Saracen (Saturn's Child Series Book 1)

by R. L. Holmes

  Cough, cough, cough. I sip some more water.

  ‘Continue,’ she spits.’

  ¥

  ‘Several months after our secret little affair began I received a parcel; a propagated rose stem wrapped in newspaper. It was a thorny stem, strong and robust and I suspected it may have been the Spanish Lover. Of course there was no way of really knowing with a plant that young, as we identify plants by the flower, but something inside of me just knew this was a message from the beyond. Could it be Mr Pope?

  A few days passed and I mentioned to Laurie about my gift, with no card attached, left on my doorstep. He immediately joked that I have a secret admirer and he was fiercely jealous.’

  Does that bother you Mary?

  ‘After he left, I decided to plant it out the back and dug a small hole. When I unravelled the newspaper to my shock there was a small card nestled amongst the shredded wet paper and roots. The writing I recognised instantly, the words cut through me like bloody daggers.

  I know where you are.

  I had only one place to go and that was to Laurie’s. Luckily you had not come home and we together, made our plans for an escape. I left the rose with him and raced out the door to our meeting place, by the river on the Richardson’s farm. I waited for an hour and he didn’t arrive. I waited all night and yet he still did not come.

  I awoke to a tapping on my car window. It was Max Richardson asking if I was okay. He was on horseback heading up the river to round up some sheep who split off from the herd. He recognised me from Soskies and I told him I had nowhere to go and for private reasons I couldn’t go back home. So he offered his sleep-out to me, attached to their farm house. I was a little dubious about this as Max made me feel uneasy, even behind the security of a bar counter. He had this arrogant dominant way about him that reminded me of the man I was trying to escape. He frequented Soskies only once or twice a month and always left with a young woman, while his homely farmwife was kept out of the way at home. His family were well-known figures around Fenton, being the owners of a large portion of the surrounding land as well as the local Fenton pub. So Soskies was his hideout, his fantasy realm.

  Going against my intuition, I decided to take up his offer and move into their sleep-out. I was introduced to Mrs Richardson - who made it known that she wasn’t pleased about my presence around their children, so I kept to myself.

  Using the farmhouse phone, I tried to contact Laurie several times, but was frustrated when a young child kept answering. Of course I said nothing and hung up.

  After three days of side skipping Max Richardson’s glaring wife, I decided to go to Laurie’s house and park down the road and wait for his annoying wife to leave. Sorry I meant for his lovely wife Mary to leave.’

  More sarcasm Mary - don’t you want to bite at me? Go on I dare you.

  ‘I was instead confronted with a train of cars, parked outside their house and screeds of people with expressions of sadness and tears and bouquets of flowers left on the doorstep and against the fence. My heart suddenly filled with dread. Has he.....?

  But then I saw him - holding his daughter, her face buried in his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. He walked out to the front yard and gazed over the colourful array of flowers and cards left. He looked up and down the street. He spotted my car, I was sure. I began to feel a sense of joy run through my bones, making my skin prickle and my heart race.’ It’s her. That woman who has kept us apart - his prisoner, my dream snatcher. It’s her who lies dead. It’s happened! We’re free

  ‘I look again at the flowers and cards lying there, waving in the gentle August breeze. Then you walked out.’ Damn. ‘You stand next to him, a family of three. Then I realise - the cards with cartoons, the small toys - his son. His son has died. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to run to him, to comfort him. To tell him that everything is going to be okay. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

  An elderly couple passed by and I overheard them say something about an accident. Is that how he died? Fell off his bike? Ran out in front of a car? I ripped a piece of paper from a notebook I keep on the passenger seat. I began to write to him - telling him how sorry I was, what an awful thing to happen and that I wanted to see him.

  “I need to leave,” his voice next to my face.

  Laurie.

  “I can’t take it anymore.” I remember him saying, as tears welled up in his eyes. He looked tired and old. I hugged him and cried. I could smell the scent of oil paints and alcohol on his breath. I didn’t want to let go. But he pulled away.

  “I have an idea,” I said and told him where I was staying and if he could slip away sometime tonight. He agreed.’

  ¥

  ‘He turned up as planned. He had to park the car down the road in some bushes and then run up in the dark. I was pleased to see him and overwhelmed by him being here. I hated sharing him, with that woman, you, and he made it clear that he wanted to go. Just him and I and leave this ordinary life. He didn’t want to talk about his son and I didn’t pressure him.

  We devised a plan to leave in two days time, as he had things to take care of first. I have to admit I was concerned that he may change his mind within those hours, so I felt rather apprehensive about it.

  Everything went to plan - well at least for two days. We were going to meet at our secret meeting place by the river on the farm. Then in my little car - we were going to escape on the road like runaways or convicts. What I couldn’t foretell was Laurie’s deepening of depression and tremendous guilt. He was sinking deeper and deeper into his own tortured mind. He would stare at the walls for hours, I heard he stopped eating and lived his life in his studio with nothing but the radio to keep him company.

  But that was not all. In the depths of the night I had a visitor. He found me. He stood there over my bed and watched me sleep. Then when I awoke he had a butcher’s knife to my throat. I could not scream. I could not move. I knew instantly it was him. I could tell by his tainted smell and the shadow he created in the room.’ We almost made it Laurie. We almost escaped.

  ‘“How did you find me?”

  He laughed and nodded towards the farmhouse. “I asked around. That farmer told me you were here. Said you been secretly seeing a married man. That’s typical of you, isn’t it? Always using men. Take their money. Take their hearts.” He laughed again. I could smell alcohol on his breath. “Then rip them apart!”

  This was nothing new to me - to be threatened by this man. He has done it several times before and I instead of feeling fear - felt the surge of anger run through me.’ He cannot not destroy my plans! You cannot destroy my plans, Mary.

  ‘I dropped my arm off the bed and felt around for something to throw at him. Nothing. I got too complacent. I should have known that he’d find me. He always finds me. I should’ve hidden a weapon - a gun, a knife, a brick, something. He flicked the light on and I could see he had aged. He was much older than me anyway - stupid really, I guess I liked to be look after.’

  I see sympathy in Mary’s eyes. I know you’re not made of ice and stone. I know as a woman you feel compassion for my story.

  ‘But he was looking very lined, had many sleepless nights, probably plotting his next plan of attack on me. I tried to think of a way to get out, but he had me trapped. I felt like this was the end and thoughts circled in my mind of my past - things I’ve experienced, loves, losses and Mr Pope.’ Thorns on roses.

  ‘“It was you, wasn’t it?” I remember asking him.

  He glared at me smugly. He had me beaten, so he thought.

  “It was you who killed, Mr Pope.”

  He laughed. “What were you fucking around with that queer old prick anyway?”

  “You did kill him, you bastard!”

  He laughed again and shoved a fingernail into a wedge of his yellow teeth dislodging the contents and spitting them onto the bed. “It was easy really. An easy boot to the head.”

  Those words stung me terribly. Poor Mr Pope, oh no what have I done. Cowar
d. With all the strength I had in me - I wanted to kill the bastard, right then and there.’

  Prickles in grass.

  ‘He laughed again and kneeled on the bed. He grabbed my leg over the blankets and dragged me closer to him. I tried to scream, but covered my mouth with his stinking, filthy hand. I heard a clicking sound and could see the shadows of someone moving slowly around the corner from the kitchen. The creep grabbed me closer and began to unzip his pants. I struggled. The silhouette moved closer. The sweet smell of roses filled the air.’ Mr Pope? Could it be?

  ‘“Stop right there.” I heard a voice say.

  He swung around to find Mrs Richardson holding a double barrel shotgun - pointing it right at his head. “Get your hands away from her,” she said in an assertive tone.

  He stepped away and put his hands up in the air. “You disgusting pig of a man!” She said, lowering the rifle to his crotch. “I heard everything you just said here Mister. How you killed a Mr Pope, aye. The police are on their way.”’

  ¥

  ‘How did she know to go to your flat? Elaine Richardson, I mean, how did she know?’ Mary asks with a tone of suspicion.

  You don’t believe me do you Mary?

  ‘She said she was awoken by noises in the kitchen. So thinking it was a possum she got up and grabbed her shotgun. To her surprise, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a little old man, of about 4 foot high rush out of the back door muttering something about aphids on roses. Now, she still believes to this day that it was her sleepy, blurry eyes playing tricks. But like any good farm wife she followed him with shotgun in hand, out the door and towards the sleep-out.

  The lights were on and it was getting pretty late. The little old man disappeared into the door of the sleep-out and she followed. The door was open and she could hear a man’s voice in a threatening tone. The little old man had by now disappeared, but Mrs Richardson stood by the bedroom door and listened to the man talk about someone he killed. When she heard the sound of struggles and fearful cries, she knew it was time to step forward.’

  “Stop right there.”’

  Silence.

  ‘It was her who told me about the job at the post office,’ I say attempting to warm the thick icy air.

  Silence.

  Mary’s silence bothers me. Her mind must be circling round and round like a carrousel wheel, screaming that awful eerie music, round and round, dizzily. I watch her eyes glance from the painting, to the wine bottle, to the liquorice logs and back again.

  Finally, she lifts her head and calmly says, ‘Your Mr Pope......did he like cats?’

  Of all the things she could ask or say or question and she asks this. I’m stumped. Bewildered. How strange? Why an interest in Mr Pope and cats?

  ‘No. Hates them,’ I answer.

  ¥

  That letter. Damn that letter. Why would he write it? We were meant to be a secret, like two criminals on the run, Bonnie and Clyde. Poor Laurie. Well, they know the truth now. And for some reason, she doesn’t seem too concerned. Perhaps it’s far too in the past for her to worry about anymore. But asking me about Pope, that’s an odd one. They must be confused with someone else, unless, he’s been communicating with them, somehow. Only Sara could see him, with those dark rims around her iris. Mary doesn’t have that gift, I can tell.

  We didn’t become friends Elaine Richardson and I, although I would’ve liked too. I felt I owed her so much, but all she said was that I should leave town as soon as possible. She let Him escape. I wished she’d fired a bullet into his brain. But that was what happened and she was right, I had to leave.

  The dream of my life with Laurie disintegrated into the earth. He was almost catatonic - barely talking, not eating, slurring his words, staring at nothing. So I left him. I left him for her to deal with as any good wife should, and took a train up north.

  A few days later a broadcast announced the suicide of Laurie Rolston, grief stricken by the accident of his son. I blamed it on her. She kept him bound for years in their happy little home.

  My mother finally died and left a fair amount of money and I decided to set up a small garden centre, selling the unique, the unusual and the rare. I often felt Mr Pope around me when I propagate rare varieties of orchids or tropical plants in the middle of an icy hail storm. I listened to the whispers of advice - the symbolism, the chanting, and the top secret formulas for chemical-free insecticides. Actually, there’s nothing top secret about it - simply let the aphids or white butterfly or fungi have three plants and they will leave the rest alone.

  It was here that I changed. Something within me burned. I had altered my identity and was looking for a fresh start, without the burdens of men. But life sometimes happens to you and I met some men, mostly married, or freedom-loving types. I preferred it that way. I guess I didn’t want to feel trapped again. But one man was too pushy, too damn persistent and I had to deal to him. So I burnt his business down. Simple really.

  He was inside the building when this happened. But that’s the consequence of making me angry. I will deal to you, whoever you are. Manipulations, violence and abuse can only get you so far. I told him, I wasn’t interested. But what did he do? Pushed it too bloody far. So I killed him. Good riddance. When the local females found out about it, there were quiet celebrations were all around. They all hated him. They hated his wandering hands and revolting gestures. They all complained about him. And as usual nothing was done. So I took control and dealt to him myself.

  But now as I age, I long for a daughter, an apprentice. And as soon as I saw her, Laurie’s blood running through her veins, I knew she was the one.

  ¥

  September 1999: Saracen

  ¥

  ‘Sit down Sara. I want to tell you something.’

  Ms Anderson skids off in her cool little sports car. Gran looks weary. The air is thick in our quaint little lounge and I can smell roses, roses everywhere.

  ‘Your friend Seth was also Ms Anderson’s friend.’ She says her name with a touch of venom.

  ‘What? Can she see him?’

  ‘Yes, when he was alive.........and dead. She described him as a gardener she worked for, called Mr Pope. She said he was four foot high and wore olive green overalls.’

  My mouth drops open, my heart races. It’s like a weight off my shoulders to know someone else knows him and I’m not going mad. ‘That’s why she’s so cool. Cos she knows Seth.’ I sense something in Gran’s tone and in her manner. She’s irritated by what I just said and keeps clearing her throat.

  ‘Sara,’ she pauses as if trying to find the right words. Mum and my shirt-stained sister are transfixed on Gran. ‘She, Ms Anderson....’ she clears her throat again. The sweet rose fragrances are dying down, diluted by our breaths. ‘She is the cat your Grandfather wrote of.’

  I jump a little, slightly frightened by her words. Wily black cat. ‘Her tattoo. The black cat. The wily black cat. That is her.’

  ‘It would be a good idea if you stay away from her, Sara. I just get a funny feeling about her, that’s all.’

  ‘What do you mean, mum?’ Tansy steps forward and sits next to Gran. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘There was just something she said, that’s all.’

  ‘What?’

  She gives mum a frown and shakes her head, mouthing the word, ‘later.’ Always bloody later. There’s no point them trying to hide things from me, I’ll just listen in anyway. I go to my room in a fake huff. Seth enters my mind and all those times he muttered and chanted funny things, throwing gems and powder onto our plants. He had his ways and they seemed to work. I hear mum and Gran go outside. Lucy follows them. They fall into a deep conversation, Grans arms folded and mums on her hips shaking her head in disbelief. Lucy is just standing there, plump and stupid looking, and every so often playing with her thin hair. Why is she allowed to listen in?

  Lucy comes into my room, shortly after, with a new brightness to her manner. I suddenly seem interesting to her. What was she told? She s
its on the bed and begins playing with the ears one of my old teddy bears. Irritating. Her smile hides a secret, a big, ugly, sludgy one.

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ her attitude infuriates me.

  ‘You have jam on your shirt,’ I say.

  She leaps up and screams, ‘Oh my God, oh my Gooooood! I went uptown in this. All those people would’ve seen me. Oh my God! How embarrassing!’

  She’s angry now and needs to blame someone.

  ‘I was surprised mum didn’t see it. She’s usually quick with things like that,’ I say rubbing it in even further.

  ‘She’s such a cow.’

  I watch her scrub desperately, the stain on her favourite tee-shirt of the band, Live. Tears form and I try not to laugh. I can’t believe I’m related to her.

  With much cunning I then ask, ‘So, what did they say?’

  ‘APHIDS ON ROSES or some crap like that!’

  ‘Who said that?’

  ‘That lady who was just here. Stop asking annoying questions.’ She screams hysterically scrubbing and crying and I flee to find Gran.

  ‘Ms Anderson knew about, aphids on roses,’ I bellow across the garden. They’re standing by the fence talking to Potts and Mrs Rennie. I suppose they’re telling them. Everyone knows this secret except me. They swing around and Gran rolls her eyes.

  ‘I’m gonna have her guts for garters,’ mum yells.

  Lucy floods out the backdoor, in a fluster blaming Tanny for the stain. ‘You could have told me and now it’s ruined.’ They go back inside and I hear mum’s voice trying to calm her down.

  ‘Aphids on roses.’ My voice sounds rather mature, so much so even I was a little taken aback.

  ¥

  September 1999: Stranger

  ¥

  I quickly pack up the car. Only one last stop before I drive north. I hope she ate the liquorice. She should be drowsy by now. I thought if I wait out until sundown, I can creep in to the house and take her.