Fear Of Broken Glass: The Elements: Prologue

by Mark, David

  ‘Conrad’s not my boss.’

  He turned towards the shadow of the monolith rearing above them, like a deep pit in the sky and stepped towards the bottom of the slope.

  She followed after him. ‘What do you think happened to your friend?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She noticed how the night froze his breath. ‘I’m sorry about what happened,’ she said, gaining his confidence.

  He looked up the incline of rock again. ‘Come on, the view is stunning from the top.’

  Ulrika smiled to herself as Justin turned and walked past the outhouse, edging closer to the base of the slope. He picked the easiest route that was possible in the near-dark. The hillside rose gradually, then more steeply until they had risen high enough to look down upon the lake, looking like a sheet of oil. She climbed after him, mindful of where she placed her boots. Before long she was out of breath and lagging behind. She redoubled her efforts, losing sight, looking around. It was a still night, no wind, moonlight illuminating the smoke from the stove coming out of the ridge of the homestead roof rising. A lazy, vertical line in the cold night air. Above, the heavens littered by the dust of a million diamonds.

  A movement caught her eye. She looked, the darkness clouding her sight and saw nothing, her breath pulsing in clouds of cold vapor.

  It was still.

  Then, the sound of feet on rock. She tried to calm herself, listening. Not a sound; it was as if someone had turned down the volume. She became aware of the sound of her pulse and looked down. Something... something behind her.

  The voice startled her, making her jump, he was so close.

  ‘Here.’

  Justin. ‘Where are you? I can’t see you.’

  ‘To the side, just follow the sound of my voice.’

  She felt vulnerable, out in the open. ‘I thought I saw something.’

  ‘It was only me.’ Justin said, sitting down.

  No, it hadn’t been him. She felt uneasy, trying to calm her breathing. She had heard the sound of footsteps, softly, but here. Turning, she scrambled out of the cover of the last trees and saw Justin sitting on the edge of a large boulder, just beyond the tree line. She made her way carefully up the rocky incline, finding a line that lead to the top and sat down next to him.

  He leaned to one side, removing a packet of cigarettes. ‘Want one?’

  She took one from the packet. He took another one for himself and reached into his pants, removing a tall, elegant lighter. Flicking it into fire, he cupped it with his hand and leaned towards her. Her head moved close, hand resting on his as she cupped the small flame, staying like that until it was lit, then removing it, leaning back.

  ‘This is,’ he indicated with a sweeping gesture, the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling smoke, ‘this is true nature. It makes you feel so alive.’

  She took a long pull, trying to calm herself. Eventually, her breathing settled, the material of her clothing caressing the surface of the stone she sat upon. She nodded, ‘See here. The rock is smooth.’ She looked up towards Justin in the dark. ‘All the big boulders were carried along in the ice and left stranded; when it melted.’

  ‘Thomas was your friend, wasn’t he?’

  Why did Thomas have the painting?

  Justin looked towards the top of the rock and stood up, ‘Come, let’s walk to the top.’

  She looked up nervously, eyes searching the precipice above them. ‘In the dark?’

  Justin peered at her, face hidden.

  A cloud passed over the moon so all she could see was the glow from the tip of his cigarette, his voice soothing, ‘Come on.’

  He walked out to the angled stone face, walking up the incline towards the top. It wasn’t far. He reached out, helping Ulrika take the last step up onto a flat plateau taking her free hand as she climbed up to the top, turning to look down at the house, so small below them, nestled between the lake, a forest and the road. Moon shadows played intermittently across the contours of the landscape, filling pools of frosted air with luminescence where the smooth surface of the lake was shrouded in mist. She turned and looked up at him as he took another pull, looking down at her then looking away towards the darkness of the trees, blowing the smoke out above her. He sat down on the edge. She was compelled to follow his lead, sitting down close to him.

  She had to know about the painting.

  ‘I guess it’s my fault you’re here. I told Ash to stop.’

  Ulrika nodded as she brought the cigarette to her lips, the faint moonlight catching the edge of her haphazard hair, making it glow silver. She inhaled deeply. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, exhaling, ‘how we invent faces that we use to deceive people, when really, we are only deceiving ourselves. Or does that sound stupid?’

  Justin looked across. ‘Why do you say that?’

  Ulrika shook her head, drawing closer, so she could make eye contact. ‘I don’t know. Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He hesitated, but just for a moment. ‘Why did you want to be a photographer?’

  Ulrika raised her head slightly as she threw her cigarette away, watching it as it disappeared below in sparks. A slight breeze drifted up the face of the rock, banishing dark thoughts and darker fears, serving the easiest of the many lies coming to mind, strands of light golden hair lifted off her forehead. ‘It seemed the right thing to do at the time.’ She felt vulnerable, too vulnerable and made to get up.

  ‘No, stay!’ Justin had his eyes on hers. He threw his cigarette away and turned to her, leaning closer.

  Ulrika stopped, looking at him. She wanted to go. And yet... he knew something. A silence descended in the space between them. Then Justin leaned forwards, closing the distance so his lips were on hers. She raised a hand, feeling his reticence, then forcing her fears to the side, let him press his advantage, probing, tentatively. She felt him ease away and gave something in return. Finally, she responded, arms at her sides, taking her weight as she leaned backwards and offered him her mouth; now taking. Then giving, pushing back, oblivious to the cold or the acrid taste of smoke. She broke off. He looked at her in a way she didn’t really understand, his face white in the weak moonlight.

  Justin retreated, slightly, looking into her, waiting for more. And she let him come close, teasing him with her presence. He moved closer again and she let him have more, little by little until she raised a hand to the side of his cheek and gave him what she knew he longed for, so he was satisfied, just for the moment. Then she pulled back.

  ‘Where did you get the painting from?’ She said quietly.

  ‘It’s a long story.’ He whispered.

  ‘The painting,’ she whispered. ‘You know something...’ she looked across. ‘Don’t you?’

  A single large eye regarded them, dark, and perfectly round. She could see them, even in the dark. She thought she had a really nice smile, missy. She liked jobs like this one, this job. If she was into girls, rightly she’d go for this one.

  So who was the guy?

  She lay shrouded in swathes of camouflage, a loose cloth that reached to the ground, the figure behind the eye laying down. And she was thinking, this one was different: There was going to be no more pay-offs from him, the voice.

  This one going bad.

  No more jobs, too many jobs from him the regular customer with all them big ideas. She knew the type: been there, done that, seen things, done things. Bad ass things by bad ass people she was paid not to care for or die for. There was always a limit, the point of no return.

  She tried not to think too hard about all that, tried to just do her job and that job meant watching and waiting, being so much a part of the landscape that the eye was the only sign that there was anyone here at all.

  It was quiet.

  She not be tired no more, wondering why Little Missy be here at all.

  14th October 1987

  ‘Ash, I’m scared.’

  ‘So am I Ulrika,’ Ash said slowly, voice as smooth as silk.

  Ulrika wa
s standing in front of the window with her back to him, facing straight ahead, legs together, arms by her side. She spoke so quietly Ash could hardly hear what she was saying. ‘What do you think is going on?’

  Ash looked up at her from his bed. He was laying on his side, head resting in the palm of his hand supported by an elbow buried into his bedding. He looked and admired her, she being naked standing upright, soft, taking in the outline of her hips, her navel, the curve of perfect breasts bordered by the tips of wavy blonde hair falling from her shoulders. Ash could see a small gap at the top of her legs, within which shone the light of the silver moon. He tried to see and reached out, but what lay above was carpeted in darkness. She turned around and took a step towards him, looking at him all the while with eyes lost in the shadows. She wet her lips, the tip of a small delicate tongue running slowly across the fine line of warm, moist contact. Ash experienced the perfection of her womanhood, arousal; her femininity. As if reading his thoughts, she placed a hand between her legs, massaging herself, slowly. She raised her head. ‘Doesn’t it bother you he is dead?’

  Ash watched her close her eyes, enjoying the sight of her giving pleasure to herself. ‘No,’ he whispered.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ She breathed, moving her head slightly to the side, hands moving in slow, regular movements.

  His eyes lingered on her pale, smooth eyelids, down to her cupped breasts, nipples pink and aroused. Down past the soft, rounded contours of her womb, towards her fingers as she penetrated herself, sliding them in and out with joy. She stopped, opening her eyes, looking at him. ‘Do you think Conrad has anything to do with it, this murder?’

  Something wasn’t right. ‘Leave Conrad out of this. Please, just continue...’ He wanted her to lick her fingers.

  She took two more paces, until she was standing in front of him.

  He found himself kneeling on the floor, head level with her navel. He leaned forwards, raising his head, nose searching.

  Ulrika took another step forwards, removing her fingers from inside herself, reaching out towards him, leaning forwards. ‘Has he said anything, done anything you can think of?’ She whispered, raising her fingers, slowly, until they were level with his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ash whispered back, staring at them, sniffing the air.

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  Ash closed his eyes.

  He breathed in her scent. Close, but not touching. He felt like he was alone, looking for someone who had left the party, a boy on his own with the school teacher he had only ever dreamt of before. And now she was here. Right here. With him, waiting.

  ‘I like to learn,’ he said. ‘So please, teach me. Teacher.’ He could feel her breath on his face, as she leaned closer to within a finger’s breadth away.

  ‘Well then tell me, learner,’ she whispered. ‘Where have you been? What have you been up to?’

  Ash opened his eyes.

  ‘Close them!’

  Ash closed his eyes. ‘Rowenda, you wicked witch.’ He heard the slight, soft touch of her fingertips, massaging each other. Then they touched him, a light flick, just under the nose. His head recoiled. He could smell her, so close he felt he would explode; a foul, pungent corruption that petrified his senses. He felt like he was inside a warm, confined space, making him think of a hall built of wood. A place of sordid deeds. Like a hunter’s lodge from the past; a hunter, hunt her? Hunt her.

  ‘And my name isn’t Rowenda,’ she whispered coarsely.

  Of course her name wasn’t Rowenda. Neither was it Eleonora, Petra or Angelica, all of them, witches. Hubble bubble boil and trouble...

  ‘And my name isn’t Ash,’ Ash replied, whispering his name.

  ‘Open them.’

  He opened them. He recoiled, her fingertips coated in thick, dark blood. Ash looked up in surprise as she leaned still closer, disappearing from view, her hand moving out of sight behind his head. He felt a finger entwine itself slowly, around a long lock of his hair. Then another, and another, as she smiled at him like Medusa, drying her fingers on his locks.

  Something felt wrong.

  She pulled his hair with a sudden violent tug, pulling his head back until his neck was pulled taught, exposing his vulnerable fine skin.

  ‘Get up!’ She shouted, her voice high-pitched cruel, as harsh as broken ice.

  Ash looked up in confusion, up at her long black hair falling in curls around her shoulders. He couldn’t see her eyes, lost in shadow. He realized what was wrong.

  Ulrika didn’t have long black curly hair.

  Ash opened his eyes and looked towards the window. The curtains beckoned him. He sat up. He got out of his sleeping bag with a sense of deja vú. He looked around the familiar bare-boarded walls, the smell of them dry but not unpleasant.

  He was alone.

  The sound of sleeping, a light snoring from the rooms to either side of his own... he looked across to Daniel’s bed; it was empty, Daniel having taken to sleeping in the same room as Justin. Ash snored when he was drunk. Tonight, he was sober.

  He reached forward, drawing the curtains to the side.

  All was quiet, all was still. The night frost rimmed the glass window. What he didn’t expect to see was the dark shape of someone moving along the still edge of the lake moving towards the back of the house.

  Ulrika waved down to him. He waved back, hesitantly, placing one foot forwards and began his ascent. He climbed, one foot after the other, the thirty-one steps until he reached the top. Arriving out of breath, he just stood there, hand on railing, panting. He nodded a greeting.

  ‘Hi.’ He held out his hand, doubled over fighting to get his breath back.

  Ulrika nodded back, stepping forwards to offer her hand in return. ‘I’m Ulrika.’

  He shook her hand. ‘I’m Thomas.’

  Her head moved from one side and then to the other, thinking she could hear, something, except she was thinking about Thomas Denisen, a black-marketeer selling stolen works of art. This particular marketeer had something he hadn’t the faintest idea about. Other than being a painting, painted by a shadow from the past. Why did he want to meet her in the middle of the national park? Had it been fear? But fear of what? There had been plenty of places to meet. He had chosen the site at Trollkyrka.

  Ulrika was laying under a blanket on the sofa, feeling cold dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of white cotton knickers. She opened her eyes, rising from the depths of a disturbed sleep. Except, she didn’t know why she had wakened.

  And so she had found his trail and she had followed that trail and now she was here, sleeping on a sofa in the middle of a murder enquiry.

  She tried to relax.

  The sound came from the kitchen.

  Ulrika opened her eyes.

  Raising herself, Ulrika pulled her jeans on, silently, tiptoeing into the corridor, breathing hard. She stood with her back to the wall, the glass, photographs on walls reflecting the pale moonlight. She peered around the door into the kitchen. As she did so, a shadow passed beyond the living room window.

  Behind her.

  Waiting, every sense tuned in to the sound. Again. It came from the window, the window overlooking the cold black water of the lake. It was the kitchen. She willed herself to move except, her body refused.

  Someone was outside.

  She breathed in, deeply, forcing herself to calm down.

  One–two–three

  Gathering courage, she made the move and walked boldly into the kitchen. She stood still, heart racing, looking around in the dark. She thought she saw a shadow; black on black that seemed to stop, move backwards imperceptibly outside, before her.

  She froze, chest constricted, feeling the adrenalin alter her sense of reality.

  ‘It’s only me!’

  Ulrika stared at him, unrecognizing. Then she registered Ash’s face. She closed her eyes, placing a hand on the wall. She opened them, whispering. ‘I think someone’s outside,’ she said, her voice betraying her fear.

  ‘I kno
w. I saw someone outside by the lake.’

  ‘I heard something at the window.’

  Before she could finish Ash walked back into the corridor. When he returned he had the cleaving axe in his hand. ‘Go back into the corridor and stay there.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Ulrika was breathless, her heart pounding so hard it almost hurt, staring deeply. He stared back, mouth set, eyes hard and determined. He turned towards the sound. This time, it came from the living room. Her eyes darted towards his. His held hers.

  Ash peered around the living room door, Ulrika close behind him. ‘Stay here!’ He pressed himself to the door, drawing her back, peering through the crack into the room, towards the windows facing the lake. The sound returned, clearer and louder than the previous times. For a moment he hung his head, peering down at the ground, tensing. Listening.

  Ulrika heard the sound of something giving way, breaking. Ash peered through the crack again. Ulrika strained to look. Ash placed his hand firmly on her shoulder, restraining her. They stood, frozen together, listening to the faint sound of something moving, the door laying between then and whatever it was that was trying to get in. Then silence, an ear-deafening silence. All she could hear was the thumping inside her chest. She looked across. Ash stood as rigid as a door post. Just when she though she would turn and run, Ash nodded. He moved past, entering. She raised a hand to her mouth, looking at him, wildly. Stepping out, he raising the axe up and past his chest with the look of a beast.

  Ash hoped he would be lost in the darkness. He placed one foot forwards then the other, entering the space of the living room, keeping close to the wall. He faced the window, keeping out of the light what little there was.

  He stopped, listening, eyes straining in the dark. He took one tentative step, then another. A pale light shone through the window, fading to darkness as a cloud passed in front of the weak moonlight. He paused, not knowing what to do, feeling the weight of the shaft in his hands. He took another step, eyes fixed on the sill. Something, indistinct, moving. Or was it a trick of his imagination? No, he had seen it. Something. Someone. They were here. Thomas was dead. They were here. Almquist was gone. Someone was here, for... to get inside.