The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller. T.M.E. Walsh

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      She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He was acting like a little child. She half expected him to start stomping his feet in a paddy and she felt more confident the more he seemed to crumble in front of her.

      His spine stretched upright, as if he’d just been shocked. He looked at the pouch he’d put on the table earlier, then at her mouth.

      Sound seemed to be sucked from the room, and all he could see was her mouth moving, spouting more poison.

      Open. Shut. Open. Shut.

      He reached for the pouch, pulled away the cord, and took out a pair of scissors. He hadn’t intended on using any of the items in the bag: the knuckleduster, the pliers, the lighter. He was only going to frighten her with them, so that she’d fear what he might do if she didn’t obey him. If she didn’t see reason.

      Nola Grant was beyond seeing reason by now.

      He thought she’d have been ideal for his plans. That she would embrace the new life offered to her. A second chance to teach her. A chance to leave her current way of life behind and raise her child with none of the trappings that life entailed. But she was pure filth, inside and out, and she would never change. She didn’t want to… There were others. Others more worthy, deserving, more in need. He’d had enough of her abuse.

      He clasped the scissors in his palm.

      He edged closer.

      She kicked out, screaming insults at him. He blocked out her words, let them wash over him. She meant nothing to him any more.

      A conscience is overrated.

      As her leg kicked out again, she caught him in the thigh. He stifled a groan, but remained focused. He grabbed her leg, pulling hard, knocking her off balance.

      Her body crashed to the floor, collapsing in a heap at his feet. Before she could react, he was down on her, grasping her in a headlock with one arm. With his other hand he gripped the scissors in his sweaty palm, and weighted her body down with his own.

      He released her head, pried open her mouth and pulled at her tongue.

      She gagged, spluttered, but he maintained his grip, forcing the scissor blades either side of the thrashing muscle.

      She froze.

      She felt the metal edges scrape her soft flesh. She whimpered, helpless.

      ‘Hold your tongue or lose it!’

      He roared so close to her ear, she thought the drum might burst. ‘Do you understand me?’ He felt her head nod. He could feel the fear radiate from her body in waves so strong, he could almost taste it.

      She had to die. He knew this now, but it had changed his plans somewhat. Nola had been a mistake, but he’d learn from it.

      She whimpered when he removed the scissors and released her body from under him.

      She curled herself up into a ball, her back towards the wall, head tucked down with her chin resting on her chest. He saw her body shake violently as sobs overcame her. He allowed her a few moments of respite before the inevitable came.

      08:32 a.m.

      Rachel woke to the sound of someone banging on her front door. She bolted from the bed and ran. She flung open the front door, ignoring the cold that flooded in from outside.

      ‘Nola?’

      ‘Erm, no,’ replied Olivia, standing with a large McDonald’s paper bag under one arm. She stared at Rachel from head to toe. ‘You may wanna put more clothes on, Rach,’ she said, pushing her way over the threshold. ‘It’s like minus ten or something.’

      Rachel looked down at her thin pyjama bottoms and bra, but she didn’t care. The cold was nothing compared to the inner torment she’d had to put up with all night.

      ‘I got us breakfast,’ Olivia said, heading towards the kitchen. She started pulling out the cardboard cartons from the paper bag. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’ She took a large bite of her burger. ‘Oh, that’s good,’ she said with her mouth full.

      Rachel looked at her, despondent. ‘I thought you were Nola.’

      Olivia stopped chewing, keeping her eyes trained to the floor.

      ‘I’ve still not heard from her.’

      Finishing her mouthful, Olivia turned to face her. ‘You told Daryl yet?’

      ‘Have I hell,’ Rachel said, reaching for her burger. ‘He’s been calling though.’

      ‘What you been telling him?’

      ‘I’ve been avoiding answering.’

      Olivia gave a mock laugh. ‘FYI, that’s not wise.’ Rachel threw her burger down on the counter and rested her face in her hands.

      ‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve left him a voicemail saying she’s been with a punter for a few days, that she’d been paid up front, but I can’t keep it up much longer.’ She picked up her burger again and took a large bite. ‘He’s started leaving me nasty messages already,’ she said between mouthfuls.

      ‘Course he has, that’s Daryl.’ Olivia chewed the last mouthful of her Big Mac and dusted her hands together, sending crumbs to the floor. ‘Look, way I see it, Nola’s gone AWOL ’cos she don’t want to be found. You can’t force her, Rach. She knows the price she’ll pay if she runs out on Daryl – we all do.’ She placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder.

      Sadly, Rachel knew from personal experience just what he was capable of. Daryl Thomas was their pimp. He ran their lives for them, as he did with all of his girls. He took a big percentage of what they earned on the street, dictated to them what to wear, how to act, and told them who they could talk to, and what he would do if any of them tried to walk out on him.

      Rachel had tried it once – a long time ago now it seemed – and she had nearly got away from him. If it hadn’t been for another girl giving her away (Rachel never did find out who), she would’ve been free of him. On that occasion it had taken seventeen stitches to put her head wound back together and another five in her split lip, followed by several trips back and forth to the hospital until her arm was fixed again after a difficult break. All things considered, she’d got off lightly, compared to what Daryl had done to others.

      She watched Olivia pull out her hairbrush from her bag and run it through her long hair, and wished she could be more like her; living each day as it came, and never really worrying about anything.

      Despite her slight frame, Olivia was tough and streetwise. Rachel was the opposite; her long auburn hair, with large curls, made her look younger than her twenty years. Her build was average, and she was taller than Olivia, but she wasn’t anywhere near as robust.

      She was about to ask Olivia what she thought she should do about Daryl, when they both heard Nancy Boy by Placebo echoing from Rachel’s room.

      They stared at each other, motionless as statues.

      Rachel shrieked. ‘My phone!’

      Both СКАЧАТЬ