Page 17 of Taunting Tarran
‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ I roll my eyes. Switching the gun to my left hand, I reach into my back pocket for the pliers, and pinch his penis. His guttural cry pushes against the gun’s barrel as I tear off his cock. Tears stream down his cheeks as his body convulses.
‘Shush…’ I whisper pulling the trigger.
I sigh, blood spatter trickling down my face as I look at the final act of my plan. I’d planned on the scene looking like a burglary gone wrong, so I left no stoneunturned. Shelves were smashed, glass shattered, and Maribel’s and Chris’s bodies the unfortunate casualties of an orchestrated chaos.Wrong place. Wrong time.
I slip out through the back entrance, moving swiftly and silently. The street behind the club is deserted, no security cameras either. There, I duck into a side street and head towards a nondescript hatchback that is registered under a false identity. I slip away unnoticed, and as I climb into the car I’m feeling a sense of satisfaction knowing my usual car has been parked on my driveway all night, assuring my neighbours would corroborate my alibi.
CHAPTER 8
THE PUNISHER
The following day I wait for Tarran to leave her house before I pick her locks. Once inside, I pause, listening for any signs of an unexpected return. The silence is absolute, broken only by a ticking grandfather clock somewhere. I open drawers, rifle through paperwork, I even thumb through her underwear. It hadn’t taken me long to find out where Tarran worked, what her hours were, and when I could sneak into her home looking for any insight into her life. It wasn’t my intention to have her know I had been here, but as I worked, a dark thought took hold – I could taunt her. I hadn’t noticed it in the dark, but Tarran’s house is immaculate, the morning sun filtering through pristinecurtains casting soft, diffused light that illuminates her perfectly arranged furniture. It’s almost too orderly, too sterile, and too meticulous. I pop open a crystal decanter smelling the amber liquid before pouring it into a glass. Inhaling, I take a slow, deliberate sip, savouring the warmth in my chest, and then I leave the glass on a side unit. I start to move items out of place, like a drawer half-open. I shift a photograph of her younger self, and ruffle her perfectly made bed. I made the house look lived –in. I even do her laundry.
While the machine whirs, I wander into the bathroom where I’m met with the same sterile and clinical layout. Seeing her toothbrush, I reach towards it. In the mirror, I catch my reflection, with a malicious grin spread across my face. Then, as I pluck the toothbrush from its holder I run the bristles along the hair of my short beard before plunging it into my mouth. Sucking the toothbrush, I lick my lower lip and drop the brush back into its holder wondering about when she will return.
I sit in her living room chair hoping this is enough, that breaking in would satiate my curiosity, then I can erase her from my mind, but like a stubborn stain, she’s there, occupying my thoughts whether I want her to or not. No matter how hard I try, memories of her then and now linger like a ghost haunting the crevices of my mind. Each image of her brings a pang of longing, her muffled screams echoing in my mind, refusing to be silenced.
I bring a garment of her clothing close to my face, her scent not lessening or numbing the pain, the inhale bringing me both comfort and torment.
CHAPTER 9
THE BUTCHERBIRD
This wasn’t how I envisioned ending my evening after The Lickerish Lounge. When he left, after dumping me abruptly on my driveway, he gave me clear instructions that I wasn’t to remove my blindfold until he had disappeared.
What the actual fuck?
What happened next caught me completely off guard. Before I had even counted to twenty, the car suddenly reversed with a screech, gravel flying chaotically as the wheels spun in defiance of the ground. I could feel the car come to an abrupt halt, mere inches from my face, and I felt the rush of the warm, acrid breath of the exhaust brushing against my skin. My heart thumpedwithin its cage so hard, it was like a caged beast, frantically seeking an escape from its confined prison. In a swift motion, the car door slammed, and he reached out and pulled me into his embrace, lifting me effortlessly, cradling me as he carried me inside with an urgency I couldn’t comprehend. I hadn’t dared remove my blindfold, too afraid of the unknown, but I could tell he was taking me upstairs with determined strides, and moments later he ran a bath. The sound of the water filled the empty, unspoken space. The tap spitting before settling into a steady stream as the tub began to fill. I could smell the steam rising, curling into the air and wrapping the room and my naked flesh in a comforting veil. Fear rooted me in place, and I feared removing my blindfold, even when he lowered me into the water.
Neither of us spoke. His hands glided the sponge with both a firm and gentle touch. I could hear the gentle dip of the sponge and the soft squeeze as he began to wash me. As the water cooled, he dried my hair, his hands running through it as soft as a painter’s brushstroke. The towel glided through the strands, absorbing the remnants of moisture with care. Guiding me to sit, he plaited it, his fingers weaving through with artisan precision. Finally, he guided me to bed, tucking me in, and as he exited the room, I was left in a state of confusion, trying to piece together the whirlwind of events that had recently unfolded.
‘Tell me you’ll never go back to that club?’ he groaned. ‘You’ll soon find out what happens whenyou don’t do as you’re told.’
The giddy screaming of small children distracts me for a few hours. If it’s not the haunting memories of the lives lost that plague my mind, it’s now some stranger who has attached himself to my life. Although, technically speaking, that would be rather presumptuous as it had only been the one time. Nevertheless, memories of that evening make my heart skip a beat, my hands are growing clammy, and I’m gasping for air, because now he’s haunting my thoughts.
Am I scared or excited?
Is he following me? Do I want him to?
Will he come back?
He knows where I live!
FUCK!
What is wrong with me?
In the bathroom, I splash cold water onto my face. Steadily, I run my finger gently over my shoulder, where the scab from the slowly healing dental impression marks the bite. I wince.
‘You do not go back to that club!’his voice echoes in my mind, stern and unyielding. I shake my head, brushing off the memory like a pesky fly. Composing myself, I step back into the classroom, my heels clicking on the polished floor, notifying my colleague of my return.
‘Ms Pinegrove?’ the young teacher beckons as I see herholding an envelope.
‘Yes?’
‘This letter came for you while you stepped out.’
‘Thank you.’ I take the letter, feeling the prickle of unease. Slowly, I sink into my chair behind my desk, my fingers trembling slightly as I tear open the candle embossed seal of the envelope. My eyes scan the room, wary and alert, as if expecting the walls themselves to tell me who the letter is from. The stand-in walks out, and I suck in a sharp breath as I peel the envelope open.
