Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  Victor moves so fast. He doesn't do the slow wake up thing I do, and every other person I know. He's awake and alert. Inside of a minute he's next to me offering a t-shirt. White cotton.

  “The bathroom's through there.” He points.

  Smothering the gush I feel coming on, I'm caught in his gaze again. It's sticky, I'm captured. Those molasses eyes have me mesmerised. A hand reaches out, giving my angular shoulder a squeeze of reassurance.

  “It's none of my business. But you look like you could use a friend.”

  Damn it. Hot tears are prickling my eyes. “I can't explain it. You feel so familiar.” His smile could melt dry ice, and me with it.

  “Likewise. I feel as though I've known you for ages. This is immediately comfortable.”

  “Good, so I'm not completely losing my mind then.”

  Concern etches into his face. I can literally see his mouth and brows tighten as he drops next to me onto haunches, a hand tensing on the armrest. I watch the muscles flexing briefly before staring back into hypnotising eyes. “Are you usually this hard on yourself?”

  I shake my head, then nod, feeling confused. I can't trust him with my history. If he knew, he'd just shut me out like everyone else. I'm coveting this connection. It's normal. I haven't had normal for months and months.

  He smiles, patting my knee. “A hot shower will clear your head. Scrambled eggs okay?”

  Nodding, I want to object but don't. Instead choosing to prolong this moment of safe haven.

  “Aren't you afraid?” I ask.

  “Of what?”

  “Of whoever blew up John?”

  “He made an enemy, that much is obvious. I have no reason to fear.” He stands, offering me his hand. I take it, feeling natural strength in it and the pull from his arm. He doesn't even have to try to lift my weight. I could be a sigh, he makes me look that light in his grasp. Standing, much closer, I can smell his fresh cologne. There's a faint marjoram hint to it. “And neither do you.”

  “Neither do I what?” I'm caught off guard. Why are you so intoxicating? Why do you seem like I know you?

  “You have no reason to fear John's enemies.”

  I nod, disengaging my hand from his. Taking the t-shirt, I step in the direction he pointed. “I won't be long.”

  Victor inclines his head, watching me.

  Pausing, I glance back into gentle puddles of silent strength, “Thank you.” His answer is a wink. I watch him striding off into the open plan kitchen. Filling the coffee percolator. Feeling awkward, I go in search of his bathroom.

  “May I?” he asks.

  I stare at the camera aimed at me, feeling shy. But he's been so kind, I just can't say no. I nod assent, instantly self-conscious about my wet hair and pink cheeks. His t-shirt is so large it's more than a mini dress on me.

  The click and whirr runs. Can't breathe. The room is viewed through warped refraction, out of focus, too close, blurring. My pulse exaggerated and erratic. Pounding palpitations.

  “Shauna? Honey, are you all right?”

  Tightening, shortness of breath shuts down my lungs, his voice, so faint. I try to answer, straining mentally against the blank engulfing me.

  Hmmm. Strong hands.

  “Just breathe slowly.”

  My shoulders are lifted. He brings my knees up and rests my head on them, rubbing my back.

  “Do you faint often?”

  I shake my head with my forehead still resting on my knees. This man must think I'm seriously high maintenance. What the hell is wrong with me?

  He takes my pulse. Talk about capable. I could get used to this.

  “We'll give that food some time to get into your system. Are you okay? I just want to get you some sugar water.”

  “I'm fine …” but as I lift my head to look at him, the room recedes again.

  A firm hand grasps my head, forcing it back to my knees, “Just keep breathing.”

  As I listen to footsteps returning, it dawns on me that my knees are up and I'm not wearing a shred of underwear. Oh God! Where's a space wormhole when you need one?

  “Shauna? You're getting really hot. Are you ill?”

  The back of his hand rests on my cheek, then my forehead. I am simply mortified and can't bare to lift my gaze to meet his.

  Mumbling, “I should go.”

  A cup is placed into my hand, he helps me hold it, forcing me to drink.

  “Talk to me. I'm not letting you go in this condition.”

  Finally I brave a glance at him. His face is full of concern. Maybe he hasn't noticed? Of course he's noticed, he's male.

  “I'm just embarrassed.”

  Comprehension shows in his countenance. “Shauna, in my profession there is nothing I haven't witnessed. Please don't feel uncomfortable.”

  Well he passed bedside manner with an A plus. He smiles, wrapping an arm around me, giving me a squeeze. “Silly girl.”

  So perfect men do exist. And I got lucky enough to move next door to the only one still single on planet earth. Maybe he's gay.

  •

  Victor:

  I make her wait for me while I shower. She can't get into the darkroom. Everything else is a prop deliberately placed for her to find. Scintillating water baptises me in my morning ritual, but for the first time in years, I am afraid.

  If Father knows how I feel, will he take her away?

  Dread fills me. Father's wrath is obvious.

  “Victor, go and open the well.”

  I don't want to. It's not her fault. I was curious. He scowls at my hesitation.

  “I won't tell you twice. Falling into sin the minute I give you trust. I warned you about Lilith and Eve, but you don't listen.”

  My sneaker squeaks on the tiles covering the barn floor which is Father's laboratory and workshop. Briefly I offer Jez an apologetic glance. Will he? Will he really? I'm praying that he's only threatening me and I'll see her again tomorrow at bible school. My hands are shaking, my erection dissipated, as I walk as fast as I can without running, to open the well.

  “Lilith–”

  “My name is Jez, not Lilith.”

  “Wrong. Lilith or Eve, you're all sinners descended from the same deceitful bloodline. Manipulating my son with your wiles. He would never defy me, yet you coerced him, didn't you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Yes, I see you are beyond redemption if this is how you speak to the saviour of mankind,” says Father. He is the original Watcher from Heaven. He sees everything, every sin, every hope, every soul.

  “You're mad. I'm leaving.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  My heart is pumping so loud inside my chest from the run back, I hardly hear their conversation. Petrified I watch Father march her out, my vantage through a gap in the boards. Too afraid to move, I watch him touch her where I wanted to. A hand tight in her hair, she's flaying, kicking at him, screaming.

  Our location is so remote, only I can hear her screams as Father pushes her to her death. The underground river is high this time of year, she'll be swept away quickly, forced to drown with no way out.

  Making my trembling legs move, I run to get inside and to my room before he sees me. Quickly kneeling at my bed, bowing my head, swallowing tears.

  Snapping out of my reverie I resolve to drive her to her car. Follow her back. Make sure she's safe. Then order a silk gown for her as synthetic satin is unnatural. I'll get it delivered.

  It's time I checked the network. How far away are we? Can I have this one for myself? She fell. He wouldn't approve. But she's mine damn it. This one is mine.

  Switching off the water, I step out of the shower. She is my angel. She is recruited. I will not let her fall again. The Alpha, my Father, must not hear of John. I am Vengeance. I do God's will. Shauna can be forgiven. More pain has been visited to atone for her transgression.

  ~ Chapter 12 ~

  A tear contains an ocean. A photographer is aware of the tiny moments in a person's life that reveal greater truths.
r />   ~ Anonymous

  Shauna:

  Leaving me alone with the two Police Officers, Victor moves to the kitchen to make coffee. One of them is a huge man that reminds me of a rugby player. All shoulders and no neck, supporting a square head. His shirt is too tight and I can see paper white skin and unattractive hair straining at the buttons.

  Shit, my nerves are shredded, I’m losing it completely.

  His partner is an anorexic stick man, with a vile smattering of limp hair under his nose, I'm guessing it's meant to be a moustache, but it gives him the impression of an SS officer sniffing for false evidence. I am in a long t-shirt and dressing gown leant to me by Victor, and the SS man's eyes keep darting to my legs. Creep.

  “So tell me, Shona. Can you think of anybody who might have cause to hurt either you or John; any enemies, jealous ex-boyfriends or that kind of thing come to mind?” The rugby cop does the speaking.

  His pronunciation of my name just grates me.

  “I barely knew him, we went on our first blind date last evening. I’m sure you’re already familiar with my history?”

  “Re-cap for us if you don’t mind pleased.”

  Of course I mind you imbecilic moron, I was tortured for months.

  “I was kidnapped by an unknown man, there’s an ongoing investigation into it, but nobody has been arrested or interviewed yet.”

  “Is it? And why do you think somebody might do something like that to you?”

  “Because he likes my smile.” My attempt at acerbic humour flies straight over their heads. Both of them staring at me as though they are trying to work out why Van Gogh cut off his ear.

  I'm really missing the UK right now.

  Changing approach, I say, “Isn’t that your job to establish? Look, it’s obvious that the same man is still stalking me, he’s a dangerous psychopath and he just killed that man for going on a date with me for God’s sake!”

  “It’s dangerous to jump to conclusions lady, could’ve been a fault on the car or anything, we just don’t know yet.” This contribution from officer SS.

  “A fault that blew him up? How unnaturally convenient.” The reply escapes before I can catch myself.

  “Is you going to co-operate? We can always do this at the station.”

  I stare at Jelly-belly, cringing at his pompous glare. “My mother arranged the date through a friend of hers. I simply agreed to go. I met him at the Waterfront at exactly eight o'clock, where we had dinner at approximately eight-forty-five. I ordered butternut ravioli in a white wine garlic sauce, and he ordered fillet steak with all the trimmings. We had a bottle of wine, cocktails, and after dinner coffees. He was amusing and interesting. I liked him enough to let him bring me home for more wine and conversation. He told me he was thirty-four, never been married, lived in Milnerton, and worked as a website designer from home. Look I've already told you all of this. Maybe it would help if you wrote it down?”

  “Is you telling me how to do my job?”

  “No, of course not.” For fuck's sake.

  Officer SS twitches as he leans forward, “Which kant did you park on?”

  Stunned, I have no idea how to reply to this. In what country is it okay to ask a traumatised victim where they parked their cunt? Christ! “I beg your pardon?”

  SS looks to Rugby and asks, “Wat's die Engel se woord vir kant?” (What's the English word for side?)

  Rugby stares at me, “He meant which side of the Waterfront did you park on? At the harbour side or the mall side?”

  SS nods, “Ja, side. Soree.”

  All these people say yaah. It seems to be their word for yes.

  “The harbour side. Victor is taking me to collect my car later.”

  “Was there anyone who you spoke to? Any altercations with people?”

  “No – none. We ate, we left,” I say.

  SS stares at me intently, “And what did you do when you got home?”

  I fucked his brains out!

  “Look, I'd feel more comfortable speaking to a female police-woman about the details of my date.”

  They exchange knowing glances and the jelly belly has the gall to look amused with a derisive smirk playing with his caveman features.

  “So.” He makes this announcement as though he's discovered something profound. “You came home and had sex with the victim?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is you in the habit of one night stands with first dates whose you've never met before?”

  “Listen, I don't like the implication –”

  SS smiles, “We is establishing your pattern of behaviour. If you is in this habit, us will have to take a list of names to see hows many other of these men end up dead after one night with you.”

  “None! He was my first date since being in your country.”

  Jelly-belly smiles, “Can anyone confirm this?”

  “No. Look, I'm new here. My friends are back home.”

  They exchange glowering satisfaction in their glance.

  “You is a loner with no alibi?”

  “Why do I need an alibi? Listen here, my date blew up. I watched it happen! Please do something because this isn't okay! Shouldn't you be catching the man who did this instead of interrogating me?” I panic.

  “Lady, calm down.”

  “Back home they have psychological treatment for victims. Is this normal here?”

  “Are you usually in this bad temper?”

  “No –”

  Jelly-belly mentions, “This is a problem, Shona. You say you don't want to speech to us because we're mans. Your one date blows up. Do you have childhood issues with mans?”

  “If I did, I certainly wouldn't be dating them! I'd stick to women.” Suck on that, arsehole.

  SS fingers my passport, saying, “Is this your identification document?”

  What does it look like?

  “Yes.”

  “Shauna Roberts. You is twenty-eight. Why isn't you married?”

  “What's the hurry? This isn't the dark ages.”

  Tension grips me as I watch him copying down my passport number, and my home details here and abroad.

  Jelly-belly says, “Do you and your father get on well?”

  Crap.

  “No. We aren't close, if that's what you're asking.”

  Enthralled, SS leans elbows onto his knees, staring blankly at me, “And why not? Do you have some kind of history?”

  “My folks split when I was young. I felt responsible for it.”

  “What are their phone numbers?”

  “There's just the one, they're together again,” I say.

  “We'll have to phone them to get their comment on your relationship,” says Belly

  “Why? What do my parents have to do with anything?”

  “Lady, we need to just have a little chat with them. No need to become alarmed,” says Rugby-gut.

  They'll tell you I'm delusional and attention seeking. They hate me.

  “We're not close, so don't expect them to say anything nice, or even remotely fair.”

  SS makes notes, mumbling, “Interesant.”

  Even I know that sounded like interesting.

  Victor returns, depositing coffee down for them.

  SS looks him over, accessing him physically, “And you, Sir? What is the nature of your relationship with Shona?”

  He smiles, sitting down with self-assurance, “I'm her neighbour. Just a concerned friend.”

  “Have you witnessed anything strange?” interrogates the officer.

  “Strange? No, I can't say there's been anything strange.”

  “So she's a quiet neighbour? Keeps to herself?”

  “Yes, she's an exemplary neighbour, however you might like to check apartment twenty-seven, they have raucous parties that often keep me awake.”

  Jelly-belly speaks with his thick accent, “That's not ow-ar dee-part-a-mint. You must make a formal complaint. But the rules is no unreasonable noise after two o'clock. Anything before that, we carn't do anyt
hing about.”

  SS asks Rugby-neck, “Those okes have had a warning before, ne?”

  Oaks? They give trees warnings? Is this for real?

  And what the hell does neh mean?

  Jelly-belly shrugs in response.

  Victor nods politely, watching SS sip his coffee.

  Jelly-belly stares at me again, “Shona, we've taken already the fingerprints from your flat. If we think of anything else, we'll pop by and have a word.” He smirks again in his demeaning way, “Traai to stay out ohf trubble.”

  SS pauses, licking his disgusting tongue over lip fluff, “Before we leave, can you juss give us a description of this man you say attacked you before?”

  “I can't, he kept me blindfolded and in the dark.”

  “I sees.”

  Seas? And the way he said it. He sounds just like them. They all think it's just too convenient and I made the whole thing up.

  They stand with some silent agreement, together. Shaking Victor's hand, “Thank you Suhr for your co-operrrr-ation.”

  He says 'sir' like slur. I want a bobby! The way they roll their r's. They're hideous and horrible.

  Turning to me, Beer-gut pats and squeezes my shoulder, “Don't worry, if there's a threat, we'll take care ohf it.”

  And with that they see themselves out. Both seeming utterly bemused, as if I've just provided them with their morning entertainment.

  Sagging I look to Victor as the door closes. Forcing the tears of frustration and fear back as we overhear their foreign conversation fade away.

  “Mooi meisie.” (Pretty girl)

  “Mooi bene.” (Pretty legs)

  Arching an eyebrow at Victor I try my luck, “Any clue what 'moy may-see' means?”

  “None at all.”

  •

  Victor:

  I escort her across the hall to her home. Waiting for her to dress. The phone rings.

  “I'll get it!” She runs into the monochrome lounge where I wait patiently on a mottled slate couch. “Hello?”

  She really needs to wear dresses more often. A woman shouldn't wear trousers. Even if everyone else wears jeans, the attire is beneath her.