Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

Nothing. Not a thing…

Ben had to resist the urge to sprint forward: to dash to her door and jam the key in the lock. To just get it over with. But he couldn’t. It would be the quickest way to draw attention to himself.

He walked on, his heartbeat thumping a rhythm to match the slapping of his feet on the concrete. The driveway seemed to stretch for an eternity in front of him. The seconds felt like hours until he was standing at her door, his mouth dust-dry as he swallowed painfully.

The excitement was immense as he looked around once more. It reminded him of the jittery feeling he’d had all those years ago, safe under the bridge, when the red walls had closed in on him the first time; when the idea had first arrived. The idea that he could hurt her back.

It had been spartan back then, when it first formed, much as his ideas had been abstract and fragmentary, but on subsequent visits to his haven he’d fleshed it out. Added the trimmings to match the ones in the room he shared with his brother, installed the table with its restraints, the bench – which back then had only contained a set of kitchen knives to match the ones she used. He’d constructed it all. The delicious fantasies of what he’d do to her there once it was complete. And then the first meat hook had arrived and he’d so enjoyed the idea of her hanging there limply, just awaiting her fate…

Ben wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he strode forward. The key was strangely heavy as he lifted it from his pocket and his head was full of contradictions: It’s not going to work, it won’t even fit the lock - it’ll work because it was meant to be, his revenge needed to be taken.

He held his breath as the key slid into the lock. He could feel sweat on his brow and his pulse pumped loudly in his ears. The key slotted in perfectly. His clammy fingers slipped around its edge as he began to twist it. It resisted at first and Ben’s heart fell…

…but then it was turning, gliding smoothly around the tumbler and Ben heard the noise he had hoped for but didn’t dare expect: the click of the lock unsnibbing; and for a moment sheer disbelief flooded him and he stood staring down at his hand, his excitement exploding again as the realisation hit him. What this could mean…

He heard a screen door bang and was moving before he was even consciously aware of it. The key slipped from the lock and he palmed it into his sleeve as he turned and walked forward, fixing his eyes to a point up and off to the left, where a large gum tree was visible, as though that was what he’d been staring at all along.

He could see Theo hobbling toward him out of the corner of his eye and Ben forced himself not to turn and flee. Had he seen him? Ben hoped not. He had nothing personal against the man and sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to become an obstacle to his revenge.

‘Nice day, huh?’ Theo commented as he drew even and Ben tried to convince himself the nosey bastard wasn’t staring at him oddly. That it wasn’t suspicion in his eyes.

He mumbled a reply and Theo shot him a wide grin.

‘You’re a lucky prick you know that. And you sure move fast too. She’s a good looking girl.’ Theo inclined his head towards Rachel’s door with a giant shit-eating grin plastered across his face. A grin that said: oh don’t worry, I’m on to you, I know what’s going on.

Ben peered after the man in confusion as he hobbled off and it was only once he was safe, back in his flat that it occurred to him what Theo could possibly have meant.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that burbled from his lips and when he caught a whiff of the stale odour that emanated from his armpits, his laughter only increased. Shower might be in order, he thought as he tried to remember when he’d taken his last one. Change of clothes too… After all, I do have to look my best for my new girlfriend…

* * * * *

There was a strange feeling welling in the pit of Rachel’s stomach. An odd sensation that she couldn’t quite define. As she stared at the clean pane of glass, she wasn’t certain if she was angry, freaked out or just plain confused. She looked down at her bandaged hand as though to reinforce the fact that it was still there; that this morning had really happened.

Her stomach had been a twisted knot the whole way home on the tram as she’d sifted through her options and wondered what she should do about the stains. She hadn’t even contemplated the possibility that they would be gone, and combined with the fact that she’d forgotten to lock her door on the way out that morning – something she’d never do; or so she’d thought – left her doubting whether they had even been there in the first place. Which was dumb. She knew it. They’d been there; she’d seen them. Hadn’t she? Of course she fucking had. But what did that mean? That whoever had sprogged on the window had come back and cleaned it up? If that was the case why hadn’t they done it earlier?

Still she couldn’t stop the slight doubt. Did I imagine it? She’d been pretty frazzled that morning. I mean I forgot to lock the door… God, imagine if I’d forgotten to snib the deadbolt too… Anyone could have just strolled in. Gone through her stuff… Gone through the photo albums…

Although she knew it was silly, that the deadbolt had been locked, Rachel felt a tingle of alarm at the thought. She snagged her underwear from the line – still a little damp but it’ll do – and walked back inside, looking around carefully; searching for the littlest item that had been left out of place.

… Had she left the cushions on the couch like that? And the DVD’s… Had the cover been on the top of the tele this morning? Had it been open like that? Rachel couldn’t remember and even though she told herself not to be stupid, the idea of someone in here, pawing through her stuff, made her physically nauseous. She could picture them so easily, skulking around, lying down on her couch, freeing their cock from their pants, stroking away at it.

She could see their cum spurt onto the cushions even though they bore not a hint of a stain.

She pictured them rising and heading to the bedroom and she followed their ghostly silhouette, her eyes still darting to and fro. She’d left the bed messy this morning so it was impossible to tell if it had been altered. Of course it hasn’t, she told herself but the silhouette was now sprawled across the sheets, its cock in its hands once more and it was just so easy to believe…

…And the silhouette was gaining a face now as she knelt down and slid the box from the space under the bed and it was the face of her neighbour and it was just so easy to believe it was him. As she lifted the lid on the box, she felt so angry. She wanted to leap on the silhouette screaming how dare you! She wanted to lay into it, tear at it.

Rachel set the lid aside and stared at the contents inside. Everything was as it should be. The two leatherbound photo albums were stacked neatly with Walter, her vibrator, slotted down in the gap between them and the side of the box.

She sighed in relief, feeling the tension drain out of her. She reached out and ran a finger gently over one of the albums just as the phone began to ring.

That’ll be Ana , she thought as she slotted the lid back in place, pushed the box back under the bed and levered herself to her feet. As she walked back into the living room to get the phone, she could only shake her head at the absurdity of her actions.

* * * * *

It was Ana on the phone. The one teetotaller out of Rachel’s small group of friends and consequently the perpetual designated driver. Ana was probably as close to Rachel as she would let anyone get and as soon as she’d started talking, Rachel smelt an ambush. Apparently Ana’s friend Mitch had “abruptly dropped in from out of town” and would unfortunately have to accompany them that evening. The fact that Mitch was apparently gorgeous and currently single – two things Ana had stressed during the call – was seemingly just a coincidence.