Soul Destruction: Unforgivable

by Ruth Jacobs

  She raised her torch. The stream of light found the plastic-encased rapist. Tara joined her, aiming her torch in the same direction. The second light exposed a person sitting on the concrete floor, next to the rapist.

  43. Coming Clean

  Shelley wondered if the shadowy figure sitting in a hunched position on the floor was an hallucination. She turned to Tara with the intention of whispering the question, but seeing Tara’s dropped jaw and bulging eyes, she got the answer without the asking.

  “What the fuck?” Shelley’s body shuddered.

  Caught in the light, the figure spun round. Len’s pale face was illuminated. “I’m doing this for you.”

  “What are you doing for me? What do you think this is?”

  “I know, Shell. I’m putting it right for you.” Len held the handgun to the rapist’s head.

  “Cover his fucking face. What’ve you done? This is nothing to do with you.” Clasping her knife, Shelley approached the vermin on the floor. “I said cover his face!”

  “Let me go,” the rapist groaned.

  “Shut the fuck up, cunt.” Shelley pressed her blade against his neck. The purple face of the pernicious man, even though barely recognisable, started the replay. The magnetic force pulling her temples together increased. It set off a shooting pain behind her eyes.

  “You have to believe me. They’re the scum of the earth these whores. Don’t listen to them.”

  Shelley increased the pressure on the knife and drew blood.

  “Look, it’s all right, love. I’ve fixed it.” Len shoved a scrunched-up wad of clingfilm into the rapist’s mouth.

  “No, it’s not all right. It’s all fucking wrong. Why did you do that? I don’t want to see his face. I don’t have to... Fucking sort it!” She pulled off the yellow Marigolds, tossing them onto the floor. Her revulsion to the rubber was unbearable. She stood over Len, watching his fumbled attempts at rewrapping the savage’s face. “I can still see the cunt. You’ve fucked it up. It was all tidy. Why’ve you messed it up?” She jabbed the knife in the air.

  Len fiddled with the clingfilm, but his ‘F-A-T-E’ and ‘L-U-C-K’ fingers couldn’t return it to the state of tight binding that Shelley hands had originally perfected.

  Fleas scurried, crawling their way up her legs, to her chest, her neck, in her hair, down her back and over her arms. She was swarmed. She hurled the torch. It crashed on the concrete. Shards of glass scattered across the room.

  “Give it to me.” She threw out her free hand in Len’s direction, catching her nail on his cheek.

  “No, love, I’m gonna do this... for you.”

  “You don’t know me. What are you gonna do for me?” She swooped down and seized the gun from his hands. With the walnut grip in her shaking fist, she edged away and aimed the gun at the rapist’s head.

  “Not yet. It’s too early,” Len said, rushing to his feet. He picked up the pillow he’d been sitting on and placed it on top of the face that was torturing Shelley.

  “What do you know? If you knew... it’s too fucking late. That’s what it is. Too fucking late!”

  The fleas entered her blood. The itching transferred from the top of her skin to underneath. With a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, she was unable to scratch. Her eyes twitched, then her nose and her chin. She jerked her head, her arms and her torso. She stomped her feet on the hard floor and it hurt.

  “Why is he here?” Shelley looked at Tara, stood by the stairs, providing their only light. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got no idea, honestly, Shell.”

  “I’m carrying on where you girls left off.”

  Shelley pointed the gun at Len. “What does that mean?”

  ***

  “Nicole! Get the fuck down here now!” Shelley’s hot tears felt like spikes against her tingling face. “Bring my fags.”

  The stairs creaked as Nicole walked down to the cellar. Shelley passed her knife to Tara then snatched the box of cigarettes from Nicole’s hand.

  “What are you doing with a—” Nicole started.

  “Shut up and gimme a light.” With her trembling fingers, Shelley put a cigarette in her mouth. She grabbed the Zippo lighter from Nicole’s hand. “You gonna tell me what he means by carrying on where we left off?”

  “He knows.” Nicole looked guilty.

  Shelley pulled deeply on her cigarette. Her tears stopped flowing but her temples still felt compressed. “You told him?”

  Nicole nodded.

  “Everything?”

  “I had to, love. I thought you were dead. I didn’t know what to...” Nicole started to sob.

  Questions reeled in Shelley’s mind, though none came out her mouth. Watching her friend cry stumped her words, but it was worse because she was dying for a hit and for the itching to stop and nothing could happen until she’d dealt with the man who’d...

  She marched to the other end of the cellar, stopping four or five feet from the rapist. He was worming on the floor. His moaning infuriated her. She aimed the gun at his head.

  “Get out,” she shouted at Len.

  “Give me the gun.” He stood next to Shelley and looked into her eyes. “Let me do this. I’ll do it with the pillow.”

  She turned away and stared at her target. She lowered the gun, levelling it at his groin.

  “Give him the damn gun,” Nicole cried.

  “He’ll do it, Shell. You don’t have to,” Tara called from her position by the stairs.

  “Why should he?” Without moving the gun, Shelley turned to face Tara. “He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know any of us.” She looked at Nicole. “How can he know what you said is the truth?”

  “He does. He said he owes you,” Nicole answered.

  “I do, Shell, big time. More than you—”

  “Yeah, you fucking do. But if you knew that, why did you come back? Why didn’t you fuck off when I said?”

  “C’mon love.” He reached across and placed his hand over Shelley’s on the walnut grip. “Go home. This ain’t for you.”

  “I’m not a fucking idiot. You’re gonna risk going down for me?” Shelley shook him off.

  “What else is he gonna do? This is his house,” Nicole said.

  “How do you know it’s his house?” Filled with fear, Shelley turned to the board. They couldn’t be certain this was Len’s house. What junky kept a wider variety of kitchen utensils than the cookware department in John Lewis?

  “This is mad, Shell. I live here. It’s my place. Do you want ID or something?”

  “Don’t move.” Shelley glanced at Len. If she let him leave, he might call the police. No one could leave, not yet. She kept the gun pointed at the glistening, plastic-wrapped target.

  In her head, the song started up again – happy, happy. It made her smile. Then a wave of warmth similar to mild heroin hit washed over her. It washed away the creeping fleas. Her shaking stopped.

  Holding the gun steady, she lined up the sights with the rapist’s chest. The process of estimation reminded her of shooting pool, looking down the cue to judge her shot. Most of the time, she was a good judge and she was a good shot.

  “It’s not even midnight. My neighbours, Shelley, they’ll hear.”

  “Fuck your neighbours!”

  “Pull back, shoot the cunt, get the fuck out.”

  44. Altering Reality

  “It’s never gonna work,” Shelley shouted to Len, running after him up the cellar stairs. At the kitchen door, she barged past Angel and followed Len into the kitchen. From the cupboard under the sink, he grabbed a vintage tin box. Then he bolted into the lounge and out through the patio doors with Shelley behind him.

  When she reached the garden, she stopped running and stood still. Her chest heaved as she took deep breaths, filling her lungs with the crisp, night air. She felt lighter, and a sense of relief. The sky was clear and she took a moment, looking up at the stars.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to William. “I’m sorry.”

/>   The others came out and joined her on the patio. Nicole passed her a cigarette, but she couldn’t touch it, not with her dirty hands. She went back inside and washed them with Fairy Liquid under the hot tap in the kitchen. The room was dim, lit only by the light creeping in from the hall. It was better that way, not to see. And the burning on her hands didn’t allow her thoughts to drift.

  Through the yellowed net curtains at the window above the sink, she could see out into the garden. Tara was shining the torch at the back of the lawn and Len was setting up the fireworks. When her hands could bear no more of the scorching water, she went back outside.

  On the patio, Nicole handed her a cigarette. She’d meant to pick up her own from the lounge when she’d gone back in but she’d forgotten, so accepted the fresh-air smoke from Nicole.

  “Are you all right, love?” Nicole said, holding her Zippo under Shelley’s cigarette.

  Shelley shook her head and smiled weakly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “I need some help,” Len called from the lawn.

  “Don’t we all,” Angel replied.

  The three of them walked over to the back of the garden where Tara and Len were standing. Tara shone her torch on the row of fireworks as the others bent down lighting the fuses.

  “Is it safe to be this close? Shouldn’t we have those long sticks or something?” Shelley lit her second airbomb battery.

  “Hurry up.” Len burned the fuse of another.

  From the corner of her eye, Shelley noticed Angel and Nicole were gone. Tara grabbed her wrist and they ran to the patio.

  Striking white flashes raided the sky, simultaneous to the succession of bangs as loud as gunshot. The explosions charged her body. She felt exhilarated.

  Within minutes, it was over. Time for a hit. Six hours had passed without any junk entering her system. Len and Tara walked back inside the house. Shelley took the opportunity to leave Nicole and Angel by following the others.

  As she crossed the threshold, she heard Nicole speaking in her posh voice. Something wasn’t right. She turned back to see Angel shining the torch at the top of the fence next door. The spotlight shone on the elevated, dressing-gowned quidnunc.

  “That better be the end of it. If you start up again, I’m calling the council!” The old lady squinted.

  “I’m ever so sorry we disturbed you. We won’t do any more, I promise,” Nicole said.

  “I don’t want to be a killjoy. It’s nice to see her having fun for a change, and I like fireworks just as much as the next person, but not this time of night. Scared me half to death, it did.” She fiddled with her hairnet, tucking in a straying roller above her ear.

  “We’re sorry. We didn’t realise the time,” Angel said.

  “I thought it was a bomb that first one, so did Lionel. The house was shaking. We were too scared to go out. We thought it was the IRA.”

  “I’m sorry we scared you,” Shelley said.

  “We’re going in now. We won’t disturb you again,” Nicole said.

  “Good night.” Shelley looked up at the old lady and waved.

  “You enjoy your party, sweetheart. God only knows what he did to you last night, and at least I can see for myself you’re having fun now. Next time you need a costume mind, give me a knock. I can lend you something better than that get-up.”

  ***

  In Len’s room, Shelley sat on the edge of the bed with her drug paraphernalia balanced on a sturdy magazine. The red bulb in the bedside lamp provided barely enough brightness to measure out her hit. It was just after midnight and finally she was close to having her fix.

  “I told you it’d work, didn’t I?” Len smiled.

  “I can’t believe she thought it was a firework. That’s a classic,” Shelley replied enthusiastically, though she felt some guilt for scaring the old couple.

  With his ‘F-A-T-E’ fingers, he tipped the heroin into the spoon held by the hand that read ‘L-U-C-K’. “You all done with your paranoia now?”

  Shelley nodded as she held the lighter under her own spoon. She wasn’t done with her paranoia, although it had been redirected. Now that she felt calmer, she had regained her mask, which enabled her to hide it.

  “That cunt’s never gonna fit in your boot, you know that?”

  “Give it a rest, will you? It’s deep. He will.”

  “He won’t, I’m telling ya.”

  “You haven’t seen my boot. You don’t know.”

  “I do, love, trust me. I can have that van here in an hour and you girls can go.”

  Shelley wanted to enjoy her hit, not contemplate the removal and disposal of the rapist’s body, nor argue about it. In truth, she wasn’t sure that it would fit in her boot and she knew that Angel and Nicole’s cars had even smaller boots than her own. But she wanted to deal with it herself to ensure it was taken care of properly. Len’s suggestion of calling in a favour from his friend was ludicrous to Shelley. There was no way she would accept anyone else being involved, no less a stranger.

  With the heroin and citric dissolved in the water, she added a small section of a cigarette filter to the contents of the spoon. She pressed the needle into the filter and drew up the hit into her works. She rested it on the bedside table. Under the red glow, it looked like a blood-filled syringe. She pushed back her sleeves.

  “Do you want me to get you?” Len asked.

  She placed her hand in his lap. He seemed able to find veins in her arms she didn’t know existed. He tied his belt around her lower arm, constricting the blood flow. She passed him the syringe.

  “We’ve gotta be out of here in a couple of hours, no longer.” He slipped in the needle.

  “I know. Can you just let me enjoy this first? Please.”

  “Don’t go nodding out on me. I want that body out of here tonight.” He pulled back on the plunger. Shelley watched her blood flow into the barrel. The two shades of red united.

  Len injecting her mitigated the risk of blown veins, but it left her feeling deprived of the chance to indulge her needle fixation. She watched intently, trying to take what little pleasure she could.

  His ‘F-A-T-E’ fingers pushed in the plunger and she felt the junk rippling through her body. When he removed the needle, her eyelids half closed. At last, she was transported.

  45. Meanwhile Gardens

  Shelley dipped her fingers into her handbag that lay on the soiled carpet in the lounge. She pulled out a cigarette from her packet, reminding herself to clean the surfaces of her bag and case when she got home.

  “I don’t think he’s coming back.” Shelley returned to her seat.

  “He’ll be back. He said he would.” Nicole walked into the lounge, two purple mugs unsteadily balanced in each hand.

  “When did he leave?” Shelley repeated the question she’d been asking ever since she’d found out Len wasn’t in the house.

  “Don’t fret, love. He’s only been half an hour,” Nicole replied, passing the mugs to Angel, Tara and Shelley.

  “You really think he’s coming back?” Shelley took a sip and burnt her tongue.

  “No doubt, babe.” Angel smiled, her dimples making a fleeting appearance.

  “He’s a nice chap. I’m sure he’ll come back,” Tara said. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell us about him before.”

  “Have a ciggie. It’ll calm you down.” Nicole winked at Shelley as she held out her Zippo and lit the unlit cigarette Shelley had been holding.

  Shelley took an extended pull. She couldn’t comprehend how her friends had made an immediate assessment of Len’s nature, even more so because he was a smackhead and two of them were members of the AHF. How were they so sure he was going to come back?

  She was furious, both with herself and with Len. Herself, because she’d gouched out after her fix and managed to lose an hour, and Len because during that hour he’d taken an action following a discussion in which a decision had been reached on the disposal of the rapist’s remains without her. Granted, n
one of them had taken into consideration the size of their sports car boots, but there could have been another way. It didn’t mean they could reach an agreement in her absence. Although she was pleased she wouldn’t have to sell her car as she’d intended, it would be of no use to her in prison. Len wasn’t meant to be involved. And now that he was, he embroiled someone else she didn’t know at all, so the risk of getting caught would increase. How this didn’t appear to worry her friends, she couldn’t fathom.

  If he’d walked down the road thirty minutes ago to pick up the van, why wasn’t he back? A director told her it was most likely the same reason as the last time he’d disappeared. She hadn’t forgotten that on that occasion, he hadn’t returned.

  ***

  After an hour and a half with Shelley in a state of anxiety, Len staggered into the lounge. He approached Shelley’s chair. He jangled a set of keys in front of her face. She shook her head and tutted. Not only had he been doing something to which she objected, but he was also late in returning, drunk, possibly stoned and he’d definitely had more gear.

  “Where the fuck have you been? It’s three a.m,” Shelley said.

  “It’s the perfect time to move a body, init?” Len slurred, scratching his stubbly chin.

  “You still think this is a good idea?” Shelley looked angrily at her friends.

  “I’m an expert at villainery. I know about these things.” Len grinned.

  “He’s got a van and it probably is the best time,” Tara said.

  “You’re not driving.” Shelley glared at him and walked out of the lounge.

  “You better watch it. He doesn’t have to help us,” Angel warned her by the cellar door.

  Inside the damp room redolent of dead rodent, Shelley inspected the body. She wondered if she’d be able to help move it. The damage from the shooting was revolting. She reminded herself it was not as repugnant as the man had been alive.

  Len stumbled down the cellar stairs then joined the others by the monstrosity at the opposite end of room. He unravelled a roll of black bin liners and struggled as he tried to detach them. Having successfully separated a few from the roll, he passed them round to the others.