Read Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 7

  Chapter Six

  He watched her often in the last few days, lying there in the darkness, naked. She was exquisite, just like mother. She did not even have to audition for the part.

  It had taken her a while to wake up after he took her. He had feared he had put too much on the rag, used too much to knock her out. Sitting, watching, waiting for her to awake from her slumber he had grown anxious, if she had not woken, he would never be able to lay his darkness to rest. She was the only one who could make it happen, the only one; there would be no other as perfect. He felt strongly about her, had felt strongly about her from the first time he saw her. She was his mother as he remembered her.

  Then she woke.

  He had watched her in the room waiting to see what she would do. His excitement built. He actually felt sorry for her in a way, not being able to clean her, take care of her. He could only feed her enough to keep her alive; she had to suffer as well. Mother was in no way innocent in all of this. Mother started this, so mother would finish it.

  Taking her was only half of what he had planned though. When he went to look at her, he had to stop himself telling her what she was to do, what part she was going to play. What was to happen to put it right, but then she would already know what she had done, wouldn't she?

  Mother was going to pay a high price to rid him of this darkness, to shut it out of his life forever.

  He looked at the photo in his hand, a small black and white, showing a pretty and petite woman of about twenty one, she was dressed in what he guessed was her wedding dress and was standing next to a man of about the same age. He had a casual black suit on; it did not even fit him properly, not caring on his wedding day either. Nevertheless, they both had smiles on their faces, one smiling for the life she thought she was going to lead and the other smiling for the life he was going to give her, safe in the sanctity of marriage. It was strange seeing his parents like that; the only image he had of them in his mind did not have those smiles attached.

  He had freed her from the chain earlier on in the day in preparation. He had stood there trying not to lose it in the corner, as he felt the inevitable drawing closer. It was going to be so perfect.

  She had cowered away from him when he unlocked her shackles; she went and sat sniveling in the corner. It had brought back memories of mother crying herself to sleep after one of his father’s lessons. He almost told her then, but stopped himself at the last moment. She had wet herself, right there in front of him, showing her innermost fear in such a natural act.

  He had felt a burst of twisted pleasure, a cruel pleasure in someone else's suffering brought on by his own actions. Was this how father had felt? He nearly vomited at the thought; dry retching into his mouth, a bitter taste of bile stung the back of his throat. He had fled the room at that point, not even hearing the sound of her anguish behind him.

  Composing himself, needing to focus on the task, he tried to think of the preparations he still needed to complete. She could wait, she would find out soon enough and then she would put it right. He could get on with his life. He just had to wait until dark.