Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

“Estimate is after midnight.”

“Interesting. Something to think about.” Burgess rubbed his chin. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Marla nodded. “Oh, and in case you were wondering, the couple in that book of mine… Wow, do I have some tips for you.”

“I don’t need tips,” Burgess grumbled.

“Don’t you?”

“Pack it in,” Burgess warned. “Shaw, we need to get back to the station. Make sure Emerson hasn’t taken more than one coffee.”

“Oh, the pressing things on your mind just boggle mine.” Marla rolled her eyes.

“You don’t want to know what’s on his mind,” Shaw said. “He doesn’t even want to know.”

“You two are pissing me off. Ganging up.” Burgess lifted a hand and waved. “Speak soon, Mar.”

“We will indeed. Enjoy your day, Detectives.”

Her tinkle of laughter followed them out of the tent, and Burgess gave Shaw a filthy look.

“What?” Shaw asked.

“You know what. Marla knows I have a past, but I don’t need her harping on at me to open up either.”

“God, can’t I have a little joke while looking decent in my new suit?”

Burgess led the way to his car. “You just had to remind me of the pain, didn’t you.”

“The pain of what, giving it to me?” Shaw came abreast of him.

“Get in the bloody car.”

“Yes, sir.” Shaw laughed.

Fucking bastard.

Chapter Thirteen

The sense of wellbeing wasn’t fully back. This was a concern, although maybe he just needed some sleep and when he woke again, everything would be calm. Everything inside him would be calm. He knew why he wasn’t feeling as he should. That one extra thing he’d done to The Man Point Two—that was what had spoilt it all. That was what had denied him the wonderful release he’d been seeking.

He hadn’t been able to help himself, though. And how silly that was, not having control. He’d ruined the next sixteen years and he’d have to suffer as he had been recently, all coiled up and out of sorts. Anita Jane Curtis’ expulsion from the world had meant he’d been halfway to feeling okay again, and he’d almost been able to touch the future with The Man Point Two until…

Why had he done that…that thing?

You know why.

Rage.

Rage.

Rage.

He closed his eyes, everything in him burning—burning so much he thought he might die from the heat. Would it be better if he did die? Would he join them in Hell, though, that was the question, one that worried him because, fuck, he never wanted to see them again.

His foetal position wasn’t helping either. Nor were the quilt spiders, who weren’t hugging him as they should. Maybe because they were faded from so much washing over the years they didn’t have the strength. He’d climbed into bed earlier expecting their cuddles to soothe all his wrongdoing away, but instead…

The hot chocolate on the bedside cabinet had long gone cold, him being too weary to reach out for it. And he had to be weary, didn’t he? All this time of fighting the whispering demons, of trying to be normal, and although what he’d done to her and The Man had meant he’d been calm for many years, because of one simple mistake with The Man Point Two he was back to feeling like that ugly little fucker again.

Back there.

He swam in it—in desperation and loneliness, not even having Gran to speak to anymore. She’d have put things right. She’d have told him how to deal with it. She’d have even, he was certain of it, forgiven him for what he’d done had he confessed.

Did he need to see his therapist again? If it still bothered him that The Man had put his penis where he shouldn’t, wasn’t it better to seek help about it?

It had been difficult to keep The Man Point Two occupied before he’d given him his dose of drugs. The time had to be right, just after midnight, and the tramp had continually queried why they weren’t going back to have that shower and the hot meal. Excuse after excuse had been given, and eventually, the hands of the clock had reached the correct point and he’d been able to offer The Man Point Two his fix.

Opening his eyes now, he studied the city through the window. Another cold day. He didn’t have enough money in his savings to pay the zoo man for a second moth. How was he supposed to replicate killing The Man again now? Because that was the only way to solve this. Kill The Man and do it properly this time, without the rage forcing him to cut and hack. And there was all that searching he’d have to do for another lookalike. Why hadn’t he had people in reserve? Why had he only chosen one of each? Had he been that sure of himself that he’d thought he could pull this off without a hitch, the same way he had the first time?

The Man would have to be killed today, too, before midnight, so the date was exactly the same as the first time.

Shit.

His father entered his mind then, a man she had been with while young and reckless. That was how Gran had put it anyway. A mistake, his father had been, and he knew he was also a mistake, a result of an immature coupling on her part, an error on his father’s.

Resentment soured his mind. He closed his eyes again in an attempt to shut it all out, but it was still there, all of it. Swirling. Tormenting. Laughing at him. He concentrated on his breathing, the sound of it, how much air it took to fill his lungs. It worked, that simple form of therapy, to push back the looming panic that teetered on the edges of his psyche.

His muscles relaxed. His