Read The FACEBOOK KILLER: Part 2 for Free Online Page B

Serge; he said he would send the box immediately. It should arrive at the hotel within two days, he promised. All I needed now was to find out where Adela lived.
    Three buses and ten minutes later Adela left the graveyard. Her task complete; mine just beginning.
    As she walked amongst the sea of brown headscarves, I weaved my way through the busy streets trying to keep her within sight. Each time she crossed the chaotic, grid locked roads, I took my life in my hands. I had become desperately thirsty but there was no time to stop, let alone the possibility of drinking whilst I was still wearing the burka. The only thing I could hear clearly was my own breath. I felt like I was about to suffocate at any moment. We must have walked for well over an hour, past the electronic stores, mini-markets and clothes shops, through two bazaars before eventually finding ourselves in a more affluent residential area. There were advertising signs everywhere. Gulberg this, Gulberg that. I naturally assumed that we had arrived in Gulberg.
    During our journey, the crowds had fallen away like autumn leaves. Adela hadn’t looked back once, but now there were only five of us en route. I hoped she would reach her final destination soon; the last thing I needed was for someone to spark up a conversation with me in their own language.
    As we trudged on, I was beginning to get pissed off. It almost felt like this bitch knew that I was following her and she was giving me the run around. Like she knew I was dehydrating, sweating, finding it hard to see ten steps in front. My cheek was starting to throb, but I kept on walking, kept planning. I watched the rickety old postal van hit the speed bumps. I took note of which houses had surveillance cameras. I walked and walked and walked.
    And then I heard it. The only word I had learned so far in their language, yet still one of the most important, “Abba,” Adela called out. It was her father. He was sitting in a large black Mercedes, waiting, as the electric gates slowly opened to allow him access to his driveway. The driveway in front of a house so big, if it was picked up and dropped in London it would easily be worth £60 million.
    Adela was home, number 137, home with daddy. As I turned to walk away, I hoped they would enjoy their last 48 hours together. After all, none of this was his fault.
     
    *
     
     
    I spent the next two days going out of my head, locked in that bloody hotel, waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for Serge’s box to arrive. Two whole fucking days I waited. I spent my time researching the remaining apples and tried to bury the overwhelming urge to go back to number 137 and cut that little bitch’s throat. Fuck! Why not finish off the rest of the family as well? They were tainted after all. Guilt by association. It was people like this that had forced me to stay locked up in hotel rooms, curtains drawn, for days at a time. Jesus! I wasn’t the enemy. I didn’t start this. They fucking started it!
     
     
    Chapter 11
     
    Serge proved true to his word. The hotel receptionist called me around noon to say that the box had arrived, so I asked them to deliver it to the suite. The timing was perfect, Norman had just returned from his buying trip in town. We sat on the bed looking at the two boxes sitting next to each other on the floor. One was empty, the other contained Adela Nissar’s fate and it would be her misguided love for that bastard fiancée of hers that would seal it.
    The shopkeeper had warned Norman of its dangers when he bought it. He even gave him a list of private clinics that could administer an antidote if things went pear-shaped.
    I couldn’t help feeling smug as I sat looking at those two boxes. Norman suggested we had a drink by way of a celebration, but I declined. We had a job to finish first, I told him, there would be plenty of time to celebrate afterwards.
    It appeared that Serge had followed my instructions to the letter. The address label had been written