Monica. Ch14.

Things get worse for Monica.

Chapter 14

The man sat in his flat in darkness, leaning on the sill and looking down at Monica's darkened bedroom. He was impatient but knew she would eventually appear in the room. He had the loaded revolver in his pocket and would be taking it with him when he went out to visit her in the early hours of the morning, just in case. He was tired and almost asleep and his eyes kept closing as his head began tilting, but he would snap back up only to start tilting again. He wondered how much longer she would be and if he could stay awake waiting there. The passage light came on in Monica's house and shone into the downstairs rooms. It was like a bolt of energy to him and he was suddenly fully alert. She appeared briefly in the kitchen and went to the refrigerator. She was talking to someone and he thought perhaps it was her mother, though he couldn't see her. She walked out of sight and there was a pause until her bedroom light came on. He watched her as she walked across to close the curtains; she was unsteady and not her usual sprightly self and it was obvious that she had overdone it a little with the drinks. He smiled to himself as he looked at her door keys on his window sill. He knew that he would soon be with her, close to her warm perfumed body.

         It was just before three o'clock in the morning when he set off from the flats. He walked around to her house still wearing his carpet slippers, not wanting to make a sound in the street from the heels of his shoes and also wanting to be able to wander through Monica's house in complete silence.

         Slowly he turned the mortise lock and slid the key into the Yale lock, delighted that there were no slide bolts fitted to the door. He gently closed the door and carefully made his way into the living room. The darkness hampered him as he looked about the room for the telephone. He noticed it on the wall-unit and made his way over to check the number on the dial. A framed photograph of Monica in her karate suit caught his eye and he took the photograph and left it by the front door before making his way slowly up the dark stairway.

         Monica's bedroom door was half-open and he crept into her room. It was a wonderful sight, although it was still dark the floodlights from the tower blocks gave a glow of light through the curtains and he could clearly make out the shape of Monica lying curled up and asleep in her bed. He would love to kiss her, to touch her, but knew it would be a disaster if he did. Despite her hostile attitude he knew deep down she cared for him, she loved him, but the shock of finding someone in her room if he woke her could cause her to let out a scream. Her parents would wake up and rush in and he would have to shoot them. Monica would become hysterical and he would have to shoot her as well to shut her up. It would all go terribly wrong and that was not what he wanted, that was not why he was here.

         He just wanted to let her know that he had been, and he was clever, and he could always get near to her if he wanted to. She would come round eventually. She would realise the inevitable and acknowledge her true deep feelings for him.

         Picking up a blouse from her dressing table stool he held it to his face and smelt the fragrance of her perfume. His eyes sparkled as he saw her bra and he picked it up and could smell her scent on the cups as he held them to his face. He kept the bra pressed to his face for a few moments before pushing it into his pocket. He felt into his other pocket checking for the gun, he had to keep the gun handy just in case he needed it quickly. He took out a lipstick from his pocket, a lipstick that had been in Monica's stolen handbag. It excited him further that this was the means of communication, this was the message she would read over and over again. As neatly as he could he wrote a message on her dressing table mirror.

         As he walked back across the room Monica stirred. He stood still while looking at her movement, thrilled to be there so close to her and tempted to touch her, to hold her. He stood ready to grab her if she did wake. He would have to try to stop her from screaming, try to stop her from causing the disaster.

         She settled again. He took a last look at the wonderful sight of her lying peacefully in her bed and then crept out of the room. He was thrilled by the whole adventure, by the risk, by the sight of Monica and by the theft of her scented bra. He wanted to get back to the safety of his flat to release himself of his desires, but first one last risk, one last thrill before he left. He walked out of her bedroom and pulled the bedroom door shut with a bang.

* * * * *

         I was awoken by my bedroom door banging shut. I sat up startled. "Who's there?" I called, feeling as if someone had looked into my bedroom. Perhaps it was one of my parents checking on me. I had after all been quite drunk when I got home. They wouldn't have known of my condition had I not had to wake them up to let me in, and maybe I didn't make a lot of sense as I tried to explain that my door keys had been in my bag and my bag had been stolen. Or had I not told them so as not to worry them; I couldn't remember. What I could remember was when I saw the car approaching me outside my house and how much it scared me, thinking it was my attacker. Relief when it wasn’t and the car passed by as my dad opened the door to let me in. He was not happy.

         I was feeling rough, having drunk a lot more Martini than I usually would on a night out. I looked at the alarm clock and closed my eyes knowing I would soon drop off to sleep again. But my eyelids flicked open when I heard the street door bang as it was slammed shut. I sat up again. "Mum, is that you?" I got out of bed and made my way to the top of the stairs, but the house was in darkness and I walked back to my room rubbing at my eyes, thinking I must have been dreaming. I turned my bedroom light on and was suddenly filled with panic when I saw the writing on the dressing table mirror.

YOU LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL SLEEPING

SOON WE WILL BE SLEEPING TOGETHER

         "Dad, Dad," I yelled and hurried to my parents' bedroom in panic, looking all about me as I went, terrified in case the intruder was still in the house.

         My parents sat up startled when I woke them up for the second time this night. "He's been in my bedroom."

         My mother got out of bed and put on her dressing gown. "Don't be silly dear, you've just had a bad dream again, probably from drinking too much."

         "Come and look what he's done, Mum, come and look." I rushed back to my room followed moments later by my mother.

         My mother was not in such a rush, feeling sure I had just woken from another of my bad dreams, then she saw the writing on the mirror.

         "Joe, someone's been in here," my mother shouted, the panic in her voice even greater than mine. "Joe, check the house, quickly, check the house, and call the police." It had all become too much for me and I suddenly burst into tears and rushed over to my mother's arms.

         It was only fifteen minutes later when two police officers called at the house. One, a tall thin man, seemed to have a lack of interest as if he felt he had more important things to do. The other was a young man who looked no older than me and obviously new to the job; his face was permanently flushed as if he were embarrassed by the number of large spots on his chin. I told them about the theft of my bag and how the intruder had probably got in by using my keys.

         The tall officer checked the Yale lock and the door before shaking his head as he turned back to the family. "Won't keep you long," he said, though it seemed as if he meant that we wouldn't keep him long.

         "I was expecting that policewoman who called last time," My mother said. "Policewoman Oakes, she knows all about what's been going on."

         "She's off duty. We do get some time off, you know," he said, with a sarcastic tone to his voice.

         They went up stairs to my bedroom to take a look at the mirror. "Anything missing?" the officer said.

         "No, I don't think so. I don't think he's been in my drawers and my jewellery box hasn't been touched."

         The young police officer laughed and I glanced at him before quickly looking away again, suddenly embarrassed by the double meaning of my words.

         "Right, we can go back downstairs and we'll write down exactly what happened."

         "What about fingerprints?" My father said. "Aren't you gonna get someone down to check for fingerprints?"

         "From what? And he was possibly wearing gloves anyway."

         "Yes, and possibly he wasn't, and he might have left prints on the door handles."

         "You've all used the handles after him. It's just not practical to call a print unit down here and you have to admit that your daughter has been a bit careless," he said, speaking as if I were not there.

         "Oh, so it's my daughter's fault that some maniac breaks in and goes into her bedroom?"

         "But he didn't break in, he had the keys, keys that were stolen after a bag was left unattended in a crowded pub. You've no bolts on the door and even though the door keys had been taken no one bothered to put the security snib catch up. If someone had put the catch up then he wouldn't have been able to just walk into the house, he would've had to break in."

         "I forgot," I yelled, I was beginning to get annoyed at the officer's attitude. "My dad went straight back up to bed and I went for a drink of milk. I thought I put the snib up, but I must have forgot, sodding hell, I'm not the criminal here."

         "All right don't get uppity, I am on your side. Let's sit down and go through it all again." The constable took down all the details, but he didn't seem nearly so concerned as when Policewoman Oakes had called, as if he thought it were all a waste of time. I repeated my description of the man and told the officers that I had seen him once in a blue car, possibly a Ford Cortina.

         "Did you get the car’s number?"

         "No, he drove away too quickly."

         "Did you manage to get any part of the number?"

         "Yes, but it was all so... I tried to remember, but I forgot."

         "Right then." The officer looked at me and shook his head. "Like I said, we won't keep you long."

Monica. Ch15.  (18+) The stalker is at Monica's again, but can't get in. #1996617 by Bruce.