In Servitude: a psychological suspense novel full of twists by Heleen Kist

Author:Heleen Kist [Kist, Heleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pollok Glen Publishing
Published: 2018-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Five

I urged Dave to jump into his van and meet me at the flat, away from Excelsior’s prying eyes; but he was running late for a job.

‘It’s okay,’ I reassured him, ‘It’s over. Don’t worry.’

‘And the money?’

‘You won’t believe it, babe. I’ll explain later, but it’s all good. I’m good.’ With no spies in sight, I grabbed him with both hands and planted a colossal kiss on his lips.

The car key quivered around the ignition slot and I had to steady my hand to motor my escape.

Could this be real?

Could I really be free?

As I drove, it was as if a blanket made of chain mail had been lifted off me, and my vision was adjusting to the light of a bright new sun casting its rays over a fairer land. The recycling centre on the corner was no longer a convenient place for the mob to hide bodies, but instead bore testament to man’s commitment to heal the Earth. The dodgy auto shop’s haphazardly parked cars didn’t block the street out of complete disregard for others but were evidence of the unexpected success of a valiant small business owner, to whom I wished good fortune. The teenager pushing a pram was a dedicated, sensible young mother, who had only just found that sweet-smelling cigarette on the ground and was looking for a bin.

The Panda swayed with grace through bustling scenes of urban activity on my way home. Victoria Street beckoned with an air of plenty, gold gleaming in the pawnbroker’s window and market stalls abundant with blushing ripe mangoes being stroked—not squeezed—by exotic veiled princesses.

Giddy, I thought I would break into song.

I did it, Gi!

She would have been so proud, like when she used watch me play football on Saturday mornings. I could still picture it: Glory wearing school colours in her hair, cheering me on, glowing. The sibling of the only girl on the team, she would join the other kids who had been dragged out of bed to support Perth’s finest. Many of them were older brothers because, although the parents deemed a thriving high school spirit to be important, they would not trade an industrious morning for a mediocre ballgame. Historical roars reverberated in my ears. I remembered how, one day, I’d scored a splendid goal and she hollered my name and jumped up and down with such enthusiasm that she tripped and got caught by a dreamy senior.

I was left smiling at this clumsy-moment memory of my biggest fan, but my cheeks slackened as the grim awareness she had died reared its ugly head. I had bargained my way out of her mess, but this wouldn’t bring her back.

My short-lived euphoria fled as fast as it had come and the rage I’d felt towards her bastard killers these last few days bubbled up again. Rising with it, a heavy dose of shame. Only seconds ago, I had been rejoicing when, in fact, I’d let the fucker get away with killing Glory.

Verbally spitting at jaywalking pedestrians, I swerved into my road and parked my car too close to its neighbour.

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