Beyond the Pale

by E. J. Wood

  And explode into space.”

  “BORN TO BE WILD.”

  ***

  Pulling up into my driveway the house seems empty. No lights are on. Claire must still be away? Then again it had only just hit dusk.

  I glance over my shoulder at my new purchase proud of myself. If a girl can’t spoil herself once in a while who will? I deserve it after all. Guy’s right, black is sexy. But if you live in a hot climate or even semi hot and have black leather seats in your sexy black car (which you must because cloth is NEVER sexy. The word cloth does not even SOUND sexy: Cloth, cloth, cloootttthhh. You can’t make it sexy no matter how you say it, clooooth.) The point is: If you live in a hot or semi hot climate and have black leather seats in your sexy black car then, in summer, if you are wearing shorts as I was you must get used to the smell of bacon frying. No matter how hot it is, no matter how much you dread getting third degree burns on the back of your legs, no matter how much fuel you will waste by starting the car and letting it idle with the air conditioning on until the inside cools down to broil, you will never, not ever, no way park underneath trees where birds might perch. NEVER. Because while a black car is sexy, a black appaloosa car is not. I must refrain from talking about this with Guy; he cherishes that car and Suzy, lest we forget Suzy. I chuckle caressing my lips remembering the last time we saw one another, in that car, then again black is mysterious, elegant, sleek, oh hell with it, it IS seductive just like him.

  CHAPTER 5

  The house is empty and suddenly I feel alone. My room mate Claire has been away for quite sometime, probably out partying, enjoying herself, somehow finding time. I perch myself on the couch sitting in the dark empty room, my hand supporting my head, feeling faint, my eyes fluttering, twitching. Go to bed my subconscious demands. I make my way to the dark kitchen for a glass of water and a late night snack with one thing on my mind. I try to stay awake and open the email on my phone logging in to my personal account to send Guy a message. At least this way I can chat and on a night like this a faceless interaction is more appropriate. Texting alone in a dark cold room staring at the screen waiting for living interaction, raw from tonight’s deceased autopsy I secretly anticipate an answer.

  From: Amelia Sharpe

  To: Guy Davidson

  Message: Hi, I just got in from work. I miss you too, where are you?

  Five minutes pass – no reply. Maybe he is working, then again it is late. I sit on the couch and smell the stench of death in my hair as it hangs over my nose. I am boring, pathetic and I stink. Why would he reply? My eye lids become heavy so I shower in record time, wrap my hair in a towel, slump into bed which is the only thing I invested money into. And then I slip into darkness.

  ***

  Friday 19th

  The ringing beside me tells me a message has entered my inbox. Sergeant Buzz lets me know that it’s 4:00am. It is Guy, my stomach somersaults and I smile at the name that appears on the screen. Looks like an essay; I chuckle.

  From: Guy Davidson

  To: Amelia Sharpe

  Message: My dearest girl. You have no idea the power you wield over me and I challenge you to answer me from whom this poem derives, for they are my words too. “The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the grace fullest. When you pass'd my window home yesterday, I was fill'd with as much admiration as if I had then seen you for the first time. Do not I see a heart naturally furnish'd with wings imprison itself with me? No ill prospect has been able to turn your thoughts a moment from me. This perhaps should be as much a subject of sorrow as joy - but I will not talk of that.” I have had to leave for work but shall return soon my dearest Amelia. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving and would be exquisitely miserable without the hope of seeing you again. I should be afraid from separating myself far from you my sweet Amelia. May your heart never change, until my prompt return.

  Your Guy x

  Immediately I recognise the words of Keats. Who would have known Mr Mysterious Davidson was such a fan. This I will reply to when I’m more compos mentis, 4.00am is not the time but I feel excited and exhilarated at the thought of replying. That itself tells me to set aside any doubts and I seldom do anything for personal gain, so why not go with the flow? What’s the worse that could happen?

  It is once again night, a series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occur involuntarily in my mind during certain stages of my sleep. She was there, terrified being punished, and it would only be a moment before the next item smashed agonisingly against her. She was bent over the assailant with her buttocks raised upwards draped over his knees. Her hands are bound in front of her, tethered to a post, her face still a haze. Who was she? She couldn't help being terrified; she could feel her buttocks, once pale cheeks, burning a brilliant crimson colouring her skin like a flame. Panic rose in her chest, and the pain was incalculable, inside and out. His laughter echoed in the dark room. I could smell the putrid odour of rotting flesh, a smell I knew all too well. The flat surface of the wooden paddle made contact with her just shy of her lower back. It stung horribly, and as she thought about the discomfort, she could see her mother in the back of her mind. She saw her mother holding the paddle far back, swinging her arms backwards and forwards a few times for practice before lodging the thing forwards with such great force. Closing her eyes her breathing calmed, a familiar face, her mother, her mother I can only assume again her face gone. Her eyes opened, the assailant raging with aggression, slicing and dicing anyone who came near, only made me realize that I should be running for my life. I can feel the savage villain hunting me down like a wolf chasing his prey; the drone emanating from the mouth haunts me. The misty atmosphere and cool breeze of the twilight evening, fused with my anxiety and despair increased the intimidation. I felt a strange warmth within me as I ran and, glancing over my shoulder with my hair swaying from side to side, I breathed rapidly because of the exertion. My legs were running on pure adrenaline as I heard the drones echoing behind me. The fearful thought of the aggressor striking me causes a warm trickle to seep down my leg. I have never felt such anger from anyone or should I say anything? Time seems an eternity as I feel as if I were running for hours and I stop to realise I no longer was the prey, hunted down by the raptor.

  ***

  I awake in my front yard, wondering of how I got there. It is dark with only the moon shining a silver blanket over the lawn. The car is parked precisely where I left it alongside Guy’s Jag, he’s back, already? Both cars have droplets of dew over the paintwork, the fresh air crisp, silent, and very eerie. I step backwards carefully so as not to wake even a mouse and stare down at my cold drenched pyjama bottoms that stick to me as I stand with my forehead oozing drops of perspiration. Tears on the side of my face cut like a scalpel. My heart, feeling as if it is being torn out of my rib cage leaves my entire body in suspense. My legs are like lumber and I am physically terrified. As I gasp for air only an owl hooting in the far distance breaks the deathly silence.

  My life is flashed before my eyes and I stand still. I wonder if this is real and I doubt I would ever see another sunrise. Is the assailant still out there? Have I escaped briefly? Have I returned back to ordinary reality? My hair stands on end as I make my way back to my front door, uncertain of my mental stability and I walk inside and listen to my answering machine flashing a bright red light.

  ‘You have 5 messages,’ the machine states. That’s odd 1 message:

  From: Thomas Cross

  Time: 11.00am

  I pause. 11? What was I doing at eleven? Why did he call the house?

  Message: Amelia, where are you? I’ve been trying to contact you. There is no one at your house, is everything OK? Ring me, no one has seen you.

  One message

  From: Claire

  Time: 12.46pm

  Message: Amy, remember the guy? He’s taking me away for a few weeks. Sorry I didn’t get chance to say goodbye, have fun!


  I chuckle, tart, she only met him a few weeks ago!

  One message

  From: Guy Davidson

  Time: 6.31pm

  Message: Amelia, I’m sorry if I have caused any misunderstanding between us but I sincerely mean what I said. I do miss you. I knocked but no one answered I presume you are with friends, gorgeous car by the way. Lots of … care Guy.

  At that I stop the machine. What the heck? I wander into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I can’t sleep, I need to do something. It seems that I haven’t been to work the day before, since the dreams or could I call them reveries, began. This is Thursday night, isn’t it? There must be more to this. My memory flashes back to the nightmare which started with all these fucking dreams. What the heck. I pick up my phone, Friday? How could I have slept the whole day and who was this woman in my dreams? I only know that she is an unfortunate woman whose life was or will be robbed at the hands of a vulgar aggressor whose mind originated in Hades. However much these dreams frighten me, I can’t help but feel a slight connection between them. I have been given the chance to seek justice; they are too vivid not to be real.

  It isn’t the hour to be answering the numerous questions tumbling around in my mind and drag my soaked ass back upstairs and remove my wet clothes throwing them into the bathroom sink. After trying to relax in a steaming hot shower, I slip on a negligee and brush my teeth before slithering under the bed covers. What is happening? The liquid sadness flows down my pale cheeks leaving a wet black trail of mascara in its path and my body shakes and convulses as if I no longer control it. My breathing is laboured with each desperate gasp of air I take, only to release it again with another forceful sob. I try to picture what Guy would look like sleeping, he seems larger than life, his enigmatic smile entrancing me. My soul thoughts focused on him, a predator and I am his prey, at least for now. Is his interest in me really just a mere thrill of the chase and would it fade? I feel I have nothing to offer and turn towards the pillow to my side where he would lie. I need him, for the first time, I need someone.

  CHAPTER 6

  The alarm sounds beside me at 6.30am. The dulcet tones of harp and glock are as if a sledgehammer pounding inside my head. Unfortunately since the dreams began I have not had a full nights sleep. I stagger into the bathroom to run the shower and notice the hot water is off.

  ‘Great!’

  I snatch some painkillers that lie on the side in the kitchen and make my way to the basement to check the boiler. There is a scurrying sound from the far corner at the bottom of the stairs, and with my head a living time bomb ready to explode, I am too weary to care. My mind is in a whirlpool, my eyes closing uncontrollably and my body is in a shuddering state. I lean over for the phone only inches away from my grasp but out of reach. I cry and shout for my neighbours help, but my incapacitation and vacuous-ness silence my screams and I fall once again into the dark pit I was trying so hard to avoid. I feel inebriated and unable to control my actions. No, No, he is here again! The aggressor I so desperately tried to flee from. I pinch myself to make sure I am not dreaming and it agonises me. He has no qualms of the murders he has committed, no sense of responsibility, remorse, guilt or shame. I see her again, the woman that was brutally murdered. She is walking down the street, still beclouded. The street seems strangely familiar however I am all a daze.

  My eyes open briefly groaning at the pain and touch the area to find my head is bleeding. I stroke my head and realise I have had a critical fall. I feel my hair which is soaked in blood and now a viscous mess. My mind is in a trance from the pills and I am confused between reality and fantasy. As I drift in and out of consciousness, and follow the woman in my dream as if she were real. She wears a navy blue satin dress, sandals and carries a black gypsy handbag. I think quickly, are these mine? Do I own these items?

  In the darkness of the night my mind starts to become clear. I seem to believe this satanic creature knows exactly who I am and is playing mind games with me. Is this how he murders? Am I being manipulated and on my way to insanity and death?

  A famous quote by Abraham Lincoln comes to mind for, “if I am killed, I can die but once; but to live in constant dread of it, is to die over and over again.”

  I curl into a tight foetus position and scream at the agony as a voice from above speaks to me pulling me from the dark abyss.

  ‘Amelia wake up, wake up, jesus christ wake up,’ he shouts. It is Guy.

  ‘Guy?’ I question as I flicker my eyelashes allowing the light to come through. I wake up to see him standing over me wearing a soaked through shirt and tightly fitting jeans. My eyes immediately open. I am both amazement and relieved as his enormous hands cradle me away from the frantic reverie. I slur and dribble like a drunk wondering first how he knew I was here and second why he is saturated.

  His soft words develop from his luscious lips and trance me as I lick my lips and stroke his masculine wet body. His hands pick me up with my arms wrapping around him like a scarf. He is undeniably a true gentleman with a pleasant and respectable persona. I don’t know much about Guy’s history, only that he was adopted at the age of four into quite a respectable couple in the neighborhood. Unfortunately he never delved further during our discussions at the coffee house about his personal life. I learned later only that his father was an entrepreneurial business mogul and that his mother had once been managing director of a telecommunications company. I never asked why he had been adopted and when I once tried to contact local adoption agencies I found nothing.

  I feel the pulsation of his heart beating close to mine as he walks back through the kitchen to the bedroom. His warm breath diffuses throughout my hair and his grip beneath me is safe and comforting. He smells heavenly with his musk, dark oak and chocolate aroma. He lowers my barely covered body onto the bed and my negligee sweeps across my legs revealing the sexier side of my formal life. Guy, the gentleman that he is, sees my vulnerability; he doesn’t take advantage of it but discretely looks away and continues to comfort me.

  ‘My god! Amy, what have you done? You’re bleeding and soaked. I have neither seen nor heard you for days, you need something to eat,’ he quickly whispers and walks off to the kitchen. I lie on the bed exhausted, eager for food. I am ravenous. My stomach churns as I listen to him removing plates and cutlery finding his way round my kitchen. How does he know where everything is? How long has he known?

  Hearing footsteps I glance up and see him approaching the end of my bed carrying a tray and flower in a small glass.

  ‘I hope you like white orchids?’ He smiles, ‘here lean back let me clean this cut for you,’ he attentively nurses my bruised ego.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I whisper.

  ‘I don’t know but the days half gone. I could wait outside but then the food would be cold. Please eat, gather your strength. I don’t know what’s happened to you Amelia but I heard screaming.’

  I smile at his comment and pat the bed covers beckoning him to sit closer with whatever he has on that tray that entices my sense of smell. I find grilled salmon coated in dill, a lemony risotto seasoned perfectly with basil, thyme and sage and a large mug of coffee; the smell is intoxicating.

  ‘You ran out of coffee so I popped next door, sorry for the delay,’ his lips curled at the sides as he smiled.

  Sighing, I sip it gently and burn the tip of my tongue.

  ‘Uff, fhot,’ (fucking hot.)

  The salmon is cooked to perfection and he feeds me like a small child. Sighs of pleasure and priceless thrills of anticipation at the next forkful lift my emotions. A man that cooks, just how I like them! A girl needs a man in her life once in while.

  Trying my best to act all innocent, I gaze into my food and whimper. I have no idea what has happened the last few hours or days but I do know that he is here. For me, just for me, and I ache for him to know every nuance of my body, every crevice.

  ‘You have to forgive me for a few moments I’m shy with these things,’ I murmur.

  At that he smile
s and whispers.

  ‘I will give you as many days and nights as you need and when you need me to come to you I will, not before,’ and stands.

  ‘Stay,’ I plead.

  ‘Amelia I can’t,’ his words jagged and uneasy.

  ‘Please,’ I sound desperate. I want to know him intimately, I want to know what facial expressions he pulls when he comes, the noises he makes and how his body convulses against mine.

  ‘Please stay,’ I beg once more and he pulls the quilt back sliding in beside me.

  It is the first night Guy and I are about to spend together. I can sense it. His hand trails the side of my face and his lips are firm smiling at the corners. He caresses the loose hair that hangs in front of my eye and pushes it behind my ear stroking my lower lip with his thumb…I let out a groan.

  ‘You had a crumb,’ he whispers and he wipes my lips with his thumb.

  ‘OH,’ I suck in my lower lip cleaning it with my tongue. Well there goes my romance. What a twat I am.

  ‘Amelia, why the look of dismay?’ His finger lifts my chin up as I chew the last mouthful of risotto. I, with hamster cheeks look great I’m sure. I shake my head and gaze into his eyes, which are dark chocolate brown with long beautiful lashes to be envied. I push the tray aside on the bed, climb out to press play on the iPod and slowly glide back towards Guy who is now sitting on the edge of the bed. As Michael Nyman’s beautiful, synchronised piano piece of the sacrifice plays in the background. I forget the pain, the reveries and live the moment sparking electricity between us. Guy chuckles.

  ‘Amelia what are you doing to me?’ he smirks. He leans forward grabbing my hand pulling it towards him and placing it in his lap. I smile. His right hand glides behind me pulling me tightly and then cascades down my thigh to return up under my negligee. He tugs on my panties and letting out a deep sigh he asks.