Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

But it depressed her how far into the future that seemed. With house prices the way they were, the idea of her own place just seemed like a pipe-dream and sometimes Rachel just felt so trapped. Like she would be stuck in her flat forever.

It was a feeling she got quite often to varying degrees but as she stalked to the bathroom for a bandage, it rose up with particular vehemence.

Sometimes she wished the whole world would just fuck off and disappear.

* * * * *

Ben didn’t know how to interpret her demeanour as he watched her storm off down the driveway. She was clearly pissed off and cast a lingering glance at his door before stomping away but he couldn’t tell if it meant anything. Was he just being paranoid?

He waited until she’d stalked out of view before he sealed the tape back up and returned to his lilo to think. At least the police hadn’t shown up. Surely if she’d seen it, the first thing she would have done was call the cops. He could still fix this little mishap.

Ben couldn’t suppress a smile as he rose to his feet and walked to the back door. His stomach was knotting with hunger but he ignored it and stepped into the courtyard. He’d clean up the mess, then he’d go and get some food. Maybe even pay a visit to the café where she worked, watch her dart between the tables…

Ben toyed with the idea for a moment before dismissing it. No that would be really pushing it. Just get this mess sorted out.

The sense of relief he felt was immense as he scaled the fence into her yard. It was like it was only just dawning on him how concerned he’d been. But it hadn’t been the sort he’d expected. It hadn’t been the worry of getting caught exactly but more that he’d get caught before he could add her to his collection.

* * * * *

As he sat in the café a few doors down from the tram stop, Ben held the key, slowing turning it in front of his eyes. The relief he was feeling was huge – he had made a mess but he’d fixed it now – however it was nothing compared to the excitement that was welling in him.

Could it be possible?

He reread the name on the tag and then turned his attention to the company logo engraved on the base of the key again.

Guardian.

Ben’s excitement jumped another notch, just as it had when he’d seen the name the first time. When he’d first sat down, ordered and removed the key from his pocket. Because Guardian was a word he’d seen earlier that day. When he’d been toying with the lock on her back door, it had been there, printed neatly around the tumbler.

No, he couldn’t be that lucky. Why would it be hers? There were probably a million locks out there with the same word printed on them . But the idea wouldn’t go away and even as the waitress arrived with his plate of scrambled eggs it lingered at the back of his mind.

But if it was her key, why was it in his flat?

Ben fed a spoonful of eggs into his mouth as he searched for an answer, and chewed slowly, only realising what he’d done as the flavour exploded across his mouth. Scrambled eggs. It was a dish he was only able to stomach when he was building up to another addition for the Red Room. His own personal sort of ritual. It was only then that the nausea didn’t kick in. Because it was always the dish she had served. The apology meal , his brother had always called it. When they would wake up in the morning, the bruises showing, the cuts and burns beginning to scab, limp to the kitchen and she would be there, chain smoking in front of the stove, the smell suffusing the kitchen despite the ashtray of crumpled butts on the counter.

And she would turn and smile and the evil would be far back in her eyes and her face would be puffy and red like she’d been crying and she would turn and face them and tell them to sit down; tell them that mummy loved them very much and that she was sorry…

Ben had hated those breakfasts so much; hated her for them. The pretence that it had just been a one off snap; that it wasn’t going to happen again that night.

And it had always been his dream hadn’t it? To sit quietly through the breakfast, forcing down each and every choking mouthful and smile sweetly the whole time. A sweet smile to match hers and then when he was done, stand up, retrieve a knife from the sink were it would still be stained with their blood and just sink it into her gut…

But she was gone before he’d had his chance. In a way though, he still kept his dream alive. His fantasy. Whenever he took one of her surrogates, he always ordered his apology meal first. And the fact that he had ordered it this time without thought left him a little dry-mouthed. It was too soon, he wasn’t ready yet. He needed to prepare, he needed to be sure…

He needed to try the key.

The thought was irresistible and Ben pushed away the plate even though he was only half finished. He had to try it because now she was stuck in his brain again; the mental image of her wreathed in smoke; smiling down at him. And that image was leading to others.

As he queued to pay, Ben fanned his fingers in front of his face, staring at the white dots that ran the length of his fingers, the faint scars of what had once been glistening holes in his flesh. The pain and the smell came back to him. The sear as it sizzled beneath the cigarette’s tip. But now Ben smiled instead of screamed. That was in the past where it could no longer hurt him and his revenge was where it always would be: in the future.

* * * * *

The key felt hot in his pocket as he forced himself to keep a steady pace back to the flat. He couldn’t stop playing with it: turning it over and over, running his fingers over its corrugated edge. He could feel his penis swelling at the possibilities the key might represent and he had to force his excitement down as he walked past the rows of houses and flats. He had to tell himself repeatedly that even if it did work, he wouldn’t be doing anything yet.

It was just an experiment to see if it worked or not. He wouldn’t be retrieving his duffel bag and going in to wait for her yet. He wouldn’t be spending the day perched on her bed, waiting to hear the door swing open…

He was passing the building site a few doors up from the flat, peering at the worn signage that suggested construction had been stalled there for a very long time, when he felt eyes on him. He looked across the road to see a group of schoolgirls – posh ones, judging by the ties and blazers – congregated around the bus stop, giggling as they shot glances at him. Even when they saw him looking they didn’t stop and Ben was momentarily confused until he looked down and saw the way his hand was working in his pocket; saw the bulge at the front of his pants.

He almost echoed their laughter as he walked on, imagining what they must have been thinking. Just another dirty old man . But it didn’t worry him for long – although you really need to be more careful; don’t draw attention to yourself – and they had pretty much slipped his mind as he turned into the driveway. He had far more important things to focus on. The schoolgirls were outside the realm of his revenge and therefore of absolutely no consequence.

Despite his previous resolve to not get his hopes up, Ben’s heart was thumping wildly as he trod down the concrete drive. He looked around, already scanning for even the merest hint of movement; the slightest indication he would be interrupted.

Everything seemed to be clear: there was no-one heading for their cars or the mail boxes, no-one out dumping rubbish in their bins. He checked each of the blinds, searching for even the slightest crack; even a hint of prying eyes.