***

 

There are two different types of murder that I carry out. The first are the ones that stem from that initial experience, when I was thirteen, with Mandy. For example, the murder of Kate Williams falls into that category. I suppose that you could call them ‘sex killings’, even though there’s no conventional sex involved. Let's not beat around the bush here; I derive a sort of sexual satisfaction from those type of murders… I receive gratification, just not in the normal way, but that’s only because I’m NOT normal. Because of what my father was, I carry with me two forms of sexuality; the human, and the inhuman. You could literally say that I have the best of both worlds…

 

The second category of murder that I’ve committed is much more conventional, appeasing that blood-thirsty and sadistic part of my personality. When I caused that old cunt, Alfie Whitehouse, to die from a heart attack, I got a real thrill from it. It’s a power thing, pure and simple. I like having the power of life and death over overs. One of the people up at the old derelict farmhouse… I strangled them, but really slowly… I even let them think I was going to not actually kill them, at one point… but it was all just a great big game. Fuck, did I get a kick out of that though, squeezing the life out of them until, at the very last moment, I loosened my grip, allowed them to breath again… I even whispered an apology into their ear… before squeezing once more, harder, more ferocious, than the last time.

 

It’s true, I like to torment some of my victims… I mean REALLY torment them. Deep down, I know it’s wrong, but I do it anyway, and that’s because I enjoy it. It’s a bit like when you’re young, and you steal a pound coin from out of your mom’s purse, then hotfoot it down to the local shops and blow your ill-gotten gains on some sweets, or a comic-book. You know that you’ve done a bad thing, and you feel guilty, ashamed, but at the same time, you’ve enjoyed gorging on the sweets, or reading the story in the comic… and that guilt, well, it certainly doesn’t stop you from robbing another pound coin off your mom, a few days later, does it? That’s how I see this category of murder. I DO, honestly, feel disgusted with my actions, sometimes, but it’s always over-ridden by how much enjoyment I derive from making other people suffer. I guess that makes me pretty sick, eh? Well… so fucking what?

 

 

Chapter Twenty Five

 

Mary and Shark were stopped in their tracks by a fast-flowing river, cutting through Skerrington Forest.

“Shit! What to do we do now? This fucking river’s too wide to cross, and that bastard isn’t far behind us.” Panicked Mary.

“I tell you what we do now, Mary… we lose Howard Trenton for good.” Grinned Shark.

“Oh right, and how are we going to do that?” Mary asked, with skepticism.

“By getting right into that water and swimming in it. IF Howard Trenton can really track us by our scent, then he ain’t going to be able to once we’re in the river.” Advised Shark.

“What? Do you really think so?” Asked Mary.

“Hopefully, yes. I remember watching some film once, years back when I was a kid. There was this guy, being hunted down by a pack of bloodhounds, for some reason or another. That’s how he lost them… he found some water, and jumped right in… this river here might just be a godsend.” Replied Shark. “Shall I go in first? Or do you want that pleasure?”

“It’s going to be sodding freezing!” Exclaimed Mary.

“Like I said before… better than being raped. Or dead.” Mary said, before wading into the river.

Mary followed Shark into the water, which was only knee-deep.

“Keep your backpack free from the river, Mary.” Instructed Shark.

“Why?” Asked Mary. Jesus Christ, girl, use your brain, thought Shark.

“Well, I take it that you packed yourself some changes of clothes for this wonderful, pleasant and relaxing three day excursion?” Asked Shark.

“Yeah, of course I did.” Replied Mary, her whole body shivering.

“Well, we’re gonna have to get into some dry stuff once we’re out of this water, or we’ll probably both die from hypothermia… did you pack yourself any towels?” Shark asked. Mary nodded.

“Three or four.”

“Good. Just make sure that your backpack doesn’t get wet, like I said, otherwise your other clothes, towels… they’ll be next to useless.”

“Okay.” Mary replied.

“Fuck, we ain’t gonna be able to stay in this river for long. It’s so cold in here.” Admitted Shark. “Let’s just hope that this works. If we can lose Howard, then that’s half the battle won. All we have to do then is survive the cold, and find some help. Hey, I wonder if there’s any mobile reception yet?” Pondered Shark. She took her phone from out of her jacket pocket; there was still no signal. Mary did the same. Nothing. Something occurred to Mary.

“Wouldn’t the police be able to track us by our phones?” She wondered.

“Does yours use GPS?” Replied Shark.

“No, I don’t think so.” Mary advised.

“Mine neither. It’s old. I’m not sure if our mobiles will be sending signals out or not… if they’re picked up, then the police should be able to get a rough idea of where we are… using triangulation, I think it’s called… depends on how many phone masts are around here though… I’m guessing not many.” Said Shark. And she was right. The police search had already tried to track them by their phones; the exact location of the groups devices were impossible to pinpoint.

***

Ten minutes later, Howard Trenton arrived at the stretch of water which Shark and Mary had jumped into. He turned the music that he was listening to off, and placed the earphones back in his coat pocket. Shit! I didn’t know that there was a fucking river running through this part of the forest! He thought. Howard raised his nose to the air; the scent of Mary and Shark trailed off at the edge of the water, and then completely disappeared.

“Fuck it!” He cursed. Howard paced up and down at the edge of the river for a few moments. “Those fucking bitches! I don’t believe this. They’ve got away. I can’t track them.” He whined. “Now what am I supposed to do?” Howard asked, losing his temper. He looked down at the river, and then further on, into the darkness of the forest. I’ve lost them. I’ve gone and fucking lost them! I don’t know which way that they've gone! This was supposed to be my last night of fun… now I’ve fucked everything up.

Howard began to walk along the edge of the river, heading south. Maybe I’ll pick up their scent again, at the point where they get out of the water… but then that might be on the opposite fucking riverbank… or in the other direction. Bollocks. I’ve blown all of this, big-style. Howard stopped walking, listening out for a sound, anything, that might give him a hint as to the whereabouts of Mary and Shark. The only noise that he could hear was the distant buzz of the police helicopter. Howard decided to do a quick health-check; he looked down at his broken arm, trying to move his fingers; there was no sensation in them at all. He reached around, with his other hand, to his lower back, feeling at the stab wound, which was scabbed, congealed, but, more importantly, dry. There was no blood. Ah well, at least that’s something. Looks like I’m not gonna bleed to death after all. Howard felt up, to his face, where Shark had hit him with the portable radio. There was a large lump, just above his cheekbone, but otherwise, no damage. His lips, which had been split open, were now scabbed over and sore. Apart from my arm, I’m still in relatively good working order, Howard thought, before continuing with his walk along the river’s edge.

***

Mary and Shark scrambled out of the freezing cold water, and up a muddy riverbank. They were no longer in Skerrington Forest. Shark gave a quick glance across the field that they found themselves in.