New Title 1 (5 page)

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
He looped the thought in his mind but it was futile.

He crouched and peered in at a bedroom that had clearly been left in a hurry that morning. Through the open doors of the cupboard, he could see neatly folded clothes and the sheets on the bed were scattered messily as though she had just thrown them back and bolted. He scanned over the walls, the small television in the corner and the bedside table but couldn’t see any photos or other evidence of a boyfriend.

That’s good, that’s good, that’s…

Ben’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the vibrator lying down next to the bed, placed on top of what looked like a leather-bound photo album.
Now that bodes well
, he thought as he pictured her writhing there on the bed with it buried in her to the hilt; just like those times
she’d
let him watch. The times
she’d
called to him.

Was that buzzing he heard filling the air?

His cock throbbed at the image and also at the thought that last night only a solitary wall had separated him from her splayed out on the bed. He reached down, unzipped and freed it from his pants. His penis was burning hot in his palm as he began to twine them around it…
twine what?
Ben was shocked to find the silken panties in his hand and see he had wrapped them around his shaft. Shocked… But it felt nice. He could kind of imagine her fingertips dancing lightly across the tip of his cock.

He eased them up and down, his eyes drifting back to the wrought iron bedhead and he couldn’t help thinking how perfect it would be; easy to secure her to, have her there spreadeagled…
Don’t think about it… She’s not her…
He thought desperately but it was too late…

… Suddenly she was there before his eyes and he was shucking furiously at his cock and the room was bathed in a red light and they were appearing, overlaying one by one there on the bed, their ghostly limbs solidifying and melding until a mass of her lay before his eyes. And he was there too, with his bag of tools and he was unrolling the sheath of knives as the heaving mass writhed against their restraints…

* * * * *

His jism erupted, spattering against the glass, ropes dripping over the sill as he made the first incision, the red spray pumping in exact time to the pulses of his ejaculation; the pleasure spasming his muscles into rigidity; making his legs feel all weak and rubbery as he dropped down panting.

When he came back, he was gasping for air, his throat bone dry and the panties, still wrapped around his wilting penis, were sodden beneath his fingers.

The realisation was both horrifying and exhilarating. He’d been back to the Red Room. And not for just a peek this time but for a play. It was the first time since the nights preceding his bungled attempt on the girl in Cumming St and they’d all still been waiting there for him. All of his girls had been waiting there all along. All the variations of
her
. Hanging patiently on their meat hooks and he’d almost forgotten how nice their play sessions could be. And that thought terrified him.

Now that he’d seen the joys of the Red Room again, his resolve was wavering. He wasn’t certain he could resist if it came again and the empty meathook had been there waiting just like it had been all those other times and Ben could just see his new life wilting and shattering before his eyes…

I need my pills,
the thought broke through his mind as he realised he was now standing by the back door, rattling the lock as he tucked his slimy penis away.

I need my tools,
he thought but shook his head.
No, that’s not right, I need my pills.

But even as he backed away from the door his doubts were echoing back at him. Mandy’s voice:
they could have him on placebos for fuck’s sake.
Dr Slavia’s
: you need to want this to work.

Maybe Mandy was right?

He’d been back to the Red Room. He couldn’t write it off like he had the glimpses. It shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe Slavia had put him on placebos…

Or maybe the reverse…

…Maybe it was the doubts? If a placebo could make someone feel better wasn’t it possible that the reverse could happen too?

If he was really convinced they weren’t working then maybe he was the one overriding his pills?
Overriding them with his doubts? It had only started after he’d overheard the argument. Everything had been fine before that. It was only after the argument that he’d retrieved his tools…

Could it be him?

Ben hoped not. As he scrabbled back across the fence into his own yard, he tried desperately to convince himself that the growing certainty inside him wasn’t true.
But if that was the case, then maybe he hadn’t wanted them to work. Really, deep down inside. Maybe he hadn’t had enough of his revenge yet…

He only realised that the panties were still stuffed into his pocket and remembered the jism splattered across her window when he was safely back on his side of the fence, gasping as he scrabbled for a cigarette. He didn’t dare go back though.

No, he needed time to think. He needed to take his pills. He needed to stop his doubts. They’d work… He needed to stay away from next door…

He couldn’t go back there…

… Well not yet anyway…

* * * * *

As she sat sipping her wine, Rachel’s mind was churning with fury that clamped her jaw and had her grinding her teeth in frustration.

Fucking Maree,
she fumed, the alcohol doing nothing to dissipate her anger. She’d only been ten minutes late yet that bitch had acted as though she’d just butchered her first-born. Rachel had known it was coming as soon as she’d stepped through the door and seen her there behind the counter, her chest puffed up with self-importance but really…
fuck… REALLY… was the dressing down in front of the other staff necessary?
Rachel had seen them giggling away behind their hands and had hated herself for the blush she hadn’t be able to keep from her cheeks.

Didn’t she realise it was just a fucking café? It’s not like they were working for the UN or something. There had been a grand total of one customer in the store when she’d walked in for fuck’s sake.

And then the bitchy manner in which she’d reported it to André, the owner, when he’d dropped by. Rachel had been washing up dishes at the time and had clearly overheard her. Overheard how she kept the details vague. Made it seem like Rachel had strode in around lunchtime rather than the ten minutes late she had been.

Washing that large cake knife had been quite a job for her. She’d barely been able to refrain from rushing over and planting it in the bitch’s back. As she’d watched it glint under the kitchen lights she had just imagined the shocked look in Maree’s eyes. Imagined how good it would feel to scream at her:
was it really so important!

Even just a slap would have been eminently enjoyable but she’d restrained herself. She couldn’t lose her job, not while she was saving for her house. There weren’t many jobs going around for a university drop-out that paid as well as her current one did.

It was just that fucking Maree…

Rachel knew she shouldn’t be brooding on it so much. That she was wasting her time ever hoping that vacuous bitch would see the error of her ways – not to mention wasting the blissful hours she had free until she had to go back there – but she just couldn’t help it. It was just so infuriating and as she sipped her wine, she couldn’t help replaying it over and over again in her mind.

Maybe Ana was right,
she mused as she polished off the glass and rose to get a refill.
Maybe she did need to get out more…
Or get laid as Ana phrased it when she’d called at lunchtime to bully her into a girl’s night out.
You spend too much time alone,
Ana had told her,
it makes you self-obsessed. You sweat the small stuff more. Suddenly everything seems to be about you. Little things just get blown out of proportion…

Although Rachel had been mildly offended by the whole exchange, she had allowed herself to acquiesce. Not that she was entirely certain it would do any good. She usually found things were great while she was by herself. It was invariably other people that caused the problems.
Still it would be nice to blow off some steam tomorrow night…
And then there would be two blissful days off after that. Two glorious days of peace that Rachel was already planning to spend tucked up in a doona on the couch with a big stack of DVD’s from the video store.

Rachel sculled the glass and immediately poured herself another. She could finally feel the effects of the alcohol loosening the tension
. Looks like Maree survives another day…
She laughed out loud as she picked up her wine and made her way back to the couch.

Now to just get through tomorrow…

* * * * *

Ben snapped awake and raised his hands but the blood wasn’t really there. Instead, gripped tightly in his hands were the jism-streaked underwear and a small, brass key.

He stared at the key in confusion for a moment, utterly baffled as to how it had come into his possession. Then he lifted the plastic tag it was attached to, read the name Thea, printed in neat script across the back and it all came flooding back to him.

He’d returned from next door in a panic, the Red Room creeping back in despite his best efforts. All the pretty playthings lined up neatly on the meathooks along the wall. He’d been able to feel it building. The urge. The desire. And even after he’d scoffed a couple of pills it had been there. The image of him waiting for her in the bedroom. Seeing her walk in… Seeing her shock as she surveyed the tools laid out by the bed… The image of that empty, glinting meat-hook… He’d known he’d had to distract himself somehow and his attempt at masturbation had only increased the vividness of the images. He’d began searching the flat instead.

It was something he always did at some point or another in every flat he’d ever lived in. He’d poke around in any crevice he could find, searching for some remnant of the previous tenants. He rarely, if ever, found anything but occasionally he’d find something so bizarre, he’d just have to stop and wonder why anyone would have left it there.

Like the time in High St out in Preston, where he found a mattress, a collection of women’s magazines and a couple of candles laid out on the insulation of the roof or the time in Bent St out in Reservoir where there was a photo of a woman dressed in a santa suit tucked under the lino in the kitchen.

Usually he only found scraps of old newspapers or the odd pen or stray bit of cutlery and at first the search of his current flat had seemed like it was going to yield similar results. There were a couple of issues of The Age from 1993, inexplicably sitting directly on top of the manhole and a small ball of string down the crack between the bench and the side of the oven. He’d been surprised to find a false bottom in the bedroom cupboard but when he lifted it up, its only contents were a few dustballs in the corners.

He’d been about to roll back the carpet when the set of the drawers in the kitchen had piqued his interest. He’d removed them all and spotted it down the bottom, tucked into a corner like it had dropped down the back.

Now as he studied it, the same tantalising questions were floating through his mind as when he found it:
What was it for? Why was it in the flat? And who was Thea?

His mind jumped briefly to the woman next door but he knew that it was just wishful thinking. She’d already introduced herself as Rachel at the tram stop but still the idea persisted. It would make things so much easier. Lower the risks immensely. If he could just quietly let himself in and wait for her. He wouldn’t have to worry about a nosey neighbour hearing him; wouldn’t have to worry about the thrilling tinkle of glass…

Don’t…
His mind barely had time to protest before Ben ran with the thought, picturing how it would play out
. He wouldn’t even have to do it right away… He could come and go as he pleased… Watch her while she slept… Drag it out… Enjoy that delicious feeling of power, knowing that the new meathook was awaiting her in the Red Room whenever he wanted…

Even as his mind screamed
no, no, no,
Ben was freeing his erect penis from his pants and wrapping the sodden panties around it again.

A smile split his face as he stroked and even though he knew it wasn’t right, the thought formed.

Yes, it would be so nice…

* * * * *

Ben was still sitting, staring at the key when the pounding started on the door. He just couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it and the question played over and over in his mind
. What was it for?
It was similar in design to the key for his flat but he’d tried every lock on every door and window and it hadn’t opened any of them.