Liminal

by Bee Lewis

  She picked them up, trying to steady her shaking hands, and inserted the master key in the lock. She pulled the door open carefully, ready to close it again if Mike lunged at her from the other side, but the platform was empty. The sound of a car door closing made her spin around to face the direction the noise had come from. It had to be Mike. What had he gone back for? Esther’s t-shirt stuck to her skin under her hoodie. She tore off her padded waterproof and flung it into the waiting room. The trembling in her hands spread throughout her body and her teeth chattered with fear.

  A single shot rang out, cleaving the air. He was going to kill her.

  ‘Not if I get you first, you bastard.’ She clenched her jaw.

  Ignoring the pain and her body’s protests, she heaved the petrol can into the cottage, splashing the volatile liquid liberally across anything that would burn. Mike wouldn’t be foolish enough to follow her in to the burning cottage.

  As she turned to leave, she jumped with fright. Mike was standing in the doorway, just like he had a week earlier, only this time he was pointing the barrel of a gun at her.

  ‘Hello, little one.’

  She stood, rooted to the spot. He could easily overpower her and she’d be left to burn to death.

  He spoke as though he could read her thoughts. ‘You’ve done my work for me. Inspired, Esther. I didn’t know you had it in you.’ He put the shotgun down onto the worktop.

  ‘Where’s Dan?’

  ‘Dan? Even now, is he all you can think of?’ Mike laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in her ears.

  ‘You know, Mike, I can just about understand why you hate me. But he loved you.’

  Admitting it should have felt like a defeat, the final betrayal, but she knew it was true, Dan loved Mike. Surely he felt something in return?

  ‘He’s at the croft. I’ll deal with him later.’

  So, he wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Let me go, Mike. I have nothing now. You’ve won.’

  ‘Winning? Is that what you think this is about? You know, I almost feel sorry for you. Almost. But then I think of my mother and brother and all the things I’ve missed out on. How my life was shaped by something I had no control over. All the things they’ve missed out on. No, Esther. This isn’t about winning. It’s about getting even.’

  There was a small movement to the left of Mike, Esther’s eyes flicked across to it sub-consciously and Mike followed her gaze. He threw his arms up to protect his face as Major Tom lunged at him from the windowsill. Esther rushed forward, shoulder-barging Mike, who dropped the shotgun onto the floor. As he scrabbled to pick the gun up, Esther kicked out at him, sending him sprawling. He hit his head on the corner of the kitchen table and lay there, dazed for a few seconds. Without thinking, Esther lit a match and threw it into the living room. She was rewarded by the sound of vapour igniting as she darted out of the cottage.

  There was nowhere left for her to go. She’d never make it to the car before Mike caught up with her. She couldn’t run any further, even if she hadn’t been wounded. There was only one thing she could try, but it was a gamble. What if she was wrong?

  Summoning her last shreds of courage, she put her hand on the waiting room door. It was cold to the touch. The fire hadn’t taken hold inside the room yet. She hesitated, wanting to make sure Mike saw her go inside. Smoke blurred the air, darkening the atmosphere, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer; she couldn’t risk the fire taking hold. Pulling her hoodie up over her mouth and nose, she opened the door. Instinct took over. She had to be right. Not just for her sake, but for the life growing inside her. She crouched down and opened the cupboard door, squeezing herself in and pulling it shut behind her. Had he followed her in? She held her breath. Would he check the cupboard? The carving dug into her leg. She took it out of her pocket and put it down her top against her skin. It was time to find out if her instinct could be trusted.

  There was a cold draught coming from the back of the cupboard, blowing onto her face. She twisted her body as best she could without kicking the door open and put her hands on the flimsy wooden panel behind her. It gave slightly. She pushed harder and the thin wood splintered around the edges. One final push and the panel fell away. Using her hands to guide her, she reached out into the void space, her body following where her hands led. She was in a tunnel of some kind; it was hard to gauge the dimensions but she had just enough space to crawl forward, dragging her right leg. The blackness was overwhelming. She wanted to scream, to be pulled out wriggling and gasping into the clean, bright daylight, but she fought against her body’s response and dragged herself further in. The air was much colder now and the draught was stronger. Her breathing came in short, rasping pants and she had to wipe her brow several times as beads of sweat bled down her face. With one final effort, her hands clawed into the floor of the tunnel, scraping away clods of what felt like mud and dirt. As she struck out again, she made contact with something solid. It was all that stood between her and escape. She pushed as hard as she could against the panel. It wouldn’t budge.

  ‘No, no, no. Not like this!’ Esther felt the tears threaten to reappear. At the same moment, she felt something stirring inside her. It was a new sensation, like someone had run a finger across the inside of her belly. She waited for the wave of nausea to swallow her, but with a flash of euphoria, she realised it wasn’t morning sickness at all, she was feeling her baby move for the first time.

  With renewed purpose and strength, she shoved against the blockage. The panel fragmented and daylight poured in. Esther scrambled out of the tunnel, gasping into the fresh air. Her hands were covered with dirt and she wiped a cobweb away from her fringe. Still shaking from fright and exhaustion, she looked around her. She was at the rear of the station, the tunnel couldn’t have been more than a few feet long, but crawling through the darkness had been the longest moments of her life.

  Where was Mike? At any moment, he could come through the same passage. She knew she had to stop him, knew that she’d never feel safe again unless she knew he couldn’t come for her. Every part of her ached. She had a deep scratch across the back of her right hand and blood mixed with the dirt like a distorted henna tattoo. Bending over to catch her breath, she summoned the last remaining remnants of energy and stalked around the outline of the station, clinging to the walls, ready to dart back under cover if she saw him. As she rounded the corner, he staggered out of the cottage, his jacket smouldering.

  ‘Esther!’ His roar was bestial. ‘Esther! You’d better fucking come out now.’

  She shrank back. He couldn’t have seen her. The acrid air caught at the back of her throat and she had to stifle a coughing fit. She peeped around the corner again. He was coming down the platform towards her, but his shambling gait made him look drunk and unsteady. He stopped outside the waiting room.

  ‘Playing hide and seek, are you? I have you now, little one.’

  He opened the door and thick, dense smoke belched out from inside. He stood there, coughing, trying to wave the smoke away. It cleared just enough for Esther to see him go inside. This was her last chance. She made her way up the platform. Smoke billowed out of the broken window; he wouldn’t be able to survive long inside. If he came out now it would be over. She had no strength left to fight him and nowhere to run to.

  As she reached the door, she put her hand onto the handle to prevent him from turning it. She leaned back, shifting all her weight so she was a counterbalance, and with her free hand felt in her pocket for the bunch of keys. As her fingers closed round the familiar metal ring, he thudded against the glass in the door, his eyes wild and staring out at her through the filigree pattern in the door pane where the glass was un-etched. She jumped backwards with shock, letting go of the handle, but grabbing it again before he could gain purchase. Sliding the key into the lock, she turned it, hearing the satisfying click as the latc
h slid into place.

  ‘FUCK YOU!’

  Her scream splintered the silence. The spell was broken.

  ‘FUUUCK YOOOU!’ This time, she drew the curse out, pouring every mote of hurt and anger into it, like it was the last time she’d ever speak.

  It was done. Over. He was trapped. Cold logic flooded her brain. Kill or be killed. She felt no remorse as she studied the hillsides, looking for a place to seek shelter while she recovered. Without looking back at the Halt, she walked off the end of the platform, crossing over to the other side and began the steep climb up the mountainside.

  *

  The spruce exhaled, their branches drooping under the weight of the unfolding drama below. The hare nestled into the mountainside, watching as a man fell out of the back of the blue metal beast. He stood, unsteady at first, then put his hand onto the metallic body to correct his balance. Even from this distance, she could tell he was wounded and she watched, unblinking, as he turned towards the station. He took five, maybe six, tentative steps, then fell to the ground as the station roared out its warning. Burning liquid, glass and metal shards, splinters of wood, all wheeled through the air and rained down onto the ground. The man covered his head with his hands.

  Then came the noise. Birds scattered, tail feathers wagging with fright, the first to feel the disturbance as the air bent and rushed into the vacuum at the heart of the station. Later the trees would shrug off their shock, pretend they’d heard it all before, but the dropped needles littering the ground told their own tale.

  ‘Esther!’ The man on the ground laid bare his agony and the sound was so wretched, so primal, that even the granite responded, crying silica crystal tears into the burn.

  ‘Esther! I’m sorry!’

  The hare blinked, then she turned from the direction of the station and loped away, leaving the merest impression in the vegetation where she’d lain, and a strange wooden carving half-buried in the leaves.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  I am grateful to many people who have given words of encouragement or advice during (and post) the writing of Liminal. Firstly, thanks to Jen, Chris, and all of the team at Salt not just for having faith in this book, but also the vision to have built Salt into what it is today.

  I must also thank Nick Royle, my tutor at Manchester Metropolitan, who continually pushed me and who always asked the difficult questions. His comma pedantry is legendary, whereas mine is a work in progress. Therefore apologies also, Nick, for the misplaced, misused, and wilfully abandoned commas I have subjected you to.

  Livi Michael was also influential in the early stages of writing this book. The genesis can be traced right back to a writing prompt she issued while we were at Moniack Mhor together.

  My fellow writers at Manchester Metropolitan have been nothing short of inspirational in terms of their encouragement and shrewd advice. Special mention goes to Helen Steadman, Zöe Feeney, Nicola Lennon, Dot Devey-Smith, Fin Gray, and Wyl Menmuir. I would also like to thank Sue Smith for her insight which led me to changing the title, and to Kerry Hadley-Pryce for her words of wisdom along the way.

  Mike Irving also deserves my thanks for sharing his knowledge of the Scottish forests. I learnt a lot. I’d also like to thank Diane and Rob Hayes, who answered my questions about combustion, without panic or alarm – or accusing me of planning to carry out an arson attack.

  But my biggest thanks are reserved for Diane Kingston (OBE) and her husband, Nigel, for answering my questions about amputation with good grace, patience, and humour. Without the insights I gained from my conversations with Diane and Nigel, I would never have been able to create Esther or an environment for her to interact with.