Deadly Sins

by Laura Read

  Sean became quiet and looked at her angrily. ‘Drive me back home. You’ll have to stitch me up.’

  Angela laughed. ‘No way. No fucking way! You think I know how to sew someone up? I’m driving you to the hospital, whether you like it or not.’

  Sean grabbed her by the arm. ‘I didn’t go through this for fucking nothing! Just think: if I go to the hospital, they’ll get you on CCTV driving me there. They’ll put two and two together and they’ll know who did this. They’ll want to know why the Balanescu family is already onto me before I’ve even contacted them. They’ll get someone else to take my place and you’ll lose your family’s advantage over the people who want to put you down.’

  ‘You don’t care about my family’s advantage. You’re worried that you’ll lose out on your money if another cop replaces you.’

  ‘Fine, I care about the money! This is my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to escape this shitty town and do whatever I want.’

  ‘So you’re worried about cash more than your own life?’

  ‘I have no life!’ Sean stopped suddenly, realising what he’d just said. ‘Who are you to care about my fucking life?’

  Angela didn’t know what to say. Life was ugly but she never wanted to feel how Sean did. Although she felt responsible for the detective, she couldn’t help him if he’d already given up on himself.

  ‘Fine… If you don’t care then neither should I.’ She bent down to gather up the rope. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

  She strode out of the barn with the bloody rope in her arms, her wet shoes falling heavily against the concrete. A toxic blend of anger, fear and sadness brimmed inside of her, yearning for release. When she was out of sight, she hunched over and her face distorted as she let out a heart-wrenching cry.

  Never before had she looked into the eyes of someone who suffered so much. Weeks ago, when Joe, Tracy and Julie lay dead on the ground in front of her, she had overlooked the pain they endured before they died, and she tried not to think how Dominic suffered because she had done nothing to help him.

  The rain carried across the abandoned farmland as she stared out at the dark fields overgrown with nettles, flooded with debris and scrap metal from machinery, the synthetic nestled amongst the rural.

  Once this land was full of life, its heart encapsulating nature. A balance struck with man, he swept a wild world from chaos to order, organising his existence around his livestock and crops, providing for his family and building his own community. Yet over the years, humanity grew too bold, indulging in selfishness and competition. An empty, material realm was fashioned; older generations and traditions died. Isolating, towering buildings were erected, bleak and hungry industries developed, man’s ego was stroked and nature’s balance with man destroyed. Commerce crushed this farm and everything cultivated for decades was ruined. Now the skeletons of the past crumbled and foliage wound its way through the bricks and mortar.

  Leaning against her car, the wet, cold metal numbed her. Throughout her life she built defences capable of withstanding affliction so she could endure in her father’s world, while he gained more territory and built his empire. Now the walls she constructed to keep her psyche safe were fragmenting, her scarred conscience emerging from the ruins, exposed like the skeletal buildings surrounding her.

  As for her promise to Vincent, she didn’t know whether she could allow herself to be used by a man who scorned intimacy and relished making others suffer. He desired brutality in his work and in the bedroom. Although she liked to feel vulnerable during sex, she couldn’t predict the amount of pain Vincent would inflict on her.

  Before tonight, she thought she understood him, and that he was similar to her. They both acted alone, knew what it was like to work in her father’s shadow, and behind their peripheral positions lay a need for some form of love never granted to them. When she looked into Vincent’s eyes tonight though, she had fallen into the blackest of depths and knew that she could never embrace the callousness behind those chasms.

  No longer would she think of him in the same way, and she wished with all of her heart that she would never glance in the mirror to find her own eyes utterly empty of compassion. Yet she lost part of herself when she chose not to help Dominic.

  She tried to stop thinking about how he suffered. She was exhausted and wanted to be alone, go home and grieve. First she needed to help Sean though; rid herself of anyone who could bear witness to her tears.

  Pushing feelings to the back of her mind again, she opened up her car and threw the rope inside. She removed two burgundy blankets, draped one over the passenger seat and bundled the other in her arms. Steeling herself, she walked across the forecourt and inside the barn, her shoes cutting into the backs of her heels and blistering her feet. Her pain was inconsequential.

  Sean stood hosing the blood on the floor with cold water, as Vincent had directed. Stooped, his mouth clenched in pain when he moved and curses slipped through his gritted teeth. Bloody water trickled around his bare feet and disappeared through the black drain set into the concrete floor. Angela wondered how he could manage to stand.

  He switched the water off when Angela reached him and threw the hose down. He spat blood into the drain, picked up his shirt from a crate and slipped on his boots.

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing him the folded blanket.

  He grabbed the blanket with wet hands and wrapped it around his shoulders, scanning the dark interior of the barn, taking in the details, each facet, colour and speck of dirt. He prayed the shadows of the outhouse wouldn’t dominate his dreams.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, and they walked towards the doorway.

  They drove to Sean’s flat in silence, the white headlights stretching across the road the only light for miles as they wound down the narrow countryside lanes. A canopy of knitted silhouettes and shadows hung overhead. Trees like shutters closed out the moonlight, the distorted lights from the distant town shining through their slats.

  Suddenly they found themselves in the urban world where streetlights lit up abandoned roads, shops and offices. Lone passers-by walked through the streets adorned in the neon lights of late-night convenience stores or the blue haze from the screen of a phone. A couple kissed in the darkness of a doorway, wrapped around each other. A stray cat ran out in front of their car, darting across the road, turning to stare at them once safely on the other side.

  Angela pulled up outside Sean’s apartment. Across the street the scent of cannabis and distant sound of bass seeped into the night, the rooms of one flat barely concealed by thin curtains half-drawn across the windows.

  Silence pervaded the car and the windscreen filled with small droplets of rain, which bled into bigger pools and rolled down the glass to obscure their vision. Wrapped in his blanket, Sean abruptly opened his door and rolled out of the car. His bloody back stuck to the blanket and his wounds caused him to stoop as he loped towards the front door, smashed and hanging off its hinges.

  Angela watched him vanish from sight, wondering whether she should follow. She’d already gone so far for him.

  She dialled a number on her phone, sighed and leant back in her seat while she waited for her contact to pick up. ‘Hi, it’s Angela. Are you free?’

  ‘Yeah. Where are you?’

  She squinted to see the numbers on the side of the building and gave him the address. ‘Just one guy. He’s been beaten up pretty badly and he’s got cuts and burns.’

  ‘I’ll be there soon.’

  The doctor ended the call. He was the family’s medical contact, a doctor who treated Balanescu’s men when they didn’t want their injuries on record. He didn’t care how his patients obtained their injuries and he never asked unnecessary questions, unspoken terms in his informal contract. When he wasn’t working at the nearby hospital, in return for his aid he was supplied with his choice and quantity of drugs. He spent half of his life high and Angela never understood why her father trusted him to treat those he cared for, but over the years
he remained loyal to the family.

  Angela took her cigarettes and lighter from the glove compartment and stepped out of the car. She stood in the rain, thinking she could leave now if she wanted: she could get back into her car, drive away and abandon Sean.

  She wished she could forget the image of his powerless eyes when she first saw him inside the barn. In that moment they shared a connection. His plight was inexplicably woven with hers and her gut told her that she’d need to rely on the man she saved tonight, perhaps not now but at some point in the future.

  She passed the broken door and walked into a dingy corridor that stank of urine, then up a narrow staircase covered in old yellow linoleum. Another thin corridor with a flickering light led to Sean’s flat, the glass in the door shattered by Vincent’s men, through which Sean disappeared.

  She stopped in the doorway to examine the carnage inside. The door opened into the living room area, where two worn armchairs, a sofa and coffee table were overturned. Droplets of blood and shards of glass from a smashed television set covered the threadbare carpet. One bare bulb lit the room, the walls murky grey with various scrapes and stains covering them instead of photographs and pictures. Scattered brown rings of smoke exhaled by the flat’s various occupants decorated the ceiling. It was cold and smelled dusty and damp.

  A kitchenette lurked in the far corner of the room with a lino floor matching that of the stairs. Grimy yellow cabinets hung precariously on one wall and on the laminate work surface were piled dirty dishes and mugs, waiting to be washed in a sink filled with brown water. A dining table was propped against the far wall, upon which a used plate and coffee mug still sat: where Sean sat down alone to eat a meal.

  Sean dumped his stained blanket on the floor and fetched a bottle of vodka from the kitchen, along with what looked like a first aid kit in a green plastic box. He placed both on the table and moved the used crockery onto the soiled worktop in the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors,’ he muttered under his breath, reaching into a cupboard to retrieve two shot glasses.

  Angela wedged the door shut behind her and sat down at the table, dropping her keys on the table to open the vodka. When Sean held the glasses up to her, she poured out two shots and together the pair downed their spirit numbly. She couldn’t taste the drink, nor feel the burn it usually made at the back of her throat. She poured out another two shots, followed by two more. After their third measure, Sean gagged and held up a battered hand to his throat. He slammed his glass down and ran to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Spinning her glass between her hands, Angela listened to the retching noises coming through the thin walls. She stood up to find a clean glass and filled it with water. Sean yanked the door open when she knocked on the bathroom door, glaring at her. She scowled back but handed him the water, which he took before slamming the door in her face.

  She heard the shower running and sighed as she walked back to the kitchen, opening up the green plastic box out of curiosity. Inside were bandages, gauze, plasters, scissors and a vast array of pills. She closed the box again. Looking down at her dirty hands, she went over to the sink to wash them with the suds from a thin slither of soap. Not finding a towel, she sat down at the table again with wet hands and poured herself another shot, simply to look at it, small and insignificant, meaningless without more.

  Her tired eyes watered as she pushed away the glass to rest her chin on her arms. She was too tired to think but knew she needed to stay awake to look after Sean. Fixing her heavy eyes again on the shot of vodka, she prayed that soon she would be home in her own bed, soft duvet pulled up around her shoulders, feeling safe in the knowledge that this nightmarish day was over.

  Her eyes settled on a phone knocked over on the floor, the thin plastic shell crushed in the fight. The wire and socket to which it was attached had been ripped out of the wall by Vincent’s men, so Sean couldn’t call for help. Time would tell whether he had been lucky tonight and wouldn’t be scarred permanently. Then again, perhaps it would have been better not to have done anything and let him die.

  She blew a grey cloud of smoke into the air, the cigarette in her hand feeling comforting and familiar. A waiting game in progress, Sean and Angela sat at opposite ends of the righted sofa, staring at the empty space where the television used to stand. Earlier Angela swept up the glass shards from the smashed screen, which lay in a dustpan in the corner of the room.

  Sean sat bare-chested in black sweatpants, his injuries still seeping. His hair was damp and a frown etched across his face, whether from pain, exhaustion or annoyance, Angela couldn’t tell. He wasn’t pleased when she told him that she’d called out the doctor.

  ‘You should put pressure on those cuts to stop them from bleeding,’ she said, not able to stand the silence any longer.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait for the doctor to tell me what to do?’

  ‘OK, if you want to lose more blood, ignore me.’

  Leaning forward, she angrily stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray, then sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. She prayed that the doctor would arrive soon so she could leave. Her patience was wearing thin with Sean who kept directing his anger towards her. He’d yet to show her any gratitude for helping him, but perhaps he wasn’t happy she saved his life.

  His words from earlier kept repeating in her head: ‘I have no life!’

  She picked up the first aid kit from the coffee table to gaze at the contents once more. She imagined gingerly pressing dressings against his injuries. She compared his unmarked skin with his red, raw injuries, observing the contrast between the undamaged and broken skin, wondering how long he’d take to heal. She pictured his chest transforming from scarred to bandaged, a textured lattice of white cloth. She realised she was staring when she noticed Sean frowning at her, a smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.

  ‘I feel useless,’ Angela confessed, finally expressing her frustration. ‘You’re right: there’s no fucking point doing anything if the doctor’s on his way.’

  Momentarily they locked eyes and she wondered whether he sensed the helplessness and guilt coiled inside of her. She studied his eyes but couldn’t decipher his thoughts.

  He moved towards her to remove the box from her lap, his fingers lightly sweeping across hers to grip its edges and place it on the table. Suddenly their lips met. The kiss was warm and gentle, their pressing lips the only contact formed between them, Angela mindful of his injuries. Calmness fell upon the pair, the dark periphery of the world drowned out. Something ignited inside her as she realised that the kiss wasn’t borne out of lust but a different, newly-kindled element.

  The doorbell rang and Angela looked at Sean anew, but still he didn’t give away any of his thoughts. She sighed and got up to open the door. The doctor stood in the doorway clutching a large sports bag. He was thin with a mop of black hair and pale skin, bloodshot eyes set behind square glasses.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, leading him into the room. ‘He’s got several wounds across his chest and smaller injuries on his hands, arms and legs...’

  She trailed off, not knowing what else to say, knowing it was obvious he’d been tortured. The doctor didn’t reply or acknowledge Angela. He nodded at Sean and opened his bag on the table, taking out various boxes and bags of supplies.

  Abruptly Sean announced, ‘Thanks for your help, Angela. You should head home now.’

  She looked at Sean uncertainly. ‘Right,’ she muttered, trying not to let her feelings show. She looked at her watch. ‘I guess it’s late.’

  Sean nodded and Angela felt confusion pervade her whole body.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s in safe hands,’ the doctor affirmed, his back to her.

  She frowned at Sean across the room, a subtle question forming in her eyes, but his vacant expression didn’t give anything away.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ she told Sean, grabbing her cigarettes, phone and keys before heading towards the door. To the
silent room she whispered, ‘Goodnight.’

  She glanced over her shoulder but the two men ignored her, whether intentionally or not she couldn’t tell. Sean was listening to the doctor and answering his questions. Once more Angela was alone.

  She ran down the stairs, a mixture of bitter anger and longing rising up in her chest. After all that had happened, why did he decide to reject her now and what purpose did that kiss serve?

  Hurrying towards her car, she threw herself inside and started up the engine. For a few seconds she stared at her shaking hands on the steering wheel, calming the frustrations that heated her body. Then she switched on the lights, put the car in gear and released the handbrake – familiar mechanical movements to which she didn’t need to give any thought.

  She sped down the street towards her apartment, relaxing when she turned the corner onto the main road. She felt her old strength returning and the seething anger in her chest faded the further the distance she drove. But that kiss...

  Over the years she had kissed dozens of men, but this was different and contained more meaning, holding a wealth of hope. Temporarily she forgot her past and the uncertainty of her future.

  He was a detective though – was he playing mind games with her? She hoped he recognised the price she’d offered to pay for rescuing him, otherwise she would sacrifice herself to Vincent for nothing.

  6

  Trust

  The next day Angela didn’t stir from bed until sunset. She drifted in and out of sleep, trying to suppress her thoughts but conflictions kept rising to the surface. More clearheaded after sleep, she felt angry and abandoned, not knowing why the man she had sacrificed herself for chose to dismiss her. The memory upset her and, although she tried not to think about it, she couldn’t stop herself from feeling stupid for deciding to help him.

  The doctor phoned and said that Sean was fine when he dropped by his flat in the afternoon. She tried calling Sean, several times, but he didn’t answer. Each unanswered call was another rejection, another punch to the gut. Feeling humiliated and exhausted from the night before, she cried, pitying herself, wrapped in her duvet.