gratifying.
Sometimes, the only way to ease the feelings was to bring them out into the open, to create something physical that could be dealt with. Mary's calf had become a tapestry of all those unwanted emotions: the self-disgust and hatred; the regrets and frustrations. Each one was plain for her to see, and she could look after them now that they were visible.
Clean them carefully, and begin to heal.
She collected the tissues into a ball, wiped up the blood, and then took everything to the kitchen bin. When she walked back through to the front room, her leg was throbbing wonderfully, and it felt like she was walking on air.
Then she saw what was on the television screen.
It was only there for a second - a banner across the bottom of the screen that unfolded away, replaced by a different headline a moment later. But it was enough to make her weak. She collapsed on the settee.
It had said:
VICTIM 'TIED TO BED AND LEFT TO DIE'
Now, it said:
POLICE: POSSIBLE LINKS TO EARLIER KILLINGS
Breaking News.
Mary found the TV remote and turned off the mute option.
'--not in a position to comment on that at this time.'
It was showing a press conference: two policemen in suits were sitting behind a long table draped in white cloth. Microphones sprouted up in front of them.
'Can you confirm that the cause of death was dehydration?' a voice said.
'A full post-mortem is currently being carried out. We hope to know the answer to that question shortly.'
The man who was speaking was in his mid-thirties and impressive-looking. Neat and well-groomed and athletic: the kind of policeman a normal person would trust to solve a crime. But Mary's attention was caught by the other one. He was older - in his forties, Mary guessed - and his face managed to be both kind and unbearably sad at the same time. Whenever a camera flashed, he closed his eyes for too long.
'But you believe the victim was bound and left in her home for some time?'
The younger policeman considered that. 'It is one possibility we're looking into,' he said.
Mary was shaking. Despite everything she'd done, the pit inside had opened up again, and all those black emotions had returned.
The banner changed again:
VICTIM 'TIED TO BED AND LEFT TO DIE'
Something creaked upstairs.
Mary's heart leapt.
Nothing. It's nothing.
The doors and windows were locked. She lifted her feet up onto the settee, wrapped her arms carefully around her knees, and began rocking gently, trying to soothe herself. The words bore out of the television set and she understood exactly what they were intended to be.
A message, addressed directly to her.
You have to tell them.
A part of her wanted to, but at the same time she knew it wouldn't do any good. It never had done, had it? She'd learned enough through her own bitter experiences to know that the police did nothing. Nobody did. All you could rely on was yourself. And yet she was powerless here. The words on the screen had reduced her to nothing: she was a child again, cowering in a corner. Nobody would help her, but it was impossible to believe she could deal with this on her own. How could anyone expect that of her?
You don't know they won't listen, she told herself. He has a kind face. He looks like he cares.
That kind of hope was a dangerous thing. It was better not to reach out at all than have your hand ignored or slapped away.
But it's not just about you. What if he hurts someone else?
She could give no response to that. Who else was going to stop him? She had to tell the police, otherwise she would be at least partly responsible for the next girl he took, and the next.
Mary glanced at the phone on the table, but calling from here was out of the question. She'd worked too hard over the years to preserve her anonymity, and wasn't going to risk being discovered now. The jobs she took, when they weren't volunteer work, were all paid cash in hand, and her real name didn't appear on any utility bill, bank account or rental
Sometimes, the only way to ease the feelings was to bring them out into the open, to create something physical that could be dealt with. Mary's calf had become a tapestry of all those unwanted emotions: the self-disgust and hatred; the regrets and frustrations. Each one was plain for her to see, and she could look after them now that they were visible.
Clean them carefully, and begin to heal.
She collected the tissues into a ball, wiped up the blood, and then took everything to the kitchen bin. When she walked back through to the front room, her leg was throbbing wonderfully, and it felt like she was walking on air.
Then she saw what was on the television screen.
It was only there for a second - a banner across the bottom of the screen that unfolded away, replaced by a different headline a moment later. But it was enough to make her weak. She collapsed on the settee.
It had said:
VICTIM 'TIED TO BED AND LEFT TO DIE'
Now, it said:
POLICE: POSSIBLE LINKS TO EARLIER KILLINGS
Breaking News.
Mary found the TV remote and turned off the mute option.
'--not in a position to comment on that at this time.'
It was showing a press conference: two policemen in suits were sitting behind a long table draped in white cloth. Microphones sprouted up in front of them.
'Can you confirm that the cause of death was dehydration?' a voice said.
'A full post-mortem is currently being carried out. We hope to know the answer to that question shortly.'
The man who was speaking was in his mid-thirties and impressive-looking. Neat and well-groomed and athletic: the kind of policeman a normal person would trust to solve a crime. But Mary's attention was caught by the other one. He was older - in his forties, Mary guessed - and his face managed to be both kind and unbearably sad at the same time. Whenever a camera flashed, he closed his eyes for too long.
'But you believe the victim was bound and left in her home for some time?'
The younger policeman considered that. 'It is one possibility we're looking into,' he said.
Mary was shaking. Despite everything she'd done, the pit inside had opened up again, and all those black emotions had returned.
The banner changed again:
VICTIM 'TIED TO BED AND LEFT TO DIE'
Something creaked upstairs.
Mary's heart leapt.
Nothing. It's nothing.
The doors and windows were locked. She lifted her feet up onto the settee, wrapped her arms carefully around her knees, and began rocking gently, trying to soothe herself. The words bore out of the television set and she understood exactly what they were intended to be.
A message, addressed directly to her.
You have to tell them.
A part of her wanted to, but at the same time she knew it wouldn't do any good. It never had done, had it? She'd learned enough through her own bitter experiences to know that the police did nothing. Nobody did. All you could rely on was yourself. And yet she was powerless here. The words on the screen had reduced her to nothing: she was a child again, cowering in a corner. Nobody would help her, but it was impossible to believe she could deal with this on her own. How could anyone expect that of her?
You don't know they won't listen, she told herself. He has a kind face. He looks like he cares.
That kind of hope was a dangerous thing. It was better not to reach out at all than have your hand ignored or slapped away.
But it's not just about you. What if he hurts someone else?
She could give no response to that. Who else was going to stop him? She had to tell the police, otherwise she would be at least partly responsible for the next girl he took, and the next.
Mary glanced at the phone on the table, but calling from here was out of the question. She'd worked too hard over the years to preserve her anonymity, and wasn't going to risk being discovered now. The jobs she took, when they weren't volunteer work, were all paid cash in hand, and her real name didn't appear on any utility bill, bank account or rental
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