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Rachel didn’t stir as he clambered back over the fence and lay back panting against the other side, his panic already receding and a slow, burning anger growing back in its place. 

He was older now. He was older and stronger.

And he could stop her…

The thought brought a smile to his face and as he pushed himself to his feet, the image of her hanging limply there in the Red Room played tantalisingly across his mind.

DAY 3

When Ben’s eyes sprang open he immediately knew he had done something stupid. The problem was, he couldn’t figure out exactly what. There were only fragments of it floating around his brain and he had the feeling that maybe he might have just dreamed the whole thing. He certainly hoped he had.

He tried to think back but the last thing he remembered was having a smoke on the lilo. The rest was just snippets: images of him in the Red Room, him wanking outside her window as he watched her sleep, his cum spattering her window pane.

Surely it was a dream. He wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Wouldn’t have done anything so dangerous…
Would he? No
, he thought as he pushed himself to his feet. But he couldn’t help staring at the wall that separated them as though he could somehow penetrate its depths and see what was transpiring on the other side.
Was she at the window now?
Was she bent over, peering at the glass, her confusion turning to anger and disgust as she realised what was spattered on the pane?
Would she call the cops? Maybe they were already there now, taking notes, collecting samples, collecting evidence
. The urge to go and peek over the back fence was almost irresistible.
Just a quick look; see if he had really done it…

But despite its tempting nature, Ben resisted the urge.
What if she was in the backyard now and saw him peeping over the fence?
It wouldn’t take her long to put two and two together… No, he’d just have to wait; hope she didn’t notice it before she went out, then he could slip next door and clean it up…

What time was it? Has she already left?
Ben walked over to the window, peeled back the strip of tape a little and peered through. His stomach was gurgling strongly as he pressed his eye to the crack and Ben realised he hadn’t eaten for a few days. That he should probably get some food into him; keep his strength up. But he couldn’t do that until he’d cleaned up his mess.

That’s if there was a mess at all…

Ben watched the Indian cabbie a few doors up kiss his wife good-bye and head to his taxi. He assumed it must still be early. Along with the hunger, there was a jittery feeling in his stomach as he settled in to wait.

* * * * *

Rachel stared at the stains spattered across the window, her brow furrowed and her hand frozen half-way to the clothesline. The sopping underwear was sending drops of water snaking down her arm and wetting the sleeve of her work-shirt but Rachel barely noticed. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked at them there on the window.

Was that cum?

Rachel stared. It certainly looked like it but it was just so unexpected that Rachel was having difficulty believing it could be. It wasn’t everyday that you went to hang out your washing and found someone had sprogged on your window. Rachel wasn’t entirely certain as to what she should do. She was already running late for work as it was and had only been out because she forgot to hang out her second-best pair of underwear last night. Fuck knows what had happened to her best pair. She could have sworn she’d washed them with the last load but when she’d brought that in last night, they hadn’t been present. She’d just assumed they’d disappeared into the abyss that was her over-filled laundry hamper. Now she wasn’t so certain.

She felt dirty just thinking it. Violated but…
No, surely not
, she told herself. It just seemed so ridiculous that someone would have been standing outside her window, wanking away. Oddly it seemed more bizarre than creepy to her at first:
why would they want to?
But it wasn’t long before irritation began to creep in.
How fucking dare they? And why did they have to take her best underwear? There were a couple of grandma-pants pegged out as well. Why couldn’t they have taken those?

Rachel mused on the thought for a while before it dawned on her that she wasn’t thinking at all clearly about this. That she should really be more alarmed by it and well, she sort of was… There was alarm bubbling in her gut but she supposed it was being held back by shock.

Surely it can’t be jism,
she reiterated it, snapping back as she realised her work-shirt was now sodden to the elbow.

‘Fuck it,’ she hissed and pegged up the underwear. But as she shook off her dripping hand and the water splashed down next to the stains, she couldn’t think of anything else it could be. And instantly her mind jumped to her new neighbour. And just as instantly her anger burst through all the other conflicting emotions.

… Fucking hell, that’d be right. Fucking three in a row. What was she? Fucking cursed? Why did she always get the fruit-cakes next door? First the fucking old bitch with those fucking cats whining about the fucking key. Whining about fucking Thea. Then the fucking tool with his music and parties and now this fucking pervert. And it was the same in the last place too. It was like Mrs Stephenson moving had triggered some sort of curse. Four different neighbours in four months. All of them fucking selfish pricks. It was why she’d moved in the first place. Not that it had done her any good. The fuckers were just as inconsiderate wherever you went. None of them gave a fuck if they were interrupting you, disturbing you. As long as they were fucking happy everything was peachy. It fucking made her blood boil. It fucking made her want to put her fist right through the fucking window. It made her want to…

Rachel yelped in sudden pain and looked down shocked to see blood dribbling through the fingers of her clenched fist. For a second she just stared at it in disbelief. Then she took a shuddering breath and mouthed
wow
quietly. She giggled a little nervously as she opened her fist and studied the red crescents her fingernails had carved into her palm.

Easy there tiger,
she thought and winced as pain shot up her arm when she experimentally flexed her fingers. Suddenly it felt as though she’d just run a marathon. She just felt like curling up back in bed. Slowly, she turned her hand over and watched as a droplet broke free and arced to the concrete, splattering at her feet.

Her mouth felt a little dry as she caught a look at the dial on the back of her wrist.

Great and now I’m going to be really late.

There was a slight flash of anger following the thought, like an ebbing aftershock of an earthquake, as she pictured Maree’s response. She clamped down on it though and forced herself to move. She’d have to worry about it when she got home.

As she entered the back door, snibbing the lock as she closed it, Rachel was surprised to find her hands were shaking slightly. She left a small, bloody smear on the handle as she fastened the chain, then walked to the sink to wash her cut.

Strangely she was feeling a little guilty about how she’d ramped up at her neighbour. She liked to think she was fair-minded and not quick to judge. It was part of what pissed her off so much: that others didn’t follow suit. But what had she done? She’d just played judge and jury and if she was being honest, even contemplated executioner. And based on what? That he was new? That he seemed a little spacey? Suddenly the idea of him outside her window wanking; the idea of him stealing her underwear just seemed ludicrous. Even though she was alone, she found herself blushing with embarrassment.

Fuck it could have been anyone. Imagine if she’d confronted him – she’d been angry enough to. Imagine if she’d done that and it hadn’t been him. How would she have been better than any of the other fuckers she’d just railed against?

As she watched her watered-down blood swirl around the plug-hole, Rachel just couldn’t help her suspicions though. It was just the way he’d been staring at her. The odd feeling she got around him.
Maybe it was possible?

All she knew was that if she didn’t get going, she was probably going to lose her job, which wouldn’t help matters. The fucking bitch Maree was probably waiting there now with a stop-watch and would see to that. And as much as she hated her job, she needed the fucking money. If she was ever going to get a place of her own, somewhere nice; a big yard so she didn’t have to be crammed in with all these inconsiderate fucks all day, then she needed to keep squirreling away her money.

But it depressed her how far into the future that seemed. With house prices the way they were, the idea of her own place just seemed like a pipe-dream and sometimes Rachel just felt so trapped. Like she would be stuck in her flat forever.

It was a feeling she got quite often to varying degrees but as she stalked to the bathroom for a bandage, it rose up with particular vehemence.

Sometimes she wished the whole world would just fuck off and disappear.

* * * * *

Ben didn’t know how to interpret her demeanour as he watched her storm off down the driveway. She was clearly pissed off and cast a lingering glance at his door before stomping away but he couldn’t tell if it meant anything.
Was he just being paranoid?

He waited until she’d stalked out of view before he sealed the tape back up and returned to his lilo to think.
At least the police hadn’t shown up. Surely if she’d seen it, the first thing she would have done was call the cops. He could still fix this little mishap.

Ben couldn’t suppress a smile as he rose to his feet and walked to the back door. His stomach was knotting with hunger but he ignored it and stepped into the courtyard.
He’d clean up the mess, then he’d go and get some food. Maybe even pay a visit to the café where she worked, watch her dart between the tables…

Ben toyed with the idea for a moment before dismissing it.
No that would be really pushing it. Just get this mess sorted out.

The sense of relief he felt was immense as he scaled the fence into her yard. It was like it was only just dawning on him how concerned he’d been. But it hadn’t been the sort he’d expected. It hadn’t been the worry of getting caught exactly but more that he’d get caught before he could add her to his collection.

* * * * *

As he sat in the café a few doors down from the tram stop, Ben held the key, slowing turning it in front of his eyes. The relief he was feeling was huge –
he had made a mess but he’d fixed it now
– however it was nothing compared to the excitement that was welling in him.

Could it be possible?

He reread the name on the tag and then turned his attention to the company logo engraved on the base of the key again.

Guardian.

Ben’s excitement jumped another notch, just as it had when he’d seen the name the first time. When he’d first sat down, ordered and removed the key from his pocket. Because
Guardian
was a word he’d seen earlier that day. When he’d been toying with the lock on her back door, it had been there, printed neatly around the tumbler.

No, he couldn’t be that lucky. Why would it be hers? There were probably a million locks out there with the same word printed on them
. But the idea wouldn’t go away and even as the waitress arrived with his plate of scrambled eggs it lingered at the back of his mind.

But if it was her key, why was it in his flat?

Ben fed a spoonful of eggs into his mouth as he searched for an answer, and chewed slowly, only realising what he’d done as the flavour exploded across his mouth. Scrambled eggs. It was a dish he was only able to stomach when he was building up to another addition for the Red Room. His own personal sort of ritual. It was only then that the nausea didn’t kick in. Because it was always the dish
she
had served.
The apology meal
, his brother had always called it. When they would wake up in the morning, the bruises showing, the cuts and burns beginning to scab, limp to the kitchen and
she
would be there, chain smoking in front of the stove, the smell suffusing the kitchen despite the ashtray of crumpled butts on the counter.

And she would turn and smile and the evil would be far back in her eyes and her face would be puffy and red like she’d been crying and she would turn and face them and tell them to sit down; tell them that mummy loved them very much and that she was sorry…

Ben had hated those breakfasts so much; hated her for them. The pretence that it had just been a one off snap; that it wasn’t going to happen again that night.

And it had always been his dream hadn’t it? To sit quietly through the breakfast, forcing down each and every choking mouthful and smile sweetly the whole time. A sweet smile to match hers and then when he was done, stand up, retrieve a knife from the sink were it would still be stained with their blood and just sink it into her gut…