‘You wanted to find out what I know about Star?’
Donna nods.
‘It’s a long story. Won’t you come inside?’ he asks.
‘No. I don’t want to go in there with you,’ she answers.
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘Why should I? I know you’re to blame for Sarah’s disappearance.’
Steve sighs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re right, but to understand what happened I need you to listen.’
‘I don’t need to understand. I need to know where to find Sarah. Where is she, you bastard?’
Steve shakes his head. ‘I really wish it was that simple.’
‘Make it simple. Tell me now or so help me…’
Steve smiles at Donna’s threat, and she bristles with fury. He sits on the wall, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. He reaches out towards Donna’s hand, but she recoils in disgust.
Steve sighs again. ‘Did you meet Lilith?’
‘Who?’
‘Her lover, the woman. Did you meet her?’
‘I saw her once.’ Donna says, remembering the exotic woman at the nightclub. The woman who stole Sarah away.
‘She has Star. She kidnapped her. I’m going to rescue her.’
‘What? We have to tell the police.’
‘We can’t. They couldn’t help us anyway.’
‘Of course they could. We have to let them know. You’re a fool Steve. A self-centred idiot. You’re not going to risk my best friend’s life so you can be a hero.’
‘Of course I’m not. She’s…’
‘What?’
‘She’s already dead.’
Donna screams. She screams so loudly that Steve seems to shake as he covers his ears with his hands. The bricks beneath her shudder and windows rock in their frames. Doors open and neighbours hurry into the street. She has no idea how long the sound lasts, but when it ends an arc of people rush towards her from three directions. She feels Steve’s hand touch her shoulder and she pulls away. Staggering to her feet, she runs.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she yells as she races away from the street. ‘I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. You bastard!’ No, no, not dead, not dead. I can feel her. She’s not dead. ‘You’re a lying fuck, Steve.’
She flees. Turning wide around the corner, her foot falls heavily onto the road, jolting her leg and hip. She ignores the pain and keeps running. Spotting an opening between some hedges, Donna darts inside. No one follows her, but she feels safer hidden. She sinks to the ground and weeps into the damp grass. Sarah isn’t dead. She’s alive and I’ll find her, with or without his help.
She pushes herself up and opens her bag. With trembling hands she searches for her lighter and a cigarette. She doesn’t smoke, or didn’t until a few weeks ago. The stress is too great. She needs a few moments of calm between each storm. She’ll quit when Sarah is home again.
She pushes the paper-covered cylinder between her lips. It catches on some dry skin. She softens her mouth and tugs it away. Flicking the wheel of her lighter she makes fire - a dancing flame, yellow and blue, she watches it move and thrusts the cigarette into its centre. The tip glows red. She inhales, filling her throat with smoke. Her head soars for a moment then returns to her body and she sinks into the soft, muddy earth. Her coat will need cleaning, but for the moment she doesn’t care. This moment shared between her lungs and the white stick between her fingers is all she wishes to concentrate on. Let oblivion take me.
She hears footsteps on the other side of the hedge. Is it Steve? How did Sarah put up with it? Always being sought, always being found.
She tries to push herself under the branches. At least she is wearing black. She always does. She can hide in the shadows. Reluctantly she stubs out the red tip of her cigarette and curls her body beneath the branches. The few russet and orange leaves, which cling obstinately to the branches, rustle as she pushes herself into the hedgerow. Insects scuttle through her hair making her skin crawl more than ever.
It’s getting dark already. What time is it? It could be as early as four. The sun sets rapidly this time of year. She strains her ears, but the footsteps have receded. She stretches her legs towards the empty park. The dampness from the grass has soaked through her coat. She feels cold. Risking discovery, she stands up. Steve isn’t there. No one is there. No, wait! Someone is. In the distance between the trees a shape moves. It isn’t him. She sees a skirt, fanned out like a spinning top. Faint music beckons her: a delicate voice singing or chanting. Donna considers approaching the dancer. She is intrigued as to who would come to this park alone. She takes a step towards the trees then sighs. The dancer vanishes. Standing still, Donna watches and waits. The dancer must have disappeared into shadows or hidden behind a tree or she imagined them. The silence threatens her. Donna hurries away.
Her bedsit is cold when she arrives home. She misses Raven’s flat, the conversation, even the bickering. This place is lonely. Words of strangers overheard through paper-thin walls make her feel alone, separate and distinct from all other life. The greying wallpaper threatens to bury her. Not for the first time the desire to leave this city and return to her mother rises inside her. Not yet. Not until I find Sarah.
Chapter 8
Satori uncovers his face. His hands drip tears. Donna was bound to come eventually. He’d forgotten how much he disliked her, her jealousy and her possessiveness.
Will she tell the police? He doubts it, but she might. Would they take her seriously if she did? Fuck it! They’re coming back anyway to ask more questions, to try to intimidate me into giving evidence. Evidence against whom, Star, Paul, myself?
Satori has work to do. No time to linger on the problems of this world. He made a promise and he plans to keep it. He checks his watch, half-four. He still has time to get there and back.
The gravestone is discreet, a simple black cross. Lilies left as a token to her memory have withered and white petals lick the base of the marble marker.
‘I’m sorry, Raven.’ He touches the earth that covers her. ‘It wasn’t Star’s fault. It was mine.’
The wind picks up and he draws his coat closer around his body. Three golden leaves fall around him. He reaches for the leaves, kisses them and lays them on her grave. He sighs then crouches beside her in silence. He aches for her forgiveness. Echoes of a distant voice whisper between the branches above. Satori strains his ears, hoping to hear her words.
‘Thank you, Raven. I love you too. I will find Star. I’ll bring her to you soon. I promise.’ He brushes the cold cross with his lips then walks away.
‘Long time no see, Bro. What the fuck happened to your face?’ Ivan stretches out his arm and clasps Satori’s hand. Instantly Satori feels stronger. Ivan’s smile is warm but his eyes are clouded.
‘Thanks for coming, Ivan. This? It’s nothing.’ Satori shrugs. ‘Come inside. I’ll get you a drink. Coffee?’
‘Just water, thanks. How have you been?’ Ivan asks.
‘You know,’ Satori replies.
‘Yes.’ Ivan’s face tilts towards the floor.
Satori regrets that the subject has altered their moods so quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Ivan,’ he says, passing his friend a glass of water.
‘Some days are easier than others, but I miss her.’
‘Has your Dad calmed down?’
‘About you?’ Ivan laughs. ‘No, I doubt he ever will. But there are other things to distract him right now.’
‘What things?’
‘Another time maybe, when I understand them better. For now, what is it you want from me, Satori? Why did you ask me to come?’
‘Ivan, Ivan…’
‘Yes…’
‘I need to get somewhere. Somewhere I’ve never been. Somewhere I don’t have a map for.’
‘Go on,’ Ivan stares at Satori.
Satori can feel his friend analysing every movement of his face. It feels like being under a microscope, similar to the way the policeman made him feel; however, he knows that Ivan’
s study will prove more fruitful.
‘Maybe I should tell you everything,’ Satori says with a sigh.
‘I have plenty of time,’ Ivan answers.
‘I imagine you already know most of it.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Why don’t you tell me what you know and I’ll try to fill in any blanks.’
‘Let me get a whisky first,’ Satori says.
‘Why don’t you pour me one as well?’
Satori and Ivan take their drinks into the living room. They sit on separate chairs, leaning forwards so they can talk in whispers even though the house is empty. The house seems to fold inwards around them as though the boundaries of their realities have shrunk. Only the peaty heat of the whisky and each other’s words hold their attention.
‘Well you know that they think Star killed Raven, right?’ Satori asks.
Ivan swallows hard and coughs. He nods. His eyes are full of water as tears of pain mingle with the effects of the whisky.
‘I don’t think she did. You see I summoned Lilith. Well I didn’t, but she came anyway and it was my fault, my mistake.’
‘Lilith?’
‘A demon. She seduced Star and tricked me. To cut a long story short, I made love to Star and she got pregnant, but with Lilith’s baby… or so I understand. It’s all so fucked up.’ He glances at Ivan to check his friend is listening. ‘Well I reckon either the baby controlled Star and made her, you know, kill…’ He pauses for breath and lifts his eyes to look at Ivan again. The man’s mouth is twisted with pain. Satori wants to embrace his friend and make everything better, but he knows nothing can. ‘Or Lilith killed Raven and made it look like… like Star… I can’t believe. I won’t believe. Star couldn’t…’
Ivan shakes his head. ‘Slow down, Satori. I can’t keep up. A baby? Lilith? Answer me this. Did you see Raven? Afterwards?’
Satori shakes his head all the time keeping eye contact with Ivan.
‘I did,’ Ivan whispers into his glass.
Satori waits, but Ivan doesn’t elaborate so he continues. ‘Ivan… oh god, Ivan. What have I done?’ Ivan has no answer so Satori spews words to fill the silence. ‘Well after that the two of them, Lilith and Star, travelled to Scotland. I followed them. I sent Lilith back to Chaos. I opened a rift and summoned her from within it. That’s how I got this scar. Lilith wasn’t very happy with me. I was too late. Star was pregnant and probably mad. Driven crazy by grief, terror or guilt, maybe all three. Star killed herself before I could bring her home. I couldn’t save her.’
They sit in silence for minutes, each contemplating the words in the amber glow of their drinks. That the two dead women are women they have loved only adds to the pain each would have felt anyway.
‘So much has happened. So much has changed.’ Satori buries his head in his hands and weeps.
When his glass is empty Ivan speaks. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t save her.’
‘I promised I would find her, Ivan. She’ll be with Lilith. You know about these things. You know about The Planes. Didn’t you tell me you’d travelled them?’
‘What you’re talking about is different, Satori. I’m a shaman not a Kabbalist, not a sorcerer. I visit other worlds, yes, but not those worlds.’
‘But you travel? Astrally, I mean. I feel so lost. I’ve always known what to do. I even knew how to open a gate to Chaos and yet when I stepped inside everything changed. I don’t want to forget what I’m doing. I can’t afford to make any more mistakes.’
‘Maybe I can help you a little. You’ll need a sacred space. Do you have one? A place you can visit in your head that’s yours alone?’
‘I have a calm spot.’
‘Anything there?’ Ivan asks.
‘No,’ Satori answers.
‘Anchor yourself to that place. You will need to build something, a house or a temple or simply plant a tree. Make it real. You must be able to smell the air and touch the things around you. Once that part of the world is yours you can explore the rest. Make your mark and you’ll find your way home again.’
‘Thank you. Really, thank you,’ Satori says.
‘You’re welcome. Satori… I’ve never seen you humble before. It suits you. Try to keep hold of that.’
Satori nods. ‘I will.’
Ivan clears his throat. Staring into his friend’s eyes, he frowns. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this or even whether I should.’
‘What? Tell me what?’ Satori dries his eyes with his sleeve and straightens his back.
‘If I am to tell you I’ll need you to make a promise and keep it. You cannot look for revenge. You can only use the information to make the journey ahead clearer. Do you agree?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I can promise that.’
Ivan nods. ‘I think it’s time for me to leave. Good luck with your journey, Satori. If you need me you know where I am.’
‘No. Wait! You have to tell me.’ Satori reaches across and grasps Ivan’s wrist.
Ivan pulls his arm free and shakes his head. ‘You’re wrong, Bro. Of course, if you decide you can accept my terms we can speak more. Thank you for the whisky and the information. It helps me understand things more clearly.’
‘What things?’
‘Things. Goodbye, Satori. Good luck.’
Chapter 9
Freya lies on her bed. The distant rumblings of her parents’ argument prick at the edges of her consciousness. It’s always the same. There is no peace in the house any longer.
She closes her eyes and reminds herself that her mind will stay awake. Her body is used to the routine now and it lets go without a struggle.
She stands in the woodland glade inside her head. Her precious willow tree shimmies before her. There is no breeze, but its beautiful trailing branches always move. Freya smiles and joins the dance. Light steps and angled ankles follow a pattern remembered from lives past. Her hips sway and her body turns and spins. It is a dance of freedom, of self-knowledge and power.
When the dance is over Freya parts the branches of her tree and steps inside its golden cage. At the base of the trunk she has gathered objects. Things she has found here and wished to collect. She picks them up one by one and strokes them. The first is a giant conch, a white and pink shell that fits easily over her ear. Through its tunnels she can hear the sea or sometimes the howling wind. Once she even heard her goddess in its chambers. She lifts the conch in one hand. It is light and ridged, brittle and polished. She holds it to her ear. The sea whispers and hushes her thoughts. She sits for a while, listening to the ocean.
The next treasure is a perfect skeleton: a mouse or a vole. Even its tiny toes are intact. She handles it carefully and stares though the rib cage, losing her thoughts in the white stripes - bone, nothing, bone, nothing, bone, nothing. If she wanted she could crush it into dust, destroy it completely and blow the pieces into the wind, if the wind ever came, but she doesn’t want to.
Pale, scaled skin lies beside the other objects. She strokes it with her fingertips. It always feels less rough than she imagines it will feel. Even though she has touched it dozens of times she is still surprised.
Her final prize, Lilith must have left it here for her. She knows it is not part of this world but of the world she left behind, where her body still sleeps. Jewels catch the shards of light that nudge through the willow branches. Silver cast into a flowing ribbon joins the black and jewelled hilt. Dried blood clings to the seam between blade and handle. Freya knows what it is, whose it is. Lilith has told her. She also knows Satori will be coming back for it and she is ready to greet him. She lifts the dagger and casts circles in the air before her - an opener of worlds, bringer of destruction, powerful yet inept and unworthy. She grins. I can’t wait.
Replacing her treasure, she emerges from the tree. On one side of the glade the sun hangs low in the sky, giving warmth and light. Shadows from the crowded forest wall reach towards her like beggars’ fingers. On the other side the moon peers over the trees, almost aquamarine in colou
r but pale, like an opal. She can step from sunlight into darkness at will. In the sunlight butterflies flit between flowers and the air hangs heavy with exotic fragrance. In the moonlight fairy rings of fly agaric stand proud above the silvered grass.
Freya dances between these two worlds, the darkness and the light. Feeling superhuman, she straddles time and place. Guided by her goddess she created this world, her sanctuary.
Half hidden between trees, a path waits. At its entrance stands a twisted tree, taller than the rest. A serpent is coiled in its branches. The pathway beckons her. She wonders what might lie beyond, but the snake is a ferocious guard. Its forked tongue flickers when she strays too close. It frightens her. No doubt the snake skin was shed from this beast. The nagging thought that she found it among the willow branches makes her shudder. The snake must move around the glade. A desire to crush it beneath her heel rises again in her, but she must not hurt it. The snake represents an aspect of her goddess. Even an aspect which is feared should be respected.
It is too peaceful here. The thoughts she ignores in the other world nag at her open mind. She needs distractions and she misses her brother. Sniffing her bare forearms, she yearns for the smell of him. She recalls memories of him, the sounds he makes: the gentle padding of his bare feet and the scratching hiss of his MP3 player. She wishes she could bring Ivan here with her or, if not him, another man. How perfect would sex in this magical place be? She wills herself to leave the glade and wakes up in her bedroom.
In her arms she cradles a crumpled white t-shirt. Beside her a book rests. Freya’s velvet skirt is spread across her bed. She touches her forehead and realises she is cold. She staggers to her wardrobe and grabs a moth-eaten cardigan. A garment reclaimed dozens of times from the bin. She pushes her arms through the fragile sleeves. She tiptoes to her brother’s door and taps lightly, but he doesn’t answer.
‘Ivan,’ she calls. She pushes the door handle down and peers around the door into an empty room. Where is he?
If they were still speaking to each other Freya would ask her mother. Unfortunately, the silent treatment has been almost continuous for the six weeks since Freya was caught spying on Ivan. She searches his desk and diary for clues, but finds none. The last entry was months ago. Freya sits on the edge of her brother’s bed to think. He spends less time here than he used to, unwilling to face her after that wonderful night. She has thought of little else. She aches to lick his skin again, to press her body against his. She knows it will not happen. She has lost him. His smile has gone. The light in his eyes extinguished. Even his teasing has ceased. Was it worth it? Of course. She would do it all again in a heartbeat.
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