Chapter 5

Lucy walked to school, the morning sun painting the world in golden hues, but her mind was already on the hockey practice she was dreading that afternoon. Her sports kit was stuffed in her bag, trainers, hockey stick, the usual.

Her pale, slender legs peeked out from beneath her plaid skirt as she approached the school gates. And then she saw him.

“Pervy Ed” sat on his usual bench, his labrador panting beside him, his eyes tracking her like a predator locking onto prey. He grinned as he looked her up and down.

“Morning, Lucy! Hockey today? I wish I could watch you girls practice. They won’t let me in, though. Maybe I’ll come to your next match, huh?”

Lucy mumbled a noncommittal “Yeah, sure,” and quickened her pace, but his voice stopped her.

“Lucy, can you help me?”

She turned, already knowing she wouldn’t refuse. Lucy was a people-pleaser, the kind of girl who couldn’t tell someone like him to fuck off, no matter how much her instincts screamed at her to. Ed knew this. His smirk deepened.

“It’s my phone. I can’t find it. Can you help me look?”

Lucy hesitated, but the words “no” wouldn’t come. “Uh ... where?”

“Under the bench. Can you...?” He gestured, his eyes flicking to her skirt.

She bent over, immediately regretting it as she realized the angle gave him a perfect view up her skirt—a tantalizing glimpse of her thighs, the crease of her buttocks.

“Maybe I can call it,” Ed mused. “Lucy, can I borrow your phone?”

“Uh ... I don’t like giving it out—”

“Just a second...”

Before she could protest, he’d already snatched it from her hands, his fingers swiping and tapping. “Sorry, keep forgetting my number,” he chuckled, though he clearly wasn’t sorry at all.

“What are you doing? Why’s it taking so long?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably.

“Nearly got it ... just calling it ... hold on...”

A full minute ticked by. Lucy’s stomach twisted. “Ed, please—”

“Ah! There it is!” His phone rang from behind a bush, where it had clearly been placed. “Thanks, Lucy. Enjoy your day,” he said, handing her phone back with a yellow-toothed grin.

Lucy walked away, clutching her phone. A cold dread settled in her gut.

What the hell had he just done?

--------- Ed Pembroke whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled to his house, just next to the school.

“Hello, Mother. Time for tea?” he called out.

The frail, dementia-ridden old woman in the armchair turned her milky eyes toward him. “Yes, dear. Will you join me?”.

“No, Mother. I need to go on the computer,” he said dismissively, already turning away.

She let out a faint, disapproving “Ahh, more dirty filth, you,” before her gaze drifted back to the flickering television screen.

Ed snorted, shaking his head as he made his way to his room. His mother was too far gone to understand—too far gone to appreciate—just how clever he was.

He had more than enough from Lucy to work with today. But first, there was another appointment to keep. He pulled out his little black book, fingers tracing the names of his worldwide collection of victims, and the poor girl he would now torture.

Time to play.

Salma Bennani crouched over her desk, clutching her ribs as a tight, suffocating pressure seized her chest. For a moment she genuinely wondered if her heart was giving out. Was this it? Was she going to collapse here, alone in her tiny bedroom?

The wave of pain eased. She gasped, retched, dragged in a shaky breath, and then the tears came, hot, helpless, unstoppable. No, she wasn’t dying. She would have to face him after all.