stalking by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub

9

* * *

The recounting of the horror to Brady had finally reduced Ellen to tears, and if Brady were honest with himself, it was only his attempts to console the woman that stopped him crying himself.

She had spoken slowly, and at times with a confusion and an incoherence that Brady could both understand and sympathize with. It had left him a little dizzy, slightly unsure of some of the sequences and events. More importantly, it had made him shiver with the familiarity of it; what had happened to Ellen Bancroft had been precisely what had happened to him and his family, from the earlier sense of being watched, monitored, or whatever he chose to call it, to the cold words, 'Kill her. Quickly.'

Those who were not needed could not be left to their own devices, to their sadness. They had to be killed.

And in two cases - and the policeman, Sutherland, had hinted at there being only three incidents that he knew of-in two cases that killing had failed. Ellen had already referred to a weakness in one of the group, and that word, weakness, was a peg on which Brady began to pin a great hope.

'Under the circumstances,' he said, as Ellen finally stopped her silent weeping, and dabbed at her face with a tissue, 'I think a drink is called for. Just one can't do any harm, can it?'

Ellen glanced at him angrily, her eyes red, and sparkling with moisture. 'For Christ's sake, Dan. Don't turn out like Michael. He wouldn't listen to me. He wouldn't do what I said he should do, I beg you. Until you know better, believe that what I say is true . . . don't drink alcohol, in any form, in however small a quantity.'

Brady was impressed by the woman's earnest plea, and the confidence of her words. He nodded quickly, accepting her ruling. 'Coffee, then. Strong coffee.'

'I think I need it. Black. No sugar.'

A few minutes later, when she sipped her drink and stared at the crackling fire, she sketched in the events of the few weeks after the attack on her.

'I couldn't stay in the flat. A friend of mine took care of the selling of it and also helped me find an apartment in London, somewhere out of the way. It was a grotty place, as Michael would have said. Small, dirty, in bad need of decoration, but it was just what I needed. I moved everything I needed into it, and established defences around it . . .'

Brady frowned. 'What sort of defences?'

Ellen made a sniffing motion as she stared at Brady.

Brady grasped her meaning. 'Little piles of ash; smears; funny smelling substances . . .?'

'All part of it, Dan. Psychic defences. How else do you defend against psychic attack? You can't lock doors, or put up barbed wire, or sleep with a double-barrelled shotgun next to you. I turned that little flat into a fortress. Inside it, for a while, I'm safe. Outside, I can be targeted. I'm being targeted now, I'm sure, but it's not close.

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