I am alone. I have no one. She returns to her bedroom and stares at the ceiling. The book beckons to her. She picks it up and flicks through its pages, but she knows every word. It has no more secrets to show her. Not now she has spoken to the source.
She flicks off the light and curls up under her covers. Closing her eyes, she pictures a face. It isn’t her brother’s face, nor Dave’s nor Satori’s but the best aspects of each: Ivan’s soft mouth, Dave’s long hair and Satori’s sparkling grey eyes. She kisses the lips and breathes deeply. The scent is heady. It makes her body spin and her stomach flip. She grabs the hair of her phantom lover, just behind his neck, and pulls him closer to her. Their lips move against each other. Their bodies press together so hard it feels as though she might sink within him and be swallowed whole. She wants to penetrate his flesh, be inside him. Her fingernails dig into his buttocks. She feels him swell against her. Her need is his need. Only the magic of imagination can make it happen. Her throbbing clit grows and swells. It becomes a serpent searching for a home within this other. As he enters her she enters him. The feeling is electrifying. Every nerve ending screams with hunger and desire. To fuck and be fucked. They move in and out together, like waves at the moment the tide is turning, meeting in a peak of ecstasy. Her body moves against her mattress as imagined hands grab her breasts and buttocks. Panting, she climaxes into her incubus.
A soft knocking at her door brings her back to reality.
‘Who is it?’
‘Love it’s me,’ says her father in a low voice. ‘Are you okay? I heard noises.’
‘I’m fine thanks, Dad. Come in.’
‘I just wondered…have you heard from Donna recently? Is she okay?’
‘She moved. I think she’s okay.’
‘Would you phone her, sweetheart? Check she’s fine. Invite her over for dinner.’
‘What about Mum?’
‘Your mum will be fine. She’s stronger than you think.’
‘Dad,’ Freya says. Staring at his face, she looks for changes in his expression, a nervous tick, a frown, anything that might tell her whether he knows. ‘Where’s Ivan?’
Nothing. No change from the look of suffering sympathy her father always seems to wear. He shrugs. ‘I expect he’ll be back soon.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Freya says, smiling. ‘I’ll phone Donna now.’
‘Good girl. Send her my love.’ Her father slips through her doorway and out of her room.
Freya reaches for her bag and feels inside for her mobile phone. As her fingers find the nylon case she hears a key turn in the front door. Her heart leaps – Ivan. Still holding her mobile, she listens as he mounts each stair. Every step brings him closer to her door, but he never reaches her. Instead she hears his bedroom door creak and the whisper of the wood rub against the new carpet. She can even make out the shifting of bedsprings as he sits at the end of his mattress. Swallowing hard she closes her ears to his sounds and tries to decide what to say to Donna. Poor Donna: friends with Raven, in love with Sarah and grieving for both.
Chapter 10
Satori closes his eyes. He can feel his quiet place. He tries to push through, but it is a feeling rather than a space he can physically inhabit. It isn’t a room. It is peace and quiet, nothing more. Ivan was wrong.
I have to do this. Shit, if Ivan can do it I’m damned sure I can too. He lies down on his soft duvet. Tiredness threatens to overwhelm him. ‘I will not go to sleep,’ he promises. ‘My mind will stay awake. My mind will leave my body and travel to my sacred place,’ Sacred, why does the word make me sneer. Nothing is sacred, or everything is.
Satori lies there brooding. His ability to clear his mind seems to have deserted him. All he can see is the hole he digs with his bare hands. Blood and earth mix. That is sacred. Blood and earth. He sniffs his fingers. Her blood has been washed away and his skin sterilised. He should have tried harder to preserve her. It isn’t too late. It’s never too late.
He lets his arms fall to his sides and concentrates. His body shudders. He focuses his mind on his hands and the way the cotton feels beneath his fingertips. His fingers flex and relax as if embarrassed by his scrutiny. Hair follicles tingle and his palms itch. He feels his hands rise. The duvet no longer cushions his fingers. Instead he feels two pairs of hands. One pair lifts out of his body. The other remains motionless on the bed. Both are joined together at the fingertips. He can feel every groove of his fingerprints. He wants to explore the feeling, touch the rest of his body with his phantom hands, but with a violent shake he is gone.
Satori stands near the summit of a grassy hill. Its base is skirted by woodland. Above him a grey tower penetrates the sky. He steps towards it. When he presses his fingers against the door he feels the sharp, weather-aged wood. The handle is black, but vivid green oxidisation threatens to consume it. His fingers encircle the metal. He waits, his hand shaking, unsure of whether he should knock. Inhaling, he turns the handle and follows the movement of the door as it sweeps inwards. The room he enters is circular. There are no stairs and when he looks up he can see stars. He steps backwards. Outside the tower a cool autumn sun shines. Inside belongs to a nighttime world. He steps back in to the tower. Two meters above his head hangs a halo of candles. In their flickering light he can see the walls of the tower are covered in books. He cannot see titles on their spines but he is convinced he could find any book he desired in this library. At the centre stands a high backed green leather chair. Satori smiles. The room is perfect.
He wants to sit down and enjoy this space, drink the whisky that glows amber in a crystal decanter on the table beside the chair. He longs to read books he has only ever dreamed of seeing. He takes a step towards the chair then pulls himself back. Perhaps there will be time for play later, but not now.
Outside the low sun makes him blink. The forest which fans out below him looks enormous. From this distance there are no visible clues as to where he should start his search.
As he descends the steep hill he breaks into a run. The forest pulls him towards it. It wants to engulf him. He leans backwards trying to slow his pace, but the power of his momentum is greater than his strength to stop. His heart races. He will be smashed on the trees below. His legs neither hear nor obey him; they pick up speed. Leaves and branches slip out of focus as he rushes towards them.
Fuck! He panics, but as always his brain soars ahead to find a solution. Before the idea can be acknowledged by his consciousness, his back bends and his head pushes between his knees. His legs buckle and he rolls. Two somersaults and he lands heavily on his back, arms spread wide, staring at the pale blue sky, trying to catch his breath.
Checking for bruises and broken bones, he gently pats himself. Apart from burning pain in his shoulder muscle, he is unscathed and intact. He looks back at the tower above him then at the row of trees a few feet below. Why would I create a place like this? Surely a sacred place should be safe. Mine wants to destroy me. I must tame it before I leave. Make it my own. Staring at the hill he bends it to his will. Shallow steps rise out of the grass. In a spiral they wind upwards toward the tower. Their treads are obsidian. They steal the light from the sky and reflect back dark clouds and a blood red moon. Rising from the ground he steps upon the first tread. It looks treacherous, but his foot feels stable. He considers adding a balustrade: a wrought iron monstrosity with a serpent’s head that will follow the curve of the staircase. He imagines resting his fingers on the scaly metal as he ascends and it forms in perfect harmony with his imagination. The tower whispers its invitation, ‘Stay, change me, mould me into your deepest desires.’ No, I have already spent too much time here. Star needs me. Who knows what tortures Lilith has enjoyed with her?
He steps slowly towards the trees. It is impossible to see beyond the wall of foliage. Only darkness seems to dwell within the forest. He could never push through without his flesh being torn from his bones. He walks around the base of the hill. His eyes scan the border, looking for a way through, a gap to exploit.
The uneven ground tries to topple him with every step. He curses his choices. Why would anyone choose beauty above simplicity? The complexity of his sacred space is nothing compared to the terrible intricacy of his life. He feels the master of self-sabotage. He had love and he threw it away. If he succeeds, if he wins Star back, he will flatten his cairn and build a wooden hut. He’ll plant herbs and let the sunshine warm his soul. If he fails he will die here - a fitting monument to his wasted energy.
He arrives at the far side of the hill. The door to his tower is hidden from view. Not even a window marks the granite wall. It looks sad, mournful. It makes him ache to look at it. His eyes fill with tears. He sinks to the ground and weeps.
Something brushes his hand. He looks up. A blurry vision of a hare sniffs his skin. The hare is grey and huge. Its intelligent head would reach Satori’s knees were he standing and its impressive ears might extend its height to pelvis level. He wipes his eyes and stares at the creature. It stares back.
‘Who are you?’ Satori asks.
In reply the hare lifts a front paw and touches the centre of Satori’s forehead.
‘Show me the way out of here,’ Satori says.
The animal turns and lopes away from him. Satori pushes himself to his feet and stumbles behind. At first he worries he might lose sight of his guide but the hare keeps turning back and waiting. They continue to walk anti-clockwise around the hill until the staircase becomes visible once more. Despair rips at Satori’s chest. The stupid animal. The hare veers right and heads towards the trees. It disappears out of sight. Satori sits and stares at the dark treeline then he notices something he did not see before. A vine trails from the forest. Not an entrance but at least it is something different to the monotonous vista. He walks towards it and the trees part in front of him. A path, carpeted with pine needles, heads straight into the forest. Ahead the hare’s ears twitch. He is being beckoned.
Chapter 11
Sarah wakes. Ice stabs at her stomach. She tries to open her eyes but they are sealed shut. What has happened to me? She tries hard to remember. A dance, my body soared above the crowd. Was I tripping? What else? Satori swam towards me. A cave. A fire. Where am I now? Where is Satori? Has he left me here? Why am I so cold?
She touches her stomach. Her hand touches something hard where only air should be. Something metallic juts from her body at the navel. It moves as she touches it and her stomach tears. She screams. What the fuck? Terrified, she lifts her fingers to her lips. Her trembling tongue stretches out to taste whatever it might be and understand it better. Metallic taste, bitter, it’s blood. My blood?
Her mind scrambles to remember. Pictures cling together but none of them fit: a dog, a woman, soup, then blood, blood on a toilet seat; a knife tears through skin, a ring of stones. What can it mean?
‘Am I dead?’ Her words echo around her. Can the dead speak? If only I could open my eyes.
She hears movement a few feet away from her. ‘Who’s there?’
Whatever it is doesn’t answer. The sound seems low to the ground, an animal perhaps? She tries to wave her arms, frighten it away. Effort rips her stomach. She gives up, panting. The sound shuffles closer. Sarah tries to push herself away. Every inch is an excruciating effort. While the noise gains ground faster than she can move. The smell of decaying fish and molasses fills her nostrils. She gags and her stomach cramps, but it only brings more pain. The creature’s breath chills her cheek. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. Wake up. Wake up.
A tongue, rough as a cat’s, flicks across her cheek. She recoils. Oh god the pain! The tearing, burning pain.
‘What are you?’ She tears at her eyelids with fingernails but they refuse to open. Blood flows from her eyes, congealing on her temples and in her hair. The tongue touches her face again, a soft hiss.
‘M-m-m,’ a terrible voice rasps.
‘What do you want?’ she pleads.
‘M-m-m.’
The face, she supposes it can be called that, moves away. She hears more shuffling. Then hard, dry lips clamp themselves around her breast and suck deeply. Star feels her soul being pulled from her. She tries to cling to it. Tell it to stay. A macabre game of tug of war between herself and this creature is fought. Her soul is the prize. The mouth slurps around her nipple. Warm milk squirts from her into the creature’s mouth. Sharp teeth squeeze her flesh. Her mind lets go and she screams.
Chapter 12
‘Hi Freya.’ Donna speaks softly. The green glow of the mobile screen throws an eerie light around her dark room.
‘Did I wake you?’ Freya asks.
‘No, of course not. I was just resting.’
‘How are you? How’s the new flat?’
Donna doesn’t answer. What is there to say? Freya is only being polite. She doesn’t really want to know.
‘Can I come round? I’d like to see you.’ Freya sounds as though she has more to say. The silence is a wound between them. Donna realises it is her turn to speak.
‘Now?’ Donna thinks about the unwashed plates and food wrappers strewn across the floor. Does it smell?
‘Is that okay?’ Freya asks.
Is it okay? Will Freya’s company feel like an intrusion into the mist of solitude I have wrapped around me? ‘Sure…I mean yeah. That would be great. It’s a bit of a hole though. I’ll text you the address.’
‘You want me to bring anything? Food, milk, tea, coffee, wine?’
‘Alcohol would be good.’
‘See you soon.’
After sending the promised text Donna puts the still glowing phone on her bedside table. Standing, she leans against the wall. Her legs wobble, unused to the exertion of supporting her weight. She opens the bedroom door and wanders into her living room and kitchenette space. Shit, the room is such a mess. She grabs a bin liner and starts filling it with the debris. Mangy looking orange carpet becomes visible between mounds of rubbish as empty and unopened envelopes, cans and sandwich boxes, crumpled newspapers and dirty underwear are thrown indiscriminately into the shiny black plastic. She ties the top of the bulging sack. Done. She swills two glasses under the cold tap, rubbing lipstick marks off with her fingertips. She returns to her bedroom to tug at her hair with a brush and draws over the seam of her eyelashes with kohl. Then she waits.
The squeak of Ivan’s brakes interrupts the silence. Donna presses her face against the window to watch Freya step out of the passenger door. The Volkswagon pulls away and Donna sighs as its lights disappear behind houses. At the edge of her perception her doorbell buzzes. Freya! The external door’s hinges groan sounds of complaint. Unmoving, Donna follows the sounds of her friend’s footsteps along the hall. The knock at her door drags her away from the window.
‘I’ll just be a moment,’ Donna shouts. She looks around the room again and decides it is close to acceptable for company then crosses the room and opens the door. She tries to smile, but the skin around her mouth feels too tight and she suspects the effect is a grimace. ‘Sorry, Freya. I didn’t hear the doorbell.’
‘Ahh, don’t stress it,’ Freya replies handing Donna a bottle of red wine. ‘It’s a screw top. Didn’t know if you’d have a corkscrew.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So how are you?’
Donna nods slowly. She doesn’t try to smile again. ‘I’m okay.’
‘No, I mean how are you, really? Crap I should think. I can’t stop thinking about it. We were there. How the fuck did we not realise? I miss them. I bet you do too. And what’s happened to Satori? Did he just vanish or summat?’
‘He’s back. I saw him today.’
‘Oh. How was he?’ Freya asks.
‘Slimy toad,’ Donna answers.
Freya nods. A tiny smile flits across her lips then vanishes. ‘I always wondered what they both saw in him. I take it you’re not a fan either.’
Donna frowns. ‘No. Not really.’
‘What did he say? Has he seen Star?’
Donna shakes her head. ‘I don’t
know. We didn’t speak. I just saw him is all.’
Freya sighs. ‘Get the wine open then girl. Dunno ’bout you but I need a drink.’
Donna tears the metal seal and pours the wine. Warmth spreads through her with the first sip. She could lose herself in this bottle, in other bottles. Forget pain, forget misery and remember the good times and the unfulfilled promise of love.
‘I wish she was here,’ Donna says more to herself than Freya.
‘Perhaps she is.’
‘Steve says she’s dead.’
‘I thought you didn’t speak to him,’ Freya says.
Donna is silent. She stares at the deep red liquid trying to find an answer.
‘What else did he say?’ Freya asks.
‘I don’t remember.’ Donna continues staring into her glass.
‘Try. It’s important.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know unless you tell me.’ There is a threat of anger in Freya’s voice.
‘He’s full of shit.’
‘Perhaps. But I think he might be the key to finding her.’
‘Do you? What do you know about it?’ Donna asks.
‘Nothing. Just a feeling.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I know the woman she ran away with,’ Freya says.
‘Why didn’t you say before? We have to tell the police.’
‘They can’t help.’
‘Fuck you. That’s what he said too. I can’t just sit around here feeling useless. You know what happened, don’t you? Tell me. Tell me now.’
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