Stolen Souls

19

THE MAN WHO called himself Billy Crawford removed only the mobile phone and her shoes, a pair of worn trainers that were far too big for her. He winced when he saw the state of her feet, blistered and torn. He left the rest of her clothing in place, even though she was covered in a dead man’s blood. It might be less comfortable for her, but he wished to protect her modesty.

Later, once she had been saved, he could look.

And touch.

And taste.

But not until then. For now, he pulled the blanket up under her chin. He would dispose of the phone later.

He had almost left her at the roadside when she told him what she’d done. The police would surely be searching for her. But she’d seen his face, his van, his number plates. So he could not leave her there, no matter how dangerous she was.

And she was so pretty, like a pale doll.

Now she was safe. Quiet and still, like a good girl.

He brushed the yellow hair away from her face. His finger slipped between her dry lips, pulled them back.

Good teeth.

He smiled and backed toward the door. She’d be under for four or five hours, maybe. He had many things to do between now and then.

The first being to feed the creature upstairs.

He pulled the door closed and turned the key in the lock.