The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller - T.M.E. Walsh

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sighed and dusted his hands free of crumbs. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’d better break this up.’

      *

      Harry, the boy on the ice, barely registered any fear, even when the ice underneath his feet started to crack. He looked back to his friends on the bank and laughed.

      Trying to play the hard man, he took another step towards the middle of the lake and slipped, crashing down on the ice with brute force.

      He felt the cold seep through his clothes almost immediately. He looked towards the embankment and heard his friends shouting.

      A sea of faces now watched him in horror, just as he heard a cracking sound underneath him.

      Before he could think, the ice gave way and he sank into the freezing cold water.

      His head disappeared under the ice.

      He gasped involuntarily with shock, his mouth filling with water. He kicked his legs until his head broke the surface, spitting the water from his mouth, before he went under again.

      On the embankment, Stefan had slowly begun to edge himself out onto the ice, trying to distribute his weight evenly, while Claire called for an ambulance.

      Harry was growing tired, his body shutting down, but he still managed to grab hold of the edge of the ice, trying to haul his body from the water.

      Stefan heard the ice creaking under his own weight. He paused, dropped slowly to his knees and straightened his body out along the ice and shuffled closer on his belly.

      Harry’s head went under water again, and Stefan moved faster, putting the sound of the creaking ice to the back of his mind.

      Underneath the water, Harry was losing the fight.

      His body ached to shut down, as the cold tore through his flesh. He was holding his breath, lungs aching for air.

      Then he felt something against his foot catch and drag him. He kicked out, his foot colliding against something solid.

      He risked opening his eyes and peered down. The light from the fireworks overhead sent down little chinks of light that fractured in the water.

      He saw a face, pale and ghost-like.

      Instinct caught him.

      He opened his mouth to scream, water flooding into his airways, as he stared down into dark dead eyes.

      Scared, and knowing this would be his last effort, he mustered his last ounce of strength and kicked his legs hard.

      On the surface, Stefan was shivering, his breath coming in short sharp bursts as he edged as close as he dared to the hole in the ice.

      Harry’s head then broke the surface, his body propelling forward, landing with his arms outstretched, flailing for something to grasp on the slippery surface. He began to slip back down again, but Stefan grasped his wrist.

      ‘Kick with your legs!’ he shouted, reaching out his other hand to grip the boy’s right arm. Harry kicked again and again, and even when his body was out on the ice, clear of the water, he didn’t stop.

      Stefan pulled him to the embankment.

      ‘I need blankets,’ Claire shouted out to the gathered crowd. ‘Coats, anything.’

      A few men took theirs off and started to wrap them around Harry. He’d been in the water less than ninety seconds, but to Harry it had felt like hours of having needles pushed underneath his skin.

      He coughed up some water when Claire sat him forward, and before she could speak, she heard his rasping voice from behind his chattering teeth.

      ‘B… b… body.’

      Stefan looked confused and lowered his face to the boy’s eye level. ‘What did you say?’

      Harry grabbed Claire’s hand and looked deep into her eyes.

      ‘Body… in the water… Dead. Body.’

      Claire saw the fear in his eyes, just before they closed and he fell unconscious in her arms.

       Four Days Earlier

      1st November – 11:02 p.m.

      ‘It’s your time.’

      He stood watching her from the street corner, icy rain soaking him to the bone. He could have gone back to his car, chosen another night, but no matter how hard reason pleaded with him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

      Everything about her disgusted him. The way she walked, the way she dressed, the way she talked.

      Everything.

      To him, her whole life was just a game determined by how much someone was willing to pay for her. The fact she was now with child complicated things, but also gave further justification to carry out what he’d planned for her.

      Nola Grant stood at the side of the road. Her lanky, painfully thin frame cut a sombre stance under the street lamp. The fluorescent light cast shadows across her face but strangers could still see her wide-eyed vacant stare. She was tall and her bones jutted out at sharp angles, which were further exaggerated by her tight-fitting clothes.

      She wore a low-rise, sleeveless top, no coat despite the cold, flaunting her many tattoos. The ink covered nearly all the flesh up both arms, and also found its way over her left shoulder and down onto her breast. Her light brown skin made the faded designs appear more muted in colour, but still made her stand out more than the other girls. Many men seemed intrigued to know just where else she had been scarred by the tattooist’s needle.

      As a car pulled to a stop in front of her, she bent her head to see inside the open window. The harsh night made her even more eager to get away, to seek shelter from the rain that grew heavier by the second.

      A price was quickly agreed, and the man across the road saw her disappear inside the car. He wondered how far gone she was with child, spawned by an unknown faceless punter. He hazarded a guess at no more than eleven weeks, since her belly showed no signs of swelling.

      As the car pulled away into the unforgiving night, something inside spurred him on. He charged across the road, giving chase. The driver put his foot down before he could get close enough.

      The man stood staring after the lights as they grew smaller by the second. What had he been thinking? He would have to make his move later, and promised himself that she would not leave him until he knew she was ready and she’d earned the right of safe passage.

      *

      Inside the car, Nola lit up a rolled cigarette, relishing the small amount of warmth and comfort it gave her. The sickly scent of cannabis swirled into the punter’s face and his mouth pulled into a hard line of disgust. He took one hand off the wheel, violently plucked the cigarette from her mouth, and discarded it out the window.

      Nola risked a sideways glance at his face but stayed silent. He had paid for submissive and she had agreed to play the part in his twisted fantasy, no questions asked. As she sat in the passenger seat, rainwater dripping from her tightly curled hair, she was indifferent when the car turned down a dark lonely side street.

      Deep down she had never felt any shame in the fact that sometimes she enjoyed this job. The fact that she now carried another life inside her never even crossed her selfish mind and had no bearing on her decisions. Little did she know, or could have ever imagined, just how quickly this was about to change.

      11:57 p.m.

      It was nearly midnight when she was pushed from the car as it parked up outside the back entrance to a nightclub down another dark side-road. She hit the concrete, landing hard on her knees, cutting holes in her leggings.

      The car door slammed shut behind her and tyres screeched on the wet tarmac. She pulled herself up, but fell forward onto her hands, feeling the raw sting as the surface cut her flesh. As if to add insult to injury, the heavens opened once again, and large drops of rain engulfed her.

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