Watching You Chapters Thirty-One and Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-One

 

The sound of shouting had died away; his pursuers were somewhere below, searching the ramp. But still Withers remained in the shadows, his back against the white casing that housed the CCTV complex. The only voices he could hear now came from inside, agitated and raised. He could see her now through the eerie infra-red picture he received, the heat it generated flushing him more than the humidity of the night air. Main Man came as a dark shadow, looming over her, hands around her face and hair, caressing her. Pacifying one minute, breaking into anger the next. The actions of a deeply disturbed person. He’d never doubted Main Man’s aggressive tendencies one bit, but what had brought him to the building in the first place, and why was he allowed instant access?

There seemed only one reason for that, his proximity to her spoke of a relationship, his actions spoke of a quarrel. And that was what alarmed him most, for all of the dubious wisdom of associating with a man like Main Man, this attractive woman’s welfare was at stake while all he could do was listen to the occasional raised voice.

If it happened now, if his vision were transformed into awful reality, then he would be powerless to help. Nothing he could do to assist.

There was a clicking sound. Withers thought it must be the main door opening, those suspicions being confirmed when he heard it slam shut. Quick footsteps headed down the ramp, their resultant echoes resounding around the car parking area, and inside, the shadow that was Main Man had disappeared from his view.

But the vital point was that she was okay, on this occasion, at any rate. Perplexed and frightened perhaps, but okay.

Withers felt the tiredness and exhaustion that had been building up all night, a fact that his heightened senses had hidden from him. He slid to the ground, raised his knees, and wrapped his arms around them. Down below, he heard shouts, but they were the voices of drunks, not Main Man’s men. Withers took a deep breath, tilted his head towards the heavens. It had stopped raining, the remnants of thunder receding into the distance. The air felt damp and musty, the humidity was just as intense. He glanced at his watch, noted the time, then decided to hang around, bide his time.

***

Kelly sighed, eyed the clock, three-thirty. Mostly now, the streets were quiet, the drunks were gone, just the remains of their disposed food containers blowing about in the wind. Soon, her relief, Clive Patterson would arrive. She could go home, call an end to this hell of a night. Between them, Black and McCain had reduced her nerves to tatters. Now both were gone, and she was thankful for that; yes, even McCain. She’d seen precious little of his Irish charm tonight, and now she thought about it, he’d seemed to have lost his casual Irish brogue. Just what had got into the man?

Kelly felt strangely alone, didn’t have a friend in the world. She wasn’t even sure she could count on McCain at the moment, and certainly now, she was alienated from Joe. Still, she wondered whether he’d be there when she got home, snoring his head off, stinking of alcohol maybe, but there was that lingering anxiety over his whereabouts that wouldn’t go away.

She saw Clive Patterson cycling up the ramp below, grimaced. She hadn’t seen Clive for several days; no doubt he’d fill her in with his train-spotting activities. That wasn’t going to go down well right now, particularly at this time of night. They all seemed to be such enthusiasts, these anorak types, still she could stick fifteen minutes or so, it was no big deal.

Clive ambled in with that uneven stride of his, took off his parka, placed it carefully on the back of the vacant chair. It was a bedraggled old thing that he seemed to wear everywhere, but he treated it with a precious regard.

‘How goes it, Kel …’ He gazed at her through his horn-rim specs. ‘Golly, you look done in, busy night was it?’

Kelly managed a smile. Clive might be a bit of an oddball, but like most of his type, he was observant, ‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ she lied, ‘just the usual prats. We’ve even had a couple larking about on the roof.’

Clive smiled, edged rather than eased himself into the chair, checked the log, glanced at her again. ‘Go on, girl, you be off. You look like you could do with a bit of shut-eye.’

‘Thanks, Clive.’ Kelly rolled her chair away from the desk, got to her feet, relieved at not having Clive ramble on.

‘Oh, by the way, saw McCain again last night.’

‘So what?’ Kelly felt a surge of irritation at the abrupt mention of his name; she guessed she knew what was coming – Clive had been down to the steam railway, passed through the arches, and – ‘Don’t tell me, Clive, you saw him talking to the winos, eh. What’s so bad about that?’

‘Oh, nothing, nothing bad at all.’ Clive shook his head dramatically, hurrying the words out, eyes wide behind his specs. ‘It just seems odd that he associates with …’

‘Yes, well we all do things that seem odd, Clive, don’t we now, if we think about it?’ She stood with her hands on hips, staring down at him, watching him go red, then suddenly, her indignation melted. She sighed. ‘I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘It’s okay.’ Clive shook his head, gave a smile that looked like an embarrassing one. ‘I guess I’m a kid who never grew up.’

‘Aren’t we all.’ Kelly patted him on the shoulder, turned, and headed for the door. Why on earth she’d stood up for McCain after the way he’d behaved that night, she didn’t know.

She opened the door, headed down the ramp, wondered whether Joe would be home. She heard footsteps coming from the rear of the building. Startled, she turned.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Two

 

Kelly saw the slim silhouette cross the porch light, knew instantly who it was, felt her heart stutter, leap, and bound.

‘Wait, we must talk. Please listen … it’s important.’ His voice sounded earnest, almost polite but urgent, not at all the way she thought it to be. But this was where it happened; right here, her nightmare had sprung to life with a frightening reality that she couldn’t forget, even now. She stretched her arms out, raised her hands, and spread her fingers, backed down the ramp slowly towards her car, tried to keep calm. ‘Stay away, keep your distance – the police will be here any minute. I’ll see you banged up for stalking me!’

‘I’m not stalking you – and I’m a policeman – I told you, remember?’ His voice was calm, his hands held low, extended towards her.

‘I didn’t believe you before, and I don’t now. Stay away.’ She backed further down the ramp, almost losing her footing in the countless potholes covering the surface. She recovered, kept her eyes on him as he followed her down. She saw him clearly now, just a few strides from her. Tall and slim, he seemed different in the flesh, respectable even; he could almost be a policeman. But the dark eyes were just as intense; they looked mean in the overhead lighting, an undisguisable defect in what was surely a ploy to gain her confidence.

Her nightmare told her so.

Eyes still fixed on him, she flicked the remote, released the door lock, and slid around the driver’s side. Black stood opposite her on the passenger’s side, his hands on the roof, clasped together. She heard him say, ‘I mean you no harm; please listen to me.’

Listen to what he had to say? How ridiculous was that? Yet despite her pounding heart, she held the driver’s door open, looked into dark eyes that had plagued her so much on the screen, ‘Say what you have to say and then go …’ Her hand trembled on the door, and she almost lost her footing again.

‘Don’t come any closer; you can be seen from here – filmed, remember.’ She wondered whether Clive was alert to what was happening as she tried to meet his stare without flinching.

‘You’re in dire danger; the man who came to the control room tonight is the one who is going to kill you – will kill you if you don’t listen.’

She couldn’t believe her ears, ‘Try to kill me, huh! What kind of crap is that? Is this your lead up to getting your hands on me?’

She saw him puff his cheeks, breathe out deeply. ‘I’m not talking crap … just listen.’ He held his hands above his head. ‘I’m coming no closer than this, okay?’

‘And what makes you so sure that he’s going to kill me, might I ask, your fake police instincts?’

He lowered his face, lowered his voice too, though it carried on the still air, ‘I see things. You might not like it – you won’t understand it, but it’s true – and it’s something that’s been haunting me since …’

‘Haunting you, well, that’s a fine one.’ She was shouting now, shaking, though only partly aware of it. ‘Let me tell you something, Mr fake, supposedly psychic policeman; something’s been haunting me too, haunting my nights, haunting my days …’

She stopped, took her eyes off her living nightmare. Beyond them, the control room door had clicked open. Clive Patterson stared out. ‘What’s going on; is everything alright, Kelly?’

Black was distracted, he turned and followed her gaze, and she seized her chance while she could. Reversing the car rapidly so that the thug staggered, losing his balance, she felt a bump, thought she might have run over his foot, and felt the urge to surge forward, pin his body beneath the wheels. That would have been the sweetest revenge for the hell he’d inflicted on her, but she swung the car around and headed down the ramp, not caring to look at the injuries she’d inflicted on him.

Down the ramp at speed, the spirals encountered with screeching tyres that must be echoing like a musical ping-pong ball around the place. Pulling up a metre from the barriers, releasing them in a fury of blurred fingers, all along expecting Black to pursue her like some injured, disfigured felon. And then speeding out onto the wide road.

Heading for home.

She felt perspiration on her brow. The collar of her blouse was wet with sweat, her breathing swift and shallow. Blessedly the roads were almost void of traffic, and in a few short minutes, she’d be home.

But a question lodged in her mind as her pumping heart slowly relented. Just what damage had Black actually inflicted upon her that her own imagination and nightmares hadn’t conjured up? When he’d stood so close to her tonight, he’d seemed to take no interest in imposing himself upon her. He’d seemed well-spoken and controlled, but of course, it was all an act. His ridiculous assumption that he saw things, just a ploy to lead him towards raping her. Gaining her confidence.

She parked up outside her house. It was all in darkness. The curtains hadn’t been pulled. She didn’t pay much attention to that; her thoughts were on Black and what he’d have her believe.

It was all just a ploy.