Read Online Son of a Serial Killer by Jams N. Roses - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jams N. Roses
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reluctantly , he picked it up and they both saw Natalie's name appear on the screen; the moment for more sex had passed.
‘ You'd better get that,’ said Eve, as she got up from the bed and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her and turning on the shower.
‘ I haven't got anything to say to you, Nat,’ he said as he held the phone to his ear. ‘I just need a bit of time to get my head around things.’
‘ But Ben, I love you. We need to talk, this is important. Please, just come home...’ Natalie pleaded.
He ended the call with Natalie mid-sentence and tossed the phone beside him. Mentally drained, he put his head to the pillow and tried to shut out the noise from all the thoughts in his head.
24
Mrs Green stood in the near-bare room that had been rather haphazardly painted 'Devil Red'.
She peeled off her all-in-one painting overall and screwed it up, then placed it in a plastic bag and looked around the room and smiled, proud of her accomplishment. She had painted the room in just a couple of hours, that's a good pace of work for anybody, although the quality of her work was sloppy, very poor even.
Red paint had dripped and ran onto the carpet from the roller, and from when too much had been applied to the surfaces in one go. The white coving had been painted, where she hadn't missed bits, and the white ceiling had been rolled red as well, which had clearly proven diffi cult, as the quality of finish could have been better from a blind person with shaky hands.
She had obviously been frustrated at one point, as the paint covered computer equipment had been pushed from the desk and was now smashed and broken on the floor. But still, at that very moment, she was happy.
Mrs Green took the bag with the overalls and dumped them beside the kitchen bin. She hadn't finished all she had planned for the day in her ‘red room’ but had some time before the paint would dry so decided to have another glass of wine.
The open bottle sat on the table, but she couldn't see her glass, she'd forgotten that she threw it out into the garden earlier on, that unfair act of violence towards an animal just doing as it was genetically programmed to do, exploring the outdoors and marking its territory.
She didn't see the correlation between the cat being a cat, and the adv ice she had recently given to her son.
‘T his is who you are, Ben, it is in your blood.’
There were no clean glasses in the cupboard. She looked in the dishwasher and found them all there, the big and the small, all dirty, so grabbed one out at random, slammed the door shut and started the machine without adding any cleaning product.
She sat at the table, placed her filthy glass down and poured, filled it to the top with her preferred red wine, then gulped it down.
Mrs Green leant across the table and flicked on the radio, it was tuned in as always to the local news channel. As with all smaller radio stations, it relied on advertising for funding, and at the time was going through its usual five minutes of advertisements. Annoyed, she cursed under her breath at this unfortunate timing, 'fucking adverts.'
Also on the table was a ca rdboard box, filled with newspaper cut-outs and photo frames, some of which she’d salvaged from the clearing out of Mr Green's office. She carefully lifted them out of the box, one by one, and gently placed them to the side. If she had taken this much care with the painting, the end result would have been entirely different in the red room. After the last of the frames were resting on the table, she lifted out the newspaper clippings. She sifted through the pictures and stories, all of which were relevant to The Phantom killings.
Mrs Green's ears pricked up and a smile ever so slightly crept onto her face as finally, the advertisements finished and the radio presenter said they were cutting to a statement being made by a Detective Inspector Summers, the latest officer in charge of The Phantom case.
The press were
‘ You'd better get that,’ said Eve, as she got up from the bed and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her and turning on the shower.
‘ I haven't got anything to say to you, Nat,’ he said as he held the phone to his ear. ‘I just need a bit of time to get my head around things.’
‘ But Ben, I love you. We need to talk, this is important. Please, just come home...’ Natalie pleaded.
He ended the call with Natalie mid-sentence and tossed the phone beside him. Mentally drained, he put his head to the pillow and tried to shut out the noise from all the thoughts in his head.
24
Mrs Green stood in the near-bare room that had been rather haphazardly painted 'Devil Red'.
She peeled off her all-in-one painting overall and screwed it up, then placed it in a plastic bag and looked around the room and smiled, proud of her accomplishment. She had painted the room in just a couple of hours, that's a good pace of work for anybody, although the quality of her work was sloppy, very poor even.
Red paint had dripped and ran onto the carpet from the roller, and from when too much had been applied to the surfaces in one go. The white coving had been painted, where she hadn't missed bits, and the white ceiling had been rolled red as well, which had clearly proven diffi cult, as the quality of finish could have been better from a blind person with shaky hands.
She had obviously been frustrated at one point, as the paint covered computer equipment had been pushed from the desk and was now smashed and broken on the floor. But still, at that very moment, she was happy.
Mrs Green took the bag with the overalls and dumped them beside the kitchen bin. She hadn't finished all she had planned for the day in her ‘red room’ but had some time before the paint would dry so decided to have another glass of wine.
The open bottle sat on the table, but she couldn't see her glass, she'd forgotten that she threw it out into the garden earlier on, that unfair act of violence towards an animal just doing as it was genetically programmed to do, exploring the outdoors and marking its territory.
She didn't see the correlation between the cat being a cat, and the adv ice she had recently given to her son.
‘T his is who you are, Ben, it is in your blood.’
There were no clean glasses in the cupboard. She looked in the dishwasher and found them all there, the big and the small, all dirty, so grabbed one out at random, slammed the door shut and started the machine without adding any cleaning product.
She sat at the table, placed her filthy glass down and poured, filled it to the top with her preferred red wine, then gulped it down.
Mrs Green leant across the table and flicked on the radio, it was tuned in as always to the local news channel. As with all smaller radio stations, it relied on advertising for funding, and at the time was going through its usual five minutes of advertisements. Annoyed, she cursed under her breath at this unfortunate timing, 'fucking adverts.'
Also on the table was a ca rdboard box, filled with newspaper cut-outs and photo frames, some of which she’d salvaged from the clearing out of Mr Green's office. She carefully lifted them out of the box, one by one, and gently placed them to the side. If she had taken this much care with the painting, the end result would have been entirely different in the red room. After the last of the frames were resting on the table, she lifted out the newspaper clippings. She sifted through the pictures and stories, all of which were relevant to The Phantom killings.
Mrs Green's ears pricked up and a smile ever so slightly crept onto her face as finally, the advertisements finished and the radio presenter said they were cutting to a statement being made by a Detective Inspector Summers, the latest officer in charge of The Phantom case.
The press were
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