She’d carried Elijah up the central staircase, unable to look along the hall where her old rooms of work waited: Feroce, Chiuso, Bellicoso, Sostenuto, Duolo, Capriccioso. The memories seeping from beneath those doors buffeted her. They made her skin itch and her neck prickle. Pressing Elijah’s face to her shoulder, burying herself in the purity of his scent, she had hurried to the top of the house.
Tomorrow she would recruit an estate agent and rid herself of the place, and then – despite the pleas of her family back in Como (family, such a strange new thought, such a strange new concept) – she would take Elijah and they would disappear into obscurity.
Even considering that future served to calm her nerves: a feeling, if not of peace, then at least something approaching it. They could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.
The phone beside her bed rang. Etienne raised her eyes from Elijah’s face. She would begin all that tomorrow. But until then, there were still things to do here.
She sat on the bed and stared at the phone. Even though a handful of people had access to this line, she knew instinctively who the caller would be. Finally she plucked the handset from its cradle and lifted it to her ear. Etienne paused, and then she said, ‘Jakab.’
‘I trust you enjoyed your vacation,’ he replied. His voice was quiet, his breathing measured, but she recognised the clipped tones that indicated he was upset.
‘I’ve been back less than an hour. Have you been watching the house?’
‘I need to see you.’
Elbows propped on her knees, Etienne supported her head with her free hand, hair feathering across her face. ‘That won’t be possible.’
‘I need to see you.’
‘I told you, Jakab. No more.’
‘I don’t accept that.’
‘Then I suggest you learn. This was never more than a business relationship, and you know it.’
He hissed. ‘You can really be that cold?’
‘After four conversations about this, yes, I can. My life is different now. That part is over.’
‘What about my life, Etienne? You’re making choices here that don’t just affect you.’
‘Your life is your responsibility. Not mine.’
‘Don’t do this.’
‘It’s done.’
Silence, followed by a click as he broke the connection.
Banshees of wind shrilled outside the window. Etienne crossed the room and closed the drapes. Returning to the bed, she dialled Jackson.
He answered on the first ring. ‘It was him?’
‘Yes. Is the alarm on?’
‘A mosquito couldn’t get in here without us knowing about it.’
‘Everything’s locked?’
‘Like a vault.’
‘Thank you. Call me if anything happens.’
Etienne undressed, put away her clothes and checked on Elijah. Her baby slept, back arched, tiny face pointed towards the top of the crib. His eyes moved behind their lids, chasing infant dreams.
After locking the door to her room, she slipped beneath the covers of her bed. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the clock on the mantlepiece: five minutes to midnight.
Elijah’s cries dragged Etienne from sleep an hour later. Fuddle-headed, her fingers found the light switch, and then she thought better of it. Sitting up in the darkness, she lifted Elijah into her lap. His cries grew more urgent, until she guided his mouth to her breast and he latched on. Etienne grimaced at the sudden nip of pain, and then she relaxed.
She thought, again, about everything she would do tomorrow. As well as recruiting someone to sell the house, she needed to buy a car. Perhaps she’d drive the two of them around Europe until they found a corner they’d be happy enough to call home: somewhere far away from cities and traffic and the sad press of crowds.
At her breast, Elijah turned his head away, a bead of milk on his lower lip. Etienne rubbed his back until he released his wind, and returned him to his crib. She was about to tunnel back into the residual warmth beneath her covers when she noticed the night lamp on the chest of drawers in one corner of the room. Earlier, the heat from its bulb had rotated the shade, projecting animal shapes around the walls. Now the bulb was dark, its shade still. Had she switched it off before going to sleep? Maybe, but she didn’t think so.
She glanced over at the discreet security interface beside her bed. The unit’s lights still glowed green, but the system relied on a separate supply. Even during a power cut it would continue to operate.
She lifted the phone’s handset to her ear.
No dial tone.
Her heart knocked. Sweat prickled under her arms.
Etienne slipped from the bed and crossed to the window. Outside, the street was empty of life. Pulling on a silk robe, she went to the door and listened.
Silence from the hallway beyond. Inside the room, the papery rustle of Elijah’s breathing and the thudding of her own heart in her ears.
He’s here. Right now. Inside the house.
She shook her head, deriding herself. No. He couldn’t be. No one could fool the building’s alarm system and evade the attentions of both Jackson and Bartoli downstairs. It wasn’t possible.
As soon as the phones stopped working, Jackson would have alerted you. Even if you were sleeping, he’d have come up here and knocked at your door.
And yet he hadn’t.
Casting a glance back at Elijah’s crib, she twisted her fingers together. Did she stay in the room? Tempting as it was, she was a prisoner here. The window offered no means of escape. The room’s fixed telephone line was dead and she’d never owned a mobile phone, on which she could call for help.
The house boasted a panic room complete with its own air supply and a door that was virtually impenetrable. It was hidden away on the floor below her. She would need to take Elijah and hurry downstairs to the drawing room where the panic room’s entrance was located. It was a journey that would take her perhaps twenty seconds.
She thought she heard a sound, deep inside the house.
Decision made, Etienne lifted Elijah out of his crib. She wrapped a blanket around him, holding him tight against her chest. Moving to the bedroom door, lips pressed tight to mute the sound of her breathing, she unlocked it. The handle was silent as it turned. The door whispered against the carpet as it swung open.
In the hallway, shadows gathered.
Etienne closed her eyes. Listened not just with her ears but with her skin, feeling for the touch of a draught that would indicate an opened window or door.
The air was still.
Supporting Elijah’s head, she padded along the hall to the stairs and began to descend. The second floor came into view: a tunnel of empty space stretching into darkness.
Not empty, though. Not quite. Something slumped halfway along it. A human form.
She felt the skin on her scalp begin to crawl, fought the urge to turn and run. The panic room was still her best option.
The drawing room lay behind the first door on her left. Just in front of the crumpled shape in the hallway.
She edged closer. To her right loomed the grand staircase serving every floor of the house. She peered into its depths, trying to make sense of the darkness, searching for any threat that might lurk there.
Another few steps and she reached the drawing-room door, hanging ajar. Etienne paused there, listening. No sound issued from within. Before she slipped inside, she glanced down at the body on the floor. A lack of light prevented her from identifying it, but it could only be Jackson or Bartoli.
If she searched the corpse, perhaps she could retrieve a weapon. That would take time, though. She might wake Elijah. And Elijah might alert the intruder.
Instead, she edged into the drawing room. Paused again, ears straining. Closed the door behind her. Complete darkness now. A blindfold draped across her face.
The silence was a physical pressure in her ears.
Etienne knew this room intimately, knew the location of its chair
s, its side tables, its statuary. One hand outstretched, she weaved a silent path. Her fingers touched a bookcase. She groped along it. Behind her, she heard the rasp of a match scratching into life.
Light flared; her shadow leaped towards the ceiling.
Etienne spun around, sickened, heart pumping so fiercely she could feel it in her throat.
From one of the chairs beside the fireplace, Jakab held out the match to the wick of a candle standing on a reading table. The tiny flame wobbled, grew brighter.
Shadows clothed most of his body, but his eyes were reflective pools in which two perfect miniatures of the candle burned. Etienne stared, and Jakab stared back.
Beside the bookcase stood a wicker Moses basket. After lowering Elijah into it, she straightened to face her guest. ‘What did you do?’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Outside. In the hall. Who was it?’
‘He neglected to tell me his name.’
‘You killed him.’
‘And the world mourns. I’m sure you’ll find new staff, Etienne. With the money I’ve paid you over the years, you should be able to afford a houseful.’
He stood, and she moved to her right. The candlelight was strong enough to brighten only a yard or so of space around the table. She shielded the Moses basket with her body.
Jakab approached, his shoes making no sound on the drawing-room rug. He lifted a finger to the lapel of her robe, eased it over her shoulder. When he withdrew his hand, the garment fluttered to the floor.
His eyes drank her in. ‘You’ve put on weight,’ he said. ‘It suits you. Suits me.’
‘I want you out of my house. I don’t know how you got in, but the safest thing for both of us right now is that you turn around and—’
He slapped her. Hard across the face.
Jakab snatched back his hand, as if he’d burned himself on her skin. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I should never have done that. It wasn’t right. But I’ve missed you so much.’
He frowned, tapped himself on the chest. ‘It’s like a pain right here, an emptiness. There’s nothing I can do to fill it. If you’re telling me I can’t have you, if you’re really telling me that, I just don’t know what I’ll do.’
He reached for her and she cringed away, feeling her legs press against the Moses basket. Its wicker frame creaked.
Perhaps it was the movement that disturbed Elijah, or perhaps he sensed his mother’s fear, but her son let out a cry of distress, and Jakab’s eyes snapped away.
He stepped to her left. Spying the crib, he bent over it, and when he saw Elijah, his eyes widened. He drew in a breath.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not—’
Already, tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. ‘I have a child?’
‘You don’t, Jakab.’
His attention drifted back to the crib, and his voice cracked. ‘I have a child.’
‘No.’
One of his tears spilled down his cheek. ‘You concealed him from me?’
‘He’s not yours. Of course he’s not yours.’
The wonder fled from Jakab’s expression, replaced by rage. ‘Then whose? You allowed someone to desecrate you? You polluted yourself like that?’
She’d always sensed his imbalance, always ignored it until now. His mind danced between extremes of emotion, unable to sustain any for long. Here, in this room, she realised there was likely no happy ending to this encounter, no peaceful resolution. ‘Please, Jakab. Calm yourself.’
‘I want to see Leah.’
‘You’re—’
‘I want to see her now.’
There was only one thing she could do. One thing she could try. Etienne threw herself at him. Snarling with bestial savagery, she grabbed handfuls of his hair and yanked back his head. Teeth bared, she lunged towards his neck.
Staggering backwards, Jakab slammed his fist against her face. Blood burst from her lips. She felt something fracture in her jaw. He seized one of her wrists, ignoring the furrows she clawed into his flesh. Lifting her off her feet, he threw her across the room.
She fell, head smacking against the wall, so hard her eyes wouldn’t focus. When she tried to stand, she found her legs wouldn’t work either.
Jakab stalked towards her, shadow flowing up to the ceiling. ‘I didn’t want this,’ he whispered. ‘But we had agreement, you and I. You have an obligation to me.’
He knelt beside her. Wiped the blood from her mouth. ‘You can be Leah again, I know you can.’
She shrank from his touch. The pain in her jaw was needle-sharp. Tilting her head, she saw the Moses basket rocking, saw Elijah’s legs kicking and heard his cries.
If she did as he asked, she knew her life would end in this room. And what then for Elijah? Desire sated, Jakab would let her corpse grow cold on the floor, and he would walk away. She could not bear to think of what would happen after that. With the house locked up tight, with her guards dead, with no one to check on her son . . .
Etienne moaned. And then a monstrous idea jumped into her head, a thought so ruthless and dark she almost fled from the contemplation of it.
Hesitate, and you’ll die. And Elijah will die with you.
She thought of Leah and her mother, of all the love they’d shown her. Of all their kindnesses and reassurances and warmth.
The Moses basket began to rock more violently. Elijah began to shriek. His cries steeled her, stripping away the humanity she’d learned, reducing her to the woman she had been before.
Jakab pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘Be her,’ he hissed, and she felt a spike of pain, a blooming pressure behind her eyes.
‘I know where she is, Jakab.’
‘Be her.’
‘Are you listening?’ she asked, ignoring the pain. ‘Leah Wilde. I know where she is. Her mother, too.’
His face was a depraved mask. Lips curled into a sneer. Eyes creased into slits. Pores greasy with sweat. ‘You lie.’
‘I swear to you. Leah Wilde. The girl in the photograph. And the woman, Hannah. Hannah Wilde. I’ve met them, Jakab. Both of them.’
‘Hannah Wilde is dead.’
‘Dead?’ Etienne shook her head. ‘She’s not dead. Blind, yes. But not dead.’
‘Liar! Filthy kurva liar!’
‘No, I swear. I can prove it to you.’
His face was so close that even in the weak light spilling from the candle she could see the blood vessels swelling in his eyes. She could taste his breath on her tongue. An urgency to it.
‘Prove it how?’
‘There are cameras all over the house. Check the footage. I’ll show you.’
Jakab removed his hand from her face and retreated, sitting with his back against the very bookcase that hid the panic room beyond. Inches away from safety. That was all she had been.
‘If you’re lying . . .’ he said. ‘Show me.’
‘I will. And then—’
‘No tricks. No delays. Show me.’
Etienne nodded. She rose to her feet.
In the building’s ground-floor security office a television screen, quartered to show four separate images, provided a wash of blue light.
Etienne sat on a chair in front of the desk, Elijah held close. Beside her, Jakab stared at the screen. Most of the images showed static views inside the house. One of them focused on the street.
A silver Mercedes pulled up. The camera wasn’t of a high enough resolution to capture the driver, but a few moments later the car door opened and Leah Wilde climbed out.
Jakab jerked in his chair. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘No.’ Leaning forward, he watched Leah approach the gate. She pressed the buzzer, looked up at the house.
A camera inside the ground-floor hall captured Jackson opening the door. Ushering Leah inside, he began to search her. She endured, arms outstretched. A few words were exchanged.
‘He touched her,’ Jakab whispered. ‘Did you see?’
Etienne watched in silence. She saw Jackson lead Leah deeper in
to the house. Another camera captured the girl as she climbed the staircase to the second floor. At the landing, she glanced directly into the lens.
‘Pause it,’ Jakab said. ‘Just there.’
She complied, pressing a button on the keyboard.
‘Full screen.’
Another button press, and Leah’s magnified image stared out at them. Etienne closed her eyes, shame seeping into her like poison. Grainy security footage or not, she could not meet the girl’s gaze.
Jakab reached out a hand to the screen, and his fingers brushed Leah’s cheek. Tears rolled from his bloodshot eyes. A sob escaped him. ‘She’s beautiful. Perfect.’ He wiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘Yet so fragile, don’t you think?’
‘You never told me, and I never asked. But Leah and her mother: what were they to you? What links the three of you?’
He turned to her and his expression hardened. Moments later his attention returned to the screen. When he saw Leah’s eyes watching him, he covered his mouth with his hands and began to shake. ‘What did I do to you?’ he whispered. ‘Will you ever forgive me? Can you forgive me?’ To Etienne, he asked, ‘Can she?’
‘Why do you need her forgiveness? What did you do?’
Again his expression changed. Reaching out, he switched off the screen that displayed Leah’s face. ‘Follow me,’ he said.
CHAPTER 32
Utah, USA
In death, the sightless eyes of the tolvaj host seemed filled with reproach. Clawed fingers clutched the armchair in which he had died, body lost inside a dust-caked Grizzlies jacket. Blood coagulated on his chin in streaks and lumps.
He had lost all his teeth towards the end. They lay in his lap, a scarlet-spattered collection.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll carry your memory.’
‘As will we all,’ scratched a voice from the dark. ‘Not for long, though. No, not for long, for long. Dying.’
Written in the Blood Page 31