The Secrets Of The Shadows. Helen Phifer
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and he was afraid for her.
‘What’s wrong Sophie, tell me what happened?’
Sophie stared at their mum and shook her head. ‘There was a man, he was all black and he smelled really bad.’ She let out a sob and began crying.
‘What man, where did he go? Did he hurt you?’
Sean began to feel scared; he had smelled that bad smell but hadn’t seen any man. He turned his head to look around and make sure that the man wasn’t behind them. Sophie nodded her head and Sean watched his mum’s face turn the same colour as Sophie’s. ‘He pushed me over and told me to get out.’
Sean felt his knees begin to shake, he was so scared and he needed to pee really badly.
‘Sophie where did he go, is he still in here?’
His mum pulled Sophie up from the floor and then she grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed both of them behind her. She picked up a vase of flowers off the small table, discarding the flowers and dropping them to the floor.
‘Sophie I need you to tell me where he is, which room did he go in?’
‘I don’t know Mummy, I think he’s gone. He walked into the wall.’
She lifted a shaking finger and pointed at the wall opposite them and whispered, ‘He went through there but I think he will be coming back, he doesn’t like me.’
Sean watched his mum put the vase back on the table and then she turned to face both of them. ‘Sophie if you are telling me lies you will be in trouble young lady. No-one can walk through walls. Now do you want to tell me what really happened or are you going to continue telling fibs?’
Sean wanted to tell her that there was a man who had smelled bad but he didn’t want to make his mum even angrier so he kept quiet and didn’t look at Sophie. He felt sorry for her and she would be angry with him if he knew and didn’t speak up. But then his mum picked up the vase again and walked into each bedroom to look under the beds and in the wardrobes. Sophie and Sean followed her. She even checked the cupboard in the bathroom where the hot water tank was but the only things in there were piles of towels. The only place his mum didn’t check was the attic but since there was no ladder he reasoned that the man couldn’t be hiding up there, not unless he had super powers and could fly like Superman. He felt Sophie’s hot breath as she let out a sigh of relief, she was standing so close to him clutching his arm he couldn’t move it. Their mum turned to them both, ‘Now I don’t know what game you were playing or why you are telling lies Sophie but you mustn’t do that ever again. You nearly gave me a heart attack; I thought someone had attacked you.’
Sophie bent her head as big teardrops fell from her eyes onto the floor. Sean reached out his hand and curled his chubby fingers around Sophie’s cold, much more slender ones then squeezed hard – he believed her. Their mum went downstairs and they followed her, neither of them wanting to be upstairs without her in case the bad-smelling man came back through the wall.
He perched on the arm of the sofa, admiring his handiwork. The woman lay there and didn’t move once, which was exactly how he liked it. He didn’t want to fight with her and he was glad there was no blood, he didn’t like it – no that wasn’t a strong enough word, he hated blood. The smell of it made his stomach churn and his knees go weak. A couple of times he had passed out because of it and he was getting better but he avoided it at all costs. When he had first put the plastic bag over her head she had tried to claw her way out of it but he had tie-wrapped it and the plastic was too thick and her nails too short to make a difference. Satisfied that she was dead he walked towards her, pulling the Stanley knife from his back pocket. He slid the button up so the blade was pointing out and slowly sliced the plastic in half, making sure the blade didn’t touch her skin and spoil everything. He didn’t have time to pass out or feel faint. He sliced through the thick, plastic tie and the bag loosened, pulling it away from her face and her soft, pink lips. He stroked her long, blonde hair. He tucked back the fringe which had come loose when she had been struggling and stared. She looked as if she was asleep – a sleeping angel. He had expected to feel deep regret at what he had done but he didn’t, what he felt was satisfied. For the first time in his life he felt as if some basic, primal need had been filled and he felt intoxicated from a feeling of well being which his normally troubled mind rarely felt. It was still early yet, he would have a couple of hours with his perfect angel before taking her to her final resting place. He hoped the priest would be the one to find her and not a little old lady, but it didn’t really matter who found her because people would soon come running to see what the fuss was about and the news would soon spread about his gift to God’s messenger.
He sat in the armchair and closed his eyes, memories from a long time ago filling his mind. His mother was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in his life. He wished that she was here to understand how messed up she had made him but she wasn’t. He was on his own, always had been and always would be. He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes he didn’t know where he was and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Blinking a few times he looked over to see if the woman had come back to life and walked out. She was still there and very dead. He stretched out his hand letting his fingers brush her cheek, it was much cooler. Her lips had a blue tinge to them now; they didn’t look as kissable as they had done earlier. Standing, he picked up his iPhone and took a few pictures of her, sending them to the wireless printer he had in his small office upstairs. Best not to get these pictures printed out at the shop in town, they would raise some eyebrows!
He went upstairs and unlocked the door to the office, which was actually his spare bedroom. All the walls were painted white and on one wall were four large cork notice boards. Three of them were blank. He picked the two photos up off the printer and pinned them to the board he’d named Operation Gabriel. On this board were pictures of his victim’s house, views of the street from both ends. There was a small map of the surrounding area and her house was marked with a big red cross. Post it notes were pinned to it as well with her name and phone number. There was a picture of the coffee shop she used two or three times a week to get her skinny latte with a dusting of chocolate sprinkles on top. Once she’d bought a slice of lemon cake, but even this had been to go. He’d never seen her sit down and relax, take five minutes. He’d stand in the queue behind her and twice when she’d turned he’d grinned at her. Flustered she’d smiled then turned back to face the barista and wouldn’t look around again. She had no family or friends that visited her and she never went with anyone to get her coffee. He’d been watching her for four weeks now and the only visitor she had was the electricity man to read the meter. It looked as if Tracy Hale was as lonely as he was, he had no idea who would be the one to report her missing. It was quite sad really. He stepped back to admire his work; Op Gabriel was almost over. He just needed to secure her in the church grounds without getting caught and then it would be time to start the next operation. He enjoyed the information gathering part of it almost as much as the killing and he wondered if he wasn’t wasting his talents in his current job.
He went back downstairs to watch out of his living room window, pulling the curtain to one side to see if anyone was around. The small cul-de-sac was quiet; he had a small black book with a record of all his neighbours’ comings and goings. He knew that Bob at number eight went to the pub every Thursday, Friday and Saturday leaving the house at seven and not coming back until midnight at the earliest. Mrs Wallace from number twelve never went out of the house after five pm, the latest he had ever seen her come home had been ten to five one night when a taxi pulled up outside her house and she had scurried inside, shutting and bolting her door. She would then go into each room and close the curtains. She never had any visitors and she never opened the door – ever. The problem was number fifteen; he didn’t know what the young couple who lived there were called but they came in at all hours and were very unpredictable. They both worked shifts at McDonald’s, he knew this because of the distinctive olive green polo shirts and khaki trousers the staff at the drive-through wore. When they weren’t working they were out drinking and sometimes brought friends back to play extremely loud music and party. He was glad that he lived a short