The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller

‘You fucking prick!’ she screamed, as the car’s headlights disappeared into the darkness. She looked up to the night sky, but saw no moon. It had been raining heavily since early October with no signs of letting up. The bleak weather was in keeping with her mood.

She pulled herself to her feet, teetering on her thin high heels. She winced as a sharp surge of pain ran up through her groin. Nola was hurt, inside as well as out. If she hadn’t needed the money so bad, she’d never have got into that man’s car.

She inspected the grazes on her knees through the holes in her leggings, and then held her hands out in front of her. The falling rain stung the cuts on her palms, and she tucked both hands under her armpits. She was trying to get her bearings when she suddenly felt she was not alone.

‘Are you OK?’

The calm voice came from the darkness. Nola whipped her head around and saw a man approach her through the torrent of rain.

‘I saw what happened.’

Wary, she took a few steps back and the man slowed his pace, holding out his hands to calm her. ‘It’s OK. I just wanted to check you were all right.’

She searched his face, but it was hard to make anything out in the shadows.

She felt a flicker of recognition as she looked into his eyes and listened to his well-spoken, controlled voice, but it quickly passed. He wasn’t from Haverbridge, not this part anyway. She could see it in his clothes, the way he held his head high, the way he carried himself.

Cars whipped past down the main street several yards away, tyres cutting through puddles. Shrieks from those caught in the downpour rang out in the distance and the smell of fast food filled the air, carried on the wind, down towards them.

Nola longed to be anywhere but here with this man.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he said, venturing forward.

She took a step back. ‘Stay away.’

‘I just want to help.’

‘And I said stay the fuck away.’

‘But you’re hurt.’

She stepped back again and looked for an exit. There was none. He was blocking any hope of getting to the busy street ahead. ‘Let me help you, please.’ His voice sounded gentle enough.

‘I don’t need your help,’ she spat. ‘I’m fine. It’s just a few scratches.’

He looked away, deep in thought. Her eyes never left his face. ‘I… I can pay you.’

‘What?’ Her face twisted. ‘Thought you were offering me help?’

‘I am, but since you seem reluctant to accept my help at face value, I thought I’d offer you something you weren’t used to turning down.’

Nola’s face screwed up with disgust. ‘Just fuck off,’ she said, her arm waving him away. She edged around him but he blocked her path.

‘You misunderstand me. I meant I’ll pay you if you let me help you.’ He reached out and lightly touched her arm.

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Please, I just want to help.’

‘Fucking weirdo,’ she said, pushing him aside.

‘Don’t be like that, Nola.’

She froze. The weight of his stare was crushing. ‘How’d you know my name?’

He smiled, stepping closer. ‘I know many things… Let me help you.’

2

November – 00:48 a.m.

It was a welcome relief, as she slipped down lower into the hot bathwater. The man, who said his name was Aaron, had taken her back to his home and tended her wounds, fed her well, and explained how he’d watched her for some time now and felt he had to help her. Nola had thought it was creepy at first but the pull of a hot meal and a bath had been too great for her to dwell on it much.

She smiled as he handed her a bottle of shampoo. He returned the smile, for appearance’s sake, and went to leave her in peace.

‘Wait,’ she said, sitting up in the bath. ‘Would you mind?’ She held the shampoo bottle towards him. He looked down at her, his face blank. Only a few soapy bubbles covered her modesty, and he felt embarrassed. Eventually he nodded. He lathered up the liquid in his hands as he perched on the edge of the bath.

When he massaged the shampoo into her hair, he felt her shoulders relax beneath his touch. He realised that no matter how much mental and physical torture this whore could endure, deep down, when it came to it, at every opportunity she would use her body to her advantage. It made him sick. Still, it was this flaw that had made it easier for him to lure her into his house.

Stupid bitch.

Nola had no knowledge of his actions behind her, and he was free to cover her nose and mouth with the chloroform-soaked cloth he’d concealed inside his trouser pocket. She whipped her hands back, scratching at his arms as he held the rag tighter against her face. Bathwater sloshed over the sides as she thrashed her legs, until she became limp, sliding deeper into the unknown.

He dragged her body from the tub and let her fall, her limbs hitting the cold tiles, hard.

Nola Grant was not destined to drown in her own filth. All he knew was that she would be tested and she alone would decide the outcome. He would make her responsible for either her life or her death.

His face remained resolute as he dried her body and pulled her clothes on roughly, disgusted by her thin nylon underwear.

*

He barely struggled down the stairs to his basement; she was so light to carry. Once he had shackled her wrists, he looked down on her sleeping face and pushed stray strands of wet hair away from her eyes. In another life, she might have been pretty. Maybe she would have made her parents proud. Yes, maybe in another life. For now at least, Nola was going nowhere.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked back. His eyes did one final sweep of the room, then her body, before switching out the light and locking the door behind him.

02:03 a.m.

She was freezing.

That was Nola’s first thought when she opened her eyes for the first time since being attacked in the bath. She didn’t know how long she’d been out cold. There was no concept of time down there with so little light, just a sense of dread and heaviness in the air.

She noticed the small lamp on a table in the corner. She tried to think but her head felt heavy, especially when she tried to pull herself up from the floor. She felt a sharp tug at her skin when she moved her hands.

She stared at the medieval-style shackles that circled around a pipe fixed to the wall and, instinctively, pulled the chain hard. The pipe vibrated, and metal bit tighter into her skin. She stifled a groan of desperation and pulled at the shackles again and again until she broke the skin and her wrists ached. She felt tears wash her cheeks as she began to sob.

*

Upstairs, the man smiled as he turned the volume down low on his television set. He wanted to imagine her pain, her desperation. It felt empowering. Although the basement was carefully soundproofed, he still heard the rumble in the pipe. Nola was finally awake, and probably cold and hungry. She would also be very scared… perfect.