Page 62 of Now Comes the Dark

“And I’ll keep getting away with it. Tonight, you two? This is the biggest risk I’ve taken. I can’t hang around a shitty city like this and hope to avoid attention. After tonight, I’ll be gone, a shadow that fades with the morning. Then, when I’m ready, when the time is right, I’ll begin again in a new place…Manchester or Liverpool. Let’s face it. There’s no shortage of horny queers wandering aimlessly into danger for the sake of a dick.” He gave a short, self-satisfied laugh.

Mallon must have sensed a change in Will. His eyes flashed at Roman, full of determination. Whether Will had relaxed his hold as he revelled in his deadly achievements or became distracted,Mallon seemingly seized the opportunity and delivered a sharp, backwards jab with his fist. From the pitch of Will’s shriek, Roman knew he’d delivered the blow straight to his balls. As the knife moved clear of this throat, Mallon ducked and spun. He came at Will full on, his hands raised for a martial arts strike, but Will was too fast. He lashed at Mallon with the knife, slashing him across the chest, tearing the hoodie. Roman saw a streak of blood as Mallon tumbled across the sofa.

Will raised the knife, ready to plunge it into Mallon’s back.

“No,” Roman yelled, racing forward.

Will turned on him, the knife raised. His face was contorted into an ugly mask of rage. “It’s about time I stuck it to you.” He lunged towards him.

Roman flew to the side. A rush of air passed his face as the blade missed him by centimetres. Will grabbed his jacket with his free hand, pulling him in.

“Come here, you little cunt.”

His grip wasn’t strong enough, and Roman elbowed him aside, scrambling around the coffee table. He heard the rasping rage in Will’s breath. The killer was right behind him.

Roman’s shin struck the corner of the coffee table. Pain lanced through his leg. He ignored it and rushed on.The steak knife. Where the fuck did I leave the steak knife?

His mind flashed through his options in milliseconds. If he could make it to the bathroom, he could lock the door. His phone was in his pocket, and he could hold Will back in time to call the police. But that would leave Mallon at his mercy. Will could fulfil his twisted wish and claim at least another victim before making a run. There were more knives in the kitchen drawer, but Will would be on top of him before he even got one open.

Will snatched the neck of his coat, hauling Roman towards him.

Shit, this is it. The blade would be in his back in a second.

Reacting instinctively, Roman let his body go limp. A dead weight, he dropped to the floor and Will lost his grip on him again.

Then he saw the steak knife. It had fallen to the left of the sofa. Roman scrabbled towards it. It was hopeless. Will’s heavy step was right behind him. A powerful kick delivered to the ribs sent Roman sprawling. It unbalanced him more than it hurt. Undeterred, he clambered towards the knife. This was the bastard who had murdered his friend, who had taken all those innocent lives. Roman would not become his victim without a fight.

Will was above him, his feet planted on either side of his body.

Roman snatched at the knife handle. He twisted and rolled. He had a split-second sight of Will bending towards him with the jagged blade. With a scream of rage, Roman thrust the steak knife into Will’s upper thigh. All squeamishness was gone. He thumped his free hand on top of the other, forcing the blade deep. It tore through flesh and scraped bone.

Will roared and staggered backwards, dropping his own weapon. His teeth were bared as he gazed in shock at the handle that stuck out of his thigh. He eyes flickered towards Roman, burning with anger and hate.

“I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

Roman didn’t waste his advantage and booted Will in the shin with all the force he had. Will fell backwards. He caught the coffee table with the back of his knees and tumbled over it. As he flailed on the floor like an animal, Roman spotted Will’s hunting knife and snatched it. He staggered to his feet.

Will was already recovering and rising. As he realised Roman had his weapon, he gripped the handle of the steak knife and hauled it out of his leg. He snarled at the pain but seemed impervious to it.

They glared at each other, the coffee table separating them.

On the sofa, Mallon rose to a sitting position.

Will spotted the easier target and moved towards him, but Roman was quicker. He got between them, thrust the hunting knife at their attacker. Any misgivings he had about using a knife were forgotten. If this was to be a battle to the death, he would fight.

“Is this what you want, you bastard?” he lunged at Will, who backed away. Despite the dark colour of his clothes, Roman saw that the entire right leg of his trousers was wet with blood.

Will stared at him with pure hatred. Then his eyes darted between Roman and Mallon.

A loud knock at the door startled all of them.

“Mr Garnier,” a male voice yelled. “We’ve had a report of a disturbance. Please open the door.”

Thank Christ. Their fight had been heard.

“You’re finished,” Roman said to Will, then louder so the man on the other side of the door could hear. “Call the police.”

“It’s over for now,” Will snarled. “But I’ll be back to finish you another time.”

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