Beyond the Pale

by E. J. Wood

  ***

  Soft music sounds from the not too far a distance, with droplets of water sounding between the notes of the piece of glorifying familiar music “Fractals with Chi Mai by Ennio Morricone.” Tears roll down my face and my heart leaps, thundering against my chest.

  ‘My silence is just another word for my pain,’ a male voice solemnly whispers from the other side of the room. He stands just out of view in the shadows. My swollen eye impairs what vision I had left and I struggle to discover who this is. His accent is unusual, foreign, slow, painfully soft and soothing even at a time like this. My sub-consciousness trying to reason with me, remember Amelia for what is darkness but the absence of light and what is light but the absence of darkness?

  ‘Freedom will set you free Amelia but mine was hard fought and I’m not prepared to give that up, not now, not ever, not even for you. I am no bird; and no net ensnares me, you are the net Amelia, trying to ensnare me, to hold me down, capture me and keep me caged like an animal. I am no animal. Do not believe what they tell you, believe your heart, the way you feel, for you my dear Amelia know me better than anyone has done so before. We are a-like you and I, more than you know. Just as Ghandi predicts, for “isn’t freedom not worth having if it’s not having the freedom to make mistakes?” Come on Amelia, expose yourself, isn’t this your deepest fear? Isn’t your deepest fear being one of those upon your table? Face your fear and fear will have no power, it will vanish. Trust me Amelia. You too can be free.’

  I stop when I see a shadow in the corner, the candlelight illuminating from the corner to the north east reveals a hooded figure.

  ‘Who are you?’ I question as my heart beats a thousand times winding me as I speak. My nipples hard and taught and my skin prickles with terror.

  ‘You know who I am, for you have been searching for me,’ his voice silky and monotone. ‘I believe you've also been inquiring about Sarah.’

  I stare, silenced by my shock.

  ‘Nothing to say… Amelia?’

  My eyes widen, ‘please let me go.’

  ‘Oh but that wouldn't be any fun now would it?’ His voice changing from a sultry whisper to a slithery menacingly toned voice and speaks in low volume.

  ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ I state forcefully, pulling my hands towards me. The metal digs into my flesh.

  ‘Surely you must know, please, OK OK I will play this game,’ he smiles and almost rushes his comment. It seems my blatant-ness excites him as if my fear gives him a rush. I play along. One thing I learned from working alongside Detectives and Psychiatrists is to show interest, these people truly believe in what they are doing and show no remorse for non believers. Interest gives you time and insight into the character. I am not a psychiatrist but I sure could use one right now.

  ‘Give me a clue?’ I mumble.

  ‘Well I have always admired you Dr. Sharpe, you always seem eager to please and can just; GOD DAMN never . . .’ he clenches his fists then continues, ‘let things go can you?’

  I freeze with fear still unable to see his full face with my arms pulsating and ankles uncomfortably unable to move.

  ‘The old man at the gas station,’ he states.

  ‘How do you know about him?’

  ‘I was there, now why would I be there? I knew you were heading towards West Virginia. How is Aunt Gladys?’

  He leaves me breathless and my perspiration increases.

  ‘Did you find my father strange? Most people do, he is getting on a bit now!’

  ‘Sarah Kennedy was your sister?’ I question.

  ‘Yes finally we are engaging. Sarah, yes that stupid little bitch. Doctor, the perspiration that is drifting my way is very invigorating, please don't get too excited with me now, I haven't got to the good part. Don’t you feel my eyes moving over your body Amelia? And don’t your eyes themselves seek out things you want however cannot see? Look at me Doctor, what do you see?’ His voice menacing and his accent is unnerving.

  ‘Nothing, I see nothing, come into the light. What is the good part?’ I ignore his questions for they were games, mind games. I don’t want him inside my head.

  ‘Well you see, Sarah and I were always close but unfortunately she began to pry on my extra curricular activities, said she was having some weird dreams about murders or some bullshit. She threatened to tell ma and pa and I just couldn't let that happen, just like I couldn't let you visit my father once again and tell him. Don’t change the subject now; this is about you and me. Now Doctor, do you think I want you sexually? Are you visualising scenarios of us fucking?’

  ‘No, it does not interest me, again I cannot see you. My sole interest is the relationship you had with your sister. Please come into the light.’ I divert our conversation to more serious matters, he is trying to toy with me, and I am not going to let that happen.

  As he walks into the candlelight my heart sinks.

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘Guy?’

  ‘Actually my name is Martin Kennedy by birth.’

  ‘But, how?’

  ‘How this, how why, jesus, all you do is whine. For fucks sake, I will make it blunt; why don't you think back a little? I gave you all the clues. I asked you to take time off work. I was trying to stop you tracking me. I wasn't happy about you visiting Aunt Gladys; old bat couldn't keep her nose to herself. When Sarah and I were kids, she was always interfering and bringing us baked apple pie. As for you, Amelia, well, you were always my most prized asset. I’ve been watching you, your every move both good and bad, graduation, accomplishments, your first kiss and even your last date my dear.’

  Baked apple pie!

  ‘Ah, that's why you were there in my basement, it was you, and you were wet because it was you, all this god damn fucking time!’

  ‘Ah, yes the fucking. Sharpe, you do try.’

  I spit at him in disgust.

  ‘Now now Amelia, don’t be like that, your Aunt always spoke so fondly of you.’ He grabs his groin. ‘You are reminding me of when you made me hard for the first time you know. You are feisty. Okey-dokey here we go.’

  Guy or Martin, whatever the fuck he is called walks towards me. My heart misses a beat and my body shudders with each step he takes. I look up at the shackles that cuff my hands above my head and shake my hair that trails the sides of my face. Perspiration droplets begin to form on my forehead and upper lip in angst of his proposition. His hands that I once begged to be touched by, now pinch my nipples as he licks his lips.

  ‘Want me to fuck you silly Amelia?’

  I writhe as much as I can to dislodge his touch.

  ‘Let me get you down. After all, I have been following your work since you graduated. Disgraceful I must add that you didn’t figure it out sooner. You aren’t afraid of me are you Amelia?’ I just part my lips and look up at him. He leans in. I can smell his cologne in the crook of his cleanly shaving neck, the odour that once sent me wild now makes me feel sick to the depths of my stomach. Guy breathes deeply, his hands on mine, keying the hole to the cuffs that restrain me. I can see out of the corner of my eyes that his eyes are closed as he enjoys my perfume which he had bought me not more than a fortnight ago. ‘You smell delicious my Amelia.’

  I’m not your Amelia.

  He catches my arms that fall slowly into my lap and pulls me towards him.

  ‘Shall we dance?’ he beckons. He smiles as he bends down to untie the rope which binds my feet together.

  I can’t answer his question and biting my lower lip I look away.

  A million ways of how to escape pass through my mind. He twirls me round, pulls me close humming as he does so.

  He licks my neck softly and slowly groans. ‘You taste delectable my dear, I could just eat you up, right here, right now.’ I just remain silent, for I am speechless. I can feel his groin pressing hard into mine in a rotating motion. I can’t say that the mould, mildew and decay that infused the dark room made for a romantic date. I humour him and hesitate to resist. I jerk my head back so fast
I have temporary whiplash.

  ‘DON’T RESIST ME AMY,’ he shouts spitting saliva into my face as he shakes me by the shoulders and yells, ‘DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND I CANNOT BREATHE WITHOUT YOU, I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT YOU.’

  Where had Guy gone? The fun loving stiff upper lip, I miss him. I remain silent. His tone is aggressive, unlike what I had been hearing. He tries to kiss me as I cry begging him to stop. His hands twice the size of my arms grip me much like a python does its prey and he shoves me to the ground. He stands over me calling me abusive names, his anger prevailing, showing his true colours. I guess he hadn’t been used to rejection before. And as quick as it started it quickly ends, his calm collectiveness returns. I hurl myself onto my knees tearing my blue satin dress. Say goodbye to this Christian Dior, but it was just clothing, material, and replaceable unlike a human life. Guy stands in front of me gazing at me intently with his dark black sunflower like eyes.

  ‘Please forgive me, you drive me crazy Amelia. I’ve never felt this way before, not for anyone. You will know the truth soon enough. Please remember that.’

  He leans down and I scratch the side of his face screaming for help and he lunges on top of me. The moonlight gleams on the side of his face giving him a grey complexion that frightens me. My nightmares have become a reality.

  One of my wrists slides away from the other within his grip and my hand shoots to his mouth. His weight nails me to the ground scaring me as he smirks.

  ‘Now this is really going to hurt,’ he says. I know what is to come, and his outstretched hands dart towards my throat. I raise my knee and fire it to his groin. He looks towards the ceiling, a squeal emanates and his hands withdraw from my neck. He rolls to his side, hands between his legs, rolling back and forth screeching in agony holding his groin much similar to a the way a child would hold the area they banged.

  ‘You won't get away Bitch, you fucking whore, nobody runs away from me! You can’t escape; you and I are like one another. I know you better than anyone…..’ he is right, he does.

  I pick up the nearest object and hit him as hard as I can and hear his skull crack against the concrete floor. Have I killed him or was he merely unconscious? Fuck. But I don't care I just want to get out. I fumble around the dark room heading towards the small hole from which shines a light belonging to a wooden door. I try to open it but it is locked, so I peek through the crack, seeing nothing but shrubbery glistening under the moonlight. I have no idea of my whereabouts. Collapsing to my knees silently I creep towards his lifeless body passing various shapes and objects, be they sharp or blunt. I raid his pockets for keys of some sort. Yes! I turn away from his body then stop to lean over my shoulder and plant a final farewell kiss on his cheek. I sigh deeply as I run my fingers through his hair. I stroke his cheek and luscious lips I once begged to touch.

  ‘Love is a weakness, don’t forget that,’ I whisper and then recoil with the keys making sure I get the hell out of there.

  I run as fast as I can through the shrubbery, hoping to find someone, just someone.

  The light is fading rapidly, creating new shadows and dark patches all around me. Eyes glimmer from tree hollows and nearby bushes full of green, brown and dead fallen leaves. The floor is covered in logs and branches, twigs, ferns, brambles, thickets and ivy that stab my naked feet as I run through the forest. Insects, rabbits, mice and foxes are coming out from hiding ready to catch their prey. The forest isn’t all frightful, many roses, flowers, birds’ nests and shape shifting elements of light cascade over trees and moss covered trunks. Many mushrooms are evident with enormous ancient oaks and sap crusts. The birds sing their nocturnal music and I stop briefly to listen to the beauty of nature. The memory of Guy slowly diminishes and I find myself overcome with peace almost instantaneously. I remember a piece I read not so long ago by John Keats whilst rifling through Guy’s books. Had John Keats also had a similar experience to this of mine? The words flood back to me as if I’m reading them all over again.

  “I cannot see what flowers are at my feet

  Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

  But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet

  Wherewith the seasonable month endows

  The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

  White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

  Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves.”

  Was it a vision or a waking dream? The birds chirp and a nightingale sings its melodious song. Suddenly there is squawking and the night again turns hostile. The wind wails between distorted trunks, carrying the sickly stink of wood rot. The branches screech as the night settles. The forest is now a black mass of panting, barking yips, tapping and rattling which creates a harmonic rhythm unlike anything I have ever heard.

  I move faster, ignoring the briars that catch at my dress and the damp leaves that blacken my skin. The moon shines onto patches of deadwood and I lift my face, letting both light and shadow cascade over my bare arms and legs as I run. My feet are now a bloody black mess. The trees stand utterly still, statues in a living museum where no leaf dared to fall. I could study them all night, nature is truly beautiful.

  In the not too far a distance, headlights shine. I sprint as fast as my legs can possibly run; mind over matter allows me to ignore the agonising pain that stabs into my feet. I drop to my knees exhausted onto the asphalt. A car swerves past me, the screeching of its braking leaves black rubber patterns in the road. I am overcome with relief.

  ‘My god, John she's nearly dead. Quick take her...’ a female voice shouts hurriedly.

  All I hear are the distant voices of an old couple seated in front of me. My body weak from exhaustion has no care in the world. My dress is ripped and my feet are bruised, bleeding and covered in blisters.

  I come in and out of consciousness. Light, darkness, light again, the flashing of headlights passing the windows, darkness. Every time I wake I pray to return back to darkness; there I feel no pain emotionally or physically.

  CHAPTER 12

  I awake within a dark room, cannot move and nothing to see. I hear voices fading in the background, a mumbling, it doesn’t make sense, but there is one familiar sound.

  ‘Amelia?’ it’s Aunt Gladys. I open my mouth in response, and push so hard it feels as if I’m going to scream but only a whisper comes out.

  ‘Aunt?’

  ‘She’s awake, she’s awake.’ I hear her voice heighten with enthusiasm.

  ‘Where am I? I just see a huge heavy black cloud Aunt, there’s nothing, nothing to see.’

  ‘Your eyes are covered dear, you had some injury to them, the good doctor has kept them covered for now,’ she reassures me touching my hand and applying pressure.

  I cannot move, but voices and more noises start to enter my ears. I strain to hear tapping of feet, the buzz of machines and try to make sense of it all. Where am I? A pink glow of light enters my eyes as I struggle to open them, success. A bright stark and sterile room lay before me. Someone was bending over me and I can just make out that it is Aunt Gladys, her face only inches away from mine.

  ‘Thank goodness you are OK; the doctor is on his way,’ she sighs in relief.

  The doctor enters the room and Aunt Gladys beams at him and back at me.

  He calls my name, again and again but I cannot speak. I try to clear my throat but the pressure mounts again to try and shout but I can only whisper.

  ‘What happened?’

  A few hours later the doctor wakes me up to tell me I have a broken ankle, ligature marks all over my body and there is a fracture to my left femur. I try to speak.

  ‘Guy, he's there, I think I killed him.’

  The police arrive to take a statement as the last word leaves my mouth.

  ‘Ma'am, what man? Who? Where? Do you know who you are?’

  ‘Yes, I am Dr Amelia Sharpe, forensic pathologist. Please, it is a cave like place I don't know, I'm not sure how long I was running for.’

  He speaks to his colleague.r />
  ‘I think we have enough, she looks exhausted. She's about to lose consciousness.’

  Then nothing, I enter the black pit of loneliness.

  ***

  The exterior wounds soon begin to heal on the outside, scabbing as the blood congeals. I sigh deeply still reminiscing that frightful night. Am I dreaming again? This can’t be real. The room is sterile and smells of nauseating iodoform assaulting my nose causing it to twitch from side to side. My exterior wounds are numb but a pain as sharp as a needle stabs me internally. It is excruciating. Sighing deeply I gaze to the bleak white ceiling and my eyes begin to fill with tears which trickle down my ashen pale cheeks, my heart spiralling into a deep dark abyss shattering my confidence; the little I had left.

  My peace is rudely disturbed. I open my eyes letting the light and pain enter and see Aunt Gladys sitting beside me.

  ‘Morning dear, how are you feeling?’ her eyes are wide, rounded and intent. Her voice is genuinely concerned. If only she knew. My heart starts to pound once again and I hesitantly ask the question I have been avoiding.

  ‘Guy he…’

  ‘Yes darling I just spoke to the officers; they explained and found the cave.’

  ‘The body?’

  ‘No body dear, just a note,’ her head shaking from side to side. A blanket of relief sweeps over me. Dare I let my true feelings be known?

  ‘Son of a bitch. I should have hit him harder. What did the note say?’ I gulp as the words leave my mouth. My Guy, dead? The thought sickens me.

  Gladys can sense my terror in the tone of my voice, believing every word.

  ‘Are you sure Amy?’

  ‘Yes just tell me what it is.’

  She turns around and signals to the police officer standing outside guarding the room.

  A tall man wearing a firmly pressed uniform stands before me; he has bleach blonde hair, blue gentle eyes and light stubble.

  ‘Maám,’ he nods and greets me. His arm stretches toward me with a plastic sheet, inside a blood stained piece of parchment paper. Our gaze meets one another; time stopping and he opens the bag not leaving my eyes. Wearing rubber gloves he withdraws it from its protective case. Cupping a hand around his mouth he looks back over his shoulder bellowing to the officer outside.