by Kit Tinsley
Looking at him it was not difficult to forgive him for everything that had happened earlier. There was a possibility that the shoes had belonged to Wendy. They were her size, and although not a style she would wear in her day to day life, she could have been wearing them for a job.
Julia had overreacted. She guessed the stress of the move had flared up some of her old insecurities. She had always had a jealous streak, and she hated it. So many of her previous relationships had broken down because of her jealousy. That was why Steven and she had come to the agreement that they had no past before each other. The slate had been wiped clean. They had never had any conversations detailing their past partners and relationships. They did not see the point.
He had slapped her because she had been getting hysterical, and probably he was right. She had cut his head, after all, by throwing the offending shoe at his head.
She walked across the room to where her husband lay sleeping. His slow, rhythmic breathing was accentuated by the oxygen mask. When he had collapsed clutching his chest she had been terrified that she was about to lose him. Now she thought it best to forget the stupid argument and be thankful that her husband was still with her. She knew he wasn't perfect, but then again, who was? Not her, that was for sure. Steven was a very good man though; he treated her better than anyone had ever treated her in her life. He deserved for her to believe him after everything she had put him through with her breakdown.
She gently stroked his forehead, trailing her hand up his brow to his hair. His eyes fluttered a few times then opened fully. He looked at her, and she knew he loved her more than anything.
'Hi,' she said, smiling. Her eyes were starting to water.
He took hold of her hand and pulled the oxygen mask down.
'Hi,' his voice was more rasping than usual. 'Have you heard the news?'
'That you're asthmatic now?' she asked.
Steven nodded.
'Yeah. Weird isn't it?'
Julia looked puzzled.
'I didn't know you could just develop it at your age,' she said. 'I thought it was one of those things you grow out of, not grow into.'
He shrugged
'You can,' he said. 'It's pretty rare though.'
It still did not make any sense at all to her. So much of what had happened didn't make sense. She thought of the clicking sound in the bedroom and the flash of white light just before he collapsed. She pushed this to the back of her mind.
'Just like you then,' she said.
Leaning forward she placed a gentle kiss on her husband's forehead.
'I'm sorry I hit you,' he said.
She put her finger on his lips.
'You only slapped me because I was hysterical,' she said, then ran her finger up his face to the cut on his forehead. 'I did that to you first.'
He looked at her.
'I don't know where those shoes came from.'
'You were probably right,' she said. 'They might have been Wendy's. You know how she has a habit of leaving her shit everywhere.'
Steven laughed, though the effort of laughing clearly caused him pain in his chest.
'So when do we go home?' he asked.
It was a stupid question. He was a doctor and knew that more than likely they would want to keep him in for observation. Yet, like she was aware, doctors made terrible patients. It was the same whenever he was unwell at home. She would have to run round after him.
'I'm going now,' she said, stroking his head once more. 'You have to wait until tomorrow.'
He pouted, his bottom lip protruding like he was a sulking child. She laughed and shook her head.
'You would have kept you in,' she said. 'Don't deny it.'
He shrugged.
'Maybe, maybe not. We surgeons aren't renowned for our bedside manner.'
She laughed. This was true. He was useless whenever she was ill. She bent down to kiss his forehead again, but he put his hands on either side of her face and looked into her eyes.
'I love you Julia.'
She smiled and moved forward, kissing him softly on the lips.
'I know,' she said, pulling back away. 'I love you too.'
They kissed again, and then she stood up straight.
'I best get going, you need to get some rest.'
'What are you planning to do for the rest of the evening?' he asked.
'I thought I might get the stuff for the studio unpacked,' she said, 'so I can be ready to start work again.'
Steven beamed with pride. He had never pretended to understand all of her work, especially in her darker periods, but he always appreciated their beauty. He would show them off to anyone who visited the house, as though he was extremely proud to be married to someone he saw as so talented.
'Don't work too hard,' he said.
'I won't,' she said, and then kissed him a final time.
After the kiss, she pulled his oxygen mask back into place and headed to leave the room. At the door, she turned around for one last look at her husband. He was already asleep.
Julia locked the car and walked along the path to the front porch. The argument with Steven earlier, and the strange events that followed, seemed more distant in her memory than they should have. It felt as though it had all happened days ago, not a few hours. She supposed that it was caused by her concern for Steven, and confusion at his sudden onset of asthma. These shocks had made it a very long evening. She opened the door, and instantly felt the chill inside the house. The heating was on so the hallway should have felt warm and inviting.
The unexpected chill reminded her of the flashing lights and clicking sounds she had seen earlier. Then there was the whisper, the voice she had heard just before leaving the house, the one that had told her that Steven had deserved what had happened. She tried to push the memory out of her mind, by telling herself that the voice had been her own, from inside her head. It didn't completely work and she felt goose bumps rising on her arms.
She rubbed her arms and went over to the radiator. Bending down, she turned it up fully. The house was old and had been standing empty for a long time. It was liable to take a while to successfully warm up.
Walking in to the kitchen she saw the tiny light blinking on the answerphone. She pressed the button and heard Wendy's voice fill the vacant room.
'Hi, guys,' she said on the message. 'Just checking to see how moving day is going for you.'
Julia shook her head. It was a perfectly natural question, but considering all that had happened it was the worst question. She switched on the kettle and started making herself a coffee as the message continued.
'Obviously you're too busy to answer the phone, but give me a call back if you get the chance. Can't wait to see the house. Well, speak to you later. Bye for now.'
As she poured the water into the cup, Julia considered phoning Wendy. She changed her mind though. If she told her that Steven was in hospital, she would be around in a shot. Julia couldn't face the company though; she just wanted to get on with unpacking. She decided she would go to the attic and start there.
Taking the steaming cup of coffee with her, she headed up the two staircases that led up to the studio. As she wandered through the house, the chill persisted. She would have to tell Steven to check the radiators when he was well. She grabbed a cardigan from the bedroom as she passed, on the way to the second staircase.
Once in the attic, she noticed that the window was open. It was the middle window, the one that she had seen the flash in earlier, and also the one that Steven had opened to let the pigeon out.
Had he closed it afterwards? She felt quite sure he had, but the evidence was to the contrary. At least that helped to explain the cold in the air. If the window had been open since this afternoon, it was possible that it could have caused a draught, especially with all of the rain. Damp, cool wire could have permeated through the house, chilling the whole place.
Walking over, she closed the window, and pulled the latch that locked it into place. Perhaps Steven had forg
otten to do this. It was possible that the wind could have caught the window, if it was not shut properly, and opened it again.
As soon as the window was shut, she began to feel warmer, though she supposed this was more of a psychological response than anything else.
The boxes containing all of her art supplies were stacked up against the far wall, near the door to the darkroom. As she looked at them, she started to feel light headed. At first she thought it was a combination of tiredness and not eating.
She attempted to shake off the feeling, and took a sip of her coffee, hoping this would help to liven herself up. She went over and started dragging the boxes across to the centre of the room. This would be the best place for light during the day with the sky lights above. At night, it was as good as any spot in the studio.
Her easel was the first thing she unpacked. It was a big studio easel made by Jullian. Steven had bought it for her for their first anniversary. It was top of the range and must have set him back at least two hundred pounds. It was so much better than the previous one she had, that had been purchased from Argos and had cost her about thirty pounds.
She put the easel together and put it in pride of place in the centre of the studio. She stood a little way from it, admiring it. It was the first time that the easel had been set up since her breakdown. Julia felt a sudden wave of optimism. Things were about to get better. Looking at the easel standing in the middle of the room, it felt like an old friend. A friend she had neglected for far too long. It was high time the two of them got reacquainted.
It looked wrong though. There was no sight more depressing to her than an empty easel. She opened up a box containing a few new canvasses and placed a mid-sized one onto the easel. That was so much better, no longer depressing, but a thing of beauty and endless possibilities.
Next she unpacked her brushes, and oil paints, pallets, rags and pallet knives. She set these up on a folding table next to the easel. Then she just needed to fill a jar with water and one with white spirits. She wondered how much all of this had cost her over the years. More than she cared to confess, even to herself. Her brushes were all the best synthetic brushes that money could buy. A lot of other artists she knew swore by badger hair brushes, but Julia had never been able to bring herself to use them.
She felt the dizziness return. It felt as though she was slipping away from her own body. The brushes she held fell to the floor, scattering as they did. Julia turned and considered trying to make it down the stairs to her bedroom. However, she didn’t think she would make it. The room had begun to spin like she was drunk. She felt unsteady and dropped to her knees. She saw the flashing light once more, like a gliding white ball of light just before her eyes. It slowly danced across her field of vision. It headed towards her. Then nothing. Blackness enveloped her and she slipped into unconsciousness.
The ceaseless beeps of the heart and blood pressure monitor he was attached to made it very hard for Steven to get to sleep. Actually, if he was honest with himself it was the guilt. Guilt about his affair, but mostly guilt about hitting Julia. How could he have let his anger and fear get the better of him like that? How could he deliberately strike the person he loved most in the world?
Ariel was to blame. She had left the shoes at the old house. Undoubtedly she had done it on purpose as a way of attempting to force his hand. Steven cursed himself again for ever having met her, for ever starting the affair. At no time had he even insinuated to Ariel that he had any intention of leaving Julia. Unless she had taken his part in the affair as some sort of insinuation that he would.
The anger he felt earlier, the seething rage that had forced him to hit his wife, had not been aimed at Julia, it had been aimed at Ariel. Things were finally starting to return to normality in his marriage. Yet he could not break off his affair for fear of how Ariel would react.
He would tell her now, by text. It was the cowardly way, he knew that, but maybe he was a coward; he certainly felt like one. Only a coward would hit his wife, after all.
His phone was in the little cabinet at the side of his bed. He leant over and retrieved it. This simple action felt like a chore with the residual ache and tightness in his chest. He sat back up in the hospital bed and started composing the text.
I am sorry, but it is over.
He stared at the words he had written. It was so cold, so callous. Once again he hated himself. He imagined Ariel reading the text, pictured her sitting there sobbing as the words scorched themselves into her heart. It would be painful, but it would be quick. Perhaps hating him would allow her to move on quicker.
Or it will anger her, said the coward’s voice in his head.
This was of course his biggest fear. What if in rejecting her he caused her to seek retribution? He was, after all, already convinced that her leaving her shoes at the previous house had been no accident. Ariel wanted him to get caught out. In her mind, if Julia knew the truth and threw him out, he would come running to her open arms.
'No,' he said aloud to the voice in his head. 'It has to end, and it has to end now.'
He searched for Ariel's number in his contact list and assigned it to the text message.
The temperature in the room appeared to drop ten degrees as his finger hovered over the send button. Steven felt his hair move, as though being attracted by a static charge. He looked around the room, and despite being utterly alone, he felt that he was being watched. The beeping sound of his heart monitor became more frequent as his sudden unease took hold of him. As he breathed out, he saw the faint mist of his breath float away from his mouth.
DING!
The bell sound on his phone, and the accompanying vibration made him jump in his bed. He was convinced that for a fleeting moment the waveform on the heart monitor flatlined. He had received a text. He saved the message for Ariel to the drafts in his phone then opened his message folder. What he saw confused him. There was the little sealed envelope icon as normal for an unread text, but next to it on the screen was blank. Even if the text came from a number not stored in his phone, the unknown number would be displayed. It seemed as if this message had come from nowhere.
He opened up the message and the message on the screen scared him more than the temperature and electricity in the room.
DO NOT SEND THAT MESSAGE!
H
He couldn't believe it. Someone had to be playing a joke on him. Perhaps they were spying on him right now, and that was why he had the sense of being watched. However, he knew all too well what the H stood for. It was impossible.
Steven put the phone back in the cabinet beside him, and as soon as he did, the air in the room lost its chill.
He settled back into his bed, and eventually slipped into an uneasy sleep.
Light streamed in through the open curtains. Julia covered her eyes with her arm. Her head was pounding. It reminded her of the hangovers she used to get far too often in her days at university. Last night she had not had a drink though. She had come home from the hospital and had coffee.
She tried to remember coming to bed. It had been late, of that she was sure. She couldn't remember it at all. The last thing she had any recollection of was setting up her things in the studio. Then what had happened? She struggled to see through the hangover-like fog in her mind. Had she felt ill? There was a vague memory of dizziness.
She rolled over to Steven's side of the bed. It felt cool and empty. The clock on his bedside table showed that it was already quarter to ten.
Getting out of bed she grabbed her dressing gown, but was pleased to feel that the house was much warmer than it had been the previous night. She wondered what time they would be releasing Steven from the hospital. She supposed that by now he was kicking up a fuss to leave, telling them he was okay whether he was or not. Often she had wondered how Steven would have handled a patient as awkward as he was.
She went to the en-suite bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, hoping to clear some of the fog from the previous night. It was then th
at she noticed her hands were filthy. They were covered in multicoloured marks, ones that she knew very well. They always looked the same after she had done a lengthy session painting.
It didn't make any sense. She had no memory of painting anything. She supposed it could have come from handling her boxes of art supplies, but doubted it. These were the type of smears and stains that could only be attained by hour after hour of actual painting. She rushed out of the room and up the stairs to the attic.
She saw it as soon as she got in the room. It was there in the middle of the room, atop the expensive easel her husband had bought her for their first wedding anniversary. A painting of the house, her house. It was her work. She would recognise that anywhere. The brush lines and colour selection were in keeping with her style. The subject matter, however, was totally out of character.
Julia Draper was an artist renowned for her abstract landscapes, paintings that captured the bleakness and beauty of nature. She was likewise known for doing moody portraits. Paintings of buildings, though, were not a thing that would usually interest her.
This, however, was a perfect rendition of her new home, realised in her personal style. There was no question in her mind that she had painted the picture, even though she could not remember doing so.
She stepped closer to the easel, to examine the finer details of the painting. The attic windows seemed to be covered with a cloud of translucent, purple smoke. She peered through this to the central window. There was a face at the window. It was a woman, her face contorted into an anguished scream. Behind the woman, there was a shadowy figure, holding a straight razor.
CHAPTER NINE
The taxi pulled up outside the house and Steven paid the driver. He had to admit he felt a little hurt that Julia had not come to pick him up, or even called to see when he was being discharged. He supposed she was still mad at him for the argument. She had said in the hospital that perhaps the shoes were Wendy's after all, but Steven knew better.