by Jodi Taylor
Her face was in mine. Her breath was on me. My stomach heaved again. I tried to twist my head away but I had no strength left and I was going to die. Her mouth was enormous. Bigger than the world. A nothingness. A great dark void that would swallow me whole. I closed my eyes and waited to die.
She stopped. Everything stopped. I was alone in a world of silence. I couldn’t even hear my own heart pounding. It was as if the whole world waited. But for what?
I sucked in a desperate, painful breath, half expecting it to be my last. And then, unbelievably, another one. The pressure eased. I couldn’t understand what was happening. Was I already dead? She was pulling back. I could feel her body sliding against mine. The world was so quiet I could hear the rasp of her clothing. The crushing weight lifted from my chest. I sucked in another great breath of air that didn’t smell of rotting dog and opened my eyes. The expression on her face was one of puzzlement. For some reason, she was trying to twist away. Trying, it seemed to look back over her own shoulder.
It broke the spell for me. I kicked out at her, although I don’t think she even noticed my puny efforts, rolled away, frantic to get as far away from her as I possibly could, and tried to get up.
Ted – my Ted – stood behind her, his arms locked tightly around her, pinning her arms, holding her close.
She bellowed with fury, flailing her head and body wildly in her efforts to break free. Her monstrous jaw swung sickeningly. But all to no avail. Ted would not let go. She roared again and the sound rippled the air around her head. She was contorting herself in fury, and as I watched, her body exploded in a violent eruption of red and orange flames. I wrapped my arms around my head. The heat was immense. I could feel it radiating off the walls, but never for one moment did Ted release his grip. If anything, he hung on even more tightly as she twisted and turned and roared in impotent rage. My lovely Ted who had done his best to warn me. What strength must it have taken for him to cross that vast distance to come to my aid. Even to utter those few words of warning. I had misunderstood his message. I could see now that he’d been warning me I was going to die. He’d begged me to let him in and I had been too stupid to understand what he was trying to say to me.
I couldn’t see his face. She was burning too brightly for me to look at her directly and everything else was just green and purple shadows. I so desperately wanted to see him again – one last time. What pain was he enduring at this moment? For my sake. But he never let go. Slowly he pulled her backwards, away from this world. Now the two of them were enveloped in raging flames. And they were real flames – I could feel their heat and see their dancing reflections on the walls. He was pulling her further away from me with every moment, but still she wouldn’t give up. Her burning hands kept reaching out for me, clutching at me. The two of them were smaller now and getting smaller all the time. Her cries grew fainter, as if coming from a great distance. I could still see them, locked together in a fiery ball, tumbling over and over. Back into the black emptiness.
The wall snapped shut and there was nothing but a vast stillness.
Tears ran down my face. He’d saved me. Ted had saved me. At what cost to himself? I couldn’t believe I’d ever doubted he loved me. My Ted. My wonderful husband. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Great, uncontrollable sobs hurt my chest and throat. I curled into a ball on the floor and cried for a very long time.
Hours later and I was still shivering from cold and shock. I made myself stop crying, and used the sofa to pull myself to my feet. Apart from the telephone on the floor, everything was as it had been before. I plugged in the jack and picked the handset up off the floor. The receiver sighed and very faintly, almost lost in the static of long distance, I heard the word, ‘Elizabeth.’
I swallowed hard, holding the receiver tightly in both hands and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
The crackling noise died away to be replaced by the dial tone. He’d gone. Where was he now? I couldn’t bear to think of him locked in death with the thing that had been Clare, the two of them burning for eternity. He deserved better. I wasn’t worth such a sacrifice.
I left all the lights switched on and spent the rest of the night huddled in a blanket on the sofa, with Ted’s photo clutched to my chest, hardly daring even to blink, let alone go to sleep. I couldn’t stop shivering. That icy wind had frozen me to my very core.
I couldn’t tell when dawn happened. I suppose the sun must have risen but the cloud was too heavy for it to break through. Everything outside was white. Shapes were rounded and unfamiliar. Everything was silent. There was no life anywhere. No birds, no people. Even the ducks and swans had disappeared. The whole world was filled with white silence. I sat on, barely moving. Only when I really, really had to go to the loo did I move, and, even then, I was up and down the stairs as fast as my stiff legs would carry me.
Once I was up, I walked around the house, still wrapped in my blanket, checking the doors and windows and switching off the lights. I made myself some tea, waiting for the water to boil while standing with my back to the worktop, always watchful. Suppose she came back. Suppose, somehow, she managed to break free …
My hands were still shaking as I poured the tea. I hadn’t realised I was so thirsty and cold. I gulped the scalding liquid as fast as I could get it down, and then poured myself another. Taking it over to the window seat, I sat and waited for Michael Jones.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I sat for what felt like for ever, straining my eyes to see through the still falling snow, although it was dancing again now, rather than whirling furiously in the wind. There wasn’t a sign of anyone anywhere. No one was outside shovelling. No children were building snowmen while their parents cleared the paths. Everyone was staying inside in the warm.
The TV was full of weather warnings. We were warned to brace ourselves for blizzards and freezing conditions. I added Jones not being able to get back today to my quite long list of things to worry about.
I barely moved all day. The TV told me it was only just past noon, but already the lights were coming on again around the close. Seeing them was something of a relief. I was beginning to wonder if I was the only person left in this strange white world.
I pulled my blanket around me and was watching the world grow dark again when the telephone rang, jolting me out of my half-sleep. I stared at it for a few seconds, just to check I had remembered to plug it back in again. Taking two or three deep breaths, I picked up the receiver, gripping it tightly, and waited.
No one spoke. There was complete silence at the other end. Not a sound. My hands were suddenly clammy. Was it all beginning again? My stomach turned over in sick horror because I was certain I had no strength left in me to go through that again.
The receiver crackled. ‘Cage? Cage, are you there? Say something.’
Overwhelming relief caused my legs to sag. I had to clutch at the back of the armchair to hold myself up.
‘Cage? Can you hear me?’
I nodded, cursed myself for an idiot, cleared my throat and said, ‘Yes. I’m here.’
‘Look, I can’t talk now, but I’m on my way back.’
I managed to say, ‘That’s good news.’
‘I’ll be with you in about thirty minutes.’
‘I can’t wait to see you.’
‘Me neither. Thirty minutes.’
Nothing had changed, but for me, suddenly everything was different. Jones was on his way back and the world was a better place.
I sprinted upstairs, showered quickly, threw my clothes into the laundry basket because I never wanted to see them again, dressed again. brushed my hair, and raced back downstairs. I switched on the kettle even though I was pretty sure he’d want a whole St Bernard’s worth of brandy after all that snow, and waited by the window, noticing that, at last, the snow had stopped.
I didn’t have long to wait because he was here in minutes, appearing through the archway and kicking up the snow like a small boy. His were the first footprints in the virgin snow, spoil
ing the white perfection. Whatever the reason for his absence, I could see he was happy to be back. He was surrounded by an outline of flickering gold and red, the only colours in today’s strange white world. He looked up and saw me waiting at the window and his whole colour jumped in anticipation.
I watched him wave to the Bartons next door. They must be sitting in their window, as I was in mine. I could see the rectangle of light from their window streaming out over the snow.
I opened the front door just as he was coming up the steps, grinning all over his face. I gave him a huge hug, holding on tight.
‘Hey, what’s this?’ he said, giving me a huge, snowy hug back again. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, but I have something to tell you. Something happened while you were away. Come in.’
I stepped back and closed the door on the icy white silence outside.
He shrugged himself out of his heavy coat, tossed it on the sofa and turned around.
For a moment, he was just Michael Jones – all smiling eagerness – and then … something happened. I don’t know what. I barely had time to register it but his colour disappeared. It just vanished. Completely and instantaneously. There was no gradual fading away. No slow diminishing. I’d never seen anything like it. It just vanished. To be replaced, a heartbeat later, by a glutinous, murky yellowy-brown. The colour of pus, thick, unclean, and reaching out towards me. I stepped back to avoid it and opened my mouth to warn him. I don’t know what I thought I was going to say, but it didn’t matter because I was never able to say it.
He drew back his arm and slapped me hard. The sound rang around the room. I staggered backwards, bewildered by the unexpectedness and the pain. No one had ever struck me before. Not in my entire life. It had been an open-handed blow but still hard enough to rock me on my feet. I put my hand to my face and backed away from him, wasting valuable seconds while my stupid brain tried to take in what was happening. He followed me, trapping me against the sofa and slapped me again.
Behind me, in the kitchen, the kettle clicked off. Distracted for a moment, he turned his head to trace the sound and I tried to slip past him and head for the door. He grabbed me, pulled me back and threw me against the bookcase. I felt myself fly through the air. Something sharp hurt my back and something else fell on my head.
I had no time to think. It was all happening so quickly that I still wasn’t sure what was going on. Surely this couldn’t be happening to me. But it was. Instinct left my brain behind and took over. Groping for some means of defence, I snatched up Ted’s photo and threw it, left-handed, at him. He dodged it easily and it smashed against the wall. I wondered if Colonel Barton next door would hear the noise and if so, whether he would come to investigate.
In two long steps, Jones was across the room and upon me. There was a frightening lack of expression on his face. He could have been simply reading a newspaper or doing the washing up. He’d never said, and I’d ever asked exactly what his job entailed, but I was seeing it now. He was a professional killer. There was no emotion involved. I was a job he had to do and he was doing it as efficiently as he knew how.
Seizing my arm, he broke it. Quite easily and effortlessly. I heard the snap and felt the pain. I screamed and struggled to get away. It was vital to get some distance between us so I could rip open the front door and shout for help.
Again, he dragged me back. Holding me so I couldn’t get away, he clenched his fist and hit me. Several times. Short, sharp punches to the ribs. Each one in exactly the same place. It was agonising. And professional. He knew how to inflict pain. He was standing on my feet so I couldn’t get away. I was only aware of blow after blow. After a while, I was unable to distinguish the individual punches. Everything was a solid wall of hurt.
When he finally released me, I fell to the ground and he began to kick me. I felt a huge hot pain in my leg and a small part of my mind wondered if that was broken too.
I was crying and gasping. I couldn’t catch my breath. My ribs hurt too much to shout for help. And who would hear me anyway. I still couldn’t believe this was happening to me. That it was Michael Jones doing this to me. I curled up and protected myself as best I could. The thing in my head was twisting and spitting but it was as helpless as I was. Pain, shock and disbelief were the only emotions I was capable of at that moment. I wondered if he would kill me.
And then, dimly, I thought I heard something. Hope blossomed. It seemed too good to be true, but over everything that was happening to me, I could hear Colonel Barton banging on the front door.
‘Elizabeth? Mrs Cage? Is everything all right in there?’
The kicking paused.
‘Mrs Cage? Are you there? Please open the door.’
It was as if the intervention from outside world had jolted Jones to his senses. He stopped, his leg drawn back, his boot level with my face. I could see the snow still clinging to his soles. It filled my entire world. I held my breath. With his strength … if he let go … would I ever know anything about it?
I squinted up at him, still sobbing. It hurt so much to cry, but I couldn’t stop. I lay helplessly at his feet looking up at him. He lowered his leg and looked around as if suddenly realising where he was. His awful colour wavered, the yellowy-brown colour fought for one moment with the golden peach and then disappeared.
He said, ‘Cage?’ more in disbelief than recognition, and dropped to his knees at my side.
I heard the rasp of my spare key in the lock and felt the blast of icy air as Colonel Barton opened the door. He limped in, calling ‘Mrs Cage, are you here? May I come in?’ because we’re British and we don’t just barge into other people’s houses. He took in the scene at a glance. There was no blood – not that I could see, anyway – but there I was in a heap on the floor and it must be very obvious to him what had been happening here.
Jones turned to face him.
Colonel Barton was wonderful. He never hesitated – not for a moment. He thumped the floor with his walking stick. ‘Step back, sir. Step back, I say.’
There was a moment when I feared for his safety, too. The colonel was old and frail and probably even less able to defend himself than I was, but his voice had all the authority of one who had commanded a regiment in a war and Jones stepped back. Perhaps he was drilled to respond to that military rasp, I don’t know. He disappeared out of my range of vision.
Pausing only to yank off the tablecloth, the colonel knelt stiffly and carefully wrapped it around me.
‘You’re quite safe now, my dear.’
I heard Jones say something. I couldn’t hear what.
‘You will keep your distance, sir. If you wish to render assistance, then you may telephone for an ambulance.’
The world was blurring around me. Time distorted. There were people here who had seemingly come from nowhere. There were soft red blankets but nothing could warm me. I remember Colonel Barton telling me he would take care of everything. I remember thinking my life was finished. That there was no coming back from this. And then I closed my eyes. Because nothing was important and I didn’t care any longer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I sat cross-legged in a white box in a white, silent world. I was safe. The box encased me completely, protecting me from anything that might be prowling around the outside. It fitted me perfectly because it was my box. I’d created it just for me. My back rested against one wall, my knees touched the sides and my head grazed the top. No one could find me here. Nothing could touch me. I sat unmoving in an unmoving world. Slowly, now that all danger had disappeared, the thing in my head grew quiet and still, until finally, satisfied, it lowered its head and closed its eyes. I knew it hadn’t gone. That it was waiting. I’d summoned it from its long sleep and it wasn’t ever going away again. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to. I’d had enough of being pushed around by the world. Of being betrayed by people who thought I was weak. I’d really had enough of that. I was stronger than I thought. I was stronger than everyone thought. One day, I’d sho
w them.
I sat for a very long time. Long enough to still my mind and regain my composure. There was no pain here. No fear. Just me and the silence. The long, safe silence. I couldn’t stay for ever, of course. I knew that, but I could stay for long enough. I leaned back, let my eyes close and just … breathed.
Gradually, very gradually, when I was ready, I began to let the world back in again. First, there was the occasional muted sound in the background. Once, I thought I heard someone speak my name. Voices came and went. And then, one day, I thought, now, and stood up. The fragile box shattered around me, but I was ready to rejoin the world. I opened my eyes.
Not surprisingly, I was in hospital. In a private room, it seemed, which was nice. Without moving my head, I let my eyes wander around.
No, I wasn’t in hospital. I was back in my old room in the Sorensen Clinic. Of course I was. Where else would I be? It said much for the levels of sedatives and painkillers that I couldn’t even be bothered to care.
A pleasant-faced girl with hazel eyes and freckles whom I remembered from my previous stay, leaned over me and said, ‘Hello, Mrs Cage. Awake at last.’
I liked her at once. Her colour, a soft spring green, twirled gently around her.
‘My name is Erin. Do you remember me? I’m a nurse on this floor and I’ve been assigned to you. I’m going to leave you for a moment to fetch the doctor. I won’t be a minute.’
When I opened my eyes, Sorensen was standing at the foot of my bed, reading what I assumed to be my notes.