Steps

by Bea Paige

  “This is work, and that is private. I never mix business with pleasure,” I snap. I might be lonely, but I am not desperate. How dare he assume I need anyone at all. I’m quite happy as I am with my microwave meals and hours of Dexter on TV. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  Besides, I’ve heard the rumours about Roland, the whispered comments by the other technicians. According to their hushed conversations, which are not so hushed, given I can hear them from the other side of the lab, he’d had a crush on a member of nursing staff at our sister hospital and was moved to this lab after the managers brushed her accusations of stalking and weird behaviour under the carpet. Apparently, there are advantages to knowing someone on the board of directors. This certainly appears to be true in Roland’s case, if the rumours are anything to go by.

  “Of course,” he says, finally backing off.

  I release a sigh of relief, covering my anxiety with a fake yawn. I don’t want him to think he has me spooked. He looks at me for a long moment.

  “Well, goodnight then.”

  “Goodnight,” I mumble, watching as he leaves the lab. The door clicks shut behind him. I rush over and type a few numbers into the keypad, overriding the external entry combination so he can’t come back in, should he decide to try to persuade me further. It’s unlikely he’ll ever really try anything to harm me, but of late I’ve been spooked. A few nights ago, I could have sworn I saw a man standing in my back garden. I had been staring at the moon, which had this funny red band around the edges of it, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It had been brief, and probably just shadows, but it had certainly looked ‘man-shaped’. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine, but I push the feeling of dread away. For a scientist, my imagination has a bad habit of running away with itself, despite my inherent logic. Surely Roland wouldn’t go that far?

  Sighing, I head over to my office in the far corner of the lab and click the computer on. My eyes run over the results of today’s tests. Unfortunately for me, whilst I’d determined two cases of skin cancer and one breast cancer case from the biopsies sent to me earlier that week, I’d got no closer to understanding my own rare genetic disorder. The sun is still my enemy and the night the only time I can feel a little more human and a little less like a freak of nature.

  None of my colleagues know of my disorder or my efforts to find anything close to a cure, they just think I am a workaholic, arriving to work at dawn and leaving at dusk. Unlike Xeroderma Pigmentosa sufferers, my skin is able to regenerate following any exposure to the sun. Whilst theirs can, and almost always turns into skin cancer. The fact that I can self-heal is the biggest mystery and something I keep to myself. The few friends I do have only know about my condition, not my ability to heal so fast. No one, apart from my dear, departed mother, knows about this anomaly, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. Don’t get me wrong, going out in the sun still hurts, it’s excruciating in fact. The difference is I can heal quicker than the average person. All the blistered bubbling skin that appears so quickly after exposure to the sun is completely regenerated within a few days.

  My eyes trail from the computer screen to the car park five stories below. I can just make out Roland’s skinny frame as he gets into his car. The relief at seeing him pull out of the carpark is immense. I hadn’t realised he’d alarmed me quite so much until this moment. I find myself peering around, just to make sure there are no other weirdos hanging about down there. Satisfied there aren’t, I turn back to my screen and switch it off. I’m not in the frame of mind to continue with my research, full stop. Roland has successfully spooked me enough that I want to go home. Grabbing my bag and coat, I head out of the lab and make my way to my car.

  A couple of minutes later, after a quick diversion to the staff cafeteria, I head out into the now deserted car park with a chai latte warming my hands. Frost is already covering the windshield of my trusty Ford Focus and the air is chill. My woollen coat isn’t doing much to keep the cold out either. I hurry over, instantly regretting that I’d parked it in the furthest, darkest corner.

  “Just perfect,” I mutter under my breath as I place the latte on the roof of my car and fish in my handbag for my keys.

  For whatever reason, my usually steady hands are not so steady, and I manage to drop my bag. “Damn it,” I curse, not in the slightest bit amused. I crouch down, picking up the contents of my spilled bag and stuffing them back in. Spotting my keys by the front tyre, I go to pick them up, only to find a black sneaker suddenly covering them. My heart leaps in my mouth as my eyes trail upwards. Roland is looking down at me.

  “Clumsy today, aren’t we,” he smiles. But that smile doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s nowhere near. He’s giving me a look, a look that has me worried. I stand quickly. He moves his foot and bends down to pick up the keys, all the while keeping his eyes firmly on me.

  “I thought you’d left?” I say.

  “I did, then I remembered I forgot to tell you something.”

  “What?” My eyes glance about the empty carpark. As a member of staff working in the laboratories within the hospital, we use a different carpark to the public and given it is well past office hours there aren’t any others about. A thread of worry skirts my skin as Roland steps closer to me.

  “You’ve been really wonderful to work with, Accacia,” he says, his pink tongue peeking out from his mouth as he licks his chapped lips. It reminds me of a worm.

  “Thanks, Roland, that’s really nice of you to say. Can I have my keys back now?” I hold my hand out.

  His eyes flicker to my palm. “Now, why would I want to do that? You and I are having a nice chat, aren’t we?”

  I smile warmly, despite the fear coiling in my stomach. “Yes, of course, but I really need to get home. I’m tired, it’s been a long day and I need to go to bed.” He takes a step closer and I step back. “My keys, Roland.” This time my voice shakes, and I curse myself for showing my increasing dread.

  “What is it, Accacia? Surely, you’re not afraid of me? We’re friends, right?”

  I don’t answer. A sudden warmth blooms on the middle finger of my right hand. The warmth turns into a burning sensation. “Ow.” Momentarily forgetting the danger I am in, I glance at my hand to find a gold ring sitting there. It brightens suddenly, and a wisp of red writing spreads across its surface before disappearing. I don’t wear jewellery, and I’ve certainly never seen that ring before. Am I so afraid that I am now imagining things?

  “Ignoring me now, are we, Accacia?” Roland says, stepping so close that my back is pressed up against the car. My heart starts to thump loudly in my ears. Roland reaches a hand to my face; his fingers leave a trail of ice down my skin. I try not to scream.

  “Roland, we work together. This isn’t appropriate,” I say, trying to sound formal, professional, in the hope that the reminder will make him come to his senses. He just laughs.

  “Yes, and look where that’s got me. I don’t want you to see me as a colleague, Accacia, I want more than that.” He presses himself closer to me, his foul breath making me want to gag. He breathes in deeply, his cold nose pressed into my hair. “Your smell, it’s exquisite,” he says. Then he licks my ear like some feral dog. Disgust rolls through me.

  “Roland, BACK OFF,” I shout, pushing against his chest. That only seems to enrage him further. He grips my upper arms painfully and leans in.

  “No,” he says simply, before pressing his mouth against my own. I twist in his grasp, attempting to shake him off.

  “STOP IT!” I scream.

  “You heard the lady. I suggest you back off or you’ll regret it.”

  We both stiffen, me because I am staring at a man who looks more terrifying than Roland, and Roland because that man’s hand is squeezing his shoulder so hard he lets go of me immediately.

  The man jerks Roland backwards. I let out a shuddering breath.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Roland says, turning to face the man. “This is none of your business, so back of
f, mate.” A growl rumbles up Roland’s throat, taking me by surprise. What the hell is that?

  I look at the stranger, at the remarkable indigo colour of his eyes, and wonder why Roland cannot sense the danger as I do. This man, he is not someone to be messed with. He oozes controlled anger. Anger that is bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the opportunity to be released. He runs a hand through his dark, chin-length hair.

  “This is very much my business. Accacia here is under my protection and you,” he says, jabbing a finger into Roland’s chest, “are testing my patience.”

  Under his protection? What on earth does he mean by that? I’ve never met this man in my life. Noticing that Roland has dropped my car keys, I crouch down and pick them up. Hopefully, this man, whoever he may be, can distract Roland long enough so I can get out of here and back home to lockable doors and windows.

  Roland draws himself up and puffs out his chest. “I said, back off!”

  If I wasn’t so terrified, I would laugh at his stupidity. He steps towards the man, arrogance and pride preventing him from seeing that there is no way he can win this fight. I almost feel sorry for him. Then I remember what his intentions were, and I suddenly wish for the stranger to let rip. As though hearing my exact thoughts, the stranger glances at me and dips his head once before launching himself at Roland.

  I don’t stick around to see what happens next. I open my car and get in, locking the door immediately. Without putting my seat belt on, I turn the key in the ignition and step on the accelerator. It’s the first time I do a wheel spin as I speed out of the carpark. In the rear-view mirror, I can see the man holding Roland aloft by his neck. I exit the gate and when I glance back again, both men are gone.

  Read on for more Accacia’s Curse:

  https://books2read.com/AccaciasCurse

  Chapter One

  “Louisa! Get your arse down here, NOW!”

  Sighing, I pick up my bag and coat and head into the living room. Sitting on the sofa is my mum and snuggled up next to her a rather drunk Dom, or Fred, or whatever the hell this new client, I mean boyfriend, is called. “What is it, Mum?” I ask, trying not to notice that Dom has his hand up her top.

  “We need more booze. Do us a favour and go grab us a bottle of vodka from the off-licence.” Noticing the look of disgust on my face, she pushes Dom’s hand away.

  “Oy, not in front of Louisa. She’s a prude.” The sound of her laugh sets my teeth on edge.

  “I’m not a prude. I just don’t think it’s appropriate to be all over each other like a couple of teenagers while I’m in the room.”

  Mum looks at me, her eyes bloodshot. “You’re twenty-two, Louisa, isn’t it about time you got yourself a fella? Might loosen you up a bit.”

  “I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need loosening up. I need a mother who actually gives a shit about me. I need a mother who doesn’t spend her whole existence getting pissed and shagging the next bloke for a few quid!”

  Mum pushes Dom off her and attempts to stand, but she is so drunk she only manages to fall forward onto the coffee table, ending up on her arse on the floor. I stay where I am, too angry to help.

  “Don’t you look down your nose at me!” she screams from her spot on the floor. “You’re lucky you got a home to live in, girl. Now make yourself useful and go get me some fucking vodka!”

  I sigh and hold my hand out for the money whilst Dom heaves her off the floor. For as long as I can remember she has been a drunk. My real father left us when I was a toddler and her drinking has got steadily worse over the years. Her addiction isn’t helped by the fact that she always has a stream of so-called boyfriends who seem to encourage her bad habits; drinking and being a shitty mother are two of her worst. There was only one man who almost turned my mother around, but she ruined that relationship too, just like she ruins everything else. I am still in touch with Richard, he hasn’t abandoned me even though he gave up on my mother five years ago. In fact, I am on my way to visit him now. He has a job opportunity that he thought I might be interested in, and given I am broke and in desperate need of cash, I agreed to hear him out.

  When I look at my mum now, sitting in her stained tracksuit, her blonde hair greasy and her skin tinged grey, I am reminded that I will never have the mother I always wanted. Before the alcohol ravaged her looks, she had been attractive, beautiful even. In her soberer moments, she would tell me that I looked just like her when she was my age and would brag that I was even better looking. I miss my lucid mum, but she isn’t around much anymore. Whether I like it or not, the woman before me is all I have.

  “Are you alright, Mum?” I sigh.

  “Now the fucking sympathy. Just take the money and piss off,” she screeches.

  Dom leers at me, his own eyes hazy and unfocused. “That’s a good girl. Do what Mummy says,” he titters, blowing cigarette smoke at me. I want to smack the look off his face, but I don’t. I take the money and leave.

  —

  “Louisa, love, it’s good to see you,” Richard says as I enter the café, mum’s bottle of vodka in my hand. “That for Lorna?” he asks, pointing to the bottle.

  I place it on the Formica table and shrug off my winter jacket. “No, it’s mine,” I say sarcastically, pulling off my beany hat and scarf, my blonde hair tumbling free.

  “Stupid question.” He smiles kindly at me and I feel guilty for being such a bitch. “Rough day?”

  “You know what Mum’s like. She’s got herself a new boyfriend, and she’s worse than ever. She’s so pissed right now that I doubt she’ll even remember asking me to buy her this bottle of vodka.”

  Richard looks at me with a worried expression on his ruggedly handsome face. He is a couple of years older than mum, who’s forty-nine, though she looks far older. I never understood why Mum made him leave. He had been good for her, for us, and the only man who ever really gave a shit about her. Mum tolerates our friendship, when she is bothered enough to stay relatively sober, that is. Otherwise, she curses both me and Richard for all her problems. Most days his name is mud, just like mine.

  “If I thought I could help her get dry, Louisa, I would…” His voice trails off as the waitress arrives with a cappuccino for Richard and a latte for me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks.

  “That’s it for now,” Richard says. She leaves us in peace and I take a sip of my drink.

  “So, you said you might have some work for me?”

  “You know the offer still stands, Louisa,” Richard says, ignoring my question for the moment. “You can come live with me if it gets too much.” He pats my hand, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from bursting into tears. I don’t look at his face, I can’t. His kindness and his friendship have been the only things that have kept me sane these last five years.

  “She’s my mum, Richard. Despite everything she’s done to me, I can’t leave her.”

  Richard sighs. “I understand, Louisa, truly I do. But she’s a grown woman. She must take responsibility for herself. It isn’t up to you to fix her. You can’t do that, love.”

  I press my fingers against my eyes. “I know, but I have to try.”

  Richard gives me a moment to gather myself, then slides a holiday brochure onto the table. On the front of it is a picture of a ski slope with people dressed in colourful skiwear. They are all smiling. I look at him with a frown.

  “What’s this?”

  “This is what I was talking about. I’ve been working as the marketing director for a ski resort in Alpe d’Huez, France. My friend Bastien is running the resort. One of the chalet girls has had to go home, and he needs to replace her fast. He owes me a favour, so I called it in. I asked if he would hire you for the job.”

  My mouth drops open. “That’s the work you were talking about? But…”

  Richard holds his hand up. “Don’t rule it out just yet, let me tell you about it first.”

  “I can’t poss
ibly go. You heard what I said about Mum. Besides, Christmas is three weeks away. You know what happened to Mum last year,” I say, shaking my head. I glance at the brochure again wishing, not for the first time, that I had a mother who isn’t a deadbeat drunk. I am tired of the role-reversal.

  “Hear me out, Louisa. That’s all I ask.”

  “Fine,” I say, but I know I won’t take the job. Every Christmas Mum loses her shit. Last year was by far the worst. She’d gone on a bender for a week and was taken to A&E after some little old lady found her unconscious at the local park, covered in cuts and bruises. The police thought she had drunk too much and passed out, knocking her head. But I saw the marks on her skin and I knew that more had happened to her. It was the only time I thanked God she was a drunk, at least she wouldn’t have remembered anything.

  “The job starts next week and will run through to the new year, longer if you want to stay until the end of the season. Flights are covered, and you will stay the whole duration in the chalet your guests will be holidaying in. You will need to provide breakfast and dinner for your guests, tidy their rooms, that kind of stuff. But between the hours of ten thirty am and five pm you’re free to do as you please. Most other staff spend their time skiing. Once the evening meal is finished and you’ve tidied up, the rest of the night is your own. What do you say, Louisa?”

  I look from Richard’s eager face to the brochure and back again. It sounds so wonderful. The thought of spending a whole month away from my mum and her shitty ‘boyfriends’ is so tempting. I’ve never been abroad before let alone out of London, so the thought of living in a beautiful wooden chalet nestled in the hills of some snowy mountain is like a dream come true. Yet I push the brochure back to Richard.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Louisa…” Richard starts, just as my phone begins to ring. I look at the screen. It’s Mum. I swipe across and press my ear to the phone.