The Voyeur Read online

  “Boys,” she boomed, stirring baked beans as they simmered on the stove. “Dinner is on the table.”

  She placed the food on the table and listened for the plod of their feet on the staircase. “It’s dished up. Come and get it.” She stuck her head out of the door and waited for a reply. A chill caressed her skin, and she rubbed her upper arms. Her hairs stood up on raised goose bumps. Leaving behind the warmth of the kitchen, Josie edged into the hall. She stared ahead, and her thoughts slowed as she tried to process the scene. The boys’ shoes, which had been slung in different directions as they were abandoned earlier, were missing, as were their coats. A scrawled note was stuck to the mirror. ‘We’re playing. Eat later. Mitch and Josh.’ But it was the wide open front door that injected fear into her blood and sent it into her heart in a frenzy. Dinner forgotten, Josie grabbed her jacket, patted the pockets for keys, and shot onto the balcony. She scanned the balcony on her level. There was always someone who watched. In this neighbourhood, you lived under a spotlight regardless of your preference. There were no twitching curtains, and it was unusually quiet. Josie strode towards the lifts. Joshua wouldn’t wander, she knew that for sure. They had a rule. He played in this square and this square only.

  4

  “Stop. Mitch. Wait for me,” Joshua yelled after his playmate as he scooted ahead. “We can’t go far. We’ve got to stay in the square.”

  Mitchell skidded to a standstill.

  “No one tells me what to do. What’s she gonna do about it anyway? Listen, why don’t we play a game? I’m gonna hide. You count to a hundred, chicken. Then come and find me.”

  Joshua wiped the spit that had sprayed his face along with Mitchell’s orders.

  “But you don’t understand…” Josh slowly backed away.

  “Shut it, mummy’s boy.” Mitchell jolted forward and shoved his hand over the scared boy’s eyes. “Close your eyes. One…two, go on, count.”

  Joshua took up the gauntlet with a feeble murmur. “Three…four…five…six.” With gradual movement, he inched his face to the wall and whimpered quietly to himself.

  Mitchell settled down to wait, his mouth etched in a knowing grin. He was good at hiding. In fact, it was the one thing he did well. A fast learner, Mitchell could be as effective as a chameleon if he had to, fading into the background and resurfacing when it was safe to inhabit his life again. He’d had practise, tucking away in the most unlikely of places when necessary. It was Her sweet-sickly voice. That was the only signal he needed to know it was time to vanish.

  “Mitch, baby. Mummy’s home. Where are you? You know I’ll find you.” She’d spit while upheaving the furniture and toppling into the few possessions they still owned. “Mitch, get here now! You don’t wanna know what I’ll do to you when I find you.”

  She was right, of course, so Mitchell would freeze as if the White Queen herself had cursed him, hoping as usual that she’d black out before her search ended.

  Yes, he’d become an expert at hiding.

  Ghostly shadows transformed into everyday objects as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. Mitchell nestled into a corner under a cluttered wooden work surface. A slice of light cut across the room through the door left ajar, a trick he’d learned at a young age. After all, wouldn’t he close the door to his hiding place? His pulse banged in his ear, a base beat to his heavy rhythmic breath. Muffled voices grabbed his attention, and his head jerked in the direction of a hushed giggle at the back of the room. But the grumble and roar from a large cylindrical boiler, in his peripheral vision, swallowed up other noises, and his imagination always got the better of him in these situations.

  Metal chains screeched and ground as the lifts shuddered to a halt. A ting alerted Mitchell to the opening doors. Perhaps Joshua wasn’t such a pussy after all. He’d broken his mum’s rules, but as far as Mitchell was concerned, he’d wasted his time. He’d never find him. This was the best place he’d hidden since climbing in an old case to escape his mother. Mitchell wriggled until his back was flat against the damp cold wall. Keys rattled outside the room, and fingers wrapped around the edge of the door. With each passing second, Mitchell’s confidence deteriorated. His chest, puffed with self-confidence moments before, concaved and tightened around his heavily beating heart. It wasn’t Joshua. Chunky, compact fingers grasped the door as it bounced off the adjacent wall. The solid outline of a shadowed man framed the open space and the stocky shape obscured the light.

  Mitchell held his breath. Each determined step echoed in the silent room as if even the rodents and insects had scattered at the sound. Eyes wide, he studied the heavy boots as the man came to a stop in front of the workspace. Weighty objects and the clang of metal on metal assaulted the silence as they plummeted from the wooden surface. Mitchell wriggled out further on his stomach as the man swung a hammer back and forth and moved towards the back of the room.

  “Charlie, you in here again, with your little sluts?”

  Mitchell stilled, his hands shook, and a scream caught at the back of his throat. Hatred raged in his head. Yet he slithered like a retreating snake towards the open door, desperate to escape from the gruff drool he’d heard. An arm’s length away from freedom, his foot caught on the leg of the work surface. Unable to move in either direction, rigidity claimed his body although his mind screamed for flight. Time slowed as an imbalanced spanner swayed on top of a drill. It toppled with a clang on the concrete floor. Mitchell struggled to his feet, pumped his arms, elbows raised, and made a dash for the stairwell next to the lift.

  “Arrrgh, get your shitty hands off me. You’re hurting me, dickhead.” He fought against the vice like grip on his ankle as he was dragged back through the open doorway until fingers gripped his throat and nails pierced the soft skin of his neck.

  “You just don’t know when to shut your filth-filled mouth, do you little creep? You get that tongue from your mother.” The door closed behind them, stealing the last glimpse of light. “You know what, you shit? I’m going to do you a favour before that tongue of yours gets you into real trouble.”

  “No, get off. No.” Mitchell wriggled like a slippery eel as he was dragged further into the room. In one swift movement, the man pushed him against the cool metal of a filing cabinet and shoved Mitchell’s arm behind his back while he rummaged through a bundle of tools. Mitchell winced as his arm was hitched up further and he was forced to look at his captor.

  “This’ll do the job. Quick and thorough.” Mitchell looked up at the man, mesmerised by the glint of metal in his hands. His heart pumped harder and he wriggled uselessly against the restraint. The last he saw before he squeezed his eyes shut was the man knelt to his side and the sharp edge of the knife nearing his face. The last he felt was his jaw forced open, a violent pinch, a pulsating throb, and an abundant rush of warm metallic liquid filling his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

  5

  Elsie dragged her bulk towards the building one painful step at a time. She didn’t need to see her feet to know they’d swelled to double their original size and adamantly refused to carry her body weight any further. Elsie winced and leant back against the cool metal post that held up a clear false ceiling which jutted out from the double doored entrance on the south side of the Fennick Estate. Rivulets of sweat dripped from Elsie’s hairline. She struggled to raise her fleshy arm to her brow and gulped air into her lungs as if they were her last breaths. Sweat from her forehead glistened on the back of her hand. She glanced around her before wiping the excess down the side of her coat, adding to a few other conspicuous stains.

  A single tear trickled down her cheek. If her mother was still here, she would have told her off for dirtying her coat. But she wasn’t, and Elsie missed her.

  Elsie’s heart quickened at the roar of traffic from the by-pass behind the estate, the squeal of metal on metal as a train slowed on the track, shouts from acquaintances as they passed by on opposite sides of the road. The short journey to the corner shop to restock her dwindling supplies ha
d been her first venture from home for at least three years. During his last house call, the doctor had only put into words what she already knew. Elsie was gradually eating herself into an early grave. How had it happened? She looked down at her shadow in the late afternoon sun. Even in its length, the bulk was evident.

  Elsie shuffled one unsteady foot forward.

  “Oi, watch it. “

  Two giggling girls dressed in short skirts, each with their school blouse bunched up and tied in a knot around their midriff, stopped. The first tilted her head to the side, stretched a length of chewing gum from between her teeth, and wrapped it around her finger. Her friend pushed the button for the lifts before joining her friend.

  “It’s not our fault you take up all the pavement.” She shook her head and directed her attention to her friend. “The state of that. It’s put me off my dinner. I mean how much have you gotta eat a day to look that gross?”

  The second girl met Elsie’s eyes and grinned. Spittle hit Elsie’s face followed by the chewing gum as the lift tinged.

  “You should take the stairs, love. I don’t think the lift can take your weight,” the girl shouted jumping through the closing doors.

  Elsie staggered backwards into the filthy pebble-dashed wall and glanced to her right. For a second, she was tempted to retrace her steps and perch on the graffiti-covered bench at the entrance. Tight ribbons of plastic cut into the palms of her hands from the strain of the shopping bags as she staggered forwards and poked her finger at the upward arrow pointing towards heaven.

  Involuntary tears leaked from her eyes. She dropped a bag, pulled a tissue from up her sleeve, wiped her cheeks and nose, and dropped the tissue on the ground. She knew she’d ventured out too soon. Elsie lowered her head. She was still in mourning. Her mother’s death was still raw. It had come as a shock. In truth, Elsie had tried to be brave and focused on supporting her mother after the attack. Changing roles with her meant she’d become a carer for her precious mother, but the muggers had seen to it that the real damage they’d caused was unseen.

  As her aching joints began to give up all hope of holding her upright, the lift shuddered to a standstill. One ting, and the doors juddered open. A fluorescent light flickered as if on the verge of death, and the internal walls, covered in the red, black, and grey tags of territorial gangs, were less than welcoming.

  Elsie lumbered towards the lift, easing one shopping bag forward with her foot until she reached the open doors. Leaning her back against the door, she jammed her bulk it in place. Bending, she struggled to retrieve the bag and its fallen contents from the floor.

  An expected stench of urine assaulted her airways as she shuffled further into the lift. Momentarily, she cursed herself for not having the forethought to fill her lungs with fresh air before entering. It was then she gagged. She smelt him before she saw him. The foul smell of excretement tinged with a metallic essence contaminated the air, leaving an acidic aftertaste on her tongue and absorbed into her pores.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she gagged once more as she flung her arm between the doors to halt the lift. In the opposite corner, a bulky navy sports bag sat, partially zipped, the canvas damp. Leaning out into the street she scanned the area for help. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she caught a subtle movement from the bag in her peripheral vision. Unsure of what she’d witnessed, she froze and stared, compelled to check for further movement. She edged towards the bag, her pulse pounding in her ears with each step. As she leant closer, the contents of the bag wriggled like a tirade of waves hitting the shore. Elsie held her breath. A sudden vision of a kindle of kittens that had been prepared for drowning tormented her mind. A sudden rush of defiance and anger, directed at monsters who’d torture innocent creatures in such a way, swept over her. Once again, she wiped her sweaty palms down her coat before using the wall as support as she persevered with each painful creak of her joints, ignoring her aching muscles until she hit the cold rough surface of the floor. Cautiously, she edged her great trunk towards the bag, which had stilled.

  Unsure of whether she’d imagined the movement, Elsie tentatively jabbed her pudgy fingers to the side of the bundle. A small squeal escaped her lips as if under attack as the force of movement sent the bag so close it touched her leg. The damp canvas texture grazed her skin, leaving a light brown stain on her skin. Elsie dare not give thought to the content of the stain. Instead, she outstretched a shaking hand and battled with the zip to dislodge something caught and obstructive. With a final tug, the zip opened. She drew back each side of the bag and blindly slipped a hand inside. She flinched and withdrew. Instead of fur, which she’d expected to touch, her hand had grazed skin, cool and delicate skin. She had to remind herself that if it was moving then it was alive. As she peered inside, and her eyes adjusted to the darkness within, she locked stares with a pair of bulbous, terror-filled eyes which leaked tears as they peered out from a blood drenched face.

  Sliding her bulk closer to the entrance, Elsie hit the panel, and the doors responded by attempting to close. It was an hour before the caretaker found her sitting on the floor of the lift, staring at the bag while the doors bounced repeatedly off of Elsie’s unresponsive body.

  6

  Josie kept busy after covering the uneaten meals. She dried her hands on a damp tea towel after washing up and wiped the sides with a tatty dishcloth. She scanned the kitchen and hummed tunelessly to a song she vaguely recognised on the radio before moving to the living room. She picked up a cushion and plumped it between her hands while pacing the floor. The tick of the wall clock played its own tune, which echoed in her head. Each minute that passed was like a nail being hammered into her head.

  Where were they? For the third time since she realised Josh had followed Mitchell and left the house, Josie had leant over the balcony and scanned the square in search of the boys. She shouted their names into the the dimming light. Lost on the breeze, her cries were answered by the song of starlings. Josie balled her hands and pounded the concrete wall. Should she panic? This was so unlike Josh. He’d grown up to be timid and inhibited thanks to his father. Josie drew her shoulders back, stood tall, turned on her heal, and headed back into the flat. She’d give them ten more minutes before going to look for them.

  Josie rung her hands in front of her and sighed. Determined to be a responsible parent, she searched under the cushions of the settee, her fingers grazing crumbs, not the metal cork screw she needed. She spun from the room and continued her search in the kitchen, skimming through each draw before slamming it shut. She needed to take control and for that she needed to feel. She clenched her fists in an attempt to break the skin. Her building anxiety, in part, eased by pain from the half-moon dents in her skin.

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear her chattering thoughts. Are these the actions of a responsible parent? Josie shuddered as she imagined the distaste on her mother’s face before turning her attention to her father with a smirk. Yes, she knew what she’d say verbatim. “Look at Josie. A baby bringing up a baby. She’ll never cope. She’ll give up as soon as things get tough. She has never stuck at anything.”

  Lifting her head high, she straightened her shoulders, erased her mother’s sneering face from her mind, and scolded herself as she marched into the hallway. “You’re a good mother. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and bring your son home.”

  Josie grabbed her jacket from the bannister and fumbled through her pockets. She smiled at the jangle of the door keys. While attempting to wriggle one arm inside the jacket, she flung open the door. With a hitch of breath, her eyes widened, and she screamed as her body felt like it had shot from her skin.

  “Oh my…”

  Her father’s stocky figure filled the door. His plump hand, poised to knock, just missed his daughter’s shocked face by millimetres. Instead, he reached out and steadied her shaking arms.

  “Hey, Jo. What’s the panic?” He edged his way inside and watched as a gradual blush of pink tinged
her cheeks.

  She backed out of the door and shook loose from his grip. “I thought you were Josh. I kept calling him for dinner, but he’s not come back.” She sprang forward and leaned over the edge of the balcony. “Usually he stays in the square, but…”

  Stan’s arms circled her waste.

  “Jo it’s fine.” He turned her towards him gripped her face in his hands and held firm until she held eye contact. “He’s with your mum. Josh is safe.” He gave her a reassuring smile, held her hand, and led along the walkway towards the lifts. “Any minute now.” He nodded towards the lifts. “Josh is keeping her talking. You know how she hates the lifts.” A smile hovered on his lips as he winked before turning his attention back along the balcony.

  As if on cue, the distant mumble of a voice droned like an annoying insect drilled into her head as Irene approached. Josie watched her mother’s adoration for Josh. Her eyes never left his smiling face as he conversed with her in a high pitched sing-song voice.

  “Then we went to the shop, Nana. Mummy bought us some sweets.” He hung his head. “But we can’t have them til we’ve eaten dinner.”

  “What, you haven’t eaten dinner yet?” She glanced at her watch and shook her head. “It’s seven o’clock. Dinnertime’s been and gone.”

  Josie noticed Irene’s frown as well as the hitch of disapproval in her voice. Her relationship with Irene was unorthodox. From a young age, she had insisted Josie call her Irene. She’d never explained her reluctance to be known as her mother, but seemed to have no problem answering to Nana. Hugs and cuddles were rarities, and at best Josie felt like an inconvenience in her mother’s life. Once Josie hit puberty, any seeds of a relationship planted in her younger years shrivelled from lack of emotional support and a heavy apathy on both sides.