Page 29 of The Serial Killer's Sister
Wait a moment; I spoke a lie –
I never really wanted to die.
But if I may, and if I might,
My heart is open for tonight.
FEBRUARY
A year ago
He hadn’t wasted any time toying with this victim – he hadn’t felt the need to touch her skin or stare at her features, either whilst he killed her or once she was dead. It was business now; he had no particular feelings for, or even against, the woman. She was a means to an end. He wasn’t the same as other serial killers; ones who killed because they were compelled to take lives –neededto. He didn’t do it for the thrill. He didn’t fit the profile – the stereotypes perpetuated by the media, on TV, in films and novels, or even by professionals, like psychologists, or profilers who worked with the police. Anger drove him. A need to reachhis goal. Revenge. He maybe shared some similarities, but he certainly didn’t consider himself a typical killer.
‘Wait a moment; I spoke a lie – I never really wanted to die. But if I may, and if I might, my heart is open for tonight.’ He smiled as he spoke the words, but took no pleasure when he made the long incision down the centre of her body, then cut through her chest bone; or when he split the ribs open, spreading them wide to access her heart. He did experience a shiver of exhilaration when his fingers encircled it; when he thought about how it had been beating a few short minutes beforehand. How he’d been the one that caused it to cease. He was sure he’d feel so much more when it washerlife he ended. He was getting ever closer to that goal.
He rested the heart back in the cavity while he gathered the tools. He severed the aorta first, his hands shaking. It was the adrenaline, he assumed, because it couldn’t be nerves. Then he sliced through the inferior and superior vena cava, followed by the other arteries and veins he couldn’t recall the names of; he’d never really paid enough attention in his biology lessons. It didn’t matter; it wasn’t as though he was transplanting it, he just needed it out of this body. He didn’t want to rush it, though. It couldn’t look like a sloppy job or some afterthought; it had to appear as though it was fully intended.
He removed the heart and held it in his hand, surprised at its weight, then he placed it inside the plastic container, snapping the lid on tight. The meaning behind what he’d done wouldn’t be easy to decipher – he didn’t want it to be. He’d mixed it up a little to keep it interesting. Complexity was required. That way, when the time came, it would all fall into place and she’d know. And he wanted to be there to witness her full horror.
Chapter 19
Pulling into my usual parking space in the school playground feels a bit strange now I’m suspended – like I’m doing something forbidden. It’s how I used to feel when I smoked by the lake at Finley Hall. I shake it off. This really isn’t the same – it’s not some stupid teenage rebellion punishable via the confiscation of contraband and being dragged to Graves’s office by Frank. This is my workplace; my job.
I stand tall when I get out, slamming the door hard to signal my arrival. But I don’t walk to the entrance immediately. Instead, I lean against the car and look up at the building. It couldn’t be more different from Finley Hall. This building is purpose-built, new in 2009. It’s one level, with various separate smaller buildings for different activities: a gym, a swimming pool and a library. Until now I’ve only ever had happy memories in this place. But Mr Beaumont’s voice hadn’t sounded positive on the phone, and the dread of what’s to come swirls like a storm in my gut.
Not able to put it off any longer, I stride towards the entrance and push the doors open, trying to exude a confidence I don’t feel. The corridors are quiet – the children are all in class. My own footsteps are all I can hear, which, right now, compete with the thudding of my heartbeat. I come to a halt outside the head’s office. Shoulders back, head up. I give three firm knocks on the door and wait. There’s a pause that feels like minutes before I hear him tell me to come in. His back is to me as I enter the room – he’s standing in front of the window overlooking the infants’ play area.
‘I came as soon as I could,’ I say.
‘Sit,’ he says, finally turning to face me. His complexion is grey and his demeanour stiff as he gestures to the chair. I sit down. With an exaggerated intake of air, he too takes a seat. I stare at his right shoulder as it twitches upwards towards his ear. I’ve never noticed this kind of tic before. What’s going on? It’s like he’s nervous. Christ – it must be bad. I wish I’d brought a bottle of water with me because my mouth is dry; my tongue is sticking to its roof. I cross my legs, grip my hands together and lay them on my thigh to stop myself from wringing them. Is this what it’s like awaiting an innocent or guilty verdict at a trial?
He leans his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers, his gaze now intently on me.
‘Anna,’ he says. He lets out a long sigh. ‘Thank you for coming in.’
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for him to inform me of whatever the hell it is that’s so urgent that he needed me here during the week I’m suspended. I wish he’d skip the pleasantries, if this is what they are – althoughI’m actually getting the sense he’s toying with me, stretching this out and enjoying my discomfort, rather than merely being polite.
‘No problem,’ I say, surprised at how weak my voice sounds. I clear my throat. ‘You said it was urgent.’
He makes a strange sucking sound through his gritted teeth.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it’s not good news. I thought it best to speak with you in person – not nice to do it over the phone.’
My stomach drops. Not nice to dowhatover the phone? Any dream I had that this was a meeting to say it’d all been a huge mistake, that I’m such a valuable and trustworthy member of the teaching staff that he’s decided to forget all about this CCTV nonsense and reinstate me immediately, goes out the window. I glare at him, my mouth taut. I can’t trust myself to say anything. His eyes appear dark, almost black – like malevolence lurks behind them.
‘The rather unfortunate video is still circulating on the local groups and there’s even been an online article about it. And it’s made it intoTheMid-Devon Advertiser, Anna.’ There’s anger in his delivery; it’s obviously been building and now I’m in front of him, he’s finally releasing it. I feel myself slumping back against the chair.
‘Well, that snowballed, didn’t it,’ I say, then I mutter, ‘Just like he wanted,’ under my breath.
‘You seem surprised. Haven’t you been keeping up? Looked online yourself?’
‘There’s been a lot going on,’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘Look, you’re an excellent teacher, Anna. One of my best, and you know I think highly of you—’
‘There’s a but, I assume?’
‘It pains me to say, but …’ I close my eyes and hold my breath.God, please don’t fire me. He can’t fire me, surely?
