Some children had imaginary friends growing up, but not the doctor. His friends came in all shapes and sizes and were very, very quiet. He did not have to wait until the weekend for a sleepover either. In a bed lined with satin, they stayed in the small Chapel of Rest attached to his home. As a child, he was too young to understand the concept of death. He would talk to their sleeping visitors, fascinated by the coldness of their skin as Mummy layered their face with make-up and carefully blow-dried their hair. Not until he witnessed his father piece back a car crash casualty did he fully comprehend his parents’ work.
Doctor Tanner peered from the undergrowth outside Mandy’s home. A warm pulse beat inside him at the thought of claiming her flesh. But it was much more than having the joy of toying with the human form. It was about revenge for every misfortune that had plagued his life, and the teasing promise of fame that would follow his name for years to come. He watched in the distance as a dark-haired woman trotted down the steps of the dull grey building that was Mandy Prentice’s home. Her head dipped, she had briefly turned, saying something about seeing Mandy tomorrow, before walking to her car. His heart skipped a beat as he recalled where he had seen her before: she was the police detective who was present as paramedics took his Sleeping Beauty away.
He looped his scarf around his face until it was almost touching the woollen hat. The gloves were awkward when it came to his work, but he would not give the police the satisfaction of leaving his fingerprints at the scene. He was stretching his luck coming here so soon; he could almost feel the police snapping at his heels. The death of one of their colleagues had been a glorious moment. Propelling him into the limelight, it had no doubt brought the police renewed conviction. He would not go unpunished, it was said. If only they knew he had received his punishment tenfold.
With a soft breath, he dragged his feet through the undergrowth, approaching the back entrance of Mandy’s home. The garden was long and thin, easily accessed by climbing the wall at the rear. He landed on the other side with a thud, jarring his knees on the frostbitten ground below. Narrowing his eyes, he peered through the half-open window blind. Pop music was playing in the kitchen, and he watched as the back door was opened to allow a tabby cat inside.
Switching off the kitchen light, Mandy retreated from the room, allowing the doctor to advance under the cover of darkness. He would have to make his entrance quickly, before she returned to lock the door.
Dipping his hand into his coat pocket, he felt the comforting rustle of the plastic bag containing the chloroformed cloth. It wouldn’t do to contaminate himself before he’d even begun. The element of surprise always won him a few precious seconds. He would be quick in his reprisal – dressing her in the red hood and placing her on the bed. It was a slip of material, but enough to send the message home. How he missed his surgeon’s chair and the symphony of music that raised colours in the air.
Slowly, he placed his hand on the kitchen door, scalpel in his right pocket, cloth in the left. Dew had gathered on the bridge of his scarf, and he lowered it from his face, licking his lips as his excitement grew. In the living room, a news channel blared, and the doctor held his breath as he snuck into the downstairs hall, his feet slowly pressing on each stair as he made his ascent.
He stepped inside the open bedroom door on the right. It carried the scent of jasmine, and his eyes fell on the remnants of a candle now melted into a puddle on her dressing table. In the dim light he squinted at the photographs Blu-Tacked to the wall; snapshots of people he did not recognise. She did not acquaint herself with the street girls any longer, having moved on and made a valiant effort to start her life again.
He opened her wardrobe, a huge thing, packed with coats and unattractive baggy clothes. Nothing like the skimpy outfits she had worn in the past. He pushed the clothes aside, the metal hangers jangling as he assessed the space: he could easily fit inside if he made room. Touching the cotton material of a blue flowery dress, he brought the cloth to his face, inhaling the scent of fabric conditioner. A ghost of the past loaded into his memory – the old Mandy smelt of sex and cheap perfume.
His knees ached as he shuffled into position behind the wardrobe door. Today, he was feeling his age. A fleeting thought entered his mind: he was getting too old for all of this. Perhaps it was time to give it up while the going was good. After all, he had inflicted his revenge on Nathan Crosby, sending him scampering into the shadows like the rats he had left behind. But there was a lot more to it than that. Like him, the reasoning behind his behaviour was multi-layered and complicated. The satisfaction he received working on the street girls far excelled enjoyment gained from his revenge. And now there was just one more left. All he could think about was reacquainting himself with Mandy, the one woman who turned him down. He had repaid her for her belligerence by botching the abortion, which left her infertile. But it had never been enough. The thought of her carrying on with a normal life had always played on his mind. A smile graced his lips: he had just the fairy tale in store for her. Not many people knew the true message behind ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. It was a message to young women about giving up their virginity to the Big Bad Wolf. He bared his teeth in a sharp grin. Mandy may have refused him once; she would not refuse him again.