Even though I was an ex-soldier, I’ve never thought of myself as a violent man, but something in me just snapped. My garden was a symbol of remembrance, because some things should never be forgotten, and those kids from hell had desecrated it, and the memory of everything it stood for.
The trunk containing my old uniform had sat beneath the bed for years, and as I pulled it out, the courage I used to feel when wearing it, surged back into my body.
This was war.
When nightfall fell, I crept outside and through the garden of petals. It angered me to look at what they had done, so I kept my eyes averted.
The lights were on next door, and I could hear the familiar shouts and squeals of the Devil and his spawn.
The petrol I carried sloshed in its can. If you listened real close, it almost sounded like a phlegm filled voice, urging me on.
But I didn’t need no urging. I was mad as a March hare.
After dousing the house in petrol, I set it alight. It was a remarkable sight. The screams of those trapped inside could be heard three or more streets away, or so I was told.
When the police arrived, I was stood in my field of poppies, watching the house burn. Dressed in my uniform, I felt proud. The medals the kids had thrown away were pinned to my chest. This was my last, great act. My final stand against the last great evil.
Sat here in my cell, awaiting sentence, I don’t feel any remorse. People just don’t realise what a great service I’ve done for them. They showed me photos of the bodies, their skin bloated and red, popped in places with weeping sores. They gave the people names that were unfamiliar to me, but none of it was real. I know who it really was, you see. You can dress it up any way you like, but I know I did something good.
They were the neighbours from Hell, and I’d sent them back.
The cell door suddenly opened and a tall man stooped to enter. He stood and stared at me for a moment. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
“Looks like we’ll be sharing a cell,” he said.
I nodded.
“I’m sure we’ve got plenty to talk about.” The man sat down opposite me. “You can call me, Bob,” he said with a grin.
In Darkness
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven times, the sound echoing around the room. Evelyn Lovelace lowered her Braille book and switched on the table lamp at her side. Sudden heat warmed the back of her hand and she withdrew it and picked up her novel to resume reading when the doorbell sounded.
Evelyn sighed, closed the book and stood. She took four steps forward and then turned forty five degrees to her left, her feet following a familiar path through the doorway into the hall. Six steps brought her to the door, the slight draught from around which tickled the fine hairs on her arms.
“Hello,” she said.
“Ah, hello. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’ve just moved in next door and I saw your light come on and I was wondering if you have any tea I could borrow. Damn if I didn’t remember to buy some before the shop shut.”
Evelyn listened to the man’s voice, listened to the melodic, unassuming tone. She knew through experience that you could tell a lot from someone’s voice, which is why she often wondered how people voted some of those politicians into positions of power. Didn’t they listen to the way those people spoke?
“One minute,” she said as she slipped the security chain. She started to open the door when she remembered she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, and that some people found the sight of her rolling eyes disturbing – a great way to introduce herself to her new neighbour. Past the point of no return, she thought it would be rude to close the door again, so she pulled it open. A cold wind embraced her.
“Oh,” the man said. “I erm.”
Evelyn nodded slightly. She wondered what his expression looked like now that he could see her; wondered if he saw what her mother had seen.
God blighted you for a reason, child. He chose you. You’re special.
“I heard you banging around earlier,” she said, “and I guessed someone was moving in because you’d make a lousy burglar with all that noise.”
“Sorry. I mean I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
She shook her head. “It’d take more than that to disturb me.”
“Right, right. It’s just I saw the light, and …”
“Tea, right?”
“Yes, I can’t survive the night without a cup of tea. Forgot to pack any.”
“Well come in a minute. I’m not standing here letting all the heat out.”
She heard the man hesitate. “I don’t bite,” she said.
The man laughed. “I’m sure you don’t. It’s just, are you sure? I mean I could be anyone.”
“If you were anyone, I wouldn’t let you in. But as you’re my new neighbour, you’re not just anyone, are you.”
“I guess when you put it like that. My name’s Neil. Neil Shore.”
“Evelyn. Now are you coming in or not? I’ve got goose bumps on top of goose bumps standing here.” She stepped back to allow the man access and heard him enter the house, bringing with him the strong, nose tickling aroma of aftershave. She closed the door behind him. “Sorry, one minute,” she said as she turned on the hallway light. “You forget about these things.”
“Do you live on your own?”
Evelyn nodded. When she realised he might not be looking at her, she said, “Yes.”
“It was just, you know, the light. I thought ...”
“People would be less likely to rob a house with someone inside. It’s all illusion. Come on, this way to the kitchen.”
She walked three paces along the hall, then turned forty-five degrees to her right and stepped into the kitchen with its lingering spicy aroma of yesterday’s Chinese takeaway. “Sorry about the smell.”
“Chicken satay, if I’m not mistaken.”
Evelyn nodded. “Very perceptive.”
“Well, it would be, but the bill’s on the table.”
Evelyn laughed. “I’ll have to remember to tidy up next time.” She walked across the room and reached out and fingered the counter until she found the rectangular tea caddy. No matter how many times she thought she put things in the same place, they never seemed to be there next time she came to find them.
Just you remember, child. When things seem uncertain, the answer lies at hand.
About to remove the lid, she said, “How about I make us a brew? If we’re going to be neighbours, it might be nice to get to know each other a little. Valerie, that’s the person who lived there before you, she was always popping around for a chat.” She turned and smiled.
Neil chuckled. “Well to tell you the truth, I haven’t got any milk either, so if you’re offering, I’d love a drink. Thank you. It’s thirsty work unpacking.”
Evelyn sought the kettle and popped open the lid. Then she filled it with water, her fingers hanging inside to act as a gauge to ascertain the level.
“Do you dream in colour?”
Evelyn frowned. “Do I what?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just something I’ve always wondered, you know – I shouldn’t have asked. Jeez, I’m an idiot. If you could see me, you’d see I’m blushing. Oh Christ, I didn’t mean—”
Evelyn giggled. “Don’t worry about it. I like someone who’s straight talking. I take it you don’t know many visually impaired people.”
“Including you, one.”
“Well, everyone has to start somewhere.”
“No, I didn’t mean to suggest anything.”
“I know. Do I dream in colour? No. I’ve been blind since birth, so I’ve never seen a colour. When I dream, it’s just noise and emotion. I guess I don’t miss what I’ve never had, so please, if we’re to be friends, don’t ever feel sorry for me. I hate it when people start all that, oh it must be terrible not being able to see. To be honest, sometimes it’s a blessing.”
“Okay, I promise.”
Evelyn switched on the kettle and turned to Neil. “You
may think this a little rude, but as we’re straight talking, would you mind if I felt your face. That way I get a sense of what you look like.”
“Er, sure, I guess.”
She raised her hands and touched his cheeks. They felt cold, making her flinch. A couple of day’s worth of stubble sprouted around his chin, the point of which felt a little concave. His eyebrows felt narrow; cheeks angular; nose curved. She fingered his short, damp hair, ran her fingers around the shell like whorls of his ears. Finally she touched his lips, the soft skin yielding beneath her fingers, his breath warm against her hand.
She withdrew her hands. “Are you moving in on your own, or is there a Mrs Shore?”
“Just me I’m afraid.”
Going by his voice and the impression she had after feeling his face, she felt glad knowing there was no one else and she smiled to herself.
You have a gift. Use it.
Evelyn ran her fingertips across the coarse fabric of her skirt, certain she could read a series of Braille like letters from the bobbles in the material. The letters weren’t perfect, but they were there, a series of up to six dots for each letter, arranged in a grid of two dots horizontally and three dots vertically, spelling out the word ‘wabere’. She ran her fingers across the material again, double-checking. The ‘b’ seemed a little iffy, the two dots spaced far enough apart they might have been a ‘k’, and the same could be said for one ‘e’, but her fingers were sensitive enough to decipher them. Her sense of touch was vital – she had to trust it. It had never let her down before when she had found the messages. And she’d trusted them then.
wabere
brawee
webare
beware
That was it.
But what did it mean? Beware. Beware of what?
She perused the thought for a while, letting it bounce around inside her head before she tired of thinking about it and set to cleaning the house.
Evelyn felt giddy with excitement. Neil had called her and asked whether she wanted to go out for a drink and something to eat. She couldn’t believe it – had butterflies in her stomach already.
He arranged to pick her up at six o’clock and take her to the new Italian restaurant in the town.
Remember child, being blind isn’t a curse. It’s a godsend.
In a world without form, Evelyn was bombarded with noise and aromas. The smell of garlic assailed her nostrils, accompanied by a potpourri of spices and herbs that made her mouth water.
“This way. Here, let me help,” Neil said.
Evelyn felt his hand on hers. It felt warm against her skin and sent a delicious shiver down her spine. She tapped the ground in front with the stick, a proboscis extending from her hand to search out obstacles that may trip her up.
Once they reached the table, Neil helped her to be seated and she collapsed her stick and placed it on the ground by her feet.
“The menus, erm, menu, sir,” a voice said.
Evelyn imagined his face as he stared at her with her dark sunglasses, his slip of the tongue faux pas not going unnoticed. She felt herself blush and pursed her lips in annoyance, not that she should be the one that felt embarrassed.
“Thank you,” Neil said. “Evelyn, would you like me to read it to you?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind.”
He proceeded to read through the starters and main courses while she listened, head cocked to catch every word above the chatter of the diners. She loved the quality of his voice. It had a strong, masculine sound to it.
She eventually decided upon a starter of Carpaccio Di Salome, which Neil informed her was thinly sliced Scotch salmon, marinated in olive oil, lime juice, garlic and dill. The way he read it out to her made it probably sound more succulent than it was. For her main course, she decided on Pollo Ai Porri E Zafferano; pan-fried breast of chicken in a leek, fresh herbs, saffron and cream sauce, which sounded delicious.
They made idle chatter while waiting for the meal, and Evelyn savoured the Sardinian white wine Neil ordered. Conversing with Neil came without effort. They chatted about various subjects, ranging from school, friends and family without any hesitation or embarrassing pauses. Evelyn couldn’t recall when she had felt so relaxed in public.
The aroma of the salmon, garlic, lime and dill wafted into her nostrils as the starters arrived.
She carefully put down her glass and searched the table with her fingertips to find the plate and the cutlery. Even though she couldn’t see anyone, she felt they were staring at her so she tried not to draw attention to herself, making her movements slow and delicate. Her fingers came into contact with a place mat, raised up on which she felt a pattern, but which to the trained hand became letters.
She fingered the design; found an ‘a’ and a ‘d’. Further exploration unearthed an ‘n’, followed closely by ‘e’, ‘g’ and ‘r’. Adnegr?
She mulled over the letters for a moment, rearranging them in her mind.
garden
ranged
gander
danger.
She snatched her fingers away.
“What’s the matter?” Neil asked.
Evelyn shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing … the plate was hot, that’s all.”
“Are you okay? Let me look.”
“No, honestly, I’m fine. It probably felt hotter than it is. Sensitive digits.” She wiggled her fingers in the air and then placed her hands back on the table and found the knife and fork. She prodded the fork around the plate, using the knife in her other hand to ascertain the area of the plate. Once the cutlery met resistance, she stabbed the food and then sliced it with the knife, using the weight of the fork to work out whether it contained any food. Bringing empty prongs to her mouth would only heighten her humiliation, and she didn’t want to resort to using her fingers in public.
She hoped watching her eat didn’t put Neil off, because he seemed genuinely interested.
The last time she felt this good was when she gave birth. The memory of the dependent little baby boy, Aaron, surfaced for air but she pushed it back down, smothering it with more immediate thoughts to drown it out.
Beware.
Danger.
What were her senses trying to tell her? What did the messages mean? Why the hell did they have to be so cryptic all the time? She ruminated while she chewed, but the bitter thoughts impaired the taste, spoiling what would otherwise be a lovely meal.
Evelyn could smell the faint trace of blood. She sniffed the air. “Are you bleeding?” she asked.
“Very perceptive,” Neil said. “You should hire yourself out as a sniffer dog. I cut myself shaving and it seems to be taking a while to stop flowing.”
“Oh, does it hurt?”
“I’ve done worse.”
“Well don’t stand in the hallway, go through.”
His arrival at the door had come as a (welcome) surprise. After the other night, she didn’t expect to hear from him again.
In the living room, she heard him scratching his chin and taking deep breaths.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, no. It’s just, I was wondering …”
She waited while he paused.
“Evelyn, I know you don’t really know me very well, but I was wondering if you would, perhaps some time, you know, like to go out on another date.”
Another date! Taken by surprise, Evelyn coughed to clear her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Neil said. “I shouldn’t have asked. Just forget it.”
“I’d love to go out with you date.”
“You would. That’s … that’s wonderful.”
Judging his position by the sound of his voice, Evelyn reached out and found his hand. She gripped it and squeezed. Next moment she felt displaced air and Neil kissed her cheek. She blushed, then lifted her other hand to seek his face. She fingered his cheeks, his lips, his nose. Then she leaned forward to kiss his lips, shuddering in delight as they made contact, velvet pillows colliding. The arom
a of blood seemed stronger close up, the smell like rusty metal.
She released his hand to embrace him, her arms around his torso. Neil reciprocated, pulling her toward him, his hands caressing her back, their bodies pressed together, inseparable. Breathless, Evelyn felt as though she were drowning – thought again of Aaron. Poor little Aaron.
She felt Neil’s hand slip underneath her shirt, slide toward her bra strap. Too fast, she thought as he fumbled to unfasten the clasp, but she did nothing to stop him.
Seconds later she felt the clasp spring open, Neil’s hand sliding around to cup her breast, her nipple going hard at his touch.
His tongue slid into her mouth and met her own to entwine like snakes in a nest. She tasted his saliva. Swallowed.
God, she wanted him.
She ran her hands across his chest, felt the ridges of his pectoral muscles, felt them twitch beneath her touch. Her hands slid lower, gripped the bottom of his jumper and t-shirt and tugged to pull them over his head.
Their lips parted for a moment, then they resumed the kiss.
She ran her hands across his naked torso. Felt the corrugated ridges of a toned abdomen. She ran her fingers across his chest, fingered a small lump of protruding skin near his armpit. Felt two more beside it forming a straight line. The Braille letter ‘l’.
You have to feel for the things you can’t see, child.
She ran her hands across his arms, felt small pimples on the back of his left triceps. Four dots forming an L shape, the Braille symbol for ‘v’. A vague, unnameable fear made her tremble. Mistaking her shudder for excitement, Neil increased his ardour.
She ran her hand across his back, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades like the nubs of wings. There she found two small pimples or spots. They angled at forty-five degrees from the lower left to the higher right, the symbol for ‘e’. Down toward the base of his spine, she found two more spots, angled right to left, the one on the left the lower of the two. The Braille symbol for ‘i’.
lvei
With her mother’s help, she learned a long time ago to trust her senses, to find the signs.
Sometimes they were difficult to decipher, other times, as with Aaron and Neil, they proved very easy.
The Mutilation Machination Page 6