Unspeakable

by Marturano, Tony

  Rupert didn’t really know what to make of Mark’s comments but said, “My company publishes many books about many people, Detective. I don’t make a point of meeting all of them.”

  “Not even if you live in the same building?”

  Rupert looked at him. He wasn’t in the mood, but he measured his words. “I do know them, but, as I’ve already told you, it’s just in passing.”

  “Did you ever meet their nanny?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “Not even in passing?”

  “No not even in passing. As I said…”

  “…You didn’t have much to do with them, yeah, I remember.” Mark thought about this, and then looked at Ashley, but the question was to Rupert, “What about Miss Marshall? Any idea who may have wanted to turn over her flat?”

  Rupert thought about the question and then shook his head. “Isn’t that your job?” He asked.

  Mark ignored the question and offered one of his own, “You can’t think of anyone who may bear a grudge?”

  Ashley spoke up, “Detective? We’ve been through this…”

  “…Dislike her enough to send rotting meat in the post.”

  “What?” Rupert asked, incredulously.

  “Maybe an ex-wife, perhaps?”

  Ashley glared at Mark and then took in a deep breath; this was the last thing Rupert needed to hear right now, and she could have slapped Mark for mentioning it. It seemed he was going out of his way to piss him off. That or prove some kind of a point.

  “You didn’t know?” Mark asked.

  “Know what?” Rupert said, anxiously, looking at each of them for a response.

  “This morning…”

  “…This morning,” Ashley jumped in, irritated by Mark’s bullish attitude. “I received a packet in the post, it wasn’t anything really, just someone playing a prank...”

  “…Somebody thought they would send your fiancé a Jiffy bag full of a decomposing heart.”

  Rupert’s eyes widened.

  Ashley was furious.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this, Ash?”

  “I tried to get hold of you, Rupert, just like you did me, remember? It’s nothing, really. The Detective suggested it might be disgruntled author, and I’m inclined to agree.”

  “Ash, you’ve been doing this job for years, nobody’s sent you packets in the post before!” Rupert said.

  “Which brings me back to my original question, Mr Harrison, any idea who this person might be?”

  “We seem to be going round in circles… I can’t think of anyone…”

  Mark smiled. “Not even someone from the Metropolitan Police?”

  The remark was obviously a dig at Ashley, but before she could respond, he followed it up with. “Well, I think that’s everything for now. I should get going. Give you two a chance to finally catch up. I hope you won’t mind me stopping by again.”

  Ashley bit her lip, when she really wanted to hurl abuse at the arrogant pig. Instead, she smiled, “I’ll see you out, Detective.”

  She couldn’t open the door fast enough. Mark stepped out and then turned to her. “I’ve annoyed you, haven’t I?”

  “What on earth makes you think that, Detective?” Ashley said, sarcastically, as she stood back with one hand on the door.

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Does that include being a dick?” She clipped.

  For the second time, her words surprised him, and then, almost as if she’d read his mind, she added, “You think just because we live up here, we feel entitled. That we’re unaffected. Home trashed, we’ll just redecorate. Psychos send you stuff in the post, just hire more security.”

  “I didn’t say that...”

  “…You didn’t need to. It’s written all over your face.”

  “It’s part of the process. I need to establish if…”

  “..You have no idea what we’ve been through, yet you come in here, lording your badge over us like we’re the villains and not the victims…”

  “…Hey, you two aren’t even talking to each other. In my profession, when we see that kind of stuff, we’re trained to ask why.”

  She glared at him.

  Seconds drifted by, and the tension between them was palpable.

  Mark began, “Look, Ashley…I’m sorry if…”

  “…Save it.” She interrupted. “Have a good evening, Detective.”

  With that, she pushed the door shut, took a few seconds to recompose herself, and returned to the lounge.

  “That man’s an arrogant pig.”

  Rupert walked over to the bar and fixed himself a brandy,

  “I suppose he’s just doing his job. He’s investigating a murder. I guess he can’t exactly go around treating everyone with kid gloves.”

  “Yeah, well, there are ways of doing your job,” Ashley said, walking up to him. “Where were you tonight? I was worried.”

  He took a swig from his glass, and let the alcohol burn its way to his stomach before replying, but surprised himself when he spoke the words, “I had a late meeting.”

  “With who?”

  He forced a laugh. “Are you checking up on me now?” He said, avoiding eye contact with her, and heading over to the couch.”

  “No, of course not. It’s a reasonable question, though. I called the office and your secretary said you’d left early. You never leave early, unless it’s with me. If you do, you normally stay in contact.”

  “I tell you what, rather than worrying where I was, let’s talk about you.”

  Ashley followed him over to the opposite sofa.

  Their eyes met.

  “What about me?”

  Rupert realised what he had just said, and wondered if now was a good time to go into this, and decided against it. He was tired, angry, and confused.

  Much had happened in such a short space of time, and he was still spinning from it all. He needed to work it through in his mind first, before he actually verbalised it to anyone, especially her.

  Instead, he said, “You still haven't told me what happened at Jackie’s.”

  Ashley looked at the coffee table in front of her, as if mesmerised by the glittering of the crystal. “Oh God, don’t you start as well. I have just got through that dissection with him.”

  “Yes, well, I think if anyone deserves to know, it’s me.”

  “Somebody was at Jackie’s house with me.” The words just fell out of her mouth.

  Rupert frowned. “What do you mean? Someone went to the house with you?

  “No, someone chased me out of the house. It’s how I fell and hurt myself.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Met?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Somebody tried to hurt you,” he said in amazement, “and you’re just telling me now?”

  “Rupert, come on. We haven’t exactly had ample opportunity to talk.”

  “What else?”

  She looked at him, puzzled, “What do you mean, what else?”

  “What else haven't you been telling me?”

  “Nothing else,” Ashley said decisively.

  Liar!

  “Did you tell the police about what happened to you there?”

  “Kind of…”

  “…But you couldn’t tell me?”

  “Hang on. You’re making it sound like I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “Maybe because that’s how it feels.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It isn’t like that.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’ve already answered that. What’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with me is that my fiancé, whilst playing amateur detective, was chased and attacked by person unknown, and she didn’t see fit to tell me about it.”

  “I wasn’t attacked…”

  “Then h
ow did you get hurt?”

  “I told you. I fell.”

  “Where?”

  “What do you mean where?” Ashley asked. She was feeling persecuted.

  “Where did you fall?”

  “I told you.”

  “Tell me again…”

  “No.”

  “Tell me!”

  “No!”

  Rupert stood up and propelled his glass at the opposite wall, smashing the crystal into hundreds of pieces.

  Ashley instinctively ducked, and put her hands to her ears, as if protecting them from the shower of glass.

  She stayed that way for a few seconds as the very air around them crackled with tension.

  It was an awkward moment, one where she would not have hesitated to retreat to her flat, but now she couldn’t, she couldn’t go anywhere, she was trapped here.

  Eventually, she looked up at him, dumbfounded.

  He was watching her, but not with anger, nor frustration, but something else.

  Pain?

  She could see it in his eyes, as if he was wrestling with some hideous inner turmoil.

  He was clenching his fists.

  Rupert Harrison thought he knew all he needed to know about this beautiful woman he loved, but today he’d learned that he did not. That she had in fact been keeping secrets from him. Secrets about her past, about her finances, and he had been totally oblivious to all of it.

  But not anymore.

  He loved her too much.

  Now he knew exactly what he needed to do, and it would start tomorrow, without delay.

  42 COLD Embrace

  Ashley went to bed shortly after Rupert’s glass smashing episode leaving him thoroughly appalled by his own behaviour.

  Yes, he was frustrated and yes he was still reeling from the incident in his car, but did this justify his outburst?

  The answer was no.

  After all, he didn’t exactly rush home and share everything that had happened to him.

  And he asked himself why.

  Easy. Because he was afraid.

  Whether this was fear of the event itself, or Ashley’s most likely reaction to his snooping into her past, or both, he did not know. But then, what kind of reaction could he expect since he was still struggling to process the details.

  Did I fall asleep at the wheel?

  It wasn’t possible.

  But then, picking up a complete stranger that literally vanished from the backseat of his car wasn’t possible either, yet it happened.

  Or at least it seemed that way.

  He still couldn’t believe it.

  So, how could she?

  Even now, in the safety of his home, he was still trying to rationalise, to understand it.

  Could he have had some kind of psychosis brought on by fatigue? Because there was no doubt that he felt exhausted, both physically and mentally. He so desperately wanted to accept this as an explanation.

  But this theory didn’t seem to go far enough to explain why the man’s features appeared so distinctive, so real, nor did it seem to explain his inimitable odour.

  But then, isn’t that the whole point of a delusion?

  Once again, his mind was a quagmire of questions without answers and he was drowning.

  The worst thing was that he had attacked the woman he loved, for the very same thing he was guilty of. This made him feel rotten inside.

  His self-loathing was compounded by the fact that things were already strained between them. He couldn’t explain it, but things hadn’t felt right ever since they returned from that weekend at Kenning Hall.

  Maybe that was what they needed. Some time away. Just the two of them. Time to recharge their batteries and get away from everything and everyone.

  He liked that idea.

  But not now. Right now, he just needed to sleep.

  He wearily shuffled down the hall, unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt as he went.

  He slid between the sheets and instantly felt better.

  The cotton felt gloriously soft, smelt deliciously fresh, and the downy pillow under his cheek was fluffily fabulous.

  Through his droopy eyelids, he could see the glow of the bathroom light. This would normally be an irritation, but tonight, such was his exhaustion, that he simply did not care.

  What he did care about was that Ashley had made sure she was furthest away from him in the king sized bed. Even in semi-consciousness, he felt this; the gaping metaphorical distance between them.

  He had hurt her. He deserved this right now, but vowed to make it better in the morning.

  He rolled over, giving her his back.

  Slowly, his brain began to switch off, like lights in a warehouse, but still the questions continued like demanding children. Not even now, in the twilight of sleep, would they let him rest.

  It was only when he felt Ashley move, and her arm around him, that he finally began to relax.

  Oh, Ashley.

  It was her white flag.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  She had forgiven him, and tomorrow, when he could open his eyes again, he would make it better. He would make everything so much better, but for now, he just needed to sleep, and he did.

  But, it was only for a few seconds.

  Only until the sound drifted to him from across the room, from inside the bathroom; it was the hissing sound of a snake.

  He waited for Ashley to react to the noise, but she didn’t stir.

  Now, his once heavy eyelids sprang open, and he looked directly across the room; the bathroom door was wide open and light flooded out of it.

  A shiver scampered down his back as he watched the door’s threshold.

  Wide awake now, his brain processed the situation; there was an intruder in his home, his fiancé was lying unaware of this, behind him.

  What was he to do?

  By the time he’d woken her and explained what was happening, the intruder would be upon them.

  Oh God.

  His heart had also roused from its slumber, and was back at work; pumping adrenaline around his body.

  The hissing, which his conscious brain was now able to process as the sound of a running tap, was suddenly silenced.

  Then, to his horror, a shadow fell across the doorway. It was the outline of a woman.

  It was Ashley!

  A current of shivers electrocuted his body.

  Then, he heard it, behind him, heavy breathing, deep and guttural, with a spittle rattle akin to that of a reptile. And, he could feel it; cold, fetid breath, blowing slow and strong on the nape of his neck, prickling the roots of his scalp and freezing the blood in his veins.

  He swallowed hard with a parched throat, petrified to move for fear of what action this may invoke.

  But Ashley had switched off the bathroom light, plunging the room into darkness, but for the murky overspill from the city outside.

  He thought about her climbing into bed with this thing behind him.

  Beads of cold sweat formed on his brow as he contemplated his next move…

  …She was pulling back the covers.

  His protective instinct overrode his terror.

  In one swift action, he spun around, while simultaneously propelling himself out from under the covers, off the bed and to the floor.

  “ASHLEY! RUUUUUUUUNNNNN!” He yelled, just before slamming his head against the bedside cabinet with a loud smack.

  He landed on the carpet with a heavy thud, and snapped his head back up just in time to see two disembodied malevolent blue eyes, watching him from under the covers.

  Then the overhead light came on; the bed was empty!

  Ashley rushed over and fell to her knees beside him.

  “Rupert! What’s wrong? Rupert!”

  There was panic in her voice, as she felt her man’s face; it was barely recognisable.

  His eyes were bulging. His skin was ashen, drained of blood. Gone was his handsome boyish looks, replaced by a white mask of abject fear
.

  He looked so unwell, Ashley thought he was having some kind of seizure.

  She contemplated ringing for an ambulance.

  “Rupert!” she screamed as he stared passed her, at the empty bed.

  She grabbed both his arms and shook him in an attempt to make him refocus, then cupped his face once more.

  “RUPERT!”

  Slowly, he turned to her, eyes wide with terror.

  He was freezing to the touch, his whole body a mass of shudders.

  “Rupert? Rupert, talk to me. What’s wrong? Rupert!”

  He was staring through her now.

  “Tell me, baby, what’s the matter?” She cried, anxiously. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

  But Rupert Harrison was unable to speak. Such was the awfulness of the moment, he had lost all ability to articulate.

  43 Shopping delight

  It was hot, beautiful and just what he needed to wash away sleep, and the lingering memory of his hideous nightmare.

  That was until he opened his eyes and instinctively jolted backward; through the cubicle glass, he could see a distorted shadow.

  It stood, motionless. It was watching him.

  Oh God, no.

  Last night wasn’t a terrifying dream after all.

  And now, he was naked, vulnerable. He was at the mercy of whoever or whatever was standing out there, biding its time, waiting to strike, while he was locked inside the glass cage that was now shrinking in on him, smaller and smaller…

  “…Rupert, are you planning on staying in that shower all day?”

  The cubicle door opened and Ashley appeared, dressed in jeans and blue knitted sweater. She was holding a mug of tea.

  “Your tea’s getting cold,” she said, with a smile.

  He let out the breath that he was unconsciously holding.

  “Everything okay?” She asked with a frown.

  “Yeah, yes,” he smiled. “Just made me jump, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. But are you going to be much longer?”

  “No, I’m done.”

  She handed him a towel as he shut off the water. “Ok. Hurry please,” she turned to leave.

  “Hey, where’s the fire?” He asked, as he left the cubicle and began to dry himself.

  “We’re going out.”