Sam West - Home Intruder

He still gripped the knife in his sweaty palm. Yes, he had let his wife down, but that was going to change, as of this second. He was going to save her or he was going to die trying.

Boris Coleman strolled along the dark cliff path towards Dallam Avenue. He was in a good mood and whistled tunelessly to himself, thoughts of Jaz’s lush, young body clouding his mind.

“Tonight’s your lucky night, baby,” he said aloud, jangling the backdoor key of eight Dallam Avenue from his forefinger.

Oh yes, he had made sure to pocket the backdoor key when he had been inside the house earlier that day. No one made a fool of Boko, especially not some slimy little cunt whom his now ex had been so madly in love with all through secondary school. And still was apparently, the stupid, lying slag .

He was going to show her. He was going to show them all. Fucking, stuck up, know-it-all Londoners, fucking swanning into his home town like they owned the fucking place with money pouring out of their perfect, shit-free arses.

He’d show that cunt Ed who was top-dog round here. He’d rape his gorgeous wife while he watched and then he would give him a beating he would never forget. And then he would tell dear Linda all about it.

No one fucked with Boko. Fucking no one .

He paused on the cliff path for a second.

Who am I kidding? I can’t do this.

Boko was fist-happy and had never grown out of that testosterone-fuelled phase lots of young man in their early twenties fell prey to; the need to knock someone out if they so much as looked as them in the ‘wrong way.’

But rape? As thick as Boko was, and as much as he wanted to, he appreciated the difference between fantasy and reality.

He walked slowly onwards, wondering what he would do when he got there.

And there was the house now. He stood still on the cliff path, shielded by a big tree directly opposite the house. The living room light wasn’t on. He pictured them inside, sat round the kitchen table, listening to music maybe, getting all cosy and smug after a hard day sunning themselves on the beach. Drinking wine together. Toasting their perfect lives. Boko smiled, enjoying how the fantasy played out in his head and he patted the penknife in the seat pocket of his jeans.

This was gonna be fun .

Jaz clawed the edge of the table so hard she was getting splinters under her fingernails. Not that she noticed such a triviality. Jason Jacks pounded into her good old fashioned doggy-style, and her humiliation was complete.

There was little pain, just the abject mortification that this was happening in front of her husband. Her husband who was currently eating his own vomit, she duly noted in an abstract kind if way. Because for the sake of her sanity, Jaz had shut down. Her tears had long dried and Jaz had switched to survival mode. If she didn’t fully acknowledge what was happening, then she could get through this nightmare. Save it all up for a shrink at a later date. If she even lived that long.

Ed lifted his face from his evening meal and their eyes locked. She didn’t focus on them though, she didn’t want to acknowledge the depth of his torment. Instead she looked right through him as if his skull was transparent.

The rhythmic pounding intensified and she shut down further. Because of this, she barely comprehended what happened next.

One second she was getting fucked from behind, the next was a blur of movement and she was thrust to one side. She fell heavily onto her side and a muffled thump reverberated in the air. It took her a moment to work out that the gun had been fired and that it sounded funny because of the silencer.

He’s shot Ed, came the gut wrenching, crystal clear thought.

She struggled to sit up, but flopped back down again. She hurt all over and her head felt swimmy and strange.

“Ed,” she managed to croak out.

“Ed’s dead, baby. Ed’s dead.”

“No,” she whispered.

Still she did not open her eyes. Not even when strong hands lifted her up by her shoulders into a sitting position.

“He brought it on himself. He didn’t play by the rules. Why would he lunge for me when I was pointing a fucking gun at him?”

Jaz was stunned.

A strange sound floated around her head and she realised it was coming from her. A pitiful mewling that made her own skin crawl. The horrible noise broke her paralysis.

He can’t be dead, he can’t be …

Her eyes snapped open, and she crawled over to where he lay a few feet from her.

“Ed? Ed!”

His head was twisted at an unnatural looking angle to his body, propped up awkwardly against the cupboard below the sink. The entire front of his t-shirt was stained red, and on closer inspection, Jaz saw where the bullet had entered him to the left of his stomach.

Instinctively she pressed her palm to the wound and with her other hand she felt for a pulse at his neck. Life fluttered beneath her fingertips and she visibly slumped with relief.

“Amazing. He lives. So the game isn’t over yet.”

Jaz ignored the man towering over them with the gun trained down on her.

“Ed? Wake up, oh God, please wake up.”

She was rewarded with a groan.

“So the game continues. Jaz, it is your turn as Edward is incapacitated. Would you care to do the job your husband couldn’t do, that is to flay Linda? Or would you rather cut off your husband’s cock?”

“Fuck you,” she said, fear giving way to utter despair.

She scrambled to her feet, eyes frantically darting, gearing up for fight or flight.

Fuck it.

Without thinking too hard about it, she lunged for the kitchen door and threw herself into the dark hallway. What was he going to do? Shoot her in the back? She figured it was entirely a possibility, but she was banking on his desire to ‘play’ being stronger.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he called after her.

Linda hurtled clumsily against the front door and rattled the handle. Locked, of course. As if he would be stupid enough to leave it open. She pressed herself against the slim, frosted glass panel that ran adjacent to the door and banged her fists against it, screaming at the top of her lungs. The pane barely even shivered.

But maybe, just maybe, there would be someone outside walking their dog or something. And maybe this imaginary person would hear the screaming and see her silhouette behind the glass and have the foresight to call the police…

She rested her hot, sweaty cheek against the cool glass, clawing the glass despairingly with her fingernails. As fucking if.

Then it occurred to her to flick the light-switch on and off a few times like a distress beacon in the seconds before he grabbed her from behind.

“Hey! Stop that bitch. Enough of this fooling.”

He fisted her long blonde hair, pulled back her head, and brought her forehead crashing down on the glass.

Stars jumped before her eyes before everything dimmed and she sunk to her knees. Jason still had a hold of her hair, and he tugged hard on it, bringing her crashing down onto her back. She screamed in agony and flailed uselessly at her hair when he dragged her back into the kitchen like a sack of potatoes.

Boko leaned against the tree and regarded the house thoughtfully. Maybe they weren’t in the kitchen. Maybe they were upstairs going at it. He thought of Jaz’s body, sheened in sweat and stretched out on the bed. He imagined Ed lying between her legs, fucking her in the missionary position and him sneaking up behind and bashing him over the head…

“Boko? What you doing here, boy?”

The voice calling out to him almost made him drop dead of heart attack there and then.