Page 53 of Nothing Watching

She gasped as the air was knocked out of her, the impact jarring her senses.His hands were already at her throat. She kicked out, lashing her foot at him to knock him aside, but he moved with incredible speed, dodging her attack and twisting his hands harder into her neck.

Juliette struggled, trying to break free, but he was too strong. He held her in a viselike grip, twisting her around. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, his body pressed up against hers. His strength was crushing, painful. Her air was cut off, and she knew that another few moments would mean the end for her.

Her hand shot up, clawing backward at his face, raking her nails across his skin, hoping that she was drawing blood. He howled in pain, and his grip loosened enough for her to gasp in a breath and twist once more, with all the strength she had.

She threw herself at him, slamming her shoulder into his chest, driving him back. He was a fighter, this was no weakling, no office-soft body. This man knew how to attack, and he knew how to defend, he’d had some training. Martial arts, perhaps. He was using his hand like a blade and she only just managed to evade the slicing blow.

He was stronger, but she was faster, more nimble. She dodged his punches, struck back with all her might, slamming her fist into his midriff, needing to knock the air out of him, and the fight out of him.

He grunted, but he didn’t go down, and then he hit her with a punch, a blow to the shoulder that was so sharp and hard that it knocked her sideways.

Then he wrenched her back, trying to get her off her feet. Well, she wasn’t going down without taking him too. She grabbed his arm and this time, the kick aimed at his leg hit home and they tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over, each trying to gain the upper hand. But he was too strong, and fighting too hard. Twice, his hands grasped her neck and she only just managed to wrench herself away.

Juliette knew she needed to change things to win this fight, fast. And suddenly, she thought of a tactic she could use.

The one he was looking to take advantage of. Weakness.

She allowed herself to go limp, to breathe hard, to flail ineffectually against him as he grabbed for her. It didn’t come easy to her, doing that, and she knew it was a dangerous move. But if it did what she hoped it would, it would give her an opening.

And it did. She saw it. Triumph flashed in his eyes as he thought he’d won, and there was a moment, one split second when he dropped his guard as he reached for her neck.

In that moment, using every ounce of strength and will, moving with lightning speed, she lashed out and grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back. He grunted, and then she snapped around and punched him, as hard as she could, in the throat.

He reeled, fell back, gagging, gasping for breath. Finally, she thought with grim satisfaction, she’d given him a taste of the treatment that he’d inflicted on his victims.

Feeling battered and bruised, but not daring to pause for a moment, she grabbed the handcuffs off her belt and dragged his arms together behind him.

He was still struggling, pulling away, and it took all her strength to subdue him. But, as the first loop clicked closed around his left wrist, she heard the thump of footsteps as backup arrived.

Detective Lehmann, racing from the adjacent surveillance area, was first on the scene.

“You got him!” There was a world of relief in his tone as he raced over, grabbing the struggling man by his other arm so that Juliette could clamp the cuffs around it.

“The others are on the way,” Lehmann said, as they hauled the killer to his feet.

There was a page underneath him that must have fallen out of his pocket. Quickly, grabbing an evidence bag from Lehmann, she picked it up.

It was a torn page, just like the others, and this time, the page was from the works of Plato, clearly an ancient and much-read volume, creased and yellowed.

The quote caught her eye immediately.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

Nodding slowly, Juliette realized that her instincts had been right. He’d been looking for his muse. Desperate to find her, this man had embarked on a hunt, but every time, rejection had led to a deadly encounter.

Juliette felt vindicated that her last-ditch attempt had worked, and that they had finally managed to capture this man, and done so within the timeframe they needed to. As they led the killer away, Juliette took a moment to catch her breath, the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through her veins. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to being another one of his victims. She shuddered at the thought.

But they had managed it. Otherwise, this man could have taken many more victims in his twisted search for the love and bright inspiration he would never find, because there was only darkness within him.

EPILOGUE

“It was the weirdest thing, when they searched his house.”

Safely back home, Juliette was spending a relaxing Saturday morning in the local park, telling Lucien all about the aftermath of the investigation, when the killer—identified as Hugo Eckersley—had been taken into custody.

Juliette would never forget what it had been like, going into that basement apartment, with weird, ghoulish paintings lining the walls, and shelves stacked to the ceiling with carefully arranged historic volumes. Collector’s items and antiques aplenty had lined those shelves, but it seemed that the killer’s focus had been on his own work, the impossible project that had led to the murders.

“What did they find?” Lucien asked, as they walked in step, in the sunshine, across the grass.

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