Sacrifice (Sulham Close Part 1)

by Lisa C Hinsley

  Mark nodded, and slowly opened the door.

  “Where is it? Do you see anything?” Louisa pressed up against the wall, her feet digging into the pillows and duvet. She craned her neck and tried to see inside.

  “Nothing’s in here.” Mark leaned in, looking along the edges of the wall, then up and onto a small high shelf. “The damn thing’s completely empty.”

  “Bet they’re living in the walls. A whole bloody family of them.” Louisa huddled up on the bed. “Close the door, babe.”

  “I’ll keep this nearby, just for you.” Mark propped the poker up on the wall beside the cupboard.

  “Close the door. Please!” She swished her hand through the air, as if her gesticulations would make him move faster.

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “They’re not going to come swarming out. I can’t even find a hole in the plaster, nothing. Not any mouse or rat shit, either.”

  “Please,” she said, her voice high and whiny.

  “What’s it worth to you?” he smiled as he returned to the door.

  “Don’t you mean what’s it worth to you? The answer, by the way, is you get to cuddle up to me. Now close the bloody door!”

  Mark smiled at her as he closed up the cupboard. Almost immediately, the chattering and scratching began again.

  “What the hell?” Mark took a step towards her. “Do you hear that? The bloody pests are back already.”

  Louisa stood up on the bed, her feet sinking deep into the mattress, her body flat against the wall.

  Mark approached the bed, one hand extended. “Come on, babe. We’ll go to the living room. I’ll brush your hair, and we’ll put on the telly. Bet we can’t hear them at the other end of the cottage.”

  “Don’t you think we should start packing… getting ready to leave–” She stopped talking as the chuckling grew louder for a few seconds then petered out. Louisa stared at the slats of the cupboard door. She reckoned one could squeeze between the gaps. She shivered and moved a little further away. Her left foot slipped off the edge of the mattress.

  “Come on down, babe. You’re going to fall.”

  “What the hell is in the cupboard? Rats don’t make noises like that.” Louisa refused Mark’s hand, her eyes set on the corner of the room.

  “Look, the noise has stopped now.” Mark reached for her again. “You know, I bet it’s the wind. This building is ancient.”

  “The wind?” Reluctantly, Louisa took hold of Mark’s hand and climbed off the bed. “Do you really think we should stay the night?” she asked. She placed her hands on her belly, the baby was quiet, probably asleep. “If that gay-boy Pete puts the police onto to this sooner rather than later… I couldn’t stand it if you ended up in a jail.”

  “You should have stayed out of sight when Sherlock Holmes and Nancy Drew showed up at the door. They didn’t have a clue you were here. What if you get implicated as well?”

  “I thought they were more like Laurel and Hardy,” she said. “And can’t we be witness for each other?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know.” He linked arms with Louisa and took her through to the living room. She listened for strange noises, but from this end of the cottage the bedroom seemed to remain quiet.

  “You know that bead lady saw me walk down the road. I didn’t think there was a point in hiding,” Louisa said suddenly. “What about later, when I’m supposed to show up at her house? What if their desperation about getting me out of the yard was because they know about the body?”

  Mark laughed. “Now who’s paranoid? Go over to Kellie’s house, find the remote to the gate and sneak back when you can.”

  “And we’ll pack and leave. Tonight?” she asked.

  “I’ll pack, don’t you worry.” He leaned over and kissed her belly.

  Louisa smiled, and lowered herself on to the sofa. “Try and get rid of those rats while I’m gone.”

  “Wind.”

  “Whatever.”

  Outside the woods reached up from the end of the garden, leaning over the wall and stretching up towards the sky. The sun had set, but the sky wasn’t black yet. In the navy blue twilight, the stars began to shine.

  Chapter 6

  Kellie knocked on the front door of the cottage. Mark answered, a frown fleeting over his weather-worn features as he turned his head and called for Louisa.

  “Babe, come here.”

  Louisa emerged from the living room, her eyes heavily lidded, sleepy.

  “It’s late.” Kellie tapped at her watch. “We said nine.”

  “I know, sorry. We forgot the time.” Mark held an arm out for Louisa, and the couple cuddled.

  “Say your goodbyes, then.” Kellie crossed her arms under her chest. She didn’t want to be twisting beads right now. Stupid nervous habit. And why didn’t people ever do as they’re asked?

  Louisa and Mark embraced. Not an easy thing with her belly protruding so much. They shared a small kiss, not in an embarrassing show, but as a touching peck. Then Mark lowered down onto one knee, and put his head against her stomach.

  “I’ll meet you in a year, Little Feet,” he whispered. “Take care of Mummy.”

  “Come on,” Kellie said.

  “What’s your rush? I’m not going to be with my girl for a year. What’s another couple of minutes to you?”

  “Pete will be back soon.”

  “Fuck Pete.”

  “Mark!” Louisa pulled him aside, and whispered something in his ear. Kellie strained to hear, but only caught her closing words of, “Calm down.”

  “Sorry about that. He’s a bit on the emotional side. I’m sure all the neighbors are used to that – if you do have junkies drying out around here all year long.”

  Oh yes, hon. We certainly cure the addicts, Kellie thought. “You need to leave,” she said.

  The couple embraced a second time. Louisa stepped out of the cottage, looking over her shoulder as Kellie seized her by the arm and frogmarched her down the garden path.

  “Is this entirely necessary?” she asked, and shook herself free of Kellie’s grasp.

  “Would Harold and I be so worried if it wasn’t?” Kellie crossed the street, heading towards the house next to the farmhouse.

  Louisa made a little noise, a harrumph. But she didn’t ask to go back. Kellie led the girl into her home, and took her through to the kitchen.

  “I need a cup of tea,” Kellie said, and pulled out a dented tin pot filled to the brim with dried leaves. “Would you like some?” She held the container out to her guest.

  Louisa leaned over and took a sniff. She shook her head. “No thank you. A little water would be nice though.”

  A large oak bookcase dominated the wall containing the back door. Louisa wandered across, one hand on the underside of her belly, perhaps helping to support the weight, or maybe the baby was kicking. She started picking through the books.

  “How long have you got, hon?” Kellie filled a copper kettle, and placed it on a gas burner. The hob ticked as she pressed a button, then the flame burst into life.

  “What?”

  “For the baby.”

  “Oh. That. Weeks.” Louisa waved her hand dismissively, not even looking away from the titles as she scanned the shelves.

  “The head’s already dropped. I’d say days, if not, less.”

  Louisa chose an old Ira Levin novel off an overstuffed shelf, and flicked through the pages. Kellie shivered. A pregnant woman should not be reading Rosemary’s Baby. Louisa’s eyes flickered up from the pages she was reading. “What are you, a midwife?”

  Kellie measured a heaped spoonful of herbs into a ceramic teapot. “Actually, yes.”

  “Humph.” Louisa snapped the book shut and to Kellie’s relief squeezed it back onto the shelf. The girl turned to the window where five tassels hung from the top of the frame, each a different color, each with several cut crystals arranged in a pattern, with a large drop at the end. The gems caught the light, reflecting tics around the kitchen. “Huh. Look at all the rainbows.” She
ran her fingers through the crystal curtain, so the rainbows jumped and swirled on the walls. “They’re pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Kellie handed her a cup of water. “The combination of stones on each tassel is supposed to offer protection.”

  Louisa looked so young, late teens at most. Just a kid. She couldn’t tell, age was so hard to guess these days.

  “Protection from what?” the girl asked, and drained the glass.

  “You know. Superstitious nonsense.” Kellie smiled. “I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”

  They ascended a thin staircase that wrapped around on itself and deposited them on a tiny landing. “There’s the bathroom. The toilet’s under the eaves, take care not to smack your head when standing up.” She took Louisa into the room on the left. “You can sleep here.” She picked up a nightdress that had been placed on the bed and shook out the folds. She held it up against the girl. “This should fit around your belly.”

  “Thank you.” Louisa took the nightdress and draped it over both arms. “Will I really have to wait a whole year until I see Marky again?”

  “I’m sorry, honey, but sometimes you need to make sacrifices.” She touched the girl’s cheek. “I’ll drive you back to town tomorrow. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  “I’ll manage.” Louisa sat hard on the bed.

  “Sleep tight, hon.”

  “Cheers.”

  Kellie closed the door behind her. She leaned against it for a few seconds, made the sign of the cross and grabbed the necklace around her neck. Twisting the beads, she went downstairs. She needed to find Harold.

  Chapter 7

  Pete slid the key card into the lock. The mechanism sighed as the bolt released, and he pushed the door open.

  “This is nice,” Serafina said. She was a little unsteady on her feet after too much wine. Pete held the heavy door allowing her a small space to move through. She placed a hand lightly on his chest as she entered the room; he cupped one buttock, giving a gentle pinch as she wobbled past in her stilettos.

  The door slammed and suddenly Pete was behind her, spinning her about to face him. He held her tight and kissed her deeply, his lips warm, his tongue parting her lips and tentatively circling around the tip of her tongue with his own. Then he released her. And in a moment Sera replayed later, the moment she should have left the hotel; he shoved her, hard. Got his hands positioned just below her ribs and forced the base of his palms into her diaphragm.

  She tumbled backwards towards the bed, her ankles twisting at an angle as she attempted to balance. The punch had winded her, and now her chest didn’t want to expand. Desperately, her hands went to her throat, her lungs burning as she tried to drag in some air. One of her heels snapped off and she landed hard on the mattress. Her breath came back seconds later. She sprang up still wheezing, the inhalation seemed to taking forever.

  “What the hell!” she said, panting. “You broke my freeking shoe!” She slipped off the stiletto, and held it up.

  “I’ll pay for another pair.” Pete crossed the room and relaxed into an armchair positioned opposite the bed. “Undress.”

  “But, I liked these shoes. They were my favorites.” She stuck her lip out a little, and turned the shoe over in her hands. She hated this country. Why did she ever decide to leave her village. More money? Pah!

  “Then I’ll pay to have them fixed.”

  “Where does a young guy like you get so much cash?”

  Pete shrugged. “My dad’s rich.” He waved a finger at her. “Undress.”

  Serafina placed the broken shoe on the floor next to the other. While staring at the discarded heel, it lay half under the valence, she gritted her teeth and said in a low voice, “Don’t ever hit me again.”

  Pete leaned back and laughed. Laughed so hard, he had to take a tissue from the box on the table beside him and wipe the tears from his cheeks. Sera glanced over, her eyes wide. The door was just beyond him. Could she get past? Her muscles tensed, ready for flight.

  “I do what the fuck I want.” Pete stopped laughing as abruptly as he’d started. “Undress.”

  Serafina narrowed her eyes at the young man. She should have realized. He was a lad, a youth. He either robbed someone for the cash, lifted the suit from a posh house in one of the villages, or was old money, bred to do what he liked. She glanced beyond him to the door for a second time.

  “You’d never get past.” His voice was cold, flat. Dead. “Undress. Now.” There was a finality in his tone as he said the last word. A shiver ran down the length of her spine, radiating out into her arms and legs, filling her belly until she felt sick. Slowly, Sera raised her fingers to the straps of her dress.

  Maybe this was payment. He’d fed her well at a restaurant, supplied wine that slipped down the back of her throat like silk. He’d given her a small shove, she decided, blocking the ache nestled deep under her ribs. A love push. Now she needed to repay her debt. He might satisfy himself, and leave her to sleep in this room. What was her alternative? The grotty bed and breakfast the council put her in, with the screaming crazy guy who always started up at three in the morning, and the dog that commenced barking incessantly when the screaming guy eventually stopped?

  She slipped the straps from her shoulders, and stood up. She turned, so her back faced Pete. “Will you unzip my dress?” she asked.

  His fingers were at her zip before she had the chance to look over her shoulder to find out what he might do. Unsupported, the dress fell to the ground. He’s not a client, she thought. This is sex – with benefits. She turned, intending to press her body into his. But Pete retreated back to the chair. He took his Armani jacket off with care and opened the neighboring wardrobe to hang the jacket, taking a second to smooth out the wrinkles. His trousers tented at the front, noticeable as he unbuttoned his shirt and hung it on a separate hanger.

  In a show so obviously intended for her, he said, “Don’t need these right now,” took the money clip from his left pocket and placed it on the little table next to the kettle and two packets of biscuits wrapped in plastic. The thickness of the bills in the clip dwarfed the biscuits. He removed his trousers, and lay them over the back of the chair. “Sit,” Pete said, bringing Serafina’s attention away from the cash and onto to him.

  He stood before her naked and hard, and thrust his torso in a quick succession of jabs. Sera focused on the little table and the thick fold of bills. The bed was soft as she perched on the edge. Pete strode across the room, and Serafina opened her mouth.

  Chapter 8

  Louisa waited until she heard the American reach the bottom of the stairs. A large mahogany linen press stood opposite the bed. She opened both doors, mindful of creaking hinges. Shelves filled the right of the unit, with sheets and pillowslips stacked neatly in the middle shelves. Fluffy blankets filled the bottom, and at the top, three pillows had been stuffed into the remaining gap. She took the pillows first and stuffed them under the duvet, then followed with the blankets, arranging them into a reasonable copy of her shape.

  The floor creaked each time Louisa moved, so, although she wanted to pace, she resolved to sitting on a small woven cane chair by the window. She pulled at the edge of her shirt, curling the hem between her fingers and staring out into the night.

  Stars hung low. She’d lived out in the countryside, before. Before she had to leave – to hide her growing waistline. The Milky Way should be visible, but the moon was so round and bright, the constellations faded in the pearly light. Like the stars she saw when curled up in a doorway with Mark snuggled up to her. She missed him. He was her other half, and she felt empty and somehow weighted down without him. As if a black void had filled her insides.

  She took a deep breath, and gazed down at the cottage. The light shone behind the curtains in the living room. Was he watching that enormous TV? Thinking of her? As if he’d read her mind, there was a slight movement behind the curtains, and a little more light spilled out of the window. A smile crept across her face.

&nbs
p; Half an hour passed. Time was getting on for eleven-thirty, and Louisa’s eyelids kept sliding closed for long seconds.

  The sharp slam of the front door echoed into the quiet of the night and Louisa almost cried out. A bat swooped through the air and out over the trees beyond the wall. Louisa moved back from the window as Kellie walked down the path, and headed off to the left towards the next house on the yard. At least she didn’t go to the cottage. No doubt she was going to tell the other man she’d captured the stowaway. Little do they know, she thought and smiled to herself.

  Louisa tiptoed to the door and cracked it open. The house was silent as she crept onto the landing. It was dark, but she didn’t dare put on a light. She found the top step, and tread softly down the stairs.

  The house remained silent, and the air was weighty, almost expectant. The sensation enveloped Louisa as she moved through the hall. Hopefully the back door would be open, or the key nearby. Leaving by the front was not an option. She peeked into the kitchen. The room was dark and empty. Taking a quick look over her shoulder she entered, her trainers almost silent on the tiles. The baby kicked, possibly sensing her anxiety, and shoved a foot under her ribs.

  “Little Feet, behave,” she murmured, and placed a hand on top of her belly. She pushed down gently, until the baby rolled over and relieved some of the pressure on her lungs.

  “Please be open,” she said, and thought a little prayer for whoever might be listening. Louisa tried the handle. The doorknob turned. For a second, she remained in the kitchen, shocked that the American had overlooked this. Maybe she wanted her back with Mark. She’d seen the love between them. What if she was a romantic at heart, and didn’t want to split them, when the birth was so close? Even Kellie had told her the head had dropped, whatever that meant. Louisa wasn’t sure how long she’d been pregnant, hadn’t even had a check-up. Butterflies exploded in her stomach at the thought of holding Little Feet, for real. She wrapped her arms around her belly in an impromptu hug. The open door beckoned to her, but before she could leave she needed to find that stupid remote for the gate.