in this mess.
**********************
Chapter Eight.
The doorbell rang, and for a second or two Rufus’ heart started racing. He’d barely stopped his heart from racing during the entire previous two days and several times he’d worried he was having an attack. The slightest sound made him jump, and the noise of a car driving past down the street was enough to set his knees shaking. He’d barely slept at all, and those few times he’d drifted off, he wished he hadn’t.
Every time he closed his eyes, a man with breath of garlic and mouthwash was with him, whispering in his ear, and pulling a wire noose tight around his neck, while another was shooting at him with a thousand machine guns. And then at night in the dark, it became a thousand times worse as his new enemies were joined by the dark memories of his childhood and the sound of footsteps creaking on the stairs.
He hadn’t been this frightened since he’d been a young boy, always waiting for his older brother to beat the crap out of him, or worse, the sound of his father’s heavy tread on the stairs. It had been a long time since those days, he’d done his best to put them far behind him, he’d almost forgotten. But now the fear was back and worse than ever. He’d lost the safety of his home and its deadlocks. He didn’t even have his normal refuges to flee to, the school or the hospital. Like a worm flushed out of its hole by heavy rain, he was exposed, lying there out in the sunlight, helpless, waiting to be eaten.
When the doorbell rang for the second time though, he remembered where he was, that no one knew of this place, and he knew that it had to be innocent. There was no way anyone could find him. Besides, bad people, murderers and monsters in the night didn’t ring doorbells. He hoped. Still as he dropped his oily rag on the bench beside the Jaguar, and straightened his overalls, the only clothes he had left since his escape from the hotel, he knew a few more twinges of terror. After all he had no idea who was after him or how many, and he wasn’t completely sure how they’d found him at the hotel.
He couldn’t really be sure of anything. Which was why he kept his hand on the solid steel wrench in his pocket. It was comfortably heavy and he hoped it would make a good impression on someone’s head if the need arose. And he promised himself, if it looked bad, he would hit first and ask questions later. Never again would he let someone slip a cord around his neck.
Rufus made his way in through the house from the garage, he loved the fact that the small beach house had an internal access between the garage and the living room, especially now when people were hunting him. His own house in town only had a carport, and he couldn’t have parked a classic Jaguar there let alone worked on it. That was why he’d rented the lock up.
In the main room, he stopped for a moment by the kitchen bench to take a good look at the front door, which happily had full length glass insets on both sides. The glass was textured which made it difficult to see anything clearly on the other side, but still he could see enough to know that his visitor wasn’t a huge Russian with a cannon, or a smaller man with a chain, or even someone holding a machinegun. It wasn’t a policeman either. She was a woman and by the looks of things she was holding a cake tin. That seemed odd, but at least not threatening.
Wiping his hand on his overalls first, he didn’t want to mess up Kirby’s house, it wasn’t the most well decorated house in the world but the man would never stop complaining if he left a single mark, he walked the rest of the way through the lounge and opened the front door. Then he just stood there, dumbstruck.
The woman was gorgeous, a vision of loveliness, a dream in the flesh. Dressed in something summery and colourful that swished around a little in the breeze, she was soft and blond and willowy with
**********************
Chapter Eight.
The doorbell rang, and for a second or two Rufus’ heart started racing. He’d barely stopped his heart from racing during the entire previous two days and several times he’d worried he was having an attack. The slightest sound made him jump, and the noise of a car driving past down the street was enough to set his knees shaking. He’d barely slept at all, and those few times he’d drifted off, he wished he hadn’t.
Every time he closed his eyes, a man with breath of garlic and mouthwash was with him, whispering in his ear, and pulling a wire noose tight around his neck, while another was shooting at him with a thousand machine guns. And then at night in the dark, it became a thousand times worse as his new enemies were joined by the dark memories of his childhood and the sound of footsteps creaking on the stairs.
He hadn’t been this frightened since he’d been a young boy, always waiting for his older brother to beat the crap out of him, or worse, the sound of his father’s heavy tread on the stairs. It had been a long time since those days, he’d done his best to put them far behind him, he’d almost forgotten. But now the fear was back and worse than ever. He’d lost the safety of his home and its deadlocks. He didn’t even have his normal refuges to flee to, the school or the hospital. Like a worm flushed out of its hole by heavy rain, he was exposed, lying there out in the sunlight, helpless, waiting to be eaten.
When the doorbell rang for the second time though, he remembered where he was, that no one knew of this place, and he knew that it had to be innocent. There was no way anyone could find him. Besides, bad people, murderers and monsters in the night didn’t ring doorbells. He hoped. Still as he dropped his oily rag on the bench beside the Jaguar, and straightened his overalls, the only clothes he had left since his escape from the hotel, he knew a few more twinges of terror. After all he had no idea who was after him or how many, and he wasn’t completely sure how they’d found him at the hotel.
He couldn’t really be sure of anything. Which was why he kept his hand on the solid steel wrench in his pocket. It was comfortably heavy and he hoped it would make a good impression on someone’s head if the need arose. And he promised himself, if it looked bad, he would hit first and ask questions later. Never again would he let someone slip a cord around his neck.
Rufus made his way in through the house from the garage, he loved the fact that the small beach house had an internal access between the garage and the living room, especially now when people were hunting him. His own house in town only had a carport, and he couldn’t have parked a classic Jaguar there let alone worked on it. That was why he’d rented the lock up.
In the main room, he stopped for a moment by the kitchen bench to take a good look at the front door, which happily had full length glass insets on both sides. The glass was textured which made it difficult to see anything clearly on the other side, but still he could see enough to know that his visitor wasn’t a huge Russian with a cannon, or a smaller man with a chain, or even someone holding a machinegun. It wasn’t a policeman either. She was a woman and by the looks of things she was holding a cake tin. That seemed odd, but at least not threatening.
Wiping his hand on his overalls first, he didn’t want to mess up Kirby’s house, it wasn’t the most well decorated house in the world but the man would never stop complaining if he left a single mark, he walked the rest of the way through the lounge and opened the front door. Then he just stood there, dumbstruck.
The woman was gorgeous, a vision of loveliness, a dream in the flesh. Dressed in something summery and colourful that swished around a little in the breeze, she was soft and blond and willowy with
Similar Books
