The Hollow Places by Dean Edwards

Author:Dean Edwards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, serial killer, sea, london, alien, mind control, essex, servant, birmingham

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Firdy held the door and nodded for Sarah to enter before him. Doing so would cause her to brush against him. She’d have to be nearer to him than they had been during the entire journey in the van.

“I won’t bite,” he said and smiled, on the brink of losing his patience. She had no choice but to do as he said so she bit her lip and forced her right foot in front of left and her left foot in front of right. She held her breath as she passed between him and the door frame. The smell of him invaded her nostrils and she gagged.

He’s in my lungs, she thought. He's inside me.

When he crossed the threshold after her, everything in the world lost its balance. His presence – his stench, his skin, his lopsided gait – was vile and terrifying in their private space. They had been safe here once and he was ruining it. It seemed impossible that this was happening. She wanted to scream at him and tell him so; she wanted to throw plates.

He locked them in.

“Now give me your keys,” he said and paused for only a moment before adding: “Give them to me or I’ll take them from you.”

She reached into her jeans and tossed the keys to him. He attempted to catch them with his right hand, but missed by a good way and they clattered at his feet. As he knelt down to retrieve them he didn’t take his eyes from her, as if willing her to take the opportunity to run, knowing that there was nowhere to go now.

She maintained his gaze, although she felt violated.

Crouched on the floor like an imp, the folds of his long black coat gathered like a crushed flower and when he picked up her keys it was with a hiss of leather against the tiles. Rising, he was insect-like, all knees and elbows and thin limbs. She couldn’t help averting her eyes then. She heard him snigger and then he was limping his way towards the living area, pocketing her keys as he went.

“Sit down,” he said. “Be still. Don’t talk.”

She sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, alternately watching Firdy and glancing through the window that looked out onto the drive. It was going to be frightening when Firdy discovered that Simon wasn’t here.

Even as she listened to him securing the front door using the second and third locks, she thought of escape. She knew that a weapon had been taped beneath the breakfast bar, inches from her knees. It would be a knife or a police baton or maybe an escrima sharpened to a point. There were no guns.

If you pull one of these things out, Simon had told her, be prepared to use it.

Firdy was grunting, struggling with one of the locks.

She was prepared to kill him. Escaping was the problem. Each time Firdy hit a pothole or bumped the kerb, she heard the thing in the back scrabble around.

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