Authors: Lee Cockburn
Early one September morning, about a year before, Louise Brennan, the ex-wife of John Brennan, walked happily to her house; she was enjoying the autumn sun on her face. She was free at last from years of torment at the hands of her brutal husband, she never thought she’d ever see that day. She now walked with a permanent limp caused by one of her husband’s assaults; he had stamped down on her thigh as she lay at the bottom of the stairs, snapping her femur in two places, causing one leg to be shorter than the other after the repair. Her face had numerous old scars, each telling its own silent story, her bones deformed in many places with enlarged areas where they had calcified on their repair. None of the assaults was ever reported to the police due to her fear of even more violent reprisals.
The house they had owned had been sold months ago; John had received his share of the money and more. Louise had tied up all of the loose ends and intended heading off to France to live in peace and start afresh. She had a year’s lease for a quaint holding there, all paid for in advance, with the keys waiting for her under the mat on her arrival.
Her mother had died two months ago leaving her a small fortune, none of which she had to give to John because the divorce had been finalised the month before. John was raging about this, but he was always raging about every tiny little thing.
Good riddance,
she thought to herself as she turned the key in the lock. She stepped inside and everything was just as she had left it, the furniture all to be left as part of the lease. She toyed with whether to spend her last night in a hotel or not but thought it would be easier just to stay where she now called home.
They hadn’t been able to have children, another thing John had blamed her for, never considering for a moment that the problem could have been on his side. Louise longed for children but became glad in a way that they didn’t have any because of John’s temper; what would he have been like with the children?
She could barely contain her shudder as she thought about that. She walked through to the kitchen, the paperwork for the house and the information regarding the final arrangements still lying on the counter where she had left them. Everything was signed over and all that was left to do was leave the keys and the letting agent would collect them as she had already given over all of the other sets of keys. She was fearful of the massive step she was about to take but the further she was away from John the better; she had no relatives, as she was an only child and both her parents were now dead. She didn’t care if the rest of her life might be spent alone; she only cared that she would not have to feel fear and pain anymore. She wouldn’t have the anticipation of being raped whenever he wanted her. Being safe and her freedom was all that mattered.
John had pestered her to go back to him for a short while after she had left him but strangely he had stopped as if he had accepted that she was never coming back. He had signed the divorce papers and taken his share of the money. Little did Louise know that his mind was already planning a sinister final solution of his own to their sorry excuse for a marriage.
She opened the door to the living room and froze on the spot, her breath shallow and fast; there in front of her he stood, his eyes twinkling with a strange sense of triumph. He spoke in a calm voice. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go, did you? I’ve waited patiently for you to sort everything out for me, for
you to erase yourself from society so as I don’t have to cover my tracks. As far as everyone is concerned, the few that may know you, you’ve already left.”
Tears rolled down her face as she dropped to her knees, her voice at a whisper. “Why, why won’t you just leave me be, let me go John, please let me go John, I’m begging you.”
“Never! You’re mine, and I decide when you leave me! In fact you’ll be leaving soon, for good,” he smirked and walked over to her.
She looked up at him, his eyes cold and unfeeling as they met hers; she gently held on to his trouser leg, her fingers weak and her touch soft, her fingertips pleading to John’s softer side that he once had shown her many, many years ago.
“I told you that I’d never let you leave me, and I meant it.” He reached down to her and pulled her up to her feet; she was much smaller than him, half his weight and of frail appearance. He placed his hands around her throat and she whimpered meekly like a defenceless lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
“Don’t John, I’m sorry for leaving you, everything’s my fault.”
His thumbs pushed slowly into her throat, to savour the moment; her hands gripped his wrists, a futile attempt to stop him, his piercing eyes fixed on hers as he slowly choked the life from her. He pushed harder and harder. Louise lost consciousness and then he violently snapped her neck with his bare hands. He held her up, his strength easily holding her weight before dropping her to the ground; her limp lifeless body lay there. At last her prolonged and tormented battle against him was finally lost. Escape had been so close but yet so far.
He brought through a large case and savagely stuffed his beloved wife into it. There was no care for her as he jammed her limbs in, bending and twisting bone and cartilage to make her fit. There was now no obvious trace that anything had ever happened in that room.
He moved the barrel in the kitchen; it was quite heavy, as his wife’s decaying body lay folded double within it. Her head was pressed against her ankles, sadistically folded over like a rag doll. The barrel was sealed shut as John had welded it after he placed her there, months before, a grotesque resting place for a kind and loyal woman that he had shared such a large part of his life with. There was an old, manky, stale stained table cloth covering the wooden circle, which lay on top of the barrel which he now used as a table top, sometimes eating his food off it, thinking of her inside. It gave him pleasure when he thought of how he had shown her that he was the boss and that she could never leave him now -
stupid bitch.
He pulled on a semi clean pair of pants, his work uniform, a half ironed shirt which had only been worn once and his clip-on tie. He looked in the mirror, and combed his hair, a sly smile sneaking onto his face as what he saw in the mirror was a completely different impression than others would see. He saw somebody that commanded respect, a powerful man, someone that women should obey. He thought that women should be more like they were in the fifties: subservient to men, looking
pretty for when men needed relief, tea on the table on time and conjugal rights as and when they chose. There was no law against raping your wife, that wasn’t classed as a crime. He had always taken full advantage of this with his wife, even though the law had changed many, many years ago. He had beaten her regularly for the tiniest thing - burnt food, being late home from the shops, not being quick enough with his beer - the list was endless, his savagery growing as the years went by. He kicked the barrel hard as he left for work, thinking how that bitch had dared leave him, he was her master and she disrespected him; but he showed her who was in charge, that she shouldn’t have left him, and he would show the rest of them.
He climbed into his Ford Escort, not an old car - he had used some of his wife’s divorce money to buy it. Inside was like a tip, just like his house. He had no respect for anything and he was a slovenly creature. He carefully put on his seatbelt, not because he was a law abiding citizen, but because he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention from the police, as even the slightest misdemeanour could bring him to their attention, and he didn’t want that. He was bold enough to leave his DNA everywhere as he believed he was invincible, and couldn’t risk having to give it over. He drove down his street, dull grey three-storey blocks on either side, some graffiti on the walls; pictures displaying sexual deviancy always caught his eye and made him smile to think that there were others that shared his own thoughts. He drove down through the meadows, a large expanse of green belt, where the student population relaxed on hot days and played a multitude of sports throughout the year, in between their studying and partying. Two slim female joggers ran past his car as he stopped at the traffic lights and he did not hide his gaze as his head turned in an owl-like fashion to follow their svelte bodies for as long as they were in view. They wore crop tops and lycra shorts, their taut flesh on display, unaware of the evil watching from the vehicle that they had just passed. He was tempted to turn round and have another eyeful of those girls, but better judgement prevented him. As with the seatbelt, a complaint against him would lead to life behind bars for the atrocities he had committed. He was beginning to regret leaving his identity practically gift-wrapped for those who hunted him. He shook his head
and focused on getting to his work, where he had to hide who he really was and act like normal old John.
He pulled into the staff car parking area beneath the building; the swelling beneath his trousers had only just subsided and he could go about his business as normal without any unnecessary attention. His heart was still racing with the unhealthy thoughts still present in his mind regarding the girls in the park; he wanted them, but not in a way that a normal person wants something. He wanted to do unspeakable things to them, to hurt them, to make them beg before him for the very breath that they breathed.
“Hi John,” a warm and friendly voice came from behind him, almost making him jump.
“Oh hi there, I was away in a wee world of my own there.”
“Good days off?”
“Yep, just the same old same old. You know how it is eh? Boring old Edinburgh.”
The woman who had spoken to him was quite new to the department and always full of the joys, every day, never up, nor down, always friendly to him and very polite. She was in her forties, confident and relatively pretty for her age. Her name was Rachel Davies and he actually liked her, because she was genuinely a non-judgemental type of person, and he never felt anything false about her. He never felt judged by her and in his mind she was safe.
She said to John, “Do you want to walk me in?”
John hesitated, almost stunned that he was being asked to walk with her.
“I won’t bite,” she said, and John got out of his car and locked it behind him, almost fumbling with his keys. He quickly gained control of himself and walked into the building with her, sharing a little small talk, but nothing more as he would not reveal anything of himself to anyone, least not to a woman. He couldn’t afford to let anyone get close, although he did really like her.
Once inside Rachel headed for the stairs and John went to the lift. She mentioned that the stairs were better for his health, with a smile, but John just carried on towards the lift. They exchanged pleasant goodbyes and the lift door closed. Inside there were two women and another man. The women were both dressed in skirts and blouses, one very modest and conservative, the other wearing
her clothes in a slightly more revealing fashion; not trashy, but worth looking at. John stood behind them, his eyes wandering all over them. Every curve, their calves, necks and
buttocks
; every inch was being measured and their details stored in his mind for future thoughts. The younger woman turned round and caught him looking her up and down; she was the one wearing her blouse tightly fitted and a skirt which revealed her well-shaped legs. John dropped his eyes quickly and regretted allowing his mind to linger longer on what he wanted to do to them. The woman turned and adjusted her clothes, an obvious physical reaction to being leered at. She had felt his eyes boring into her from behind, an unhealthy feeling of being watched. He had sent shivers down her spine and they weren’t pleasant. She felt very uncomfortable. The lift door pinged and both of them got out, along with the man who paled into insignificance to John; he only had eyes for the ladies. The women walked down the corridor and John just caught a glimpse of them talking to each other, he shuddered slightly, hoping he hadn’t stepped over the line. He didn’t want to have to sort anything out this close to home.
The younger woman said to the other, “He gives me the creeps that guy! I just caught him looking at my legs.”
The other woman gave her a friendly shove and said, “No wonder he was looking at you. Look at you, ya hussy.” They laughed it off and headed to their respective offices, not realising just what type of man had taken a shine to them.
John walked into his office and sat at his work station, the numerous screens shining brightly in front of him; already he could see people interacting, arguing, loving, hating one another. He loved his job because he fed off other people’s misery and this place was a perfect place to prey on women. He always used the screen enhancement function to zoom in on any female’s body that caught his eye, obviously only when the others were on a break though.
His colleague Peter Smith came into the room and said hello to John, who returned the greeting. Peter asked if there was anything interesting happening. “No, not yet, I’ve checked all of the cameras, everyone is blissfully happy,” he replied with a hint of cynicism. There were computers within the work area for the staff’s use, and John couldn’t wait to get using one; he was impatient to find his next special lady.
Eventless hours passed and Peter eventually got up to take his break; this gave John forty five minutes of privacy to get hunting. He checked out numerous sites which named and described successful business people, their places of work and other rather boring details about their companies and the ins and outs of what went on in their day-to-day running. None of this information held any interest for John, he just wanted to look at the pictures of the executives, not them all of course, only the women, the attractive women! The women that made him feel inadequate as they stared out of the screen right at him, in his mind, looking down at him, laughing at him, belittling him.
His rage was burning deep within him. “How dare they, how fucking dare they.” He stared straight at the screen, straight at a full sized picture of a striking blonde woman, in her forties, slim, blue eyes and full lips. Anna Watt, director of her own company; she had an accountancy firm in the New Town in Edinburgh, a self-made millionaire, unmarried and currently unattached -
well, until I come to visit her of course
, John thought.
John visibly jumped up as Peter arrived back from his break; he deleted Anna’s photo immediately, certain he was quick enough to stop Peter seeing him.
“Your turn. Don’t have any of that pie - it’s minging. God knows what they’ve put in it. Anything interesting on the net?”
“Naw, same old shit mate. Have a look for yourself but I’ll have to sign out, you know all the regulations an’ that, eh!”
“Catch you in a bit then,” Peter said as John left the room.
John went to the gents’, the façade of normality wearing thin on him; he hated the mundane chore of normal life, he thought he was better than that.
Why the hell should I have to work day in day out for practically nothing?
A flashing image of Anna’s face now invaded his mind and he could feel his stomach tightening, his vile mind already decided -
that arrogant rich cow is my next customer.
A hideous smile spread over his face and a strange comfort came over him, the stress and anticipation dissipating through him as he could now focus on what mattered to him, what now consumed him: getting rich and showing these women who was in charge.
John walked back to his work station and said to Peter, “I don’t feel well mate, I’m going to head off home, I’ll call back in when I’m better.”
Peter looked up and said, “I told you not to have the pie. You do look like shit though. I’ll get on the blower an’ tell the boss to get you covered for a while then.”
“Thanks Pete.”