by J. M. Adele
That was why I’d taught myself how to boost cars. I sneered at the Mercedes symbol in front of me. Scouring the streets for something to do, my gloved hands flexed and released on the unfamiliar steering wheel. Mr Businessman shouldn’t have left his car parked on the street.
I cracked my neck, trying to release the tension. It wasn’t gonna do the job. I’d been hard up for some action for too long. The urge to reach out and take what I wanted was too strong. I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I wanted to give in to my animal.
“Whoa, there she is.”
It was the doe I’d picked out right there on the side of the street, wearing tight jean shorts and a baggy T-shirt. The shorts would be a problem. Skirts were better. Skirts were no barrier at all. Dealing with a button and zipper, that was a problem. And denim was hard to rip. I’d tried it before. I had to knock the girl out to get her jeans off. It wasn’t as much fun that way. I preferred them kicking, screaming, and begging for mercy.
She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail. Ponytails were the perfect handle. I could lead a girl around by her hair and she’d have no choice but to follow.
Slowing the car, I turned the corner. This street was lined with rundown shops, half of them out of business. It could not have been more fucking perfect if I’d planned it. It was like God was saying, take what you want—mi casa es su casa.
I parked on the wrong side of the street, needing the driver’s side to face the curb. If anyone was looking it’d be harder to see anything. Tugging down my cap, I took the bottle of chloroform from the glove box. I did a quick check of the side mirror. No sign of her yet. Pulling a wadded rag from the centre console, I got ready to douse it in the chemical. Another check of the mirror showed me she’d be passing the car in half a minute.
My cock swelled, my pulse thumping against the side of my throat. I upended the liquid, holding my breath. Recapping the bottle, I tossed it in the glove box before opening my door. She pulled up two steps from me, alarm peeling her lids back. I moved quickly, making it look like I was hugging her, but holding her face to my chest with the rag smothering her cries. I didn’t have to wait long for her to go limp in my arms.
Embracing her, I smoothed a palm down her ponytail. “We’re gonna have some fun, you and me.”
I opened the rear door and slid her shoes along the ground until I got her seated and belted. “Get used to being strapped in, doe.”
I got back in and drove off with my reward, the beast inside me salivating for a feast.
Andr—
Somewhere. Everywhere. There.
Swirling ... spinning ... floating ...
I couldn’t get a grasp on where I was, or what I was doing. Even who I was. I tried to recall my name, but it was like the word was a smudge of graphite in the top corner of a blank exam paper. Whatever this test was, there wouldn’t be a score, or even a question. It just was.
I’d been shunted from what had been my existence. I had no form. No flesh. No blood. No atoms. I was less than dust scattered on the wind. All that remained was me. Me without a body. Me without a name.
I AM because I’m aware I AM.
It became clearer that there had been more. There had been flesh. There had been graphite scrawled on a page to form a name. Before the nothingness had swallowed everything but me.
What was me?
I couldn’t ponder this further as my awareness thickened, slowly becoming heavier, particle by particle. A landscape stretched out before me—rolling green hills, dotted with lakes and dissected by fences and dirt lanes. I remembered that I’d been a part of the land before. The land was a part of me. We were one. Before the parting. Before the nothingness.
Drifting by a grand manor, I found my way to a building of stone and wood, much smaller by comparison. It was larger than many of the other buildings settled in the surrounding hills. I reached for the handle to enter, but I was not yet flesh. I was still formless. There was nothing to reach with. Similarly, the material plane was no barrier for me. I could go anywhere I pleased.
Immediately, I found myself hovering over a girl as she hid inside one of the empty stalls. Her body was barely visible under the glow of red, orange, and yellow hues encompassing her. She was the reason I’d been drawn here. She and I were one.
In a flash, my awareness merged with hers.
My name is Emmeline. Emmeline is me.
_____
Emmeline
Hampshire, England
15th of September, 1858
I spread my fingers out, looking at them in wonder as they buzzed with energy. What just happened? I swallowed as footsteps crunched along the debris of dirt and straw, coming to a halt outside my hiding place.
Enraptured, I flattened myself against the side of the stall, ensuring my view of the stable master’s son as he entered the stall. Fingers pinching my nose to guard against the smell of soiled straw, I held in a lungful of air. He had been clever to don a handkerchief, tied around his neck and covering his mouth. Upon his head, he wore a brown railroad cap, dark tendrils of hair curling about the edges. I could barely gain a glimpse of his eyes from my position to his flank. But there was an issue far more pressing. The need for air. Keeping one hand firmly on my nose, I raised the fabric of my pinafore to cover my mouth before sucking in a breath.
He spun, pulling the cloth from his face. “What are you doing here, miss?”
Drat. Creeping out of my hiding place, I brushed the straw off my skirts and straightened my clothing, giving myself a moment of composure. “I was simply inspecting the stall to make sure you had done your job correctly. Father says not to trust the servants, after all.”
Although his face was barely visible under the smears of dirt, I caught the boy’s scowl without question. “My father taught me right. I know how to muck out the stalls, and I do a fine job. Enough to make him proud. You would not do any better.”
Flattening my mouth as I tugged on my dark plaits, I refrained from stomping my foot. “I doubt it is hard. Whatever you can do, I can do. And I will do it better.”
“Is that a fact?” Reaching for his pitchfork, he stared me down with eyes as black as a crow’s feathers.
My arms fell to my sides as the blood drained to my feet. “Ye-s.” Unable to stop the quiver in my voice, I swallowed, wishing I could retract the challenge.
“Well, let’s see you go to work then. I have five more stalls to do. And you best get them finished before my father returns from his supper.”
The boy was only an inch or two taller than me. He could not have been more than ten years’ of age. Maybe an anniversary or two ahead of me. But he looked at me with a surety that I was inferior. If anything got me riled up, it was that. The boy was a stable hand. How dare he!
Pinching my mouth tight, I swiped the fork from his hand before charging towards the next stall. Plunging the tool into the hay with a grimace on my face, I held my breath against the stench. With the fork full, I turned, glaring at him as he leaned against the door, arms crossed.
“Well, where do I put it?”
“I thought you already knew?”
Huffing in annoyance, I pushed past him, searching for a barrel, or perhaps a cart.
I found a cart a few stalls down and dropped my offering into it before adding the fork and wheeling it over beside the boy. With a sweet smile on my face, I retrieved the tool and began loading more soiled hay, ready for disposal. I laboured steadily without complaint, proud of myself for matching his challenge, though it was the hardest thing I had done.
My arms burned. I squirmed, needing to peel my sweat-soaked clothing from my skin. Out of puff, I eyed the boy past the mountain of hay overflowing the cart and squared my shoulders before grasping the handles. With a great heave, I prayed for the load to move.
It did not.
“What troubles you, miss?” Glee sparkling in his eye, he feigned concern.
I pulled in a breath through my nostrils, narrowing my eyes. “Nothing at all, youn
g man. I am perfectly fine.”
Another heave, and to my delight, this time it budged. Gripping the handles until my knuckles were white, I pushed with my legs. The cart moved a few inches before the top-heavy weight began to topple sideways. I screamed, jumping back in despair as all my hard work spilled across the brick floor.
“Oh, more is the pity. You need to work faster if you are going to catch up.”
My lip quivered, eyes stinging as I clenched my fists. Another scream caught in my throat, this time from frustration and hatred for this infuriating boy. I held onto it, not wanting to give in to his childish game, but the tears came. I could not stop the wretched things from wetting my cheeks, and all at once I collapsed in defeat.
“Now, hold your tears.” He crouched in front of me, dipping his chin. “You asked for this, remember?”
I would have thought he was basking in his victory if it was not for the panic on his face. The scoundrel had been toying with my good intentions. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sank his teeth into his bottom lip. It suddenly occurred to me that I had a distinct advantage. His game had turned against him.
Sniffing and wiping my face with my pinafore, I set him in my sights. “If you wish to avoid my father becoming aware of your deception, whereby you will surely lose your position, you will help me clean this up.”
“Oh, no. You said you could do the job better than me. You made the mess; now it needs fixing.” He pushed the fork in my direction with an infernal tilt to his lips.
I got to my feet, crossing my arms. “I do not have to do anything, but I am willing to finish what I started ... with your help.” It was of great importance to me—the following through of one’s promises. I was aware that his intention was for me to scuttle away with my tail tucked under my skirts, never to return, but I was inclined to prove him wrong.
There was an added incentive. To have to endure my presence and assist me in completing the task with which he had been charged—at half the pace to which he was accustomed—would surely drive him mad.
He scrambled up, his mouth twisted, eyes merely slits.
I should have walked away. He had taken advantage of my naïveté, but I had managed to turn things around.
I had him.
Triumph.
Still, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do the job, even if it was with a little help.
He scoffed. “Fine. But you will do as I say without protest.”
“I shall try.”
“And I do not want to see you back in the stables.”
“No. This is my property. You cannot deny me access.”
The boy rolled his eyes as he put the cart back on its wheels. “I know you’re not supposed to be here. I shall report you to the steward.”
“And I shall tell him that you are but a weak little boy, incapable of fulfilling your employ.”
He made a choking sound as he gaped at me. I held my lips steady, though they wished to curve in delight.
“Stop talking. A girl your size should not be talking like a grown woman. You are too cunning for anyone’s good.” He shoved the fork into my hand, and stomped off before bringing back another.
The boy huffed and puffed, scowled and murmured under his breath almost the entire time we worked. Once we had reached the last stall, his protests had turned to song. He pursed his lips, whistling a tune I had not heard before. And quite possibly would never forget. Hours of gruelling labour. Bloodied, torn palms. Aches in every part of my body. It had all been worth it.
My mouth stretched wide in a smile that could not be dismissed.
If I was not mistaken, I may have found a friend.
Ben
Rockhampton, Australia
7th October, 2008
I took my boots off in the garage, stuffing my sweaty socks inside before entering the kitchen. Tumbleweed bounced over the deep crevices and crusty tastebuds on the surface of my tongue. The fridge looked like an oasis. I aimed for it, almost ripping the door off in my desperation to quench my thirst. Orange juice. Awesome. Grabbing the carton, I downed the contents in less than ten seconds.
Being a chippie was thirsty work. We’d put up most of the frame of a house today. One of the windows had been in the wrong spot and I’d had to dismantle the frame and reconfigure it. But other than that, it had been a standard day on the job. I couldn’t wait until the day the roof went on. It was fucking hot working under the sun. It didn’t seem to matter how much I drank, I always came home with a tongue like a galah’s. It was even worse for Lee. Being a redhead, half his day was spent applying sunscreen. The both of us had landed apprenticeships at the same firm after school. We planned on studying our architecture degrees together. Later.
After dumping the carton in the recycling, I took off my shirt. About a pound of sawdust dislodged and fell to the floor. Ah, shit. I should’ve stripped everything in the garage. I wiped my mouth on the bunched up fabric before fossicking under the sink for the dustpan and brush. As I swept my mess, I registered a conversation coming from the back of the house. Adam must have a friend over. Lucky I hadn’t stripped. I’d have to pass them on the way to the bathroom. Hopefully they wouldn’t smell me.
“Whatever you do to the top, you do the same to the bottom.”
The voice sounded like Andy’s, but that couldn’t be right. I hadn’t seen her in more than two years. The last time I’d set eyes on her was just before the news of her friend’s disappearance. What would she be doing here?
Padding through the living area, I glanced through the doors to the lounge and froze in my tracks. I tried to swallow but choked instead. Jesus Christ, it’s her. All grown up.
“Hey, you’re home,” Adam chirped.
I strategically placed my wadded up shirt in front of my crotch and got a little closer, but not close enough that my odour would waft over. “Hey, buddy. How was school?”
Don’t look at her tits. Don’t look at her tits. My eyes dropped. They’re fucking huge. I held my shirt with both hands, pressing down, telling my body to quit reacting to my friend’s little sister. It had been six months since I’d had sex. My body was eager to get back in the game.
“Boring as usual.” My head swivelled to my little brother as he tapped a pencil on his notebook, resting his head on his palm.
“Are you doing some homework?” I glanced at Andy as I asked the question, catching her eyes sliding down my body. The mutiny in my pants escalated.
“Yeah, Mum roped Andy into helping me.”
“Did she?” I’d have to thank her later.
“Hey, Ben.” She sent me an unaffected smile.
She’s playing it cool. I can do that too. “Hey, Andy. How’ve you been?”
“Great.”
“Great.” I slowly nodded. “Well, I’m gonna go hand—have ... I’m gonna have a shower.” And give myself a hand because this thing wasn’t going to go away by itself.
“Have fun with that.” She winked before getting Adam’s attention.
She winked.
Fuck me.
I turned around and hobbled off before I made a total fool of myself.
Stewart’s little sister is all grown up.
Shit.
_____
Emmeline
Hampshire, England
2nd of April, 1863
I skipped up the grassy hill, pausing every now and then to pluck a cheerful yellow daffodil from its mooring. The spring afternoon sunshine had the ground firming after the soggy melt of winter snow. I breathed in the smell of fresh blooms and country air. Reaching the top of the hill, I caught sight of the river that ran through my father’s property and continued all the way into town. The whinny of a horse caught on the tail of the breeze, making my smile even wider. If I wasn’t mistaken, the sound had come from Admiral Caine. In my opinion, the prized Friesian stallion was a brute, but I loved him all the same. The horses were the best part of my world. The only animals that seemed to understand or tolerate me in the least.
And visiting them was the one part of my day where I could fill my lungs to capacity away from the stifling walls where etiquette and expectations ruled.
Admiral seemed to favour Sebastian—the stable hand—a fact that ached like a stinger embedded under my skin. At first I had thought it to be a preference for the male gender, but that was before I had spotted the black horse landing a kick to Sebastian’s father as he attempted to secure a saddle on the stallion. Mr Brennan had walked with a limp ever since.
I made my way along the river’s edge until I caught sight of Sebastian astride Admiral’s back, taking the horse for a swim. The pale skin of his back gleamed in the morning light. A pair of drawers seemed to be the only garment he was wearing. Soaked through, as they were, they appeared translucent. Moral fortitude would have had me avert my gaze, but somehow I was unable to locate mine. I stared unabashedly, studying his young male form.
I had witnessed the maids bathing their young using the washtubs in the scullery. Never had I seen a male of the same age unclothed before. His limbs were slim, but bore the mark of physical labour in a musculature developed beyond his years. Through some probing, I had recently discovered that although he was a head taller, he had been born a mere six months prior to me. There was an injustice in that I had yet to unburden myself of.
Beside the riverbank, his clothing lay scattered, patches of brown and cream against the burgeoning green blanket of grass. I hatched a plan sure to ruffle the young rooster’s feathers. Lifting my skirts, I scurried down the slope to the water’s edge and gathered his belongings. I checked over my shoulder to see if he had noticed my presence. Admiral tossed his head, but continued to move across the current to the opposite bank. Hurrying back up the hill, I reached the crest and spun around to lie flat on my stomach and observe my foe from behind a screen of bluebells.