Tania Carver - The Creeper

He felt himself beginning to harden. Stopped stroking her. Not now. That was for later. Now they would just talk, get to know each other once more. Cuddle, even, like lovers were supposed to do.

He looked at her face again. Laughed, shook his head once more.

‘All the things I’d planned to say… years, you know, years… Years of stuff just built up, all those conversations I’d had with you in my head, when you couldn’t answer and I had to make it up… and then when I saw you again and we did talk for a bit, all those secret words when no one else was listening, but not proper conversations. Not like now.’ He laughed again. ‘It’s funny, but I’ve got all those things to say, all those things I’ve stored up and…’ He shrugged, almost apologetically. ‘… they’ve all gone out of my head. Isn’t that funny?’

She said nothing, just lay there, breathing heavily, eyes wide open.

‘So much to say…’ He shook his head once more, like he could barely believe his luck. ‘I suppose… we should go back to the beginning, shouldn’t we? Start with the fire. And I should say sorry for that. Because that was the start, wasn’t it? The cause of everything.’ He sighed. Stroked her face once more. ‘Sorry. For what happened.’ He leaned in even closer. ‘But it was all your fault. You did it. You’ve got to take the blame. If you hadn’t come on to me in the first place, pushed yourself against me, flirted…’ The last word was almost spat out.

He sat back, eyes never leaving her, his gaze hardened, his breathing quickening. Eventually his features softened. He smiled once more, laughed. Giggling like he was on a first date. Because that was how it felt. How it was. They had been apart so long it was like meeting for the first time.

‘You see, I knew you fancied me. All that time, you tried to hide it. Leaving the room when I came in, trying not to talk to me, all of that… But I knew. I wasn’t stupid, I could tell. And I know you knew I liked you.’ He leaned forward again, hand back on her face. ‘But you were shy, weren’t you? Just needed a bit of a push, that’s all. Get you to like me.’ He wagged his finger in her face. ‘Playing hard to get, you were. I know.’ He cocked his head on one side, stopped wagging his finger. Smiled again, moved in closer. ‘All I had to do,’ he said, voice dropping low, ‘was tell you how I felt. In my heart. How deep my love for you was. Then I knew you’d fall in love with me too.’

He dropped his hand from her face, sighed, his memories taking him down a dark, sad street. ‘And everything would have worked out just fine, if there hadn’t been that fire…’ He sat completely still, memories overtaking him.

No longer in the boat, no longer in the present. He felt heat on his face once more, panic in his heart… Then pain, all over, starting at his skin then lancing through him, trapped in a cabinet of flaming swords all slicing through him at once, pushing nerve-deep inside him… no way out…

And the smell… roasting pork…

‘I still hear the screams… they’re in my head. Always.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Trapped there, no way out… I close my eyes and hear you screaming, Rani, screaming… and the flames are, are…’ He sighed. ‘Fire is power, Rani, fire is power… it scares people… and the screams… you and… and me… there’s always this screaming in my head…’

He screwed his eyes up tight, curled his hands into fists, began to punch himself in the temples.

‘Screams… make the screaming… stop… No… no… Out of the cleansing fire… I was born…’

Black.

He opened his eyes. Blinked. He was lying on the floor of the boat. He looked round quickly, sat up. Rani-

She was still there. Lying exactly as he had left her. He breathed a sigh of relief. Allowed himself a small smile. ‘Thought I’d lost you again…’

He shook his head, clearing it of the screams, or at least quietening them down. For now. He didn’t know how long he had been out but it couldn’t have been long. Sunlight still streamed through the slats of the boat, the air was tipped with warmth.

‘You’re still there. Good. I’m not going to lose you again.’ He sighed. ‘Because I did, you know. Well, of course you know. That’s how I found you again, isn’t it? Because you led me to you…’ He giggled again stroked her chin. ‘But you led me a merry old dance, didn’t you? Popping up here and there, different bodies, hopping from girl to girl, teasing me, hoping I’d find you…’ He smiled, kept his hand cupping her face. ‘But still. All worth it. Because now you’re here. And here to stay, aren’t you?’

He looked round the boat, seeing where he lived through her eyes. He felt a sudden stab of shame. It wasn’t much. And he hadn’t kept it good. The place was a tip. She deserved better.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘This place. Not much, is it? Well, not at the moment. But you know what it’s like. Needs a woman’s touch, doesn’t it? You know what us men are like, living on our own…

‘I know you should have better. And we’ll make it better.’ He moved in closer, lay down next to her, slid one arm round her shoulder. She didn’t resist. ‘I know I’ve got to be patient because you told me I’ve got to be patient, but still, you don’t have to do it all today, do you? Haven’t seen each other for a long time. Not properly, anyway…’ His other hand began touching the front of her top, stroking her stomach, his grip tightening, his breath quickening.

‘Got a lot of catching up to do… haven’t we?’

Another incident room, thought Phil, another bar.

They had moved over to the Rose and Crown hotel on East Street at the other side of the level crossing. It was an old restored pub with black and white Tudor outer work, uneven floors, roof and ceilings, wooden beams and small leaded glass windows. The façade of authenticity stopped at the contemporary dining-room furniture and the modern hotel block at the rear. But first impressions were good.

Phil wasn’t there for that, though. He had commandeered the restaurant as a temporary incident room, flashing his warrant card and claiming that a murder inquiry took precedence over dinner preparations. The chairs and tables had been arranged in a semi-circle, and those with laptops had them open. Phil’s was open in front of him, a video link to Milhouse back at the station.

Phil hadn’t wanted to stop the team working, finding Fenwick’s attacker and Rose Martin’s abductor. But he felt it was important that they all got together before they set off. All singing from the same hymn book, he thought, echoing Ben Fenwick in the cliché stakes.

He also needed to find something inspirational to say, something to rouse them, drive them on. Saw Marina sitting at the back. Knew he’d manage somehow.

‘This is what we’ve got so far,’ Phil said, standing up to address the room. ‘Suzanne Perry and Zoe Herriot. Both SALTS. Both worked at the Gainsborough Wing at the General Hospital. One missing, one dead. Julie Miller. Occupational therapist. Again, working in the same hospital wing as part of the same team. Missing. Hopefully alive. Adele Harrison. Barmaid. Deceased. No connection to the others that we can find. Yet.’ He paused, letting the toll of the dead and the missing hit home.

‘Christopher and Charlotte Palmer. Julie Miller’s upstairs neighbours. Both deceased. Killed, we imagine, because they were in the way. Because our killer wanted somewhere to watch his victim from.’

Phil sighed. ‘And now a couple of our own. DCI Ben Fenwick, the DCI of this unit, severely wounded, in hospital now. DS Rose Martin, missing.’

‘And Anthony Howe,’ said Anni, ‘don’t forget him.’