There’s a door to my right and it leads to a

  corridor.

  I take stealthy steps through the corridor,

  careful that my footsteps don’t echo. There’s

  water running through the pipes that run

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  along the ceiling and top of the walls. The

  wind outside is vicious as it pushes against the

  building making the windows and the frames

  creak and whistle. I stare straight down the

  corridor, the bleakness and the fading lights

  complement each other eerily.

  I walk until I see blue double doors with thin

  rectangular windows looking into a dim area. I

  push one door open and step into the room.

  The room has lots of doors; some look like

  massive freezer doors. I go over to a sliding

  door and open it. I look in to see bodies. I

  step back and close the door. I feel bile

  coming up my throat but I am able to swallow

  it back down.

  Something drops in another room and a deep

  voice calls out: “Hello?”

  I do not reply. I look around to see where I

  can hide. There isn’t anywhere except behind

  a bed covered by a white cloth. There’s a body

  under the cloth but I have to hide.

  I run towards the bed and duck down behind

  it with my feet behind the wheels of the bed.

  I crane my neck to try to see what’s

  happening. Another set of double doors

  opens and out steps a thick-set chap.

  His skin is black with darker freckles on his

  cheek bones. He wears a dark long sleeved t-

  shirt, and white latex gloves.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” He grumbles.

  He walks back into the double doors and

  disappears.

  I stay in my position for a moment and stare

  at the doors. I look to the window and see the

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  silhouette of his head behind the door with

  his breath misting up the glass.

  He steps away from the door and I stand up

  from behind the bed. I go to the door and

  peek through the door.

  As I attempt to look through the window, I

  see the reflection of my own face which

  makes me jump. I slowly push the right flap

  open. I let the flap go which slaps with the

  other side of the door. I walk slowly as I enter

  a completely white room with three inbuilt

  metal beds in the middle of the floor. The bed

  in the centre has a body lying on it. There’s a

  short rectangular trolley like a set of drawers

  containing equipment such as knives, blades

  and spatulas. As I approach the body, I’m

  astonished to see a blonde woman whose

  chest has been cut open; starting from the

  bottom of her neck down to the bottom of

  her nonexistent breasts.

  Her skin colour nearly matches the wall

  colour, her blonde hair looks recently

  straightened and her red insides have specks

  of black.

  “Humans should be respected.” The deep

  voice sounds from behind me. “Even when

  they are dead, their bodies should be

  respected. Whoever forced them here should

  be the one here on this bed; it would make my

  job much better. I would like to deal with

  criminals and make them pay.”

  I turn around warily and look up to the black

  man’s face. His expression changes as I speak.

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  “Hi I’m Ryan Milligan and I could really do

  with some help…”

  “I know who you are, get away from me!” he

  shouts.

  “I’m sorry?” I ask confused.

  “Get out of here now, you have no business

  here.”

  “Are you Don?”

  “I think you know who I am, you bastard.”

  “I don’t know what…”

  “Get out!” Don shouts as he clenches his fist.

  “Don? You need to calm down…”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down you fucker!”

  Don bellows as he charges towards me with

  his fists raised.

  I stand up straight and await the impact that I

  am about to receive. Don reaches for me and

  as he does, I grab his shirt, trying to throw

  him aside. He grabs my arms tightly. I lose

  grip on his top and he throws me into the

  trolley which topples over, scattering

  equipment across the floor.

  As I attempt to stand, Don grips me by my

  jacket and pulls me up off the ground and

  punches me in the stomach. It knocks the

  breath from me and I collapse but he holds

  me up and punches me again. The punch

  makes me feel as if something is lodged in my

  throat and stomach. I try to catch my breath

  but I can’t. Don holds me up, continuing to

  punch me in the stomach, head, face and

  nose. He then knees me in the chest and

  pushes me away. I fall to the floor. I cover my

  head as he stamps on me. He stamps on my

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  arms protecting my head; he kicks me

  repeatedly in the chest and stomach and then

  kicks me in the privates. I let out a cry and

  curl up on my side; he turns me from my side

  to my back and kneels over me. Then he

  places his huge hands to my neck and begins

  to squeeze.

  I panic, my breathing rapidly speeds up; my

  throat feels numb. As I look into his eyes, he

  has no remorse, he is prepared to kill me and

  dispose of my body.

  I look around me and spot a sharp object

  which looks like a knife. I look back to his

  face and he still waits above me. I reach for

  the blade, but it is too far away from me. As

  my sight begins to darken, I lift my knee up

  and smash him in the back. His grip around

  my neck loosens and I push him over,

  overbalancing him. He sprawls away from me

  and I kick him in the face. I feel his nose click

  under the sole of my shoe and I see speckles

  of blood on the floor.

  Letting my leg drop, his nose is pouring with

  blood. I reach for the blade, grip it in my hand

  and turn to Don. I point the knife at Don and

  stand up.

  “I’m looking for someone called Liam

  Graynnil or someone called Mr S, can you

  help me?”

  Don stares at me with no expression on his

  face.

  “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”

  “I bet you would.” Don replies.

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  “Who is Liam Graynnil and Mr S?” I ask

  again.

  “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

  “Yes I am and I want an answer right now.”

  Don smiles at me. He looks to the floor and

  pauses. His shoulders begin to shake. He

  looks back up to me and laughs hysterically,

  revealing his blood-smeared, yellow teeth.

  “Nice try, Mr Graynnil.”

  I look behind me but nobody is there.

  “Who’s Liam Graynnil?”

  Don pauses and begins to stand up.

  “You,” he whispers.

  I look at him, he’s serious. He looks at me

  with a blank expression and then swings for

  me with his huge fist; I dodge him and run at

  him. As I push his chest, he stumbles

  backwards and I slice his throat with the

  blade. Blood spurts from his neck, it pumps

  onto his green t-shirt. Don stumbles and leans

  on the bed holding the woman. As he leans

  on it, I walk up to him. Don turns around and

  pushes himself off the bed, I stab him

  multiple times in the stomach and in the chest

  until he falls onto the ground and is no longer

  breathing.

  I stare at Don’s body for a moment, still

  holding the knife. The blunt handle digs into

  my skin as I squeeze. Realisation kicks in.

  Guilt fills my mind. My grip on the knife

  strengthens by the second until I let it drop

  onto the floor. The noise is minute. The room

  falls silent.

  187

  I walk over to Don’s body keeping the

  churning vomit down, and sit him upright. I

  place my arms under his and try and get him

  up onto his feet.

  I cannot lift him. He’s a lot bigger than me

  and it is impossible to pick him up. I drop

  him back onto the floor and pick up the knife

  and put it in my jacket pocket.

  What can I do with his body? I can’t move

  him. I could probably barely drag him along

  the floor.

  I need to leave, I need to get out of here and

  find Shola and end this once and for all.

  I walk away back through the corridor, out of

  the entrance and outside.

  As I stand outside and look into the sky; the

  clouds have increased. The greyness has

  darkened to night. Down the road, lights are

  approaching.

  Shit, what should I do?

  I look around me. Mulberry Lane is that way

  somewhere, so I run toward the woodland

  and barge my way past the branches and

  through the woodland.

  The ground is uneven making it difficult to

  run. I hear tip-tap sounds surrounding me.

  The sounds begin to come more rapid until I

  can feel it; it’s raining, really chucking down

  now. The leaves stop the rain for a moment

  but the sound of the first few drops merge

  into the sound of the deluge soaking the

  leaves and trees. Running ahead of me are

  rivers of water dropping down onto the

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  already damp mud making it difficult to keep

  my footing.

  I run, ignoring the rain until I hear thunder

  roar in the skies above me. The roar ripples

  across the sky, vibrates the ground and my ear

  drums. As the thunder fades away, the only

  sound I hear are my feet in the mud and

  leaves until another roar ripples across the

  skies above me.

  I reach the end of the woodland and not far

  from Mulberry Lane. As I look at the roads,

  there are no cars, there are no pedestrians.

  There is nobody outside.

  I need to be wary, now is a chance for Shola

  to try and kill me.

  I run along the pavement, stamping through

  the rivers forming on the road and pavement.

  Finally I see it, the road sign for Mulberry

  Lane. I turn left and run to my path. I run up

  it, the usual crunching sound disappears and is

  now a solid squelch at each step I take.

  I run around the back and go inside. I keep

  my shoes and jacket on even though both are

  covered in blood. I walk in through the

  destroyed bottom floor and run up stairs.

  I get into my room, pull out my whiskey

  bottle and swig from the bottle. Don is in my

  mind. His black pupils and black irises; his

  black skin smothered in blood and his slit

  open neck. It makes me feel sick but I swig

  from the bottle.

  What did he mean by I’m Liam Graynnil? I

  know that I am not Liam Graynnil, I’ve never

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  heard of him I’ve never seen a book by him

  so whoever he is, is a mystery. But for Don to

  say I am him is really odd, it makes no sense

  at all.

  I swig more from the whiskey bottle, trying

  to block out my recurring image of Don’s

  body. I feel light-headed, I haven’t had much,

  but then again I haven’t eaten very well

  recently. I twist the lid back onto the whiskey

  bottle and leave it on the side of my bed. I

  unzip my jacket and kick off my shoes…

  190

  Confrontation

  I open my eyes, sit up fast and take a deep

  breath. I had a nightmare but I have no

  recollection of it. I expect it was about Tanya

  and the kids if I did have one.

  As I stare into space trying to remember my

  dream, I see my laptop open on a word

  document; the document is my version of

  Killing for Your Love.

  The word document has been scrolled to the

  end of the file. I read the page it has been left

  on…

  The End

  Continued:

  The park here will be a death scene within a few

  hours. The storm has erupted, the rain pours

  down ferociously. The thunder and lightning

  complement each other’s strength and power,

  and the swing chains around the beautiful

  woman’s neck hang her up like a jacket on a

  hook. Her bare feet hang loosely as do her hands

  and fingertips.

  The rain lands on her burgundy hair and slides

  down her smooth skin; down her soft neck to her

  shoulders or straight down her chest to her legs

  to drip onto the ground from her fingertips or

  toenails.

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  I look at her lifeless body hanging here in the

  chains on this red metal frame, in the public for

  everyone to see when they wake up in the

  morning.

  The chains are embedded in her neck. Blood

  escaped her throat and dribbled down to her

  chest. Deep purple with flecks of blackness

  envelops her neck; decorating patterns around

  the tight chains.

  Why? Because I can.

  It’s a sacrifice, women are cruel and bitter.

  There was a time that men were dominant and

  the women acknowledged that but now they

  want ‘equality’. They want to be equal but they

  never will be because men are superior. This is

  an act of strength and domination to men and a

  warning to all women, especially Lizzie who left

  me and took my kids, she will pay and the

  killings will continue for as long as I am alive

  and for as long as women try to become equal to

  men.

  I stare at my laptop, when was this written? I

  have not looked at this file for a while but

  even so, someone has come upstairs, turned it

  on, gone onto the Killing for Your Love Word

  document and left it on the last page for me

  to read. Why didn’t they just kill me? It must

  be Shola. It is someone living on Mulberry

  Lane it must be someone who has easy

  access… My mind expands, my thought

  changes, maybe it isn’t Shola. Maybe it is one

  of the Cann’s, they have a key, they have easy

  access and they have all this time. Surely not

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  though, surely Simon wouldn’t do this and

  Sandra most certainly wouldn’t. Surely?

  I don’t know who I can trust; the answer is

  nobody, not one person.

  I walk downstairs and hear the rain outside. I

  think for a moment, rain, thunder and

  lightning, the park. Is that last part set at the

  park around the corner from here?

  I look outside and see flashing blue lights in

  the distance through the tree line that covers

  the park.

  “No way.” I say out loud

  I go and put my jacket and shoes on and run

  outside.

  The blue lights aren’t too far in the distance

  which must mean one thing. What I read

  must have been written in pretty much real

  time.

  I go to the end of Mulberry Lane and look

  ahead to see police cars and ambulances

  surrounding the park.

  I walk over to the park and see the crowds

  surrounding the blue police lines around the

  park. The rain continues to pour down, the

  photographers’ cameras flash in sync with the

  lightning. I look to the swings which are

  covered by a white tent. Sam is there. He’s

  wearing a long grey jacket and he’s speaking

  to a group of people. I see him and push

  through the crowds of observers and

  photographers.

  193

  “Sam!” I shout but the thunder mutes me.

  “Sam!” I shout again making him turn around

  towards me.

  “Ryan.” He says as he turns to his group to

  finish speaking. Then he strides over to me.

  “What’s happened here?” I ask him.

  “Someone has been hung by the swing

  chains, another victim but the weird thing is;

  she’s got brown hair.”

  “Oh right.” This must be the same murder

  like written after the end of my book.

  “Yeah she’s been hung, but we don’t know

  why.”

  I stare at Sam, feeling sick.

  “Ryan?” I hear Sam ask me, his voice echoing

  inside my mind. “Ryan?” He says again.

  I look up to the field by the trees and see

  someone staring at the park from the trees.

  “Sam I have to go.”

  “Are you okay Ryan? You do know you don’t