Page 21 of The Taskmaster
Cream chinos sighed and said, “Abi had to go to work, but she left her keys with me.” His woman huffed and rolled her eyes as he took a set of keys from his pocket and handed them to me.
“I don’t need the old keys,” I replied with a shrug. “I’m a locksmith. I can take this one off and put a new one on in no time.” But I took them anyway, as she muttered under her breath something about, “Did she give you her number too?”
“Just knock on our door when you’re done and we’ll take the new keys and pass them on,” he said.
She sighed and stomped back into her apartment, and he followed like a dog with its fucking tail between its legs. If I put him into one of my games, he’d fold like a fucking pack of cards. And the sadistic side of me couldn’t wait to see it.
“Catch you later,” I said, grinning to myself.
Time to get to work.
Once I’d removed the lock, I opened the door to her apartment. Right away, that flowery, girly scent hit me, just like it had last night. It wasn’t a smell I was used to, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It certainly beat the smell of death I was used to drowning in. Although, I had become accustomed to it over the years. And it did offer me a degree of satisfaction. But this, in her apartment, was something else entirely.
I made sure the front door was closed behind me and then walked further in, scanning the room for places where cameras could be hidden. Someone else’s cameras. I did a sweep of the living room, checking every inch, but all I found were the discreet ones I’d hidden. I did the same in the kitchen, and there was nothing there either.
Pushing the door open to her bedroom, I breathed in deeply. That sweet scent was stronger in here. And in daylight, I could see everything clearly. Going through her apartment today gave me a better sense of who she was. A girl who liked appearances to be pretty and perfect, but under the surface it was anything but. I’d already seen her bills last night. Today, I could see that paint was peeling in places that she tried to cover up. Her fridge was empty and her cupboards sparse. And now, in her bedroom, I saw the threadbare rug on the floor and the chipped furniture. The pretty bed with a pile of cushions at the top piled against the wall. But as I walked over and began to move the cushions, I could see the torn wallpaper hiding behind.
Life wasn’t perfect. I’d lived in squalor. I’d lived in desperation, not knowing where my next fucking meal would come from. Why fucking hide it? But then, I guess we all had things we wanted to hide from the world, and we all had our reasons why. The men I targeted did. I did. So, what was she hiding? And why?
I put the cushions back and walked over to her dresser, where she had bottles, tubs and lotions. I sat down, picking each one up and opening them so I could smell them, and then, I opened the lid of her face cream, and the scent took me right back to a time I didn’t want to remember and yet yearned to go back to.
“What are you putting on your face, Mum?”
“It’s face cream. It makes me look beautiful.”
I reached up and touched her cheek; her skin was always so soft, like the velvet on her bedspread that was patchy in places.
“You always look beautiful,” I whispered, and she laughed and kissed me on the top of my head. It made me feel warm inside, but that feeling I loved so much didn’t last long when I heard the engine outside. His car was pulling into the driveway.
Mum’s eyes went wide, and she put the tub of face cream in my hand and scooped me up in her arms.
“Your dad is here. You need to go to your bed now. You know he doesn’t like to see you up when he gets home.”
I nodded but didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My throat had gone all funny and felt thick, making it hard to swallow. I felt a sting in my eyes. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. If I started, I wouldn’t stop, and that’d make Dad mad. I didn’t want to make him mad because then he’d get mad at Mum.
I put my arms around her neck, and she walked towards the cupboard in her bedroom. She opened the slatted door where my bed was kept. The bed in the little hideaway, she called it.
She placed me onto the mattress, and as she did, the smell that came from it made my nose wrinkle. I didn’t like being in here. I preferred it when he wasn’t here and I could come out.But I knew what’d happen if I tried to sneak out when he was home. I wouldn’t do that again.
Mum closed the door, trapping me inside, and I sat there, on the stinky mattress, holding her face cream in my hands like it was treasure.
I heard the front door close, and my whole body went stiff as I listened to his deep voice downstairs, and then her soft one replying. He wasn’t happy today. He was already shouting, and usually, I’d put my hands over my ears and rock back and forth to drown it out. But tonight, I took the lid off the cream and started to smell it, closing my eyes and imaging me and Mum somewhere else. Somewhere where he couldn’t hurt us. None of them could.
My eyes shot open as I held her cream, and then I dropped it back on her dresser as anxiety swelled inside me, making it hard to breathe. The feeling multiplied, making me desperate for a release. I needed to get back control. I was spiralling.
I yanked the drawer open and took out a pair of nail scissors. Then I opened the scissors and placed the sharp blade against the skin on my arm, and I cut. I cut to release the tension, to feel the pain, to block out the nightmares of my past. To gain control of my feelings. To dominate them. I cut until I felt numb, and the scissors became slippery in my hand and fell to the carpet. Then the clouds in front of my eyes cleared, and I saw the patterns I’d etched into my arm. The blood that was dripping, like a tap, eased the hurt. And I felt nothing again. Just how I liked it.
I’d made a mess of the carpet, but I didn’t care. I picked up the scissors, stood up, and put them in my pocket. I didn’t want to think about what I’d done. I didn’t want to remember why. So, I focused on the job at hand. Emotions and memories served no purpose. It was better to switch them off.
I went into her bathroom, took a small towel from the rail and pressed it against my arm to stem the blood flow. As I held it in place, I checked for any cameras, but there was nothing. Whoever else was stalking her, they were doing it old school.
Or watching from across the hallway.
I rifled through the cupboard in the bathroom and found a bandage roll in a first-aid basket she had in there. My arm was still bleeding, but I wound the bandage tightly around my cuts, using the whole roll until I was confident that it’d absorb the bulk of the blood. I kept hold of the towel, I’d take that with me, and I walked across her living room and opened her front door to find the guy from the apartment opposite loitering outside.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
I hid the towel behind my back, hoping the blood on my arm wasn’t seeping through the bandage onto the sleeve of my overalls. It was a good job they were dark blue, and would hide any stains. I’d hate for him to see it and give me a reason to chloroform his ass and take him to my lockup.
