Emma didn’t mind being in the Abbey museum after it was closed. The tombstones and selection of gargoyles on display around the room would give the average person nightmares but she was used to it. She had been coming here since she was six with her gran, who worked here taking money and giving guided tours to anyone who was interested way before they got the audio taped ones. Emma had grown up around here. She knew every nook and cranny of the ruins. In all the years she had been coming here not one thing had happened that scared her enough to make her not want to come back. Granted it could get eerie, especially on foggy nights when the swirling mist made it easy to imagine a parade of ghostly monks passing through the old iron gates, chanting in Latin, but it had never actually happened. The other women who worked here wouldn’t stay past dusk, locking up and leaving before sunset. It’s like her gran always said, ‘It’s not the dead that can harm you, it’s the living you have to watch out for.’ So Emma found herself working the late shift and locking up most evenings. It was great because her computer had packed in and she couldn’t afford to get it fixed. After she cashed up and quickly cleaned around she had the place to herself and, thanks to the newly installed coffee machine, a constant supply of fresh coffee. It helped her no end with her college work and her grades were excellent.
She checked the clock in the corner of the computer monitor: two minutes to eight. Damian was always late. If she told him to turn up for seven-thirty he would be here for eight. It was the one thing she really disliked about him. He should arrive at any minute, fingers crossed. She turned the computer off, checked the doors and windows were all secure then made her way to the front door to wait.
He had left his car in the small car park at the front of the museum; his was now the only car left. He was raging inside and he didn’t know how to stop. It was burning so hot inside that his chest was actually hurting. A light turned on in the museum and he stepped to one side so whoever it was couldn’t see him. He was curious to know who would still be in there at this time of night, especially with it being so dark outside. A young woman carrying some files came into view. A terrible thought began to run through his mind: she looked a lot like Jenna, only slightly older.
He began fumbling with the dog lead as she came outside. She didn’t check the car park just turned to lock the door, unaware of him until he spoke. ‘Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve lost my dog. You haven’t seen him around here have you?’
‘No, I haven’t, sorry.’
He could sense her discomfort at being caught off guard. ‘I was walking him in the woods and he ran off after a rabbit or something. That was two hours ago and I’ve been looking ever since. I daren’t go home without him. My wife will kill me.’
‘I’ve been working out in the back office so I haven’t seen anything.’
He turned to get into his car and sensed her body relax. ‘OK, thanks. Do you need a lift anywhere? You don’t want to be hanging around here on your own in the dark. You never know who’s out there.’ He didn’t expect her to say yes but he could tell by the look on her face she was giving it some thought.
‘Thank you but my boyfriend is supposed to be picking me up. He’s always late though.’
The clouds opened and heavy drops of rain began to fall. He smiled to himself. Come on, you little beauty, you know you want to. He got into the car and put the window down.
‘Are you sure? It’s not a problem, honestly. I can’t go home yet anyway not without the dog; my wife prefers it to me.’
The rain was torrential, soaking through her clothes and college books: all her work was going to be ruined. She was turning into a sodden mess, she dashed towards the car.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
He smiled at her as she got into the car and slammed the door too hard, making him flinch.
‘Oops, sorry, I’m used to my boyfriend’s heap of junk.’
‘It’s fine don’t worry about it.’
She reached over to grab her seat belt and her phone slid from her wet grasp, falling to the floor. She bent down, struggling to find it. He reached out, grabbing a handful of her long dark brown hair. She screeched with shock. Before she could scream again his hand wrapped itself tightly into her hair, dragging her head back before he pushed it forward with such force that her head slammed against the dashboard, dazing her. She reached up for his hands, scratching at them but he held fast and slammed her head again and again until she was unconscious. When she stopped fighting his hand reached under his seat for the knife that he’d tucked under there away from his mother’s prying eyes. He pulled her head back to expose her throat and he sliced her neck from ear to ear, a spray of blood coating him and the windscreen.
He pulled her head forward to try and slow it down. Part of him hadn’t wanted to do it but he’d had no choice. If he let her go she would be able to describe him and his car to the police. The blood pumping from the open wound was warm and sticky and he watched mesmerised as the life bled from her.
In the distance through the tree’s he saw the beam of a car’s headlights and the fear of being caught broke him from his trance. He pushed her down as far as he could into the footwell of the car and rubbed his blood-soaked hand in her hair and on her coat. Then he started the engine and drove in the opposite direction to the lights: he had to get away from here.
His hands were still slick with blood and the strong coppery smell filled the car. He wiped them along the front of his trousers so he could grip the steering wheel better. That was another pair he would have to get rid of. His stomach began to churn; the smell in such an enclosed space was making him feel ill. He drove until he reached the playing fields on Rating Lane then parked his car along the lover’s lane, which was deserted, taking some tissues from the glove compartment he rubbed the specks of blood off the windscreen. The stench was awful, if the police pulled him now that would be it: game over. His hand reached out and caressed the blood-soaked hair of the dead girl. Think, you idiot, think.