The Creeper by Tania Carver Page A

had picked her up, made her feel worthwhile, turned her life around. Been there for her when she needed her.
    And thank God for therapy. It had been Suzanne’s idea and she couldn’t thank her enough for it. She hadn’t wanted to go at first but had to admit it was the best thing she had ever done. It gave her a new life, new confidence.
    And a new boyfriend. Not as good-looking as the others but he loved her. She had felt he was different and she was right. She thought she could trust him with the truth so she told him all about her trouble. It was the best thing she had ever done. He said he didn’t care, would love her whatever size she was. And that filled her with something else, so rich and full and nourishing that her hungry heart no longer needed to binge any more.
    But those HobNobs still looked good, though.
    The kettle boiled and Zoe went about making tea in two of Suzanne’s fanciest mugs. A little thing, but hopefully it might help to cheer her up.
    She opened the fridge door, looking for milk.
    And stopped dead, her heart skipping a beat.
    ‘Suzanne . . .’ Her voice was small, wavering. Her heart skipped, a shiver of real dread passed through her. ‘I think . . . can you come here . . .’

    Bitch.
    Fucking Bitch. Why did she have to find it first? It wasn’t for her. It was for Rani. It was all for Rani. The blonde bitch was unworthy of it. Like she was unworthy of everything to do with Rani.
    The snake was writhing and hissing inside him, coiling and uncoiling, baring its fangs, spitting poison. The voice had returned. Whores . . . the whole fucking lot of them . . . whores . . . that’s all they’re good for . . . don’t trust them . . . any of them . . .
    He hated the blonde bitch. Wanted her gone. She’d come between them, she had no future.
    Rani entered the kitchen. The snake calmed itself.
    He watched.
    Listened.
    Hung on her every word, her every action and gesture.
    Spotting the secret ones she made just for him.
    Breathing fast. Excited, because even if the blonde bitch was there, Rani was going to see his present.
    His valentine.

    ‘Oh my God . . .’
    ‘Is . . . is that what . . . what I think it is . . .?’
    Suzanne had taken one look inside the fridge and stumbled backwards. Her legs were shaking, about to collapse beneath her, her heart hammering, thudding against her ribcage. Zoe was still looking, fascinated yet repelled.
    ‘Oh God . . .’ Suzanne’s eyes were screwed tight shut, willing it all to be a dream, herself to be somewhere else, somewhere safe.
    Zoe reached out a hand. Suzanne opened her eyes.
    ‘Don’t touch . . .’
    Zoe turned, stared eyes wide at her friend.
    ‘Please, don’t . . . don’t touch . . .’
    ‘Leave it for the police, you mean?’
    ‘Just, just leave it. Leave it . . .’ Suzanne wanted just to slump down on to a kitchen chair, her head in her hands. Give in. Not hold back any longer. Let those huge, great, wracking sobs out of her body. And tell him: you win. Whoever you are, you win.
    But she didn’t.
    Instead she stood there, felt that heat rise once more, that anger. Clenched her fists. ‘I’m not giving in, you bastard. You hear me? I’m not . . .’
    ‘Suzanne?’ Zoe crossed to her, put her arms round her.
    ‘He’s been here again, Zoe, here . . .’
    ‘Or the police missed it. Bloody useless.’
    Zoe looked at the open fridge door. On the top shelf was a pair of her knickers. With something unmistakeable on them.
    Semen.
    ‘Oh God . . . what a fucking nightmare . . .’
    Zoe held her, said nothing. There was nothing she could find to say.

    The Creeper smiled. Watched. Rani was sitting down, overcome with emotion. Weeping with joy at his present.
    ‘Oh, Rani . . .’
    He felt himself hardening as he stared at her.
    Touching himself.
    Smiling.
    Blonde bitch or not, it couldn’t have gone any better.

    ‘What d’you want to do?’
    ‘I want to find him.’ Suzanne didn’t recognise her own voice. ‘I want to find him,