taking a seat on the wooden bench underneath the living room window.

“It’s so quiet here,” Jaz sighed, lifting her face to the low hanging sun. In less than hour it would be sunset, and the view of the setting sun over Levan Bay would be spectacular. “What are the neighbours like?”

Ed sipped his wine and smoked, he too enjoying the peace.

“This street has always been quiet. Mrs Harrison lived two doors down when I was here. If she she’s still alive she must be in her nineties. As for next door, I don’t know. Looks empty to me. Well kept, but empty,” he said squinting at the house. “Used to be a family that lived there, I can’t remember their names. Now it’s probably some rich bastards from London who come down for a holiday one week a year who don’t even bother renting the damn place out because they’re so stinking rich.”

Jaz laughed. “Like us, you mean?”

“We ain’t that rich.”

“You will be if you sell the house.”

“We, my darling. We.”

They sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and the clean, salt air. A seagull circled overhead, its war cries bringing back a hundred memories of his childhood all at once. Happy memories.

Discreetly he swiped away a nostalgic tear and pulled his love close.

Linda and Boko arrived just after sunset. As promised, they came armed with a Chinese takeaway.

Jaz opened the door to them, a bright smile plastered on her face. Boko returned it, although she didn’t much care for the all too obvious lecherous gleam in his little eyes set in the potato head. Subconsciously she tugged up the front of her flowery blue sun dress, thinking her tits had spilled out of it or something. Apparently Linda didn’t like the way Boko was looking at her either, for it seemed a take a lot of effort on her part to return Jaz’s smile.

Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.

Linda was wearing too-tight blue jeans with a too-tight white t-shirt that accentuated her spare tyre. Jaz tried not to share at the woman’s muffin top, although for some reason the sight of it pleased her.

“Hello, you must be Boko,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He held her hand for too long, and did he just stroke her palm with his thumb? She pulled her hand away with a shudder of revulsion that she hoped she caught in time.

Linda was positively effusive when she saw Ed in the kitchen. She kissed him and said how much she and Boko had been looking forward to this evening.

Jaz’s toes curled in embarrassment for her. Could she be any more obvious that she still carried a torch for him?

Never mind the torch. More like a fucking inferno…

The four of them sat round the large, pine table.

“It looks so different,” Linda said, gazing around the room. “When you were here, it was so much more…”

“Old fashioned? Chintzy?”

“No, I was going to say homely.”

“I like all this white. Maybe people aren’t the only things that can move on. Perhaps houses can too.”

You go Ed, she thought with a smile. Put that slag in her place…

She didn’t know why she was thinking like such a bitch.

Come on Jaz, make an effort. This isn’t like you at all.

“So what do you guys do for a living?” Jaz asked brightly.

And unthinkingly. It was a pretty standard opening gambit when she was socialising with strangers on home turf. But in this instance, as soon as it was out her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. She busied herself uncorking the wine to hide her blunder.

“I used to work at the fudge factory, ‘till they laid me off a few weeks ago. Ain’t much in the way of jobs down here. Boko does a bit of labouring, when he can find the work, that is.”

“Oh,” Jaz said, kicking herself, handing Linda a glass of wine.

She poured out wine for Ed and Boko, then took a huge gulp from her own glass.

I seriously need to be pissed to get through this night…

“What do you do then?” Linda asked Jaz. “I expect you got some fancy job in London.”

“I’m a freelance photographer and a born and bred Londoner. But God, what I’d give to live in a place like this. Beats a career in London any day.”

She wanted to get across that she only had a career because she didn’t live in a small town with no industry. She was implying that if Linda were to live in London, then she too would have a brilliant career. Which was a load of bollocks, but she had a feeling it had fallen on deaf ears anyway. Either that or she had come off as intensely patronising.

“Whatever,” Linda said before turning her full attention to Ed. Jaz flinched inside at her rudeness. “I hear you’re an editor for a paper, Ed. That is so amazing, but then, you always were the one with your nose buried in a book. I couldn’t be doing with school myself.”

“Me neither,” Boko agreed.

Jaz could well believe it. He looked thick. Thick and unpleasant. His head was shaved and he was big, only just on the right side of fat. His eyes were too small and she didn’t like the way they continuously strayed to her breasts. He wore a plain white t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and solid gut. The sight of him made her shudder.

I really don’t like these people, she thought, then berated herself for being a snob.

“I love my job, it was worth all the years of study,” Ed was saying.

“So you ain’t ever moving back then?” Linda asked.

“No, we’re just here to fix the roof. And for me to say goodbye to the house I guess.”

“I do roofing.”

They all turned to look at Boko.

“You do?” Ed asked.

She wondered if Linda and Boko were also able to pick up on the alarm in his deceptively casual tone.

“Yeah. I could do it real cheap for ya.”

“That’s very kind of you, and everything, but I’ve already half promised the job to this other company.”

Jaz heard the lie, but could the others?

“My God Ed, Boko really needs the work. He’s trustworthy and he’ll be half the price of anyone else.”

“Well, I…” Ed stammered, put on the spot.

“I can start tomorrow.”

“Good, that’s that settled then,” said Linda, raising her wine glass. “Cheers everybody.”

“Cheers,” they all echoed.

Jesus Christ Ed, why can’t you ever say no?

No one spoke as Linda peeled open the tin foil tops of the takeaway cartons.

“So then,” Linda said, spooning noodles and limp vegetables out of the silver trays onto their plates. “When did you two get married?”

“Last week,” Ed and Jaz said in unison, then giggled sheepishly.

Linda did not look amused.

“Last week? What about your mum, Ed? I heard she only passed away a few weeks ago.”

“That’s right.”

There was a steel in his voice that Jaz had rarely heard before.

“Oh. How comes you two got married so soon after she died? You must have done it, in like, the same week.”

Jaz flinched. It was a sore topic. Ed had been all set to postpone the wedding. Jaz had been the one who had insisted they go through with it. She had got on with Ed’s mum, and felt sure she would have wanted him to keep the date.

And in a really sick kind of way, it had worked out well. Relatives that had travelled hundreds of miles did not have to go home, then come back again, to attend the wedding.

But it would seem that Ed was in no mood to explain the finer points of their decision.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, standing up so that the chair legs scraped across the tiled floor.

“Where are you going?” Jaz asked.

“For a smoke.”

The silence in his absence was distinctly awkward.

“I didn’t mean to put my foot in it,” Linda said. “I should go after him.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Jaz said, her heart inexplicably quickening.

“Oh, but I think it is.”

The two women stared at each other across the table.

“He’s only gone outside for a fag. He’ll be back in a minute,” Jaz said, her voice surprisingly calm to her own ears.

Linda smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “I’m going out for a cigarette.”

For the first time in her life, Jaz really wished that she smoked too.

Great. Bitch face is outside sniffing round my husband and I’m trapped in here with Lurch. Just wonderful…

Boko smiled at her through a mouthful of noodles and her stomach cramped.

Outside, Ed sat on the wooden bench, illuminated by the watery puddle of light thrown off from the porch light. He found his hand was shaking when he lit his cigarette.

“Room for one more?” Linda said, sitting down next to him and lighting up.

Fucking marvellous.

“Sure. It’s a free country.”

“I’m sorry for what I said in there. You know, about your mum, and you getting married so soon after she died and stuff.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He spoke the truth. It didn’t matter. Ed was just mad at himself. Jaz was right, it was ridiculous these people were in their home.

Okay, so their soon to be sold holiday home, but that wasn’t the point. They shouldn’t be here, end of. What he and Jazmine did was none of her fucking business.

“But it does matter, Ed. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was upset you. You and me, we go back a long way.”

“Yeah.”

Ed took the second, and final, hard drag of his cigarette and flicked it into the bushes that ran the perimeter of the neat front garden.

“Can I ask you something, Ed?”

His stomach flipped in apprehension.

Shit, I really cannot be arsed with this.

“Sure. You can ask me inside.”

“No, I really can’t. It’s kinda private.”

“Come on,” he said brightly, already at the front door. “Let’s go in.”

“I still love you Ed. I always have.”

And there it was. The omission that was nothing short of his worst nightmare. He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but his inherent decency prevented him from doing so. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to three.

When he turned round she was right behind him.

“I love you,” she said, gazing up at him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Look, Linda, I’m flattered, truly, but it was all such a long time ago. I expect you’re in love with the idea of me, rather than the actuality of me.”

“My Ed. Always the brainbox.”

“Linda, don’t do this. I can pretend that you didn’t say what you just said, if we can go back inside and be normal.”

“How can you pretend I didn’t say it? I love you, Ed. I knew you’d come back to me one day. Oh, Ed.”

She stood on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, planting her lips firmly on his.

The kiss caught him completely off guard. Her lips felt horrible and slug like, and about as welcome as a pair of slugs oozing beneath a doorway into a home. Because that was what this kiss was; a violation of his mental and physical space.

He pushed her away and resisted the strong urge to slap her, subconsciously wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Jesus Linda, what the hell are you doing?”

His back was pinned to the door, and she was still in his space.

“I won’t tell Jaz, it’ll be our little secret until we can work out how to tell them.”

“What?” he spluttered, dangerously close to losing his temper.

How dare she put him in this position? For the love of God, he really didn’t need this shit…

A movement over Linda’s head drew his attention, stopping all further thought and words dead.

“Ed? What’s the matter?”

Ed squinted into the darkness, over the road towards the cliff path that was partly shrouded by trees and bushes.

Yes, there was definitely a figure standing beneath the tree. It looked like a man, judging from the height and build. But it was impossible to know for sure, as he or she was entirely in silhouette.

Probably just a dog walker stopping to let Fido crap in the bushes…

But there was something about the figure that put him on edge. If it had been movement that had caught his eye, it was the stillness that held it.

And Ed got more than the distinct impression that he was staring directly at them.

“Ed? What are you looking at?”

“Over there, on the cliff path.”

“What?” she said, spinning round. “I can’t see anything.”

Sure enough, the person was gone.

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was a trick of the light…

“You made it up, didn’t you?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m sure I saw someone under that tree spying on us.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? If you don’t love me, all you have to do is say. You don’t have to make up stupid distractions.”

Well, I am fucking trying, sweetheart…

“Let’s just go in, okay? I’m cool with this if you are.”

Suddenly he was weary. All he wanted to do was get the silly bitch inside the house and pretend this had never happened.

Linda, however, had other ideas.

“You bastard.”

Calmly, she pulled up her t-shirt over pudding breasts. She popped out a breast over the top of her sturdy bra.

Ed’s heart sank.

“Stop it Linda,” he said, but he felt as helpless as if in the grips of a nightmare.

She merely smiled at him and dug her fingernails into the soft flesh surrounding her exposed, saucer like nipple. She dragged her fingernails over the skin, leaving behind angry, red track-marks. One of the lines welled with blood.

“Oh, Jesus Linda, please don’t do this…”

“Help! Get off me! Boko!”

Her scream pierced his eardrums, and in less time than it took him to think oh fuck, Boko and Jaz were outside too.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

Boko’s voice. And he sounded mad. Ed continued to stare at Linda who still had her scratched tit poking out of her bra with her flabby stomach exposed. In that moment, he hated her so passionately he would have danced for joy if she were to suddenly drop dead.

“I was just out here saying how sorry I was about what I said in there, and he grabbed me and said he would forgive me if I fucked him for old time’s sake.”

Ed shook his head in disbelief. “You need help Linda. And now I’d like the pair of you to get the fuck out of my house.”

Boko threw a punch.

“You arsehole. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Pain exploded in the side of his jaw and he staggered sideways, clutching his injured face. Jaz screamed and went to him, screaming at Boko as she did so.

“Just go! The pair of you! Get the fuck out of my sight!”

She stood before Ed, defying the bigger man to come any closer. Ed silently watched him, clutching his face. He wasn’t scared. He would fight him if he had too, but by God, he would rather not.

To his relief, a flicker of doubt passed over Boko’s face.

“Hit him,” Linda said with a smile, straightening her clothes. “Hurt him, baby. Make him pay for what he did to me.”

“You see this?” Jaz said, waving her mobile phone at them. “If you cunts lay one finger on him I swear to God I’ll call the police and we will drag your sorry arses through every court of law we have to until we get justice.”

Boko hesitated, his fists uncurling.

Ed had never heard Jaz use such earthy language before and he couldn’t help but smile, even if it did hurt his face.

“Fucking hit him.” Linda complained, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.

“You have prior, don’t you Boko?” Jaz said. His silence answered her question. “Yeah, I thought as much. Not going to look too good for you, is it, if you beat an innocent man to a pulp because your girlfriend came on to him.”

“That’s bollocks,” Linda said.

“Look at Ed’s hands!” Jaz shouted, grabbing his hands and stretching them out towards to Boko. “Do you see blood under those fingernails? I bet your bitch of a girlfriend has blood under her fingernails. Why don’t you look, Boko?”

“Let’s just go if you’re not going to hit him,” Linda said, tugging at his arm.

“Yeah, fuck off and don’t come back,” Jaz added.

“That’s enough, sweetheart,” Ed said, gently touching her shoulder. “Let’s go in and let them go home.”

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to get into a juvenile fist fight with his ex’s bloke. Besides, he actually felt sorry for Boko. Poor bastard, getting saddled with that loony. Fleetingly, he wondered what had happened to Linda over the years to turn her into such a fucking nutter.

Shaking his head sadly he pushed Jaz inside, closing the door on the whole sorry scene. Because Linda and Boko’s problems were nothing to do with him.

Nothing at all.

Jaz lay in the crook of Ed’s arm and he held her close, thinking of nothing apart from how good she felt and how much he loved her.

“I love you,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, stretching luxuriously against him. “I’m tired.”

“Me too. I’m one lucky bastard, you know that?”

He sighed in satisfaction and closed his eyes. Making love to Jaz never got old.

“Yeah, and don’t you ever forget it, buster.”

Sleep claimed her quickly, her breathing turning deep and regular. Ed remained wide awake, the disastrous evening weighing heavy on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Linda. Had she always been that loopy and he had just never noticed?

Sleep was a long time coming.

CHAPTER THREE.

Ed opened his eyes to the sound of scraping and banging. It took much effort to prise open his sticky eyelids, it felt as though a bucket load of treacle had been smeared over his eyes while he slept.

Groggily, he sat up.

Yes, definitely banging sounds. Creaking sounds too.

Sounds like someone climbing a ladder.

He got out the bed and peered through a gap in the bedroom curtains.

“Shit.”

It was someone up a ladder. Boko up a ladder, to be precise, the length of which ran parallel to the bedroom window.

“What the fuck,” he grumbled, casting around for his clothes.

“Mmm,” Jaz said, stretching her arms above her head so the duvet slid off her naked body. “Wos goin on?”

Ed tripped, his foot trapped in the leg hole of his jeans. He lost his balance and almost fell face first into the floorboards but caught his balance just in time.

Jaz rolled over onto her side, throwing a thigh over the bunched up duvet so that her rump was displayed in all its glory. Under normal circumstances, Ed would have been on that arse, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

Yeah, like a guy that wanted to kill me yesterday pissing around up on my roof.

Her question was apparently rhetorical, if her heavy breathing was anything to go by.

“Jaz. Wake up. You need to get dressed.”

“Huh? No.”

She buried her head in the pillow as if to pretend his voice was a figment of her imagination.

“I mean it, baby. Boko’s here.”

That woke her up. She sat upright, clutching the duvet to her chest.

“He’s what?”

Her eyes were wide and sleepy all at the same time, lending her the appearance of a sleepy, startled owl. She looked so adorable with her sweetly beautiful face and her long, blonde hair all mussed up, that he felt an actual physical pain in his heart.

If anything ever happens to her… he thought irrationally. And not for the first time since they’d arrived in Treeve. He figured he was still in mourning for his mother, that had to be the reason why he kept experiencing such bouts of overprotective love.

“Just get dressed, sweetheart,” he said, pulling on a t-shirt and sliding on his glasses which he always kept next to him on the bedside table when he slept. “I’m going to sort this nonsense out. You stay inside.”

He didn’t give her a chance to reply.

Ed stood at the foot of the ladder. It was eight in the morning, and sunless. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly in the thin t-shirt. Boko’s white transit van was parked behind Ed’s hire car, blocking him in.

“Boko?” he called up to the man who was on the tiled roof on all fours. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Cleaning my teeth, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Ed bit back the urge to scream at the stupid oaf.

“Please come down,” he said calmly. “I think we need to talk.”

“Quite a bit needs doing, Ed. Gonna take me at least a week.”

“Fuck,” Ed muttered under his breath, then, in a clear voice; “Come down now. I really think we need to talk about this.”

“You’re the boss, boss.”

The big man descended the ladder with surprising grace, every inch the scaffold monkey. Ed took deep breaths, doing everything in his power to keep his temper under control.

“Quite a lot of damage up there,” Boko was saying before his feet even touched the ground. “Don’t reckon the roof will survive if a storm hits. Gotta be fixed as soon as.”

“Why are you here, Boko? What’s going on?”

“To fix your roof, like we arranged yesterday.”

“Like we arranged before you wanted to kill me?”

The big man shrugged. “You were right, I was wrong and I need the work.”

“Ed? What’s going on?”

Jaz stood in the doorway wearing a baggy t-shirt that came to mid-thigh and nothing else.

“Go inside honey, me and Boko have things we need to sort out.”

Ed caught the way Boko was looking at his wife and he did not like it one little bit, no siree. Jaz hesitated for a second, and retreated inside.

Ed regarded him thoughtfully, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Are you seriously telling me that you believe Linda came onto me and you don’t care?”

“Of course I care. We had a big argument last night and I moved out. Should have done it ages ago. It’s never been me that she wanted.”

His meaning was clear and Ed’s bad gut feeling intensified.

“Look, Boko, I appreciate you turning up today to do the roof and everything, but I don’t think it’s appropriate, given the circumstances.”

“I came to apologise, it’s not your fault Linda’s still in love with you. You’ve moved on, right? Plus I need the work. I figured you and me could both be real men and put that sorry misunderstanding behind us.”

Sorry misunderstanding. Was this guy for real?

But he sure had put him on the spot. How much of a wanker would he be right now if he told him to piss off? The way he was looking at Jaz aside, (and let’s face, he reasoned, what guy didn’t look at her like that?) he had no legitimate reason to tell him to do one.

Ed raised his hands in despair, mentally kicking himself for being so god damned insipid.

But he had to give Boko the benefit of the doubt.

Because I’m just that kind of a guy, he thought sourly.

“Okay then, fine. So let’s talk rates.”

Boko threw him a huge grin, revealing yellow stained teeth.

I’m doing the right thing.

So then why did it feel so wrong?

Jaz watched the two men talking at the foot of the ladder through a tiny gap in the living room curtains.

Oh my God, Ed. Please tell me you’re not giving Lurch the job of fixing the roof…

“Shit,” she said, letting the curtain fall back into place.

He so had, she just knew it.

The front door creaked open, making her jump. The rumble of their voices drifted her way and she gritted her teeth in annoyance when she actually head Ed laugh.

Oh, for pity’s sake Ed…

“Honey? Where are you?” Ed called from the hallway.

“In here,” she called back, scurrying away from the window.

The two men entered the living room.

“Boko has something he wants to say to you.”

Jaz subconsciously crossed her arms over her chest, making her look surly when really she was just desperately uncomfortable under Boko’s gaze.

Shit, I should have got dressed when Ed told me too, how fucking stupid am I?

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night,” Boko mumbled.

“That’s okay,” she replied, knowing there was nothing else she could say.

“Me and Linda split up last night, on account of what she did, and all. And your husband has very kindly given me the job of fixin’ the roof.”

Yeah, real nice of him to consult with me first.

“That’s good. Now if you boys don’t mind, I’d like to go and get dressed now.”

She swept out the room, not missing the opportunity to glare at Ed when she passed him.

Linda had no intention of opening the door, but whoever it was, they weren’t giving up anytime soon. The louder she cranked up the TV, the more insistent the knocking became.

“Fucking hell,” she moaned, glancing over at the bedside clock from her position on the bed where she lay fully clothed.

The time blinked ten a.m.

Maybe it’s Boko, she thought, her heart lurching in hope. Maybe he’s come to say sorry for walking out on me last night…

It’s not like she had any friends, and her mother didn’t speak to her anymore, not since their big fall out the Christmas before last.

Boko was all I had. And now he’s gone too…

So why are you ignoring the door? Let him in and make it up, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like Ed wants you, is it?

With a massive sigh, she walked the short distance to the door and flung it open, talking as she did so.

“Next time you storm off, why don’t you remember your keys…”

The words died on her lips.

“Hello Linda.”

Linda looked the stranger up and down.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked, as charming as ever.

Linda fancied herself as one of those ‘salt of the earth, take me as I am’ types. The reality was she was just plain rude. Subconsciously she patted down her thinning, currently tangled, dyed blonde hair. She looked like shit; her eyes were red raw from crying and she had a big spot on her puffy nose. The handsome stranger was making her painfully aware of her physical defects and she longed to rush to a mirror and tidy up her sorry face.

“I’m a friend of Ed’s.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Edward Sullivan? I do have the right Linda, don’t I? You were his first girlfriend, weren’t you?”

Linda frowned in confusion, all her worries about how the fuck she was going to pay the bills now Boko was gone and the fact she was once again an unloved, single woman, temporarily departed from her brain.

“Yeah, I guess. What’s this about?”

The stranger smiled, revealing even, white teeth. Once again she was struck by how good looking he was. Classically tall, dark and handsome with a square jaw and deep blue eyes.

“Do you believe that you belong with Ed?”

Perhaps normally, Linda might have slammed the door in his face. But right now, in her heartbroken, unstable state of mind, that question was exactly the one she wanted to hear.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m going to help you make it happen. Just meet me at Ed’s house this evening at eight.”

“Wait, I don’t understand, what do you mean, you are going to help me be with him? Why? Who are you?”

But he was already halfway down the pathway of the tiny, ground floor flat.

“Don’t be late, Linda,” he called over his shoulder.

“I won’t,” she said in a daze, but the man was gone.

Jaz emerged from the bathroom at a quarter to eight wearing only a towel, her long hair clinging damply to her back. Her skin felt heated, just a shade on the burnt side of tanned thanks to a restful day spent on the beach, swimming and sunbathing.

She was about to shout down the stairs to Ed if he knew where the aftersun lotion was, when the doorbell chimed.

Her stomach flipped. Thankfully, Boko had been gone by the time she and Ed had arrived back from the beach early evening. It had taken her all morning to forgive Ed for giving Boko the job of fixing the roof in the first place, she really couldn’t face seeing him again today.

And don’t even get me started on Linda. Oh God, what if it’s her? That’s even worse than Boko…

She waited with bated breath at the top of the stairs, praying fervently that it was neither of them.

Jaz was shit out of luck. She placed her hand over her mouth to stifle the groan of despair when she heard the front door open and with it the voice she had come to hate.

“Hello Ed, mind if I come in?”

Bitch! Just fuck off out my house, you complete fucking psycho.

“Linda,” came Ed’s voice, drifting to her up the stairs. “It’s late, and me and Jaz are kind of in the middle of something.”

“It won’t take long.”

“Linda, please, I mean it, there’s nothing left to say. You really need to go home.”

You go, Ed.

“I need to come in.”

“Just go away Linda, you mean less than nothing to me and I can’t be bothered to humour you anymore.”

“I’m coming in. This is important.”

“Linda. Oh, for pity’s sake.”

From her position on the stairs, Jaz couldn’t see what was going on, but the direction of the voices had changed. Linda was inside the house, and it sounded like she was heading for the kitchen.

“Linda! For the love of God, come back here right now.”

“No Ed, I told you, this is important. This is fucking life changing…”

Her voice drifted away into the ether, swallowed up by the kitchen.

Fucking life changing? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Jaz wanted to fly down those stairs, the fact she was near naked be damned. Instead she sprinted to the bedroom, dropping the towel on the landing.

“I cannot believe this shit,” she muttered to herself, pulling on a white, knee length sundress and not bothering with underwear.

Dressed in a matter of seconds, she padded barefoot down the stairs, not caring about the fact she was still wringing wet.

She burst into the kitchen, half expecting to see Linda pinning her husband against the fridge and ripping off his trousers…

Instead she was confronted by an entirely calm and collected Linda sitting at the kitchen table like she was actually welcome. Ed stood over her, the lines of his body tight and a vein visibly throbbing in his clenched jaw.

“Hello Jaz,” she said, a dreamy smile on her lips. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news and all, but I’m in love with Ed and we’re going to be together.”

In that moment, Jaz realised the woman had flipped. Not only had she lost the plot, she looked pissed too. Her eyes appeared glazed, like she was having trouble focusing.

Ed glanced over at her in wide eyed helplessness.

“Linda?” Jaz said gently. “You need help, and I’m sorry, but Ed isn’t the one to give it. Please just go…”

“No!” she shouted, making them both jump. “He’ll be here in a minute, then you’ll see.”

“Who will be here in a minute?” Ed asked slowly and clearly, every inch the nervous individual addressing someone mentally disturbed.

“I don’t know his name, he didn’t say. But there was just something about him, you know?”

Ed and Jaz exchanged a fleeting look. No, they really didn’t.

“Linda,” Jaz, said, trying one more time. “Who will be here in a minute?”

“I just told you, you dumb bitch, I don’t know who he is. But he said he was going to see to it that me and Ed would be together.”

Jaz’s mouth was suddenly dry and her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. This was just too damn weird.

“Do you have your mobile, Jaz?” Ed asked her without taking his eyes off of Linda, like she was going to jump up and bite him or something if he looked away.

“No.” Hell, she didn’t even have knickers on, and she sure as shit hadn’t even thought about her mobile phone when she had chucked on the dress. “You?”

“Nope.”

Shit. Now what?

As the house was a holiday let, it didn’t have a landline.

“I’m sorry for your problems Linda, really I am,” Ed said in that same, slow, clear voice, “but I want you to leave, right now. If you don’t, Jaz is going to go upstairs and call the police. Do you understand?”

Linda lifted her face to gaze up at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time.

“I hope he arrives soon, so that doesn’t happen. It’s just that I believed him. I really want to see how this plays out.”

“Screw this,” Jaz said, acknowledging her growing fear for the first time. “I’m going upstairs to make that call…”

The doorbell chimed, making all three of them jump.

“See? I told you,” Linda said, smiling softly up at Ed.

“What do we do?” Jaz asked her husband, the panic rising.

Ed looked over at her, his expression tender, but determined.

“Don’t panic. Never panic, no matter what. Go upstairs and call the police. I’ll deal with whoever it is at the door, and if you hear anything that doesn’t sound right, lock yourself in the bathroom until the police get here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, anything that doesn’t sound right?  Ed, I’m scared, who the fuck is at the door?”

“I told you. It’s him.”

“Shut up,” they said in unison.

Jaz winced at the sound of the front door opening.

“Shit, I must have left the damn thing on the latch,” Ed said, lunging for a kitchen drawer. He opened it and pulled out a sharp potato knife. “Jaz, I want you to leave, right now. Go out the back door and get help. Find a neighbour with a phone now.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, desperately eyeing the door that led out of the kitchen into the modest sized back garden.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Because the door’s locked and the key is upstairs on my key ring. We never use the door, do we? The front garden is bigger and has views of the ocean.”

She knew she was gabbling but she was scared and couldn’t seem to stop.

Ed palmed his forehead. “Shit, you’re right. Fine, then take this knife.”

All the while Linda passively watched their exchange, like it was the most every day kind of conversation in the world.

Ed pressed the knife into her palm, closed her fingers around it, and gave her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze. Immediately he picked out another, larger knife, and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans behind his back, his untucked t-shirt hiding the handle.

Ed and Jaz fell silent and still. Whoever was outside in the hallway was whistling. The hairs on the back of Jaz’s neck stood on end. It was some old army song, and it was getting louder and louder, along with the person’s footsteps.

His footsteps. Whoever he is. A man that wants to do us harm and I don’t know why. I’m a good person, stuff like this doesn’t happen to people like me and Ed, I don’t understand, who would want to hurt us…

The footsteps and the whistling stopped outside the closed kitchen door, along with her feverish thoughts. Because it was a holiday let, the doors were fire regulation spring loaded, which meant the doors throughout the house were permanently closed.

Jaz and Ed jumped when whoever it was behind the door rapped three times. Ed pulled Jaz unceremoniously to the back of the kitchen and twisted her hand that held the knife behind her back.

“Hide the knife,” he whispered so softly in her ear that she doubted even Linda heard.

Ed picked up a frying pan off the stove on the way to the kitchen door and stood behind it, his makeshift weapon held aloft.

The breath caught in Jaz’s throat.

What if it’s not a lunatic on the other side of that door? What if Ed knocks out someone innocent?

Or kills them.

But it is a lunatic the other side of that door. A normal person would shout hello. A normal person wouldn’t walk up the hallway whistling…

You sure about that Jaz?

Linda remained sitting where she was at the kitchen table, seemingly oblivious to Jaz’s terror filled confusion. Eagerly she stared at the door, her cheeks flushed and a small smile playing on her lips.

The door opened a crack.

“Ed’s behind the door and he’s going to knock you out with a frying pan!” Linda shouted.

Bitch, was all Jaz could think.

Jaz screamed when she saw a nozzle of a long, thin gun sticking out through the gap in the door.

And it was pointed right at her.

“Oh my god Ed, he’s got a fucking gun,” she screamed.

“That’s right,” said the stranger from the other side of the door. “And I will shoot you unless Ed drops the weapon and moves over to the kitchen table and sits down with his hands on his head.”

Ed didn’t have to be asked twice. His face looked contorted as if he was in physical pain, but he did as instructed, the frying pan dropping to the floor with a loud clatter. He sat down opposite Linda at the table.

The man came into the room, gun held out in front of him. Jaz had seen enough movies to know the long, thin part was a silencer.

“You,” Ed said, sounding every bit as surprised as Jaz felt.

She recognised the good looking man straightaway, although it took a moment to dredge up the man’s name from her memory banks.

Jason Jacks, she thought in confusion, the name coming to her in a flash. Jason Jacks, our god damn wedding photographer… What the fuck is going on here?

CHAPTER FOUR.

The sense of unreality was all consuming. Ed gazed up at the intruder in total disbelief.

Jason Jacks? Their wedding photographer? What was this shit?

“What is this? What do you want? Why are you here?”

“Questions, questions. Always with the questions.”

Come on Ed, don’t freak out, you have to keep it together.

Jason Jacks just looked so normal, none of this made a dot of sense. Ed mentally fast tracked back to the wedding. This was the very same, outgoing, charming guy that had flirted with the bridesmaids and joked with the guests. The same man that had effortlessly rounded up the wedding guests into their designated groups for photos through force of personality alone.

If ever there was a stereotype of a serial killer, it sure as shit wasn’t him. He was Mr Charm-Personified. Mr Handsome-As-Fuck.

And now they were going to die.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ed said calmly. “Just walk out the door and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Jason Jacks stared at him, his expression unreadable. Ed tried not to flinch with the gun trained on his face. The sound of his wife’s soft sobbing reached his ears, but he did not look at her, refusing to break eye contact with Jason Jacks as if that would somehow attest to his masculinity and save them.

“They have weapons.” Linda said helpfully. “Ed has a knife tucked into the back of his jeans and Jaz is holding one behind her back.”

Jason Jacks turned to look at her, like he had only just noticed that she was in the room with them.

“Thank you, Linda.”

“How do you two know each other?” Jaz asked.

How, indeed.

Jaz wiped her soggy eyes on the back of her hand. In that moment he was so proud of her for reigning in the tears, and for the briefest of seconds their eyes locked. He nodded his head ever so slightly in approval.

Be strong, baby. Can you do that for me?

“It doesn’t pay to air your dirty laundry in public. I was watching last night. I saw you go to kiss Ed, Linda. I saw and heard everything. And then I followed dear Linda and her lumbering boyfriend home. Or ex-boyfriend, I should say. They were so busy arguing they didn’t notice the man right behind them. ”

“It was you over on the cliff path,” Ed said. “I knew I saw someone.”

“Indeed. And now, we’re all going to play a little game. But first of all I’d like you both to lay the knives on the table. Come on, chop chop.”

The man waved the gun at him and Jaz. Jaz was the first to act; she removed her hand from behind her back and took a step towards the table, dropping the knife onto it with a clatter.

The bastard turned the gun back onto Ed.

“Get on with it or I’ll cut your wife.”

Ed’s blood ran cold.

I will fucking kill you for this, he thought when he lay his knife on the table.

“Very good, now we can start the game. Tell me Edward Sullivan, do you love your wife?”

Ed glared at him, a fireball of hatred burning inside his chest. “Yes, I love my wife.”

“With all your heart?”

Ed looked at the man, and he looked at the gun.

“Yes, with all my fucking heart. What the fuck do you want with us?”

The anger was burning out of control, he could feel it.

“This is your last warning, Ed. Be nice.”

Ed took a deep breath in an attempt to still his wildly beating heart and reign in his temper.

“You’re looking very beautiful this evening, Jaz. Are you auditioning for a wet t-shirt competition? We can all clearly see your tits.”

Inside, Ed seethed. His wife’s state of attire had been the furthest thing from his mind since she had entered the kitchen, but now it was pointed out to him, he realised the fucker was right. The thin material of Jaz’s dress clung wetly to her body, entirely see-through in places.

For the briefest of seconds he was angry at her for coming down here blatantly underwear-less and with the wet dress plastered to her lush body. Her nipples were clearly visible, straining the flimsy, almost invisible material.

“Please don’t hurt us. We won’t tell, will we Ed? Please just go…”

Ed knew his wife’s pleading wasn’t helping any. Playing into the shitty situation and making things worse. The high pitched quality to her voice threatened to spill over into hysteria and he threw her what he hoped was a stern look.

Suck it up, baby…

“As I was saying,” Jason continued, casually pointing the gun at the three of them in turn. “I like to think of myself as bit of a love guru, if you know what I mean.”

Ed didn’t. And by the looks of his wife’s terrified expression, neither did she.  Linda just looked curious and not at all frightened.

What is it with her? Why isn’t she frightened?

Because she’s fucking nuts, is why.

That fact scared him almost as much as Jason Jacks did.

“So the thing is, I would like to test the love you have for your wife, Ed. And the same for you, Jaz. I’ve never done it like this before, not with a bona-fide love triangle. Tell me Jaz, do you think you love your husband more than Linda does?”

Jaz didn’t reply, she was sobbing softly. Linda watched her cry with her head cocked to one side, her eyes gleaming with some inner madness that Ed couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“I love him more, Jason,” Linda said with the simple self-assurance of a young child.

The hairs on the back of Ed’s neck stood up on end at the plaintive quality to her voice. A sudden rush of hatred for the woman coursed through him. In that moment he felt with cold certainty that he would do anything to protect his wife from these two loons.

He would fucking kill the pair of them in a heartbeat.

“Well, dear Linda, that’s what we are about to find out. But we’re not starting with you. We’re starting with Ed.” Jason turned his full attention to Ed, his blue eyes glinting with the kind of mirth that would leave any sane person terrified for their life. “Ed, I want you to choose between two simple tasks. Cut off Linda’s little finger or tell your wife that you hate her.”

“What?”

Give me that fucking knife, was his first thought.

But it was fleeting, and no real competition to his inherent decency.

Jason instinctively homed in on the cutlery drawer and opened it. He pulled out a long bread knife with a serrated blade.

“Well? Which is it to be?”

Ed regarded him levelly. “You evil cunt.”

“Watch your mouth, mate.”

Ed glanced from his wife to Linda. Both looked terrified. A small part of him revelled in Linda’s suddenly pale complexion.

Yeah, so you should be scared, bitch.

He turned his full attention to his trembling, quietly sobbing wife.

“I hate you.”

She managed the tiniest of smiles which gladdened his heart.

“I hate you too.”

“Enough!” All three of them flinched. “Enough of this fooling around. Let’s get the games started. Jazmine, it’s your turn. You can cut off all four of Linda’s fingers on her right hand with this knife, or you can come over here and give me a kiss.”

Ed saw red.

“You fucking bastard! We’re not playing your sick games anymore.”

“Do you have a death wish Edward? Because I am more than happy to oblige you. I will start with your wife, of course.”

“Ed,” Jaz said softly. “It’s okay, I love you.  I don’t want to hurt Linda. I don’t want to hurt anybody. But I love you so much, I’d do it for you.”

“Hey! I’m right here, you fucking bitch.”

Ed ignored Linda’s indignant squawking.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. There isn’t a choice, is there? We both know this. I love you. ”

As he spoke, a plan of action hatched in his mind. A crap one, albeit, but at least it was something. If the bastard was pawing his wife, then he would be vulnerable.

Oh yes, bring it on.

“That’s more like it. Come to Daddy, baby.”

Jaz’s face visibly blanched. She glanced at Ed, as if seeking reassurance. He nodded slightly, imperceptibly. His heart sunk down to his trainers when she went to him.

Jason Jacks grabbed her, drawing her close to him. When the man planted his mouth on hers, Ed felt sick to his stomach. He watched the unfolding, nightmarish scene, tears stinging his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have done that to you,” Linda said. “I’d fucking kill anyone before I’d let another man touch me.”

Her words jolted him out of the stunned trance he had fallen into. Jason Jacks held his wife close and his hands snaked up under her dress, clearly moulding her bare buttocks.

Adrenalin coursed through his body and he acted on it. Rashly. Unthinkingly. Impulsively.

And stupidly.

He threw himself at the man groping his wife and the two men staggered sideways with Ed’s arm around Jason’s neck. Jason’s hip bone cracked into a worktop counter, and Ed, despite being a fair few inches shorter and significantly slighter, managed to crack the hand holding the gun against the work surface so that his fingers uncurled and the gun clattered to the floor.

Jason hissed in pain, completely caught off guard. Ed took full advantage and curled his leg around Jason’s, easily toppling him in the most basic of Judo moves he had learned many years ago off a mate that had been a bouncer.

Jason lay sprawled on his side on the ground, the knife dangling uselessly from his fingers, staring up at Ed in disbelief.

If it hadn’t been for Linda, the whole sorry evening might have ended there. Ed was about to stomp on the man’s stomach. And he wouldn’t have stopped, he felt sure of it. He would have stamped on the bastard over and over until he was beyond screaming for mercy.

As it was, Linda picked up the nearest heavy object, in this case a cast iron wok, and launched it over the back of his head with an almighty crack.

Why she did it, Ed would never understand. Why she would aid the lunatic that had mere seconds ago casually ordered the lopping off of her fingers, was entirely beyond him.

That was his last thought before his knees buckled and he passed out.

“That was really fucking stupid now, wasn’t it?” Jason Jacks said when he came round a few seconds later.

The moment had passed. He had lost. Now he was on the floor and Jason was the one standing, reunited with both the gun and the knife.

Ed went to sit up, the back of his head throbbing like holy fuck.

“Jaz.”

“Ed, oh Ed,” she sobbed.

Ed twisted his head to look up at her and Jason kicked him square in the chest.

“How’d you like it, motherfucker?” he asked as Ed rolled onto his side in the foetal position, pain flaring in his chest and rendering him immobile.

He couldn’t breathe. The pain was so intense he wondered if the blow to his chest had triggered a heart attack. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, praying that the pain would pass.

Thankfully, it did, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake that matched the throb in the back of his skull.

“Stand up, we have a game to play. If you pull a stunt like that again I will slit your wife’s throat. I said up.”

Jason kicked him again, lower this time, just below his ribcage.

Ed bit down the indignant howl and gritted his teeth. He would not let the cunt see his pain.

Shakily, he hauled himself to his feet, clutching the back of a kitchen chair for support.

“Better. Now, the game. Ed, you have a choice to make. Would you rather flay the skin on Linda’s back or let me fuck your wife?”

“I just saved your life, you miserable bastard,” Linda piped up.

Ed noticed for the first time she was still holding the wok, which dangled loosely from her hand. Her expression was indignant, rather than scared, and Ed felt another wave of hatred for her so strong that he had to hold his chest because it made his heart beat painfully hard against his battered sternum.

Jaz looked beseechingly across at him, her eyes red raw from crying and her chest hitching with the silent sobbing that she was doing her best to supress.

“Be quiet, bitch.” Jason admonished. “You agreed to come here tonight.” He turned his attention back to Ed, pointing the gun at him. “It is easier to flay the skin on the back rather than anywhere else on the human body. The back’s solid muscular structure gives good resistance and it is easier to peel off the skin.”

“Fuck you,” Linda said.

Jason stepped towards her and clonked her over the temple with the butt of his gun. Linda half gasped, half wailed, and staggered sideways, the wok clattering to the floor.

“Sit down and shut up.”

Linda glared at him, seemingly struggling with some great, internal debate. She sat down at the kitchen table, her eyes clouded with hurt and pain.

Stupid fucking bitch, this is all your fault.

“Now, Ed, which is it to be? Flay Linda or let me fuck your wife?”

A steely resolve overtook him.

“Give me the fucking knife.”

“Ed! No!”

To his surprise, Ed found his voice was completely calm.

“Yes, baby. I’m not letting that animal touch you.”

“Now just wait one fucking second, don’t I get a say in this?”

Jason laughed. “No.”

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” Linda said, standing up and scraping her chair back. “I’m going home.”

“No, Linda, you’re not. Sit back down right now.”

She hesitated for a second, then sat down again. She gazed pleadingly up at Ed.

“Please, Ed. Don’t hurt me.”

His reply was calm, but inside he raged.

“You did this to yourself, Linda. You’re the one that twatted me over the head and put us in this fucking situation. I will protect my wife to the bitter end, do you understand?”

He wasn’t bluffing. Rage had empowered him.

“Don’t do it, Ed,” his wife sobbed. “It’s not the way.”

Ed ignored her.

“How much skin do I have to flay?”

“I’ll tell you when to stop. Start with the shoulder and work down to the waist. Don’t touch the spine though, we don’t want to do any lasting damage. Not yet anyway.”

Linda too, began to cry.

Fuck you, bitch. You did this to yourself…

So then why was his hand trembling when he reached up to wipe away the sweat that was trickling into his eyes?

Jason pulled out a small, shiny red object from a back pocket of his jeans.

“I prefer a simple, Swiss army knife for flaying. Trust me, it’s so much easier for precise work like this.”

He placed the folded up knife on the table.

“And I know what you’re thinking. No funny business or your wife dies, are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good. Linda, take off your top and bra, stand up and lean over with your palms flat on the table.”

“What? No.”

Jason sighed theatrically. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I am not adverse to either, but for your sake you should do what you’re told.”

“What do you mean, the hard way? Ed is going to fucking flay me.”

“Do it,” Jason said, his voice steel.

“Wait,” Jaz said.

All eyes fell on her.

“I’m not going to let this happen.”

She lifted up the still-wet dress over her head, revealing her perfect, nude body.

“Jesus Christ Jaz, get dressed right now.”

Jaz ignored him.

“Come on then you bastard, do it. Fuck me.”

“No,” Ed said, lunging for Linda who hadn’t moved from the chair.

His hands circled her neck and squeezed, cutting her off mid-scream. She thrashed beneath his grip but he held grimly on, even when she tried to push herself up using the table top as leverage.

“Get off me,” she managed to gasp.

“I will not let my wife be raped. So what’s it to be? I will either beat you up and flay you, or I will just flay you.”

He let go of her neck with a final, vicious squeeze, and jerked her forwards. Her forehead connected with the table edge with a resounding smack, and for a moment she didn’t move, slouched there with her forehead resting on the table.

She groaned pitifully, but there was no pity to be found in Ed’s heart.

“Ed! What are you doing?”

“For the love of God, Jaz, will you please get fucking dressed.”

Ed went for the army knife. With one hand pinning her face to the table by the back of her neck, he flicked up the blade.

Now Linda was crying in earnest.

“I’m impressed, Edward,” Jason said. “Maybe you really do love your wife after all.”

“Fuck you,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the sobbing woman.

“Don’t hurt me, Ed,” she whimpered. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Oh God, I love you so much.”

Ed lifted up her head by her hair. Once she had been fully righted, he brought her forehead crashing down onto the table. Her entire body jolted like she had been electrocuted. Jaz started screaming and didn’t stop.

“Hush baby, it’s the only way. I haven’t killed her, she’s just out cold. It won’t hurt her now.”

He proceeded to fist the back of the baggy t-shirt she wore and positioned the knife at the collar, readying it to slice downwards through the material.

“No,” his wife screamed, flying at him.

He felt her soft breasts pressing into his back and her hands reaching round to claw at his.

“Stop,” he gasped.

“It’s. Not. Right,” she panted.

She was determined, that was for sure. He could have easily shaken her off but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“Enough of this bullshit!”

Jason Jacks had to shout to be heard over Jaz and Ed’s tussle.

Jaz went slack against him and buried her face into his back. He could feel the wetness of her face seeping through his t-shirt and the way her breasts jerked with her sobbing.

“Jazmine, if you want to save Ed from flaying the stupid bitch then get over here right now and bend over the table. And as for you Ed, you have to play by the rules, damn it. If Jazmine chooses to fuck me, then that’s just the way it has to be.”

“That wasn’t the deal! You said that it was my choice. I get to choose whether I flay Linda or you fuck my wife.”

The man shrugged. “If Jaz wants me to fuck her, then who am I to argue?”

“You complete cunt.”

The pressure lifted from his back, and with it any happiness Ed had ever experienced in his thirty-three years of life. There was only sadness now. Sadness and pain. He let go off the scruff of Linda’s neck and she slumped sideways, landing in an ungainly, unconscious heap on the floor.

“Oh, okay then, you win,” he said breezily. “Flay the bitch. But I want at least two long strips running parallel either side of her vertebrae. Come on then, get to work.”

Ed’s heart hammered violently when he crouched over the out-cold woman who was lying on her side. He put her into the recovery position and got to work sawing through her t-shirt. Undressing her would’ve felt too intimate. Beneath the t-shirt she was wore a sturdy looking, dirty white bra. He sawed through the back strap and was assaulted with vivid memories of fighting with this woman’s bra as a teenager. His fingers trembled so badly he dropped the knife.

The realisation smacked him full force in the face.

I can’t fucking do this.

You have to.

Picking up the knife once more, he made a concerted effort to get his nerves under control. Gently, he eased the bra strap off her shoulder. The cup of the bra went slack, but was prevented from completely sliding off her body by her arm which rested atop her breast. He was glad of this, although he didn’t know why it should make a difference, seeing as he was about to flay his fucking ex.

He pushed down slightly on her shoulder so he had a clear run of her back. His hand shook like an arthritic old man’s when he pressed the blade against the soft flesh just to the right of the nape of her neck.

Here goes…

Blood spilled over his white knuckles when he broke the surface of the skin. He swayed on his knees, lightheaded and nauseous.

“Oh God,” he groaned, unable to stop the tide of vomit that surged upwards from his clenching stomach.

Foul tasting vomit spewed forth, splattering his t-shirt and pooling next to him. He closed his eyes for a second, unable to stop the violent trembling that racked his body.

“You dirty bastard,” Jason laughed.

When he had sufficiently composed himself, he looked up.

“No,” he gasped, his overworked heart pounding even harder.

“I’m sorry, it’s for the best,” his wife said in a trembling voice.

Jaz had bent over the table across from him. Her large breasts swung forward, mocking him in their overtly sexual stance that seemed to scream;  hey, I’m gonna get fucked and you’re not the one who’s doing the fucking…

“No, I’m going to do it.”

But they both knew it was lie. He couldn’t flay Linda. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Ed was powerless to stop the sudden rush of tears. They spilled out of him as easily as a wronged two year old’s.

With a breaking heart he watched his wife. The handle of the penknife felt slippery in his hand. In his mind he was plunging it into Jason’s heart, but in reality he stood motionless, watching the unfolding scene.

Less than a metre’s distance from him, Jason positioned himself behind his wife and unzipped the fly of his jeans.

Dear God, I can’t let this happen…

But let it happen, he did. Jason’s big hand circled the back of her neck, the nuzzle of the gun pointing at him through the tangle of wet hair. Jaz’s eyes were as glazed as a fish on a chopping block. Wide, shiny and staring, it was like she was oblivious to what was happening.

From his position, Ed was spared the sight of the man’s cock, but it was obvious he was guiding it along his wife’s vagina with his hand.

“Please don’t,” Ed sobbed. “Please don’t, please don’t.”

The man stopped gyrating his hips.

“I’ll tell you what, fuck face. If you eat up your vomit I’ll nail your wife in the pussy instead of the arse.”

What fucking difference does that make, he thought, but then felt guilty for thinking it.

Just because you don’t want to feast on your own sick…

We’ve never done it that way before, it would be agony for her if I let that happen.

But she might get pregnant.

Deal with that if it happens. I can’t put her through the pain of anal…

And as for STDs, surely she could get them just as easily from anal intercourse as vaginal? Without further ado, and tired of overthinking, he crouched down on all fours like a dog and lapped up his sour vomit.

The taste was indescribable. He tried to bypass his taste-buds by gulping. It didn’t work. Even though it had cooled, it burned his mouth and throat. Hot, bitter and rancid, his stomach contracted and bile rose afresh at the unwelcome return of that which it had just expelled. Absently he noticed there were lumps in it, possibly the apple he had eaten earlier.

While he was lapping up his vomit, he heard Jason grunt and the table legs squeak rhythmically over the tiled floor.

He didn’t think life could get any darker. His nose streamed snot from his crying which he consumed along with the vomit.

Ed knew he shouldn’t look. But sometimes knowing and doing were two different things.

Ed looked.

The unspeakable image of his wife getting fucked splintered his brain, and something snapped in his mind, like an over-taut elastic band. Self-loathing and disgust that he was letting this happen consumed him; so much so he that he felt an overwhelming urge to just bash his head repeatedly against the ground until he smashed in his skull and died.

No. Jaz needs you.

Yeah. Fat lot of help you are, you useless cunt.

He still gripped the knife in his sweaty palm. Yes, he had let his wife down, but that was going to change, as of this second. He was going to save her or he was going to die trying.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Boris Coleman strolled along the dark cliff path towards Dallam Avenue. He was in a good mood and whistled tunelessly to himself, thoughts of Jaz’s lush, young body clouding his mind.

“Tonight’s your lucky night, baby,” he said aloud, jangling the backdoor key of eight Dallam Avenue from his forefinger.

Oh yes, he had made sure to pocket the backdoor key when he had been inside the house earlier that day. No one made a fool of Boko, especially not some slimy little cunt whom his now ex had been so madly in love with all through secondary school. And still was apparently, the stupid, lying slag.

He was going to show her. He was going to show them all. Fucking, stuck up, know-it-all Londoners, fucking swanning into his home town like they owned the fucking place with money pouring out of their perfect, shit-free arses.

He’d show that cunt Ed who was top-dog round here. He’d rape his gorgeous wife while he watched and then he would give him a beating he would never forget. And then he would tell dear Linda all about it.

No one fucked with Boko. Fucking no one.

He paused on the cliff path for a second.

Who am I kidding? I can’t do this.

Boko was fist-happy and had never grown out of that testosterone-fuelled phase lots of young man in their early twenties fell prey to; the need to knock someone out if they so much as looked as them in the ‘wrong way.’

But rape? As thick as Boko was, and as much as he wanted to, he appreciated the difference between fantasy and reality.

He walked slowly onwards, wondering what he would do when he got there.

And there was the house now. He stood still on the cliff path, shielded by a big tree directly opposite the house. The living room light wasn’t on. He pictured them inside, sat round the kitchen table, listening to music maybe, getting all cosy and smug after a hard day sunning themselves on the beach. Drinking wine together. Toasting their perfect lives. Boko smiled, enjoying how the fantasy played out in his head and he patted the penknife in the seat pocket of his jeans.

This was gonna be fun.

Jaz clawed the edge of the table so hard she was getting splinters under her fingernails. Not that she noticed such a triviality. Jason Jacks pounded into her good old fashioned doggy-style, and her humiliation was complete.

There was little pain, just the abject mortification that this was happening in front of her husband. Her husband who was currently eating his own vomit, she duly noted in an abstract kind if way. Because for the sake of her sanity, Jaz had shut down. Her tears had long dried and Jaz had switched to survival mode. If she didn’t fully acknowledge what was happening, then she could get through this nightmare. Save it all up for a shrink at a later date. If she even lived that long.

Ed lifted his face from his evening meal and their eyes locked. She didn’t focus on them though, she didn’t want to acknowledge the depth of his torment. Instead she looked right through him as if his skull was transparent.

The rhythmic pounding intensified and she shut down further. Because of this, she barely comprehended what happened next.

One second she was getting fucked from behind, the next was a blur of movement and she was thrust to one side. She fell heavily onto her side and a muffled thump reverberated in the air. It took her a moment to work out that the gun had been fired and that it sounded funny because of the silencer.

He’s shot Ed, came the gut wrenching, crystal clear thought.

She struggled to sit up, but flopped back down again. She hurt all over and her head felt swimmy and strange.

“Ed,” she managed to croak out.

“Ed’s dead, baby. Ed’s dead.”

“No,” she whispered.

Still she did not open her eyes. Not even when strong hands lifted her up by her shoulders into a sitting position.

“He brought it on himself. He didn’t play by the rules. Why would he lunge for me when I was pointing a fucking gun at him?”

Jaz was stunned.

A strange sound floated around her head and she realised it was coming from her. A pitiful mewling that made her own skin crawl. The horrible noise broke her paralysis.

He can’t be dead, he can’t be…

Her eyes snapped open, and she crawled over to where he lay a few feet from her.

“Ed? Ed!”

His head was twisted at an unnatural looking angle to his body, propped up awkwardly against the cupboard below the sink. The entire front of his t-shirt was stained red, and on closer inspection, Jaz saw where the bullet had entered him to the left of his stomach.

Instinctively she pressed her palm to the wound and with her other hand she felt for a pulse at his neck. Life fluttered beneath her fingertips and she visibly slumped with relief.

“Amazing. He lives. So the game isn’t over yet.”

Jaz ignored the man towering over them with the gun trained down on her.

“Ed? Wake up, oh God, please wake up.”

She was rewarded with a groan.

“So the game continues. Jaz, it is your turn as Edward is incapacitated. Would you care to do the job your husband couldn’t do, that is to flay Linda? Or would you rather cut off your husband’s cock?”

“Fuck you,” she said, fear giving way to utter despair.

She scrambled to her feet, eyes frantically darting, gearing up for fight or flight.

Fuck it.

Without thinking too hard about it, she lunged for the kitchen door and threw herself into the dark hallway. What was he going to do? Shoot her in the back? She figured it was entirely a possibility, but she was banking on his desire to ‘play’ being stronger.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he called after her.

Linda hurtled clumsily against the front door and rattled the handle. Locked, of course. As if he would be stupid enough to leave it open. She pressed herself against the slim, frosted glass panel that ran adjacent to the door and banged her fists against it, screaming at the top of her lungs. The pane barely even shivered.

But maybe, just maybe, there would be someone outside walking their dog or something. And maybe this imaginary person would hear the screaming and see her silhouette behind the glass and have the foresight to call the police…

She rested her hot, sweaty cheek against the cool glass, clawing the glass despairingly with her fingernails. As fucking if.

Then it occurred to her to flick the light-switch on and off a few times like a distress beacon in the seconds before he grabbed her from behind.

“Hey! Stop that bitch. Enough of this fooling.”

He fisted her long blonde hair, pulled back her head, and brought her forehead crashing down on the glass.

Stars jumped before her eyes before everything dimmed and she sunk to her knees. Jason still had a hold of her hair, and he tugged hard on it, bringing her crashing down onto her back. She screamed in agony and flailed uselessly at her hair when he dragged her back into the kitchen like a sack of potatoes.

Boko leaned against the tree and regarded the house thoughtfully. Maybe they weren’t in the kitchen. Maybe they were upstairs going at it. He thought of Jaz’s body, sheened in sweat and stretched out on the bed. He imagined Ed lying between her legs, fucking her in the missionary position and him sneaking up behind and bashing him over the head…

“Boko? What you doing here, boy?”

The voice calling out to him almost made him drop dead of heart attack there and then.

“Jow?” he asked, peering along the gloomy cliff path at the approaching, slightly stooped figure. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked first, boy.”

Boko towered over the older man, a mix of guilt and anger at being interrupted making his heart hammer all the harder.

“I, er, just popped round to say hi. I’ve been fixing up the roof.”

Jow regard him through narrowed eyes. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot like a shifty kid caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. “Why you here anyway?”

Jow held up a bulging carrier bag.

“The day’s spoils. Thought those nice folk might like some pasties for their freezer.”

Boko didn’t know what to say. He had been well and truly busted.

I weren’t gonna do anything anyway. I was just gonna stand here and look.

What if the stupid old fart asked him to go inside with him? Boko shuddered at the sheer humiliation of it.

He was saved from answering when a shadow fell across the slim, frosted pane of glass that ran parallel to the door. Both men watched. It looked a bit odd, like someone inside the house was battering on the glass. Although it was faint, Boko was sure he heard the high pitched wail of a scream.

Probably just a seagull.

But there ain’t no shitehawks at night.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what? My hearing ain’t what it used to be.”

Then the shadow fell still and grew denser, like whoever was the other side was pressed tight against the glass.

The hallway light came on, then switched off again.

“Shit,” Boko said when it happened a few more times in quick succession, then turned off for good.

“Shit indeed,” Jow agreed. “That sure looks like a distress signal to me.”

Suddenly the shadow lifted, like it had been ripped away, followed by more of that same sound.

Screaming. Definitely screaming.

Boko shook his head. It had to be music, or the TV on too loud, or something….

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

“Are you sure you don’t hear that?”

Jow cocked his head to one side, obviously straining his ears. “Don’t know. Maybe. Something ain’t right, I know that much. We should call the police.”

Boko looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Police? Are you serious? Because we saw a god damn shadow and someone flicked a light-switch?”

“I tell ya boy, something ain’t right, I can feel it in my bones.”

Boko felt it too, and right then he wished with all his heart he had stayed on his mate’s sofa where he had been sleeping until he worked out what he wanted to do about Linda.

“Yeah, whatever. Call the police then, I’m going home.”

“You ain’t going anywhere. You need to step up boy, whatever it is that’s going on in that house, it’s our business now. You always were a sly one, Boris Coleman.”

He sure as shit didn’t want the old fart calling the fuzz. He really didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing here.

“So what do you suggest we do about it?”

“Give me your phone,” the old man said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Ain’t got it on me,” Boko replied.

This time he was telling the truth. It hadn’t even occurred to him to bring it. The last thing he wanted was Linda calling or texting him.

“I betcha lying to me, boy.”

“I am not! Search me if you want. Ain’t you got one?”

“What would I want with one of them mobile telephones? Don’t be soft.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, I guess we just go right up to that there door and knock.”

Boko knew that was a crappy idea. “Why don’t we just go and knock up one of the neighbours? Ask to use their phone?”

“Because ain’t nothing on this road ‘cept for holiday lets. Can you see any lights on? No. Means the houses are empty, or all the emmetts are out on the town. Come on, let’s just knock. It’s probably nothing anyway.”

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“I got you with me, haven’t I? No one messes with Boris Coleman right? So come on and do the right thing for once in your life.”

“Aw, shit.” Boris knew when he was beat. “Fine.”

He thought of the backdoor key in his pocket, unsure whether to mention it or not. He decided against it. The old git would never believe they gave it to him. So the front door it was.

They crossed the car-less road in silence. When they reached the door, Boris found he was trembling.

There ain’t nothing wrong. Just ring the god damn bell.

The bell rung out in the silence of the night. The two men exchanged a worried look and Boko just knew this was a mistake.

Jaz had reached the kitchen where she had been dragged on her stomach when the doorbell rang. Her entire front burned hot from being dragged in such a merciless way across the hard boards, but the pain was immediately forgotten the second the bell sounded. Her heart surged in hope and she drew breath to cry out.

The scream dropped dead in her throat when she saw what her captor was doing.

“Make a sound and I swear to God I’ll stamp down and smear his brains over the tiles.”

The bastard was stood over her husband, his black-booted foot grazing the side of his head and his hand resting jauntily on his hip, reminding her of some old-fashioned photograph of a hunter on safari with a dead lion at his feet. He pointed the gun at her.

Jaz didn’t cry out, as much as she longed to. Maybe whoever was at the door had seen her flick the light-switch. Maybe they’d had the brains to call the police and they would be rescued.

Oh God, please let there be a way out of this nightmare…

The air in the kitchen felt charged, and neither she nor Jason spoke. Ed and Linda were still out cold. Perhaps mercifully for them, she thought, wishing in that moment that she too were unconscious.

No, I don’t wish that. I’ve got a life-line here.

She lay unmoving on the floor, praying with all her heart and soul that the doorbell would sound one more time.

It did. She bit down the sob of relief, the almost impossible-to-resist urge to cry out.

The letter box creaked open, making both of them jump; her in hope and him in horror.

“Hello?” a familiar voice called out, drifting into the kitchen through the opened letterbox. “Is anyone home?”

“Fuck,” Jason muttered, his foot still hovering over Ed’s skull.

Jaz kept her gaze averted and her expression neutral. This was just too good to be true.

Come on, come on, she silently willed, desperate to cry out, not knowing how she was stopping herself.

Boko, came the clear thought. Never in a million years did she think she would be so pleased to hear his voice.

“Hello?” he called again, banging heavily on the door.

“Fuck,” Jason said, then turned to Jaz. “I’m going to deal with this. Don’t cry out, you know what will happen if you do.”

He left her in the kitchen and slammed the door behind him.

“Ed,” she whispered frantically, wasting no time in dragging her aching body across the floor towards him.

The faintest woompf sound that she instantly recognised for what it was twisted in her heart; it was the sound of the gun being fired with the attached silencer.

Her hopes were dashed with it. Boko had been shot dead, she felt sure of it.

“Ed, for God’s sake, wake up.”

She groped above his head towards the kitchen sink and grabbed the tea towel off the draining board. Holding it to the bullet wound in his abdomen, the tears fell freely.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispered, “don’t your dare.”

It wasn’t fair. They had their whole lives in front of them, but now he was dying.

And you will too, she thought in cold certainty.

She heard the front door slam shut and she winced as if she had been struck. The kitchen door swung inwards.

“I didn’t say you could move, bitch.”

The nuzzle of the gun kissed the temple of an ashen-faced Boko.

He’s alive. But the gunshot…

“Linda’s boyfriend has decided to join us. Isn’t that great? I’ve never done a foursome before.”

Jaz checked him over for blood. He wasn’t bleeding, as far as she could see. He was crying though, like that big fat coward she knew he really was.

“He shot Jow, oh God, please let me go.”

Jaz glanced past them down the hallway. Sure enough, the body of an old man lay crumpled in an unnatural position on the ground before the front door. Jason must have shot him, then dragged him inside the house.

Jow. That old guy from the pasty shop…

The sight of the dead body honed her senses in a way she didn’t expect. Instead of renewed terror she decided there and then that she and Ed were not going to die tonight.

Keeping her hands to her husband’s wound, she lifted up her gaze to Jason. There must have been something in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, for he grinned at her in a way that was nearer a snarl.

“Like that now is it? Very well.” He nudged Boko’s temple with the gun, making him cry out and stagger forward.

Jaz noticed how Boko had barely even glanced at his unconscious girlfriend on the floor. Or ex-girlfriend. Whatever. Jaz could not give a shit about either of them. The man was so scared in fact, it didn’t even seem to register with him that she herself was naked. And she had the feeling that was extremely unusual for Boko.

The bastard’s terrified.

He’s not the only one.

“Sit down Boko, palms flat on the table, there’s a good boy.” Boko did as instructed, sobbing the entire time. “Very good. Now, Jaz, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, it’s your turn to play. But now we have an extra person that has joined the game, so your choices are altered. Would you rather cut off your husband’s cock, flay Linda, or hold Boko’s hand down on the electric hob for thirty seconds?”

“What the fuck is this shit?” Boko said between sobs.

Jaz regarded him dry-eyed, coolly going over the options in her mind. Linda was unconscious, and God willing she might remain so during the ordeal. Searing Boko’s hand, however, would arguably be over much quicker, cause less permanent damage, and, more importantly, be a damn sight easier than skinning someone.

“I’ll take Boko’s hand.”

“What? You fucking bitch! You can’t do that!”

“Would you rather I flayed your girlfriend?”

He didn’t answer her. “Just let me fucking go,” he bellowed.

Linda stirred on the floor, and all three of them turned to look at her. She mumbled something incoherent, and hauled herself up onto her elbows.

“Boko?” she slurred, staring up at her ex with bloodshot, dazed eyes, her forehead swollen and dented from the knock it had taken against the table edge.

Boko went to stand up. “Enough of this fucking shit…” he started to say.

Jason aimed the gun at his head. “Don’t be fucking stupid. What’s a little bit of scorched skin between friends?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Boko said, his gaze darting frantically between Jason and Jaz.

The bastard couldn’t give a shit about Linda, she thought angrily, her decision only concreting further in her mind.

Jason casually wandered over to the electric cooker and turned on the front right element, the gun trained on Boko’s head all the while.

“Wos going on?” Linda groaned, now sitting upright and ineffectually clutching her torn clothes to her naked torso.

“Don’t fucking do this,” Boko continued to babble. “Just let me go, I promise I won’t say anything.”

“C’mon, over here,” Jason said, flicking the gun at him in a come hither gesture. Boko didn’t move. “Now, fuckwit! You too, Jaz.”

Snot bubbled in the man’s nose and he continued to whimper and plead pathetically.

Jaz glanced down at her unconscious husband before joining Jason by the stove.

I love you, baby. I’ll do whatever it takes, I promise.

“Good girl. Come on Boko, don’t be so pathetic. What would you rather, a little war wound on your hand or a bullet between your eyes?”

Boko came over snivelling. Jason nodded at her and she knew it was up to her now. Without hesitation she grabbed Boko’s wrist and planted his hand, palm down on the element. Boko let it happen. He must have known, subconsciously or otherwise, that he had no real choice.

Jaz actually heard his skin sizzle, like sausages on a hot grill. His howl of pain turned high pitched and inhuman. It made her head swim but she did not let go. The smell of cooked meat assaulted her nostrils - so savoury that, to her horror, it made her mouth water. She held on for grim life as smoke curled up from his hand. He lurched sideways, leaning heavily on her. It suddenly occurred to her that his hand was welded fast to the element.

The macabre moment felt like it lasted for hours when in reality it couldn’t have been more than ten seconds.

“Okay, you can let go now,” Jason said over the screaming that was beginning to sound like an old-fashioned kettle on the boil.

She didn’t have to be asked twice and staggered backwards, her bare rump connecting with the table edge. With an ear-splitting scream, Boko wrenched his hand free. Most of the skin was left behind on the element and sizzled away like spilled dinner. He held his trembling hand up to his face and screamed afresh. The heat had cauterised the wound, leaving behind a blackened sheen. White bone could be glimpsed beneath the ruined palm.

It was too much for Boko. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went down with surprising grace for a big man, like he knew he was passing out and was able to control his landing.

Because of the drama by the stove, none of them noticed right away that Linda was upright and hobbling down the hallway towards the front door.

“Hey bitch, where do you think you’re going?”

Linda had reached the end of the hallway, not that she could go anywhere. Not only was the door locked, but it opened inwards and Jow was blocking it anyway.

From the way her bare shoulders trembled, Jaz could see she was crying.

“Get back here now, Jesus Christ, these bitches are running wild.”

He laughed as he said it and a steely resolve overtook her. It had surprised her how easy it had been to do that to Boko’s hand. And she liked Boko a lot more than she liked Jason Jacks.

She kept her glaze lowered so he wouldn’t see the hardness in her eyes. Linda approached them, still clutching the remains of her bra and top to her chest.

“You lied to me. You said that you were going to make it so that me and Ed would be together,” she said, stepping over her unconscious (ex) boyfriend like he didn’t exist.

“I wasn’t lying, baby. You’ll be together forever. In death, that is. Oh come now, don’t look so angry. There is another way to be with him. If you kill Jaz, then he’ll be all yours.”

Her eyes looked glazed with madness. “Yes. Mine. I love him so much.”

Jaz bit down the tears. Not of fear anymore, but of sheer frustration. She was so fucking tired of this.

“So ladies, what I would like you to do is this. A fight to the death to win the love of the object of your desires.”

“And if we refuse?” Jaz asked, keeping her gaze lowered.

“I think you know the answer to that.” He made a cutting motion across his neck. “Bye-bye Ed.”

“I’m in. Let me at the bitch,” Linda said.

“The fighting spirit. That’s what I like to hear.”

Bring it on, you cunts.

CHAPTER SIX.

Jason had handed them both a knife each from the kitchen drawer. They were roughly the same size and meant for chopping vegetables, not killing people. Jaz stared blankly down at hers, turning it over slowly in her hand.

“This is to the death, ladies, winner takes all. Are you ready?”

Without warning Linda lunged for her, the knife slashing into the air, missing her nose by millimetres. The torn top and bra had been discarded, and her large breasts swung heavily with the sudden movement. Jaz easily ducked to one side. Linda was older, fatter, and had suffered a blow to the head. She almost pitied her.

Almost.

Linda lunged for her again and this time Jaz grabbed her wrist and twisted the knife out of her hand. When it clattered to the floor, Jaz kicked it away. She grabbed the surprised woman and spun her round, pushing her down, face first onto the table.

“Please don’t make me do this,” she said to Jason, whilst holding the struggling woman’s face on the table like her husband had done before her.

“I’m not making you, you have a choice, remember?”

A choice. Some fucking choice.

The kindest thing she could think to do was to fist her hair and bring her face crashing down onto the table-top. Unlike when her husband did it, Linda didn’t pass out. Instead she crashed to the floor in an ungainly heap and Jaz kneeled next to her.

Linda moaned and struggled to sit up. Without thinking too deeply, Jaz yanked back the woman’s head, exposing her throat. The knife cut easily through the skin, opening up a deep gash from ear to ear.

The look in Linda’s eyes was one of sheer surprise. She made funny gurgling sounds and uselessly clutched the gaping wound. It took a second or two for the blood to spill through the slit, but when it did, boy, did it flow. It pulsed in thick waves, bubbling in places, and poured over her breasts. A red river instantly soaked her jeans and pooled at her knees. With a final gurgle that might have started out as a scream, Linda fell forwards, flat on her face.

Shakily, Jaz got to her feet.

Dead. She’s dead.

She expected to feel terror. Or remorse. Or at least something. But no. She glanced over at her husband, gratified to see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Still alive. Where there’s life, there’s hope….

Shame the same couldn’t be said for Linda.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you? I never thought you had it in you, I must say.”

Neither did she. And the last thing she should do right now was let him see that.

She began to sob. They weren’t crocodile tears, not as such, they were born of the evil she had witnessed and partaken in that evening. Yet her heart was as hard as stone. There was no fear in them, just duplicitous, female guile.

“Don’t waste your tears on Linda, she doesn’t deserve them.” Jaz hugged her chest and tried to make herself look as small as possible. “So it is on with the game, sweet Jazmine. You must now make another choice. Would you rather slice off your own breasts or your husband’s cock?”

“I would rather…” Her words trailed away into sobbing.

She noticed that the knife he had been holding was dumped on the worktop behind him. That left only the gun to deal with.

“Yes?”

“I would rather…”

With a war cry she covered the short distance between them, knife outstretched. The element of surprise was completely on her side when she rammed him. The knife drove home, just above the waistband of his jeans. He made an oomph sound when the air left his body in a rush, and she grabbed the hand holding the gun, bashing it hard against the metal extractor fan above the cooker.

The gun fired, a dull thump that broke the sound barrier and made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She repeated the action and the gun dropped from his splayed fingers.

Without a second’s hesitation, she dragged the knife upwards with all her strength and he fell to the floor. Jaz clung on in a deadly embrace, going down with him, twisting the knife some more as they fell.

He landed on his back with Jaz straddling him. Jaz looked down at him, and at herself. She was soaked in blood, and probably not just Jason’s who was rapidly bleeding out over the kitchen floor.

“Why?” she asked, watching in fascination the way the blood frothed in his mouth when he gasped for air.

He mouthed something, but no sound came out. She leaned in closer.

“Speak up, cunt. I can’t hear you.”

“Because…” he whispered.

She leaned in closer still.

“Because I can.”

His body went slack beneath her.

“Ed,” she gasped, clambering off him, stepping over Linda’s body to get to him. “Ed?” His face was cold to the touch and there was no pulse at his neck. “No! God, please, no.”

Her hands fluttered uselessly over his body, before settling on the bullet wound in his side. She was kneeling in his blood but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything.

“Wake up, wake up,” she cried over and over, cradling his head in her bloody lap.

She felt hands on her back and she flinched.

“He’s dead. I’m sorry.”

Jaz howled in pain and Boko held onto her as she rocked her dead husband’s body.

Epilogue.

Three Years Later.

“Don’t do that, honey, it isn’t nice.”

Ed let go of the cat’s tail. “Aw, Mummy.”

Jaz put down her paintbrush and reached for her son who was crawling after the cat on the kitchen floor.

“How would you like your tail pulled? Huh? Huh?”

The little boy squirmed and giggled. Jaz laughed too, but it was underpinned with the constant sadness that she carried with her always.

He’s not Ed’s. He’s his.

She had hoped and prayed that it wasn’t to be so, but alas, this little boy was the living proof.

He has his father’s eyes, she thought, and shuddered.

“Mummy, can I play in the garden?”

“Sure sweetie, just don’t go past the back-gate, okay?”

“Kay, Mummy.”

Ed hurtled out the back door into the brilliant sunshine. She stood watching him through the kitchen window as she rinsed her brushes in the sink. Memoires of that night were beginning to fade. Not completely of course, but if there was one thing Jaz had learned from the whole sorry experience was that she was a fighter. Since then, she had sold the house on Dallam Avenue and bought another, smaller house in Treeve.

It had just felt right. Ed had been brought up here, and now little Ed was going to be too. Like the kind old guy from the pasty shop had said, she was able to carve out a pretty decent living here as an artist. Life was good.

Apart from the nightmares. Over the past three years she had tried to piece together the psychological mystery that was Jason Jacks; the sadistic serial killer that liked to torture couples. Unloved and unwanted as a child, he had been in and out of care-homes and foster-homes, suffering God–knows-what at the hands of strangers. Maybe that was why he was so obsessed with ‘testing love.’

Whatever. The obsession had eaten her up and almost destroyed her. She knew that it was time to stop. Time to move on with her life.

What’s Ed doing now?

The little boy was crouched down at the far end of the garden by the wall. He was holding something in his hand, although she couldn’t see what as he had his back to her. When he turned in profile, she gasped. In his little hands he held a sparrow. The poor thing must have been half eaten by a cat or something, and had managed to escape. Its wings were fluttering and its body convulsed.

Her blood ran cold when she saw the glint of a potato knife.

Just like the knife I used to kill Linda.

And his father…

The little boy slit the bird’s stomach. Not enough to kill it. Just to torture it.

He will not turn out like his cunt of a father. He will not.

Taking a deep breath, she went out to join her son in the garden.

THE END.

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading, dear reader. I hope you enjoyed the offerings of my warped mind. The following is a sample from the novel, DJINN. Although I must warn you, this book gets seriously dark and twisted. I am pleased to say that it is quickly gaining notoriety as one of the most disgusting, filthy, grotesque and downright disturbing books ever written.

Hey, what can I say? I try my best.

Sam West.

Sample of Djinn by Sam West.

Chapter One.

Somebody’d had a really evil crap in this cubicle. Pam Wilkins gagged, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her tatty cleaning jumper, careful not to let the yellow rubber glove she was wearing touch her face.

“Fuck,” she groaned, the bile rising and her tongue floating in mouth water.

Shit, she should be used to this. She’d been doing it for almost a year, which was a long time as far as cleaning toilets went. The job could be measured in something like dog years. One month felt like ten years so she figured she should really be used to it by now.

She took a step inside the cubicle of death and the door swung shut behind her. There was no way she was getting trapped in with that stench so she placed her plastic bucket full of cleaning products at the foot of the door to wedge it open.

That’s when the dull glint caught her eye under the door hinge. At first glance she thought it was a discarded copper teapot, but then she saw the shape of the thing was too elongated to be a teapot. She bent over to inspect it more closely. Yes, it was some kind of lamp, instantly making her think of Aladdin and The Lamp.

She picked it up, slowly turning it over in her hands. It was filthy, but under the dirt it looked like it might be made of brass. Were brass lamps worth anything? She didn’t know, but she would google it when she got in. Maybe it would be worth a bob or two on Ebay.

She picked out a yellow dustcloth from her bucket and gave it a little rub.

Smoke began to curl out of the spout.

“What the fuck?” she exclaimed, dropping the lamp.

It clattered to the tiled floor, the smoke continuing to rise. It billowed in the confined space, making her gag and her eyes water.

“What the fuck,” she repeated, coughing and spluttering.

Pam stumbled backwards, staring incredulously at the smoke that now filled the cubicle.

All that smoke, but no fire, she thought, her mind whirring in confusion. How can that be?

The cubicle was thick with smoke. But the strange thing was, not even a curl of it escaped the cubicle, like there was an invisible barrier confining it there.

The smoke seemed to be clearing a little, and now that it was, Pam could make out a figure standing amidst it.

“Shit,” she proclaimed, rubbing her eyes, convinced she was seeing things.

But no, there was definitely somebody standing in the cubicle. A man, no less, judging from the tall, broad shouldered silhouette.

“What the fuck is this? Where did you come from?”

“From the lamp. You summoned me. I am here to do your bidding.”

“Yeah, and I’m the queen of fucking Sheeba. Did Wayne put you up to this?”

“No.”

Pam shivered. She couldn’t see his face as the smoke still swirled around his head, obscuring his features. How could the bastard breathe in all that smoke? She had pulled her pullover up over nose and still the smoke felt thick and frightening in her lungs. That aside, it was the voice that got to her. Despite the figure being obviously male, the voice sounded oddly asexual, falling somewhere between masculine and feminine. Not only that, but it didn’t seem to be emanating from the man himself. Like the smoke itself, the lilting voice hung in the air all around them.

It had to be a practical joke, the guy had to have a tape recorded voice in his pocket to make it sound like that. Or maybe there were speakers hidden in the toilet. Pam hated practical jokes, her life was one big joke enough as it was.

A distant part of her mind warned her that this was real. Who the hell did she think she was? She knew perfectly well she wasn’t even interesting enough to be the butt of a practical joke.

“Now listen here, you fucking psycho, obviously you’ve been loitering in the next door cubicle waiting to pull your little stunt, but I don’t want to play your sick games. I’m walking away, right now, and then I’m going to call the police.”

“Stay, Pam. I can give you everything your mortal heart has ever desired. I can make your every wish come true. I am the Djinn.”

“Fuck off.”

Pam was scared. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. How could he stand there in all that smoke and not be fucking dead? And now that the smoke was clearing, why could she still not see his fucking face? It was almost like he didn’t have one.

She turned to leave.

“Wait.”

The quiet command of his voice made her pause.

“Leave me alone,” she said, hating how frightened she sounded.

She remained rooted to the spot, not daring to turn around and face him yet also unable to turn and leave.

“Don’t be scared Pam, you have nothing to fear. I am friend, not foe. If you complete a simple set of tasks I can make all your dreams come true.”

Something compelled her to turn around.

He had stepped out of the cubicle where the smoke was rapidly clearing and stood less than a metre away from her. He was wearing a well cut black suit on his perfectly formed body.

She still couldn’t see his face. She rubbed her eyes, convinced she was losing her mind. But no, his features were a blur, like she was too pissed to focus. Except she wasn’t. It was Monday morning and she was stone cold sober. His hair might have been dark, but it was near impossible to tell. His head seemed to gently shimmer and sparkle, like the reflection off an ocean. It hurt to look at it for too long.

“What kind of fucking mask is that?” she asked, shielding her eyes.

“It is not a mask. Mortals cannot gaze upon my visage, my absolute, perfect beauty would destroy your mind. You would not be able to comprehend it.”

“What are you? Apart from conceited?”

“I am Djinn, the third sapient creature of God. There are humans, angels and those like me, the Djinn.”

“You mean a demon, right?”

Pam simply could not believe she was having this conversation. It was ludicrous, she was humouring a psychopath.

Yet as much as she hated to admit it, she believed his every word.

“No Pam, Djinn are not demons. Like you humans, we have free will. We can be good, evil, or benevolent.”

“And what are you?”

He didn’t smile, because he didn’t have a face, but she could hear the tease in his voice.

“Why, I am good, of course.”

She shook her head.  She had gone insane, it was the only logical explanation.  It was hardly a surprise, really. All the financial worries, her bullying boyfriend and generally shitty life had led her to this point.

“You’re not real,” she said, closing her eyes, wanting it to be true.

When she opened them again, he was still there. As she knew, deep down, he would be.

“Make a deal with me Pam. Six wishes in exchange for six simple tasks. You will live a long and perfect life of your choosing, at the end of which, I take your soul.”

“What, so you can torture me for all eternity? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Pam. I do not wish to torture you, I wish to save you from hell. Do you really think you’re getting into heaven? With all things you’ve done in your life? Please.”

“How do you know what I’ve done?”

“Because I am not of this world. Because when you rubbed the lamp, I absorbed your memories, your very essence. I know everything. I know about the abortions, the hard drinking, the prostituting yourself.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that was only like twice. And I only did it ‘cause I was desperate ‘cause the bailiffs were on my case.”

“No matter. It is enough to send you to hell.”

“If all this is true, then what the fuck do you want with my soul?”

“What good is a kingdom with no subjects? The third realm consists of saved souls, and the more souls I save from the eternal torture of hell, the happier I will be.”

“So you’re like, the boss of this place?”

“The collective Djinn are. Look, Pam, the politics of the third realm are of little consequence. Do you want to make the deal or not?”

“But why me?”

“Why not? My lamp, or that is, my vessel, had to materialise somewhere. It just happened to be here. I wouldn’t have come out if a good person destined for heaven had found the lamp. I am here to save a soul, and along came you.”

“Along came me,” she repeated wistfully.

Pam’s head ached with the most bizarre encounter of her relatively short life. Six wishes. Oh, the things she could wish for to make her life better. The things she could have and do so she wouldn’t wake up every day in misery…

He closed the gap between them and she shivered when he reached out to touch her arm. He steered her over to the long mirror above the sink and stood behind her.

“Look at yourself Pam. What do you see?”

Pam concentrated on her own face, ignoring the blurred visage of the man behind her. Pam had had a hard life. All the twenty six years of crap were etched on her prematurely lined, sunken face.

“I see sadness,” she said softly.

“I can take all that away. I can make you happy. I can make you beautiful. I can make you rich. Whatever you want.”

Pam looked at her bloodshot, heavily bagged eyes. At the prematurely grey streaked, lank, dark hair. At the double chin and hollow cheeks. At the yellow front teeth and the missing eye teeth. She was a mess. A big, fat mess.

She lowered her eyes in disgust. She was repulsive, she would give anything to be pretty.

Even sell her soul.

“Make the deal, Pam. We cannot proceed until you consent. I will make the first offer, and it will count as the first of your six wishes. Ten thousand pounds will appear in your purse if you complete the first of your six tasks.”

His voice or its voice was so soothing, so hypnotic. She couldn’t think straight, her head felt fuzzy like she had just awoken from a deep sleep.

A distant part of her mind warned that she had fallen under a spell. Yet simultaneously she didn’t care.

“What would I have to do for my first task?”

“All you have to do is drink out of the toilet you were about to clean.”

“What?”

“I think you heard me Pam. Six good swallows, and the ten thousand pounds is yours.”

“There’s a fucking floater in it.”

“So?”

“What if I refuse?”

The be-suited shoulders towering over her shrugged. “Then the deal is off. You go back to being the sad, fat, ugly, pathetic excuse for a human being that you are.”

“Hey, that’s harsh.”

“Yes, it is. And I’m giving you this golden opportunity to change your life. Drink the water, Pam. Take control of your own destiny.”

She turned around and stared at the face that wasn’t until it stung her eyes and she was forced to look away.

I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this. I can’t believe this is happening…

When she glanced over at the stall softly shrouded by the wispiest tendrils of smoke, the porcelain bowl seemed to stare back her.

The mouth water was back again just thinking about it, her tongue curling up at the base.

“What if I do this? What would I have to do for the next one?”

“Each task is on a need to know basis.”

“But what if I do this, and not the next?”

“Then you forfeit everything, including the money for this task, even if you have completed it to my satisfaction. You finish with nothing and the deal is off. You go back to being the fat loser who scrubs toilets for a living and lets her boyfriend beat her.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, thank you. So do we have a deal?”

She hesitated for a second. “What if I get some disease?”

“That’s your choice.”

“Jesus.”

“Oh, come now, Pam. You’ve done worse.”

It was true. She had. But how did he know that?

Because he peered into your mind when you rubbed his lamp, remember?

“Jesus,” she said once more.

Fuck it, he’s right, I have done worse.

She cast her mind back to the time Wayne had made her clean the rim of the toilet bowl with her tongue when she had burnt his dinner. So this would be a walk in the park, right?

Ten grand, she thought. I could sure use ten grand.

In her head she was paying off the back rent and overdue council tax and the payday loan that seemed to have not so much doubled as quadrupled.

“Fuck it,” she said aloud, marching assertively over to the toilet bowl.

“Good girl.”

The smoke had cleared like it had never been. She sunk to her knees, and stared into the bowl. A turd looked back up at her, and it wasn’t solid. It was brown arse piss.

“Can I flush?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed.”

She gagged slightly, breathing in the stench.

“Fuck, I can’t.”

“Maybe this will persuade you.”

She swivelled her head round and the Djinn was standing behind her, his crotch at her eyelevel. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a thick wad of notes.

Her jaw almost hit the floor. That was a lot of dosh.

“There’s ten grand here. Now drink.”

Cursing some more under her breath, she gripped the sides of the toilet seat and dipped her head nearer the foul brown liquid.

I can’t, she thought in disgust as she lowered her head into the vile pool of shit. The putrid odour of a stranger’s corrupt bowels assaulted her nose and watering eyes.

Her puckered mouth broke the surface and she quickly slurped down a mouthful.

“Fuck!” she wailed, coming up for air.

Her gag reflex was working overtime. If she didn’t get this over with quickly, she was going to bail. She wiped her mouth on the back of her glove and left a watery brown stain on the yellow rubber.

She dipped her mouth back into the brown water and took five gulps in quick succession. When she was done she came up gasping for air and flung her back against the wall, landing heavily on her ample backside.

“Congratulations Pam,” the Djinn said to the panting, distressed woman. “You have successfully completed your first task. I shall come to you daily to grant your wish and issue further instructions.”

Pam barely heard him. It pained her to breathe and her ears were ringing. Her heart beat hard and fast and she found she was trembling all over. She felt something land in her lap and when she looked down she saw a whole heap of tens and fifties.

And just like that, the Djinn was gone.

Pam twisted her head sideways, and threw up. She reached for her mop and then thought; what the hell am I doing?

She didn’t need this piece of shit of job anymore, she had ten grand in her lap. After holding a few of the notes up to the light to check they were real, she lifted up her pullover and stuffed the notes in her bra.

She made her way back into the pub to collect her bag and coat, clutching the lamp in her trembling hands.

“That was quick,” a gravelly male voice said behind her, making her jump.

“I quit,” she said, not even bothering to turn around and reaching for her coat and bag that was slung over the bar.

“What the fuck do you mean, you quit? Pub opens in half an hour, clean those fucking toilets now. And what the fuck is that?” he asked, nodding towards the lamp she held clasped to her chest.

She turned round to face the bullying landlord. He was a right prick. Short, fat and obnoxious, his reputation for groping staff was legendary. Not her though, she wasn’t pretty enough for that fat bastard to touch her. She had never known if she was pleased about that, or insulted.

“Clean them yourself, you fat prick. And when you’ve done that, go fuck yourself,” she said, ignoring his question about the lamp.

His face turned a bright shade of red.

Boy, that felt good.

“How dare you talk to me like that, you good for nothing, ugly slag.”

She stalked out the dive of a pub with the shitty carpets and flat screen TVs on every wall that showed every football match known to mankind and called to him over her shoulder:

“The puke in the second cubicle from the left is mine. Enjoy cleaning it up.”

She stepped outside onto the busy London street, feeling happier than she had in years.

Her euphoria didn’t last long. She was mugged on the way home. Looking back, she knew perfectly well she had brought it upon herself when she was sat there at the bus stop, waiting for the number fifty eight. Some money had fallen out of her bra and drifted to the pavement. Hastily she had picked it up and stuffed it into her bag. When she had glanced nervously around, she noticed a couple of young guys in the small crowd gathered at the bus shelter, and when she looked at them, they quickly looked away again.

She didn’t like the look of them one bit. One was black and the other was white. They fit every stereotype going of modern disenchanted youth; designer baggy jeans with their underpants showing, hoodies pulled up over their shaved heads, trainers that probably cost more than she earned cleaning in one whole month.

Alarm bells rang when they got off at the same stop as her. But there was little she could do about it, so she had walked briskly in the direction of home, going the long way round to avoid the quiet streets.

Fat lot of good that had done her. They pounced when she was less than five minutes from home, dragging her into an alleyway between a tanning salon and a betting shop.

The white guy pushed her to the floor. She landed on her rump, the shock of it knocking her sick for a second.

“Hand over the money,” he said.

“We saw that money fall out of your jumper at the bus stop,” the black guy said. “So hand it over.”

“What money?” she asked bravely. Stupidly.

The white guy kicked her in the side of her head and she went sprawling to the floor. Everything started to spin, and she could taste the coppery tang of blood in her mouth.

“Fuck this,” he said, reaching down to yank her pullover up over her fat stomach and heavy breasts. “Christ, what are you, the living dough girl?”

His friend snorted laughter and reached down to prise the wads of money out of the cups of her bra. In doing so he dislodged the bra and her big tits spilled out.

“Fuck, she’s disgusting,” the white guy said.

But when Pam gazed up at him through blurry vision, she saw that her being so disgusting didn’t stop him from rubbing the obvious bulge in the front of his designer jeans.

“Help!” she screamed.

Her cries for help were cut short when the white guy kicked her hard in her bare, flabby stomach. She doubled over, the air whooshing out of her.

The black guy finished fishing out the last of the notes from her torn bra.

“I don’t fucking believe this, there’s fucking thousands here.”

“Check her bag, maybe there’s more,” said the other guy.

He proceeded to tug down her scruffy cleaning jeans, taking her knickers with it.

“Hey man,” his friend asked. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for more money. If she keeps it stashed in her bra, who knows where else she keeps it. Like, up her ass, or something.”

“Shit, we don’t have time for this, you dirty fucker. What you wanna fuck that dog for? Let’s get out of here.”

Pam remained doubled over on her side, the air cool against her bare buttocks.

Why is this happening to me?  Oh God, my money…

In the distance a police siren could be heard.

“See,” the black guy said, “they’re on their way already.”

“Don’t be so fucking soft. This is fucking London, there’s always police sirens.”

“I don’t care. I’m gone.”

The white guy stared longingly down at her, then sighed deeply.

“Fine. Hey man, what’s that?”

“Dunno. It was in fatty’s bag.”

Pam blanched when she saw he was holding the lamp.

“No,” she wheezed. “Please don’t take that.”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

The black man smiled. It showed lots of white teeth and the coldness of it sent a shiver down her spine.

They turned to leave, leaving her half naked and beaten, sprawled out in the alleyway.

“Shit,” one of them was saying, their figures and voices retreating. “I can’t believe that fat cunt had so much money on her…”

Pam groaned softly and pulled herself into a sitting position. Her attackers had taken every last penny. The fuckers.

But the worst thing of all was the lamp. Now she would never get her remaining five wishes.

What a fucking day, she thought miserably. She had drunk shit, been beaten up, lost ten grand, lost her job and any chance of a happy future now the lamp was gone.

Could this day get any fucking worse?

She didn’t think so.

She was wrong.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Hello Wayne. I got mugged on the way home.”

Wayne glared at her and Pam shrivelled inside. She knew that look and it wasn’t good. She dragged her aching body over to the tatty sofa that served as a wall, dividing the kitchen from the living room and collapsed onto it.

“I couldn’t give two shits what happened to you on the way home. I meant what the fuck happened at work.”

Fuck, he knows. He knows I walked out. Now I’m really in the shit…

“I’ve just been beaten up and mugged. Can we talk about this later?”

He was on her in a flash, pinning her down with his big body against the sofa.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. This rent don’t pay itself, you lazy, good for nothing slag.”

His breath was sour in her face, making her cringe. It wasn’t even yet midday and he’d already hit the booze.

Fucking marvellous.

“Wayne, please, have a heart. I’m really hurting right now…”

“I’ll give you hurting, you stupid fucking slut.”

One meaty hand was a dead weight on her collarbone and the other slapped her across the face. Normally it wouldn’t bother her, but her muggers had already hit her there and the inside of her mouth was bleeding where a tooth had cut her cheek.

She whimpered and clutched her throbbing face.

“Leave me alone Wayne, I mean it.”

Wayne’s face was red and his eyes bulged. She could see the way the thick, body builder veins in his neck were protruding and she quivered beneath him. That meant he was really mad. Not for the first time she wondered why she was still with him.

Because you’re too scared to be alone and you’ll never get anyone else. Ever.

“Stupid whore,” he said, sitting up and edging away from her slightly.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The threat of violence had passed. For now.

“I’m sorry baby, I’ll get another job right away, I promise. How do you know anyway?”

“Because you’re boss called and said you could forget about getting paid for last week.”

Oh my God, the complete fucking bastard, she thought angrily.

“I’m really sorry, Wayne. He was just such a bastard and I couldn’t stand it no longer.”

“We got rent to pay, you’re gonna have to get your sorry ass another job today or you’re gonna have to go out and whore yourself.”

Pam knew he wasn’t joking. She had never actually done it, she’d always managed to talk him round by telling him that he might catch some fatal STD if she did it. That had seemed to work. So far.

“I’ve still got the other cleaning gigs, and the care work, and the weekend factory job, it’s not like I’ve lost everything, and I’ll replace the job I lost today.”

“You’d better.”

Maybe you should get a fucking job, came the unbidden thought.

Immediately she felt guilty. She loved Wayne. She was lucky to have him. Women that looked like her never got guys that looked like Wayne. When he wasn’t drinking or taking drugs he worked out. And how. His midriff was maybe a little puddingy from all that beer, but he was sculpted and completely out her league in the looks department. He had that shaved heard, Bruce Willis thing going on, except Wayne was a whole lot bigger and meaner looking.

He reminded her of this every day, that she was lucky to have him. That’s when she wasn’t working or he was beating on her.

I love him, she reminded herself. If you love him so much then why do you have to remind yourself that you do?

She shrugged off the dark thoughts. It must just be because she was tired and hurting.

“Why’d you get mugged anyway? You ain’t exactly Paris Hilton, are you?”

Pam shrugged. How the hell could she possibly even begin to explain?

Oh well, you know, I meet this Jeanie in a bottle, and he offered me ten grand if I drank out of a dirty toilet. Some thugs saw the money fall out of my bra at the bus stop and I got mugged…

“Just unlucky I guess.”

Wayne got up and crossed the short distance to the fridge to retrieve a can of lager.

“You need to get yourself cleaned up. You’ve got to go to work in a few hours.”

Pam had another cleaning job this afternoon and she mentally groaned at the thought of it. She took her weary body into the mould ridden bathroom and set about the arduous task of cleaning herself up.

Work passed without incident. Another four hours of mind numbing, soul destroying crap, cleaning up other people’s shit. When she got home on the bus, weighed down by a shop in Tesco, Wayne was laid out on the sofa snoozing.

“Hey. What’s for dinner?” he asked through half closed eyes.

Pam dumped the bags of shopping in the kitchenette and proceeded to stab holes in the microwavable lasagne.

“Lasagne,” she said, casting her eye around the shambolic, filthy flat on the fifteenth floor of a tower block situated in Bethnal Green. Empty tinnies surrounded Wayne, along with Pizza crusts on dirty plates. There was crap everywhere, so much so her head hurt just looking at it all.

“Lasagne?” he asked.

Something in the tone of his voice had her on edge.

“Yeah,” she said warily.

“But you’re not working tonight.”

Four nights a week she did a twelve hour shift down a care home where she got to wipe shit fresh at the source instead of from a toilet.

“No, I’m not.”

“So therefore you’ve got plenty of time to cook a proper evening meal. My God, I’ve had nothing to eat all day apart from last night’s pizza, and now you’re gonna serve up something from a microwave?”

Pam was bone weary. She knew where this was headed, and after the day she’d had, she didn’t think she could face it.

“I’m sorry Wayne, I’m just a bit tired. I’ll make a nice salad with it.”

“A salad?” he spluttered incredulously. “You have got to be shitting me.”

He got up from the sofa and joined her in the tiny kitchen, grabbing her by her soft upper arms and violently shaking her.

“Stop it!” she protested, her teeth rattling in her head.

“Shut up, you lazy bitch.”

His face had gone that same shade of red it always went when he was mad. She noticed that his pupils were dilated. Probably speed, she reasoned. He was always cranky when he took speed.

He spun her round and bent her over the kitchen work top.

“Oh no Wayne, please, I’m too tired for this…”

“Shut up and pull down your pants.”

She heard the whiz of his belt being pulled through his jean loops and she knew she didn’t have a choice. Not unless she wanted to make it ten time worse for herself. So she pulled down her jeans and knickers and offered up her fat, pimply arse.

The belt came cracking down on her fleshy buttocks. Tears stung her eyes and the singing pain in her backside had her gasping and choking back the sobs. She gripped the work top and took her punishment like a good girl, counting the devastating blows to her arse.

He stopped after six. Her arse throbbed like it had a heartbeat of its own and she had great difficulty righting herself.

“Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

She hobbled into their bedroom which was right next door with not even a hallway dividing the two rooms. She shuffled to the bed with her jeans round her ankles and collapsed onto it face first.

She could hear the whir of the microwave as Wayne heated up the lasagne and her stomach grumbled, despite having eaten her own body weight that day in various pastries from Greggs.

She doubted that Wayne would talk to her for the remainder of the night. When he was cross with her he usually stayed up late and watched porn. Sickness and dizziness enveloped her as she lay on the bed. The sound of grunting women drifted to her through the closed door. So he was starting early tonight then. Tears stung her eyes and she eventually fell asleep to the sounds of the violent pornography he so enjoyed watching.

End of sample.

Copyright

Copyright Sam West 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Content

Sam West
HOME INTRUDER
An Extreme Horror Novella

PROLOGUE.

CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO.

CHAPTER THREE.

CHAPTER FOUR.

CHAPTER FIVE.

CHAPTER SIX.

Epilogue. Three Years Later.

Author’s Note

Sample of Djinn by Sam West.

Chapter One.

Copyright