Tania Carver - The Creeper

And sank into the chair.

‘Oh no… oh God, no…’

They were gone. Marina, Josephina. His family.

Gone.

‘Sure?’ Rose Martin looked carefully at Mark Turner. ‘Sure there’s no one here?’

He shrugged. ‘My girlfriend. New girlfriend. Having a… a lie in.’ His voice trailed away.

Rose stifled a smile. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘So, back to Suzanne. You were together for…’ She checked Anni’s notes.

‘Two years.’

‘Happy?’

He shrugged. ‘Yeah. Mostly. You know. Ups and downs.’

‘D’you miss her?’

He didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he glanced towards the stairs. ‘It… had run its course.’

Rose nodded. As he spoke, Mark Turner sat back, settled into the chair. He seemed to relax, become less bookish, more socialised. Growing in confidence as he dealt with questions he knew the answers to. Everything seemed fine, she thought. Couple more questions then she could go home. She checked the notes.

‘What about Anthony Howe? Where does he come into this?’

Turner’s mood changed instantly. He became tense, sat upright. ‘He… ask Suzanne.’ His lip curled. The words sounded unpleasant in his mouth. ‘Ask her.’

The way he said her sounded to Rose like he was saying whore . ‘I’m asking you.’

Mark Turner’s fingers became agitated, restless, like a jonesing drummer denied his kit. ‘That’s…’ His breathing became heavier. It looked like he was fighting to stop himself from saying what he really wanted to. He sat back. ‘No. There’s lying and lying. Ask her.’

Rose knew that was all she would be getting from him on the subject. ‘Where were you last night, Mr Turner?’

‘Here.’ He frowned. ‘When last night?’

Rose tried not to smile. ‘Wrong order.’

‘What?’

‘You’re supposed to ask what time I’m talking about before you say where you were.’

His features tightened. His eyes became lit by a cruel, angry light. Again, he seemed to be stopping himself from saying what he wanted to. ‘I didn’t break into her flat. I didn’t beat her up, or whatever. I was here. All night.’

‘Alone?’

He hesitated. ‘No.’

‘With…’

‘My girlfriend.’

‘Who would be…?’

‘She doesn’t need to be involved. I don’t want her… not with Suzanne. Please.’

‘She does if she’s your alibi. Is that her upstairs?’

He nodded. ‘She’s… asleep. I don’t want to bother her.’

‘Noisy sleeper.’

‘Yes,’ he said weakly, ‘she is.’

‘Right. And you and her were here all night. What did you do?’

‘I… I don’t know.’ He cast a look towards the stairs as if willing her to answer the questions for him, beckoning her with the power of his mind.

‘Read? Watch TV? A DVD?’

Turner looked from Rose to the stairs and back again. ‘We… I…’

His phone rang. They both jumped.

He looked at Rose apologetically, pulled it from his pocket, answered it. After the initial greeting he turned away from Rose. He didn’t say much, just nodded his head, made a few affirmative noises. He rang off, turned back to her. There was a new kind of light in his eyes. Shining, more confident.

‘We were working,’ he said.

‘Sorry?’

‘Last night. We were working. Late. Here.’ He made the statement sound like scientific fact.

Whoever had been on the phone had given Mark Turner strength. Sitting there erect, he seemed to have grown taller, his eyes bright, alert. A small smile danced at the corners of his mouth. There was a kind of cruel triumph in the smile – like an habitual victim suddenly being gifted the power of the bully.

‘And I… I think, I think it’s time for you to leave now, Detective, Detective Sergeant Martin.’ His voice became clearer, stronger as the sentence went on. He stood up at the end to emphasise his words.

Rose stood also, flipped her notebook closed. ‘Thank you for your time.’ She made her way to the door. She could feel his eyes on her all the way.

Weirdo, she thought. And his ex-girlfriend sounded like she made stuff up all the time. There was a feel of that from the case notes. And that’s what her report would say.

She left the house and went to find her car.

Outside on the street, the level crossing siren was broadcasting at air raid pitch once again.

She blocked it from her mind, thought about the first gin and tonic waiting for her at home.

The Creeper closed his eyes, willed the night to wrap itself around him.

He had learned to love the dark. The time of hunters. Of secrets. Of lovers. It made him feel truly alive, let him move, flow like a living shadow. His vision was at its strongest. The world was at its truest. And Rani would talk to him the most.

Whisper her secrets. Tell him what to do.

He smiled at the thought.

He used to hate the dark. Hate and fear it. It was where the demons lived. Waiting until nightfall when they would emerge, come hunting for him. Canvas-covered, smelling of sweat and drink, of secrets and lies. Of pain and fear.

He hid at first but that never fooled them. They knew all his secret places. They would find him. And hurt him.

But that wasn’t him any more. That boy died in the fire. Now he was the Creeper. And he could fight back. And the demons couldn’t hurt, couldn’t scare him any more.

His eyes were screwed tight shut but darkness refused to fall quick enough.

He thought again of the previous night. Kneeling beside Rani, his head next to hers, smelling along her arms, the soft, downy hair tickling his nostrils.

Then later, moving her T-shirt up and licking her stomach. One long line from the top of her trimmed hair to her belly button. He had savoured the taste. Relived it now… Smiled at the memory.

The smile stopped. There would be nothing like that tonight.

Not with the blonde bitch there.

Rani had found her present. It had moved her to tears once more. He enjoyed seeing that. Afterwards, he was sure she would have sent the blonde bitch home, let the pair of them be alone. Together. But she hadn’t. They had drunk a bottle of wine between them and it looked like they were embarking on another. And sometimes Rani had cried and the blonde bitch had consoled her. Sitting where he should have been. Her arm round his love.

Him bringing the smile back to her face. Him. Him . His hands begin to shake. Not a good sign. He had always been angry. Like that kids cartoon character, the Tasmanian Devil, spinning and punching and kicking his way through life. Until Rani appeared. And he had learnt how to harness it. Use it, don’t let it use him . Difficult at first, but he had managed it. But it was still there, slithering underneath his skin, threatening to return him to how he used be, threatening to take control.

He watched them again. Rani thanking the blonde bitch for staying, the bitch saying it was the least she could do. Control the shake. Keep breathing.

And still, he hadn’t heard her voice.

He closed his eyes, tried to concentrate. He could see his lover better that way.

He felt himself stiffening. Felt that curling and writhing in the pit of his stomach. His hand moved down his body, found the waistband of his trousers. He sighed. Kept his eyes closed. Kept touching.

What are you doing now?

He took his hand away quickly. Tried to control his breathing. ‘Nothing…’

You sure?

‘Yes, yes, I’m… Sorry, sorry, Rani…’

Don’t be sorry. It’s nice you make tributes to me. Shows you love me, doesn’t it?