Bad Habits Die Hard (4)
Back at the flat Christine moved all her painting equipment into the bedroom at around six o’clock. She had to; the people next door were having an early Christmas party and the music traveled through the walls and into her lounge. Perhaps it would be better in the bedroom, she thought to herself as she hauled the heavy board through. After that she returned and fetched her tray of paints, her brushes, and the linseed oil she mixed in with her paints. Then she went through to the kitchen and fetched herself a glass of water. While there, she spotted the can of deodorant and the lighter she had used the night before. She smiled and stuck them into the left pocket of her baggy jeans, intending to put them back in the bathroom afterwards. The thought of the note popped up in her head again. Surprisingly, though, she hadn’t been as nervous as she had feared she might be. But Kurt was still out there, she reminded herself, and until he had attempted whatever it was his sick mind had plotted, she would remain ready for him. Back in her bedroom she tried painting for a while, but nothing seemed to be working. She had no creative buzz going, no inspiration, and she decided to take a quick nap- just to get her mind buzzing again. She set her alarm clock for an hour later, locked her door- just in case Kurt came back- and lay down. Within five minutes she was fast asleep. Christine was lured out of sleep. She lay on her back, with her arms by her side and her head tilted to the right side- the way she always slept. Her breathing was slow and relaxed, her mind free of all the hassle from the past day, free all the memories that had been haunting her. She opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was a smell or a sound that had awoken her, but something had. Something that was not right. Not the way it was supposed to be. When she moved to get up the note fell off her chest. It was the same as the rest- A4 and written in black. It read: Sum Body Might be in there She tore the note up and let her mind settle. He had walked into her room and placed the note on her- while she was sleeping. But how? She had locked the door herself before sleeping. Maybe she thought she’d locked it, she told herself. Perhaps she’d dreamt it- she had dreamt of doing things before, small things like the washing or the cleaning, only to wake up and find them not done. She slid off the bed, her body relaxed and calm; after all, if Kurt had wanted to kill her, he would have done so already. He had caught her at her most venerable and had left her alone. Never again would he get that chance. She imagined him to be sitting on his bed, most probably naked as well, thinking that he could control her, that if she screamed or cried out- all he had to do was to threaten her and she would cower in the corner like the other day. Well, she would show him. She walked briskly through to his room and stopped in front of his door; her arms by her side, stiff and straight, and her hands clenched in fists. Fists of anger. She clenched so hard her nails dug into her soft skin. The music from next door flooded the flat, the infectious beat repeating itself over and over. "Okay you bastard," she said, turning the handle on the door, "Let’s do this" The door creaked open and Christine edged her way inside the darkened area. Her hand fiddled around the wall, looking for the light switch. She located it and flipped it. What she saw sent her stomach into spasms. Seconds after seeing it, she fell to the floor and started to vomit; the clear substance burnt her throat, leaving an acidic taste in her mouth, and it spread across the carpet. She remained that way- on all fours, and wiped the vomit from her mouth. When she stood up her legs threatened to collapse, feeling as though they would merely retract back into her empty stomach. Stop it, damn it. Stop it. Around her the music echoed. She forced herself to walk to the bed- to take a look at what was there. Kurt’s severed head lay on the blood stained pillow. What remained of his lips had been either punched or cut away, exposing his teeth and giving him a permanent, bloody smile. His nose had been smashed in and thick red blood had filled the crevice. His eyes were closed and untouched, and his blonde hair had been neatly combed back. He had no torso, though. His two arms had been placed on the bed in the correct position, and his legs were further down as well. But no torso. A mixture of tissue and blood and sinew dangled from the severed limbs, but otherwise they had not been touched. Christine stood staring at the body, her legs frozen by fear and her insides twisting and turning around. It took her a while to spot the note. Her eyes had been focused on the head and limbs all the time, not on the note that lay where the torso should have been. This one had been written in blood and read: NO BODY HERE!!!!! She backed out of the room, too scared to take her eyes off Kurt’s remains, too afraid to turn around and look at the lounge. Afraid of what- or rather who- might be waiting for her. She carried on backing away, then closed Kurt’s door and backed away towards her room. Edging her way closer, taking tiny baby steps, slowly raising her eyesight and bringing it level with the lounge. She had to remain calm. She had to make sure the killer wasn’t in the lounge. She had to- CREEK… The door behind her creaked. Just yesterday she had asked Steve to fix it, she thought. Her mind took a second to register the threat, and the door creaked again. CREEK… Jesus Chrissy behind you, she said to herself. The creaking stopped as she stopped backing towards the door. The room fell silent. The music next door had stopped a while back, but she hadn’t noticed. Now all she heard was the rhythmic thudding of her heart. All she felt was the cold drops of sweat sliding down her face. Again her nails dug into her hands. A tingling sensation started in her feet and spread up towards her stomach. She had to move. Now. So she took a step towards Kurt’s room. "What’s wrong, sugar?" the voice behind her asked. The sound of that familiar voice chilled her back, slamming into her neck and sending shockwaves through her at once. "Is this how you greet your daddy?" Neil Jones asked. Tears had started to stream down her face and her nose had blocked up, forcing her to breathe through her mouth. She sniffed and turned around, looking at the floor and shaking her head. "Daddy?" her voice trembled. "That’s right, angel. Daddy’s home again," he said in a soft tone of voice. She brought her eyes level with his; his blue eyes had the same mad, cold look to them. He was outside her bedroom door, clutching a large knife in his hand. He had the knife extended in front of him, as though he had been waiting for her to back into it; and she would’ve- had the door not creaked. "You must let me fix this door, angel," he said and took a step towards her, "I hate it when things make a noise. You know that, don’t you sugar?" Another step. Christine held her hand out as if to signal him to stop. Her lips trembled and tears fell to the floor around her. "Don’t," she said. She did the only thing she could think of- she stuck her hand in the right pocket of her baggy jeans and said, "I’ve got a gun, daddy, and I’ll use it. I promise". Another step. Five steps away now. "Ahh, sugar. Daddy only wants to say hello, that’s all," he said, grinding on his teeth. He lowered the knife and hid it behind his back. Another step. "There," he said, "out of sight, out of mind" Another step. Three steps away now. And Christine hadn’t moved. She couldn’t back away or run to her left; she could only run to her right, towards the door and the kitchen. Neil read his daughters mind and he took a step to his left. If she had to bolt for the door he only had to jump over the double sofa to get to her. It would work out nicely, he thought to himself: that way he could use the sofa as a platform and slam into her. Another step. Two steps now. Neil’s hand trembled behind his back. So close, yet so far. Finally, after all this time, the nightmares would end. He had waited this for years. What’s another two steps? He still had the knife behind his back. Now was her only chance. She had no plan. And her only goal was survival. That meant getting away from the corner she had backed into. She had to act now. "Daddy," she said and walked forward, "hug me daddy. Hug me this last time" She carried on forward, closing the gap before he could pull the knife out from behind his back. When she reached him she felt his free arm lock around her neck in a vice-like grip. Then she brought her knee up with all her might, slamming straight into his groin. "Agghh!" he shouted, his head instinctively going down. He started to bring the knife down, but she had positioned herself underneath him, and when his head came down- she pushed up with all her force. The top of her head crashed into his chin, splitting the soft skin. The knife dropped to the floor. Blood gushed out of Neil’s chin, spreading down his neck and over his white shirt. Without thinking of the knife she ran for the door. "Come here sugar!!" he shouted. He was on the floor when he saw her run. His hand grabbed the knife and he jumped up on the couch just as she reached the door. He could make it to her from where he was. She wouldn’t get away this time. He lunged at her, knife extended and aiming for her back. While Christine fought her dad, Steve tried for the fifth time to get through to the flat. Another busy signal. Something wasn’t right. There was no way Christine would spend an hour on the phone. Not today of all days. He thought of the caller from earlier, the one who had warned him that Kurt was going to do something today. "Shit!" he said and grabbed his car keys. He ran out of his office and down to the car park, the whole way asking himself why he hadn’t just taken the day off after the call. Why he hadn’t taken the call more seriously. He climbed into his Toyota and sped off, not even greeting Harry and Brent as he ran past them. Christine’s left hand closed on the lock. Now all she had to do was disengage it run. Once outside someone would help her. She heard her father scream, and she heard him jump on the couch, but her mind was fixed on the door. Fixed on escape. She put her other outstretched hand alongside the lock, pushing with it against the door. She was going to make it. She was going to make it. She was-- Neil missed her back, but was able to plunge the knife into her right hand, the one she had placed flat on the door. The knife pegged in, slicing through the soft fleshy middle part and embedding itself in the wooden door. Christine let out a high-pitched cry of pain. The knife kept her right hand pinned to the door. Blood trickled down the edges of the wound. Neil’s momentum carried him into her and he slammed his body into her with all his force. But as he did that, she instinctively swung her left hand at him and her fist landed flat on his nose. She also stuck her head back- towards his face- as he came forward, and the back of her head smashed into his left eyebrow. The force from the two blows knocked Neil back and he fell flat on the floor. He hadn’t even landed when Christine’s foot stomped down on his groin again. Now Neil had blood gushing out of his chin, his left eyebrow, and his nose. The blood streamed into his eye and forced him to squint. He got to his knees and used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood. Then he saw Christine’s foot heading straight for his left temple. He couldn’t flinch or pull back in time, and her foot connected on the soft part of his temple. A sudden pain shot through his whole face; the room became dark for Neil. "Eina!" Christine exclaimed as she pulled the knife out. She dropped the knife to the floor. She had too- her right hand couldn’t hold onto it, and she needed to use her left to open the door. The lock disengaged when she turned it and she let out a sigh. But she had to run now, before daddy came round. She pulled hard on the door, trying to yank it open- but it wouldn’t move. Daddy had locked the other lock earlier. "Noooo!" she screamed and pounded her fist against the blood streaked door. "No…no…no," she said, each blow softer than the last, until she eventually rested her head on the door and cried. Stop it, damn it. Stop it! She said to herself. Now move girl! She turned around and pushed right up against the door, her right hand throbbing and beating to its own pulse. A small pool of blood had formed around the door, some of it hers- most of it her dad’s. Get to the room, she told herself. She wiped away the tears from her eyes with her left hand and sniffed a few times. Her lungs ached by now; they heaved up down inside her chest with each breath she took. There was only one problem- she had to walk over him to get to the room. He had fallen in such a way that regardless of which way she went, he would be in the way. No time to waste, girl, she said, taking the first step over the motionless body on the floor. But when she put her foot down on the other side it landed in blood. For a second she slid around, trying hard to regain her balance, trying hard not to fall on him. Her right foot slid on the slippery surface and her left foot crashed down to the floor- fortunately for her onto a dry patch, and she was able to steady herself without falling. From there she ran to the bedroom and closed the door- this time making sure that she locked it. She took the key out and put it into her baggy jeans, into the pocket she hadn’t slipped her hand into. It hit something hard- the deodorant and the lighter! Now she had a weapon. It wasn’t much, but still better than nothing. She eased back towards the door and pushed her ear against it, listening for any sounds. Nothing to be heard. She walked to her cupboard, took out a sock and wrapped it around her bleeding hand. Then she cello tape to hold the sock in place. But the sock was too bulgy and she couldn’t hold onto to the lighter with it on. So she took the sock off and wrapped a layer of tape around the wound. That worked well enough. With the deodorant clutched in her left hand and the lighter in the wounded right hand she sat down on the bed, trying to give her mind time to take in all that had just happened. For years she had dreamt of this day. The day when her father would come looking for her. And she knew that day would have arrived sooner or later; after all, she was the cause of his nightmares. Or so he had believed since that fateful night when he killed her mother. "Honey!" Neil whispered from the other side of the door. Tears started to stream down her cheeks again and she ran her left hand through her hair. "Sugar…sugar, I’m begging you- let me in," her father said. Something was different though. She leant forward and listened to his voice. "Sugar I can’t take it anymore. I need the dreams to stop," he said. He was crying now, "I need the dreams to stop". She heard his footsteps walk away and then return a minute later. He started banging on the door. Not loud, just softly, and the noise sounded meaty and muffled. "There you go sugar. Just like old times sake- it’s not your mom, but he’ll do" Keep it together, Chrissy, keep it together, she said. It was all too much to handle. It all felt too surreal to be true. The one minute she was napping, getting ready to paint, th-- Her mind stopped and her eyes raced to her paints. Linseed oil. Deodorant can and lighter. Her heart skipped a beat as she knelt down beside her painting equipment. Outside it had gone quiet again. The last thing she did before the lights went out was to pick up the bottle of linseed oil. If she had waited any longer, the odds are she wouldn’t have found it amongst all the paints. But she did, and as darkness blanketed the room and her heart shot into panic, she gripped the bottle under her arm pit- keeping the other two items in her hands. Now she waited for him in darkness. In silence. Today it’s gonna end, daddy. I’ll end your bad dreams once and for all, she said to herself. The party music stopped and the flat remained silent; it wouldn’t betray his presence. Christine stuck her hand out in front of her face, but could see nothing. She dangled the hand around, waving up and down. Still nothing. Nothing but a consuming darkness around. Do something unexpected, she told herself. She remembered the self-defense book that said you should always try to act the opposite to what you attacker was expecting. Daddy would be expecting her to whimper in the corner. He would be expecting her to wait for death. Well, she would show him. She walked forward, keeping her outstretched right hand in front of her. The hand throbbed and ached, but by now the wound had clotted at least, and she held onto the lighter with her thumb and index finger. It hurt, holding onto the lighter like that, but she had no choice. She moved forward, being careful not to bump anything and give her presence away. Her hand found the door and she turned the key. Neil entered the tunnel around the same time that Christine opened the door. He had left the front door, entered into the next-door apartment- the same one he had rented out when he found out about Christine- and made his way back into the tunnels. From there he could slide through the hole in the wall he had made a few days ago, then he would be in. Funny thing is, he chuckled to himself, he never would have found Christine if it hadn’t been for that druggie, Kurt. Neil had planned to kill Kurt when Kurt didn’t pay for his drugs; but then the surfer boy had told him his plan- about how he hated his flatmates girl and that he was assured of his money. He just needed a few days, that was all. Neil had been ready to kill him right then, but he told Neil how the girl had whimpered in the corner when he said those three words. That got him started. And once he’d seen her- he knew it was his girl. Oh yes, she had changed her name and her hair- but you can change what you want on a girl and the father would still be able to recognize her. Neil reached the flat. He moved the wooden cupboard backing, making sure he was unheard, and slipped in. He was ten meters away from her. Christine froze. Was that him? That figure that just scurried across the lounge, could that have been him? Can he still move that fast? Something moved to her left. She swung in that direction, holding the bottle ready, almost spilling oil over the floor. Her plan was simple: fist get him soaked in oil, then use the can and the lighter to send a ball of flame his way. It would work. It had to work. Now she edged out of the room, away from the door, unable to see anything properly. But her mind teased her constantly, telling her he was behind her. Stop it, damn it. Stop it. It’s always like that, she told herself, you always think he’s behind you, when he’s actually right in front of you, raising his knife, ready to sink it into you. She wondered if he was in front of her now, as s- CREEK… The door creaked! Jesus, child, turn! She panicked and turned around, throwing the contents of the bottle in the direction of the door. She heard it splat, but against what she didn’t know. The next thing she felt was Neil tackling her. His head slammed into her stomach and the two went crashing to the ground. Before Neil could stab her, though, she broke the empty bottle over his head, cutting herself in the process. She kicked and kneed to get away from him, but he grabbed hold of her ankles. "Now," he said, pulling her back towards him, "Now the dreams end!" She already had the lighter and can ready. She hadn’t let go of them- even when Neil tackled her. He pulled her closer and she let him get to his knees. In the dark he raised the knife slowly. He thought he had won; after all, he had her underneath him now, and she was helpless. He couldn’t see the lighter and can in her hands. "Oh no daddy," she said, readying the two items in the dark, "Now the nightmare only starts for you". She pushed down on the can and flicked the lighter simultaneously. A ball of flame engulfed Neil’s head, sending him backwards screaming in pain. He covered his face with his hands, groping in the dark for anything to smother the flames, but found nothing. The smell of charred skin and hair filled the room. Neil screamed out- his screams similar to those from his nightmares. The flame consumed most of Neil’s face. He wriggled and squirmed on the floor, trying hard to think, but the pain made him loose control of his thoughts and he remained that way, twisting like a snake. Christine crawled away, bumping into the knife on the way. She picked it up and held onto it; she wouldn’t be convinced he was dead until she had driven the knife into him. Only then would it be over. Only then would it end... Three days later… "So," the older janitor said to the younger one, "that’s where he died. Apparently the guy had a knife sticking out of his eye". "Hey?" the younger one asked. The two men were inside the same flat. "Yupp. Also, turns out her boyfriend died in a car crash on the way here, and when she heard of it- well, she overdosed on a bunch of drugs," the janitor said. "So they’re all dead now?" the younger man asked as the two men left the flat. The older one locked the door and said, "Yupp. All dead now"
Copyright © 2001 David Rama |