Page 69 of The Taskmaster
“Does this have something to do with the guy trying to break into your apartment earlier?” I asked, convinced it was, but I wanted her to confirm it.
“No. I have no idea who that was and I’ll report it to the police in the morning. I should’ve done it tonight.”
She wouldn’t report it. I knew that. She was saying what she thought I wanted to hear.
“I hope you do.”
She was quiet for a moment, then added, “Not every problem has a solution.”
“It does in my world,” I said without thinking, because that was my truth. I was all about solutions at any cost. Usually theirs, but that was on them. They deserved it.
The expulsion of air I heard in the darkness told me she’d had enough.
“I’m tired, Isaiah. And I really don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not after tonight. I promise, one day, I might feel ready to tell you. But not now. Please. Just forget this happened.”
I said I would, but I wouldn’t. And she would tell me; there was no maybe about it. But what more could I do? I could take her to my warehouse and force the truth out of her. But I didn’t want to do that. I liked what we were building here, and I didn’t want to jeopardise it. I wanted her to open up to me in her own time. Thiswasa problem with a solution, but it neededto be handled with kid gloves. I’d find out what she was really frightened of, whose face she saw that made her react like that. I wouldn’t stop.
“Fine. Like I said, I’ll wait,” I replied, injecting empathy into my voice despite feeling anything but patient. “But know this, it doesn’t matter what you tell me. I’m not going anywhere. Nothing you say or do could ever scare me off.”
The room was silent, and I pulled her into my arms again, her back to my front. And then, in a quiet voice, she said, “Thank you.”
But she didn’t need to thank me. I was brought into this world to slay the kind of monsters she feared, and I was more than ready to face them.
I didn’t want to have the morning-after awkwardness that might follow if I stayed until she woke up. I knew her well enough to know she’d feel the same. But I didn’t want to go far, not after the visit from her stalker last night. So, I kissed the top of her head as she slept, then crept out of her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me.
I gathered my clothes off the living room floor, got dressed, and walked out of her apartment. But I didn’t leave the building. I found an empty storage cupboard a few doors down from where she lived and waited in there, watching her on the cameras that I could access through my phone.
About an hour after I left, she woke up, glanced around her bedroom, and then she smiled when she saw what I’d left for her on the spare pillow. I’d borrowed two dice from a board game she had in a cupboard in her living room, and on a piece of paperunderneath, I’d written, ‘I loved playing games with you last night. Do want to play again soon? I might even let you win...’
She held the dice in her hand and made a fist, then brought the first to her mouth and closed her eyes. She muttered something to herself, but I didn’t know what. But she seemed happy. And that made my fucking day.
I watched her get ready for work, and just before she headed out, I left. My van was still parked out the front of the building. I didn’t want her to see it or catch me here. So, I drove a little way down the road, parked up, and when I saw her walk out of the building, I followed her to make sure she got to the bus stop okay.
The bus arrived and she got on, and I wanted to follow that too, but I had work to do. There were people around. She’d be safe from here. And besides, I had the tracker in her pocket that I could monitor. If that veered off the bus route, I’d be there to find out why. But it didn’t. She arrived at the council houses for her day at work, and I went back to my warehouse to dispose of my second body in twenty-four hours.
Gabriel Tolley looked like a bloated, blue whale. He sat in the murky water, his eyes like glass, his skin sallow and waxy. The thought of touching him repulsed me, but I had to do it. He needed to be thrown away like the piece of trash he was.
He had quite a few expensive gold rings on his chubby hands, so I got my pliers and cut each finger. I fucking loved the crunch the pliers made as they cut through his flesh and bone. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I snapped and snapped until he was left with nothing but stubby little fingerless fists. Cutting him helped to channel my fucked-off energy. I would call it nervous energy, but I didn’t get nervous. That would involve having feelings of vulnerability, and those days were long gone.
I pulled the rings off each of the bloody fingers with the intention of selling the gold. I needed a trophy too, and what better than a skeletal digit from his murderous hand.
As I got to work draining the tank of water and pulling his carcass free, I heard the reporter on the radio...
And in other news, the police have issued a statement in regard to the monster they are now calling the Brinton Manor Bogeyman. Detective Walters, who is leading the investigation, says they have reason to believe that the Bogeyman has claimed two new victims. Nial Fagin, of no fixed address, and Gabriel Tolley, a retired social worker and town councillor from Brinton Manor, have both been reported missing, and according to police sources, their disappearance may have links to this case.
Concern rises over the possibility of a serial killer stalking our streets and preying on vulnerable men. But rest assured, we are following this story closely, and will bring you all the updates as soon as we get them.
Vulnerable men?
They were about as vulnerable as a rabid wolf hiked up on cocaine, running feral through a kid’s playground.
But fuck me, he wasn’t wrong when he said they’d notice he was gone. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours since I’d taken him, and he’d already been reported missing, despite having no close family and living alone. In all the time I’d watched him, no one had called or dropped by. But he was right, they knew, the minute he left, they were on it.
I had to find out who this Q was that he’d spoken about. I couldn’t let another sicko slip through my hands.
Once I’d moved his body into the vat of acid in my polypropylene barrel, I headed back to my apartment and went online, trawling through the names of every person that’d worked at Clivesdon Children’s Home. Not one of them had a name that began with Q. Not first, middle, or last name. So, I moved onto the social services files from back then, but again, nothing stood out. I did the same with the police files. Again, that came up with nothing.
There had to be something I was missing.
