‘Alisha! What’s keeping you?’
Rickard’s wife of two years peered out from the walk-in closet with just the right amount of fear in her eyes. ‘I’m making myself nice for you, Luke,’ she said, teasing a blond lock behind an ear, ‘just like you asked.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I… I can’t find anything to wear.’
‘Step out here.’
‘But I’m not ready yet.’
‘I won’t ask again, Alisha.’
Alisha came out of the closet with one arm crooked over her chest.
‘Take your hand away,’ Rickard told her. ‘I didn’t spend thousands of dollars for you to hide yourself from me.’
Alisha allowed her arm to slip away. Unsure of what to do with her hands she toyed with the small bow on the hip of her low-slung Agent Provocateur briefs.
‘There now.’ Rickard smiled up at her from the divan, his eyes lingering on her silicone-augmented breasts. ‘Pretty as a picture, Alisha.’
His wife smiled at him, but it was as false as the moulded smile of a mannequin. Her eyelids fluttered with restrained fear, because she knew what was coming. Rickard patted the bed sheet beside his naked body.
‘Come here.’ He held out a hand.
‘I thought we were going out, Luke.’
‘We’ll go when I say. I had a busy day today and want to relax first.’
Alisha sat on the bed, her bare back to him. Rickard stroked a finger down her spine and he felt her shudder under his touch. Her anticipation could be heard in the quickening of her breath. Rickard’s breath also grew faster.
‘Please, Luke…’
‘It’s OK, Alisha.’ He slipped an arm round her body and cupped one of her breasts. ‘We can go out afterwards.’
He pulled her down quickly, rolling on top of her, holding her down on the bed beneath his body. Snagging a hand in her briefs, he tore the flimsy material aside. He looked at the tears on her cheeks and he shuddered with an anticipation of his own. Her terror was the greatest aphrodisiac he had ever known.
‘What are you afraid of?’ he asked as he pushed into her.
‘Nuh… nuh… nothing…’
Rickard knew she was lying. But that was OK: it was what he wanted. The lie only made the truth all the sweeter.
Rickard had the ability to put fear into the hearts of women. It wasn’t his looks, because his wavy hair, his deep-set blue eyes, and the athletic build of his body, had often proven the opposite effect. It was only when he got close to them that they realised they were in the presence of great danger. Usually at that point they’d come up with an excuse to hurry away from him, casting nervous glances in case he chose to follow.
But Alisha couldn’t run away. She was his wife.
Ordinarily a man like him would forego marriage. But he’d desired something more than any whore or mistress could ever give him. He wanted someone who would be solely his. He’d found Alisha, charmed her, promised her a lifestyle she couldn’t resist. He had married her in order to exercise the very power of ownership over her. That way he could do to her whatever he pleased.
Alisha was right to fear him. He was responsible for the deaths of three women. Not a large number when compared to some more notorious murderers, but enough to be getting on with. It was nothing to the number of men he’d killed, so really it was the wrong sex who seemed as though they could sense his essence. He’d often wondered if he exuded some kind of putrid auric light that only women could see. Many hours he’d spent in front of mirrors, studying his reflection, looking for what they saw. He’d never seen it yet. But he didn’t doubt it was there.
‘Look at me, Alisha.’
Alisha fought to blink the tears off her lashes.
‘Do you see it yet?’
‘No, Luke.’ Alisha cringed under him, knowing what was coming. ‘I don’t see it.’
Rickard knew there was something in him that set him apart from other men. A need, a compulsion, a thirst for blood: whatever this driving force was he could feel it coiling inside his gut like a serpent, and it had been with him since he was a small child. He could feel it worming its way through his body, seeking outlet at every turn.
‘I don’t believe you. You must see it.’ He slapped her across the face. ‘See me, Alisha!’
Alisha cried out. So did Rickard.
Then he rolled away from her.
‘Get cleaned up. And put on some nice clothes. We’re going out and we’re going to celebrate a job well done.’
‘Yes, Luke.’ She got up painfully, then shuffled towards the en-suite bathroom where she closed the door behind her. Rickard lay down on his back and listened to the sobs she tried to conceal with the sound of running water.
Rickard smiled at his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling. He was happy with himself.
People argued about the psychology of men who felt the need to hurt others. How had their urge to destroy come about? Nature or nurture? What if it was neither? Rickard had often asked himself. What if it was both? His nature was to kill, but he’d nurtured his skills to a point where he could do so with impunity.
But he was no raging serial killer.
Any fool could kill.
His mobile phone vibrated on the cabinet next to the bed.
He smiled. Not many fools could make a living from killing and as a measure of his success, Rickard was a very wealthy man.
‘Rickard,’ he said into the phone.
‘That was good work today,’ said the voice at the other end.
‘Thanks. I enjoyed it.’
‘The figure we agreed is in your account.’
‘Yes.’ Rickard had already checked.
‘OK, so Hunter can’t go to the police now. We’ve got him on the run and I want to keep the impetus going. Are you ready for the next part of the plan?’
‘When?’
‘How soon can you be ready?’
Rickard cupped his hand over the phone. He called out to the closed bathroom door, ‘Alisha, honey, take your time in there. Change of plans, I’m afraid. I have to go out alone tonight.’