Page 12 of The Taskmaster
The last guy that’d done that had learned his lesson. There’d been a boy who’d come to Clivesdon House and tried to befriend me, promising me shit he couldn’t deliver, and he found out the hard way. Everyone has to pay a price when the axe of redemption falls. And boy, did I make it fall hard for Will fucking Stokes, the soldier of Brinton Manor.
There’s an African proverb that’s always stuck with me. ‘The axe forgets but the tree remembers.’ I remembered everything they’d all done. The nights they made me scream, torturing me for their own sick kicks. The days they’d kept me hidden, turning me into a ghost boy, a shadow of a human, a vessel with no emotions. Why have emotions? They only hurt you more. Sometimes, it was better not to feel. To switch off.
And then there were the ones who stayed silent. The ones who could have done more.
I knew Officer Dan was married. He’d been with the same woman for over thirty years. He had a daughter, too. And knowing that made my twisted, vengeful side burn with temptation. I always preferred a little manipulation and family participation. It made things so much... sweeter.
After days and nights of research, I decided the time for thinking was over. Now, it was time for action.
I stared up at the brick house with immaculate lawns and pretty plants in pots by the highly polished front door. The windows cast a glow in the darkness, giving the house a warm aura, a feeling that was enjoyed by others, never me. But I didn’t shiver from my place in the shadow of the trees as I watched for any movement. I didn’t feel anything as I glanced from window to window, waiting to see someone walking past inside. They had security here, but the CCTV only covered the periphery of the house, not the garden. It didn’t matter, though; I’d be able to hack into their system easily and disable it when I needed to. Officer Dan was security conscious, but I was a master.
I checked the time on my watch. It was ten p.m. I needed to make a plan of action, check out the weak spots, scope out the exits, find out what to do next. I could approach them as a builder or worker of sorts. Gain their trust that way and find an in. Or I could do it the easy way and just take what I wanted. That was my preferred method, after all.
Just as I was about to break my cover, I heard the click of the lock on the front door, and it opened, bathing the front path in light as voices echoed in the night.
“You know you’re welcome to stay here. It’s late and I don’t like to think of you going back to an empty apartment.”
Officer Dan appeared at the door with his wife standing next to him. Both of them smiling as a young woman stepped past them out of the house to stand on the step.
“Dad, I’m fine. I like my apartment. And it’s only ten o’clock. It’s not that late.”
There stood his daughter, Abigail.
Officer Dan had lived in this house with his wife, Yvonne, all their married life. I found that out from my online research. But their daughter, Abigail, had moved out four years ago. And watching her standing in front of me, hopping from one foot toanother as she said goodbye to her parents and rubbed her arms to ward off the cold, I was intrigued.
“Why don’t you let Dad drive you home?” her mum said, but Abigail shook her head.
“I told you, I’m fine.” She gestured down the street. “I have an Uber parked right down there waiting for me. I can’t cancel that.”
Her dad reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, opened it and took a few notes out.
“Then take this to pay for it,” he said, offering the money to Abigail.
She stepped back, shaking her hands as she said, “I don’t need you to pay, Dad. I’ve got it covered.”
But he insisted, thrusting it into her hand, forcing her to take it.
“Thanks,” she said, hugging her dad, then her mum, before turning to leave, telling them, “I’ll see you Wednesday,” over her shoulder.
Her mum stood on tiptoes, calling out, “Ring me when you get home, so I know you’re safe,” as Abigail strode down the path to the street.
“Will do,” she called back, lifting her arm in the air to wave them goodbye.
Her parents stayed at that doorway, craning their necks to watch her until she was out of sight, before they reluctantly closed the door. I don’t think they wanted to close it. They’d have followed her all the way home if they could’ve. But they didn’t. That was my job tonight.
I stayed a fair distance away from Abigail as she took long, confident strides down the street. I had to admit, I liked the way her long brown curls bounced as she walked. Like her hair had a life of its own. Vibrant and alive.
When she reached the main road, she looked both ways, then sprinted across to the other side. There was no Uber waiting for her. That money her dad had given her had been pocketed, and she was heading home on foot, despite what she’d told them. She took risks. She was a wild one. I liked that.
I followed her as she made her way down the street. She kept her head down, eyes on the floor as billows of smoky breath danced in front of her face, clouds created from the exertion of her moving at a fast pace. For a wild one, she was being slack with her self-awareness.
Keep your head up, wild one.
Be aware of what’s around you.
If you walk with your head down, it shows weakness and timidity. Everyone knows that. Think smarter.
Or are you asking for trouble?
