Death Marks (The Symbolist) (30 page)

Thank you so much for reading this book. I do hope you enjoyed it. If you have, I would be so grateful for a short review.

If you wish to contact me with any questions or updates on future books, I would be delighted to hear from you.

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The next book in the Symbolist series is:

'Death Chords.'

Excerpt from first chapter:

The audience sat hushed, as the last heart-wrenching note soared from her lips. He watched her bow, a slender figure in the blue velvet dress, the dark hair falling over delicate shoulders. His heart seemed to climb out of his ribcage, as he joined in the rapturous applause, one with the audience, rising to his feet, clapping for encores. Bouquet after bouquet arrived on stage. He beamed when she took the red roses sprinkled with white gypsophila. Was she the one?

She followed a regular routine, one he hoped she wouldn't break tonight. It took her an hour to change, to say her good-byes, and then get a taxi home alone. She lived with her mother in a secluded close, a detached house; the entrance shrouded in tall laurel hedges with a copse of trees on one side of a long drive. He parked in a street of narrow terraced houses; being a sleepy seaside resort, most of the lights in the windows would be out by eleven. As he waited, he listened to a recording of her voice. Exquisite, now he could mould it, perfect it. This time nothing would go wrong.

In the close, a dog whined. A woman in her fifties reached for the remote control, pausing, the TV. Rising from the armchair, she crossed the room and pulled back the brocade curtains to peer into the darkness. They should have put lights in the driveway, but they'd never got round to it; there was always something else to do, Sighing, she pulled the curtains right back. Grimacing, she'd momentarily forgotten, Olivia wouldn't be coming home tonight. She left them open anyway.

Seeing the taxi pass, he started up the engine, and followed, keeping a safe distance. As the taxi swung into the close, he drove past, parking at the end of the cul de sac and switched off the lights. The taxi always stopped at the entrance to the drive. He heard her voice light and airy as she said goodbye. The taxi driver lost no time in exiting, speeding to his next pick-up. The watcher swiftly drove to the entrance, and stepping from the car followed the slim figure past the laurel hedge. He hesitated for a second, seeing the lighted bay windows in the distance, the curtains withdrawn. He had to take the chance.

As she reached the darkness of the pine trees, he ran forward, softly calling her name, waving a large theatre poster. 'Excuse me Miss - Olivia, would you sign this for me - please?'

She stopped and turned around, a look of surprise on her face, as he said, 'I tried to see you at the theatre, but you'd already left.'

She looked swiftly back to the house, before turning to him, wariness in the large dark eyes. 'Err....'

'We sent you the red roses and the gypsophila - my mother would be thrilled if you'd sign the poster. She really wanted to come and hear you, but she's bed-ridden now.'

Her expression cleared. 'Oh yes, they're beautiful, thank you so much. Would you like me to write her name?'

'Wow that would be great -thank you.'

'Have you got a pen?'

'Yes - right here.'

He handed her the pen, drawing her to the side of the trees. 'Could you sign at the bottom here; to Eleanor, that's my Mother ... Gerald - that's me.'

She grinned, bending her head to write. In that instant, he swung her round, lifting her off her feet - his hand clamped over her mouth, as he pulled her into the trees.

Horrified, she kicked him in the shin with her high heels. As he grunted in pain, she kicked, again, twisting in his arms, one of her fists pummelling his face. He dropped to his knees on a bed of pine needles, taking her with him, his hand still firmly covering her mouth. Feeling the knuckle of his finger, she bit down, her teeth going through flesh to the bone; but still he held on. Repulsed with the coppery taste of his blood, she nearly let go. If only she could scream, Otto would hear; the dog would kill him. Mum never went to bed early. She sunk her teeth down deeper only to feel a blow to her temple; darkness fell in flashes of light.

In the house, a dog whined, his tail thumping on the floor. The woman watched the television, "The Haunted House." She took her eyes away from the screen for a moment to look at the Alsatian. 'Hush Otto.' The dog got up, and went over to her raising his huge paw. 'Stop it Otto - stop it now.' Ignoring her, the dog unleashed his claws, smacking her on the leg. 'Stop it - she's not coming back tonight. Lie down - go to bed. For goodness sake Otto.' She'd been waiting all week to see this film. Tutting, she rewound the programme.