44 Gilmore Street

by Shani Struthers

  “Good, well done, that’s good. Look at your feet, do you have shoes on?”

  “Erm… yes.”

  “What type of shoes?”

  “They’re flat, nothing special.”

  “Look at your clothes, what are you wearing?”

  “A skirt, knee-length.”

  “You’re a woman. Do you have a blouse on too?”

  “Yes, it’s a light colour, blue I think, made of nylon or something. It feels scratchy.” As if to prove her point, Ellie started rubbing at the inside of her arm – she definitely had a patch of eczema there.

  “Hold your hand out.”

  “Okay.”

  “What colour are you?”

  “Colour?”

  “Your skin.”

  There was a slight pause. “I’m pale.”

  “On your left hand, is there a ring?”

  “I… yes.”

  “What type of ring?”

  “It’s gold, a wedding ring I think.”

  Ailsa nodded. “Do you know how old you are?”

  “Young. I’m young.”

  “Do you know your name?”

  “I don’t have a name.”

  Ailsa frowned, looked slightly puzzled by this response. “It doesn’t matter, we can find out your name later. What I want you to do now is to describe the room you’re in, the wallpaper, the light fittings, what’s in it, just like you did in the passageway. Tell me also how you’re feeling as you look around.”

  “How I’m feeling?”

  “That’s correct. It’s your emotions I want you to concentrate on, they’ll paint a picture, help you to see.”

  “Okay,” repeated Ellie, swallowing noticeably. “I’ll try.”

  Chapter Five

  “I’m in a room, a kitchen. There’s a sink over by the window, it’s got plates and mugs in it, lots of them, slick with grease, piled high. I don’t want to do the washing up. It’s all I ever do. All I’m good for. I hate this kitchen. I hate it!”

  “Look around, tell me what you see. What else is in the room?”

  “What else? Erm… there’s a clock on the wall, the sound of it ticking seems so lonely somehow. It’s like a ritual, the meticulous counting down of the hours. There’ve been too many hours spent here, too many minutes, too many seconds – an eternity of them. There’s an oven too, not a modern one, nice and shiny, it looks old; the white enamel on it is chipped, revealing layers of black underneath. It seems relevant, as if everything – everyone – is black underneath. Appearances can be so deceptive.”

  “We need more detail. The floor, what’s it like?”

  “It’s sticky, linoleum. I’ve just washed it, but it never comes clean. The pattern reminds me of crazy paving, all sharp and jagged, it’s hard on the eye. It’s mostly cream but there’s brown in it too and dull flecks of orange. The units are wood, but it’s not oak or anything. It’s old-fashioned, the whole room is. I don’t want old-fashioned. I want light and bright. He knows that but he doesn’t care. I hate thinking of him. When I do, my stomach hurts.”

  “So, it’s a man you’re frightened of, is it? Why does thinking of him make you feel that way?”

  “It just does – every time I see him my skin crawls, I want to be sick. I never used to, I couldn’t wait to be in his company. My breath would catch in my throat at the thought of it. But it’s different now. He’s different. But then… I’m different too. I’m not me anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

  “But you have a name?”

  “A name? Of course I have a name! I… I don’t know what it is though. But I do, everyone has a name. Why can’t I remember it? Is there something wrong with me? He thinks there is. He’s always saying it. ‘You’re lazy, you’re selfish and you’re a bitch.’ He shouts those words at me over and over again. But I’m not lazy, I’m not selfish, I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!”

  “Calm down, remember to breathe, in for a count of five, out for a count of five. I’ll breathe with you.”

  “Your voice, it’s gentle, it reminds me of Mum. I miss her so much. Breathe in, breathe out, yes I’ll do that. That’s it, that’s better. I feel calmer now.”

  “You’re doing well, really well. Is there a table in the kitchen?”

  “There is, a small table, only room for two. There’s a fridge and cupboards. All the cupboards are closed.”

  “Go to one of the cupboards and open it. What’s inside?”

  “Tins, quite a few of them, spaghetti hoops, baked beans, soup as well. There are Oxo cubes, and a jar of instant coffee. Cheap food, basic, but we can’t afford any better. I hate cooking too. I’m no good at it. Was never taught you see? Mum did everything for me. How can you learn if you’ve never been taught? He calls my cooking ‘pig-swill’. Throws it at the wall sometimes or at me. He’s good at throwing things, particularly his fists. He loves to get heavy with them. Wait! I can hear a sound, a song playing.”

  “A song? Can you make it out?”

  “It’s a man singing, his voice is deep and low, one word keeps repeating – ‘green’, that’s all I can make out. The song, it makes me feel… wistful.”

  “Are there any other sounds around you?”

  “Yes, the kettle on the stove – the water in it’s boiling. He’ll be expecting a cup of tea. He drinks so much tea, cup after cup. I’m always making it. I used to like a cup of tea but not now, now I hate it. Hate the way he clicks his fingers when he wants a cuppa too, doesn’t even ask anymore, he just does that. I wish he’d drown in it. I wish he’d take a mouthful and choke, fall to the floor and die. I wish he’d leave me alone. That I’d never met him.”

  “This man, is he your husband?”

  “He… he thinks he’s God. And in this house he is. But I don’t believe in religion, I don’t believe in God. It’s evil that exists, that I live with.”

  “You think he’s evil? Truly evil?”

  “He keeps me here. I never go out. In this house, in this kitchen, this hovel of a kitchen. I’m chained to it, like a slave. He despises me but why? I don’t know why. It wasn’t always like this. He loved me once and I loved him. You can’t fake love. That look in his eyes, it was genuine at one time, I know it was. I’m not that much of an idiot. What have I done to turn love bad? I don’t know what I’ve done! I can’t work it out. I try so hard to work it out.”

  “Would you like me to bring you back?”

  “Bring me back? What are you talking about? You can’t bring me back. He won’t let you. He’d kill me first. I wouldn’t even make it to the front door. And he will kill me. That’s one thing I’ll say for him, he’s good for his word. He’ll tear me apart, limb from limb, if I try to leave. He’s told me that, he’s said so.”

  “I think we’d better bring you back. Listen to my voice and do as I say. Turn around, slowly, slowly until you see the elevator. Walk over to it, step in, do it now. We’re going to come back, up to the surface, all the way up. Can you hear me? Show me you can. Nod your head or something. Ellie…”

  “Ellie? Who’s she? I don’t know anyone called Ellie. And elevator doors, what are you talking about? This is a house not a hotel. Hang on, what’s that? Metal doors! I don’t believe it. It’s the elevator, where the kitchen door should be – the door that leads to the hallway, to the living room, his room, his lair.”

  “Walk towards the lift and get inside. I can keep you safe inside.”

  “There’s no safety, not inside, not anywhere.”

  “There is, walk towards the lift.”

  “I’ll… I’ll try. And you can keep me safe? You’re sure? You sound sure, confident. I like that in a person. I’ve never been confident. I’ve only ever felt special once: my wedding day. The irony of it. I don’t know how I’m going to move my feet. They’re heavy all of a sudden, weighted, like I’m wading through quicksand. It feels strange, as though it’s not just him that doesn’t want me to leave, it’s the house too. Together they’re strong, all powerful.”

&nbs
p; “Get in the lift, now.”

  “I will. I am. I can do this. I can leave. The lift isn’t far. I can make it. I’m getting close, so close. If I stretch out my hand, I’ll be able to feel the doors. Just a few more steps and I’ll be inside. Just a few more… I can hear footsteps. They’re not mine. They can’t be, I’m no longer moving. It’s getting dark in here and the air’s turned cold, so cold, but I’m sweating, I’m clammy. My breath – I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything except stand here and wait for evil to find me, again.”

  “Ellie, I’m going to snap my fingers and you will come to.”

  “If only it were that easy.”

  “Ellie, listen to me.”

  “Nothing’s ever that easy.”

  “Ellie, focus on my voice.”

  “The lift has gone, the doorway’s back, framed in black, everything’s black. But there’s something blacker in it. Him. A slug of a man is what he is. Not lean anymore, but big and heavy, shuffling towards me. He doesn’t have to hurry. He can take his time. Prolong my agony. After all, there’s nowhere I can go, no place to run. I’m scared. I can’t move. I’m trapped.”

  “You’re not trapped—”

  “I am. I’m trapped. And his face… oh, God, the look on his face!”

  Chapter Six

  “Sit up, nice and easy and breathe through your mouth. Don’t rush, slowly, slowly. Good, very good, you’re doing well.” To Ruby, Ailsa said, “Fetch her a glass of water please, tepid not cold, we don’t want to shock the system.”

  Any more than you have already, thought Ruby, as she hurried into Ness’s kitchen to get the glass. Selecting a tumbler from one of several sitting on a round tray, she filled it to the brim, contemplating whilst she did, what had just happened. The first time she’d ever sat in on a regression, she hadn’t expected it to be quite so dramatic. Not everything Ellie had said had been coherent but her terror was palpable enough, especially at the end, when she’d felt so trapped, so vulnerable. She’d done what a spider would do – curled up into a tiny ball and tried to make herself smaller, invisible.

  Not wanting to miss out on any of the subsequent conversation, Ruby swiftly returned to the living room to find all was calm. Ness hadn’t moved from her chair, wary of interfering, but Ellie was sitting up now, her body hunched slightly, her head cupped in her hands. Ailsa was beside her. Holding out the glass of water, Ellie took it gratefully, Ailsa instructing her to resist the temptation to gulp it.

  “Let the water cleanse you, both inside and out.”

  Ellie did as instructed. She looked pale and her blue eyes glittered slightly. Draining the contents, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  ‘Wow! That was a ride,” she said.

  Ruby smiled, the girl had a sense of humour at least.

  “Can you remember most of it?” asked Ailsa, also looking relieved.

  “A fair bit, yeah, it’s… it’s very similar to what I’ve seen already. I’m scared of someone, someone I live with I think, I definitely get a sense we share the same house. A man. It must be my husband.”

  “It could be.” It was Ness, deciding the time was right to come closer too. “You were wearing a wedding ring, so we know you were married.”

  “And this man – my husband – he keeps me prisoner.”

  “You’re locked up?” Ruby enquired.

  “Yes, no, I… sometimes it feels like it. The word that comes to mind, it’s a strange one, I feel entombed.” She shook her head. “It sounds awful doesn’t it? I’m entombed but at the same time I’m able to move about freely, within the house that I’m in anyway.” A violent shudder coursed through her. “What the hell did that man do to me?”

  Ailsa reached over and patted Ellie’s knee. “Whatever he did, it’s important to remember it’s over. It’s the past we’re recalling, not the present.”

  “But it doesn’t feel over,” Ellie protested. “That’s just it. Those emotions, they’re still such a part of me.” She looked at Ruby, “I’m still scared.”

  “Then perhaps it’s best not to delve anymore,” Ness suggested, a rare gentleness in her voice. “The past is the past. Yes, it shapes the way we are, all of our experiences do, the good and the bad, but we have to move on, in this life and the next. Perhaps what you need to learn from this is to let go.”

  “Let go? I can’t. What if he’s still alive?”

  “The man you feel threatened by?” Ailsa was aghast at the notion. “Did you manage to glean an idea of the era you were in?”

  “No, I couldn’t tell.”

  “But you were in a kitchen, one with a stove, a sink, a kettle, so it’s a fairly modern era. And that’s fine, that’s nothing out of the ordinary, a past life can be surprisingly recent. How old are you, Ellie, twenty-one, twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-two,” she confirmed.

  “You mentioned a kettle boiling,” Ailsa continued, “can you tell me what the kettle looked like?”

  Ruby listened, intrigued to see where this was going.

  Ellie chewed on her lip as she tried to concentrate. “It’s not an old, old kettle, like the ones you see in museums, those black ones, made of cast iron I mean. It’s more modern than that, silver in colour, shiny, aluminium I presume. It had a black handle across the top.”

  Ailsa nodded. “And the stove, can you tell us more about that?”

  “The stove? Why?”

  “Like emotions,” Ailsa explained, “details help flesh out past memories too.”

  “Erm… it’s basic, four rings, although it could well be three. It’s strange, what I recalled, it wasn’t always clear. It was hazy at times, as if some sort of shadow is lying across my vision.”

  “That’s normal,” Ailsa assured her. “It might be you in essence, but in a way you’re looking through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.” Trying to recall further details, Ellie continued, “There was a water heater too, just above the sink and that I have seen in museums, in Amberley Museum in fact, near Arundel, do you know it? It’s full of old stuff. My dad loves it there; it used to be a favourite day out for my family and me when I was a kid. The water heater’s got two taps, one is a sort of spout tap, long and thin, you can move it back and forth.”

  “I know the kind you mean,” said Ness, “they were very popular in the 1950s and 1960s. Some houses still have them in fact.”

  “So it could be that era we’re talking about?”

  Ellie shrugged her shoulders. “It could be.”

  “Perhaps googling images of kitchens in the fifties and sixties might help,” Ruby suggested. “You can see how ‘familiar’ they seem.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Ellie agreed.

  “But,” continued Ruby briskly, “I think Ness is right. I know you’re okay now but you seemed to be genuinely distressed during the regression, particularly towards the end. It might be better to leave well alone. No, hang on, listen to me. I’m not denying your fear is real; a crime against you may well have been committed but karma has a way of putting things right – eventually – even if we’re not able to. If the perpetrator is still alive, which is highly unlikely, and you manage to find out his identity, it would be the police you filed this matter with, not us.” Ruby looked at Ailsa, “Maybe Ailsa’s willing to carry out more regressions with you if that’s really the route you want to go down, but as far as Psychic Surveys is concerned, we’ve come to the end of the road.”

  Ellie became agitated again, nails scratching at her arm.

  “I don’t agree,” she said. “You can help me.”

  “I honestly don’t see how.”

  “You can help me to understand.”

  “I can help you to understand,” Ailsa interrupted them. “I’m willing to carry on with more regressions, Ellie, if that’s what you want.” She paused briefly, “Although if we do, we have to tread carefully, very carefully in fact.”

  Ellie continued to look at Ruby, almost ignoring Ailsa. “My
spirit can’t rest.”

  “But you’re alive,” insisted Ruby.

  “But a spirit’s a spirit isn’t it? It doesn’t matter about the body.”

  “That’s not the point—”

  “It is the point!” Aware of her outburst, Ellie looked at her feet, her cheeks reddening. “Money’s not an issue,” she said quietly. “I’ll get a job, in a bar, a restaurant, anything. I’ve been… down on my luck lately. A bit depressed. Home life’s been difficult. I’ll raise it somehow.”

  “It’s not about the money,” Ruby assured her.

  And it wasn’t, there were plenty of jobs they were paid a pittance for, a sliding scale according to individual circumstance coming into play. No, it was about time and energy, being outside her comfort zone. There seemed very little professional point to any of it, except satisfying a client’s curiosity.

  Ness turned to Ruby, caught her eye, more than that, caught her thoughts. “On the contrary, Ruby, I think there is a point to it, granted not one that’s clear at the moment but perhaps it’ll become clear, in the fullness of time. On behalf of Psychic Surveys, I’m willing to take on Ellie’s case.”

  “Ness—”

  “Would you allow me to do that?”

  Ruby’s eyes widened and she had to strive to keep her mouth closed. It wasn’t just a question it was a challenge. She couldn’t believe it! Ness had put her in an awkward situation – publicly so. If she felt so strongly about this case, she should have discussed it privately, not put her on the spot.

  “Ruby?” Ness persisted.

  Ruby stood up, an abrupt gesture she knew. “If it’s a Psychic Surveys case, we’ll all be involved, Ness. Regarding another meeting, I’ll be in touch.”

  And with that, she left the room.

  This was more like it. This was definitely more like it. There was a lot to be said for bog standard cases, the kind you could deal with in an afternoon, that didn’t go on and on. Ruby and Corinna were at the house in the Malling area of Lewes, the house whose owners had complained of ‘nasty’ smells. She’d done an initial survey earlier in the week and, after tuning in, had connected with a spiritual presence, although she couldn’t work out just who it was, hence returning with Corinna in tow, to see if two heads were better than one. In cases such as this, where the spirit detected was deemed benign enough, they didn’t tend to turn up ‘en masse’ for fear of overwhelming the living and the dead. Besides which, Ness had another case to attend to, which she’d gone to with Theo. And after what had happened with her this morning, Ruby was glad.