Page 29 of The Taskmaster
Chapter Twenty-One
THE TASKMASTER
‘In other news, the police issued a statement this morning, stating that the suspect brought in for questioning in relation to the disappearance of several men in the Brinton Manor, Sandland and Merivale areas has been released without charge. The unnamed twenty-eight-year-old local man was known to the police, but according to sources, he had an alibi and was ruled out of their enquiries in the early hours of this morning.
As yet, the police are no closer to finding out what actually happened to the men who disappeared in strange and mysterious circumstances, but individuals close to the missing men say it is out of character for them to go missing, and they are convinced that foul play has taken place.
Frederick Wilson, Harold Fraser, Mario Cane, Paul Masters and Joel Spencer have been missing since last October. Earlier this week, Peter Hipkiss, a thirty-two-year-old gas fitter from Brinton Manor, was reported missing by his wife, who believes he too has fallen victim to what the press are now calling the Bogeyman of Brinton Manor...’
The Bogeyman of Brinton Manor?
The fucking Bogeyman?
Of all the names they could’ve given me, they went with that pile of crap? It was bullshit, and I almost wanted to break my code and go after whoever it was that came up with that shitty name.
Why not the Beast of Brinton Manor?
Or the Monster of Merivale?
The Slayer of Sandland even?
Or the Shadowman?
Anything would’ve been better than the fucking Bogeyman.
Not that I needed a nickname. I already had a name. I was The Taskmaster. Maybe I needed to send the police a message telling them that. Go full-on Jack the Ripper on their asses and include one of my trophies to prove it was me, only, I didn’t like parting with my trophies. I’d earned them. I deserved to have them sitting on my mantlepiece, reminding me that those pieces of shit would never get to hurt anyone again.
Granted, the trophy for Peter, the alleyway rapist, wasn’t in keeping with the rest of them. His wallet didn’t have the same impact as the bones that sat next to it. But he wasn’t from my list, so it didn’t count. And Nial’s lighter and pack of cigarettes stood out too. On the news report, they hadn’t included his name in the list of victims. No one was missing Abigail’s sleazy neighbour. Not that I was surprised. The guy was a nobody.
And then there was Abigail’s lock of hair, and the photo of her with her dad. They were trophies of a different kind, because I felt different when I looked at them. I felt a heat burning inside. Not excitement from the retribution I’d delivered to the others, but a warmth that I couldn’t understand. But it felt good. I had her DNA. I had her smile too, shining back at me through the photo. Yeah, they were different types of trophies all right. Hers were more like priceless artefacts. Irreplaceable treasures.
I turned my attention to the screens in my living room, tracking Gabriel Tolley’s movements as he made himself a coffee with his ridiculously overpriced coffee machine, then sat his fat ass down on a stool in his high-tech kitchen, eating a croissant as he scrolled on his phone.
This fucker acted like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he hadn’t played his part in leading me to that fucking children’s home, and abandoning me like I was trash. He called himself a social worker, someone who cared for the children who found themselves lost in a system of foster homes, children’s homes, and hopelessness. A beacon in their darkest times.
Give me a fucking break.
He was cold and calculated. The least caring man you could meet. He used me, and countless other kids to feed the sick fucks at that place. He knew what was going on and he didn’t care, as long as he got paid every month. Hush money, or was it horror money? Cash for kids. Oh yes, I’d done my research on Mr. Tolley, and his time was coming to an end. He had to reap what he sowed, and I was all too happy to be the reaper.
Watching Tolley made my teeth ache. My jaw ground hard as I tried to temper the beast in my belly that wanted to reach into the screen and drag him out by his throat, slice him slowly, and bleed him dry as he screamed for mercy that he wouldn’t get.
Then I caught sight of Abigail, putting the twenty-pound note into her purse with a shy smile before sliding her coat on, and heading for the door. She was on her way to work, and the way she moved with more of a spring in her step today made the ice in my veins begin to thaw.
I didn’t know what it was about this girl but watching her was addictive. I couldn’t get enough. I hung on every facial expression, waiting for her smile, but anticipating every look she gave—fear, apprehension, nervousness, joy. I soaked it all up like a fucking sponge.
The only time I’d ever felt anything in my hollow, emotionless soul was when I was doing a kill. That moment when they knew it was all over. The horror in their eyes turning to rabid fear. The desperation to do anything to cling onto their life. And then the pure elation as they took their last, wretched breath as I sent them to hell.
All of it was nirvana.
But with Abigail, watching her had tapped into something inside me I never knew existed, and I wanted more. I craved it. And I had no fucking idea why. She was like a drug. A drug I couldn’t get enough of. And yet, I couldn’t stop edging myself. Knowing I could take her at any moment, but never going through with it. It was as if the tables had turned, and I was playing games with myself. A sweet torture, and I couldn’t stop.
I watched her lock her front door, turning the handle a few times to check it was secure. It was cute that she thought she could keep me out. If I wanted to get in, I would. But I had other plans today.
She made her way down the hallway of her apartment, and the camera I’d set up there followed her as she strolled away. The way her brown curls bounced as she walked was fucking mesmerising. Shiny curls that I itched to touch, and I fisted my hand as I watched her, knowing first-hand how soft they felt. Like velvet under my fingertips—her skin was the same too. And I took a deep breath, imagining that vanilla scent that lingered in her apartment and settled on her delicate skin was infiltrating my rotten lungs. Cleansing me with each breath I took.
Her whole demeanour was more confident this morning, and that pleased me. What pleased me even more was that I was going to see her again today.
From a work perspective, my time would’ve been better spent trailing Gabriel Tolley. Bringing him in and starting his game. But I wanted to be selfish today. I wanted to do somethingfor me. I wanted to spend time with her. And maybe I’d meet a few old friends later, too. It was going to be so much fun.
