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Published by Smashwords Copyright 2012 Amy Gerrard Cover art and design by Amy Gerrard copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events, and characters are fictitious or are used fictitiously, a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events, or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Smashwords Edition License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. This short story is not based on any real life crime, or any individual person. Any resemblance is purely coincidental. The author still maintains the rights. If you like this story, please give it a favourable review. Thank you. Why not visit my website at http://www.amygerrard.co.uk Touch Norman Howard loved his secretary. It was a love that had grown over the last seven years. She had originally been the PA to his former boss, and when Donald had retired, Norman had been promoted to his position and decided to retain Janice Walters. And it was a perfect match, both professionally and eventually (secretly), intimately. And they both made each other very happy. Norman silently detested his wife, Alice. Alice was from a wealthy background and although Norman, a then penniless engineering graduate had fallen in love with her out of true love, as opposed to her wealth, she never stopped reminding him of his humble beginnings. Norman’s father was of the mining breed; an honest and hard-working lot from the Lancashire coal villages. His father had been proud of him at the time since he’d been the first one in the family to make it to university, and also, procure a decent degree. And from such a start, he had forged a career as a designer for the company. Alice had been the daughter of the company solicitor, the head of the legal division. He had first set eyes on her when she had came roaring into the car park one day in her new MG sports car. Glamorous and wild, as well as attractive, he had fallen for her. And at the time, she had fallen for him. The romance had been a whirlwind one. It was one that her father disapproved of. Alice’s father was an inveterate and unrepentant snob. He was of the old-school of legal Englishmen that believed in keeping to one’s own class. Of course, he was confident that Norman had shown great ability in striving far beyond the people of his social class normally did, but even so, he didn’t like his wonderful daughter getting hitched to a miner’s son. But the wedding took place anyway, and her father simply had to accept, that whatever children she bore would be of some class cross-breed nature. He had even cruelly joked that his grand children would be mongrels, much to the seething anger of Norman, who found her father loathsome and vile. Both Alice and her side of the family, never let Norman forget his roots. It was innate of them to make sure that he knew his place. Nor ever forgot it. The years passed and both Alice and Norman lapsed into comfortable if not complacent, middle-age. Alice never bore any children since Norman had found out that he had a low sperm count. They had talked of adoption, but Alice never seemed interested. And her elderly father seemed happy that no children had been born. Well, not from Norman’s seed, anyway. And so, the couple remained childless. Their love had faded long ago, and now they felt they had nothing more in common but a carefully nurtured dislike for the other. They were more like glorified room-mates then husband and wife and neither had wanted to make love to the other for years. Alice grew fat through drinking with boredom. Norman had lost his hair, the tenuously combed wisps just about covering his baldness, even though the flesh of his skull, shone between the weak strands. In drink, Alice could be cruel. “Hey, slaphead, come here!” she’d call out during a BBQ on the patio. Enjoying the embarrassed looks on their neighbour’s faces, Alice would be fuelled to launch more attacks on her husband. “Go and fetch me some Brandy!” And Norman, as dutiful as ever, would drift into the kitchen and return with more drink for the guests. “My father bought this whole house,” she would boast expansively, as Norman stood quietly on the far side of the patio, his face gazing away from the humiliating spectacle that was once his attractive wife. “....because you see, Norman didn’t earn that much at the time and his family, well – being miners – they couldn’t help.” And the act and performance would go on into the evening until both tired and bored rigid, the guests would make their polite exists and leave. “Don’t you think you hit the bottle enough, tonight?” said Norman softly as the final guest left. “Why don’t we leave the bottles here until morning and tidy up then. But his wife grew belligerent. She snatched a bottle of wine from his hand and gave him a defiant sneer. “My house, my rules, sonny boy,” she said goadingly, as if awaiting a retort or an argumentative counter response. But it didn’t come, and Norman walked into the house and prepared himself for bed. The laughter followed him up the stairs. It was a loud, mocking, crone-like laughter that grated him. He felt that he wanted to go downstairs and go into the garage, select a decent claw hammer and then calmly, smash her head in. Just two nice, solid steam-hammer blows would do, and then it would be over. No insulting wife and no more public humiliation. And no more Norman-the-Mouse jibes. But he was rational, logical. To kill her so openly would be stupid, a mistake. It would destroy so much that he had built up and worked for. And as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his sadness gnawing at him, he immediately thought of Janice. And that made life so bearable and worth living, because that was his true love, his destiny. That thing that had once been so beautiful, that now sat blind drunk in the garden, was just a show piece. A token wife. A token person that just clung to his side since she couldn’t find anyone else to fancy her. Of course, she had tried, but her affairs had all failed. And as time passed, and her drinking increased, as well as her midriff, potential suitors seemed to grow less and less. Until finally, she realised, that she had no-one but Norman. Good old reliable Norman, husband and the butt of all her crass jokes. She hated him, but at least he was reliable and had never strayed. That is, until he met Janice Walters. Janice was everything Alice wasn’t. Janice was tall and slender and beautiful. She was kind and thoughtful and attractive. She was an elegant brunette, younger than her forty-two years and dressed stylishly and shared the same passions as he did. She loved hiking, nature and photography. She loved the simple things in life. She lived a quiet and orderly existence and seldom drank, and since both her parents had passed on, she was free and owned a home. “Live with me, Norman,” she would ask earnestly as they met up for their country walks. “Alice is no longer in love with you, why let her pull you down. She’s making you so miserable. I know she is. I have seen the hurt in your face.” But Norman, although in full agreement, still felt a sense of loyalty towards Alice, even amidst the barrage of insults and disdainful remarks. It was still there, the allegiance forged from their wedding vows. But no matter how much he tried to care for Alice, he had to capitulate and accept that Janice was right. And she was right. “I will leave her, I will tell her,” said Norman as they spent a night away together, due to work. “I must admit, I have tried but she’s so damned impossible.” Janice reached out and took his hand. They sat in the dining room, in the far corner. Out of the range of potentially prying ears. She looked at him and smiled. She was so perfect, so wonderful, and then the whole image crumbled when she took his hand. Her hands were withered and deformed. A childhood deformity that was apparently linked to a drug that pregnant women had taken at the time. Her mother had taken this alleged wonder-pill and her deformity had been the result. She had received a compensation payout from the pharmaceutical company, which allowed her to live reasonably well. But it was still unsightly, and Norman gently pulled his hand away, his face slightly uneasy. She sensed his distaste. It was not an action done cruelly or thoughtlessly, but she still felt that he was uncomfortable with her only flaw. So she sadly placed her hands away from his sight, and put them under the table. Her hands, claw-like and hooked, she often cried herself to sleep some nights, cursing her mother’s foolishness in taking that infernal pill. But the kindly doctor at the private clinic had offered her hope, and he had promised that if any donor was available and had consented to being a donor, then an operation could go ahead and she would have a pair of hands like normal women. Hands that where lovely and beautiful and sensual and could hold a lover in her arms. It was that single hope that gave her the will to live; that and Norman. That night, as he lay in bed, his wife sleeping off another belly-full of booze, he decided to kill her. He decided to use his engineering expertise to plan the perfect murder. Oh yes, plan it well and to perfection. He wanted to get away with this, and he knew that he would have to beat the forensics and the police and act like any, grieving and loving husband would after losing his wife. He lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling. His wife suddenly broke wind, and turned. Norman sighed, and turned his back on Alice. And the more he thought about killing her, the more happier he seemed to feel. But it would only be his act and his act only. Janice would never know, nor would he involve her in this plan. This was a gamble that he would do for himself, and he alone. And afterwards, Janice would be the spoils. His destiny. His wife. He gave Alice a side glance and sneered. “Soon be your turn to feel stupid, you fat ugly bitch,” he whispered mockingly, then settled down to sleep. The next week was all about planning. He would make notes about times and routes his wife would take when she visited her friends. He would check out the quiet country lanes and the narrow bridges. He checked the traffic flow along the fast roads and took pictures with his digital camera. And then two weeks later, decided exactly what to do and how. And he planned where to execute his act to get rid of the harridan he’d been cruelly stuck with, once and for all. Using a disguise of a woolly hat, an old combat jacket and faded jeans, he booked a day off to buy a large old van. Cheap and battered, a weighty vehicle, he paid cash having checked the classified sales on eBay. Two days earlier, he had rented a lock-up under another name, using his disguise as a Painter & Decorator, stating he wanted to store his equipment there. It was large enough to hold the van, and the owner wasn’t fussy and needed the money. Business for those properties had been poor for months. So no questions were asked. The lock-up was isolated and near a rundown industrial estate, well chosen for its location by Norman who had been looking for a remote unit. And he had found the ideal one. He paid two months in advance. That way it would be weeks before the van would be discovered. And using gloves, no finger prints would be there. Nothing to link him with the van or the unit and thanks to his old amateur dramatic skills with makeup and fake hair, he had carried the whole deception off with skill. Timing the day right, he had overheard Alice talking to one of her lunching friends called Penny. She had made plans to meet her friend for a Wednesday. Wednesday happened to be ideal since Norman usual worked from home that day. And as the day slowly advanced, he knew that he would have to kill Alice on that coming Wednesday. It was the ideal opportunity, perhaps the only one that would present itself for weeks. And he decided to take that chance. On Tuesday night, he drove to the lock-up and made sure his working man’s clothes were all ready. His dark wig and false moustache were there, and the van was stored. There was half a tank of fuel in the van. More than enough for what he needed to do. And so the scene was set, and the wheels of Alice’s destruction were put in motion. In the darkened unit, he made a last minute check. He immediately thought of Janice and freedom and happiness. It was a gamble, and it made him feel scared. He shivered in the coldness. Whether it was due to the cold or nerves, he wasn’t sure; perhaps it was both. But either way, he had one thought on his mind. And that was to kill Alice and remove her vitriolic, nasty-self from his life for good. On Wednesday, he lied. “I’ve got to go into the office to oversee the new design plans for the project,” he said cheerfully, “but I will be back.” Alice looked up from her breakfast of scrambled eggs. “Oh, so why tell me?” “I just thought it was polite to tell you where I’m going.” Alice waved a tired hand. “Whatever.” Her apathetic voice droned. “I heard you on the phone to Penny,” Norman said, trying to sound interested in his wife’s meeting. “Are you lunching at the Fox and Barrel in the village? I understand the food is excellent there.” Alice nodded. “It is.” Norman could see that the cow didn’t want to talk so he made his polite exit and left. Alice didn’t kiss him or say goodbye, but he had long grown used to such dismissive behaviour. Smiling, he closed the door and got into his car and drove away. He headed out towards the industrial estate and parked the car inside the unit. Got out and changed into his working men’s clothes of a boiler suit and scruffy, tweed jacket. The theatrical wig and moustache were set in place and he drove the van out of the unit, closed the door, and locked it securely. He drove into the countryside and passed through the village where Penny lived. Beyond the High Street was a hill that eventually dipped into a curved road that rose again towards a small, hump-backed bridge. Ahead of the bridge was a blind bend that had to be taken slowly. Beyond that was a field that gave him a perfect view of any, oncoming cars before they vanished behind a large hedge. Norman crested the bridge and slowed, then reversed into a side lane, the nose of the bulky Hyundai van just jutting slightly out towards the road. He killed the engine and waited. The air was fresh and the grass smelled sweet. The sun looked weak, watery, but it was cool. He opened the window and settled back to wait. He had a while to kill yet. But even so, he felt uneasy. Fear crept into every fibre of his body as the reality of his intentions began to sink in. He was going to kill his wife. He was risking everything for Janice. His career, job, home, money. All the things that he had accrued over the years of hard study and work felt like they’d been scooped up and placed on a vacant square on a roulette table. He imagined a Crown Court Judge’s hand placing a ball on the wheel, the spindle yanked, his liberty skittering around and around, wondering how it would land. The steel ball of fate danced and danced. He slowly sank down and placed his head in his hands. Now or never; now or never. There was no solace to be found in the darkness of his hands. Time drifted swiftly as he waited. Cars passed by. His train of thought misted as they raced by. Their blurs mingled with his fear and thoughts as he waited for her BMW to appear in the distance. Twenty minutes later, it did. Norman started the engine. It failed. It stuttered, then failed. “Fuck!” screamed Norman in frustration. “Bloody-well start!” He tried again as the BMW vanished behind the edge to take the bend. The Hyundai fired and he let out a cry of relief. The prow of the BMW appeared as Norman engaged gear. And timing it perfectly, he eased onto the road and accelerated the van like a missile towards his wife. As the German car took the rise towards the bridge, Norman swung the wheel hard and caught the side panel of the BMW at steep angle. The sheer ponderous mass of the van unseated the right-hand side of the car and sent it into a violent spin. Losing control, the BMW slewed off the road and smashed into the ... - tailieumienphi.vn