Read Online Keeping by Sarah Masters - Free Book Online

solid hour or two of sleep while he sat on the sofa and meditated, waiting for a sign or for Mr Clever to tell him it was The Time. He always liked that bit. Got to be someone totally different, didn’t he, or perhaps who he was supposed to be. Yeah, that was it. That was what his peRsonAl joUrnEy was all about. Becoming himself. How many women would he have to kill in order to be his true self all the time? Or was the killing ritual the only thing that enabled him to be himself?
    He didn’t know, and that’s what made this road he traveled so interesting. He was discovering more about himself every day, and the answers to his questions would come given time. Rome wasn’t built in a day —Mr Clever had told him that, and seeing as Mr Clever was such a clever man, David just had to trust in his voice and do as he was being told. “It would all come out in the wash,” like people were fond of saying. But things didn’t always come out in the wash, did they?
    He shoved that thought aside, knowing if he chased it he’d end up in a mess, worrying himself stupid about things he shouldn’t concern himself with. And being a mess might fuck with what he was doing, and he couldn’t have that.
    He took the mask off, regretting its loss—it had become a part of him, the condensation inside disguising any tears that might want to fall—yet at the same time he was relieved to have some clean air on his skin. Well, cleaner now that Cheryl had been bleached and the air freshener had done exactly what it claimed it would—‘Floral Breeze doesn’t just mask odors, it takes them away!’
    He went into his bedroom beside hers to place the mask back in his bedside drawer. He stroked it. The cheeks were as soft as the women’s—he closed his eyes and imagined the ritual had started already, that he was doing what he always did before they were snuffed out for good. The familiar feeling of The Time came then, and he snapped his eyes open. He went to the bathroom to check on the knickers, the only thing of Cheryl’s he hadn’t put in the washing machine. He stared into the sink, pleased to see all traces of the mess in her knickers had gone—bleach, he loved it, so good at getting rid of stains and stenches—so unplugged the stopper then rinsed them through. After squeezing them out, he draped them over the radiator then walked out into the hallway to turn up the heating so they’d dry quicker.
    He stood with eyes closed. Back against the wall. Waited. Held his breath, his lungs screaming for him to release it. What he’d anticipated came then. The grind and squeak of the pipes getting hot. It gave him a settled feeling. He’d always liked that noise. It reminded him of his childhood when he’d huddled in the corner with Sally, while his parents had argued. The pipes in their old house had been dreadful, loud, but they’d helped drown out the voices—except the one in his head. How had he gone so many years without knowing Mr Clever’s name? Why had he never thought to ask what it was before now?
    “Because you thought I was you, didn’t you, David?” Mr Clever asked.
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Go and get Sally, David. While the knickers dry, go and get Sally.”
    David returned to his bedroom, hearing the soft hum of the tumble dryer in the kitchen as it worked its warming magic on Cheryl’s clothes. Sally sat on his bed where she always sat until The Time. Two fluffy brown scatter cushions propped her up, the polyester fibers stroking her arms with the help of a breeze coming through the window. He shouldn’t have left that open and strutted over to it. Closed it tight and locked it. None of the women had ever tried to jump out—but then he hadn’t given them the chance to.
    He moved back onto the bed, picked Sally up. She sat in his lap quite nicely, her chubby legs sticking out and resting directly on his thighs. She’d been with him through so many things, and if he ever lost her he’d be heartbroken. It