by H Elliston
Below the front door, on the welcome mat, a shaft of moonlight shone on a white envelope. I picked it up. No name, address or stamp. I ripped the top off with my teeth, tugged at the piece of paper inside and flipped it over. On the moonlit photo I thought I recognised Laura. My glass slipped through my fingers and shattered on the floor around my bare feet. Stretching an arm out, I located the light switch and flicked it.
I bit into my bottom lip and stared for several long seconds at the all-telling photo. Although out of focus, it was unmistakably Laura and Daryl, outside a white front door with a stained-glass red rose detail. Their faces were less than an inch apart at opposing angles. Lips slightly parted, suggesting a kiss.
Goddamnit! Their private moment captured on film was being used against her.
A white light flashed into the hall from the street. I slid the photo into my dressing gown pocket, stuffed my feet into the nearest shoes - ridiculously high stilettos - and fumbled with the key to unlock the front door. I stood on the path, which glowed orange from the street lamp, then stared left and right along the dark road. I searched for a figure, headlights, movement, sounds, anything. The absence of a moving vehicle suggested I was too late to catch the messenger.
Undeterred, I dashed five steps into the middle of the dark road and looked again. “Who the hell are you?” My heart thumped hard inside my chest with lost hope while I stood alone in the black, foreboding stillness.
My slow reaction must have allowed whoever posted the envelope through my letterbox sufficient time to disappear. Cursing, I took another long look to both ends of the street, and then began walking. I peered into car windows with feigned optimism that the blackmailer might be sitting in a vehicle, waiting to drive off. The first few cars sat empty.
As I moved to the next car, an engine growled to life on the opposite side of the street.
I spun towards the sound too fast and wobbled on my stiletto heel. My foot toppled sideways, and I fell to the hard, rough road on my hands and knees. I pushed myself up from the tarmac and heard an engine revving in spurts. Tyres screeched. I raised my head. Faster than a heartbeat, two brilliant full-beam headlights shone in my face, blinding me. For a second, I froze, gobsmacked. I crouched in the road near the wheel of a parked car, squinted against the light, raising my hand against the brilliant beam. The vehicle sped closer and the roar of the engine intensified. Panic surged through me. The headlamps filled my vision.
The car’s not stopping!
I screamed and hurled myself sideways. I banged a front bumper, and then rolled between two parked cars and curled into a ball. Death blasted past me when a swift gust of cold air blew across my skin. Only a lucky second separated the vehicle from clipping me.
Panting like an overheated dog, I forced myself upright. “Lunatic!” I stared down the end of the street, hoping to glimpse a number plate or make of car. The vehicle had disappeared. I was in one piece, still breathing, although shaken.
I darted back inside my house and locked the front door. My stilettos crunched broken glass in the hall. I felt disappointed with myself for being merely seconds late of discovering the blackmailer’s identity. And angry I’d been so stupid as to wander into the road and nearly get myself killed. The blackmailer had been right here at my door. Damn! His hand had touched my letterbox. If I had walked downstairs a few minutes later, I could have seen his face. But I’d blown it.
I whipped the envelope out of my dressing gown pocket. So someone did indeed still have evidence, and I held it between my shaking fingers. Hard to believe such a flimsy item could be as valuable as gold to Laura.
But why drop the photo on my doormat and risk exposure? Why not give it to Laura, text or email it?
I dashed down the hall, grabbed my phone and jabbed the call button.
“Laura, the photo’s here. Someone dropped it through my letterbox a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, Jesus!” she said, in a strangled tone. “So they weren’t lying. Did you see who dropped it off?”
“I tried. But no.” I paced circles in my dining room, staring at the photo hoping something different would stand out. “It’s definitely you and Daryl, on a street outside a house.”
“Hmmm… that’s not so bad. Could be innocent, asking me for directions, finding out the time. At least we’re not naked.”
A tickle in my throat came from nowhere and I coughed. “Kissing. You’ve been kissing. Daryl’s hand is squeezing your bum and your hand is in his jean pocket.”
A gasp came through the phone sounding louder than I thought one could.
“Laura?”
“No way!” she said squawkily, as if something heavy squashed her dainty frame. “This is bad. This is really bad.”
“Is Mark still at your house?” I asked.
“No.”
“I’m going to phone Lee. I’ll let you know what he says.”
The line went silent for some seconds. “I’d rather you didn’t phone him.”
“Why?”
“Because Paul’s been grilling me over the things Lee said to Mark earlier. He’s dropped me right in the dung. If Lee can’t keep his mouth shut, I don’t want him knowing any more. In fact, I don’t want him involved, full stop.”
“Well, he is involved. Full stop that! Laura, I know I keep saying this, but you need to give more thought to calling the police. I won’t be able to stall Lee once he finds evidence. There must be a way of keeping Paul out of it while getting the cops’ help.”
“There isn’t. They’ll question everyone.”
I raised my voice. “I nearly got run over tonight!”
“No way! Oh, Chelsea. Are you all right?”
“Fine. It was because of my own stupidity. But still, this is already way out of hand. Bye.”
I hung up, dialled Lee and while telling him about the photo, I rubbed my shoulder. It stung where I scraped it on the tarmac. And my knee felt bruised. I let my dressing gown slip off my shoulder and noticed a grazed patch of skin.
“I’m on my way,” Lee said. “Lock up and don’t go outside.”
During my wait, I swept up the glass, dried the pool of water from the hallway, cleaned the scrape on my shoulder and curled on the sofa. The photo lay face up on my desk.
Fifteen minutes later, Lee rapped on the front door. “Hey, gorgeous!” he called through the letterbox.
We kissed in the hall and then headed to the dining room, arm in arm.
“It’s on the desk.”
He pinched the corner of the photo and held it under the glow of my table lamp. “Can’t see a fingerprint. Unless this person’s stupid, they’d have used gloves.” He stared so intently that his eyes must have traced every pixel.
“It’s a bit blurred. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a quality control sticker over the corner,” I muttered.
Lee beckoned me. “It was taken from outside Daryl’s house.” He pointed at the top right corner. “I think it was snapped from inside a car. See that dark curve? That might be the edge of a windscreen.”
I looked then backed up to the sofa. “Why drop it at my house instead of Laura’s, and why didn’t they just text the photo?”
Lee shrugged. “Maybe they wanted her to have a physical reminder. Besides, you seem to be the go-between person. They used good quality photo paper and an inkjet printer at a guess.”
“How can you tell?”
“I work at a print shop, Chelsea.” He rolled his eyes a half circle then looked at the photo again. “Yes. Digital. Not photographed on the right setting though.” Lee stepped nearer and sat at my side.
I stared at the photo on his lap. Kind of creepy knowing the mystery blackmailer had touched it themselves not so long ago.
“Why choose that particular photo?” I asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Although...” he broke off.
“What is it?”
“I suppose because they’re not quite kissing, we can clearly see it’s them. Perhaps other photos g
ave too much or too little away. I don’t know, Chelsea. I’m just guessing.”
“It’s a strange shape.”
“Yes. The edge has been trimmed away. It’s almost a square. I wonder what they didn’t want us to see?”
“This photo doesn’t help,” I complained. “Laura will see this as a reason to pay more money, rather than a reason not to.”
Lee’s hand brushed my thigh as he stretched across, groped my bottom and kissed me on the lips, re-enacting what the pose on the photo suggested. “A kiss like this doesn’t prove she had an affair.”
“It proves she... oh, my... Proves she kissed someone passionately,” I managed to say, while blood sped through my veins. “Paul would know that’s not her normal behaviour towards other men.”
Lee curled his hand round my thigh over my dressing gown, then pointed at the photo with his free hand. “And see there, Chelsea? It had rained. Look at the drops on the windscreen and look at what Laura’s holding. An umbrella.”
“How does that help? Rain isn’t a rarity.”
“Maybe it’ll jog her memory about when it was taken. She might remember seeing someone, Mark, in the street. You should ask her about it tomorrow. I need the original, but you could make a copy.”
“My printer’s out of ink, remember?”
“Well, describe it as best you can. Or maybe I could email it. I’ll scan the photo into the computer at work. We’ve got software that might enhance the image. I think it was taken from a couple of doors away, opposite Daryl’s house.”
“But what are you looking for?” I searched his eyes. “We now know they didn’t lie about having evidence.”
“A touch of paint colour, a reflection in glass. I might not find anything, but it’s worth chancing.”
A moment later, he made a short humming sound, then popped the photo into his jacket pocket. With a warm spot on my thigh where his hand rested, and knowing Lee brought logical thinking to the mix, I relaxed into my seat.
“There was a large withdrawal from Daryl’s current account before he died,” Lee said, trashing my respite. “Unless some builders turn up at his house, he lent the money to a friend, or a new car or something gets delivered, then, I guess he was being blackmailed, too. For having an affair with a patient.”
I touched Lee’s cheek. Although it wasn’t the right moment, I gifted him with a smile. “It must have been an awful time for Daryl.”
He took my hand and kissed my fingertips. “We still need some hold over Mark, if it is him. What’s his surname?”
“King. Mark King. Why? And what should I tell Laura?”
He paused. “Tell her to hold off paying the money and bluff about a fingerprint.”
I stood up, grabbed my mobile and sent Laura a text message: ‘Hold off paying the cash. Say there’s a fingerprint on the photo.’
Re-tying the belt on my dressing gown, I walked into the adjoining kitchen and opened the fridge. “Drink?”
“Sure,” he replied, from the sofa.
I pulled two cans of lemonade from the rack and closed the fridge door. Startled to see Lee’s smiling face so close in the shadowy corner by the fridge, I flinched, almost dropping the cans. “Oh! You scared the crap out of me,” I said, pressing the cold cans against my chest.
“Sorry. Well, you have just had the blackmailer at your door. You’re bound to be on edge.”
He took a can and we cracked open the ring pulls.
“I guess everything hangs on tomorrow.” I swallowed a mouthful of lemonade, wishing it were vodka.
“Sure does.” He made a popping sound with his lips. “Ummm... I’ll make a move. I know you want some time alone.”
We shared an inquisitive look.
“No rush.” I struggled to remember why I’d wanted to be on my own.
Lee removed his jacket and, using a long throw, tossed it onto the sofa in the dining room. His gaze swung around the room before coming back to me.
My heart caught for the second time this evening. Just being in the same room as him, made my body sizzle.
He sidestepped me.
I twisted around to face him, my back lightly pressing against the cool fridge.
He stroked the arm of my dressing gown, and it slipped to one side. His gaze fell straight to my shoulder. “What happened to you? You’ve cut yourself.”
“I fell in the road.”
“What? When?”
I pulled my sleeve up over my shoulder and pinched my gown together across my chest. “I was checking inside vehicles along the street after the photo arrived. I slipped and a car drove by. It’s just a graze.”
Before I spoke another word, he jerked my sleeve back down and began examining me for further cuts. He had the unmistakeable look in his eye of someone who was boiling up with anger. “Jesus, Chelsea. Did the car hit you?”
“No. I dodged out of the way.”
“They could have killed you. What the hell were you thinking, chasing after them?”
“I just wanted to know who dropped the photo off.”
Lee ground his jaw side to side and his eyes shone with enough fury to release a flare. He breathed in deeply through his nose, then kissed the skin around my sore shoulder before pulling my sleeve back up. “Perhaps waiting isn’t the right thing. I should phone the police tonight.”
Trying to meet his eyes was like following a bouncing ball. “And say what? I don’t know if the blackmailer was driving.” I had to calm him. He seemed to have taken the near miss on my life to heart, far more deeply than I thought he would. He looked ready to storm out of the house and beat someone up. I stroked his shoulder. “It could have been anyone.”
Eventually, he looked at me. “Who else would it be?”
“A neighbour, a visitor... I was on the ground. The driver might not have seen me. Besides, what is the point in killing me? If I were dead, Laura wouldn’t get the photo.”
“Don’t talk that way, Chelsea. Dead. Hell! It makes me feel sick to the stomach. Someone tried to run you over. Even if it was a neighbour, which I doubt, the situation caused this. Did you get a look at the car? The driver? License plate?”
“No. The headlights were bright. I couldn’t see.”
He stroked my arm lightly, then clenched a fist. “Ugh. I should’ve been here. Or you should have come to my house like you said you would. Don’t go chasing anyone ever again. You hear me?”
I nodded, changed tracks to diffuse his anger. “What do you think our chances are now, of proving who’s doing all this?”
He sipped his drink and lifted a hand to my face. “Let’s wait and see what the photo tells me, tomorrow.”
“Okay. But what if you don’t find anything?”
He breathed out heavily, staring into my eyes. “Christ! I could have lost you tonight.” The back of his finger glided down the length of my nose then circled my lips. I wasn’t naïve. I knew exactly where this would lead.
He brought his face closer and pressed a palm on the fridge at the side of my head. Waves of his warm breath brushed across my face. He swept his parted lips near mine, as though testing my reaction.
I gasped involuntarily. I couldn’t resist him much longer.
He turned my face to the right. “I’m gonna catch this filthy scrote, Chelsea.” His voice lowered to a steely whisper. “No one tries to run you down.”
I’d completely forgotten my question. I just wanted him to touch me. I needed him.
He placed a solitary kiss on my neck. It tingled, sending a delicious sensation running through me. Then, a shower of warm kisses flooded my neck. My pulse drummed faster with every press of his lips.
I slid my arm round his back, letting my fingers glide over his clothing. He must have tugged my belt because my dressing gown fell open. Cool air washed over my chest and stomach. I stood still, front-naked bar skimpy black pants.
After breaking away to set both cans on the bench, he entwined his fingers with mine. His face drew closer until his lips caressed
mine, in long, breathless kisses. The warmth of his mouth and intoxicating sweet scent filled my head. Slowly, he bent down, trailed his lips down the central line of my body, feeling his way with roaming hands. He parted my dressing gown further and tasted every inch of me down to the band of my knickers.
“You’re in my head all the time,” he said, softly, running a finger along the elastic inside my pants. He looked up. “Do you still want me to go?”
Totally into him, I had no intention of asking him to leave, if anything I was about to trap him in my house.
Hot with desire, I spread my fingers through his glossy hair, dark against my skin. I stroked his shoulders. They were smooth and soft. In this moment, I was conscious of nothing except the silkiness of his skin touching mine.
He glanced up from my navel.
A scrumptious tremor rippled through me seeing an excited glint in his eyes.
He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Yeah. You should definitely leave,” I mocked, gripping his shoulders to drag him back up.
“I’ll be on my way then.” He rose from his knees, cupped my face and kissed me hungrily.
I needed him. No, more than that. I physically craved him. And, I yearned for a time-slip to calm in this spinning week of chaos.
The harder and deeper we kissed, the more I forgot about our problems. I grabbed hold of his top, whipped it over his head. It dropped to the floor as I pulled his lips back to mine, wanting more.
In one fluid motion, he ran his hand over the curve of my shoulder. My dressing gown flowed over my skin and dropped to my feet. He touched my bare breasts, cupping their fullness.
Melting from the taste of him, I reached out for his hand. In just my knickers, I pulled him to the open door and through to the dining room. I glanced over my shoulder.
His gaze travelled up my body. A cheeky smile brightened his handsome face. The possibility of spending time together, uninterrupted, appeared as though it would, at last, become a reality. At this precise moment, everything seemed perfect.
The desire became too much.