Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law Read Online Free Page B

intruder had set a little table in front of him, and on it was an alarm clock set for nine twenty-five—exactly five minutes from now.
    “You have until the alarm sounds to escape.”
    Matt slumped onto the floor, painfully aware of the fact that his ankles could not even begin to support his weight. He glanced at his attacker, and upon doing so felt another surge of adrenaline pump through his body. He felt terror, but most of all anger. He was dully aware that at some point he must have soiled himself, as his trousers were wet and heavy, which only incensed his hatred.  He slowly started to try and lean his weight forward onto his arms and upper torso and started dragging himself toward the hallway, the front door, and what he hoped would soon be safety.
    His progress was painfully slow, but upon inspecting of the clock again he believed he could make it. His attacker was now sitting serenely on the opposite side of the room watching him. His breathing was coming in laboured gasps and his lower legs were screaming at him, but he continued to drag himself slowly across the floor. Again he was aware of the hard floor; it had become friendly once more. It was now aiding his escape, easing him across the floor, lubricated by his own blood.
    Almost in the hallway now, there are only five feet between him and the front door—he was actually going to make it. From his position in the hall he could no longer see the clock, but assumed he must have about two minutes left. He felt relief that his door didn’t have a Yale lock. Spurred on by the thought of imminent escape, he put in extra effort and suddenly found himself at the front door. Supporting himself on his right arm, he reached up with his left and found his mark.
    From the shadows in the lounge, the tormentor had watched Matt’s progress with satisfied amusement. The vanity of the human condition was amazing. People honestly believed it could never happen to them; that these atrocities they heard about every day and didn’t spare so much as a second’s thought for couldn’t ever happen to them, that they were somehow out of the circle. So really, the tormentor reasoned, that this was a public service, bringing people back in, making life real again. Because the cosseted world they’d surrounded themselves with had made them numb, numb to the pain they inflicted without empathy.
    The intruder was brought back to Earth with the pulling of the door handle, back to the task at hand.
    Matt pulled at the door handle a second time, nothing. It wasn’t budging. It was locked. The realisation took exactly thirty seconds to filter through his conscious mind. Trapped.
    “What’s up, Matt? Door’s locked? If only you’d thought to pick up your keys.” Once more the intruder’s voice was soft, almost lyrical, then it changed again, becoming hard and sharp, like a razor striking his face.
    “But that’s the problem with people like you, Matt, isn’t it? You don’t think, you just do, and to hell with the consequences. Well, finally the consequences of your actions have caught up with you.”
    Matt hadn’t stopped to think that it would make absolutely no sense for his captor to release him, but now he knew for sure he was looking at his last day on this Earth. Surprisingly, he felt calmness spread through his body as he resigned himself to his fate. He hoped it would be quick.
    With that the intruder came striding toward him, electric drill in hand and a maniacal glint in his eye.
    Once again the darkness came, and this time would be the last.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 4
    At her front door, Clare was struggling to find her keys, rifling through the bottom of her bag. She heard the familiar jingling and made a grab, extracting her keys and opening the door.
    Walking through her apartment, she flung her bags down on the sofa and went through to the kitchen to switch the kettle on.
    It was only half past three; she had plenty of time before Dean arrived.