Barry Thompson was an extremely busy man. He owned a successful art gallery in the main tourist center of Falmouth. He painted most of the pictures for the gallery himself, mainly consisting of portraits, which were his favorite and a second favorite, the local scenery.

He was approaching fifty and he did not look any younger for his age. He was well weathered and rather haggard looking, like an old sea captain. He loved his work with a passion and the gallery was open seven days a week. He did everything from the cleaning to the accounting. He valued his privacy more than anything else. He had never married and he had never made any friends either. The other shop owners near the gallery knew that he enjoyed his own company so they never bothered with him or pried into his affairs. All they knew is that his mother had died when he was very young and he had been left in care until he was old enough to look after himself. He lost himself totally in his work and if there was any pain from the loss of his mother, it was all channeled into that paintbrush.

So on the surface there was a normal hard working middle aged man who enjoyed his busy lifestyle. The only question that was asked sometimes was whether he was gay, as they never saw him with any female company. But that was also left in the air unanswered as they often pointed out, there was never any company, male or female.

If only they knew the whole story, Barry would snigger under his breath. If they had one inkling of all the evil that lurked beneath the surface of such a dark personality, they would have been extremely shocked.

It all started when Barry was about four years old. His mother had had a miscarriage during her second pregnancy. Her hormones had gone completely haywire and she had definitely gone clinically insane. His father had not been able to put up with her tantrums so he had left very soon after her loss of the baby.

Barry was left at this tender innocent age in the hands of his deranged mother who was not capable of caring for, let alone loving the lost little boy. She blamed him for her miscarriage and for her husband leaving. The guilt that Barry carried around with him was too much for a child of his years, far too much.

She would rant and rave most of the day. She would not cook him any food. Gradually the abuse grew worse and worse. She started attacking him violently. When he saw her coming towards him, he would wet himself from absolute terror because he knew she was going to hit him or rake her long dirty nails down his arms.

One day he was playing in the garden, or at least attempting to play in the sand. Here he discovered a few worms. He brought them in to show her. When she saw the worms, she went into a complete terrified state, screaming for him to get rid of them. Now he had a vice. He knew her fear. He was not a stupid child and he planned to take his revenge on his mother whom he had grown to hate more that anything in his life.

And now at the age of six, a grand opportunity arose. His mother was hanging out a few items of her clothing to dry on the washing line, when she tripped over one of his spades and fell hitting her head with quite a force on one of the rocks in their rock garden.

She lay crying in pain. He ran out, grabbing his collection of creepy worms and sat down next to her. He put his hand into the jar and brought out a lovely slimy earthworm and lowered it onto her neck. He watched her pained, tortured, terrified expression and the pleasure was so intense. He grabbed all the little creatures from the jar and placed them in different positions all over his mother’s body. He saw her try to shout out but no sound was heard. He, himself, was already in heaven. He was so excited by the discovery of her vulnerability. Her haunted expression brought him so much satisfaction that he wished he could draw the moment and capture it.

Eventually it dawned on him that he would have to end his mother’s life. He knew he would have been brutally punished should she recover so he picked up the largest rock that he could carry and held it above her head. He let it fall. There was no sound from her. He left her there dying in the garden. He cleaned up all his creepy creatures and after tidying up he went over to the neighbor’s house to inform them that he could not find his mother anywhere.

The police came and all were very kind to him as they informed him that he was alone in the world but he was not to worry as he would be helped and cared for in every way possible. He tried not to giggle. Never had he felt so happy. His miserable life was going to come to an end and his discovery of self gratification stirred him like nothing before. Hours of pleasure could be spent painting the pictures that made him a successful artist today. He had received so much inspiration from that afternoon of the death of his mother that it would keep him stimulated for many years after that incident.

He was adopted by a couple who had no other children. They looked after him well enough, much better than his mother ever had but they never entered his inner, emotional world, black emotion of hatred and evil, cruel thoughts.

He never harmed them in any way as he did appreciate their kindness and respect for his privacy. They did not send him for psychological help, the help that he desperately needed but they let him be and if anybody asked about his morose behavior, they would stand by him and defend him on the grounds of the tough time the little boy must have had finding his mother dead in their own back garden. It must have affected him in some way, his new dad would say repeatedly.

Barry, a teenager now was quite content not to communicate with anyone and lose himself in the world of colors and paints, which he would transform into something too beautiful on canvass without much effort. He was quite brilliant and he won many school prizes for his outstanding portraits. Mainly sorrowful, pained, gloomy pictures, but nevertheless, they were brilliant works of art.

He soon started selling his work and he loved the fact that his hobby and the work that he enjoyed most could make him a rich man.

This was the beginning of a terrible obsession. Unfortunately, the killing of his mother was not enough to keep him content for the rest of his life. He needed some more stimulation to keep him going so he started being deliberately cruel to stray cats and dogs and then painting their scared tortured faces.

Soon this was not enough and he realized that he actually needed a human victim. He could feel his blood crawling and his testicles ached with longing for sexual release.

He was now thirty- five years old. He had saved up enough money to buy a small gallery in Falmouth where he knew the tourist industry would fuel his pocket. He especially painted the scenery of the area in a specific way that holiday makers would want a painting to remember their wonderful holidays at the seaside. The people really seemed to appreciate his style and this was providing him with a very lucrative income so he did not question their taste.

Suddenly the door of the gallery, which he had named, ‘ Expressions’, opened and in walked a youngish woman. She looked very similar to his own mother when she was younger and the venom rose in him like a green, poisonous snake. He literally almost vomited on the floor in his shop.

She walked towards him and smiling asked, “are all these your own paintings?”

Barry cleared his throat enough to spit, “Yes, yes they are actually.”

And then as clear as a flash of lightening, the flash of an evil plot became all too clear as he asked, “Would you by any chance like to pose for one of my portraits?”

“Oh yes, I would love to sit for such a well known artist as yourself. It would be absolutely incredible. When would you like me to be here for the session?”

“Well you could come here tomorrow afternoon around three ‘o clock. I should have everything ready.”

And so the next twenty-five years were mapped out for Barry from that moment.

The next day Lucy Walker, not aware of her impending ghastly fate, innocently walked into the gallery. She went straight to the counter and saw Barry coming from the back of the shop with his coat and cap on.

“Don’t we do the portrait in the back of the gallery?” Lucy questioned.

“Oh no, I really don’t want to start up a trend of people wanting their portraits to be painted, you understand, miss?”

“My name is Miss Walker. But please call me Lucy.”

“Alright then, Lucy, what I did want to find out from you is whether you told anybody about this afternoon, as I do not really want anyone to know. This is just a one off painting I’m doing for you as you seemed so appreciative of my work.”

“No, I didn’t tell a soul. I wanted the picture to be a surprise for my boy friend.”

“Well I am sure it will be. Just to be sure nobody thinks I am starting up this type of business, could I ask you to meet me just out of town on the corner of this street and I will pick you up there. You know what busy bodies we have around here,” Barry asked. “We can take a drive into the country. All my equipment is already in the car.” Barry had it all planned. He would drive her to his house in the countryside. It was very secluded. He had a room ready in the cellar for her. Nobody would see or hear her. He decided to paint the portrait in the country as promised and then on the pretext of fetching something at his house he would bring her back there. The sun would be setting and darkness would be all around making it all more private, all befitting the darkness of his evilly thought out plan.

He had lain until the early hours of the morning, plotting this horrendous crime of kidnapping this young woman and keeping her hidden, feeding her, clothing her and seeing that she was relatively comfortable in the cellar.

Nevertheless, when he wanted his pleasure, which was not necessarily anything physical from her, other than him being able to paint her expression of fear and terror, she would be at his mercy. This would be his delight and sexual pleasure. He had masturbated that night at the mere thought of it all. He knew that nobody would suspect him of anything so sinister as they respected him for his diligence in his business.

He would discover quite soon what Lucy Walker’s greatest fear was, just through casual conversation. He could present this fear to her to cause the expressions of horror, just like the memory of his mother’s face when he had given her what she deserved. After all the torture she had given to him, he had to once again be the giver of such emotional pain and not the receiver.

He got into his car and drove slowly to the corner, making doubly sure that nobody was looking his way. He succeeded in appearing very nonchalant. He sometimes drove to the hardware shop for turpentine or to the Late Shop for a pie at around this time of day so it was not unusual that he would lock up the gallery and disappear for a while.

His heart beat erratically with all the adrenaline that was pumping energetically through his system. He accelerated slightly as he neared the corner, the excitement of his venture driving him on.

If only someone could have warned this poor girl but life was not that kind to her. She got into the car, smiling with anticipation for her portrait that she was going to give to her beloved, Ken.

“How long does it take to paint, Mr. Thompson?”

“Each one is different, maybe a couple of hours, Lucy. We will be finished before bedtime.”

“Ooh, I cannot wait.”

“Nor can I, Lucy, nor can I.”

They came to a shady, secluded spot where there was enough light for the work to be perfected. Barry stopped the car and unpacked the canvass and brushes. He was prepared to find out all the information he needed that afternoon while Lucy still trusted him enough to open up with her inner feelings.

He told her to sit in a bed of little white daisies. It was a very pretty picture, the pretty young girl in a beautiful setting.

And so she positioned herself comfortably, prepared to sit for a couple of hours that afternoon. The gentle breeze stirred the delicate petals of the little white flowers and Barry’s paint brush gently colored her blond hair in as her picture started to appear as a replica on the canvass. He had the ability to appreciate the prettiness of the subject but for the absolute sexual gratification, he needed the tortured face, the more pained the expression, the more his gratification. He had read that most men needed a little something to turn them on. Some were turned on by long nails or sexy lingerie or high heels. So what if his need was a little more extreme. It was probably just another form of bondage and there was enough of that going on, he was sure.

“So, Lucy, what do you really enjoy doing besides sitting in the fresh air and watching me paint?” he asked conversationally.

“Well, I love reading and I love to dance. I do love being in the open air and I really love my boyfriend and being with him.”

How soppy, thought Barry. All this romance made him quite sick. He had never loved anyone and nobody had ever taken the time to love him.

“And, Lucy, just out of curiosity what do you hate most in life? What makes you very scared?”

Barry asked the question so flippantly, hiding the enormity, the answer was going to reveal for him. He waited with quivering anticipation for a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity. His whole mission was based on this answer. He hoped Lucy was going to deliver her honest feelings otherwise the reaction that he wanted would not be worthwhile.

“I don’t really fear anything although I do suffer from terrible claustrophobia when I find myself in a small enclosed space like in a lift. I have already climbed fifteen flights of stairs in a building to avoid getting into the lift so I suppose that is my greatest fear. I just don’t experience fear in my day to day living as I avoid these confined spaces at all costs.”

This had turned out far easier than Barry had anticipated. Now his mind went into overload, planning what he could do to Lucy to make her feel so claustrophobic that her panic and horror would reveal themselves to the greatest degree on her facial expression. All he really needed was that confined space. She would already feel trapped and scared not being able to get out of the cellar and then during the time of her captivity in his home, he could construct something that would really frighten her before he finished with her completely. He thought about his options and decided that a small, bricked in cubicle in the cellar would be sufficient. He could lower her into it so it would have to be open at the top but too high for her to be able to climb out. Then he realized that he already had a small toilet in the cellar so he did not really have to do all the construction work. He could watch her wretched face from above and gain all that pleasure. He could hardly wait. He felt the stirrings of an erection starting again just at the mere thought of inflicting some torture to a woman.

“Right, let’s head back to my place, Lucy. I just want to fetch some blotting paper to finish this off properly,” he lied. He knew it would be worth it in the end.

“Can I see what you have painted so far?”

“Oh yes,” he showed her the beautiful painting. He really was very talented and the colors and textures of the work were quite extraordinary. Lucy was very pleased with it. He had brought out the best in her features. Ken would be thrilled, she was sure.

So they climbed into the car, both very happy in their own worlds as they headed back to Barry’s house. Both so happy and excited for completely different reasons.

On arrival, Barry invited Lucy inside for a quick cup of coffee, showing his concern that she sat for the whole afternoon with nothing to eat or drink.

“Okay, a quick cup of coffee as I really have to get back. Ken will wonder where I have disappeared to.”

They entered the dark interior of the house. A musty damp smell, camouflaged slightly by the fresh smell of paints, reached Lucy’s sensitive nostrils. They walked past the door that led to the cellar. Barry opened it and poor Lucy, who was so unsuspicious of this wonderful, creative, talented man, was totally aghast when she was shoved unceremoniously down the short flight of stairs. Only a gentle shove was necessary and Barry shut the door swiftly.

Barry switched on the light at the top of the stairs to light the cellar. She could now see where she was going and he knew she would not have injured herself too seriously when landing at the bottom of the stairs as there was a thick old carpet covering the cellar floor.

He made sure the door was locked firmly. He was quite out of breath from all the excitement of his venture. He was not troubled at all by any conscience, as this was his only real pleasure in life. Hearing the muffled screams from the cellar, he put on his latest classical record and proceeded in seating himself in his most comfortable armchair. He had a lot to plan and he needed to feel relaxed for all his thoughts to be clear and precise.

He needed to buy extra food. Lucy probably did not eat much. She had a very slim figure so nobody at the shop where he bought his groceries would notice the slight increase. He would have to buy a few toiletries for Lucy. Luckily, the cellar had the toilet and washbasin. He had spare blankets and towels in his linen cupboard. This was turning out to be a lot easier than he had anticipated.

Barry lived in a detached country home outside the town. It was surrounded by trees and shrubs, making it exceptionally private. Nobody could hear his loud music so nobody would hear Lucy screaming.

He also never had any visitors so everything was in his favor for the operations of his wicked plan.

He realized that he did not want to wait too long for the ultimate torture. He would just have to lock Lucy into the toilet. He could drill a whole in the floor in his spare bedroom, which was directly above the toilet in the cellar. From there he could watch her and see her anguish and panic as she attempted to escape the small, dark room. Excellent, he thought to himself proudly, saving himself time and effort.

He could play with her in this way until the fuss in town of a missing woman had died down. Then he could kill her and dispose of her body in some way. He was so proud of himself as he went into his kitchen to make himself some supper.

He decided to make Lucy some hot chips as well. He ventured to the cellar door with the chips, a towel and soap and a few rolls of toilet paper. He heard a whimpering sound coming from down the stairs so he knew she wasn’t right near the door. He opened it quickly and shoved the few items through.

“Why?” was all he heard her scream.

She would soon find out. He did not have to answer to her. He had not captured her for conversation or company. Purely pleasure and to improve and generate more creativity in his art work. It was all for his business, the gallery, which he had started from scratch and like every other businessman, he had every right to further his prospects in the business world in any way possible. Nobody could really be trusted in business, could they?

He decided to have an early night. There was no rush. He had to pace himself so that his creative thoughts were at their best and he too had a job to go to in the morning. The shop had been closed for the afternoon so he had to make up for any losses incurred. It was the tourist season and Falmouth was relatively quiet during winter so he had to make the most of this seasonal opportunity. He made himself a cup of Horlicks with warm milk and retired to his bedroom. He finished his drink and snuggled into the warm bed where he lay not being able to resist playing with himself. He needed some release after all the excitement of the day.

The next day dawned bright and sunny. Barry woke up with a start. He had to make something for Lucy to eat. She could not starve just yet. He was going to be away for the whole day. He jumped out of bed and headed for the kitchen where he made a few slices of buttered toast. Before giving the food to Lucy, Barry quickly had a wash and shave and got himself dressed. As he opened the cellar door, Lucy jumped out from behind, obviously waiting for just that moment. He gave her another firm shove down the stairs, throwing the toast in with her and closing the door with a bang. There was no way that she could ever escape, as that would be his complete undoing. The truth would be told and in the open, the end of his business and his life.

He left for work, after checking again that everything was securely locked. He opened his shop and continued in his daily chores just as if nothing was different, nothing had changed other than the light of excitement in his usually deadpan eyes.

Tonight he would drill the whole in the floor of the spare room. He could just lift the carpet every time he wanted to see Lucy locked in the tiny toilet. It would be relatively easy to lock her in the toilet, as she would have to use the toilet at some stage. He could just watch when she was busy, then run down, and lock her inside. Then he would quickly run upstairs and watch her face as she realized what had occurred.

“How much is this one going for,” a customer interrupted his thoughts.

“All the prices are on the reverse side,” Barry answered abruptly, irritated at the interruption.

“I will take this one,” the man commented, “it really shows such imagination of how a face would look when accosted with a terrible experience. Such detail was taken into account, even the flush of anxiety on the skin which would obviously rush to the face should something awful occur. If I may ask you, Mr. Thompson, what did inspire you to paint this one? As you can see I am very into detail and this picture reveals exactly how one would feel in this situation, I am positive. Outstanding, Mr. Thompson, outstanding.”

And so the customer walked out the shop, leaving Barry just a trifle uneasy. He would have to keep any portraits of Lucy out of the shop for many years lest somebody recognize her. He knew she would not be the last of his victims. He would probably leave it for a couple of years and then kidnap someone again. Obviously he could learn a lot from this experience and improve his tactics each time. This was only the beginning. He had a lifetime ahead of him. It would have been a trifle boring without this quiet little obsession. He realized there and then, that having started this glorious exciting game, his life was filled with purpose.

That night, before venturing home, he picked up some fish at the local fishmonger and drove slowly home. There was no rush. After making supper he passed the plate of fish through the door to Lucy and then sat down to eat his own. He then went to the garage to fetch his drill and started immediately with the whole in the floor. He could hear Lucy’s cries a lot clearer now through the opening but he felt no sympathy for her.

“What have I done to deserve this,” she cried in horror. “You are such a wicked man. If only I had not trusted you so much.”

Barry had to retaliate, “Well how could you go off with a complete stranger. You deserve all the punishment that you are going to get. You are a very naughty child.”

He could hear his mother’s voice clearly uttering the same words. Her shrill madness penetrating the quiet afternoon as she wailed, “You deserve all the punishment you get, you naughty, naughty boy.” A shudder ran through his being at the memory that had been imprinted on his everyday life as a child.

Now he just had to wait until Lucy went to the toilet. The room that he drilled the whole in the floor , was just next to the cellar door so it was very easy to get down there quickly and lock the toilet door.

The plan worked perfectly. She entered the toilet and was busy closing the door when Barry dived down the stairs and locked the door with the very convenient bolt which was on the inside and the outside of the toilet door. Lucy, thinking that Barry was coming to hurt her in some way quickly locked the inside bolt as well not realizing what a stupid mistake she had made until after she heard him returning up the stairs and closing the cellar door.

Only then did she flush the toilet and unbolt the door. When she tried the handle, nothing happened.

“Oh my God, she realized what Barry had done. He had come down to lock her deliberately in the toilet. Panic rose like an erupting volcano. Her throat dried completely and any sound that was about to emanate, stuck in the parched surroundings. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as her blood pressure rose. Her heart started beating at an incredible rate and her breathing grew ragged and completely out of control. Dizzy spells were rising as she hyperventilated in her sheer terror. Sweat trickled down her clammy cold face and as she looked up, hearing a noise from above, she saw the very noticeable hole in the roof, large enough for her to see Barry’s face staring down at her.

He studied every detail through the eyes of an artist, focusing clearly on every change in her features and placing them all in his memory bank. He noticed her dilated pupils centering the haunted eyes. The eyes that were large and brilliantly blue just as his mother’s had been.

“Let me out of here,” Lucy screamed, finding her voice at last, “I cannot bear this anymore.” She realized there and then as she uttered the words that she had told this brute of a man her greatest fear and now he had bestowed it on her to gain some sort of perverted thrill.

She heard him unzipping his pants and then to her absolute disgust, she heard his erratic breathing as he masturbated uncontrollably. He groaned as he reached his orgasm just as Lucy vomited in the toilet, fear and disgust rising in her throat.

That was absolutely splendid, Barry groaned as he pulled his pants back on. He ran down the cellar stairs and quickly unbolted the door. He then ran back up, locked the cellar door and started preparing a place for his painting, which he could not wait to get started. He worked on the portrait for a good couple of hours and he had to admit it was truly one of his best. It was such a pity he could not sell it now in the gallery. He was so sure it would make a fortune. It was that true to life expression of a trapped animal going to be slaughtered, eyes big and stricken with fear.

The eyes were always the best, windows of the soul which was definitely in this case not at peace with itself.

He heard Lucy sobbing and covered the whole in the spare room with the carpet to stifle the sound a little. It had started to get on his nerves. He finished the masterpiece and left it to dry. He could always hide it behind his bedroom cupboard.

The next afternoon, Barry noticed some commotion in the main street. Someone was placing a poster very near to his gallery on the light pole. It was an enlarged photograph of Lucy Walker. Missing person, reward for any information given. He heard a woman mentioning that the poor girl had been shopping for the day in Falmouth and never returned home. Barry carried on towards his shop, not showing any emotion or interest. He heard two women talking as they entered the gallery, “I wonder where she went. You know these young girls, they fall pregnant and then they disappear without a trace, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. You know this Lucy was so in love with Dorothy’s Ken. I know one person that will be glad that she is off somewhere else and that is Dorothy. I heard her telling Mrs. Mills how irritated she has been with all this lovey, dovey stuff all the time, kissing and necking and just about pulling his pants off in the lounge in front of the old girl, Dorothy’s mother, who is on her last. It really was enough to send her to her grave earlier than they anticipated.”

Well as long as the locals thought that of Lucy, all was well for him. Nobody would ever dream that he had anything to do with her disappearance. A thorough investigation was underway in the town for the missing girl and the police were on the lookout for all evidence, which could lead to any arrest.

Barry noticed that the police were entering a few shops at random. They did not even bother to enter the gallery. He did feel a bit relieved.

So after a few weeks, the posters slowly started peeling off the lamp poles outside and no police officers were even spotted walking around. Life turned back to normal and Lucy Walker was a figment of the past.

The routine had been the same in Barry’s home for the last couple of weeks. Lucy had never gotten over her claustrophobia in fact it had become worse, much to Barry’s total happiness. She was very nearly climbing the toilet walls and her body had started itching and developing rashes caused mainly from her nerves and also from the lack of hygiene. She had come to realize that she would never be set free, so she had stopped eating altogether and now she wanted nothing more than to die a peaceful death very quickly.

Barry had noticed that Lucy’s attractiveness had vanished. She was looking drawn and ugly and this was not the portrait he wanted to paint. His mother had been an attractive woman and he wanted nothing more than an attractive face, filled with horror. Lucy was better off dead and buried, he thought to himself. She was weak, her strength had drained completely out of her and she would be very easy to finish off in the darkness of the night. He decided that if he knocked her over her head with a hammer and then buried her in a shallow grave in the garden, nobody would be any wiser. Nobody would see or hear anything and he could clean up the cellar and restore the garden and all would be just as it was.

Brilliant, he thought, as he set about his duties of making himself something to eat. He did not bother even giving Lucy any food as the weaker, she was, the easier it would be to dispose of her.

He ate a juicy steak and a green salad and then set about the killing of his second victim, the first being his beloved mother.

The next day was bright and sunny. Barry got up early, feeling surprisingly awake. All had gone well the previous night and according to plan. Lucy was well and truly dead and buried with not much effort on his part.

Life carried on without any great excitement for Barry for the next five years. He stayed at home for his fortieth and celebrated alone in the lounge sipping an expensive French champagne, as he could afford to spend a little on himself. His business was doing so well.

Life was good. He was not lonely. A trickle of excitement stirred as he let his thoughts wonder.

Barry was feeling rather restless this fresh, crisp morning in the August of his fortieth year. Lucy had walked straight into his trap. It had all been a spur of the moment decision and it had all worked perfectly. Maybe the next victim would be a bit more difficult. He could not expect such an easy time again.

And so when Jacky Little walked into the gallery, he knew this would be the one. He went over to where she was admiring his work and started an awkward conversation, “ May I assist you at all, madam? What exactly are you looking for?”

“Well to tell you the truth, I don’t really like these horrific faces. I prefer something a little more tranquil.”

“You could always tell me what you would like painted and I could do a fresh painting for you.”

“Oh that would be wonderful. I really enjoy a sea view and especially the beaches around this part of England. I am on holiday from up north and to see a good sea view I normally travel to North Wales but I do prefer this coastline down south. Could you possibly paint me a sea as natural as you can. A lot of artists paint the sea an unusual fake blue but I want a picture so real that it would seem as though I am looking through the window. Do you think you can do that for me?”

“I think I can arrange that quite easily .In fact I have a painting at home that might just fit your description. Why don’t you come round to my place around three tomorrow afternoon and take a look.”

“That sounds great. I will be there.”

“May I ask you a huge favor. Please do not tell anyone that you are coming to my place, as I don’t usually bring customers home. I do not really want to start an ordering business, you understand? It’s just that I have this painting already completed at home that sounds like what you are looking for.”

“That’s no problem. I won’t tell a soul.”

Barry gave Jacky his address and without further ado, she left, not at all suspicious of his hidden agenda, keen for the following day to arrive.

Now Barry’s brain started working overtime. He had to find out a little bit about Jacky and what made her really frightened. He had to figure out how to broach this subject very lightly and without any emphasis. Maybe he could just ask if she had ever been scared swimming in the sea, seeing that he was going to paint a picture of a sea view. Had she ever been out in a fierce sea storm and been very afraid and then ask her what would make her so afraid?

This was after all very vital information. He relied totally on it for his thrill and without it, there would be no point to the whole exercise.

At three ‘o clock the next afternoon, Jacky arrived on the doorstep. He was quite glad to see that she was dressed in a dark coat making her even less conspicuous.

“This way, Miss Little,” he led her to his workshop where all his work was perfected. “Here is the painting I have already finished a while ago but if you are not satisfied with this one, we can start a fresh one. You can tell me exactly what type of setting you prefer, a happy sunny beach with lots of people eating ice creams or a tranquil setting with a romantic mood, couples walking hand in hand in the moonlight? On the other hand, maybe a stormy beach with a rough, cold sea, deserted and miserable looking, striking fear in the lost sailor who was out on the open sea many miles away? Tell me Jacky, while we are on the subject, would you be very frightened out there in the cold, stormy sea?

“To tell you the truth, the sea has never frightened me but I suppose in that situation a person would be struck with terror if there was thunder and lightening and the sea was extremely rough.”

“Yes,” Barry continued, “I do suppose it would be very frightening in that situation. I too have never been afraid of the sea. The thing that always made my stomach turn with fear was the thought of being homeless, no roof over my head. I did not have a very secure childhood so it probably stems from that. What strikes you with the most fear, Jacky?” Barry after opening up on his own life a little to gain her confidence, set out with that leading question.

“Well, I really don’t want to go into that, Mr. Thompson, as it is a bit personal.”

“I am a great listener, you know Miss Little, and we do have a bit of time this afternoon and to tell you the truth it might, according to psychologists, relieve you a little of your fears by talking to a stranger.”

“I suppose it won’t do me any harm telling you. It all started when I was about fifteen and a school friend of mine was raped close to our home. I saw how it affected her and her family and I think that has always made me the most terrified. The thought of not being physically strong enough to push a man off me and my privacy violated in such a violent way, is just too horrific. My friend ended up falling pregnant from this incident causing her to commit suicide. Maybe if she had been older, she could have coped a little better with the situation but at that tender adolescent age, it was all too much for her. Her parents were also very old fashioned and she probably thought that they blamed her for the whole incident and they would not understand what she was going through. After that, I became very paranoid about being followed. To this day I always look over my shoulder to see if anyone looks suspicious or is following me.”

This seemed very good for Barry. He was certain she had not been followed or spotted coming to his house. “That really does sound rather horrific,” he sounded as sympathetic and genuine as he could. Now all he had to do was get Jacky into the cellar as he had done to Lucy all those years ago.

That was to him the easy bit. The difficult one was to think of a plan of how he was going to fulfil her fear. He had never had intercourse with anyone. Still a virgin at forty which was quite terrible but he really had not gotten close enough to anyone.

Jacky had decided on the sunny beach to cheer her after remembering her lost friend, Sally. She watched in fascination as Barry put the finishing touches to the magnificent painting of the happy beach with people licking their ice creams. Unbeknown to her was the evil, sinister plot, which was taking shape in this demented man’s mind.

“Actually Jacky I just want to mix some more paint in the next room. I won’t be very long.” Barry left the room where he had tried desperately to concentrate on painting Jacky a picture that would capture her fascination enough to stay for the afternoon. The room where he had tried to plot the actions he would have to take to attain a successful and fulfilling end to his lust, which had become increasingly needy of being satisfied.

He had to collect his thoughts. He had enough paint mixed in the other room. He had just used this excuse as an escape to plan what his next move would be. It was easy enough to get her in the cellar. He could just lure her there on the pretext of seeing more of his work down there. What worried him was the actual act of overpowering her and raping her. He did not know if he possessed the physical strength. She might be a karate expert or some other form of martial arts black belt champion. One thing was very clear to him. He could never let her escape and reveal the truth about him. He did not want to go to jail at this stage of his life or even worse, get the death penalty.

He decided there and then to keep her for a few days in the cellar with minimal food so that her strength ebbed and then maybe place a few sleeping pills in her food. When the pills were affective, run down and tie her up with ropes to the bed. Then he could take full advantage of the situation. When she was fully awake, she would probably try to free herself from the restraining ropes but he would make sure they were secure and tight. Then he would proceed in ripping off her clothes, she would become aware of what was going to happen and the sheer terror and fear would reveal themselves on her facial features. What a wonderful sight for him. He would have his first sexual experience with a woman who would give him the reaction that he so longed for. He just about had an orgasm there and then but he controlled himself. He had to think clearly and see that everything went according to plan.

He went back into the room, picking up a jar of turpentine on his way in, just for show. He would really have to concentrate very hard on finishing the picture of the beach as his heart was in a very different place and beating with that extra pulse that reveals itself when someone is elated with excitement.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Mr. Thompson?” Jacky inquired innocently.

“Oh, definitely, Miss Little, I have definitely found what I was looking for.”

Jacky had chosen the sunny setting for her picture and Barry was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on those smiling faces and dripping ice creams. Nevertheless, he accomplished just what Jacky had ordered. She was thrilled with the result. The detail that he had incorporated, from the two fluffy clouds in the sky to the separate grains of sand on the beach, was absolutely appreciated by her.

“Oh it is magnificent, Mr. Thompson, you are so talented.”

“You know I remembered when I went into the cellar that there are a few paintings down there that might appeal to your taste, Miss Little.”

“Oh, I would love to see them, please show them to me. I cannot wait to hang a few items from your collection on my walls at home.”

So easy as pie, Barry led Jacky down the stairs into the gloomy damp cellar. There were a few paintings down there for her to mull over so he led her to those. Jacky was so engrossed in them that she did not even notice Barry creeping quietly up the stairs and abruptly bolting the door shut. Such significance in the closing of that door was missed by Jacky. The closing of a chapter of her life as she knew it. Maybe the ending of her life completely.

Barry carried on with his usual day to day chores after that. Eventually suppertime arrived. He put a lamb, potatoes and carrots in the oven to roast. He had reason to celebrate. He was going to have a woman on his exciting terms.

He quickly passed Jacky her supper through the door. He heard her scream some obscenities at him and he heard the plate of food smashing against the door. Such wildness had to be tamed and punished, he thought to himself. He would have to carry on giving her food and then when she started eating, he could place the sleeping pills in the food. He just hoped that it would all go as smoothly as he had planned.

After a few days, Jacky, who must have been starving started to eat the food she was given. He had had to push her twice down the stairs as she had tried desperately to escape through the door. His nerves were a bit shot as his life would be over if she were to escape. The sooner he had her tied up the better as she was much stronger than the petite Lucy Walker.

After a week of her eating the supper that he prepared for her, he decided to place the pills in a pie that he was going to bake in the oven. He especially did not bother to give her breakfast and lunch in the day, just so that she was particularly hungry at night. Hopefully, she would not taste anything unusual in the ingredients.

He slipped the pie through the door. His excitement mounted. He found the ropes and had them ready. He read the back of the pillbox again where it explained that a very small dose would take an hour or two to start working. He would wait about two hours to check in the cellar what was happening to Jacky.

The time ticked slowly by, far too slowly for his liking. Eventually five minutes before the two hours were complete, Barry ventured to the cellar door. He unlocked it and entered the smelly room.

There on the bed lay the fast asleep Jacky. She moaned a little in her sleep but she was far removed from her circumstances. He quickly ran up and fetched the ropes. He tied her arms first to the bedposts. Then her legs spread conveniently apart. He would leave her there until she awoke. All this waiting around was really a challenge for him but the moment had to be perfect and he had waited so many years that he chastised himself for his impatience.

The next morning was deliciously sunny. Barry had fallen fast asleep in the armchair in the lounge. He had not even attempted to go to bed. As he awoke, his first thoughts were whether Jacky had awakened in the night. There was no noise coming from the cellar so he decided to eat a hearty breakfast and then venture down to see what was happening.

He finished his bacon and egg toasted sandwich and strong cup of tea and then decided he could not wait a second longer. When he opened the cellar door, it was to find Jacky securely tied to the bed, her eyes wide open. Wonderful, he thought, she was awake and ready for him.

Jacky’s eyes darted his way, enormous on her face, fear and terror creeping into the haunted expression. She tried in vain to wriggle but as she had already discovered it was a pointless exercise. She dared not even attempt to scream, knowing there was nobody around to hear her. Barry moved closer. He grabbed her top and yanked the buttons loose, all of them flying in different directions. His excitement was mounting. His breathing had become labored and Jacky knew that the moment that she had dreaded since her friend had been raped all those years ago, had arrived. The moment had come to haunt her in this terrible place and by this cold emotionless pig of a man, who, she was now convinced, was completely insane. How stupidly trusting she had been. What a outstandingly talented actor he had been to convince her of all people, to come to his home on her own accord, on such an innocent pretext.

Now with her breasts revealed, Barry studied her theoretically for a moment, his artistic mind seeing their beauty. He put his hand out to touch a pink nipple of one of them. He felt her squirm beneath his touch causing him to twist the nipple painfully. He might as well enjoy every inch of her body and investigate all that he did not know. His hand smoothed the pulsating vein in her throat and then traveled down over her breasts insolently, he then yanked her skirt tearing the thin material.

Jacky did let out a scream then, not being able to control the absolute panic that comes from knowing the greatest fear in one’s life is going to occur within minutes, seconds. Barry on the other hand, loved her fear. He fed on it and his penis throbbed for release.

He mounted her easily. She was after all securely fastened to the bed and he entered her with vengeance. He ignored her screams and enjoyed the thrusting in and out. He came quicker than he would have liked but he thoroughly enjoyed every moment. He left the sobbing Jacky, shaking from anger and despair at what had happened, knowing it might not be the last time this violation would take place.

Barry on the other hand, was over the moon. He finished his household chores and left for the gallery. He decided that he could do with a few more sessions with Jacky while she was still alive and kicking or rather not kicking, he laughed to himself. He decided that he would not untie her and he obviously was not kind enough to feed her so he would just enjoy her body until she withered away from starvation and then he would easily finish her off and bury her in the garden near Lucy.

He opened the shop with great vigor and energized by his sexual release, he cleaned and pottered around with a new zest for life.

A few customers came in as usual, more than often tourists wanting presents or momentous of Cornwall. Nobody noticed anything different about the quiet, broody artist or if they did, nobody really cared enough.

So Barry finished his days work and headed off home. He made himself chicken soup and cut some fresh bread. He sat down to eat his supper, excitement mounting as he thought of what lay ahead.

He ventured downstairs, finding Jacky crying softly to herself. He felt no sympathy. A woman like herself had made him the man he was today so why should he feel any pity. She deserved everything that she was given. All he could feel was loathing as he took off his pants. His already erect penis needed no further encouragement as he cruelly entered Jacky. Her tears increased as she realized the sheer hopelessness of it all. Barry did not really enjoy it as much as the first time. The expression of fear was no longer on her face. Her fear had left her and been replaced by sheer despair. He felt there was no real point to this act for him any more. It would be the last time. He needed to see the terror. That is, afterall, what gave him the intense pleasure.

He let Jacky wither away on her own in the cellar and buried her in the back garden one dark night. He then carried on his life as if nothing had happened.

In the town, the police activity once again became apparent. A missing woman maybe in another village of Cornwall but nobody had seen anything unusual in Falmouth.