Sacrifice (Sulham Close Part 1)

by Lisa C Hinsley

  Louisa put her legs over his knees. “I guess, but only if we’re not too long. I don’t want to get caught.”

  “Promise. We’ll check it out. See if there’s something there that’s setting off my spider senses.”

  “Tingling are they?” She nuzzled up to him.

  “So tingly my skin’s itchy.”

  She laughed then her expression turned serious. “And no more stealing whisky.”

  “Okay.”

  “Or any other bottles of stuff he’s got stashed away in the house.”

  Mark smiled at her. “Yes, boss. Quick search, and return for dinner.”

  He checked the clock and tried not to think about Pete’s liquor cabinet.

  Half an hour later, Mark took Louisa’s hand as they crept out the back door and into the small walled garden. Clematis vines almost concealed a gate in the dusky half-light. Mark pressed on the latch and pushed slowly. The hinges groaned and protested as if no one had been through this way in a long time.

  “The front door was left open.” Mark took Louisa’s hand and led her across the grass to the farm. “What’s the betting the back door is as well?”

  “Whatever we do, it’d better be quick. I do not want to get caught in there if that gay boy comes home.” Louisa glanced over at the road. “Did you notice how nervous that American woman was. What was her name?”

  “Kellie,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, her. She was almost peeing herself with nerves.”

  Mark laughed quietly. “She was wasn’t she? And that Harold bloke was so bloody stern. Got the disapproving father act down perfectly.”

  The pair crept up to the back of the building. The night was deepening, the sky to their east dark, to the west blood-red clouds streaked the horizon.

  “Pretty,” Louisa whispered.

  “And I’m right.” Mark pushed the back door open, a victorious smile on his face.

  Louisa cupped her hands around his face planted a small kiss on his lips. “Things to be proud of – knowing when a house has been left open so you can check it out.” As she pulled back, her face was clouded with a sad expression, and she refused to meet his eyes.

  “It won’t always be like this.” Mark turned away. “You want to go in or not?” He abandoned her on the step and went inside.

  The lights in most rooms seemed to be on. The kitchen was no exception. A drawer had been left open, jammed full with knives of all sizes. Louisa went to close it but Mark put a hand up to stop her.

  “Don’t.” He glanced at the back door. “My spider senses are still tingling. Something here is wrong, and perhaps we don’t want to be leaving traces of ourselves for people to find.”

  Louisa shrugged. “If you’re that freaked out, maybe we should go.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I want to know what’s making me get freaked out.” Mark turned to leave the kitchen. “Open doors using the hem of your shirt,” he said and left the room. He was back in the hall with the paneling and the oil painting. The boy he presumed was Pete’s dad stared out of the picture in that weird following way good artists seemed to master. He suppressed a shiver and thought about ignoring Louisa and taking another bottle of booze anyway, just to calm himself. He moved towards the room where he’d located the liquor cabinet.

  “Nah-ha.” She shook her head. “I already figured out which room that is. Don’t have to be smart to realize that’s where you found the whisky.”

  Mark gave a half smile. “You know me too well.” He glanced forlornly in the direction of the room.

  “I want to see it.”

  “See what?” Mark could almost feel a bottle grasped in his hand. He swallowed, as if in anticipation.

  “Oi, don’t ignore me.” She was looking in the direction of the library.

  “It was probably a hallucination, babe. I’ve had them before, you know that.” Mark rubbed his arms, a chill going through him.

  “Don’t care, I want a look.”

  Mark put his hands up. “Fine, knock yourself out.”

  He opened the door slowly, hoping the noose and chair setup would be gone. But there they were, complete with the plastic sheet and the white slip of paper on the seat.

  “Shit.” Louisa took a step into the room, but didn’t move closer. Her hands fidgeted on her bump, rubbing, stroking, probably didn’t even realize she was doing anything. “That’s a bloody noose.”

  “It’s real. Unbelievable.” The body wasn’t there, that was something.

  “Why the hell would someone have a chair and noose all prepared like that? Jesus, why?” She’d gone pale, and her hands sped up on her belly, rubbing, circling.

  “Haven’t a clue. Look I was wrong, we shouldn’t be here.”

  Louisa made a funny face and squeezed her legs together. “Sorry, shit. Baby just moved, and I’ve got to go to the loo right now.”

  “Wait until we’re back in the cottage.” Mark yanked her out of the room, using more force than he’d intended. He slammed the door shut and tried to pull her towards the kitchen.

  “I’ll only be a minute. I’ll pee quick, promise.” She glanced up the stairs. “Must be up there.”

  “Okay, fine. But make it fast.” He placed a foot on the first step and looked to the upstairs. The bathroom wasn’t the only thing up there. His intuition was going mad again. What was wrong? Something else… something other than the noose… maybe something worse was in the house? He was sure. He took the steps up to the upper floor slowly, one hand grasping Louisa’s as they crept up to the first floor. At the top the landing stretched out in two directions. After a moment’s deliberation, Mark chose left. “You look that way. I’ll holler if I find the loo first.”

  She nodded, still looking a bit overcome at the sight of the noose. What weirdoes. Who does sick shit like that? Louisa opened a door and peered into a room. Mark walked away from her, and opened the door to a large bedroom. At first glance, he guessed it was used as a guest room. He walked around, noting the lack of photos, trinkets, not a single picture on the wall. The mantelpiece to what appeared to be an original fireplace was clear of decorations. He ran a finger along the surface. Not even a layer of dust to be found. He crossed the room, past a neatly made bed, to a large chest of drawers.

  Stranger and stranger, he thought as he opened one of the smaller top drawers. He had expected a few linens or towels, the kinds of things found in spare bedrooms. Not a pile of socks. He opened the next drawer to find underpants.

  Pondering why someone would take minimalism to such a degree, he took a pair of socks from the very bottom and pulled one over each hand. He wiped down the handles and pushed the drawers back in. The mantelpiece was next. He rubbed at the oddly dust free surface. For a moment he stood in the middle of the space, still trying to work out the conundrum the room seemed to produce. A guest room with a change of clothes for weary and under prepared travelers? Why not? The cottage was stocked up for him; it was possible Pete did the same in here.

  He was turning to leave when he heard a piercing scream.

  “Louisa!” He bolted out onto the landing.

  A second scream sounded, this time muffled.

  His thoughts flashed to the odd couple. Had they heard her as well? The sound came from a room at the far end of the landing. He raced past the top of the stairs and threw the door open.

  At first, he didn’t even see Louisa. He’d run into a spacious bathroom where a young man, possibly a teenager, lay in a bath of scarlet water. He’d been in the tub long enough for his mop of brown hair to dry in stiff blood-caked chunks.

  So much blood, it was everywhere.

  A huge knife lay abandoned on the soaked bath mat. One of the boy’s arms hung over the side of the tub, the hand severed, held in place by a flap of skin.

  The whisky swilled in his stomach and he gagged. He was going to be sick, stop looking. Move away, get out!

  Vaguely, he clocked Louisa on the other side of the room. Her hands were balled up and stuffe
d against her mouth. Crimson lines streaked up the walls from the corner of the room where the bathtub was. They stretched up almost all the way to the ceiling. Louisa shuffled towards him, he grabbed her and pulled her over a puddle of blood, backing them towards the door.

  Blood covered all of the bath mat and most of the floor. Red streaks had splashed on almost every surface. This guy had spurted. Louisa fell against him. Mark wrapped his arms around her, one socked hand automatically going up to hide her face, her breath hot and damp through the sock. She turned her head into his chest and started making an awful hitching noise, like another scream was welling up inside of her.

  “Shush, shush.” He had to stop her crying out again. They couldn’t get caught in here, not with this in the bathroom. So much blood, it didn’t seem possible. He stumbled back, trying to drag her from the room, but she’d gone stiff, like a lump of stone.

  Mark rocked her, patting her back as he might a baby. Somehow he needed her to get moving. He’d seen some pretty bad stuff over the years. Addicts, self-harmers, even a dead guy in an alley once, when he was trying to find a place to sleep. But this was death in Technicolor.

  Louisa started sobbing. He tried to get his arms around her, he needed to manhandle her out of here, but that damn belly of hers was too big. Suddenly she sagged. Using her momentum, he pushed her towards the door. She landed with a bump on the carpet. That’s when he noticed she’d pissed herself.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Lou, we need to get the hell out of here.”

  She didn’t respond, just sort of moaned.

  “Lou, we need to get out.”

  He stumbled back into the hall. He had an idea about why he’d been brought here now. He pulled Louisa back onto her feet, stupid blue socks hocked up to his elbows, and gave her a little shake. She opened her eyes and stared at him. She’d turned milky white. If he didn’t get her out of here soon, she was going to chuck.

  “Listen to me.” And he said for a third time, his voice softer, “We need to get out of here, and we need to go now.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The stairs seemed to go on forever. He wanted to charge down them, shoot out of the farmhouse at lightning speed, but Louisa stumbled, feeling for him with hands that trembled, forcing him to take one step at a time.

  A noise outside made his heart skip a beat, was it Pete, coming home? Would he find them here, stuck on the stairs, with that up in the bathroom?

  Louisa hesitated as they got to the last step.

  Mark listened for the sound of tires on gravel.

  “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  She nodded. But he caught a twitch as if she wanted to glance up to the first floor.

  “The body… in the tub, try not to think about it. He’s not going anywhere.” Mark tried to chuckle, but it came out badly, serial killer bad. What if she thinks I did it, he thought. What had they got themselves into? No, he realized. What had he got her into?

  “Come on, girl,” he said as he took her out through the farmhouse and back across the lawn. The gate creaked again, so loud he convinced himself someone heard, knew what the pair of them were doing, even though they were out of sight. He sat her down at the little kitchen table, and filled the kettle.

  “You need to get your stuff.” Tears streamed down her face. “What the hell are you doing making tea?” she said, her voice high-pitched, on the verge of hysterics. “Get your things! Come on. We need to go.”

  “I need to think first.” Mark pulled off the socks and tossed them on the floor before getting the cups out and nervously fiddling with them.

  “There’s nothing to think about. There’s a dead body in the house next door. We need to disappear.” She stood up. “Screw your stuff, we should run, now.”

  Mark ignored her and put a tea bag in each cup. “Nothing a good cup of tea won’t cure.”

  “Mark, stop it!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a good shake. “We need to get far away from here and call the police, tell them what we found.”

  “Why the hell would we call them?” Mark screamed the words at her, slamming the kettle down on the counter at the same time.

  “He was dead. If we don’t say anything and they connect us to the scene – which they will – then we’ll look far guiltier.” She stared into his eyes. “Please, Mark.”

  Blood filled his vision, blood dripping down the walls, blood covering the floor, blood caked on the body, the hand dangling from a sliver of skin. One tug, one small tug, and he was sure it would come right off. His stomached rolled. “I’m going to be sick.” He leaned over the sink and threw up, watery vomit that stank of whisky. He retched again.

  Louisa leaned over and turned the hot tap on, rinsing the mess away. “You finished?”

  Mark nodded and cupped his hands for some water. He slurped it, swilled it around his mouth and spat. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door.

  “Maybe he committed suicide?”

  “Who cares, we’ve got to get out of here.” Louisa yanked on his arm. “Hurry up.”

  The hand was almost completely severed, Mark thought. No way that was done solo.

  The kettle came to a boil as she pulled him out into the hallway.

  Mark opened the door and together they checked to see if anyone was about.

  “The gates are closed,” Lou said in a quiet voice as she looked down the drive. “The bloody gates are closed.”

  “They won’t be locked, come on, let’s go.” He made himself sound confident for her, but inside, his heart pounded. What would they do if they were trapped, stuck here with a dead body?

  Together they ran as fast as Louisa could manage, straight down the middle of the drive.

  “I can’t go so fast,” Louisa gasped, holding her side. She gave a strange look, and he realized she was having a pain.

  “The baby?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.

  She nodded and winced as if the pain was getting worse.

  “You’re having the baby?”

  “I don’t know if I’m having the fucking baby. Go open the gates.”

  Mark sprinted off to the gates, skidding to a stop on the rough tarmac. They were big black, wrought iron monstrosities, with evil looking spikes ten feet up at the top. He looked for the latch but couldn’t find one.

  “It’s an electronic gate,” he shouted over his shoulder, and glanced to either side for a button to push. Surely there must be a way to open them.

  Louisa staggered up and leaned against the gate, panting as another pain started.

  “I can’t find the release.”

  “There must be one.” She huffed and puffed through a contraction.

  “There isn’t!” Mark searched further along the wall. But there was nothing, just bricks and mortar. He glanced up. Earlier, he’d spotted the shards of glass all along the top of the wall. No way he could get over it safely, and getting Louisa up was going to be impossible. “There’s nothing!” He kicked the wall. “There’s no bloody way out.”

  Louisa took a deep breath and straightened. “Then we’ve only one choice for now.”

  “What the hell is that, learn to pole vault?”

  “Don’t be so stupid.” She rubbed her belly, her face pale and drawn. “We go back to the cottage and lock ourselves in.”

  “No, we’re going now.” Mark grabbed her hand and led her to the cottage he knew was Kellie’s. He knocked hard on the door and waited.

  “She must be next door,” Louisa said. She had a slightly sweaty sheen on her face.

  “Another contraction?”

  “No. No, I think it must have been just those two. Not surprising with the shock.”

  Mark banged on the door again. No one came. He tried the door handle with no luck. “We’ll go to Harold’s house.” He strode off, leaving Louisa trailing behind him. He banged on the door and yelled through one of the windows.

  Still no answer.
r />   “They must be in there.” Mark eyed a large rock and picked it up. He passed it from hand to hand.

  “Don’t you bloody dare.” Louisa said. “Try that one – the house on the end.”

  Mark ran off and started knocking. “Hello?” He called up to an open window. “Hello, anyone there?” He still had the rock in his hand. Wouldn’t take much to break the glass, let himself in, search for a remote to the gate…

  Louisa interrupted his thoughts. “I’m having another one.” She looked at him, her eyes wide, appearing much younger, almost childlike. “Please, we need to go to the cottage.”

  Mark glanced at the glass and then back at her then dropped the rock. He’d figure a way out, one way or another. Make her safe. Should never have brought her here in the first place. He took her arm, and together they made their way down the drive.

  Chapter 4

  Pete drove to the center of Reading pulling into The Oracle car park and up the dizzying slope, round and round, until he reached the top level. He pulled his BMW in at a deep angle, taking up three spaces.

  He took a few moments to smooth the wrinkles from his Armani suit before checking his hair in his reflection in the windows. Satisfied, he triggered the locks on the car and tested one of the door handles before walking to the lifts. On The Riverside, the mall encroached on either side of the Kennet and Avon canal. Restaurants lined the exterior walls. He walked past them all, and headed for the pub that clung to the end of the parade of upmarket eateries. They were all vile, filled with fast food and people who no longer understood what it was to move slowly.

  Feel life, he thought.

  Pete felt life. He felt it with two hands and helped himself to extra. He pulled open the door to the pub.

  Pete prided himself on his ability to observe everything in a room without taking the time to glance about. He noted the groups of families sitting in the dining area, the old boys who probably came in every evening to get pissed before crawling home to unforgiving wives. There were some students shouting and carrying on in the corner near the dartboard. Across the room a gaggle of scantily clad women giggled and stared as he walked by. The tits on two of them looked ready to pop out. He could join them – have his pick, or maybe a selection of two or three.