Extract 2 of Ghost of Me
I walked through the bedroom wall, no longer freaked out by the action. My mind was focussed on getting to the garage. I was prepared to walk through all the doors and walls I needed to in order to reach my destination.
I stood staring at the car, which resembled the same rust bucket I only saw a few times after Paul purchased it. It seemed obvious, even to me that he never worked on it. If anything, the car was in a worse state than the day he bought it. He deceived me, buying this thing, possibly as an alibi while he went out murdering women. I hadn’t been the first. Had he been killing for the whole year, or longer and just decided he needed the car as a reason for his long disappearances? My mind flicked back to his old management job. His hours were random, and he often had to go in at short notice. The building was open twenty-four hours a day, so it didn’t seem so far-fetched back then. When Paul was made redundant, he got the job at the restaurant. Disappearing at all hours would have looked suspicious. That’s when he bought the car. I connected the dots and created a picture of my serial-killer fiancé.
I tried to focus as I continued to look around the garage. I searched the interior of the car, with my head inside the vehicle and the rest of me outside it. If Paul was able to see me and he decided to go to the garage, the sight would freak him out. The made me smile, until I spotted a red basque in the back seat. I couldn’t pick the thing up, despite trying to levitate it with my mind, but it seemed small. It might fit a size six (or an eight at the most) but not me, a size ten. Paul knew my size and the only clothing he ever bought me were t-shirts on my birthday; the ones with stupid slogans on. I recalled one that said Hot Stuff. Don’t Touch. I only ever wore it in winter, under a cardigan. He never bought me anything else wearable. The basque couldn’t have been a surprise for me. I wouldn’t have worn it if it was, even in my size.
I questioned whether the lingerie might be a trophy from one of his victims, aware that some killers like to keep something as a reminder. They also manage to come across as normal to their friends and family. It was possible that Paul had fooled me along with everyone else. Paul slept upstairs in the house, with my sister. The woman who kept something going with him while he was with me; my sister who had started a relationship with him when I went to university while I remained single, hoping we would get back together after I graduated. My sister, despite all of that. I shouldn’t leave her to be murdered too.