The Pool (standard:Suspense, 4781 words)
Author: Anthony R Mackie	Added: Nov 25 2008	Views/Reads: 4759/2506	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A normal 14yr old girl is turned into a killer by a strange set of circumstances.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

After his second single malt, Bob had made a decision.  Coaching Rachel
at the local municipal pool was not for him; he was used to working in 
the peace and tranquillity of the Vickers´ place and could not even 
contemplate having to fight for space and pool time with the rest of 
the local community, whilst trying to impart his knowledge and wisdom.  
No, he was finished, he only hoped now that he could make Rachel 
understand. 

Quite a while later as Bob left the bar, he called Rachel's mobile and
when she answered she still sounded angry, but also tired.  She 
informed Bob that she had still not been able to contact her Father and 
was unlikely to see him, as he had not been home for the previous 
couple of nights and even her Mother (who she had questioned) didn't 
seem to have any idea what was going on.  Bob told Rachel that he had 
spoken to her Father, but as it was late he thought it better that he 
explained things tomorrow, which she agreed to, so Bob arranged to 
collect her from school the following day, wished her goodnight and 
clicked off his phone.  At least he had 18 hours or so to decide what 
exactly he was going to tell her, and how, although the way he felt at 
this precise moment in time he would probably sleep for most of that 
period. 

By the following lunchtime though everything was clearer in his mind,
Bob had already contacted an acquaintance of his, a fellow coach albeit 
much younger, who would be prepared to take Rachel on and use the 
municipal facilities where apparently “he knew people, and had a bit of 
sway”.  An added bonus (though not for Rachel) was the fact that he 
would work for much less than Bob had been earning and this would 
surely help in gaining Nathan's blessing, considering the present 
financial situation. 

When Bob picked up Rachel a few hours later she seemed in a better frame
of mind and although upset with his decision, as he knew she would be, 
she was also very philosophical about it.  Although she had still not 
seen her Father since “the pool incident” as she called it, he had 
called her, and had promised on everything he held dear that money 
would always be available for her training and that if he could sort 
out this “little problem he was experiencing” things would soon return 
to normal.  Rachel, having had time to think things over too, had an 
idea that the new circumstances would not be to Bob's liking and 
although saddened by the fact that this great partnership was now going 
to end, she had decided to put herself first and that meant striving 
for her dream, which of course in turn meant London 2012. 

As Bob pulled up outside the Vickers home, he told Rachel he would be
calling her Father later to inform him of his decision and to discuss 
the new man and the financial side of things with him.  He also 
promised Rachel he would still be around, albeit it in the background 
as he had to follow what too had become his dream, which of course was 
Rachel triumphing at 2012.  However, paramount in his mind for now was 
to get Rachel back swimming.  Rachel seemed quite happy as they parted 
and Bob said he would be in touch as soon as possible.  As he drove 
away, he realised she had not even asked him who her new coach was 
going to be and he took this as a positive; it meant she was focused on 
the most important aspects in all of this, herself and her swimming. 

A little while later, Bob called Nathan and asked if they could meet
that evening as they had things to discuss concerning Rachel.  Nathan, 
although sounding pretty stressed agreed, as in his words “he could do 
with a break from all this shit”, so they arranged to meet at around 
7.15pm in the Marquis of Granby on West Street in Epsom. 

The swimming coach that Bob had spoken to earlier in the day was Johnny
Lambert, another ex-swimmer whose trophy cabinet boasted a 200 metre 
freestyle bronze medal from the Barcelona ´92 Olympics.  After 
Barcelona, Johnny's career went off track as he became a known drinker 
and womaniser and consequently, he never really achieved the heights he 
was capable of.  Despite this, at the age of 36, he had worked with 
some of the top swimmers in the country for the last 8 years or so and 
his record as a coach spoke for itself; two of his charges medalling 3 
years ago at the European Championships in Trieste, Italy.  Bob called 
Johnny and also invited him along to the meeting that evening; might as 
well kill two birds with one stone. 

By the time Nathan arrived at the Marquis, Bob and Johnny were halfway
down their respectable pints of Guinness so, when Nathan made his way 
over from the bar, he was carrying two more, along with his own 
favourite tipple, a Gordon's and tonic.  “Evening Bob” he said as he 
placed the drinks down “thank God you got me out of that bloody office 
for a bit, I've hardly been out of there for the last 4 days, Julie 
thinks I've left her!” he laughed.  “Hi Nathan” replied Bob “this is a 
friend of mine, Johnny Lambert” he said, introducing the younger man.  
Nathan offered his hand “pleased to meet you Johnny, you're the swimmer 
aren't you?”  Johnny smiled “in a past life maybe Nathan, good to meet 
you anyway” he replied.  “So come on Bob, what's all the drama?  I hope 
my little angel's okay.”  Bob assured Nathan his “angel” was fine, (as 
you'd find out if you went to see her you selfish b*****d) he couldn't 
help thinking to himself.  Bob began to explain how there was no 
problem with Rachel, rather it was he who had decided to call it a day 
as training at the municipal pool was not his preferred way to go, and 
realistically he was also ready for a break.  Nathan was a bit taken 
aback by this news, “but your money Bob, I told you...”  Bob 
interrupted at this point “I know Nathan, but this has got nothing to 
do with money, that's the reason I wanted you to meet Johnny” he 
continued “Johnny's a top coach and he's offered to take Rachel on for 
the same amount you were paying me, £1,000 a month” he said, 
accompanied by a sly wink in Nathan's direction, “I've spoken to Rachel 
but obviously it's your decision in the end” he finished.  Well I 
never! Nathan thought to himself - you crafty old fox Bob Albion, I 
really have been paying you top dollar haven't I? 

Despite thinking this, Nathan was secretly pleased with the situation as
his daughter would still have a top coach, plus he would be saving a 
grand a month (the situation his business was in at the moment, £100 a 
month saving would be cause for celebration!).  Finally he spoke, “well 
it sounds good to me boys, are you happy with that Johnny?” he asked; 
Johnny assured Nathan that he was and the two men shook hands on the 
deal.  Nathan then pulled a large wad of cash from his inside pocket 
and counted out £1,000 which he handed to Johnny saying “there's a 
month up front and don't ever worry that you won't get paid my friend, 
keeping my daughter happy means more to me than anything” he continued 
“you just keep your side of the deal and get her to London 2012 because 
if you do, there'll be a big bonus for both of you.  Right then, who's 
for a top up?” 

The following Monday was the agreed date for Rachel to start her
training with Johnny at the Walton Swimming Baths in nearby 
Walton-on-Thames, and Bob was to speak to her over the weekend to 
finalise all the arrangements.  Johnny was looking forward to the new 
challenge but more importantly, to having a bloody good weekend with 
the wedge he now possessed and which was already burning a hole in his 
pocket. 

Bob met up with Rachel on the previous Saturday at lunchtime in Epsom,
and filled her in on everything over a coffee and a sandwich in one of 
the pretty high street cafes.  Her sessions would be three times a week 
from 7pm to 9pm and Johnny would also accompany her to any 
competitions, which as a rule were held at week-ends.  She seemed 
pleased with the choice for her new coach and although Bob knew she had 
never actually met Johnny Lambert, he also knew she was aware of his 
achievements within the sport.  All in all, he was surprised at how 
easy Rachel appeared to be with the changes and her anger seemed to be 
all but gone. 

Poor old Bob though had totally misread the situation as inside, Rachel
was absolutely                                                          
                                                                        
                  furious and had already decided that one day, her 
Father was going to pay for screwing her around and as for Lambert, the 
only reputation he had on the female circuit was that he was an 
“up-himself” son of a bitch who thought he was God's gift to women.  
The only reason Rachel was going along with all this, was that she knew 
that if she made a fuss, her dream could disappear like a leaf on the 
breeze, and she had worked too hard to ever allow that to happen. 

The weekend passed, and still Rachel didn't see her Father.  He must be
ghosting in and out of their huge palatial home in the middle of the 
night, as his laundry kept appearing and was obviously being replaced 
by clean clothes.  She wondered how her Mother was putting up with this 
shit but then again, she was a weak woman and always had been.  Also 
over the weekend, on of those colossal transporters had arrived at the 
house and left carrying three of her Father's prized classic cars; 
things were really falling apart. 

On the Monday evening, Rachel took the 20 minute or so bus ride into
Walton-on-Thames and after a short walk to the swimming baths, arrived 
around 6.30pm.  Johnny was waiting on the entrance steps for her and 
after introducing himself, he informed Rachel that although the baths 
closed to the public at 8pm, they would have another hour after that as 
he had a “little arrangement” with the caretaker.  He also explained 
that for the first hour whilst other people were swimming, he thought 
they could do practice starts and turns before moving on to the longer 
stuff in the last hour, which all sounded good to Rachel so they 
arranged to meet in the pool after changing.  “Actually, he doesn't 
seem so bad after all” she thought to herself as she made her way to 
the changing rooms. 

A few hours later as she made her way home on the bus, she had changed
her opinion back again.  Although the training session had gone well 
and his coaching methods couldn't be faulted there was a certain 
creepiness, about the guy and she loathed the way he had looked her up 
and down as she stood listening to him in her tight, high-cut swimming 
suit.  “Maybe I'll get used to him” she thought as she made the short 
walk from the bus stop to the gates of their house, but she wasn't 
holding her breath. 

That evening, her Father actually graced them with his presence for a
couple of hours, eating a meal with them and trying to explain what was 
going on to Rachel and her Mother in simple terms.  Seemingly, he was 
working almost 24/7 to try and dig his business out of the big hole it 
had crashed down into (through no fault of his, he assured them) but he 
was nevertheless 100% confident that he could turn things round and 
everything could get back to normal.  Rachel feigned interest in all of 
this, but it sounded to her like he was just shifting the blame and in 
her mind, it was still him to blame for the complications it had 
brought about in her previously perfect little life so he could go take 
a running jump as far as she was concerned.  Later when he left, she 
forced herself to kiss him and wished him good luck but the words stuck 
in her throat. 

Wednesday evening came around all too quickly for Rachel which was not a
good sign, she used to live for her training.  Riding around on buses 
was also alien to her and she hated it, but had no other choice right 
now.  Once again, she enjoyed the pool time that evening but 
afterwards, as Lambert explained one or two things to her which needed 
correcting, he threw his arm casually around her shoulders.  Rachel 
pulled away, to his surprise it seemed, and when he had finished his 
little sermon she stormed off to change.  She was in a rage, who the 
hell did he think he was?  Nobody touched her, especially not some 
creep she had only met twice.  On the ride home that night, she started 
to think bad things about what she would like to do to Johnny “touchy 
feely” Lambert and tried to shut them out of her mind, but as her head 
touched the pillow that night, they were still there and starting to 
take on a life of their own. 

The next day she received a call from Bob asking how she was coping with
things and enquiring how training was going.  Rachel found herself 
telling him how everything was great and how she thought Johnny 
coaching her was a superb decision on his part.  Bob sounded really 
pleased that things were working out well and promised to look in on 
them one evening if he was in the area; Rachel assured him she would 
like that.  She couldn't fathom in her mind why she had lied to Bob, 
she hadn't meant to.  In fact, quite the opposite; she had been hoping 
that when she spoke to him, he if anyone would listen to her misgivings 
about the whole situation and maybe come up with some answers, but the 
lies just gushed out from some place deep inside her and she felt as if 
she was powerless to stop them. 

Worryingly, at training on Friday evening, Rachel found herself
distracted from her swimming.  She was distracted by the fact that she 
seemed to be sub-consciously willing Lambert to step out of line again 
so she could put her (by now) dangerously advanced plans into practice. 
 Needless to say, Johnny didn't let her down and as he smugly 
congratulated himself on being able to give Rachel a pat on her firm, 
well rounded bottom as she left to change (without eliciting any 
negative reaction), he really didn't know what he had done. 

News broke in the media over the weekend that a rescue package had been
put together for her Father's business by an unnamed millionaire 
businessman and although this had lifted her Mother's spirits, Rachel 
was apathetic to the news and now had one thing on her mind, and one 
thing only. 

Monday at school was torture for her; concentration was impossible as
she went over and over in her mind exactly what she needed to do later 
that day and she found herself at times physically shaking with a 
strange excitement.  Finally, the longest day ever was over and Rachel 
rushed home to pack her kitbag for that evenings training.  Along with 
her swimming kit there lay, nestled in the middle of her bathing towel, 
a pair of latex gloves and a 7 inch knife (stolen from the depths of a 
barely used kitchen drawer) which she had sharpened to the point where 
it could split atoms. 

The Monday training session was one of her best for a long time; Rachel
swam her heart out knowing in her own mind that if things went wrong 
later, it may be a long time before she was back in the water.  Once 
the session finished, she and Johnny chatted at the side of the pool 
about the forthcoming competition in London and how well they felt she 
could do there.  As Rachel turned away, there was his hand again; this 
time it was more a squeeze of her bottom than a pat, which made the 
fury burn inside her.  She ignored the squeeze and made her way towards 
the changing rooms at the same time thinking “I hope you enjoyed that 
Lambert, because it's the last young girl's arse you'll ever cop a feel 
of”. 

Once inside the changing rooms, Rachel towelled dry and brushed her hair
before quickly slipping into the tracksuit she had arrived in, no time 
to shower tonight.  She opened the door slightly which led to the pool 
area, and through the gap could see Johnny tidying away the last of the 
equipment they had been using, before turning and making his way into 
the men's locker room a few yards away.  A couple of minutes later, 
Rachel slipped on her latex gloves and crept out to listen at the door 
Lambert had gone through.  She heard running water and gently pushed 
open the heavy door and there he was; about 15 feet away, showering 
with his back to her, all muscles and buttocks.  She could feel the 
knife in the right hand pocket of her tracksuit top and the power it 
seemed to have as she inched forwards towards him.  The few seconds 
before she reached him seemed like an age but eventually there she was, 
barely 2 feet away as she pulled the knife. 

She was remarkably calm at this moment, not a flicker of nerves; and
then with a blinding speed she stabbed the knife into the back of 
Lamberts neck and in what seemed like one movement, ripped it to the 
left with all her might, severing the spinal cord.  He was probably 
dead before he hit the floor, which was just as well for him as he 
never felt the pain of his penis and testicles being cut away from his 
body, before they were thrown angrily against the locker room wall.  
Rachel was shaking now, with a mixture of rage and the shock of the 
harsh reality of what she had just done, but the thing which scared her 
most was how much she had enjoyed the last few minutes... 

Once her shaking abated, Rachel washed off her gloves and the knife
under the still running shower and took one last good, hard luck at the 
crumpled pervert lying on the floor of the cubicle before swiftly 
leaving the room.  She grabbed her kitbag, stuffed the gloves and 
murder weapon back inside her towel and walked calmly out of the 
building to catch her usual bus home (which thankfully was right on 
time).  When the bus dropped Rachel near home, she watched it disappear 
into the distance before crossing the road to a small wooded area 
opposite.  About 30 yards into it, she took the knife from her bag and 
dug a shallow hole with it, before laying it in there along with the 
gloves, after which she kicked the earth back in and trampled it down.  
She left the wood and sprinted the short distance to home, arriving 
within minutes of her usual time. 

Once indoors, Rachel made small talk with her Mother whilst she made
them both a cup of coffee, before wishing her goodnight and going to 
bed, explaining that she was “done in” after a harder than usual 
training session.  She took the shower that she had missed earlier and 
slipped into bed shortly after 10pm. 

At exactly the same time in The Bear Hotel on Bridge Street, Frank
Yarrow, a big ugly drunk of a man (and also caretaker of Walton 
Swimming Baths) looked at his watch, wondering where the hell that guy 
Lambert had got to.  He usually dropped the keys off here for him at 
around 9.30pm and gave him the few quid which would settle that 
evenings bar bill.  He had not been worried at first as he figured that 
knowing Lambert, he was probably just slipping a length to that young 
bit of fluff that he was supposedly coaching, but now it was getting 
too late and he was going to have to go back to the baths.  That's 
exactly what he did and when he opened the door of the men's locker 
room, he realised how much beer he had drunk that evening; he couldn't 
fail to, as within seconds it was all over the floor in front of him.  
Frank did his duty and called the Police even though he realised he 
would be losing yet another job, as the keys were supposed to be in his 
possession at all times.  He waited for the law to arrive and in a 
strange quirk of the way the Police operate, immediately became their 
prime suspect; he wondered why he'd even bothered. 

Rachel and her Mother were informed of the murder the following morning
when the Police called at the house and Rachel duly played the grief 
stricken pupil, crying hysterically.  She had no idea where the tears 
came from, maybe from all the pent up stress and anger of the previous 
weeks but it certainly went down well with the investigators who asked 
her only a few cursory questions.  Rachel informed them that nothing 
unusual had taken place the previous evening, and that the last time 
she had seen Lambert was when they had said their goodbyes before she 
went to shower and change.  Her mother also confirmed that she had 
arrived home at the usual time and that she was in good spirits 
(although tired) and had gone to bed early.  The Police requested the 
clothes she had been wearing the previous evening for forensics to 
examine but by the time they left, Rachel was almost sure they had 
discounted her as a suspect.  She couldn't believe murdering someone 
could be that easy. 

4 years later 

Thursday, August 9th 2012 at 2.30pm, venue - the brand new, purpose
built Aquatic Centre within the Olympic site in London, the final of 
the women's 400 metre freestyle and Rachel Vickers lines up alongside 
the other girls.  Alongside the other girls that is, who are queuing to 
get into the television room of Bronzefield Women's Prison in Ashford, 
Middlesex to watch the final. 

She wondered where it had all gone wrong, she never did get caught for
the murder of Johnny Lambert, oh no.  She got caught when she murdered 
her Father a month or so later, when she knocked him unconscious with a 
bronze statue before rolling him into the swimming pool at the house 
and turning on the water inlet and watching him drown.  But she got 
caught alright; caught by her Mother who started screaming and running 
around hysterically, so she had to go too.  She was easy; it was just a 
matter of catching her and strangling the life out of the weak excuse 
for a woman, before dumping her in the pool alongside her dead husband. 


She filled the pool to the top and sat there gazing at it, putting a
hand over one eye to block out the two floating bodies which spoilt its 
beauty.  She sat for a long time recalling all the happiness this big 
hole in the ground full of water had brought into her life, “why did 
you ever empty it Dad?” she thought as she walked away “you changed 
everything”.  She made her way into the main house, telephoned the 
Police, made herself a nice cup of coffee and waited.... 


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