Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) Page 13

  I hadn’t misbehaved. All I was guilty of was refusing to cooperate while Dad and Annie were making one of their home videos. They were forcing Andrew to do things to me and it wasn’t right. I’d been carted off to the cellar as punishment.

  My most vivid memory of that night was listening to the rats scurrying about. I remember burying my head into the dingy foam mattress on the floor, my hands over my ears, trying to shut out the sound. It was damp and so, so cold. I cried the whole night and didn’t get a wink of sleep.

  I was relieved when my father unlocked the door and called me up into the warm kitchen where he had a mug of hot, sweet tea waiting for me. I was ready to agree to anything—and I had.

  I zipped up my tracksuit top and pulled the front of it over my nose and mouth like I'd seen the plumber do. The icy, damp air hit me first. I felt around for the light switch and found a pull string.

  There was one measly bulb that didn't light up much except for a circle in the centre of the room. It reminded me of a spotlight on a stage.

  The cold chilled me to the bone. I shuddered and almost changed my mind, but instead I forced myself to step down each wooden rung until I reached the bottom.

  The ground was a mixture of cobbles and dirt, plus a couple of concrete areas. It gave me the creeps. I wondered what was buried under there.

  A huge boiler stood against the back wall next to the sink, and the door to a cupboard underneath was wide open—probably left that way by the plumber. It was empty except for an old plastic ice cream container plus a large spanner and screwdriver.

  A hose pipe lay on the ground all tangled and knotted. And the large metal grid in the middle of the room was no doubt connected to the drains.

  Bending over the grid, I sniffed to see if the stench was worse down there. I gagged and twirled round, making it to the sink before throwing up. I retched on nothing but the glass of water I'd had this morning. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I pulled my top over my mouth and nose again.

  Yet the plumber had been right—the stink, although terrible, wasn't coming from the drain.

  The furthest part of the room was very dark. I stood still for a few minutes, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

  After a short while I could make out a built-in cupboard with a double door. I walked over and tried to open it, but it was shut tight and wouldn't budge.

  I made my way back to the sink and got the tools I’d seen earlier. The flat head screwdriver fitted into the gap. I jimmied it, making the gap bigger and jammed the spanner in. Within a couple of seconds, the door gave.

  I stepped backwards, my eyes searching into the cupboard. The smell, if possible, was now even worse.

  Our eyes met.

  I heard a blood-curdling scream just before he jumped out at me.

  All the air left my lungs as Dennis knocked me backwards, landing on top of me. I was pinned to the cold, wet floor.

  I began lashing out at him, the screams still assaulted my ears. The awful stench overloaded my senses. I couldn't think straight.

  I managed to escape from underneath him somehow, but the screaming continued.

  I needed to stop the screaming.

  I lashed out. Blow after blow rained down on his head. His face was no longer familiar to me, but still that awful noise continued. My arms were covered in blood and fuck only knows what else.

  The tools made wet, squelching sounds as they disappeared time after time into the grotesque mess.

  I was exhausted, unable move another inch. The screams, although much quieter, still continued which puzzled me. There was no face now. How could he make that sound?

  I realised, the screams were my own.

  Chapter 20

  Michael

  "This won't work, Michael. They need to go back home to their mother," Toni said, kneeling on the floor at the side of the sofa, scrubbing at blackcurrant stains on the cream fabric and beige carpet.

  He'd left her in this exact same position half an hour ago before he'd taken the kids to the day-care.

  "This place isn't geared up for children. It’s not their fault, I know but …" she whined.

  "You begged me to move in only two days ago, Toni. Now you're telling me to leave?"

  "No, I want you to stay, but there's no room for your kids.” She stopped what she was doing and lifted her head to look at him. “Honestly, Michael, I'm not being horrible but this is not what I meant when I suggested you move in."

  "How can I send them back, Toni? Amanda's unstable." He sat down on the sofa and pulled her into his arms. "Come on, babe, it's not forever, I promise. They can go home as soon the police find Amanda's dad and I know the kids will be safe."

  "What if they never find him? What then, hey? I'm not Mummy material, Michael. I'm sorry but if I’d wanted to share my home with a load of rug-rats, I’d have had my own."

  "A few more days, that's all. I'll sort it." He stroked the edges of her breasts with the flat of his hands. Her breath caught in her throat and her body relaxed against him.

  Holding her chin he lifted her face to his, gazing into her fiery green eyes, he kissed her deeply. He teased his tongue in and out of her mouth with gentle flicks that he knew drove her crazy.

  Toni pushed back from him, shrugging out of the white lace blouse, and then unclasped her wine-coloured bra. She took the lead as always, pulling him to her, and in a flash he was lying on the floor with her straddling him.

  Her generous breasts swung to and fro. A mass of red curls hung down over her shoulders like fine tassels—threatening to conceal the delicious coral-coloured peaks, but not quite. He couldn't tear his eyes away—they were exquisite.

  She undid his belt and pulled his penis out from the top of his briefs before moving to kneel on the floor beside him. Then she placed her mouth around his cock, sucking and slurping for all she was worth.

  He turned her around so she was kneeling above him, once again giving him a perfect view of her tits, jiggling from side to side. With one hand, he groped at them, roughly pulling at her nipples with his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he lifted up her skirt, exposing her large, milky white buttocks. He was delighted to find she wasn't wearing any panties.

  He stroked and kneaded the ample flesh, then raised his hand. He brought it back down with a sharp, stinging slap.

  Toni squealed.

  He felt her teeth graze along the length of his penis as she jumped from the contact. A large red handprint appeared before his eyes in the centre of her curvaceous rump.

  He began stroking the raised welt tenderly before—WHAM! This time, his palm connected with her lower buttocks as well as the delicate, reddish pink folds of skin in-between.

  Toni's cries were louder now, but she moved to make the contact easier for him. THWAAAP! His palm stung and his fingers throbbed and burned. Encouraged by her cries, his fingers parted the folds of skin and pushed deeply into her, twisting and thrusting.

  He needed to regain control—wanted her to know he was in charge, so he flipped her onto her back and raised her legs, putting her ankles onto his shoulders. He positioned himself for maximum penetration before burying himself into her.

  Spent, they lay on the rug in front of the gas fire. Toni wore his grey T-shirt and was curled on her side. He admired her shapely, porcelain-white legs that were much more voluptuous than Amanda's. Her behind, probably her best feature, had a lovely rosy tinge. He felt the stirrings of his erection again, and knew she would be game—she was amazing.

  But he had to collect the children.

  After a quick shower, he ran back through to the living room. "I’m going now, babe. I won't be long."

  She still lay in the same position in front of the fire and she ignored him.

  "Oh, for God's sake, Toni, what's wrong now?"

  "I hate it when you go."

  "I'll be back in a few minutes." He knelt down beside her. "Go and get some clothes on," he said, patting her firm, round and very pink bottom.

  "Yes
, I know, you'll be back that’s the problem. You’ll have those brats with you."

  He sat back onto his haunches and grabbed her face, viciously turning her to look at him. "Don't you ever call them brats again," he said through gritted teeth.

  Her eyes widened in panic as his fingers squeezed her cheeks so hard he could feel her teeth through the skin. "They are my children and we come as a package, so you either like it or fucking lump it. Now go and get dressed."

  He let go of her face with a shove and she let out a cry as the back of her head hit the floor. He felt a twinge of guilt as silent tears ran down her cheeks. But he needed to start this on his terms. If he'd wanted an awkward, tetchy bitch he'd have stayed with Amanda.

  Toni avoided him for the rest of the day which pissed Michael off all the more. He tried to include her with the children, but she wasn't interested.

  She’s too touchy for her own fucking good that one, he thought. It wasn’t as if he’d hit her. Most men he knew would have given her a backhander for disrespecting his kids like that.

  After dinner, he showered the children and got them ready for bed. They didn't cry at bedtime like they had the night before which was a relief. After reading them a story, he kissed them both goodnight.

  He had no idea what he was going to do next. He’d made a mistake bringing them here, he knew that now. But he hadn't thought it would be a problem since he'd intended moving in with Toni anyway. She’d always been great with the kids whenever they’d met up in the park. How wrong he had been.

  His thoughts turned to Amanda. He'd half expected her to turn up at day-care today and he'd even warned the staff not to allow her to take the children. Although he felt a bit of a shit for spreading rumours that she was involved in the death of the wino, what else could he do?

  He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine from the already opened bottle. Toni hadn't poured him one which proved she was still sulking.

  Picking up the phone, he dialled his home number. It rang several times until the answer-machine picked up.

  "Hi, Amanda, it's me … Are you there? Pick up …"

  Toni walked into the kitchen, looking at him with narrowed eyes and shaking her head.

  He turned his back to her and continued. "I thought I'd let you know the children are okay—missing you, of course, but okay. I was thinking, maybe I should move back home for a while until all this blows over. What do you think? Call me on my mobile." He hung up.

  Toni opened her mouth as though to protest, but he put his finger onto her lips. "It's for the best, Toni. This isn't working out."

  "So you're just going to run home to … to her?" She was shaking her head in bewilderment.

  "For now. I need what's best for the kids and you obviously need your own space."

  "Not from you, Michael. I love you," she said, in the childlike voice he had always found adorable before.

  "Anyway, she may not want me to, but the kids can tell there's something wrong with us. Plus they have to share a bed, which isn't ideal. I should have thought this through before taking them from their home."

  "You can't take them there now. They're fast asleep."

  "They can stay where they are for tonight. I'll get them out of your hair first thing in the morning."

  It niggled at him that Amanda wasn't home. He thought that maybe she was at the Kingsley house. He tried her mobile number which went straight to voicemail. It suddenly occurred to him that she might have been charged. He felt awful for ratting on her to the police—he didn’t really think Amanda had anything to do with the murder. He called the station.

  They transferred Michael's call several times before he finally reached Detective Stanley.

  "Hi, Detective, it’s Michael, Amanda's h—"

  "Yes, Michael, what can I do for you?" he interrupted.

  Michael thought he detected a hostile tone to the Detective's voice, but he proceeded anyway. "I just wondered how my wife is. I haven't heard from her all day, and she's not answering her phone. Is she still in custody?"

  "No, she was released last night. Her car broke down and I said I'd help her with it today, but I haven’t heard from her. I'll call in on my way home tonight."

  "I'm going over there now. What if he's got to her?" Michael said, running a jerky hand through his hair.

  "Who?"

  "Her fucking crazy father, that's who!" Michael snapped.

  "You seemed convinced she was the crazy one yesterday Michael, and that her father was also dead."

  "Maybe I was a bit hasty saying those things. I'll go to the house now and call you from there. Do you have a direct number I can get you on?"

  Chapter 21

  Adam

  After hanging up the phone, Adam sat for a few minutes, pondering. He felt bad for not checking on Amanda earlier, but things had been hectic since last night.

  Brian Crosby hadn't been much help. He was obviously keeping something from them, yet he'd refused to cooperate. They kept hold of him as long as they could, but in the end they had no choice but to release him.

  He thought back to the person in Amanda’s garden last night and jumped to his feet, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and ran out of the door.

  Michael's car was half on, half off the pavement, at an angle. Lights blared throughout the house and the front door stood wide open.

  Adam stepped inside. "Amanda?" he called. "Michael?"

  Walking into the lounge, he heard a series of bangs. Then Michael came tearing down the stairs taking four steps at a time. "Oh, it's you. I thought …"

  "No, sorry—only me. I thought I'd better come over. She's not here then?" Adam asked.

  "No. Everything seems in order though. Her mobile's in the kitchen, which explains why she's not answering. Maybe she's still at work."

  "I checked her car before I left the station, and it's still in the same place."

  Michael sat down on the arm of the sofa, rubbing his hands through his hair.

  "There's something else you should know," Adam said. "When I dropped Amanda off last night, I saw a person hanging about in the garden."

  "What if it was him? Her dad?" Michael said. "What if he's got her?"

  "I had a patrol car driving up and down the street every hour or so. There were no sightings of anybody near the house all night."

  Michael went through to the kitchen. Moments later Adam heard Amanda's voice, "I'm sorry about that, who's speaking please?"

  It took a second for Adam to realise it was the answer-machine. He hurried into the kitchen and listened to the end of the message.

  "So we know she went to meet the plumber—what time was that? Can you tell from the machine?" Adam asked.

  "No, it's an old one. I've been meaning to upgrade it."

  "Do you know the address of the house where she's working?"

  "No."

  "Where's your phonebook?"

  "Hang on." Michael opened a drawer in the kitchen and handed him the yellow pages.

  Adam found the number he was looking for and dialled. Thank God for the plumber, he thought.

  The number went through to a voice mail message giving a mobile number for emergencies. He hung up and dialled again.

  "Jeff speaking."

  "Hi, Jeff. My name is Detective Inspector Stanley. I wonder if you could help me."

  "If I can. What about?"

  "You went to a Kingsley address today where you met Amanda Flynn?"

  "Yes. What about it? If she's complained …"

  "No, nothing like that. We have reason to believe Mrs Flynn is in danger and we need the address."

  "Hold on, I'll get my diary. I thought she was acting strange."

  "In what way, sir?"

  "There was an awful smell coming from the basement—she said it was the drains, but I couldn't find any problems. She screamed at me when I left. She's unhinged that one. A bloody nut job she is, mate. I couldn't wait to get out of there."

  When they reac
hed the Kingsley house, it was in darkness. Adam parked by the kerb.

  "Can't see Amanda being in there—she's scared of the dark," Michael said.

  "We may as well check. We're here now," Adam said as he got out of the car and walked towards the front of the house. It was a very dark night, but he had his police-issue torch.

  He heard the passenger door open and close behind him. Michael had decided to follow.

  Adam walked up the concrete steps and as he tapped at the front door, it swung open. A tingling started at the base of his skull and travelled down his spine.

  Holding his breath against the stench wafting out, and raising his torch, he reached his hand inside and located the light switch. Bright lights flooded the hallway. He heard Michael gasp in surprise, but Adam wasn't sure if it was because of the light or the God-awful smell.

  He pushed the door further open. A handbag sat on the phone stand by the door. Adam pointed. "Do you recognise that bag?"

  Michael nodded. "Yeah, it's Amanda's."

  They looked at each other. Adam banged on the door. "Amanda? Are you in there?"

  Nothing.

  He checked the two front rooms before walking towards the back of the house. Michael kept a good distance between them, his fingers pinching his nose.

  "Police! Is there anybody there?" Adam called again. He was under no illusions what was causing the stink—something or somebody had died. He put his arm across his face. "Amanda?"

  Nothing.

  He reached the kitchen and switched on more lights. The back door and windows were also wide open.

  "She must be here. Amanda would never leave the house open like this, and what the hell is that pong?" Michael stood at the back door, gasping for fresh air.

  "I think you should wait here, Michael. I'll go upstairs."

  "She’ll be okay, won't she?"

  "Just stay here," Adam said. His request was futile–not many men would stay put when a loved one was missing and possibly in danger. But Michael did as he was told.

  As he left the kitchen, he noticed a door in the hallway and pushed it open with his foot, exposing a set of stairs leading downwards. "Amanda?" he called as he started down.