Good evening/morning everyone, hope your day has been good or will be. The past two weeks I have put online my new series Duncan Heights, it is the first time I had shared my writing, besides my quick short story I did earlier on this year (it was rushed and done in one go) you can find it in the short story section of my blog. That also reminds me I need to update my blog. I would like to thank all who have read the first two chapters I appreciate it. My goal in this novella (21 chapters) is to better my writing skills, to learn through your engagement and to hopefully, inspire others to write as well.
Enjoy tonight’s chapter, let me know what you think 🙂
Till next time, Keep smiling
The Stubborn Australian
The warm weather had brought out families, and their pets to the park. Dogs were let free from their leashes, escaping the grasps of their owners. They raced along the little creek, splashing in the water and chasing after birds. As the sun descended in the afternoon sky, the owners would call their pets, it was time to go home. Sarah had watched the other dogs come back, hers, however, had wandered further down the water trail.
Walking towards where the creek began, and the tunnels ended, she noticed a change in the air. The smell was of stale water and what seemed like damp deteriorating flesh. Calling for her dog, she could slightly make out the outline of her pet within one of the tunnels through the minimal light coursing in through the other side. Venturing into the tunnels her phone light shining to see where she was treading. The smell growing stronger with every inch forward, Sarah was fighting the urge not to bend over and throw up the remains of her lunch.
Why wasn’t her dog coming? She thought to herself.
As the light from her phone flashed across the fur of her dog, she could see the outline of what she had initially thought was a rotting animal corpse. With each step, the outline clearer than before, the light, flashed stronger against what she now could see was a body of a woman. The tunnel rang with echoes as Sarah screamed.
Pacing towards the taped barrier surrounding the now torched lit area, Clint was approached by Detective Andrew Jones. He and his partner detective Derek Michaels were the first on the scene, in the distance sat a woman on the back of an ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her as an officer kept her company. A dog lay on the ground nearby, looking past Andrew he wanted to see if Alice was okay. The pale face from the woman suggested otherwise.
“Clint,” Andrew said laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Clint, I want to tell you how sorry I am. I don’t think you should see.”
“Out of my way Jones,” Clint said, pushing past the detective.
His mind was racing, what had happened? She can’t be dead, it isn’t her. Making his way past detective Michaels and the Captain, who had arrived at the same time as he. The tunnels were shining bright, an unusual sight for those who were out, having a peek at all the commotion. Clint gasped. The smell of death infiltrated his lungs, lifting his jacket over his nose, he made his way through the small group surrounding the body. His eyes fell upon her lifeless form, her skin grey-blue in colour, had formed wrinkles around the parts lying in the puddles. The look on her face, one of pain, cut him deeply. Clint, couldn’t figure out if he was angry or heartbroken. It was possible that he was feeling both, his eyes ran down her naked flesh, one that had, made him aroused many times before, now it caused a deep sickening feeling within him. The puddle of blood that lay within the insides of her legs hosted, by maggots it was the same with the insides of Alice’s mouth.
Stepping out, from the tunnel his hands cupped over his face. He felt the hand of his partner upon his shoulder as she pulled him in for a hug. Clint had forgotten that Melissa was there. Her warmth was holding him together at this point.
“Clint, I am so, sorry,” Melissa spoke into his ear.
“How?” He responded, “How could someone do that?” It was a question he didn’t want the answer to, his thoughts were that of Alice when she was alive. A hope that this was just a nightmare, a mistaken identity, anything other than the truth. Mostly though, Clint thought of catching the person that had taken the best thing in his life.
He watched from a distance, as the media both local and city crammed into the suburban town. The discovery of his first victim brought a frenzy among the community, fear swept over the women. Could they be next? Stories published indicated that all men were to blame, that they should feel free to walk alone without the risk of being taken, by what they called a psycho. The headlines changed within the days since, from removing the detective of his badge and gun aiming suspicions on him at first. His alibi which was work came through in the end, but not before pointing the finger at the partner. She had been seen getting too close to him, making subtle gestures his way. Not that he had responded, he would have known. He knew Alice’s dark secret, he had photographic proof. One that he placed in the detective’s mailbox the night before now. His eyes wandered around as he waited, leaning on the old wooden post guarding people against falling off the sidewalk into the river bed below. It wasn’t that deep nor was the path high above the ground, people are just clumsy he thought.
He saw the figure he was waiting for in the distance, the same time, as usual, running down the path. He was intrigued with this man, every day without fail he would be seen running home. It was as if he had the perfect meal waiting for him, he, of course, would run so as not to let the dinner go cold. He found himself out of breath, keeping up with this gentleman. Was he really this unfit? No, his mind responded by dismissing the question as a mere joke. Night had fallen upon them, the lights in the street barely covered the grass beneath them. Television screens flickered in neighbouring houses, while families all settled in. The man did have someone waiting on him, but not with a cooked meal. He greeted her with a kiss, while she sat bound, to a wheelchair. Heading into the bedroom the man started to remove his suit, the full-length mirror before him showed the reflection the man wanted to see. The man stood watching himself in his underwear and singlet, he had grabbed a brush from the nightstand and had started to comb his hair. The man looked to be aged in his fifties or sixties, with long black hair and a moustache that reminded him of a game he used to play as a kid. He looked on as the man dipped his brush into a jar that looked a lot like shoe polish, maybe it was.
The man was nearly near him now, running with his briefcase swinging in rhythm. Just as he had every weekday since he first acknowledged him. His heart started to race, a thrill taking over his body. The first kill had only tickled the cravings he was having, with one kill under his belt, he felt more confident with another. This one will finish those urges, the deep underlying satisfaction from taking the breath from someone. Remembering the cut lip and how close he had come to leaving behind a strand of saliva upon Alice’s hair, he had to be more careful this time.
Stepping around the slight bend, he had timed the moment exactly the way he had planned. The older man was more focused on trying to work up a sweat, to cover the shower he had moments before. The erotic scenes, playing back in his mind with his lover as he made his way back to his disabled wife. He was so lost to his fantasy, he didn’t have time to react when he ran into the tall man. Losing his balance, he stumbled off the footpath and toppled down towards the river bed. The sun setting behind him, the silence of the street with houses lining on one side with no view down into the ditch.
There was no struggle with this one, he was still confused by what was going on when the younger man jumped on him. A single punch to the jawline rendered the older man unconscious, as his limp body was dragged into the tree line that ran along the water’s bank. Grabbing at the blue backpack he had stored nearby earlier, he reached in for the blade. Pulling a rain poncho over his head, he sat on the man’s body. Grabbing at his hair, he placed his knife just at the edge of the hairline. Slowly, he began to slice pulling gently, as blood started to soak the man’s face.
The pain had caused the man to awaken, trying to break free from the weight holding him down, he struggled. This is what he was waiting for, to see the fear in the victim’s eyes, that look, showing a sense of knowing that he was going to die. The more, the older man struggled more of the scalp peeled away from his head. With a final cut, he held the scalp of hair in front of the man’s eyes, looking at the horror from inside the mirror to his soul, he reached down at the man’s throat the dish-washing gloves covered in blood, as he applied pressure. The man’s last breaths sounded like heaven to his ears, as he rolled the man into the water, and tossing his scalp nearby. Walking away smiling, now to get changed he thought, walking along the darkened street.