‘Ivan,’ he whispers.
‘Sorry.’ The voice from beside Satori shakes him out of his reverie. ‘Did you say Ivan?’
Satori turns and faces the greying and bespectacled middle-aged driver. He is one of many men who have invited him to share part of their journeys.
‘Oh, I was just thinking aloud.’ Satori wonders whether this man told him his name. If so he has already forgotten.
‘Ivan, that’s the name of my boy. He’ll be four tomorrow. Gonna have a party. I’ve got his presents in the back there.’ The man motions towards the back seat. Bags full of boxes fill the space.
‘You don’t live with him,’ Satori says before he can stop.
‘That obvious, huh? Why? Do you think I’ve bought too much?’
Satori shakes his head. He thinks back to his own early birthdays, before his father lost contact. At first the quantity of gifts was exciting. Later it always felt tainted by guilt. His father’s unabashed consumerism left a nasty taste in Satori’s mouth. As if the man felt by purchasing trinkets he could narrow the distance between them. When Satori turned thirteen, they stopped altogether. There were no visits, no presents, no cards and no phone calls. His father’s sense of responsibility, and with it his presence in Satori’s life, vanished. Mum got angry, but he felt relieved. There was no space in his life for guilt. Not when he was thirteen. Not for a long time.
Guilt is poison. It strips your power. The guilt he now feels suffocates him. If he cannot put it aside he must find a way of using the negative energy, converting it for his journey. Not the journey home; that is almost over, but his journey to the other realms - the quest to find Star.
***
Satori’s key refuses to be fed into the lock of his front door. Growling with impatience, he puts his satchel down beside the step and concentrates. The front door swings inwards and he falls with it. Landing on the carpet beside his mother’s feet, he looks up at her. Her heart-shaped face is red and puffy.
‘Steve, thank god.’ His mother kneels beside him. She grasps his hand and kisses his dirty fingers.
‘Is this your son, Mrs Michaels?’ a male voice asks.
Satori cannot see the man. He shifts his weight onto his shaking arms and pushes his face from the floor. A man in a grey suit stands in the living room doorway. He cradles a cup in his hand.
‘Who are you?’ Satori asks.
‘It’s the police, love,’ his mother answers. ‘I thought you were…Baby, what happened to you? What happened to your face?’ Her fingertips trace the crimson scar across his eyelid and cheek. She stares into his eyes, one grey and one red. ‘Can you see?’
‘Your mother was worried, son.’ The male voice interrupts his mother’s question. ‘We were just discussing your connection with recent events. Trying to work out where you might have gone. We want you to help us with our inquiries.’
Satori’s strength leaves his arms and his face hits the carpet.
‘Steve, Steve…’ His mother’s voice sounds distant.
He tries to lift his hand to find hers but he cannot move. He feels hot skin cover the back of his fist.
‘He needs to go to hospital,’ Marian pleads. ‘Now!’
Chapter 4
Donna sits on the edge of her bed staring into her dressing table mirror. The room it reflects back may as well be a prison cell. The walls are dull and empty. There are no traces of life. It is her tomb.
Her eyes drop to the razorblade laid ceremoniously between a flickering candle and a pot of makeup brushes.
In her trembling hand Donna holds a photograph. The image is creased and discoloured. Two faces smile at her. Her own, much happier then, with eyes full of fierce joy, and Sarah’s. Their cheeks press together as if they are trying to shield each other from sorrow.
‘Sarah,’ she whispers. A tear drips from her chin onto the photograph. ‘Sarah, where are you?’
Donna holds her friend’s memory in her mind, caressing it tenderly like a priceless Fabergé egg: Sarah’s bright blue eyes, her gentle smile and that cherished porcelain face, framed by a mass of ebony curls.
Donna stretches across the void between bed and table and touches the razorblade. Her dull oval fingerprint on the metal is her only mark on this room and its contents. Other than this small imprint, her existence is ephemeral. Donna cannot truly exist without her friend at her side. She is a ghost. She belongs nowhere.
Resting the photo against the mirror, she lifts the blade and holds it between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. Three faces now: her blurry reflection and the two smiling friends. None of them feel real. She rotates her wrist. The metal glints like amber as it catches the candlelight.
‘Give me a reason to stay,’ she whispers.
Chapter 5
Freya feels between her legs. Her labia are swollen and tender to the touch. Sticky warmth emanates from her, but she cannot relax in the afterglow. She must collect this substance.
Awkwardly she moves onto her side. Her breasts and thighs are cut and bruised. Tears soak her flushed cheeks. She reaches across to the shelf beside her bed and grabs a dish and teaspoon. She pushes the spoon inside her. Wincing, she scrapes the mixture out of her body: her elixir, her power.
The paste is deep pink. She collects it in the white ceramic dish. Scooping the prize from her vagina until the spoon comes back empty. The paste is a few millimetres deep yet, to some, it is worth more than diamonds. It must be dried. The powder she keeps will make her powerful. The half she sells will provide her with more money than she can earn in a month. She will add the cash to her growing fund - Freya’s escape fund. Sometime soon she must be ready to run.
She stares at the dish and wonders how the powder will taste, how it will make her feel. The essence of woman - the wine from her womb mixed with the secretions of her demonic lover, perhaps the most potent magical substance in the world. Taking it will help her evolve, bring her closer to her goddess - closer to Lilith. With it she will have power over life and death. At last she will possess the force to change things, to make everything better – become new.
Freya licks her fingertip and dips it into the paste. Goo clings to her skin. She looks at it. It glistens as though this tiny spot contains a million stars. She puts the digit between her lips and sucks. The taste is bitter and ferric. It makes her mouth tingle. Her heart beats stronger. Her muscles swell and she needs to move. Energy shifts, like electric current, across her body and through her fingertips. She laughs, too loudly for the middle of the night. This amuses her and she laughs louder.
Flinging her bedroom door open, she stands naked, grinning. She jogs on the spot enjoying the release of excess energy. She needs to dance. Her limbs move like supple branches swaying in the breeze. She rises on the balls of her feet and pirouettes.
Still spinning, she kicks one leg high and hits the top of the banister. She loses her footing and tumbles faster and faster down the stairs. As she hits the hallway floor with a crunch she sits up and laughs. Only the thought of waking her parents prevents her from doing it again. Instead she stands up, rubs the bruises on her hips and dances into the kitchen.
The refrigerator hums. She joins its melody, but the tune makes her feel sad and she starts to cry. She tugs at the fridge door and reaches inside for a carton of orange juice. Unscrewing the vibrant green plastic lid, she tips the liquid into her mouth. It fills her mouth and throat. The surplus spills down her chin and onto the floor. When the carton is emptied she tosses it away, laughs again and unlocks the back door.
The wail of the burglar alarm cuts through the night as she opens the door and steps out into the darkness. She echoes the alarm’s strangled scream in the base of her throat as she leaps across the lawn. Her jumps feel like flying. She is free.
Strong arms wrap around her. Her father whispers urgently in her ear. ‘What happened, Freya? Are you okay?’
She turns around and embraces him. Her cheek presses against his shoulder as her tears fall onto his
chest. He holds her tightly and kisses her hair.
‘It’s okay now. Daddy’s here.’
Chapter 6
Satori wakes in a crisp, white room. He smells blood and disinfectant. The brightness of the light above makes his eyes water. He sits up and feels a tug in the back of his hand. A clear plastic tube burrows beneath a tightly wrapped bandage. His good eye follows the tube to a saline drip behind him. He sees movement and turns towards the door as his mother hurries towards him.
‘What happened, my love?’ she asks.
Satori shakes his head. Marian reaches across and wipes the moisture from his cheeks.
‘It’s okay,’ she tells him.
‘Star’s dead,’ he manages to say.
Marian frowns and pulls him towards her. She strokes his hair and kisses his forehead. ‘Shhh. Tell me later,’ she says.
‘It was my fault,’ he says, unable to stop now the words have started to come. ‘I made it happen. Raven and Paul too, all dead.’
She holds him. His tears wash her blouse. He feels helpless and desperate for his mother’s love. It feels like years since he was last held like this; in loving arms that want nothing more than to protect him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he tells her. ‘I tried to save her. I followed them into the mountains. I thought she would be okay. I thought I could bring her home. It was too much for her though. I poisoned her with lies and magic. In the end I couldn’t save her. I had to dig her grave. She killed herself with my knife. I promised her I’d find her. I need to find her, Mum.’
‘She’s dead?’ Marion strokes Satori’s hair.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you can’t find her, not the real her. Only her body is in those mountains. She’s gone. She’s in a better place.’
‘No. You don’t understand. It’s my fault and I promised I’d find her. I’ll bring her back. I have to.’
‘Hush, Baby,’ she whispers. ‘When the police come back, please keep quiet. I can’t lose you. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. Tell no one.’
He nods and looks up at her soft face. She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. He snuggles back between her breasts and falls asleep.
***
When he wakes again, Satori’s mother has gone. In her place sits a policeman.
‘Mr Michael, how are you feeling?’ the man asks.
‘Better, thank you. I guess I was dehydrated.’
‘Dehydrated and suffering from exposure. Mr Michaels, I’m Detective Inspector Long. I need to ask you a few questions about the whereabouts of Miss Brown.’ The detective pulls a notebook from his inside jacket pocket and opens it on his lap. A short pencil is poised ready to take notes.
‘Sarah?’ Satori asks.
‘Yes, that’s right. When did you last see Miss Brown?’
‘A week before I saw the newspaper headline. But she wouldn’t have…couldn’t have.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. You understand we simply need to speak to her. We need to eliminate her from our enquiries. Where is Miss Brown?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We have reason to believe you met with her after the…murder.’ The detective stares at Satori. His eyes try to read every movement of Satori’s face, the direction in which his pupil moves as he considers the question and a thousand other signals Satori can only guess at.
‘I - I’m sorry detective…’
‘Of course, I understand. A lot has happened to you over the past week. So where were you, before you came home dehydrated and suffering from exposure, Mr Michaels?’
‘I needed to get away. I slept rough for a couple of days.’
‘Where? Where exactly were you?’
‘Umm, it’s hard to remember. Woodland…Cotswolds perhaps.’
‘Son, you don’t really expect me to believe that you cannot remember where you were for a week, do you?’
‘I’m sorry…’
‘How did you get there?’
‘I hitched,’ Satori says.
‘How long did it take?’
Satori shrugs. ‘A couple of hours, maybe.’
‘So where did you sleep?’
‘Under a tree.’
‘For five days?’ The detective’s eyes widen.
‘Yes.’
‘What did you eat?’
Satori shakes his head. ‘Berries, nuts, fish.’
‘From a river or a lake?’
‘What?’
‘The fish, was it from a river or a lake?’ D.I. Long asks again.
‘Lake.’
‘How big was the lake?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Come now. You stayed next to a lake for five or six days. You fished there. You must remember the size.’
‘Three hundred metres maybe. I’m really not good at guessing the size of things.’
‘Hmm…Then maybe you can tell me how you got that scar?’
Satori’s fingers move involuntarily to his cheek. He shakes his head.
‘Were you attacked?’
‘I don’t remember.’ Satori looks away.
‘You don’t remember.’ D.I. Long sighs. ‘If you’re trying to protect someone it won’t work. We will discover the truth. We always do. Be sensible son and help us help you.’
Satori shrugs. ‘I’m sorry…’
‘Okay, Mr Michaels, we’ll come back to the scar when you’ve had more time to remember. When did you last see Paul Foster?’
‘Pardon?’
‘He’s missing. When did you last see him? Your mother tells us you were staying with him a few weeks ago. When did you last hear from him, Mr Michaels?’
‘Sat…Steve, call me Steve.’
‘Okay, Steve. When did you last see Mr Foster?’
‘I - I’m sorry.’
‘Did you see Mr Foster again after you left his house on the …’ D.I. Long checks his notebook. ‘Twenty-eighth of October?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so or you didn’t see him after the 28th October?’
‘I didn’t see him,’ Satori answers.
‘Did he contact you after that date?’
‘What? No.’
‘Stop playing games, Steve. We can place you at Mr Foster’s house up to the 28th. We also know you have some very valuable books of his. You’ve had them for quite some time now, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he hasn’t contacted you or asked for them back?’
‘No, he hasn’t, but he often lends things to friends. That’s the sort of guy he is.’
‘Did he say he was going anywhere after you left him, Mr Michaels?’
Satori sighs. ‘Can I have some water please?’ he asks, yawning.
‘Yes in a moment, but please, Mr Michaels, answer the question. Did Mr Foster tell you he was planning a trip?’
‘He mentioned something about Egypt, but I can’t remember whether he had just been or was going.’
‘Thank you, Mr Michaels. You do understand that this is a murder investigation and perverting the course of justice is a very serious offence? It makes you an accomplice. We will need to speak to you again.’
‘Paul?’
‘No, Rhiannon Sanders.’
‘Who?’
‘You knew her as Raven.’
Chapter 7
Donna waits by the corner. This is his street. Now she’s here she’s forgotten why she wanted to see him. What can he tell me that I don’t already know? How can I look upon his face without punching his mouth or spitting in his eye?
‘Sarah.’ Even the name is precious to her now. The way the late November wind whispers it back to her, stealing the word and returning it with equal excitement. ‘What am I doing here?’
There is no answer. Sarah has never answered, not since she left. Not the thousand questions Donna has asked. Not even the burning one, the one that circles around her mind like a vulture, feeding off all other thoughts. Why didn’t you love me?
<
br /> Donna walks towards Steve’s gate. She opens it and looks up at the narrow house. The windows are dark. She leans forwards so the tips of her shoulders nudge beyond the threshold to his garden then swings her body backwards, staggering across the pavement. Maybe tomorrow I’ll come back? Try again. See if he knows where Sarah is, what she’s doing. Not today though. Not today.
The front door swings open and a tall and slender man steps out of the house. Donna gasps and turns to run, but he has already seen her.
‘Donna. Donna, are you okay?’ he asks.
She looks at the floor. Words catch in her throat, words of accusation, hatred, pain.
‘Donna, do you want to come inside?’
She shakes her head. No, no, no.
‘At least sit down on the wall. You look like you’re about to fall. How are you?’ His voice sounds soft, calming.
For a moment Donna forgets it’s him, but as soon as she looks up she sees his cruel mouth and pointed nose. He has changed, his eyes look different and that scar. My scar is worse. It has torn my heart in two and I did nothing to deserve it.
He tugs at her arm, dragging her against her will towards his garden wall. Her shaking legs don’t have the strength to resist. She follows him and sits beside him on the red Victorian bricks. Too close, too close.
‘I’m okay now,’ she whispers. Her breath is too shallow to push the words towards him. He leans closer to hear her, and she panics. ‘I should go.’
‘Why are you here?’ he asks her. ‘Did you come to see me?’
Donna’s skin crawls and she tastes vomit on her tongue. ‘No,’ she gasps. ‘I just…’
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