by K E Coles
I spotted some daffodils under the trees. He tried to hold onto me but I wriggled out of his grasp and ran to the flowers. I only managed to pick three before he stopped me – and one of those was only the head with no stalk. Not much of a bouquet, but when I held the three flowers together, it looked pretty enough. If I held it in front of me, maybe nobody’d-notice I didn’t have a wedding dress.
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to marry him anyway because he looked so cross and didn’t seem to like me that much. Suppose it didn’t matter. At least I was out of that hospital, out of that room.
He gripped my elbow so hard, it hurt. I couldn’t push his hand away because either I’d drop the photograph or I’d drop the flowers and then where would we be?
At the door of the church, we stopped. He looked more than nervous. He looked afraid, which made me laugh. He shook his head and closed his eyes like he thought I was stupid – or mad.
And then I heard it – a cry of pain and a thud – from inside the church. That wasn’t right. Shouldn’t they have been playing music or something? Another cry – of anger this time – fury and rage. And I knew that voice and something inside me clicked, switched on. That voice – that voice I loved.
My hand shook on the door handle and my chest was tight and hurting with fear. I turned the handle and pushed the heavy oak door open.
And there he was – my love, naked, standing over my father who lay slumped in one of the choir stalls.
‘Jack.’
He didn’t hear me because he was shouting. I understood the words and I remembered.
‘Do you know what I did?’ Jack’s spittle sprayed Dad’s face. ‘With this?’ He pointed at his body. ‘With this?’
Dad didn’t move, didn’t flinch.
‘Jack,’ I said.
They both looked at me.
Dad’s eyes widened. ‘Stay there, Pearl.’ His voice shook.
Jack smiled. ‘There she is.’ He was pleased to see me, at least. ‘There’s my girl.’
‘Stay right where you are, Pearl,’ Dad said.
Jack’s smile widened. ‘Don’t listen to him. Come here,’ he said. ‘Come on. I’ve got something for you.’
I shook my head. He didn’t sound right, didn’t sound like him. I turned back to the door but it had closed behind me and Art had gone.
‘Come on, baby,’ Jack said. ‘You know you like it.’
Dad shook his head, his eyes frantic.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jack said. ‘Don’t want daddy to know what you did?’ He laughed one short bark and then his mouth twisted. ‘Come here, you bitch.’
I stared at him. Except it wasn’t him. ‘I love you,’ I said.
‘Come here,’ he screeched. ‘Come here, you fucking whore – Come here now.’ His face contorted in fury. ‘Let me . . .’ Foam spat from his mouth. ‘Let me . . .’ and then his body flexed and writhed and he opened his mouth wide and let out the most almighty roar that echoed from the walls, the floor, the ceiling. His body pulsated, and then the roar ended as vomit shot out of his mouth. It spewed out again and again and again, all over my father. It hit the floor, the walls, the choir stall. The smell was like nothing I’d ever smelled before, like burning bile, bitter and acrid. Jack kept retching over and over, until he collapsed onto the floor.
I moved forward but Dad held his hand up. ‘No. Stay there.’
For a few moments, there was silence. Jack sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked calm, exhausted, his eyes huge and dark.
‘Are you all right to continue?’ Dad said.
Jack nodded. Dad stood up, one hand on his back as though he was weary, aching. He smiled at me. ‘It’s okay now, Pearl.’ He held out his hand and pulled Jack to his feet.
Jack laughed – the wrong laugh. I was about to shout something, a warning, because I knew that wasn’t Jack’s laugh but Dad wasn’t looking and he didn’t see Jack’s face. Then it was too late because Jack hit him and Dad was on the floor and he wasn’t moving.
I ran forward, then stopped as Jack roared again. He swept his arm across the altar, sent the chalice bouncing across the sanctuary. The glass jugs crashed onto the floor, shattered. Wine and water splashed over the walls, over the floor, over my father. Dad’s eyes opened. He looked dazed.
Jack crouched next to him, with that smile, the one I knew too well. ‘Now,’ he brushed Dad’s hair back, spoke in his calm voice, the reassuring one, ‘I’m going to kill you – I’m going to spill your fucking blood all over your precious altar. And then,’ he looked up at me, eyes evil, ‘then I’ll have your daughter.’
‘Go, Pearl.’ Dad raised himself on his elbow. ‘Run. Go and get help.’ Blood ran into his eyes. He wiped it away. ‘Run, Pearly.’
No time to get help. Dad would be dead by the time I got back. I held up the photo, straightened it out, waved it in the air. ‘Remember this, Jack? You gave it to me – remember?’
Jack ignored me. He smiled at Dad. ‘Let’s get you up on that altar, shall we?’
I remembered something Art had done, a long time ago, before I was ill. Something he said to get Jack’s attention. ‘John,’ I said.
His head snapped around, eyes blue, so blue, so sad.
I moved nearer, held out the photo so he could see it. ‘Remember this? Your mother gave it to you, remember?’
His sneer faltered. His gaze shifted from the photo to me and back again, bewildered. Then he looked around as though seeing the church, the altar, the chaos for the first time.
Dad inched away from him, held onto the pulpit and dragged himself to his feet.
‘It’s all right, Jack,’ I said. ‘It’s okay.’ Then I saw the body in the corner – the blood down the wall, the cassock – Andrew.
Jack’s eyes followed my gaze. ‘Did I . . .?’
‘It’s all right, Jack,’ I said again. ‘It wasn’t you.’
Dad touched Jack’s elbow, a wary touch, almost cringing in expectation of another blow. ‘Are you ready to go on?’
Jack nodded.
Dad put an arm around his waist and helped him to the front of the altar. Jack looked so thin, ill and fragile, incapable of harming anyone. He knelt slowly, gasping as each knee touched the floor.
Dad put his hands on Jack’s head. ‘Begone Satan,’ he said. ‘Give place to Christ, in whom you have found none of your works.’
Jack groaned and raised his eyes to the altar. Tears ran down his face. I wanted to hold him, to stop him crying.
‘From the snares of the Devil, deliver him, Oh Lord!’
Jack tried, blindly, to get to his feet but his body convulsed. He fell to his knees again, and cried, howled – a grating, terrible sound. I ran to him and hugged his back, hugged those weeping scars, felt his body twitch and writhe in my arms.
Dad made the sign of the cross on Jack’s forehead.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Dad, stop it – Look at him.’
Holy water hit my arms. ‘Dad!’
‘It’s over,’ Dad said.
I turned Jack to face me, pulled his head to my breast, kissed his head. ‘It’s all right. It’s all over.’ I kissed his face, his eyes. I wiped his hair back from his forehead, kissed his lips. ‘Everything’s all right now.’
He didn’t move.
His face glowed pale, paler than ever, and still - eyes almost closed.
His thin, white chest didn’t move. I waited – nothing. ‘I love you,’ I said. ‘I love you.’
Nothing.
‘Dad, I don’t think he’s . . .’
Dad had his back to me, crouched over Andrew on the other side of the church.
‘Dad!’ I shouted it. ‘He’s not breathing.’
I put my face to Jack’s, held his wrist, as panic threatened to choke me.
Then I felt it - the faintest, shallowest of breaths, warm against my cheek. A pulse – irregular, stuttering at first, then stronger, a definite beat.
‘It’s okay,’ I shouted. ‘It’s okay. He’s aliv
e.’ Then I cried - couldn’t stop sobbing. I hugged Jack, held him close.
His eyes flickered – blue, so blue. Unfocussed at first, they fixed on my face.
Dad knelt in front of us, covered Jack with one of the white choir robes. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said. ‘Well done, lad. Quite an ordeal you’ve been through.’
Jack’s eyes flicked towards the far corner where Andrew sat, his head back against the wall, eyes shut.
‘He has a sore head but he’ll be okay.’ Dad dragged himself to his feet. ‘I’ll take him to the vicarage and then come back for you two. Won’t be long. Can’t have you catching pneumonia after all that effort, can we? Look after him, Pearl.’
I said, ‘I’m never letting go of him again.’
Dad helped Andrew from the church. I heaved Jack onto my lap and tucked the robe around him to keep his skin away from the cold stone flags. All the time, Jack’s eyes stared into mine until, in the end, I had to stop fiddling and just stare back.
‘We did it,’ I said.
He smiled. His gaze shifted, looked past me and his eyes widened with the same fear, the same terror they’d held in that room in Brighton. ‘No!’
‘It’s all right, Jack. It’s okay.’
Hadn’t it worked then? After all that, were they still in his head? Was it all for nothing?
‘Run.’ He lifted himself on one elbow. ‘Run.’ He tried to push me away.
‘Jack, you’re scaring me.’
I felt a presence at my right shoulder, warm breath on my ear. ‘Say goodbye.’
I jerked my head around, my skin prickling.
Leo crouched behind me. ‘Go on, say it.’
‘Leave him alone.’ I clutched Jack to me, hunched my body over him to keep between them.
‘You know you can’t have him,’ Leo said. ‘He’s ours.’
‘No - not any more, he isn’t.’ I pushed Leo with my right arm but could get little strength behind it.
Leo smiled. ‘You always were a stupid bitch.’ Something flashed over my shoulder, an arc of silvery light.
‘No.’ I blocked it. My arm ached with the blow.
Leo ran down the aisle, disappeared through the door.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘He’s gone.’
Footsteps ran towards us. At first, I thought it was Leo coming back so tried to shield Jack again. I leaned right over him to cover him with my back.
‘Let me see.’ Dad crouched down, tried to pull Jack away from me. ‘Let me see, Pearl.’
‘No.’ I hugged Jack tighter. ‘Leave him. He’s fine.’
‘Pearl, please, I need to see the wound. He’s bleeding.’
‘He’s not. He’s not.’ I screamed the words. Stupid man. ‘It’s a scratch, that’s all.’
Dad gently prised my arms away and rolled Jack towards him. Bright red blood pumped through a slice in the fabric over Jack’s chest. It bubbled up like a fountain and spread, stained the white robe.
‘Quick,’ Dad handed me his jacket. ‘Use this. Press down on it.’ He opened his phone.
I pressed down hard while Dad talked on the phone and then everything went quiet, as though the world was holding its breath.
Warmth seeped through my clothes, ran over my legs and pooled on the flagstones around us – dark, shiny, and red, so red.
THE END