Pam shook her head. ‘I blame it on drugs. They’re like a bloody cancer eating away at society.’
‘Why do people even take the damn things? It’s like paying good money to become a zombie.’
‘I know. Whittacker was an addict.’
‘Don’t remind me of that piece of scum.’
‘I think they should lock druggies up and throw away the key,’ Pam said. ‘Give them one chance at rehab, and that’s it. The trouble with this country is we’re too damn soft. It’s as if they know they can literally get away with murder.’
Bernard yawned and stretched. ‘I wonder whereabouts in Feelham the murders were.’
‘I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.’
Mathew listened to the conversation ping back and forth between his grandparents. He wanted to go back into the cave but was scared he might find more writing on the wall. And the screech of the bats was becoming intolerable in his fragile state.
Pam stood and switched off the telly as a daytime soap came on. ‘I wonder if it’s the same bugger who killed that little girl?’
‘Seems a bit too coincidental for my liking. Three murders in a month, all in the same town.’
‘Let’s hope that’s an end to it.’
‘If the police have got the right man.’
‘You have to wonder, don’t you? It’s not five minutes ago they had Mathew in the station for questioning.’
‘Bloody ridiculous. That boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘Just goes to show what can happen if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘Someone must have seen who put that body in the shed.’
Mathew wanted to ask them if they actually knew he was in the room with them.
Pam hovered by the window. ‘I’ll tell you this much for nothing: there aren’t any safe places anymore. All the worst trouble used to be in the cities, but now…’
‘Can you ring the police?’ Mathew said.
As if noticing him for the first time since the news bulletin, Bernard said, ‘Why’s that, lad?’
‘To check.’
‘On what?’
‘Who they’ve arrested.’
‘They won’t tell us that.’
‘But I need to know whether it’s Jim Bentley.’
Bernard took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘This isn’t the same case as Jodie, Mathew. It’s a different one.’
‘But I know he did it.’
‘Tell you what, let’s wait until your mum gets home and ask her what she thinks.’
Mathew looked at the blank TV screen. The bats screeched from deep within the cave. He imagined their fangs dripping with blood as they scrawled nasty messages on the wall.
‘Would you like a glass of lemonade?’ Pam offered.
Mathew didn’t hear her. The screeching in his head was driving him to despair. Like a symphony of sorrow. ‘Jim Bentley did it,’ he yelled above the sound of the bats.
Bernard stood. ‘Take it easy, lad. It’s all right. Don’t upset yourself.’
Mathew clamped his hands over his ears. A stupid move, considering the bats were actually inside his head.
‘Mathew?’
He sank to his knees as the shrieking reached a crescendo. And then he was back in the cave once more. The bats were flying around him, circling, waiting for an opportunity to strike and drink his blood. The cave was no longer a sanctuary; it was a prison, and no one could protect him now.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dr Dark’s Diary.
Choices, choices, choices. The scourge of the twenty-first century. Everywhere you look, a chaotic jumble of choices designed to confuse you. From energy suppliers to TV packages. Food to phones. Cars to careers. Houses to holidays. And you know what? Most of it is pure unadulterated shite.
So, what’s your poison? Are you a climate change protestor? Part of the extinction rebellion? A friend of the Earth afraid to travel anywhere through fear of the dreaded carbon footprint? Do you go to the gym and live on lettuce leaves because you think it will enrich you with immortal properties? Or do you live in McDonald’s and wave a Big Mac in the face of all those do-gooders who scream abuse at you from their sanctimonious towers?
I think it’s funny the way the authorities promote confusion. Do you think they care whether you snort powder up your nose or stick a needle in your arm? Whether you weigh as much as a dandelion or a baby rhino? They don’t. They’re happy to watch the masses living in constant fear, blaming one another for their condition, while they quietly go about their business of annihilating you by stealth.
Do you think AIDS or Ebola just happened along by chance? The virus world has its own community of scientists working on the next deadly outbreak. Perhaps you think the viruses go to the gym and workout. Pumping up their little virus bodies to make them more resistant to change. If you do, then you probably deserve to die, anyway.
Choices, choices, choices. Is the world now run by Confused.com? Or maybe it’s those stupid meerkats on Compare the Market. And don’t get me started on banks. Holding the world hostage and pretending to be the saviours of the planet.
Here’s a question for you. Have you ever thought about killing someone? I mean, I know it’s hypothetical, and I’m sure you’re a fine upstanding citizen going about your daily business in this brave new Confused.com world. But have you? Maybe you’ve imagined plunging a knife into your partner’s heart just to put an end to an argument once and for all. Or you’ve got a boss who is constantly sniping at you. Making you feel like an insignificant blob of snot. How good would it feel to have ten minutes in a locked room with just you, him, and a loaded shotgun? Would you pull the trigger? I think you would if you could. Give him both barrels and release all that pent-up rage.
From my perspective, there are only two choices I actually care about: to kill or not to kill. Everything else is just superficial nonsense. I eat because I have to, and I drink for the same reason. I go to work because I need money and I get dressed because, well, that’s a pretty obvious one, isn’t it?
So far I’ve killed thirteen times. Unlucky for some, you might say! A healthy number, or unhealthy if you’re a victim, but I plan to kill many more. I have no limitations, other than those of opportunity. It may seem to the layperson that murder is a random act of extreme violence. This is true, but there is so much more to this dark art than meets the eye.
Choosing a victim. The meticulous planning. Watching the target’s movements. Learning all there is to know about the target’s friends and family. Who might pose a threat to the success of the operation? Are there any special worries concerning risk?
You must also be prepared to abort the operation if there is any doubt whatsoever of the outcome. I once spent six months planning an operation, only to find that the intended victim was in the midst of moving house. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was to discover this fact. There wasn’t a for sale board outside the house. Nothing to suggest the coming upheaval. A massive part of me wanted to continue, but the practicalities of following the target all the way to Leicestershire made it impossible to do so.
For those of you who say there are no certainties in life, I’m inclined to agree. It’s like perfection – impossible to attain. But you can get close. Maybe ninety-nine percent. The other one percent? You just have to leave that up to fate.