he is.’
‘No he isn't. The police never came out and put tents up. The Oswalds came back from the seaside. Broken Buckley never killed anyone.’
‘Yes he did,’ Jed insisted. ‘But he's the worst kind of axe-murderer-psycho-killer there is, Skunk – the type who only kills people he doesn't know, like the Yorkshire Ripper, or Jeffrey Dahmer, or Dennis Nilsen. It took the police ages to catch them, yet Dr Crippen only murdered his wife and they caught him before he could cross the Atlantic.’
Skunk took another look at Jed. He kept staring at the screen. He talked quietly, with total belief.
‘I reckon the police have been questioning Broken about tons of missing people, but they can't pin anything on him, so they've had to let him go, even though they know he's an axe-murderer-psycho-killer. The problem is, Skunk, now Broken knows they're on to him, he's going to start getting reckless. That's why you need to watch out. Your bedroom window's virtually opposite his room.’
Skunk was openly staring at Jed now. Her stomach felt greasy and empty.
‘You think he's likely to kill me?’
‘More than likely. In The Silence of the Lambs, the killer started with a woman who lived over the road. He weighed her body down with stones so she wouldn't be the one the police found first. It took Jodie Foster nearly two hours to figure that one out, and then only with the help of another axe-murderer-psycho-killer.’ Jed had seen The Silence of the Lambs when Archie got drunk one night and forgot to send him to bed.
Now Skunk's throat was dry and her hands felt sweaty. She hadn't looked at the TV screen for nearly a minute. Jed let out a sudden shriek of delight.
‘Gotcha, sucker.’ He threw his control down. Skunk turned and looked at the telly. Her Obi-Wan was a smouldering heap of rags before Jed's Darth Vader, who was heavy-breathing over the corpse. Jed punched Skunk's shoulder in triumph. ‘Loser! Loser!’
‘Stupid game,’ Skunk shouted, and threw her own control down. ‘And you're stupid too. Broken Buckley isn't an axe-murderer-psycho-killer. You're full of shit and I'm not playing with you any more.’
She stormed out of Jed's room.
Inside her own room, she stared nervously out of the window. Broken was still in the back of his father's car. His face was pressed against the headrest of the driver's seat. Although Skunk couldn't see it, his hands were turning in his lap and his lips were moving as well. No sounds were coming out of his mouth but, in his head, Broken was clinging to an image: it consisted of a field sloping gently southwards. Broken had no idea where this image had come from, but for a few days after each injection he was able to go to this field and find some sort of relief. It was always peaceful in the field. Instead of the sound of Saskia Oswald's laughter and the sound of Bob Oswald's fists hitting flesh, there was only ever the sound of birdsong and wind in the trees. Broken felt safe in the field. Outside of the field, in broad daylight, Saskia Oswald might come on to him and laugh at the size of his penis. Bob Oswald might attack him. Inside of the field, neither of them could find him; neither of them could hurt him. Broken sat in the back of his father's car and felt at least he was safe.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
