Sacrifice (Sulham Close Part 1)

by Lisa C Hinsley

  And, as Pete sat by the bar, a young woman with long brown hair and soulful brown eyes caught his eye. She’d noticed him enter as the sluts had, her head rotating to follow his path to the bar. Pete picked a place a few seats down from the brunette, and ordered a rum and Coke.

  There was something about her. Her glossy brown hair, styled in a wave reminiscent of a thirties sex siren. The dress had conservative lines, but so sexy. The fabric clung to her curves but covered enough skin to make his imagination go into overdrive.

  When he was certain he had her attention he slid his gold money clip from the inside pocket of his jacket. Thick with twenty pound notes, he flicked though before sliding one out.

  He waited until his rum and Coke arrived, took a long drink, and turned to face the woman. “Can I get you a refill?”

  She seemed surprised, her first words coming out as a stutter as she realized she’d been caught. Watching. Something Pete would be doing later. He adjusted his position on the barstool, encouraging the tingles building between his legs.

  A scent came from her, a perfume he couldn’t place, and that was unusual. He knew them all, the good, the bad, the exotic and the sultry. Her scent had a hint of musk, and an almost hidden spicy essence. He needed to taste her skin, decide better what she’d concocted to adorn that long, beautiful neck.

  “Um… yes. Thank you, how nice of you.” She pushed her empty glass forward, her eyes lowered, but angled in his direction. Was she shy, perhaps demure? Or a good actress?

  She intonated her words with a thick accent. Pete noted her large wide-set eyes, her tallness, even though she was seated, and decided she was another Polack. Reading was full of them these days. Several of the newsagents on the Oxford Road had Polish names now. They stocked Polish food and someone was even producing a local newspaper in Polish.

  Pete placed the money clip on the bar, watching her eyes follow his movements.

  “Wine, please,” she said.

  “Dry?”

  She nodded. At least she has some culture in her, he thought.

  He waved the barman over.

  “Thank you,” she said, and slid off her seat and onto the bar stool next to Pete, resting one knee against his.

  Heat radiated from her and flowed to him tingling his balls some more. So alive. So unfair. Her drink arrived, and he raised his for a toast.

  “To an interesting night,” he said, and chinked his tumbler against her glass.

  She adjusted her hair, sliding the length over one shoulder. The strands shone, even in the dim light. So glossy, smooth – touchable. He’d bet his fortune that her hair smelled as gorgeous as it looked. She leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. With the lightest of touches, she massaged his leg with the tips of her fingers as she stared into his eyes.

  “To an interesting night,” she repeated and took a sip, her eyes still fixed on his.

  Pete felt the first twitches of stiffness in his cock. Her scent enveloped her, and as she leaned even closer towards him, he caught a glimpse of her lacy bra.

  His seduction was almost complete when the first of the tarts staggered up to the bar and crashed into his back. They’d been watching him have that first tentative, so important drink with the Polack. Pointing and giggling, and waiting for an opening. They must have got bored waiting.

  He sighed and turned to face the woman. It was one of the tit twins.

  “I’m so sorry, love.”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder and bent down to adjust her shoe. From this angle he could see she wasn’t wearing underwear. Nipples and a fading tattoo flashed at him as she finished with the strap and stood back up.

  “Bloody things have a mind of their own.” She smiled, and the expression almost made her pretty.

  “No harm, no foul,” he said and removed her hand from his shoulder with an undisguised expression of disgust.

  “Hey, you want to come and join me and the girls?” She indicated at the giggling pack behind her.

  “I think I’ve already found my entertainment for the night.”

  “Oh right…” She didn’t say anything for a moment. “What about if she joins in as well? She looks foreign, we could show her the sights.”

  They must have seen the money clip he’d used to reel in the Polack. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure. His temper threatened to flare.

  “You must think me terribly rude, but I came here to meet this lovely lady beside me, and I really must pay attention to her.”

  “Oh, really? If you come over, I guarantee you won’t regret a thing.” She pushed out her chest at him.

  The tart stank of booze. Pete stood, taking the Polack by the hand.

  “If you’ll excuse me, we already have a dinner date planned.”

  “You’re lying,” the tart said.

  He’d misjudged, she was far drunker than he’d thought.

  “You’re one of those guys who think they can get away with anything, treat people anyway they want. Aren’t you?” She poked him in the chest with a finger.

  “I assure you,” he leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper, “you have no idea who you’re fucking with. Poke me again and you’ll wake up in hospital.” Pete straightened and led the Polack from the bar.

  “You’re a fucking psycho. Lady, get away from that asshole before he beats and rapes you,” the drunk shouted after them.

  Pete placed his arm around the Polack’s waist and moved her towards the exit.

  “Don’t mind them. Drunk and uneducated tarts looking for trouble. Would you prefer it if we went out to dinner? I know a lovely little restaurant a five minute walk from here.”

  The woman gazed over at him, her brown eyes wide as she took a moment to glance back at the gaggle of women. Maybe she had heard what he’d said.

  “Come on, fucker, if you’ve got something to say, come over and say it to me and my mates.” The drunk was standing in the midst of her friends, all of them squaring up.

  “Dinner would be nice,” she said finally.

  A shadow of worry fluttered across her eyes, and Pete’s smile broadened. She should be worried.

  Chapter 5

  Louisa tried to relax in the bath. The last pain had been almost ten minutes ago, hopefully they’d settle down and go the hell away. No way did she want to have her baby here… she just needed to hold on a little longer, and a warm bath could slow down or even stop the contractions altogether. Mark had run the bath and gone off, checking for a gate or hidden exit from the farm. Her thought had been that the gate was on a timer, and it would probably be open in the morning, and they could escape then. But she wasn’t sure if the baby would wait that long. Plus they needed to get out and go straight to the police.

  Images came of that man in the tub, blood on every wall, even the ceiling for Christ’s sake. She shook them off, she needed to calm down, stop the contractions. Her mind wandered to the con Pete had drawn Mark in with. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if it had been true, but the entire situation was a farce. The possibility of Mark drying up by himself was unlikely. She didn’t want her baby to grow up with an alcoholic father. What she’d had was bad enough. For a moment, her stomach muscles tightened.

  Force yourself to relax, Louisa thought and took a deep breath before sinking down in the water as far as she could manage. Bubbles closed in around her, concealing her breasts but not her belly. Calm down, calm down: she ran the words in a cycle in her mind. Her belly-bump, as her mother would have said, protruded from the suds like a mountain surrounded by a ring of white fluffy clouds. Her boobs, normally tiny, had grown to an almost reasonable size. She rubbed her palms over the nipples until they hardened. Between her legs, her body began to wake up, and she considered masturbating quickly, before Mark came back in. It was the trauma causing this, of seeing the body with the hand almost entirely cut off. Of being imprisoned on this farm with a bunch of weirdoes. She needed to feel real again.

  She ran
her hands over her belly first, exploring the bumps and lumps of the baby, pushing into her skin to find what she guessed was the head. The shapes shifted, and Little Feet stuck a foot out the top of her stomach. She traced the outline of its sole; almost able to count the toes as they pressed against her muscle. She supposed that was a sign of her emaciation.

  Mark was out there in the growing dark, searching for a way out. She needed to be with him. If the gay boy did murder the boy in the tub, maybe they could fix it that he was carted off. Then they’d be able remain here. She’d convince the Laurel and Hardy pair, make the two of them see reason. The neighbors would let them stay, take pity because of the pregnancy. Maybe the dead boy was a good thing.

  The warm water and the scent of roses wafting up from the bubble bath relaxed Louisa, and slowly, her eyelids slipped closed. Lying in the tub, halfway to sleep, she recalled a conversation she’d had with Mark the night they met. He’d wanted to know why she was huddled up in a doorway. All she’d said was “I can’t go home.” She reckoned it was the way she’d spoken. Or the crazed look in her eye, as she knew it must be. But he’d never asked again.

  The image of Mark faded into darkness. Then something moved in the shadows behind her eyelids. He was back, her father, waking her, already on top, telling her, “You can’t tell your mother. She’d hate you forever.”

  Louisa jumped up, sloshing bathwater and suds onto the floor tiles – forming puddles like the blood in that other bathroom – her heart pounding in her chest. The baby shifted, as if in protest to the sudden movement and she shivered, despite the warm bathroom.

  The front door opened and closed almost silently, and Louisa stiffened. What if it wasn’t Mark? She hadn’t locked the bathroom door, and she’d never make it there before whoever it was tried to come in. She drew her legs up and hugged herself, holding her breath and waiting for the door to open.

  The door opened a crack, and Mark peered in. “Can I come in, babe?”

  Louisa closed her eyes for a moment, thank Christ it was him. She reached for his hand. “The contractions have stopped. Oh, and the baby’s kicking,” she said. He wasn’t smiling, and certainly wasn’t in a hurry. That meant he’d probably not found a way out.

  Mark sat on the toilet lid, and placed a hand between hers.

  “He’s going to be a football player.”

  “Or she’ll be a ballerina.” Louisa attempted a smile.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mark leaned over and placed a kiss on her lips.

  “There’s no way out,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

  Louisa nodded.

  “If you don’t go to Kellie’s it’ll be noticed. So I thought you should go there and take yourself off to bed. Then sneak out and come back here. We’ll disappear before first light.”

  “You actually want us to stay the night?” Louisa felt a chill go through her. “And disappear to where? What if the gate’s still closed in the morning?” She sat up, water sloshed over the side of the tub again. “I’ll try and find a remote at that woman’s house and then we won’t wait, we’ll go straight away. If not, we’ll go the moment the gate opens.”

  “And have you walking all night?”

  “Did you check properly? Surely there must be a way out?”

  “There isn’t. I checked the entire perimeter. It’s like a bloody prison. We leave first thing the morning. It’ll be more logical. Honest, babe. I’ll leave a note saying I couldn’t be without you. Laurel and Hardy made it clear you’re not welcome. Meant to tell you, I found something. I’ll show you when you’re done your bath.”

  “That’ll be now, then.” Louisa grabbed his hands and had him help her to a standing position.

  He left her alone, wiping the suds off her body, and wishing he’d come back. A man’s dressing gown hung from the door. She put it on, the flannel material sticking to her damp skin and barely covering her bump.

  She found Mark in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress, the top drawer of the bedside cabinet open. A piece of flat wood was in his hands. He turned it over and over as she came in and perched next to him on the bed.

  “What is it?”

  Mark pulled the drawer a little more open, and pointed.

  “I was fiddling around, trying to decide what to take with us when we leave. I put my wallet and other bits in here earlier, and as I grabbed my things, the bottom wobbled. So I had a play with the wood, and look.” He held up the panel in his hands. “The base came out. It’s false, and something’s hidden underneath.”

  Louisa leant forward, and peered inside. A needle, fresh in its sealed plastic shroud, lay beside a small baggy of white powder. Next to that was a folded sheet of paper with writing on it.

  “Read it,” Mark said, and handed the note to her.

  “To the current resident: Please accept my offering to you. Enjoy your last high, because you’re about to be cured,” Louisa read out loud. Underneath this was a list of scrawled signatures.

  “You won’t remember Billy.” Mark pointed to the last name on the paper. “He disappeared off the street about six months before I found you. Pete mentioned him, said he’d cured him. Apparently he’s working as a chippy with some local builders.”

  “I understand now.” Louisa grimaced, and pulled back a little from the sight of the drug.

  “So do I. The body over in the farmhouse is just a coincidence. Look at this!” He waved the paper under her nose. “This proves Pete’s done this before. He has a real detox program. I will be dry, won’t that make our lives better?”

  “No, you don’t get it.” She reached over and grabbed the baggy. “Don’t you realize? The drugs are part of the set up.”

  Mark looked doubtfully at her.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and tried not to lose her temper. She could feel red hot anger ready to boil over inside her. “You get high, and they’ll say you were a druggy who broke in and committed the murder. You already took the booze. If you’d found anything else of value, would you have taken that too?”

  Mark nodded sheepishly.

  “And you’re certainly not considering using this?” She clutched at the baggy. “What is this anyway? Heroin?”

  “I think so…”

  “You’re bad enough with the booze.” She held the bag up to the light and poked at the powder with a finger. “Well, this is going down the loo.”

  “No don’t. You’re wrong, babe. The letter proves it – all those signatures. Oh, go on, babe. Let me have it.” He seized her arm and reached for the baggy. “I got a hold of some once. I was hanging out with this kid, Chantelle. She was using, and I got a syringe full. My God that stuff is worth shooting up.” He made a play for the bag, but Louisa snatched it away. “What harm can one more time do?” he asked, a slight whine to his voice. “What if you tried a little?”

  Louisa shook free from Mark’s grasp. “Do you really think I’d dope up the baby? I don’t think so!” She stood, her multicolored hair hanging in wet clumps over her shoulders. “This shit’s going to be flushed.” She spun, with the intention of leaving the room.

  “Did you hear that?” Mark said, and padded over to the corner where something was making a scratching noise. “Came from one of the cupboards I think.” He crouched down and listened. “What a night. Even sleeping in a doorway would be less eventful than this place.”

  Louisa remained frozen to the spot. “I can’t be having rats crawling over my feet,” she said, her voice wavering. Her eyes were wide, and she clutched the baggy to her chest as she backed out and into the hall. “I’m going to get rid of this shit. Agreed?”

  Mark stared back at her, an expression of sadness, and perhaps some disappointment passing over his features. “Suppose it’s for the best.”

  Louisa emptied the packet into the toilet, watching the powder drift through the air. The heroin or coke, or whatever it was, collected on the surface of the water for a moment before sinking to the
bottom.

  “Never thought I’d see the day,” Mark said from the doorway. “Bet that was top notch shit.” His eyes followed the bag as Louisa shook out the last grains and then flushed.

  “Have you taken care of the scratching yet?”

  “Thought I’d wait for you to come back. I’m sure the damn thing chuckled at me. Anyways, you can sit on the bed, and tell me where the bastard runs. Oh, and I need a weapon.” He gazed around the bathroom. “Nothing I could hit a rodent with in here, is there?”

  “Use the poker from the fireplace.” Louisa turned on the tap and rinsed the plastic off. She wouldn’t put it past Mark to try and lick the residue off when she wasn’t looking. Happy she’d got all of the granules washed out, she crumpled the up bag and tossed it in the bin.

  “I’m armed, hurry up,” Mark called as he ran past the bathroom door.

  Louisa took a deep breath, retied the dressing gown, and returned to the bedroom. Mark was waiting beside the cupboard, the poker held aloft.

  “Not sure what good I can do.” Louisa climbed on to the bed.

  From the corner of the room, she distinctly made out a sort of clicking sound, almost like a quiet laugh.

  “You hear that?” Mark asked, the poker wobbling about in the air.

  “You sure that’s a rat?” Louisa backed up, until she sat high on the pillows. “Maybe we should leave the door closed.”

  “Nope, we’re getting rid of the pest now. Because we are staying, at least for a few hours, and I’m not going to be able to sleep with whatever-that-is chuckling at me all night.” Mark put his hand on the doorknob.

  “Stop!” Louisa called out. She wasn’t sure how much longer she had before the baby arrived, but one thing she was certain of. The sight of rats darting about terrified her, and she did not want to risk starting labor off again.

  “But I’ll be quick, put the creature out of its misery with one bash. Never know what hit it.”

  She backed deeper into the pillows and pulled the gown tight around her belly. “You sure?”