by Ruth Jacobs
“Come through. Let me take your coat.” Shelley helped him take off his navy suit jacket. She hung it over the banister.
“Where’s the black girl? I didn’t book you.”
“She’s making herself beautiful for you. She won’t be long.” If he saw the lounge, he might not stay so she led him into the kitchen, explaining they were in the middle of redecorating.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No thank you. Will she be long?”
“I don’t think so.” Shelley had to get him to drink in order to get him drugged. Although her hair was different, she worried that he might recognise her face or her voice. If he did, he might leave, and either way he might rape her.
“You may as well have a drink while you’re waiting. What do you like, spirits, wine—?”
“I don’t want a drink. Can’t you hurry her up or something?”
Shelley walked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up to her friend who wasn’t there. While she was opposite the front door, she lingered for a minute, listening out for a car. Where were her friends? Her eyes welled. She took a deep breath to suction the tears back from whence they came.
She returned to the kitchen and noticed his impatient glare. She knew she couldn’t stall him much longer. She poured herself a gin then took the glass round to the fridge. Hiding behind the fridge door, she added the tonic, GHB and pre-crushed Rohypnol. Stirring it, she tried to avoid the teaspoon coming into contact with the glass. The whole thing was risky, but she didn’t see another option.
She closed the fridge and turned to face him. She raised the glass to her mouth and took a sip. “She’s very bad to keep you like this but she’s worth the wait, I promise.” Shelley walked closer to him and undid the top two buttons of her red blouse. “I’ll look after you,” she whispered in his ear and through gritted teeth, she forced herself to kiss his neck.
With both his hands, he grabbed her buttocks and lifted her up on the work surface. “I think you’re the bad girl.” He pulled her hair and pushed his tongue into her mouth. Shelley fought the urge to bite it. She gulped back the vomit that shot up her throat. However much it hurt, it would be worth it.
“Your mouth is dry.” She held the glass of date rape drug to his lips and as she tilted it upwards, he swallowed it down. All of it.
35. Not Again
Her skills in the art of shutting down and zoning out were of no help as the rapist groped her. The horrendous images of his last attack wouldn’t leave her mind. In an effort to change the pictures of the past to those of the future, she tried to concentrate on what she planned to do to him.
She was physically revolted as he sucked on her breast but with his eyes off hers, she took the opportunity to look at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was approaching nine o’clock. Anytime now, the GHB would take effect and not long after, the Rohypnol would kick in. Then their roles could be reversed.
Shelley heard a knock on the door. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, breaking away. She swallowed down the vomit that rose into her mouth.
“No you won’t. I’m not done with you yet.” He seized her from behind as she neared the kitchen door. He wrestled her down to the sullied vinyl. “Take off your skirt.”
“I can’t...That’s my friend...We’re going out.”
“No you’re not. You’re not going anywhere.” He lay on top of her, gripping her wrists. He raised her arms above her head, pinning her to the floor.
“Stop. I’ll call Destiny for you. Dest—” Her scream was cut off as he shoved his yellow tie into her mouth. With the hand he’d released, she grappled for the tie but he snatched her wrist and threw her arm back down. Both her narrow wrists were constrained by one large hand. With his other hand, he pushed the tie deeper into her mouth.
Trapped under his heavy frame, she writhed in an effort to free herself. Her flailing arms were hampered by his grip. She kicked her legs and tried to raise her torso off the floor but she was crushed by his weight. She couldn’t get away.
“There is no Destiny, is there?” He forced his hand under her skirt and tore into her knickers. “I thought I recognised your face, and now I remember. You want some more, don’t you?”
Shelley told herself not to cry, that it wouldn’t be long until he was knocked out. The incessant knocking at the front door echoed in her ears. She pictured Nicole standing on the doorstep. If only she’d given the other key she’d had cut to Nicole and not to Angel.
When she felt him invade her, she shrieked, but her call for help was muffled by the tie. The sick that she’d previously managed to keep down crept up her throat and into her mouth. She choked as the dam of the tie forced it back down.
Her heart journeyed to her head – perhaps for its protection – and in there it thumped. The feeling of suffocation gripped her as particles of puke caught in the back of her throat and clogged her nostrils. She struggled to breathe. Her internal feeling of dying became accompanied by an external death; perhaps this is how it felt to drown. She agonised how her mother would cope without her, identify her body, and bury her only living child. Through the pain, guilt gripped her as she pictured her mother and Aunt Elsie’s faces. She felt her windpipe shut down and blackness descended.
She was startled by coughing that was confined within her chest. Her eyes opened. From her nose, vomit splattered onto the rapist’s white shirt.
“You disgusting, dirty whore.” He spat on her. She felt his saliva spray her forehead.
To avoid his baleful stare, she turned her head. She felt the tears that had brimmed in her eyes trickle across her face, over the bridge of her nose, and into her hair. In her head, she prayed to God to save her.
Ideas to escape fired in her mind. However hopeless, there was a determination inside her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a pot of paint and pictured herself ramming it into his head, his blood gushing from the wound. But in reality, she couldn’t reach the pot. She recalled the long knives in the kitchen drawer that she’d used to break out of the house. In her mind, she drove a knife into his chest repeatedly. Blood fountained from the lacerations. But she couldn’t get to the drawer. She thought about head-butting him. She could do that. She tried, but she was unable to raise her head off the floor.
“Is it hurting?” He panted.
Shelley nodded. Unable to make a sound, she screamed for help in her head.
“Good. I know this is how you whores like it, don’t you? This is what you want.”
Fighting for air, she took short breaths through her nose. Vomit stuck in her windpipe. The tie stifled her choking. Hail Mary, Mother of Mercy, to thee do I cry ... mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
“Tell me you like it. Tell me, you little whore. This is what you want.”
Shelley shook her head. She widened her eyes. Jesus, save me. God, save me...
“This is how you like it, isn’t it? Ask me for more. Say it. Tell me, you slut.”
Will, help me. Get him off me, please.
The soulless eyes in the red, sweaty face above her rolled back to the whites. She slipped one of her wrists free. She grabbed the tie out of her mouth. The repugnant face hanging over hers received a vomitus bespattering.
“Whore,” he said, wiping the debris from his face.
With her free hand, she slapped him on the side of the head. She dug her nails in behind his ear and planted her thumb deep into his eyeball. He bellowed as he tried to prise off her hand but her grip was firmly entrenched.
Suddenly, he fell silent. His head fell, face-down next to hers on the vinyl. His body was still. She presumed he’d fainted from the shock or the pain, or the GHB had kicked in. She rolled out from under the dead weight and straddled its back. From the crown, she grasped a clump of short, brown hair and she pummelled the face into the hard floor.
***
“Fucking hell.” Angel was kneeling down next to Shelley. In her frenzy, Shelley hadn’t heard her come in.
Shelley re
linquished her grip. The rapist’s head thudded on the floor.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Nicole rushed over to Shelley.
Shelley felt a coldness from the air on her chest. She realised her blouse was gaping open. She lowered her gaze to fasten the buttons. She tried not to look at her torn knickers and the savage next to them on the vinyl. “Where the fuck have you been?” she said.
“Ladbroke Grove was gridlocked. The police blocked everyone in,” Angel said.
“I dumped my car and ran here.” Nicole glared at Angel. “What were you doing sitting in the damn fucking traffic? If you’d been here—”
“I couldn’t go anywhere. I was right by the police,” Angel replied.
“Why didn’t you answer your fucking phone?”
“I would if I’d had a signal. You think I wanted this to happen to your girl?” Angel shouted. “I care about her too, you know.”
Angel held her hand out to Shelley, who ignored it and pushed herself up from the dirty floor. She stumbled to the sink. Holding onto the draining board, she put her face under the tap. Once she’d rinsed off the residual puke, she gargled with water.
Nicole came over and handed her a pack of tissues. Shelley expelled the vomit from her nose. She crossed back to the other side of the kitchen and replaced her shoes, which she’d lost during the attack. She approached her assailant and began kicking into his ribs.
“I’m so sorry, love,” Nicole said.
“It’s too fucking late.” Shelley drove the heel of her stiletto into the rapist’s ear. Blood trickled out and down the side of his head.
There was a knock on the front door and Angel left the kitchen. Nicole wiped her eyes then took her cigarettes from her bag. She put one in Shelley’s hand. As Shelley raised the cigarette to her mouth, she became aware of the tremors in her hand. Then she realised her whole body was afflicted. Though she wasn’t convulsing, this was how it usually started.
“I’m sorry, Shell,” Tara said, walking towards her. “I’ve been stuck in the station... I think someone got shot.”
Shelley stormed out of the kitchen and into the lounge. She picked up her handbag and case. She ran up the stairs on her unsteady legs and went straight into the bathroom. With the door locked and the shower running, she knelt on the cold tiles and took out her works, heroin, citric, spoon and lighter. She swallowed hard, trying to steal back the tears; a little longer and the only friend she could rely on would take away the pain.
She tried to control her shaking as she prepared the hit, but the spoon wobbled under the tap. As she added the heroin, some of the precious liquid spilt. With the spoon resting on the tiles, she put in a pinch of citric and when she precariously held it for cooking, she prayed not to spill any more.
She carefully dropped in the filter, took her syringe and drew up the elixir into the barrel. There was nothing in the room to use as a tourniquet so she selected a recently healed vein on her wrist. So what if her friends noticed? While applying pressure with her other hand, she noticed her pulse – something she’d never paid attention to before.
“Come out, love. I’ll make you a cuppa.” Nicole tapped on the bathroom door.
“I don’t want fucking tea. I just wanna be on my own.”
“I tried, Shell. I couldn’t get round the back. I’m so sorry... There was nothing I could do.”
“Just fuck off!” Shelley listened to Nicole’s footsteps retreat down the stairs; she heard what she thought was Nicole sobbing.
As Shelley had kept a tight hold on her wrist, the feeling in her hand was nearly numb. If only that numbness would pervade the rest of her, she wished.
Taking deep breaths, in the hope that she’d steady herself, she inserted the needle into her vein. Having pulled back a little on the plunger, she pushed in. The abhorrent images were purged from her mind as she crossed the threshold into the refuge rendered by heroin.
36. Darkness
When her eyes opened, the shower was still running. She could barely see through the steam in the bathroom. The needle hung from her wrist and her blood stained the off-white floor tiles. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but she had to take a shower and remove the tainted clothes touching her flesh. If the rapist came to, her friends could deal with him. After all, they hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed them.
Having removed her blouse and skirt, she braved the scorching water and stood under the weak jet, still in her nightmare for a while. Inside she was crying but on the outside, there were no tears. It feels like my insides are being shredded. There’s a vandal inside and he’s ripping me up with razor blades... He’s killing me.
Using the men’s shampoo she found on the side of the bath, she scrubbed at her scalp for several minutes. After rinsing off the foam, she washed her hair twice more before scouring her body. By the time she was ready to come out, the outer layer of her skin felt like rubber.
Once dry, she became aware of the masculine scent left on her from the shampoo and shower gel. Even though it smelt clean, it repulsed her. Taking the perfume bottle from her case, she doused her body and hair with Obsession.
In her toiletry bag, she found the toothbrush she’d brought with her. With lashings of toothpaste, she brushed her teeth over the sink. Before long, the white foam that fell into the basin took on a pink hue. Though her mouth was sore and she tasted the blood, she continued to brush vigorously: her teeth, gums, inside her cheeks, the roof of her mouth, her tongue, and as far as she could reach down her throat.
Dressed in the casual clothes she’d brought with her, her body still felt besmirched. However hot the water was, and however much soap she used, the feeling of contamination remained. Eventually, on the outside, it would fade – she knew that’s what happened – but she also knew, on the inside, it would mar her forever.
***
With her hair still wet, Shelley went downstairs. She put her handbag and small suitcase in the lounge before going through to the kitchen. The room was empty. Her friends weren’t there and the rapist’s body had gone, along with his blood that had pooled on the vinyl. They must have started without her.
She turned the gold handle of the cellar door and light beamed up the staircase. When she reached the last step, she felt satisfied to be setting her eyes on the sight she’d been waiting for.
“When did you move him?”
“A few hours ago,” Tara said. “How much did you give him? He’s been out cold since you went up.”
“Only two roofies, and half a bottle of GHB... maybe a bit more.”
“Are you all right, Shell?” Nicole asked.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Shelley walked back up the stairs and into the lounge. She took out her curling tongs and plugged them into the socket. Having picked out the items required from her case, she carried them down to the damp cellar.
“Have you been in here this whole time?” Shelley asked.
“Me and Nic have. Angel went for a nap after we dragged him down.”
How her friends could bear the stench of dead rat or sleep in the filthy house, she didn’t know. She hadn’t seen Angel in the lounge, so she must’ve been sleeping in one of the bedrooms, but how could she do that? The mattresses in every room were rank.
Shelley unpicked the edge of the roll of clingfilm. She walked towards the subhuman where he lay naked at the opposite end of the room. The feeling of fleas crawling over her skin intensified. As she got closer, she inspected the damage she’d inflicted after the rape. His face was battered.
Shelley handed Nicole the loose end of the clingfilm. Nicole bent down and wound it several times around his toes. She held it steady while Shelley began binding his feet together with the industrial-size roll of plastic wrap. With his feet secured, Tara and Nicole kept his legs raised as Shelley bound them in transparent layers.
“How are we going to do this?” Tara asked. They were stuck at the top of his fat thighs and unable to raise him. Shelley sprinted up the stairs,
grabbed a folding chair from the lounge then came back down to the cellar.
They wedged the curved back of the chair under his buttocks. Her friends levered him up, enabling her to continue the mummification. They jiggled the chair along underneath him as Shelley worked her way up his body.
On reaching his stomach, Shelley removed the handcuffs from his wrists and folded his arms over his torso. She bound them straitjacket-style, then continued the swathing up to his shoulders. Tara and Nicole lifted his head as Shelley wrapped his neck and then his face.
“Can you poke your finger in?” Shelley asked Nicole, because she couldn’t bear to stick her finger up his nose.
“I can’t. Can you do it?” Nicole asked Tara.
Tara tried, but she couldn’t break through the clingfilm. Shelley unravelled the film covering his nose while Nicole went to fetch a knife from the kitchen. Taking the blade from Nicole, Shelley pierced two holes for his nostrils. As she rewrapped his face, she watched the blood ooze from his nose and spread out underneath the transparent cover. At the top of his head, she tore the clingfilm then stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“Do you wanna get some sleep, love?” Nicole asked Shelley.
“No way, I couldn’t.”
“I just thought after what happened, you—”
“She said she didn’t want to talk about it,” Tara said. “You need to learn when to leave things alone.”
***
Shelley went upstairs to the lounge and sat on one of her own chairs. She didn’t want to be in that house. There was no escape from her mind there after the rape. The scene replayed in her head. She saw it occur as if she’d been removed from her body and watching from the ceiling.
Added to the pain were the practicalities. She’d need to pay a visit to the Praed Street Project to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases. After he’d raped her the last time, she’d been clear of STDs. However, over the course of two years, a serial rapist with his modus operandi would most likely have contracted something.
She was distraught with fear over what diseases he might have passed to her. Though she’d have most of the results within a few days of an intrusive examination, it was a few days too many to wait. And the three-month delay before she could obtain a conclusive result on HIV filled her with dread.