(Okay, so the last couple of chapter were mostly Nikki and Helen focus but this chapter I revealed more about the killer as you shall come to read. I wanted to show a little more about how he thinks but I shall not reveal any more. You will have to keep reading. Also, a little shocking reveal this chapter. Maybe not as shocking if you are sharp to my story. So enjoy and again, it's always nice to know what my readers think. Stay tuned for more shocking storylines.)

Chapter 19

Nikki unbuttoned her shirt, shrugging with the buttons, she get was getting impatient. Her body practically rippled with power. Nikki climbed back on top and kissed Helen again, this time like a hungry warrior. Helen relaxed against the force of Nikki's mouth, denying Nikki nothing and encouraging her abandon. Gliding her fingers over Helen skin Nikki moved down to kiss Helen's neck, licking as she made her way down, then finally resting on Helen's breasts. Everything about Nikki was powerful, commanding. Nikki moved against Helen with such skill that Helen hardly had time to think. Helen didn't know exactly what Nikki did, but she'd never experienced anything like it in her life. Once again she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt awash over her. One moment she was in a euphoric state, then suddenly as if her brain took command, she felt like what she was doing was wrong and sinful. This went against everything she believed to be honest and she was supposed to be in a monogamist relationship with Sean. She felt sick inside all the while feeling such intense pleasure.

"Please, Nikki, this must stop," Helen finally said, trying to break free from Nikki which was not an easy thing to do since her body betrayed her words.

Nikki ignored Helen and continued kissing her neck as she slowly pressed her body against Helen in a rhythmic movement.

"Nikki, we need to stop, please," Helen pleaded. She could barely contain her own sexual desires and she knew she needed all her strength to stop them from going any further.

Nikki stopped what she was doing not quite certain if she had heard correctly. Was Helen out of her mind? "What," her breathing was laboured.

"I'm so sorry Nikki," Helen looked into Nikki's eyes still filled with desire and confusion. "I can't. This is not right."

"Every moment leading up would have been wrong, so why stop now?" Nikki cursed angrily as she leaned up and sat upright feeling her emotions drain. She put her hands over her face, afraid to show Helen how upset she was.

Helen tried to put her hand on Nikki's shoulder but Nikki turned away. "Please, Nikki…we can't. There's Sean and I don't want to have this guilt over me knowing what we are doing is wrong. I don't want to be one of those cheating louts I talk about."

"You're feeling guilty now. Sod you Helen," Nikki cried out, unable to control the wave of emotions crashing through her. "Maybe you should have realised that before you led me on."

"Nikki?" she said groggily, blinking a couple of times. "God…I am so messed up. You make me feel too much…I can't breathe."

"Don't," Nikki exclaimed, watching Helen's cheeks turn bright red as tears fell down Helen face. "I don't think I can take any more of your lame excuses.

"Let me explain Nikki," Helen said almost in desperation.

"What?" Nikki demanded indignant, "Everything was a mistake. Is that what you're going to say? You wanted to feel something so you allowed yourself to engulf in my emotions?" Nikki was on the verge of tears and ready to bolt from the room. Helen tightened her arms around Nikki, almost tight enough to hurt.

"You know that's not true," Helen pleaded but how could she appease the woman she loved knowing she was ripping her heart.

"No, then why do you have that look in your eyes?" Nikki replied, still reeling.

"What look?" Helen demanded.

"The 'what have I done look' Helen." Nikki said, with a callus intent.

"Is that what you think?" Helen said defensively. She was now furious with Nikki. How could Nikki think that of her? She told her that she was in love with her so why would Nikki say such cruel words

"Don't give me that innocent look Helen 'cos I've seen it before. You have the guilt look in your eyes, like you're regretting what you did." Nikki said, not realising why she was being cold. In retrospect, Nikki didn't want to hear Helen tell her the reasons why they couldn't be together even though they wanted each other. It was too much to bare.

"Sod you, Nikki, think what you want." Helen got up quickly from the bed, unsure of what to do. "I told you that I was in love with you so why are you being so cruel?"

"Cruel? Is that what you think I am?" Nikki demanded. "That's just brilliant. I can see in your eyes your desire for me. I know you want me to make love to you but go ahead and run back to Sean. I know what we are doing is probably wrong since you are with him, but what I feel for you is so much stronger than reason and I know you feel it too."

"That is why we needed to stop," Helen tried to explain but Nikki was having none of it.

"That is a poor excuse to use on me." Nikki spat. "I'm so frustrated with myself and yet all I want to do is hold you, caress you but everything is shite."

"Please understand," Helen said, feeling guilty and annoyed with herself.

"I understand that you are a coward?" Nikki replied coldly. She knew she was being harsh but she was reeling with anger and disappointment. "I think I should leave you alone."

Helen looked at Nikki who was avoiding her eyes. "Please, can't we talk about this Nikki? We have to work together."

Nikki got up and walked towards Helen with a stone face. "Don't worry, we're friends," Nikki said empathizing the word 'friends'. "Words were said, emotions were revealed. It doesn't mean anything in the end."

"Why are you acting like this meant nothing?" Helen said, her voice strained.

"Yeah, trying to deflect the blame unto me. Hide into your safe cocoon. It's what you do best." Nikki spat.

Helen turned to Nikki, her face red with anger. She didn't say a word. Right now she was annoyed with Nikki and didn't want to get into a verbal match with her. She couldn't believe how different Nikki seemed but she knew that she was to blame. Yet it didn't hurt any less.

"What, you're going to ignore me now?" Nikki said. She couldn't hold back. Nikki knew that she should leave it alone, but she couldn't. The thought of Helen regretting what happened between them incensed her anger.

"Obviously, you're not thinking clearly." Helen said as she tried to leave. "I will not defend myself to you at this moment. I think I should go before things get heated."

"Fine," Nikki said, walking to the door. "Well, I'm sure you won't have trouble finding the door then."

Helen's face dropped with disgust. "You're being stubborn. I can't be happier than to leave this place." Helen felt a stab in her chest. She didn't mean those words. It just came out of anger.

Nikki felt numb. She could see herself argue with Helen, she knew that what she was saying was way out of character, but she had no control. Something else was controlling her words. A force beyond her. Was she possessed? Nikki looked coldly at Helen. "I knew you didn't have the strength to give us a go. I was just a mistake to you."

Helen didn't say anything, choosing to remain silent, which nagged Nikki further. She grabbed her belongings and headed for the door without looking at Nikki. And then she was gone as Nikki stood there feeling regret and hurt. This was shite!

Once Helen was outside Nikki's front door she leaned against it for support. Tears were streaming down her face and she still felt that sexual energy permeating her body. She thought about how Nikki touched her and how it made her feel. Why did she have to act so immature? Why did she stop when her body was on fire and her heart filled with emotions never felt before? She knew it was her guilt. She glanced at her watch and sighed. It was a little past 5:30am and she didn't want to go home. So she decided to do the one thing she knew was completely wrong and knew she would regret later but she needed to escape her reality even if it meant betraying her emotions.

A little while later she found herself fumbling for her keys. She opened the door and silently make her way in. It was still dark and she didn't want to turn the lights on. She made her way upstairs, the sexual longing for Nikki was still lingering strong. She opened the door and slowly started to remove her clothes and she climbed the bed and positioned herself on top, adjusting her body. Then she started rubbing herself on the sleeping body that eventually awoken with a smile.

"Helen," Sean said, surprised to find Helen starting down at him. Whatever got into her he didn't care as he allowed him to feel the pleasure he missed from her.

"Shh…don't speak." Helen replied as she did not want to hear his voice. She closed her eyes as she continued thrusting herself on him. As the pleasure intensified, the only face she could see was Nikki. She imaged Nikki touching her, pleasuring her and if felt wonderful. She could still smell Nikki's desire for her. She longed for Nikki's touch, and she forgot where she was. It was Nikki's face, Nikki's body that she was feeling and she pushed herself on until she felt herself close to climax. She felt so emotional and reached out to touch Nikki's face as her whole body ached. Just before she climaxed she whisper Nikki's name forgetting her surroundings. It was then she heard someone calling out her name. It wasn't Nikki's voice and she felt a darkness cross over as if she was awakening from a dream. She blinked her eyes several times, adjusting to the harsh reality. It happened so fast she could not remember the how she got there. How she ended up on Sean's bed. She closed her eyes again forgetting what she did as she didn't realised she had called out Nikki's name.

"Helen," Sean called out to her as he pull her closer, almost roughly towards him.

Helen slowly opened her eyes again, and looked down and saw Sean staring intently at her. She looked around and finally realised where she was and she felt sick to her stomach. She remembered why she went there and knew the reasons were wrong. She rolled off of him and onto her side. A tear rolling down her cheek. She felt like she had an out of body experience with Nikki but reality was cruel.

Sean laid there frozen. He was disgusted and anger rose inside him like never before. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Did Helen really just called out Nikki's name in climax? He wanted to be believe him was imagining it but deep inside he knew the woman he loved betrayed him and it was roting his core. He wasn't sure what to do but he knew he had to do something fast. He would find a way to make Nikki pay. Then he wondered if Helen was having an affair with Nikki behind his back. The sodding dyke he thought. He needed to get rid of her somehow.

"I'm tired," she replied turning her back against him. She closed her eyes once more trying to block everything that happened. She was in pain and her heart felt as if someone stuck a knife in it. She knew having sex with Sean, her fiancée should be a natural act, but nothing felt natural and she knew she needed space from everything to clear her head but that was not possible. She would have to face Nikki, reality, and whatever consequences that were sure to follow. If only her heart didn't ache to the dark haired woman.

He had been hunting the girl for almost a week. He felt like an imperturbable wolf following an unsuspecting prey. The stimulation was a source that he needed to carry out his impeccable design he felt was necessary to prove he was worthy. There was no room for oversights. He had gotten close enough to touch her, but he hadn't. His culpabilities, he knew how to mask well, still, at times his life felt like an anaemic barely holding on. He knew he had to be especially meticulous with this girl. The voices in his head made aware the consequences if he faltered but the growing hunger inside him needed a release. There was nothing imaginable more beautiful, pure and innocent than the hunt to kill. Why he felt that rush was a like a cryptic passage but he knew he was chosen for a higher purpose. And that innocent look in her eyes would disappear and replaced with fear. He would not allow himself to think he was singular, but a messenger. There was much work to do. To society she was just an average girl, but to him, she was participating in sins, against the will of God. He wished he had taken time for a fag as the adrenalin was pouring through his veins. He thought about how most offenders did their research. Like most serious crimes, it was a rare situation that a chance just presented itself and was exploited on the spur of the moment. It took seer talent and planning to be effective at most things in life, including being a predator. A smiled appeared on his face as the ecstasy of what he was about to do overwhelmed him. But it was at that precise moment a memory crossed his mind. A flashback.

(Flashback)

He was inspecting it that morning, surveying the odd looking doll with uninterested eyes. Since leaving his house, he spent most of his time writing his reports, sitting at his desk ignoring most of his surroundings, staring at the computer screen as if he was mesmerized by rays. He had almost drifted off when his personal mobile rang as he looked to see if he knew the number on his screen but did not. Its incessant ringing quickly drowned his macabre thoughts, as he picked up his phone to answer it.

"Better be important," his voice was annoyed.

The voice on the other end was a familiar one, which always unnerved him more than hearing a stranger's voice. Still he could not place it right away then finally he remembered and a frown appeared on his face. "Did my wife give you this number?" He asked, feeling like his personal space had been invaded as he continued listening to the voice on the other line. "Fine, you have one day, and then I want you gone. I have no time for family matters." He grudgingly accepted his invitation as he never warmed to his Uncle Finley, for reasons he would rather not recall nor truly understand the true implications it had on his life. His Uncle had always been a singular figure passing through his childhood memories, with no real sentiment or emotions to bind him to a figure he had detested. He hadn't seen his Uncle for many years, a state he remained entirely ambivalent about. Much as he opposed the idea of seeing him once again, he didn't want to seem unreceptive since his wife had invited him, so he agreed to meet him alone. Pretending to be happy about the idea he said his goodbye, as he put the phone down grimacing. He did not need this intrusion in his life.

The odd looking doll, slumped as usual against the wall, stared at him as if it had peering eyes. He knew he was not insane and that the doll was just an inanimate object, but there was something human-like about it that appealed to him. He didn't fully comprehend except that the doll made him feel nostalgic. In reality, the doll represented a more sinister truth about his past. An event that shaped his existence. But this was one memory he so desperately tried to suppress and eventually distorted the truth to fit his own reality.

His Uncle Finely finally arrived, and it was evident he had succumbed to the pathetic pitfall of old age as he looked fatigued and frail. His face embodied his face like death would look before crossing over, dark eyes sunk back into their sockets. His hair, once thick and dark brown, had gone grey losing its natural pigment. His hair seemed to absorb an opaque colour, a translucent white that reflected light to some extent as the light bounded off his head. He knew if the strands were wet, then they would probably be less penetrable by the light and appear darker. It would not make him look any younger he thought to himself as the deep lines on his Uncle face expressed a man who had not aged well. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the years of guilt that dragged his form to a hell-like state.

"Drone…" his greeting was stony, distant. "Nice of you to have me in my forsaken state."

"Don't call me Drone…" he was not amused, as he hated that nickname that his Uncle had given him. It only brought up unpleasant memories from the past. "Please, sit down."

His Uncle scanned the room and decided to sit down on the armchair that seemed to have dust as if no one has occupied the chair for ages. He sat across the fireplacesthat roared with flames as if something had been burning, a smell he knew was familiar. As he glanced up the fireplace, there hung a black and white photo of a roll of large trees that were engulfed in fog. The picture itself seemed eerie and had a frightening quality to it. At the corner was another chair, a wooden rocking chair, as if it belonged to a child. There sat a doll that was almost hidden from view, tucked away in the corner of his eye. He saw his Uncle turn, glance at it intently, and immediately withdraw his gaze as if eyes were burning his soul.

He finally sat himself, quickly adopting the template of an embittered married couple. He reached over to hand his Uncle a pipe, carrying out menial conversation that required no deep thought or meaning. At times he closed his eyes, just to avoid listening to his Uncle's ranting. As he sat there, listening to him recount days of the past, there was an unspoken awkwardness between them, one neither of them would rightfully admit. Or neither of them wanted to rehash. Not at first. But as all things, evil lurks in the shadows he thought to himself.

"Where did you get that creepy looking doll?" His Uncle sneered. He knew exactly what it was. He glanced casually upwards from smoking his pipe. His hand gripped the pipe as if he was holding on for dear life. He knew there was no turning back. He realised before he entered the house, he would never leave. He told himself this was the right thing to do as it was time to cleanse his soul.

"Don't you remember?" He said, venom dripping from his tongue. He looked at him attentively, trying to see past those dark eyes. He hated not being in control.

"Yes, I do remember," he said quietly, anger stirring in his face. "But I thought I was seeing a ghost from the past." The old man replied, remembering the ugly truth.

He sighed through gritted teeth. "What are you getting at old fool? I know perfectly well what secrets you hold dear to your heart."

"That doll is morbid, and impure. Pure evil is what it is. Why on earth would you have something like for all to see?" His Uncle demanded.

"Does it remind you of someone?" He replied meekly. "Does it bother you? Well, you have no reason to demand things from me."

"It's just very strange, Drone that someone like you, a grown man, would keep such a strange looking doll when you don't have any children. Very disturbing." As his eyelids felt heavy as if he felt a force strangling his thoughts. He suddenly caught sight of the doll, its face turned enquiringly at him. As he stared at it, half aware, the memories that floated back in his mind disturbed his thoughts. He sighed heavily and tried to forget.

"Don't call me that. What do you know about disturbing? Don't sit there pretending to be righteous." He scoffed. "You're no man of cloth." His Uncle Finley had shrugged his shoulders, continuing smoking his pipe unfazed. But the words returned to him, each one chiming with a chilling new significance. He bolted upright, his eyes drifted from the doll to his Uncle, and back. Suddenly realising he was almost completely full of resentment, he leapt to his feet and walked towards the fireplace.

Uncle Finely stirred in his chair, that uncomfortable feeling in his veins, a bitterness he harboured, an animosity he felt in his bones as if he was looking at a complete stranger. "Is there something you dying to ask me?"

"Nothing…nothing…" he replied losing his nerve, and growing impatient with himself. He could hunt his prey and show them true terror but he was reduced to a child in front of his Uncle. He hated that feeling.

"Poor Drone, still peeing in his knickers, afraid of the dark," his Uncle sneered, knowing that his words word trigger long forgotten memories. "Still afraid of the monsters in your head, but now the monster is you."

He knew he was acting on irrational impulses, the evidence of a child's porcelain doll but he couldn't stop himself from feeling the intense wrath burning in his soul. He had always been unusual, never amounting to goodness in his mother's eyes. He once overheard his mother and aunt talk malevolently of him, wishing the lord would take him away when he was a child. They used words like imp, a demon, devil spirit that strangely seemed appropriate. The cruel words sounded like his mother was trying to exorcist his existence from her world as if she was warding off a demon who possessed her womb and infested her with their instrument of evil. He didn't understand the meaning behind the chilling words when he was a child. But he knew enough to know he was different from other children his own age. Yet he craved his mother's approval. Stranger was the need to resolve his strained and awkward relationship with his mother before she died.

He tried desperately to make something of it, searching his memories for any hints or clues. His recollections of her death were obscured in the extreme, and only occasionally remembered the odd scene of dialogue in passing. Could he have possibly repressed some of the memories, the sombre feeling that subdued his recall or was something ominous at play? Something terrible, gruesome to remember. The only thing he did recall is the day of her funeral, with everyone clad in black and crying in the living room, holding each other for comfort. He himself was indifferent, having little or no emotions on that day as if he didn't understand. But what was he really hiding?

"Shut your gob. You understand nothing." He said, and his words hung in the room for an eternity. Then Uncle Finely looked at him, giving him a distant and unfeeling glance. He felt as though he'd taken a stab and the knife probed in his back of his spine. Then he had started to cry as memories flooded his mind with force as his Uncle looked at him amused that a grown man could cry such tears even though he knew deep down inside his Nephew was a cold-hearted killer.

After all the years, he was still crying. Crouched over, he failed to prevent a steady stream of tears rolling down his cheeks. If the gloomy speculations formed into a hard truth then the repercussions were colossal. It also meant he was sharing this sacred moment with a pedophile and child killer he knew of his Uncle. His blood boiled, chilled, ran in cold streams through his veins. He stared at the figure in front of him, a figure that has haunted him for years and made him the monster that he was today. He picked up the old dusty photograph on the mantle, the black and white snapshot of unhappy faces that imitated a so-called normal Christian family. But it was far from normal. His alcoholic domineering father, who held the family together with an iron fist. His fanatical, obsessive religious mother who mechanised her life in scriptures and demanded sanctification from her child. In the picture he was eleven, his thick dark brown hair hung over his shoulders. His mother red-head and freckled, presented a fake smile to the camera as if she was convincing herself her life was normal. The odd looking doll hung from her hand, lopsided head and also looking absently into the lens as if it had a soul. As if it knew the dark secrets that hide behind the lens. He stroked it, a combination of optimism and horror swelling in the pit of his stomach. He decided he should interrogate his Uncle about the subject which had exasperated him so much since he heard his voice over the phone. He sat down on the chair opposite his Uncle, and their eyes inevitably drifted towards the doll.

"Why didn't you want me to have that doll here?" He asked, watching his Uncle's facial features. They looked defeated.

He moaned into the hollowness, the air feeling thin. "It's morbid, that's all."

"How so?"

The anger crept into his voice. "Because it's the doll of your dead mother and we both know it has great significance."

He pounced on a single word he had chosen. "Dead? You're assuming she's dead then? But there has not been a single evidence that she actually died."

"Of course she's dead. We held a funeral. Why would you say such a cruel thing?" His Uncle asked, knowing the reasons why.

"I'm not a child so don't talk down to me. And they never actually found her body, did they? She might have run off and started a new life for herself, choosing to remove herself from the hell we were all under." He said, blocking the truth from evading his memories.

He Uncle turned, his wrinkled face turning his attention towards him. He raised his eyebrow slowly. "Do you think she actually ran away from you, her life?"

He averted his Uncle gaze. "Maybe…she never cared much for me, except her holy preaching and harsh expectations."

His Uncle Finely laughed loudly and his laugh echoed in his brain as he got up, reeling annoyance, he shot a casual glance at the chair. The porcelain doll was no longer sitting here, and in its place sat his mother, bleeding from the head and looking as if she was decaying. Was she a phantom, an apparition in a visible form manifesting a spirit? Translucent and barely visible to a realistic, lifelike vision that he so desperately tried to block. Was this a deliberate attempt to contact the spirit of his deceased dead mother to beg for redemption? Her empty eyes and hallow skin, pale as a mortuary slab she appeared to him. Was his mind playing tricks on him or did the spirit of his dead mother come to steal his last breath and send him to Tartarus, in the deep abyss to torment and suffer for his sins. To be judged on death where the wicked shall received divine punishment. He remembered trying to scream but no words left his mouth as he froze like a frightened child looking helpless and impotent.

His Uncle felt a pang of sympathy for him, a momentary lapse that quickly dissipated. He jerked himself upright suddenly, and his face winced in pain. He was no better than the monster that stood in front of him. Some might even say, he created the monster. Some might say, he was the devil himself. "Do you remember?"

He wasn't thinking rationally at this point, already starting to convince himself that he had nothing to do with her death. He felt drawn to the mystery surrounding her, as though a shard of his own life was trapped there too. He realised now how twisted and perverted those thoughts were, but they seemed so vivid and real at the time.

"You know why I am here." His Uncle Finely replied, tired and ready to move onto another form. He held no ideologies or ethics as he knew his beliefs and values held no real truth to his religion or the cloth he once wore. There was little good in him and the dogmas in question held no moral code. He was truly a devil in sheep clothing.

There was a painfully long silence. The initial thoughts filled him with revulsion, but then something clicked at the back of his mind. It was a fitting conclusion, and he wondered how it had not occurred to him before. After all, it was a fact that murder victims were very likely to know their killers. His own childhood was also extremely hazy. There were so many gaps, patches of white that he desperately wanted filled. Looking up at his Uncle, his eyes conveying an uncertainty. "What was your question?" He asked, coming out of his fog like mind.

"I said, you know why I am here, don't you." He repeated his words, damning his soul.

Their eyes met in an awkward stare as the temperature of the room rose steadily. "Yes, I suspected when you entered my house."

He walked towards the doll and picked it up then walked towards his Uncle Finely who stood there unmoved. It wasn't as if he didn't know what was coming. He unlatched the lock to a door that only he opened and they descended the staircase, entering a dark lower level that seemed to fill the air with death. He walked over, placing the doll on a seat that had been covered by plastic which looked like it had not been touched for many years. A ring of dust remained as he placed the doll neatly sitting upright as he stroked the dress, staring hopelessly at doll as he held it. For one awful moment he felt as if he was holding her, his dead mother in his arms. It was difficult to describe, but he felt the doll needed so desperately to be there – to hear whatever he had to say for himself. Was this his shining moment? He picked up the doll and turned around and saw the look of terror shadow his Uncle face as he brought her over the threshold. His eyes darted around awkwardly.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop avoiding the obvious." His Uncle demanded, grabbing his arm and violently twisting it. He ignored his Uncle tight grip even though the pain, as he lost his grip and held the doll for dear life. His Uncle head turned to him suddenly, still waiting for an answer.

"I asked you a question boy!" He screamed out, trying to shake his glass world.

"You want answers Uncle Finely," he cried out, with eyes intense and angry boiling inside his veins. "Well, so do I?"

"Answers about what?" He replied, waiting for the walls to crumble.

"About my mother and what you did to me and her." The muscles around his mouth twitched, his tongue stroking empty words. He spoke carefully, each letter and syllable carefully enunciated.

"What do you remember, Drone?" His Uncle weakly asked, tired of the obvious.

He felt his confidence failing. The absolute idiocy of the situation whacked him sick in the stomach, and he almost snickered with embarrassment. He almost stopped dead, but then he saw his mother's face again, transparent. The face that has always lived on in his memory, long after her death and decay of her body. The trepidations of her memory disturbed his mind. He paused for what seemed like an hourglass of time, dripping slowly before finally soldiering on. "I think there might be something you've not told me. I think you may have been involved in her death."

His Uncle eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine shock. Then, his face sunk back down. He didn't answer his accusations, but rather directed a question back to him. "I know what I did to you was unspeakable and horrendous. I have no excuses and have resigned to that fact and I did not come here looking for forgiveness. But my boy, your mind is chaotic. It is not I who killed your mother."

He sneered as the hairs on his arm rose. "You liar. You pedophilia sodding liar." His clawed hand reached and grabbed his Uncle's arm. His eyes were aflame, more life burning inside of them than his Uncle had seen in many years. "You hated her. You were so jealous of her. You went out of your way to make her life a misery, didn't you?" He demanded. "Hiding behind your cloth, preaching God and demanding her to give her life to you."

His Uncle balked at the suggestion. "You're lying! None of that's true."

"You were an absolute bitch to her, and only I ever seemed to notice…" He said, tightening his grip.

His Uncle shook his head in utter defiance, pulling away from his tight grip on his arm. "You're just taking attention away from yourself. You're making all this up to mask your own guilt. I know what I did to you was wrong, but you are a monster. Even when you were a child."

"You created me, remember?" He finally said, unable to keep his voice from cracking. "How many did you betray? How many lives did you invade? How many boys did you keep by your bedside you sick pervert?"

"And that porcelain doll…You were so invidious of that thing….you used to actually pull it out of your mother's grasp, poor thing…" He remarked coldly. "Did she love that doll more than you?"

A change had fallen over the doll's face. Before he had viewed it as a living being, the personification of a killer's guilt. Now the doll only reminded him of the evil person he had become. But was he really evil? Was it really that simple?

"Can you really look me in the eye and tell me you've forgotten?" His Uncle demanded.

He met his Uncle angry gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about silly old fool."

"You were a nasty, malevolent little boy," his lip curled over with a strong and biting hate. "I always said that something would happen…"

Why was his Uncle leading him somewhere with these questions? Down a dark and ghastly path he thought to himself. He allowed his Uncle to take him there, dragged into a poisonous re-enactment of their past. "You've got some nerve….accusing me of something. We both know what happened to her…" He spat out a mute reply, mouthing only the ghosts of the words he had planned to say. Memories were slowly coming back to him, developing like darkroom photographs. Everything coloured, memories were bright and vibrant again.

His Uncle's face was soured; lips snarling. "I knew, I knew it all along…I knew you were a malicious child….but the police wouldn't listen…they thought I was unhinged….they couldn't believe a twelve year old could commit such a terrible crime. I tried…I tried to tell them that it was…You….."

"No, I wouldn't…I would never…" he shout back. He remembered the childhood jealousy stirring inside him, the plans hatching in his mind, and the day where he told her she was going to die. "There was a moment in his mind when he told himself it was immoral and no matter how strange the outcome willed, there was no escaping."

"I don't know what happened, as I wasn't there. My guess at the time and my guess now is that you lead her into the forest behind your house. She was probably went out looking for you….and then..."

He wanted to shout out his denial, to scream that he was a dirty little liar. He couldn't because he knew that deep inside the abyss of his soul his Uncle was telling the truth. Everything was clear now, all the vivid memories forcing themselves against his crazed mind. It was like peeling off layers of his skin, revealing a rotten inner self. He knew all the words: projection, denial, repression – but couldn't believe any of them applied to him.

He remembered his gleefully sadistic behaviour towards his mother. He loved to tease and torture her; it gave him some naïve sense of power over weaker creatures. All the sympathy, all the grief had been an invention of his own guilty psyche. Even his memory of leaving her funeral crying had suddenly been altered, as he remembered it correctly now. He had been told to leave because he couldn't stop laughing.

"Only now you're remembering?" Uncle Finely said, reminding him he was still in the room. "I don't believe you."

He didn't reply because there was nothing left to say. His whole life he had allowed the bloody murder to be concealed over with false memories and invented stories, trying to fool everyone so badly that eventually even he believed in his lies. He turned around and stared at the doll and picked it up and held it against the light. He remembered bludgeoning her, her face so badly beaten she could not be recognised. Then he buried her, covering her bloodied face with handfuls of dirt. It had stuck under his fingernails, dirt and blood and he remembered washing them in the nearby pond. He started to cry. The doll looked at him impassively, giving him the same blank look it had for the past years. Perhaps it had known all along. What did those crystal eyes hold? What emotional connection did the cherished doll possessed?

"You killed your own mother." His Uncle said absolutely sure of his words. He was no saint, as he too had killed. He was after all a predator himself.

His head throbbed suddenly, and he felt as though his whole body was pumping with a sick realisation. He stopped, nearly laughed, and remembered that all this was actually happening. He tried to make it fiction, but reality was screaming in his head. Mystery? There was never a mystery. Just the usual horror cliché, a killer hiding behind a mask. "So, you found me out. Forced me to relive the past, all so you can redeem your wicked sick soul? It doesn't change the fact that you stole my innocence."

"I'm not here for forgiveness. I'm dying and I needed you to understand what you are, and that you need to stop the killings. I do have many regrets as to what I did to you as a child. But you cannot harbour those memories to condemn your acts of brutality."

"You think you can put this episode behind you and wash your sins in the river of clemency in hope it will lead you to greener pastures and that you will not rot away in hell?" He said, with sarcasm that he allowed a grin to form on his face.

"I know what you are and you believe you are righteous in your beliefs, but in the end you're just a killer like me."

"No…we are nothing alike. Your sexual aversion towards young boys is nauseating." He said unsympathetically, trying hard to block the violent memories from his mind.

"Don't fool yourself in believing you have righteous moral code," his Uncle replied. "You hide behind religious corrupt. But you are pure evil."

Having witness the chaos of his mind he caught himself gripping the doll. Words made him feel more disappointed in himself and in an instant he loosened his grip on the doll and it slowly fell to the ground, shattering into what seemed a million pieces of his mother's soul. "Shut your gob. I will take your last breath."

His Uncle laughed, it was a harsh laughter. He felt a sense of vindication in his reproach. There was nothing left to hide or say that could make things clearer. "Don't you see, I'm already dead. Nothing you can do will redeem your guilt or cleanse the evil in you. Do what you will to me." He hated that creepy doll and was glad it was shattered, lying on the ground telling a story. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen and prayed his soul to be released. The last thought that came into his mind; may the spirit of your dead mother torture your soul until your dying last breath.

Then everything became silent. After what seemed like an eternity, but only a few minutes the air seemed to thicken and the walls a crimson colour.

He looked down at his hands, bloodied and he followed the trail of blood to the shattered porcelain doll that he once held with reverence. "You should have never come. In the end, it was her fault. She provoked me to kill her. She should have not loved that doll more than me." He rambled on like an irrational yet cerebral individual. He stared at the lifeless body and remembered why the voices in his head were always right. "You deserved this mercy killing as you were nothing but a weak soul, just like she was."

"Am I interrupting something? I can come again later." An amused Nikki spoke from the door which was now open.

"Nikki! Thank God it's you. Come in." Karen said smiling nervously. "I was sure it would be Jim or Yvonne." with that she stood up. Then her face dropped and she closed her eye. "Shit, shit, SHIT!" She cursed.

"What's wrong Karen?" Nikki asked and watched Karen with concern. "You left my loft before I had a chance to see you. Also, you left me with a rather hung-over Yvonne who looked like someone pissed in her cornflake. Did something happen between you two? Did you guys fight over the bottle?" Nikki laughed. "It was if she couldn't wait to get out of my place.."

"Nothing much. I just tilted a glass of red wine onto your expensive rug." She said her smile full of sarcasm.

"Very funny," Nikki said and started to laugh. The whole situation was so funny. Finally Karen laughed too.

"I've been squirting a migraine the whole morning," she said finally. "But I suppose you're going to say it's my fault for drinking so much. So, why are you here?"

"I just came to say hello and to see if you were okay. Yvonne was acting strange around me earlier. Not much for the chat she was." Nikki said and sat down. "You guys sure made a lot of noise."

"Really? I'm sorry if we made a mess," Karen said sincerely. Then she finally lit her fag which had been in her hand all the time and continued. "Did you two iron things out? So what did you and Helen do?

Nikki blushed but tried to keep some defences up by saying. "I really don't know what are you talking about Karen but my lips are sealed."

"Oh come on! I'm not blind Nikki. Anyway, I wish you luck. And be careful because Sean is a sore loser. I don't know how Helen truly feels, but I know how she looks at you and it's not in a friendship manner." Karen smiled at Nikki's expression.

"Right, let's not talk about Helen at the moment. Err… See you later Karen then?" Nikki said quickly trying to avoid Karen's prying eyes. She wasn't ready to talk about what happened between her and Helen. She decided to delete those memories from her mind. She couldn't avoid Helen and since she felt rejected by Helen she would not let her emotions betray her again. If friendship was all she could get then it would have to be no matter how wrong she knew it to be. She would have to respect what she knew what shite. She could not avoid Helen, so she would try to behave herself and be Helen's friend. That was the only option she had.

Karen knew not to ask as she sensed anguish from Nikki. "Listen Nikki, I need to talk to you, it's important." Karen said finding the courage to tell Nikki something imperative.

"Okay, what about?" Nikki said confused. Why did Karen look so nervous?

"First, what I am about to tell you is in strictest confidence." She said with a serious tone. "I trust you Nikki and I really need you to hear me out without analyzing my words.

"Sure," Nikki said wondering why Karen looked scared. What was so important that it gave Karen the frightened look in her eyes?

"I don't know how to tell you this," Karen said nervously. "Something happened last night."

"What do you mean something happened last night?" Nikki replied, confused.

Karen fidgeted with her hands, trying to find the right words to say, but found none. This was going to be really hard for her to express so she decided to just say it before she lost her nerve. "Shite," Karen said. "I slept with Yvonne, Nikki."

And then Nikki's brain went blank as if she was in the acquisition of either a considerable degree of physical control to something she knew was a basic task. The intangible fact that seemed abstracted, furthermore, confounding the simple words spoken. Did she just hear correctly? Did Karen Betts, her best mate, some one who rationalised bad relationship, a miscarriage of poor choices...just tell her that she slept with Yvonne?