Soul Destruction: Unforgivable

by Ruth Jacobs

  Shelley heard the squeaking of the cellar’s wooden steps.

  “Say hello to my little friend.” Len’s unconvincing American accent drifted into the room.

  “What the—” Nicole started.

  “He thinks it’s a rat. Just get out. Go. I’ll sort it.”

  Shelley’s friends stayed where they were. The cellar stairs creaked and as the sound became louder, Shelley knew Len was on his way up.

  “Shelley. A word. Now,” he yelled.

  Before she left the lounge, she turned to her friends and vigorously poked her arm in the direction of the window. She listened as she made her way slowly down the hall, but she didn’t hear them make a sound. They weren’t leaving, at least not yet.

  In the kitchen, Len stood in front of the work surface near Shelley’s bottle display. She kept her gaze high as she walked in, trying to avoid looking at the vinyl. She fought the images that were firing in her mind, and went to stand next to Len. She couldn’t look at him either. The spot where he stood marked the area of the work surface where the rapist had...

  “Give me a minute.” She took a deep breath. It wasn’t the time to suffer now. She had to be composed. She needed to come up with a lie, an excuse, an explanation, but nothing came. Nothing, except the intrusive images.

  “What kind of fucked-up freakery is going on in my cellar?” Len slurred.

  Shelley raised her hand. “I need a moment,” she said. To escape the heat from his stare, she faced the worktop. And to escape her mind, she picked up the green bottle of gin, took a glass and filled it halfway. The internal burning she felt from downing the half-glass of neat Gordon’s allayed the razor-wielding vandal inside her. Having poured herself a second measure, she put the glass to her mouth, tipped back her head and slugged it down until the glass was empty. With her third glass of gin in her hands, she turned to face Len. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I was... we’ve been...”

  “You’re taking me for a cunt. Mi casa, si casa, I said, but not for this.” Len gestured vividly with his arms, more accurately Mediterranean than his words were. “A fucking show home, you said. A fucking show home. You never fucking asked to host the fucking Torture Garden.” He dipped his hand into the pocket of his leather bomber jacket and pulled out a handgun.

  “That’s where it is.” Shelley’s thought escaped from her mind and into her mouth from where it departed.

  “Nah, love, it ain’t. My cellar ain’t a venue for your fucking S and M party.” With the ‘F-A-T-E’ fingers of his right hand, he placed the gun on the work surface.

  “What are you doing with that?” Shelley edged her hand along the Formica, closer to the gun.

  “Sometimes I have to— Fuck this.” Len slammed his hand down next to Shelley’s and his arm nudged the gun into the bottle of gin. “That sadist cunt’s gotta be out of my house in the next two minutes. End of party. Capiche?”

  41. Going in Circles

  Shelley found herself being dragged around the circumference of the lounge, held upright by the human crutches flanking her – Nicole and Len. Her sweatshirt clung to her back, chest and arms. She felt cold and realised her clothes were wet against her skin. With her eyes less than a quarter open, she was able to see that it was still daylight. She assumed it was the still the same day – Sunday. She lowered her head; it rocked and remained unsteady as she gazed down at her stumbling feet. The dark blur of the carpet caused her to feel dizzy. How did she end up like this? The last thing she remembered was sitting in the lounge with Len.

  “How could you let this happen?” She heard Nicole say. “She’s my dearest friend. I fucking love her.”

  “Don’t put the dairy on me,” Len replied. “I never made her take it.”

  Of course, she’d had a fix. But the last of her heroin wasn’t enough to cause her to go over. Then she remembered – she’d had help. Len had been complicit, although unwittingly. Had he known she was in possession of her own heroin, he most probably wouldn’t have parted with any of his. For a better high, she’d lied, and he’d given her enough for a reasonable hit. She’d added his contribution, as well as a scoop she’d discreetly stolen from him, to what she had left.

  After circling the stinking armchair innumerable times, she realised Nicole and Len hadn’t noticed she’d woken. Remaining silent, she took the opportunity to eavesdrop on their conversation, but her mind wandered. She recalled Len kneeling beside her as she sat on one of her grandparents’ chairs in the lounge. He had his belt pulled tight around her lower arm and she was handing him a syringe. The image changed to another: tears streaming down her face, Len with his arms around her. What had she told him? She tried to remember, but she couldn’t.

  “Are you really sure about this?” Nicole asked.

  “Nah, but there ain’t no other way round it,” Len said.

  On hearing that transaction, it became apparent that her snooping skills were impaired. Although she tried to concentrate on what was being said, it mostly sounded like gobbledegook with only the occasional word or phrase in English.

  Unable to decipher the majority of the conversation, it took what felt like an age until anything made sense. Eventually intermittent words, and strings of words, started to connect. Nicole had been the one who found Shelley and she was responsible for her drenched clothes, which had been caused by the water she’d thrown over her in an attempt to bring her back.

  What remained unclear was what, if anything, Len knew about the rapist and the reason he was in the cellar. Not only was she unaware of what Nicole might have told him, but she couldn’t remember what she’d said on the subject herself. And if she had, would it have been the truth or a lie?

  Even though her body ached like a low-scoring boxer who’d gone the distance – and the laps of the lounge exacerbated the pain and exhaustion – she couldn’t stop. She had to keep her consciousness covert until she knew how to act, and to do that she needed to know what Len knew.

  42. Keep Quiet

  When Shelley opened her eyes, everything had returned to normal – as normal as it had been before she’d gone over. Angel, Nicole and Tara sat talking in the lounge. Her friends and the room had stopped swaying. And to her relief, once again, she understood English.

  “You’ve decided to join us, then?” Tara sipped from a purple mug.

  “I’m really sorry. It was an accident.”

  “Oh, so the needle injected you itself, did it?” Nicole’s tone was cross, but she spoke through a smile. “I thought you were dead. Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Nicole took Shelley’s hands and pulled her up from the chair. She hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear, “You’re my most precious friend and I love you. You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself.”

  Shelley nestled her head into Nicole’s apple-scented hair and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt another pair of arms wrap around her.

  “And you had a go at me for drinking,” Tara said in a gentle voice that Shelley hadn’t heard her use before.

  “Have I missed anything?” Shelley asked, sitting back down on her chair.

  “No, we’re still fucked. He’s upstairs, sleeping,” Nicole said.

  “That’s a rock bottom, you know, babe. OD’ing like that.” Angel moved her chair next to Shelley’s and rubbed her back. “This can be where you get off. There’s groups you can go to.”

  Shelley went over to the CD player and put on Len’s Simon and Garfunkel CD. She closed her eyes for I Am a Rock. After the CD started again from the beginning, halfway through The Sound of Silence, she became aware that her clothes felt less clingy. They’d progressed from being drenched to damp, and although they were still far from dry, she wasn’t going to change; the only other set of clothes in her case were tainted – the ones she’d worn the night before.

  Through the nicotine-stained net curtains, she watched as the twilight stole the day. Faced with reality, the dark cloud that housed her fears, lingered over her head. She worried if they’d be able to move
quickly enough to get Len out of the house, and even if they did, she’d yet to devise a scheme that would keep him out and allow her to return alone.

  ***

  Having insisted that Shelley eat, Angel went through to the kitchen with Tara to make her a sandwich. Shelley hadn’t realised that Angel had brought food. When she’d made her own list of essential items for the job, food had never crossed her mind.

  Unusually for Shelley, she did feel hungry, and she finished all but the crusts of the ham sandwich prepared by Angel. As she drunk the strong, bitter coffee – courtesy of Tara – she stood up and turned off the music. On returning to her chair, she listened carefully for any noise coming from above.

  “What does he know?” she finally asked the question to which she’d been dreading hearing the answer.

  “That we’re making a porno... and he bought it,” Angel said. “That reminds me, Tara, how’s your cock of a clit?”

  “Back to normal now, thank you. How’s yours?”

  “Still the—”

  “He must be really off his head to swallow that,” Shelley cut in, trying to steer the conversation away from Angel’s pubic area. Was Tara the fool or the great mind taking them there? Whichever one she was, Shelley was not.

  “Maybe we should leave,” Nicole said.

  “I’m not leaving. He’s a good bloke. It’s not fair to leave that cunt to die in his cellar,” Shelley told them.

  “I bet he’d forget about it,” Angel said.

  “Yeah, until the house starts stinking of rotting rapist.” Tara smirked.

  “This has gotta get sorted tonight. You are still in, aren’t you?” Shelley looked to her friends and although they agreed they were, she wondered if what she sensed was reluctance.

  ***

  After a cigarette, and still no sound from upstairs, Shelley walked out of the lounge and into the hall. She looked on the banister for Len’s jacket. It wasn’t there. She returned to the lounge to recheck the room, but the jacket wasn’t in there either.

  From her handbag, she took another smoke and then braved the kitchen. As she trudged through, she caught sight of the yellow tie in the bin. In her head, she repeated – a rock feels no pain, an island never cries. To hold back the tears, she took deep pulls on her cigarette. Her head felt squeezed, as if magnets on either side of her temples were being drawn together.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Nicole positioned herself in front of the bottles on the work surface, securing the area with her outstretched arms.

  “I’m looking for something. Get out the road.” Shelley manoeuvred her arm around Nicole’s, pushed her out the way and looked among the bottles.

  “Don’t you go doing a Tara on me, Shell.”

  “I’m not. How could I? The fucking roofies are gone.”

  “I didn’t mean that. She’s too awake now anyway. I don’t think it was her.”

  “Oh right, she’s never had to get over a sedative before. She could have taken some and stashed the rest. If it wasn’t her, who was it?”

  “Maybe they’re lost. Anyway, Resident Most Precious, what are you doing in here?”

  “Looking for the gun,” Shelley told her.

  ***

  At the foot of the stairs, Shelley kicked off her trainers. She looked through the glass panel in the front door and noticed the twilight had been replaced with darkness. The glow of a streetlight shone into the hall and created a rectangle of brightness on the dirty carpet, illuminating its flaws.

  In her socks, she slowly tiptoed up the stairs. At least if she could find the gun, she’d avoid any further contact with the rapist’s blood. Halfway up the stairs, she heard creaking, but it wasn’t in time with her own light steps. She turned her head to see Nicole behind her.

  “What are you doing? Get your fucking shoes off,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Come back. It’s too risky.” Nicole pulled Shelley’s hand.

  “Get off, for fuck’s sake.” Shelley shook her hand free from Nicole’s and crept up to the top of the stairs. On the landing, she looked down and saw Nicole at the bottom of the staircase, motioning for her to come back.

  Ignoring her friend, Shelley tiptoed farther into the hall towards Len’s bedroom. Gently, she pushed open his bedroom door. Before she had a chance to peek inside, she heard someone bounding up the stairs. She darted into the room next to Len’s and hid behind the open door.

  From where she stood, she could see nothing, but her ears relayed the activity from outside. There were footsteps in the hall, although she couldn’t tell if it was one of her friends or Len – his footsteps were soft; she’d noticed that before and attributed it to malnourishment.

  She heard what sounded like a door opening. Then the footsteps became quieter. A moment later, the footsteps were louder. It sounded as though a door was dragging against the carpet. It was close, perhaps the door next to the one she was hiding behind.

  “Shelley, where are you?” Nicole’s voice called.

  “Shhh.” Shelley slithered out from behind the door and slunk into the hall. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “It’s too risky. What if nosey Nora calls the Old Bill?”

  “What if Len clocks on to what we’re doing? If you wanna go, just fucking go, but I’m not.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Well stop making so much bloody noise.”

  With Nicole tailing her, she walked through Len’s open bedroom door. He wasn’t in there, and neither was his jacket. She searched the other three bedrooms, the bathroom and the airing cupboard, but she didn’t find Len or his jacket.

  “You said he was sleeping up here.” Shelley looked puzzled at Nicole.

  “I thought he was. He went up a few hours ago. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Did you hear him leave?”

  “Don’t be stupid. I would have said.”

  “Well he must’ve done... He’s probably gone to score.” With her hand resting on the banister for balance, Shelley flew down the stairs. “I’m gonna sort that cunt.”

  The obsession to have a hit pervaded her, but she refused to succumb to the compulsion. She couldn’t try to score now. The possibility of Len returning at any time meant the opportunity to finish off the rapist couldn’t be squandered.

  She flung open the kitchen drawer and rummaged for the sharp knives. She pulled out one but it was bent, and then another – also bent, most likely of her own making from the escape through the patio doors.

  A whisk, a ladle, a can-opener, a corkscrew and various other kitchen utensils piled up on the work surface as she searched for a knife with a straight blade. Something sharp pricked the tip of her middle finger. She pulled her hand from the drawer, saw a bead of blood and popped the sore finger into her mouth.

  Using her left hand, she sifted through the drawer and found the culprit. She held its thick, black handle at eyelevel and observed a slice of her reflection in the serrated blade.

  ***

  “Let’s go,” Shelley hollered as she stomped out of the kitchen.

  “Are you sure about this?” Angel stood at the cellar door and passed Shelley a T-shirt.

  “You got a better idea?” Shelley laid the knife on the carpet then looked at the T-shirt. It was the one riddled with holes to be worn on her body. She pulled it over her head.

  Angel held out the stonewash jeans and Shelley put them on over the top of her own. With the belt pulled tight, she secured the loose end by tucking it under the section on her waist.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Nicole pleaded.

  “I do.” Shelley slipped her arms into the greying-white men’s shirt and fastened the buttons.

  “You need gloves,” Nicole said.

  “I’ll look for some.” Tara walked away down the hall towards the stairs.

  “We can all go. It’ll be quicker.” Nicole took Shelley’s hand and led her a few steps in Tara’s direction.

 
“There’s no time,” Shelley said to Nicole.

  “But your hands—”

  “They were covered in that cunt’s blood this morning. Len could come back. This is wasting time,” she told Nicole. Then she shouted up to Tara, “It doesn’t matter. Come back.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen a pair of Marigolds,” Angel said as they reconvened at the cellar door. “Hold on, babe.” She darted into the kitchen and a moment later, returned with a pair of bright-yellow rubber gloves.

  Shelley’s aversion to rubber caused her to cringe as she slid her hands into the gloves. The squeaking noise was worse than the sound of chalk scratching a blackboard. A hand gently clasped Shelley’s wrist. She looked up from her gloves and saw Tara stood next to her. In Tara’s other hand, she was holding a knife.

  “It’s a bit bent, Tar.” Shelley clasped Tara’s bony shoulders.

  “I’ll be able to get him from another angle,” Tara said with a weak smile that spanned only the left half of her mouth.

  “Shout if you hear anything,” Shelley told Angel and Nicole as she rolled up the long shirtsleeves that fell below her fingertips. She bent down to pick up her knife. With her fingers wrapped over the gold door handle, she turned to Tara. There was fear in Tara’s eyes. “You don’t have to come. I’ll be okay on my own.” Shelley tried to keep her face from crumpling to look like she meant it.

  Tara put her hand over Shelley’s and twisted the handle. The door opened and a dim light revealed the edges of the wooden steps.

  Angel switched on two torches, passed one to Tara then held the other out to Shelley. Her blade gleamed and its long, dark shadow was cast down the cellar stairs.

  Following the light brighter than the solitary bulb in the cellar, Shelley made her way down the creaking steps. She could hear Tara behind her and at the same time in her head, she heard whispering – not words, just a low humming sound that echoed.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she became aware of her racing heart. She recognised it as the fight in her. Suddenly, she remembered the T-shirt to protect her face. She’d forgotten. She couldn’t go back. There wasn’t time. She had to get this done before Len returned.