End Game
By Laura Simms
Chapter 1 Showtime
Why was he doing this? It wasn’t right, he knew that, but
what choice did he have? The 20-something brown haired man stood in the
shadows, gazing across the garden fence. Briefly he considered leaving the deed
undone. No one would know would they? Of course they would. He needed to get
control of himself. This nervous jumpy state would give him away soon, if he
wasn’t careful. For the first time in years his conscience was troubling him.
He moved backwards, a little further behind the brick wall, cursing as a stone,
picked up from God knew where, got lodged under his shoe. He kicked out to
dislodge it. It rolled to a stop, yards away.
He checked the tracks in the grass. Nothing showed. He
climbed up the wall, grabbing a more sturdy brick as one crumbled. He cursed as
bits of terracotta dust landed on the ground. He got purchase on the grey
drainpipe. He nearly laughed. They'd felt secure enough to leave a window
slightly open. Crime just didn't exist around here did it? That would be his
entry point. He grabbed the frame and slid his hand in. He found the catch and
opened the window fully. A quick look over his shoulder showed him that no one
had observed him. He cursed as he knocked crappy bric-a-brack off the window
sill of the master bedroom.
It wouldn't matter. No one was here to hear him. The
sophisticated security system began to beep. He went to the DVD cabinet and
felt behind one of the shelves. He turned off the security system and waited
for the beep as the invisible beams deactivated.
He quickly picked up the stuff that had fallen off the
window sill. He put them back at the exact angle. It was a good thing sometimes
that he had OCD. The person he was here to see didn't know they had an
appointment yet and she wasn't here to keep it either. He would just have to
wait. He would have to find somewhere to
hide. The room was plush and comfortable. There were pillows and cushions on the
bed. He ran through and discarded many hiding places.
He lurked in the shadows for half an hour or so. He watched
every tick of his watch. When would she be back? Would he have to threaten
Darren too? He didn't relish separating them. He ran through contingency plans.
He could tie him up. He'd do anything to keep her safe. He'd offer money, jewellery,
thinking it was a robbery. He really
didn't want to do this.
Darren might even offer himself in her place and that would
never do, the whole point of the exercise would be lost. He must treat them
both with kid gloves if they were together, he couldn't afford for either of
them to be hurt. Not at this point anyway.
He'd done all the research. He took the silver framed
photograph off the desk. A happy family. Darren, with his arms around Laurel's
waist and their twins, a boy and a girl behind them. The more he stared the
more uncomfortable he felt. He nearly threw the photograph away from him. He
laid it facedown. Out of sight, out of
mind, yeah right and he was Steven Hawking.
He saw the trophies displayed pride of place in the cabinet and
fingered them pensively. Approach from behind, don't give the target a chance.
Cowardly maybe, but his survival instinct had taken over in full force. He stiffened as he heard a key scrape in the
lock. Someone was back. Time to make sure and if it was her, He moved deeper
into the shadows, it was show time!
Chapter 2
Acquaintance
Laurel Hunter opened the front door, having parked her
Mercedes in the drive. Her shopping bags were over one arm. Darren would
complain jokingly as always, that she'd maxed out his credit card and
bankrupted him. Well he wouldn't be complaining tonight when he saw her in the
new underwear, she'd bought especially for the occasion. She put her bags down
on the black and white chessboard style, tiled hall floor. Her high heels
echoed, clicking as she walked. She knew
from the pain in her feet that her heels would have blistered painfully when
she took them off. How she hated wearing high heels. The most painful method of
torture ever invented.
Her thoughts were elsewhere. Her coffee with Marina had been
interesting. They'd met in the usual coffee shop. Marina had had problems of
course. She always did. Laurel hadn't known what to do. There never was
anything she could do was there? She was looking forward to sitting down and
watching TV. She still had the remains of that bottle of Chardonnay in the
fridge from last night. She put her keys
down on the telephone table, closed the door, kicked off her silver glittery
implements of torture. It was then that she found her coal black tights were
laddered. She preferred trousers to a skirt anyway. She sighed, that was yet
another pair of tights she would have to replace.
"Darren?" she called. No answer. He must be here.
The alarm system was disarmed. She knew it had been activated. She'd set it
herself before leaving. Only she, Darren and the kids knew the codes. The kids
would still be working their various shifts. Maybe he was in the garden. The
BMW wasn't there but that meant nothing. Rueben could have dropped him off, he
would pick up the car tomorrow. They often had liquid lunch business meetings
Darren had been known to come home from these things a little worse for wear.
She would go and get changed. She mounted the black wrought-iron spiral
staircase. Her scarlet painted toenails, sticking out of yet another ladder in
her tights, as her feet sank into the soft cream carpet. She entered the
bedroom with its ornate, gothic-style floor-length mirror.
She took the black slides out of her hair, before she got a
headache, putting them on the dressing table and brushing out her back-length
greying auburn hair. At least the headache had been avoided.
She opened the wardrobe and selected a set of denim
dungarees. There was no one there to see her let her hair down, other than
Darren after all. She took off her snow-white blouse and stood there in her
pristine white bra and knickers, having taken off her skirt and stripped off
her ruined tights, balling them up and getting them into the bin in one shot.
Now was the moment. He walked up behind her and slid a
black-gloved hand slowly, gently, almost tenderly over her mouth. She stiffened
instantly and stood rigid. He lifted her easily off her feet. He laid her on
her back on the bed. He could feel her heartbeat accelerate. He smiled
listening to her fear. She started to struggle. He pressed down. He liked the
feeling of power over her. The smell of her perfume was erotic to him. He
leaned in and sniffed at her neck. Her eyes widened as she stared at his masked
face. She sensed the danger and froze. He had a job to do and this wasn't part
of the brief. With an extreme effort of will, he pulled himself together and
refocused on the job in hand.
"You're not going to scream, if I take my hand away are
you?" he asked almost conversationally.
She shook her head, swallowing down her scream. She could
barely breathe as it was. He took his hand away. She kept her word. What choice
did she have? She took several quick, sharp gasps of air, presumably in case he
changed his mind.
"Take what you want, whatever you want. Just please
don't hurt me" she begged. He laughed hollowly.
"Do as you’re told. Behave and I won't need to hurt
you" he said. She froze. "What time is your husband due home?"
"I don't know. Depends if he has meetings" she
replied, as steadily as she could manage, the slight quaver evident in her
voice.
"Hmm. I could use Plan B, wait for hubby to come home.
What do you think he would do if I asked him nicely and used you as a shield?
Would he be a good boy?" he mused.
She shuddered. She knew exactly what Darren would do. She
could picture the scene now, in graphic detail. He would give this madman
exactly what he wanted, in order to keep her safe. He would lay down his life
for her. But could she face living without him, if it came down to it? She
waited with bated breath as her captor came to a decision.
"Plan B is far too dramatic, Plan A is slightly more
understated, the less obvious the better" he announced.
She found herself suddenly airborne as he picked her up in
his arms. He carried her to the study,
set her down in the leather swing chair and proceeded to thoroughly search the
room. He opened the laptop, which sat closed on the desk. He put in a memory stick
and turned on the computer, pressing keys and a few minutes later, files
started downloading.
"What are you looking for?" Laurel asked. Her tone
was still shaky.
"Where does your husband keep his personal
papers?" he asked.
"The safe" she looked automatically at the Picasso
on the study wall. He felt along the
wall, found the hinge and pulled.
"Put the combination in" he said sharply.
"Why should I?" she demanded. He walked up behind
her, grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back. She winced and bit back
a scream. Her emerald eyes began to water.
"OK OK" he set her on her feet and she wiped her
eyes impatiently with the back of her hand, set the dial. It clicked and
opened. He rifled through the sheets of paper and groaned in frustration. He
lifted her back up.
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