Chapter 2
It was around eight o'clock at night on that very same evening. The old man sat in his car with the engine switched off, but parked on a quiet housing estate in the eastern suburbs of Galway town, directly in front of a row of five houses. One of which had a small horse, or possibly a big feckin’ donkey, living in the back garden like it was just the norm around these parts.
His attention was focused solely upon the first-floor bedroom window of one suburban home on that street in particular. He barely gave the donkey a second thought as he gazed through the fully opened bedroom curtains.
Inside, the old man watched a young, energetic, strawberry-blonde teenage girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen years of age, practicing some pretty complex and nifty dance moves in front of a huge wall mirror while blasting out Haddaway’s – What is Love - to the high, high heavens.
The rest of the teenage girl’s bedroom was decorated with posters and pictures, but not of famous boybands, male movie stars and x-factor rejects, like your typical teenage girls. No, these walls were littered with faraway scenic places and distant lands from all around the globe - from the deserts of Sudan and the ancient cities of the middle east to medieval castles from all over Europe to marvellous advanced sky-scraping technological wonders from the modernized world.
The old man took a long sip from his flask of homemade coffee and continued to watch the young energetic girl dance away like there was no tomorrow. She was a joy to watch and behold If he had to be totally honest. She seemed like an amazing, dedicated dancer, especially with all the energy and passion she’d put into those fast and complicated dance moves, but then again, who was the old man to judge whether somebody was a good dancer or not? He was certainly no Simon Cowell.
Inside the house, Sersha finished off her practice dance session and came flying down the stairs with such speed and skill of a modern-day Olympian, that if it had been anyone else attempting such a fete, then they would have surely lost their footing halfway down and already be lying on their arse in a heap of broken limbs and bones at the bottom.
Carrying her little white rucksack over her shoulder, Sersha was on her way out. Out to participate in her big audition for dance factor Ireland. An audition that held the keys to so many of her future dreams and goals in life, and just as important, an opportunity to get the hell out of a small town that she’d never even left the county perimeter of before.
When Sersha reached the front door and with her hand already on the door handle, ready to pull it swiftly open and exit, she suddenly hesitated for a tick before turning back to face a large, open-planned living room.
Sersha knew she didn't have to announce her comings and goings. Not in this house, anyhow. Her foster parents, Steve and Eileen, didn't really give a flying hoot what time she came and went from their humble abode. But in the back of her mind, she knew that if she ever ended up having a daughter of her own one day, then at the very least she'd like to know what that little lassie was up to and where the hell she might be off gallivanting every time she shot out.
A lifeless man in his late thirties, who looked as if he was around eight months pregnant with his huge inflated beer gut, sat upon a huge L-shaped couch with his feet firmly perched up high on a nearby coffee table. He appeared utterly hypnotized by a frantic football match playing out on a gigantic, wall-mounted, fifty-inch television screen.
On the other side of the living room, a stout woman in her mid-thirties, looking just as lifeless as the pregnant man, stood ironing clothes as she watched an English soap opera on a small laptop placed strategically upon the kitchen worktop directly in front of her. The woman's thoughts seemed a million miles away from the actors on the screen though and more upon a dull and monotonous life that had already swiftly passed her by in what felt like the blink of an eye.
'That's me away then, guys,' Sersha half-heartedly stated.
Both the man and the woman said absolutely nothing and kept on watching their respective screens like two demented zombies, already given up on life and communication.
'Steve? Eileen?' Sersha called out again, more determined to be heard this time, and a little annoyed at the couples' unintentional ignorance. But yet again, neither man nor woman acknowledged the feisty young teenage girl.
'It's me audition the night for the dance factor, for Christ's sake. Aren't ya's even gonna wish me luck?' the girl continued in her thick, west Irish accent.
Finally, Steve, spoke out to her in a grumbled tone that just about sounded like some form of grunted English. But not for a second did he believe her to be worthy enough of his attention to peel his eyes away from the big match up on the television screen.
'Aye lass. Break a feckin' leg why don't ya now, eh.' said Steve.
‘Mind and take a key this time.’ said Eileen without even looking up herself.
Sersha let out a deep, hard sigh. Why did she even bother? She couldn't wait until she turned sixteen in a few weeks' time; then she'd finally be rid of this pair of feckin eejits for good. She could finally leave school, work full time and hopefully, god willing, get a nice little place of her own.
'I hope yous break a feckin' leg, you miserable pair of bastards,' Sersha mumbled under her breath as she turned and left her foster parents' home. They were her sixth set of foster parents in as many years, and like the ones who had come and gone before, she'd gladly see the back of them.
Sersha walked down the quiet housing street at a fast pace. She was obviously going somewhere in a hurry as the old man continued to watch her from the comfort of his own car.
The old man took one more sip from his lukewarm coffee before starting the engine. He drove at a crawling speed, slowly along the street behind her. By the time the old man turned the next corner at the bottom of the road, Sersha was already sitting by herself at a nearby bus stop. She had her headphones stuffed into her ears as she listened enthusiastically to music on her smartphone while scrolling through her list of recent messages from Facebook and WhatsApp.
The old man brought his car to a juddering halt just a few dozen yards away. He turned his car headlights off as he continued to watch Sersha from a distance. He took another sip from his coffee and checked the street both ways. It looked completely empty of traffic and people in all directions. Everything seemed perfect. It would be now or never he mused.
The old man opened the glove compartment in the passenger side of his car. He pulled out a bottle of chloroform and a small, dirty, smelly rag that had been lying there for god only knew how many years. He quickly opened the bottle and poured half the contents into the fabric of the old dirty towel. He left the rag lying at an easy reach upon the passenger seat beside him.
After making sure the coast was still clear, he restarted the engine and drove slowly towards the bus stop and the unsuspecting Sersha, who still sat texting away on her phone like there was no tomorrow.
Sersha glanced up for a second, distracted by the approaching headlights. She thought it might be the bus coming to take her to the community centre for her dance audition that she'd been practicing well over six months for. When she realized it was only a passing car, she swiftly turned her attention back to her phone, thinking nothing more about it.
The old man drove closer towards the bus stop. He had a plan. He would ask the young girl through the passenger-side window if she could give him directions to the harbour. Then he'd pretend that he couldn't work out how to type the bleedin’ damn directions into his fancy new Sat Nav. He'd say he was too old, too stupid and not up to date with the latest technology. He'd play on her sentimental strings to help a vulnerable old age pensioner out. He'd say the Sat Nav was a present from his grandson, and would she mind getting inside the car for just one minute to help him figure the bleedin' thing out, and then, well... then it would all be over.
Right as the old man pulled up to the bus stop, two busybody middle-aged women stepped out from the darkness of a narrow side street lane. Both of them were yakking away
for Ireland with no consideration for anyone who might be around earwigging.
The two women cheerfully approached the bus stop, still clucking away, caught up in the chatter of their daily lives. The old man shook his head and cursed his ‘bleedin’ damn luck and kept on driving. He drove past the bus stop and farther down the street.
Sersha glanced up at the old man in the passing car before turning her attention towards the two gossiping women now standing inside the shelter beside her. They all smiled and pleasantly acknowledged each other.
'Any sign of the number twenty-eight yet, love?'' asked the fat one, the one who looked like an overdressed, giant clucking hen.
'No, sorry,' Sersha replied, politely taking out one of her headphones to answer the lady.
'No bother,' the hen replied, and continued on with the day's gossip with her skinny friend.
Meanwhile, the old man turned into the next corner just up ahead. He brought the car to a grinding halt before taking a few, deep, hard breaths. He'd been so damn close to going through with his plan that his heart raced in his mouth and the few Goosebumps that had appeared on his skin beforehand were now spreading over his entire body like wildfire.
The old man glanced down at the damp towel and half bottle of chloroform still lying on his passenger seat. What a waste. He picked the bottle up and shoved it back inside the glove compartment. He was just about to do the same with the old rag towel when suddenly, out of nowhere, he sneezed with a thunderous whoosh.
Without even thinking, he swiftly grabbed the damp chloroform stained cloth to catch his sneeze and blow his nose. His previous thoughts were all but ejected from his brain in that split second, landing a million miles away from where his mind had just wandered off too, solely focusing upon the natural instinct task at hand, to catch his sneeze.
It took a second before the reek of the chloroform engulfed the old man's sense of smell and stained his lungs. Suddenly, the shock of what he'd just stupidly done completely and utterly overwhelmed him.
'SHITE!' the old man cried, before throwing down the towel and bursting his driver's door wide open. He scrambled out of the car and quickly saw his saving grace. A large black puddle of dirty, oily road water, lying right in front of his car. Frantically, and with no time to lose, the old man raced to the nearby curb and began splashing the mucky, oily water contents of the deep pothole, all over his face. Even gulping down some of the filth to wash away the strong taste of chloroform in the back of his throat.
When he finally finished splashing himself and felt satisfied that he was no longer in any immediate danger of falling unconscious in the middle of the street, especially with a tied up, gagged body still secured in the boot of his car, he slowly glanced up and chuckled hard, really bleedin’ hard - a great, big belly full of uncontrollable laugher in fact.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph the old man thought, that had been a damn close call.
The old man felt a presence within his near vicinity. Standing on the pavement in front of him now was a terrified little girl and her shocked, disapproving mother. The mother watched the old man with a great aura of disgust and disbelief as he ceased from laughing and smiled up at the mother and daughter pair, before politely and gently nodding.
‘Fine evening for it?’ said the old man. But the woman rapidly ushered her daughter away from the crazy looking old fella, who was still on his hands and knees in the middle of the potholed street, before he could make any more futile conversation.
***
A few hours later, Sersha stepped back off the bus at the same bus-stop again, just around the corner from her home. She was on her way back from her dance auditions, at which she'd felt she'd actually done quite well.
In a few days’ time, they were going to let her know if she'd been successful or not to qualify for the final round of auditions in Dublin City next month, and she couldn't bleedin’ well wait to find out.
When the bus pulled away, she began walking down the street in the direction of her house. She dreaded going home, back to that bunch of dead-beat zombie eejits she had to call parents, but she had little other choices in her life right then. Sersha had never known her real mother and father. She had no memories, pictures or clues to where they might be or where they might even be from. All she had to go on was the passed-down knowledge that some random person had left her, at only a few weeks old, outside an orphanage in the middle of Galway almost sixteen years ago.
She could have been left by her father or her mother or perhaps neither of them, for that matter. Whoever it was though had left her fully wrapped in a little baby basket, with a single note attached which read 'Me name is Sersha.'
Sersha had no clue about her family history in the slightest and sometimes, just sometimes, she loved that little fact. She could really be anybody, from anywhere and anyplace. It was like she'd been given a clean slate as a kid and even as a young adult, too.
Sometimes, she even told the other kids at school that her parents were top-secret spies or in a high security prison for a series of bank robberies back in the days before she was born, just like that notorious Bonnie and Clyde couple. Other times she yearned and ached to her gut's core to know just a little bit, anything at all, about her non-existent family tree.
Sersha continued walking down the street and away from the bus stop. It was late. Very late, and quiet all around. Only a few street lamps seemed to be working along the road up ahead.
It was not a bad little area to live in, Sersha reflected. Perhaps one or two drunken bums hanging around the streets and up to no good every once in a blue moon. But apart from that, she couldn't remember ever hearing about any proper crimes and misdemeanours around these parts. She always felt safe walking back and forth to school, or the community centre or to her few mates' houses, no matter what time of day or night it might be.
Sersha passed a long row of parked cars which lined up on both sides of the quiet, suburban Galway housing street. Of course, she took no notice of them in the slightest. Why should she? They were the same old cars always parked there every other night of the week.
Well, all except one.
Sersha walked straight past the old man's car, but the old man was nowhere to be seen inside or out. Sersha continued to walk down the eerily quiet street. Only the sound of her heavy footsteps could be heard breaking the silence. Another few dozen yards and she'd be safely back on her own small housing street.
She approached a block of old and derelict tenement flats on her right. Two huge rows of eerie dark hedges led up to the main front door of the block. Sersha always thought that if she ever wanted to hide from someone or jump out and mug some poor fella around the area, that would be the ideal spot to do it from. That sinister thought made her chuckle inside and smile too as she kept on walking, past the row of dark, scary hedges as she quickly put her mischievous thoughts of jumping out on random strangers to the back of her mind.
The silence grew a little eerier as she continued to walk. Especially when she thought she'd seen the creepiest of shadows moving ever so slightly against another shadow in amongst the hedges. Before she could think any more about it, someone did, in fact, jump out on her from behind.
It was the large and raggedy old man.
In a flash, he wrapped one of his big strong arms firmly around her waist and quickly dragged her back into the shadows of the dark hedges. Sersha struggled wildly and let out a short-tempered scream, but before she knew anything about what the hell was happening, the old man had already covered her mouth and face with his other strong hand. A hand wrapped in a small towel that reeked of chloroform.
Sersha desperately tried to scream and struggle for her life. She even kicked hard with the back of her foot, right against the old man's shin. He howled and cursed to the high heavens with the excruciating pain her sharp kick had caused, but his strength and grip were far too overpowering for the young teenage girl, and the thick smell of chloroform quickly intoxicated her lungs.
Sers
ha fell into a deep and dark sleep, right into the old man's arms. After a slight hesitation, he gently lowered her to the ground before stepping out onto the dark, quiet street again to take a curious look around. He glanced left then right, up and down, looking for any signs of passers-by or nosy neighbours at their windows.
The street appeared to be all clear and the natural silence of the outdoors soon filled the air once more.
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Cold Heart Page 30