PROLOGUE

He woke with a start as the final siren was sounding.

Wiping his mouth – where sticky, malodorous drool had pooled around his lips – he squinted, trying to make out the score, which appeared far too small in the bottom left of the screen.

He found the remote wedged between the two couch cushions and turned up the volume, happy to hear the anthem of the St Kilda Football Club blaring out triumphantly. But something wasn’t right.

He looked at the remote again, noticing the dark red smear across the buttons. He inspected his hands, where freshly dug scratches hid beneath congealed blood.

Sighing, he shook his head. If he hadn’t known it was impossible, he would have sworn he’d just heard his mother laughing.

Standing up, his feet led him to the bathroom, the familiar white door opening as if of its own accord.

Flicking the light switch, he kept his gaze firmly ahead, not allowing himself to look to the left, to the bathtub, where he knew she lay.

He shuffled forward.

The mirror above the basin was damaged, cracked in the bottom right. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. This, combined with the effects of years of splattered toothpaste and general grime, gave his face a distorted, ashen appearance, as though his reflection was shielded by a film of grey.

He turned a tap, the old plumbing squeaking before the water spluttered out in sharp, uneven bursts.

Scrubbing the blood off his hands, he meticulously inspected each finger, each nail, before patting his palms on his trousers.

Drawing a long, slow breath, he finally turned and allowed himself to inspect his handiwork.

She was curled up over the drain, her empty gaze staring vacantly at the old showerhead. He grinned, looking into her wide pupils as he knelt down beside the tub. She’d understood why he’d had to do this. She’d remembered.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of blood, sweat and fear.

Justice.

Reaching in, he carefully unwound the silver knot from her neck, the wire hanging in coils at her chest, rather like curling ribbon on a birthday present. Then he carefully began undressing her, slipping the ugly woollen jacket from her shoulders and unzipping the dress underneath.

Humming, he tugged at her suede boots. It was so perfect and silent now, with just the odd drip from the tap at the sink.

Returning to the damaged mirror, he pried it open, revealing a small cabinet behind the glass. From the top shelf he retrieved his pocketknife.

He knelt back down and smiled at the woman.

It was time to leave his mark.

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