Page 24

Cole: January 2023

“I’m worried about my children’s safety,” Rebecca states to no one in particular. The Rosemond Ripper had struck again on New Year's Eve, this time leaving the body carved up into many little pieces. A little more overkill than usual. A lot of rage and anger shown in the intentional dismemberment of the corpse. The Gazette had said in their article that they believed the victim had been alive when the chopping had commenced.

“The Ripper has never murdered a child.” I say, not looking at her, not wanting to but instead keeping a check on my phone. The security cameras I had installed in Luna’s front and back gardens worked well enough. They certainly had during the summer and autumn but now that it was winter, the solar panels were getting less natural light to charge them. The battery on them was a little questionable, I might need to get something a little fancier. When it came to Luna’s safety, there was no price I wouldn’t pay. I had to find the right balance of something small enough that could be concealed without her finding them. Also, keeping them active and charged without having to physically go down to her home and recharge them constantly.

No matter how good I was, I couldn’t be in two places at a time.

I also did not want her seeing me in her garden.

Thankfully, I did know her work schedule and made a point of taking a quick journey to hers during the day when she was at work. I’d just walk up and inspect a few things; make it look like I was popping in or checking the garden. Turns out the house on her right was privately let but currently empty. I wondered if the landlord was aiming to sell. Could I afford to buy a house in addition to what I already own? I did think about it, knowing I could be directly next door would make surveillance much easier.

“It’s obviously someone fucking crazy though! They might murder a child!” She was more animated than normal, enraged and upset as a parent should be I supposed. This is why I would make a terrible parent. I just don’t care about anything enough.

You care about Luna.

I almost laugh out loud at that thought because yes, I obviously do care about Luna. Part of the reason last year I got so determined to find, with zero fucking avail, the Rosemond Ripper’s identity was to help protect her. After someone being killed so close to her, it was sobering, the idea that she may be hurt, killed and no longer in my life.

Not that she was currently. I had made sure of that. Here I was worrying over cameras so I could track her movements, no that wasn’t what I had set the camera’s up for, but I did watch her. I had done it; I reasoned with myself so I could watch in case anyone had attempted to break in.

Why? So, you could come to the rescue?

Like some kind of superhero? Some good guy to save the day?

It was ridiculous.

I was frustrated though because I had been internet stalking, checking out all the chat rooms, websites to try and figure out more information so I could uncover who it was. I reckoned I was smart enough when the police hadn’t even been able to.

“Who do you think it is?” I venture.

I hate being in this house, he still lives in the one that he had shared with her. This is still the same dining table in the same kitchen that we sat around then. The only difference is that Luna isn’t here. He has replaced her with someone who looks like her, but less attractive. In fairness to him, he was punching way above his weight with her so the likelihood of him getting someone in her league again was slim.

The new Luna even has a similar name. It’s also not lost on me that he uses the same nickname he had for Luna, for his new girlfriend. She doesn’t know though, thinks it’s a sweet name he has just for her. I wonder if when he fucks her, he still thinks of Luna, the way I could only ever have sex if I was thinking of her.

I can’t fuck anyone else now. Not that I ever fucked her. I wish I had so many times, especially like now when I’m scrolling back through all the texts we sent each other. I just wish I had gone all the way with her and just let her have my cock like she had asked, like she had begged.

Just like that my cock is hard, for her. I can’t fuck because she told me that my cock was hers. I had agreed because it does belong to her. It feels like cheating if I were to let anyone else touch me now.

“You really want to know what I think?” Usually not. I hate Graham but I can’t deny that sometimes, he has a strange enough view of things that his insight can be a little more out of the box than my line of thinking. Especially with things like this.

“Yes” I say, aiming to keep the hatred I feel for him out of my voice. “I think the police have gotten it completely wrong,” he says with a smirk. Ok, I am intrigued by this. “In what way?” I ask him.

There are two possibilities here, either he is about to come out with something genius or it’ll be utter nonsense. There's nothing in between with this piece of wank stain. The table is solid oak and it’s not the first time I think about what it would be like to smash his face into the wood. I keep my hands to myself.

Frankie is beside me now, having come back from smoking outside. I can’t help but think every time I walk into this house how dead and damp it feels. I can’t say that when Luna was here it was immaculate, but it wasn’t far off it. The house was light, lived in and homely. It had been fresh and usually smelled like baked goods. There was always cake.

Now the house has a feeling of death about it. Something abysmal exists within these walls and it’s been allowed to fester now that she’s no longer here.

Graham watches me look around the kitchen, nothing has been cooked in here for a long time. There is trash scattered about; plates piled up in the sink despite a dishwasher sitting there looking like it’s never touched. “She never took very good care of this place when she lived here,” as if sensing my thoughts of how she kept him from falling into disrepair. “I bet she lives in an absolute shithole now.” He states as if this is not a shithole.

It always staggers me the depth of his ability to lie outright so confidently. When I wouldn’t use the bathroom often back when Luna lived here, I did that because I didn’t like how close it made me feel to her. Now, I avoid the bathroom after seeing how covered the floor is in piss, how dirty the toilet was. I wouldn’t even stand in the doorway and piss in a general direction towards the toilet at risk to my trainers or the bottoms of my trousers. Although now that I think about it, that’s probably what he does.

Rebecca jumps in, “Oh I bet it’s a fucking mess where she lives” and they start to discuss Luna and their insane obsession with talking shit about her. The irony is that Rebecca is a hoarder with an equally messy home to this one. She doesn’t have the right to talk down on anyone and yet does exactly that. It’s not just about Luna; they like to gossip about anyone. I only pay attention when it’s about Luna because I fucking can’t stand it.

I also am the only one who has been inside Luna’s new home and know how lovely it is. She puts me to shame, and I thought I kept a nice place. This is someone who cleans her skirting boards. It’s painted with pastel colours, light and bright. I remember back to when she was decorating and kept sending me pictures of her both covered in paint and of her progress because she was proud of doing the work by herself for herself.

I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have her move in with me, to redecorate in a way that she likes. My colour scheme is too dark for her. I’d want her to brighten the place up.

I smile to myself as I think about us both in overalls, dabbing a little lilac paint on her nose as we both paint the bedroom her favourite colour.

Fuck me, I’m down bad.

They are still talking shit about Luna. I direct the conversation back to Graham and his thoughts because I do want to know, and I want to stop them from going on about her. “What do you mean the police are wrong?” I ask.

He stops talking and stares at me, takes me in and then raises his glass of water to his lips, taking a drink before replying. Making me fucking wait for him. Asshole. Everything with him is a manipulation tactic, a push of dominance. I wait because I don’t fucking care either way. “I think that the police are wrong for assuming it’s a man.”

Fuck. I hadn’t even considered that alternative. I had also assumed that the Ripper was male. Serial killers like this usually are. The statistics speak for themselves. Men commit senseless acts of violence. A woman though? I must say this out loud because he continues. “Yeah, I think the Ripper is female.”

I am shocked, that stuns me into silence as I rethink all the deaths. There have been at least 25 murders since 2007 that the police and the Rosemond Gazette have linked to being Ripper victims. There are a few more presumed missing persons but as they are mine, I knew to exclude those ones.

Female?

Who the absolute fuck would physically and mentally be able to commit these crimes? Even certain elements were too disgusting for me. I know exactly how detached you must be to kill someone. A woman?

Graham's smile is a wicked, ugly thing as he watches me process this information. Frankie and Rebecca are discussing something else, something I can’t take in right now.

I think of the second flat I own, the second bedroom where I have dedicated a room to investigating those crimes. I have pictures on the wall and even went as far to attach a red string to make my conspiracy board extra special. I may have to rethink it all.

Female.

They can’t be. ?