I SHALL FIND YOU by Ony Bond Page B

killer stopped his car by the lake. As much as he had tried it was hard to stay away. He needed to know if the police or anyone else had been here. The water looked serene under the trees. There was nobody here. He walked to the edge, looked at the calm water. From where he stood he would not even see the bottom. Four bodies in bags lay in that lake. Nobody but him knew a thing. He smiled as he listened to the chirping of birds in the trees. If anyone arrived, he would just act normally. Like someone out here for a walk on a sunny day. He wanted to shout at the police.
    “Come and get me! I’m right here at the place I buried the victims. They’re being kidnapped and killed right under your nose, Chief Detective Martin. And they say you’re clever. I’m much smarter than you.”
    He picked a couple of stones and flung them at the water as he thought of Rose, the girl he disliked the moment he saw her. She was too smart, confident and attractive. He might have liked her had she different hair colour. But those green eyes and ash-blonde hair reminded him of a mother he hated. Whom he still dreamt about. He hadn’t managed to lure Rose yet. Patience paid. He would pretend to her friend. Men noticed her beauty like they did his mother.
    Memories suffused him.
    ***
    He was seven. His mother was on her knees with her short skirt hiked to her waist. She was with another boyfriend again. The boy watched with anger and disgust. His dad was not home working another graveyard shift as usual. Leaving his mother to party. Everyone called her the street prostitute. Different men visited this place. The boy hated and feared her. Sometimes she sent him to get her cold beer from the fridge for her boyfriends, slapped him and cursed if he didn’t move fast enough. How many times had he wanted to be a large strong boy, kick, chase her from the house onto the streets and lock the door? That spineless man she called a husband couldn’t act. He had heard her mother scream and threaten him.
    “Don’t you ever tell me not to go drinking or bringing men home. I’ll do what I want. Shut up, or one of my boyfriends will break your arms. If you ever tell me to stay home, I’ll leave you and your brat. He’s not even yours. Someone else made me pregnant. Fetch me a cold beer, silly man.”
    The boy felt chilled. Those horrible words rang in his ears.
    “I’ll leave you and your brat. He’s not even yours.”
    How could his mother say that? Who was his real father? Someone she had met in a pub, or alley when drunk?
    The man he called dad said nothing, shuffled to the fridge and fetched her a beer. The boy cried himself to sleep, hated them both. His dad always worked nights to escape her boyfriends. What a coward! He would rather hide from the world under guise of night shifts. After that night the man he had thought was his father changed. Shrunk further into himself. Became a shell that said nothing to the boy and woman. He still brought his pay home in an envelope and handed it all to his wife.
    Then it happened.
    One night his mother packed her bags for good.
    “I’m leaving you and that spineless man. Got me a rich geezer in London, who’ll buy me things. Tell that man you call dad I’m not ever coming back to this dump. He mustn’t look for me. If he tries I shall send someone to beat him.”
    The boy asked, “Who is my real dad?”
    “So you heard me speak to that stupid man? I don’t remember the toad that got me pregnant. Can’t even remember him. Just some faceless guy. If I recalled him I’d have slit his throat. I never wanted a child. That’s why I hate you.”
    “I hate you too!” the boy yelled. “One day I shall look for you and kill you. You’re nothing but an evil woman! I hate you! Hate you!”
    “What did you just call me?” she shrieked, leapt at him in those red high heels, slipped and fell on her back. She staggered to her feet. “Where are you?”
    He streaked to his room, closed the door and turned