Twigs, sticks, gravel and various other things she couldn’t see in the dark poked into the soles of Samantha’s feet as she ran. She had left the torch behind the rubbish bin, but it didn’t matter – there was no time to go back for it, and even if she could see what she was treading on, it wouldn’t slow her down. This was her kill as much as it was his – her victim, her plan – and she wasn’t about to miss it because a few creepy-crawlies chose to roam the woods at night. She crouched behind a tree and waited.
When Lorna woke up in a car in Woodland Park, she thought she must’ve fallen asleep. Bill had found her, put her into the car and driven her here. He’d even been so kind as to leave the heater running for God knew how long so she could dry off – very un-Bill like. She turned to thank him and her head throbbed; the heat was giving her a migraine.
‘Hey Babe, do you think we could have the heating off now? My head feels like it’s…’
‘Been hit with a spanner? That’s because it has.’ The Mechanic stopped the scream in Lorna’s throat with his left hand before it had the chance to come out. ‘I’m a bit offended you didn’t recognise me; you’ve been bringing your cars to the garage since I was a lad.’
He stroked her hair with his right hand without his left sacrificing any of its grip.
‘I remember the first time you came in, the way you floated around, flipping back your hair. You winked at me once. Course, I know you wink at everyone, but it lit a torch under me, I can tell you.’ He smiled. It was the smile of a little boy who finally got that train set he’d been begging for for two Christmases. ‘And now you’re here, in my car! He eased the pressure just a little, not wanting her to pass out before he was finished. ‘It’s one thing to pick up slappers, but after a while it’s like drinking water when you’re thirsty for beer; a slapper with airs, now that’s a prize.’
Without the benefit of the interior light, it was almost impossible for Samantha to make out what was going on. For one terrible moment, she thought The Mechanic might have already killed Lorna, but when the driver’s side door opened, she shook her head. Samantha had been going with her father to the council tip once a year since she was five years old. She had waded through broken bikes, cracked coffee percolators, and naked decapitated Barbie dolls, just as excited as her father was at the prospect of finding treasure hidden amongst the refuse of human greed. This was not the council tip. The girls The Mechanic brought here were all dirty and trashy looking, it was true, but he didn’t bring them here to dump them. The Woodland was his home, using it purely to dispose of bodies would be like dropping his pants and shitting in his bed.
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