Friday Night Frights 7

Chapter 7

   Billie’s knee jerked when his name was called.

  
    “Mr T…Turner?”

   
   A young woman about the age of twenty, stuttered and corrected herself.

  
    “That’s me.”

  
    He stood up and followed her to the pre-screening area.

  
    “I’m sorry, I meant to say DI Turner.”

   
   “It’s OK, I don’t mind.”

  
    She took him from one machine to another, when she was done, she lead him to Heather’s testing room. After the introductions, he sat in the big chair. Anxiety filled him like moths jerking around in a glass bottle. He plastered a fake smile, hoping that he didn’t look too demented.

   
   “DI Turner, I’ve never had a detective on my chair.”

  
    She smiled seductively.

   
   “What can I say, we all need to have our eyes checked.”

   
   He noticed the curve of her cheek. The waves on her blond hair. Her enticing curves.

   
   Shit.

  
    He was attracted to her. Every time she wheeled her chair closer to him, his body lit up like it was on fire. He had to concentrate on the letters. A knock on the door broke the tension. She swivelled towards the door.

  
    “Come in.”

  
    A tall older man carrying a clipboard entered the room.

   
   “Sorry to disturb you, but Miss Cox is having difficulty with the fields test.”

   
   “I’ll be right back detective.”

  
    “Take your time.”

   
   Heather closed the door behind her. This was his opportunity. He leapt up and carefully opened her handbag. Billie recoiled at the two blue eyeballs that looked up at him from a glass jar. He quickly closed the bag and returned to his seat. There might be something to Jim Hardwick’s letter after all. The door opened and Heather returned to her seat.

   
   “Right, detective, if you sit back, let me take a closer look at those beautiful blue eyes of yours.”

   
   He smiled nervously.

Friday Nights Frights 5

Chapter 5

   Soap bubbles fell away from her when she got out of the bathtub. After drying off, she pulled on a white set of PJs. The microwave pinged in the kitchen. A bowl of leftovers steamed and dripped off the sides of the microwaves. Earlier in the week, she made a large portion of spaghetti bolognaise and spicy noodles.

  
    She ate in the kitchen while watching Making a Murderer on her laptop. A sense of calm spread through her. There wasn’t a single drop of blood on her duvet. She managed to pop Tom’s eyes out of their sockets, wiped the blood off his face and slipped them into a honey jar in record time. His body was buried in her neighbour’s garden. She knew the old lady didn’t have cameras installed for security and that she was in the hospital recovering from a broken hip. 


      At around 9PM, she settled down on the sofa and called her mother.

  
    “Mother, how are you?”


   There was an uncomfortable silence.

   
   “Hetty, I’m not well.”

  
    “Are they looking after you?”

  
    Her mother was locked up in a mental institution after being convicted of killing her husband, and eating his heart. Heather was only four years old. Her aunt Gemma took her in until she was eighteen.

   
   “They’re not giving me my telly.”

   
   “What happened mother?”

  
    “I bit Nurse Nelly’s hand.”

   
   “Why did you do that?”

   
   “I was hungry. Are you going to visit me?”

   
   “Not right now mother. I’m going to bed now. Good night. And don’t bite anybody.”

  
    “Hetty? Where are you go…?”

  
    Heather hung up and climbed into bed. When she closed her eyes, she dreamed of blue eyes.