Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

As she opened the door, she wondered who this stranger was, and looked astonished for a millisecond before she began to collapse. Sebastian had stunned her with a jab to the jaw; it had rocked the slightly built woman to the core. As she started to collapse, Sebastian pushed his way into the hut. He placed a hand over the woman’s mouth, in case she gathered her senses and began to scream.

He noticed a wooden surround vanity mirror which could be altered to various angles, that the woman used to ready her appearance. With one hand, Sebastian placed this on the floor and redirected the perspective so he could see the face of the woman. She was on her knees with Sebastian behind her, also on his knees. He ripped off her sarong with one fluid movement, and the girl was naked underneath the garment. He would have to forgo the pleasure of seeing this beautiful girl in pain. He knew silence was the key, as there were possibly other villagers around. He would have to kill her quickly, which took the edge of excitement off a little.

The girl’s naked body was perfect. He would start with the pubic hairs, which were few, and head upwards to the beautiful, long, shiny black hair. He would have her plucked like a chicken within the hour.

Sebastian transferred his left hand from her mouth to her throat and began to squeeze. This had a weakening effect on the woman. She struggled relentlessly, legs kicking at first, and then more of a convulsive shudder as she slowly choked to death.

Sebastian did not take his eyes off the mirror, watching her struggle to breathe, the eyes wide and terrified, and still he squeezed. She babbled on in her mother tongue, more a rasp, as the life was being choked out of her. Her hand was on his, trying to pry his fingers off her throat, the other was rubbing her stomach as if soothing the baby inside from the horror that had befallen her and it.

Just as life was leaving her, the door suddenly creaked and opened slightly. Sebastian jumped up and let the choking girl fall. In a fluid movement, he stamped down on her throat, extinguishing her spark of life. Sebastian was furious that his experience had been interrupted. He was fast and no sooner had the visitor creaked open the door then he pulled her in.

It was evident now that the older woman he had seen earlier had forgotten something, and on her return had heard the commotion in the hut.

The elderly lady’s eyes opened in terror at the sight of her naked neighbour spread-eagled on the floor. Her eyes were wide open; it was clear she was dead. The woman went to scream, but the scream would not come out. What she had not realized was that her brain had not accepted the death delivered to her a second earlier. Sebastian struck her with the clenched heel of his palm. He hit her directly under the nose, and the force knocked the cartilage upwards until the nasal bone was pushed backwards into the brain.

Sebastian was enraged. He had not had time to think; the kill was a reflex action to a situation he had not expected. He had killed two women but had not had the explosion of pleasure he so wanted and needed because he was disturbed by this woman.

Sebastian lost several minutes of memory while he delivered his fury through his feet to the lifeless body beneath him. Gone was the pleasure. Gone was his meticulous and flawless planning. His lack of control startled him back to reality. He had blood spattered up his legs, and his white training shoes dyed into a bloody, slick red. Quickly he checked the slat which passed for a window; there was no other movement, and for that he was thankful. He turned his attention back to his victim, and with a firm grip, he tore away at the young girl’s hair, pulling out clumps of the scalp along with the strands of dark hair. Each tuft took Sebastian several minutes to gulp down.

Bloodied from the splatters from the women, and the constant leaking of sweat from his brow, Sebastian’s face and clothes were streaked. He took a bottle of water that was placed on a rickety table and began to wash away the evidence from his legs. His training shoes proved more resilient to the water. Once most of the blood was removed from his legs, he began to reformulate his plan. There was a pool of water mixed with blood on the floor; there were streaks of blood over the wooden slats of the door and on some of the furniture.

Sebastian took a deep breath. His original plan was always open for adaptation, but this was going to be one hell of an adjustment. He would have to burn the hut and destroy what evidence was there; if he could make it look accidental, all the better.

The hut had what passed for two rooms; a bedroom with several beds in it where all the family slept, regardless of age, and the main room, which was both a living and cooking area.

As in most hot countries, the occupants would cook on open fires outside the huts. But in times of monsoon there needed to be a backup. In the corner was a 13.5 kg butane gas bottle attached to a basic camp stove, which consisted of two rings. On the table were a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. His plan was formulating and taking shape.

Bordered by a pair of bodies and blood evidence, it was time to take his predetermined route back to the main road before the village folk heard the explosion.

As Sebastian boarded the bus to Georgetown, he heard a dull thud in the