Standing behind the curtains, he studies the room. At its centre stands a cot. Through the gaps of its white wooden struts he sees a sleeping infant covered in a pale green blanket. He shuts the window behind him to make sure the baby’s room doesn’t get cold.
The room is silent, but as he moves to the door he hears a soft purring, vibrating noise. Stepping into the hall, he follows the noise to a door that stands ajar. He pushes it open slowly and quietly. Before him is a double bed. Two sleepers lie together beneath a crumpled duvet. The one on the right is a blonde haired woman and the one of the left is a man with fair, but not quite blonde, hair. The sound comes from the sleepers. It is the noise they make when they breathe.
Edensun creeps across the room. The woman, Freya, stirs and he freezes, but she doesn’t wake. Her contribution to the purring, vibrating duet resumes.
As he stands above Rob, the sleeper awakens and his eyes flick open. Edensun places his finger before his lips and Rob stares up at him unable to comprehend. The man moves to reach out to the woman beside him. When Edensun shakes his head Rob’s fingers tremble then slowly withdraw, away from her shoulder.
‘What do you want?’ Rob whispers.
‘I need to send Freya somewhere,’ Edensun answers.
Rob shakes his head. His eyes widen as he sees the glint of metal in the youth’s fist. Edensun strikes before Rob can articulate a scream. Air wheezes from the wound on impact. Rob’s eyes grow dull and his body sinks into the mattress. The youth pulls his knife from Rob’s chest and slams it into his victim again and again, enjoying the cracking, wheezing sounds the body makes. When he is satisfied, Edensun watches blood spread through the fabric of Rob’s t-shirt.
He wipes the blade clean on the sheets and pockets it before leaving, as he arrived, through the narrow window in the baby’s room.
Chapter 16
Star lies on her bed. She lifts her legs and turns her ankles, watching the play of shadow and light on her skin.
A face fills her head: a male face, similar to Satori’s but with darker skin and vivid green eyes. She reaches out to stroke the soft warm cheek of the familiar stranger and smiles as his lips move to kiss her fingertips. The feeling is as soft as butterfly wings against her flesh.
She moves her hand between her thighs and strokes the velvet flesh beneath her panties. Other faces join the stranger’s. They watch her mouth open and close with the sounds of pleasure. Satori is there and Ivan and another, a face in shadow. She screams as the shadow lifts and she recognises her father’s disapproving stare. Her hand jolts back is if electrified. ‘I’m sorry.’ She turns from them in shame and weeps.
Clutching her burning stomach, she curls her body and sobs into the pillow. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ she repeats until she falls asleep.
When she wakes the room is dark. She checks the clock and wonders whether Satori has already returned. She tidies her skirt before leaving the room to check.
‘Satori?’ She wanders around her silent home. ‘Are you here?’
There is no answer. She grabs a plate from the kitchen and fills it with salad leaves. Sinking into an armchair, she switches on the television and watches the news. There is a story about a dog that saved a little girl and her father, and a few words about a murder in a drainage tunnel. The weather prediction is for a cold snap before spring sets in properly.
Star sighs and eats without relish. Boredom grips her in its bony fingers. Ideas flick through her mind of things she might do to distract herself, paint, read or dance. Inertia keeps her seated before the chattering television set. She leans her head against the back of the chair and thinks.
I am the mother and the sun. In Binah I was everything, lover of a goddess, mother, mistress of a giant snake. Here I am a failed artist whose sex drive peaks beyond all measure. Did I make the right choice? Did I choose at all or did I just follow him home?
She imagines her son, the tiny sharp-toothed infant she had so easily discarded. He would be four now, walking and talking. Does he speak about me? What does Lilith tell him? Does he think I hate him because he is different? Just like my father and mother hate me. ‘I shouldn’t have left you.’
She leans forwards and changes the channel. Black and white images of Morticia and Gomez fill the screen. Now there’s a real goddess, she thinks as she snuggles into the chair to watch.
Three episodes later she starts to wonder whether something might have happened to Satori. She tries to phone him, but his mobile is switched off. She growls in frustration. For as long as she has known him he has always been unreliable with his phone and timekeeping. It’s another thing on the long list of things about him, which annoy her now.
Chapter 17
Freya pushes the pram around the town. It bounces over cobblestones at the Shambles. Voices fight each other for her attention, offering her the best deals on fruit, vegetables and electrical goods. She glances at her phone. The signal is strong, but no message yet.
Jasmine wakes and starts to cry. Freya pushes her faster around the marketplace. She ignores other people and stares at her daughter through a veil of tears. She is grateful for the size and weight of the old fashioned pram. No one tries to push past her; they avoid her as if she is driving a tank rather than pushing a baby.
Jasmine’s wails squeeze Freya’s skull. The pressure in her head makes her brain pound and her thoughts chaotic. Nothing makes sense. She thinks of the room: Rob in bed covered with blood, her unharmed. She didn’t hear a sound as he was slaughtered. How could the murderer have been so quiet? How did they get in and out of the flat? Who would murder him? Was it someone Rob knew? Rob was always so sweet to me and Jasmine. How could he upset anyone to the point that they would want him dead?
She checks her phone again, still no call from her father or brother. It has only been two hours. They won’t arrive for ages. In the meantime she must try to keep calm, not draw attention to herself, and stop Jasmine crying.
Freya pushes the pram into a coffee shop at the edge of the market. She sits at a table with plastic flowers in a metal vase. She lifts her baby from the pram and opens her blouse. Instantly Jasmine settles. She is hungry. She is always hungry.
A woman comes across the room, holding a notepad and pencil. She smiles at the baby and then at Freya.
‘It’s lovely to see a woman feeding her baby,’ she says. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Tea, please,’ Freya answers.
‘Do you also want some water? You know, to top your fluids back up.’
‘Sure, thanks.’
‘How about something to eat?’
‘Ummm, what?’
‘We’re still serving breakfasts. Can I bring you one?’
Freya shakes her head. ‘Just tea for now, okay?’
‘No problem. Let me know if you change your mind. Nursing mummies have to stay strong, right?’
Freya shrugs. ‘Yeah, I guess. Look, I don’t want to be rude, but…’
‘I’m sorry.’ The woman blushes. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. Your tea and water will be with you in a minute.’
Freya nods. ‘Thanks.’
Freya looks at her phone again. She considers dialling Ivan’s number, but what good would that do? She can hardly talk about the murder scene on the telephone in a café. She’s better waiting until they get here and they can see for themselves. Maybe they can help me understand what happened?
Jasmine falls asleep in Freya’s arms. The waitress returns with a pot of tea and a cup. She nods at Freya’s open blouse and exposed breast. Freya frowns, looks down and blushes. She lays Jasmine back in the pram and buttons her blouse. Within seconds the baby wakes and starts screaming again. The waitress pulls a sympathetic face and walks away. Freya sighs and picks Jasmine up again. The baby reaches for her mother’s breast. Always hungry.
Chapter 18
‘Are you busy?’ Star asks.
The telephone line goes quiet for a moment.
‘Ivan?’ she asks again
.
‘Hi, Star.’ Ivan answers. ‘Look, I’m sorry it’s a bad time. I’m on my way with Dad and Bill, out of town for a couple of days.’
‘Shit!’ she says.
‘Call Satori.’
She bites her nails. ‘I can’t.’
‘Of course you can. He’ll want to help.’
‘Anyway he’s busy.’
‘I’m sorry. I really am, but I’m busy too.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Take a few deep breaths. Meditate. Stay at home. What time’s Satori due back?’
‘I dunno. Eight-ish.’
‘I’m really sorry, Star. You know I’d help if I could. You can do this. You can get through it. It’s only a few hours.’
‘Sure. Sorry I bothered you,’ she answers.
‘Don’t…’
She hangs up without listening to Ivan’s reply.
Should I phone Satori? He would come home. Ivan’s right. But I don’t want him, do I?
She goes to her drawer and takes out a ten inch vibrator. She looks at it and strokes its length. It will have to do. It’s all she has for now. She pulls off her panties and holds the dildo by its vibrating base. She straddles the latex cock and pushes herself onto it. She is wet enough, thinking about Ivan and playing with herself for an hour before even calling him. She moves herself up and down, imaging him inside her, imagining any man inside her. She feels empty. She needs to be filled. Her body aches. Her vagina cries out in pain and longing. Why do I feel like this?
Lilith? All that time as Lilith’s plaything, is this the result? Did the demon taint me? Are we the same - insatiable? No, not all the time, only when…only when the moon is full or when it’s new, empty, black. Then I am afraid to go outside. Afraid of what I might do and yet afraid to be alone. It hurts. I can fuck myself for hours and yet when I stop, when my arm is so tired I can hardly move, I still need more.
She rides the dildo more frantically, bruising her cervix. Her body vibrates, but she doesn’t orgasm. She isn’t there yet. She can never get there, not like this.
She throws the vibrator across the room. Batteries spill from its guts. The pink rubber is smeared with white from her body. She stares at it, her eyes full of hatred and accusation.
‘Fuck you!’ Her hatred is for Ivan, Satori, Lilith, herself, the vibrator and all of mankind. Everything hurts. Everything aches. The butterfly inside her breaks its wings against its cage. She has to get out. No, I can’t go out. What if?
She falls onto the bed and screams. Tears stream from her eyes, soaking the duvet. She reaches for her mobile and dials Satori’s number. The call goes straight to message. ‘Fucker!’ she screams. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’
She sweats. Her body is on fire. She tears off her clothes and pushes her fingers deep inside her cunt. She can’t reach far enough. She replaces the batteries in the dildo and, tilting her pelvis towards the ceiling, she tries again. However vigorously she pushes it inside her she gets no relief. She cannot come and the moment it moves out of her she feels empty and bereft.
She dresses carelessly, pulling a thin summer dress over bare skin. She slips her feet into her boots, grabs her keys and purse and leaves the house. The corner shop isn’t far. The man behind the counter looks at her strangely. She asks for a bottle of tequila and he asks her for ID. She checks her purse and pulls out her student ID. It takes everything she has to smile and pass him the ID rather than throw it at him. He looks at her photo and the information. She taps her foot. He returns it to her, smiling.
‘Eighteen pounds, please,’ he says.
She passes him a twenty pound note. He gives her the change before reaching for the bottle. She strides out of the shop and unscrews the lid. The liquid burns her throat and she coughs. Somebody says something as they pass her. She looks up and watches an old man walk away. Hot between her legs, she imagines falling to her knees before him and taking his cock in her mouth before riding him until his semen fills her.
He keeps walking and she lets him go. The fantasy replays in her head, horrifying her. She takes another mouthful of tequila, screws the lid back on and walks towards the cottage.
Shadows lengthen. They reach across the path, trying to touch Star. Her eyes sweep the ground as she steps over the dark bruises cast by branches, adapting the Christopher Robin game she played as a child, when her mum would recite the rhyme while the young Sarah avoided treading on cracks in pavements so the lurking, unseen bears couldn’t trap her. All the while she would check frantically behind walls and through gates, knowing, even then, that her mother would not protect her.
Star wraps her arms around her body. The thin material of her summer dress offers no resistance against the cold evening air. Her carrier bag swings in her hand and the glass bottle bounces off her thigh. The pain feels like a bad omen: a bottle thrown against the hull of a ship on her maiden voyage that does not smash. It is unlucky and warns of troubled waters ahead.
Chapter 19
Freya’s phone buzzes. She picks it up, Ivan.
‘Where are you?’ she whispers, frantically.
‘We’ve just got here. We’re outside your apartment. Where are you?’
‘At a café off the Shambles, shall I come to you?’
‘Dad’s heading inside. Do you want me to come and meet you?’
‘Meet me at the city wall. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
‘Okay, Sis. I love you.’
‘I love you too, Bro.’
Freya pays the bill and tucks Jasmine back into her pram. Her cup of tea sits untouched on the table. It looks grey, like dead flesh: cold and lifeless. She never even got to taste it.
The waitress looks at her sympathetically. Freya has sat there for hours, cuddling her daughter through sleep and wakefulness. Staring out of the window at the Medieval city beyond. Lives passed her by while she sat motionless, cradling her child.
Other people have come and gone. Conversations overheard: tourists, students, lovers, families, each with their own lives. I have no life. I have only clung to the pretence of a life since my sister died when I was thirteen. I thought Rob would breathe life into my days, and for a moment it felt as though that might be true. Then Jasmine arrived. Jasmine’s life usurped mine. I exist to feed and change, cuddle and soothe my tiny baby. I am an appendage. No more and no less. I have no life.
‘You’re a good Mum,’ the waitress says.
Freya shrugs. ‘Thanks.’
She weaves the pram between tables and through the café doorway. The metal frame rattles as its wheels bounce over cobblestones. Jasmine sniffs the air.
‘Shhhh,’ Freya urges.
Jasmine pushes her blanket up with her tiny feet and looks into her mother’s eyes. She makes the hiccupping sound which precedes tears.
‘Please don’t.’ Freya blinks tears from her eyes. ‘Don’t cry.’
Jasmine smacks her lips noisily and reaches for the blue and green giraffe beside her pillow. Freya picks it up and passes it to the baby, steering the pram one handed, glancing up every now and again to avoid other pedestrians. ‘It’s okay, Grampy and Uncle Ivan are waiting to see you.’
Jasmine suckles the misshapen nose of the giraffe and settles back to sleep. Freya pushes the pram faster towards her destination - the wall and Ivan, Uncle Ivan.
She spots Ivan in the distance under the ancient arch of the city wall. He waves at her and starts walking. She smiles, forgetting for a moment her fear and grief until it all comes flooding back and she starts to cry. Ivan puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her towards him. He bends his neck to glance into the pram. ‘She’s beautiful.’
Freya nods. ‘I know.’
‘Let’s get you guys to Dad. May I?’ Ivan touches the handlebar of Jasmine’s pram.
‘Sure.’ Freya hooks her arm through his. Elbow to elbow, they walk slowly under the arch. Out of the old city and into the new.
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘What happened?’
�
�I woke up this morning and Rob was dead. He’s been stabbed. I don’t know how or by whom. His blood, so much blood, soaked through the bedding. I don’t know how I slept through it.’
‘Who would want to hurt him?’
‘I don’t know.’ She studies her brother’s square jaw and troubled frown.
‘We’ll see what Dad and Bill say when we get there.’
‘Bill?’
‘Dad brought a friend. I’m fucked if I know who he is. Bill something.’
Freya shudders and looks away. ‘It’s not much further.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Freya’s voice breaks into sobs.
‘I know.’
‘What will we do?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t even seen the flat yet,’ Ivan answers.
They turn the corner onto Freya’s street.
‘Where’s Dad’s car?’ she asks.
‘It was here.’ Ivan pulls out his mobile phone and calls his father. There is no answer.
Freya unlocks the front door and pulls the pram inside. ‘Dad?’
The house is silent. Leaving Jasmine and the pram in the hallway, Freya and Ivan push past, climb the stairs and head for the bedroom. The bed has been stripped. A dark stain on the mattress is the only trace of Rob which remains.
‘Help me,’ Freya says, lifting the side of the mattress.
Together they flip it over, but the stain is much larger on the other side so they turn it back.
‘I guess Dad couldn’t fit this in the car,’ she says. ‘Do you think we can wash it?’
Ivan sits on the floor in silence, shaking his head.
‘He’s protecting me,’ Freya says. ‘It looks like I did it so he’s protecting me. He always protects me.’
Ivan looks away.
‘I don’t know what we’ll do about this mattress though.’ Freya knows she is rambling, but cannot stop. She feels despair stalking her. She cannot give it room to grow. ‘Maybe I should burn it? Help me drag it into the garden, Bro.’
Ivan shakes his head. Worry lines cast the shadows of his doubts across his forehead. ‘We should have called the police.’
Starblood Trilogy Page 54