by J. A. Baker
More water dribbles out of the glass, large orbs wetting the carpet and dampening her clothes. ‘Jacob was my life and now I have nothing!’ She lowers her head then looks up again, her eyes narrow, dark with bitterness and recrimination. She wants to curb her hate, to keep it in check but it’s a wild beast within her, mewing and howling to be free. ‘And you know what that means, Chloe? It means I have nothing to lose. Whatever happens after today doesn’t matter because our lives are worthless. Yours and mine. We’re invisible, of no use to anyone. And if that doesn’t scare you, then I don’t know what will…’
She sits down on the bed, chilled and spent, and holds up the glass with the remaining water, gripping it tightly. Leah watches, waits, hoping Chloe will cry or sob or at least look scared or marginally grateful for the favour Leah is doing for her. Many would leave her to choke and dehydrate, but not Leah. She’s better than that. For now.
The glass rocks slightly as she places it down next to her feet before turning her attention to Chloe, who shrinks away, her eyes wide with terror. The mattress tilts and compresses as she attempts to shuffle her body away, a muffled shriek coming from behind the gag.
‘Don’t be scared. Come on now, if I was going to do anything bad to you, I would have done it by now, wouldn’t I?’ Her head shakes, her lip pouts. ‘You never fail to upset and disappoint me, Chloe, do you know that? Just when I think I can’t hate you any more than I already do, you go and do something stupid, something that insults my intelligence. Is it any wonder I’ve had to tie you up and threaten you? If you do end up getting hurt, you’ll only have yourself to blame. I can’t be held responsible for what happens after you disobey me, can I?’
Leah moves closer, so close she can smell the fear emanating from Chloe’s skin; an odious combination of urine and sweat so powerful and pungent it almost makes her gag. She recoils, shifts her body away, her face wrinkled with disgust.
‘Right, as much as I don’t want to do it, I’m going to remove your gag and allow you a drink of water because I’m a kind person. Better than you’ll ever be. Don’t think of doing anything stupid now, will you? Because you’ll regret it. I swear to God you will regret it.’
She reaches over Chloe’s head, tucks her fingers behind her hair and removes the belt from around her mouth. Chloe responds by contorting her lips, stretching and gurning to allow the feeling to return to the lower half of her face.
‘Here,’ Leah says as she tilts Chloe’s head forward and brings the glass to her mouth. ‘Don’t gulp it. Just a few sips and then this belt is going back on. And remember, do anything stupid and you run the risk of being hurt.’
Chloe smiles, her eyes soft with gratitude and acceptance. She takes a mouthful of water, then another.
‘That’s it,’ Leah whispers, relieved she’s co-operating. ‘One more and you’re done.’
It takes her by surprise. She tells herself later that she had no option and was forced into it, cornered into doing what she did. It was all Chloe’s fault.
A coldness hits her as a stream of water is directed at her face, Chloe’s mouth pursed into an O-shape as she spits it at Leah’s eyes. She lets out a shriek, brings up her arm to dry herself, but it’s too late. Too late to stop Chloe’s unearthly scream that shatters the silence, bouncing off every wall, every surface. It goes on and on and on, the screaming and the cries for help.
It’s instinctive, what Leah does next. Something that is out of her control. She just wants it to stop. She wants the noise and the screaming to stop. Reaching down, she picks up the stone lion, holds it tightly and brings it down on Chloe’s face as hard as she can. The screaming continues, muffled, distant, but still there. She raises her arm and brings it down again and again and again, raining blows on her, hitting and hitting until the screaming becomes subdued, turning into a wet muted moan before stopping completely.
Spent and wracked with a sudden inertia, Leah stops, turns away, keeping her eyes diverted from the body slumped next to her on the bed. Splatters of blood on her hands, her clothes. Smears of thick scarlet spread over the bed sheets and the carpet. She stands up, backs away, stumbling and falling, her breath coming out in short bursts. She didn’t mean for this to happen. She had to do something to stop the noise. Anything.
It was Chloe’s fault. All that screaming. She had been warned. She had been warned and yet she still went ahead and made that awful racket. And now she is lying here, not moving, probably dead, her face bashed in, and all because she wouldn’t do as she was asked. All because she screamed and screamed and screamed and just wouldn’t stop.
Leah sobs, tears blinding her. She heads into the bathroom and pulls off her clothes, throwing them into the tepid bathwater. Shivering and staggering, she fills the sink and washes herself, up her arms, over her face, across her abdomen. She empties the sink of the rose-coloured water, refills it and repeats the process until it runs clear and no longer streaked with pink.
Her clothes are still sticky with blood and heavy with water as she pulls them out of the bath and shoves them into a black bin bag that she found in the kitchen. Perspiration coats her as she realises that she has to go back into the bedroom. She needs some clean clothes. She and Chloe are different sizes. Chloe is at least two sizes smaller than her. There must be some old item in the wardrobe that will fit. There has to be. Even if it’s one of Jacob’s shirts, a pair of his old jeans even. There has to be something that will fit.
Treading lightly for no other reason than she is hyper aware of the fact she is about to enter the room that contains Chloe’s body, Leah walks back in, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She refuses to look at her, at her blood-splattered body, at her shattered skull and crushed face. She won’t look. She can’t.
Opening the wardrobe door, she rummages through the hangers, searching for something suitable, anything that will fit and doesn’t look too out of place. She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. That’s the last thing she needs right now. Pulling out a hanger that has numerous pairs of trousers slung over it, she frantically tears at them, searching for a pair that look as if they will fit. So many clothes. Too much to choose from. Plucking at a faded pair of cream slacks, she pulls them on and is pleasantly surprised to discover they sit perfectly on her hips. She grabs at a plain white shirt and puts it on, fastening the buttons with trembling fingers. She is lacking in deftness, her co-ordination absent as nerves begin to get the better of her.
A buzzing from somewhere in the room stops her, causes her skin to prickle, her back to become clammy. Cold water fills her veins. The thumping deep in her chest makes her woozy, forcing her to hold on to the nearby wall for balance. It’s the phone. A message is coming through. In her peripheral vision she can see the bright colours of the screen and feels nausea take hold in the base of her belly as she stands, frozen.
Then a continual ringing. It’s a call. Somebody is trying to get through.
As unobtrusively as she can, Leah edges her way over to the bed, leaning down to pick up the mobile, making sure her eyes are averted away from Chloe’s body, from the blood and the pulpy mess that is now Chloe’s face.
Her fingers shake violently as she clasps it, waiting for the noise to stop before opening the text. Her heart thumps about her chest. She swallows, saliva choking her, as she scans through the message, trying to digest the words dancing about on the screen.
It’s Jacob. He’s finally replied. It’s a desperate missive. He’s cancelling the conference and driving straight back home. There’s a missed call from him.
Leah lets out a hiccupping sob, unsure of whether to feel elated or terrified.
Her skin turns icy, her blood runs hot and cold, merging in the middle with an explosive fizz.
Jacob.
He’s on his way back.
30
What the hell is going on? I’ve tried calling you. Please answer me. I have no idea what is going through your head or why you’re saying or doing this. Is it some kind of joke? Just told my
colleague I’ve got a family emergency. I’m on my way back home. The drive will take me about 2 hours. Please don’t leave until I get there.
I love you. Please please don’t leave. See you soon. xxx
She has to get out of here. And quickly. It might be a two-hour drive but every second counts. She has to clean up, cover Chloe with a sheet and dispose of any evidence. So much to do.
Her gaze creeps over to the blood-stained lion on the floor next to the bed. She needs to move, to get cleaning and scrubbing and tidying, and yet she can’t seem to move. Her limbs are solid blocks of stone, panic and terror consuming her, gripping her, nailing her feet to the floor. She can’t think straight, can’t function properly. Her mind is fogged up, stripped of logic and instinct. And yet time is of the essence here. She has to move. Has to.
Snapping out of it, she suddenly breaks into a run, tearing around the room, searching for a sheet with which to cover Chloe. The ottoman. That’s where they’ll be. Her hands are shaking violently as she opens it and drags out a large white quilt cover. Without looking too closely, she throws it over a still, bloody Chloe and bends double, clutching her stomach to stop herself from retching. She has got to sort herself out and not unravel. Not now. Not here. She doesn’t want to go to prison. This was an accident. A terrible accident, that’s all it was. It’s not how she planned it. She has no idea what her plan was, but feels sure it wasn’t this. She’s better than this. Misunderstood, prone to outbursts when provoked but she is not a murderer. This was a horrible accident; an unfortunate meeting that went terribly wrong.
In the kitchen she finds a pair of latex gloves stashed in a cupboard alongside some cleaning equipment; scrubbing brushes, a bottle of detergent, bleach. Suddenly she is thinking clearly, her brain kicking into action. She pulls on the gloves, the snap of the rubber as it hits her skin causing her to jump, and goes about cleaning up the kitchen, picking up the shards and fragments of ceramic scattered all over the floor. It suddenly feels as if there is so much to do, so many places to clean. Her fingerprints will be everywhere; in the kitchen, in the living room, all over the bedroom. Even the bathroom where she washed herself down. She has just two hours in which to rid every trace of her DNA from this flat. An arrhythmia takes hold in her chest, her heart bouncing and thumping, shifting around under her sternum at the thought of what lay ahead, what she has to do. What she has already done. Yet again she has made a mess of things, burning everything within her reach, turning it all to ash. How did it come to this? Destruction follows her around, always has, trailing in her wake, ruining her life.
She picks up piece after piece of the shattered porcelain, stopping suddenly as she hears a sound. Her blood freezes. Somebody is knocking on the door. Jesus Christ, of all the times for somebody to call. Her breathing becomes amplified, roaring in her head as she listens to somebody banging their fist against the wood, calling out into the silence.
‘Hello. Is everything all right? Jacob? Chloe? Are you okay? It’s Collette. I hear things through wall, screaming and shouting and worry that you are hurt.’
Leah doesn’t move. She holds her breath, feels the dull thud of her heart, the pulsing and throbbing of her nerve endings as they respond to the call of this woman. The woman outside that Leah wishes would go away and leave her alone.
‘Hello, Chloe? Are you fine? Shout if you fallen and not able to get help. I help you. I am a nurse. Or call me on phone, yes?’
She listens to the voice, to the strong Eastern European accent, and wishes her away, closing her eyes like a small child, willing everything to disappear. Why can’t this person just piss off and mind her own fucking business?
The breath she is holding bursts out in a low steady rush as she hears the footsteps moving away. What if this interfering woman calls the police? Leah begins to shake. She has to hurry. She has to clean up and get out of here as soon as she can. Her hand automatically flies up to her head where she rubs at the small bald patch, her latex covered fingers impulsively grasping at a clutch of hair. She tugs at the strands, wrapping them around her fingertips before leaving go. No time for such things. No time for self-pity. She has to get a move on and get out of here.
An impromptu thought jumps into her head; a random yet vaguely promising idea. Something that this Collette lady said that has set her thinking. This could buy Leah some extra time, stop the neighbour from making any unnecessary calls.
Spinning around, Leah pulls off the gloves, grabs the phone and tries to unlock it. She lets out a small moan of frustration as it falls to the floor, watching as it spins round and round on the tiles before snatching it back up. Exasperated, she clutches it, her hands slippery with perspiration. This lady, this Collette woman mentioned Chloe giving her a call. Tapping in the passcode, Leah scrolls through the list of contacts, grinning inanely as she sees Collette’s name there with her address printed underneath. God, Chloe has made everything so easy for her. Simple, pathetically naïve Chloe has just saved Leah from possible arrest. Suddenly emboldened, she sends a short text.
Sorry I couldn’t get to the door. I was in the bath having a soak. The noise you heard was just me screaming because I dropped my nail varnish all over the floor. Everywhere was covered! Bright red too. Thank you for being concerned but I’m fine.
She clicks send and watches as the message disappears, hoping Collette sees it before she takes it upon herself to call 999.
Time is still against her. She needs to hurry, to rouse herself and get this place cleaned up. Jacob is currently somewhere on a motorway heading back here, his foot pressed to the floor. She can’t afford to hang around. There isn’t any time to waste. She scoops up the rest of the fragments of broken pottery and stops only to glance at the phone as a message comes through.
Hello Chloe.
That is good to hear. Not about the nail polish though! I was worried for a short while. Hope you clean it up well enough. Stay safe and see you soon. Xx
Leah laughs, her voice ringing in the still air; a combination of relief and dominance. So many stupid gullible people out there. A sea of idiocy. She thanks God she isn’t part of it, that she at least has enough intelligence to see beyond the obvious and to question everything and everyone. She may have her faults but she is nobody’s fool.
She finishes sweeping up, pulls on more gloves and uses a cloth to wipe down surfaces, spraying detergent liberally, hoping to eradicate every last sign of her fingerprints before moving on to the bathroom where she sets about cleaning, wiping furiously until her arm aches. The bath, the sink, the toilet, the floor; they all get thoroughly cleaned and rinsed before she backs out and closes the door behind her.
In the living room she wipes down shelves and ornaments, carefully putting them back in the same place at the same angle, acutely aware that in such a neat and flawless environment every little detail, every little change will be obvious to the trained eye.
Opening cupboard doors, she locates the vacuum cleaner and runs it around the carpet, getting in every corner, every little space, before replacing that too, making sure her clothes don’t brush against anything. Every stray hair, every fibre can lead back to her. She has to be scrupulous, to leave no trace and exit this flat leaving it immaculate, as if she has never been here.
She glances at her watch and sucks in her breath. Jacob will be back in two hours, possibly less. Trepidation nips at her as she thinks about the final room, the one that still needs to be cleaned, the one she has been putting off until the end. Her guts coil and curl as she heads into the bedroom. Keeping her eyes averted she steps around the bed, refusing to look at Chloe, at her white body-shaped shroud that makes her weak with terror. Spots of scarlet are beginning to bleed through the thin cotton, small red blossoms unfurling and spreading. She won’t look. Instead she pads around the carpet, spraying and wiping, picking up the pile of broken jewellery and throwing it into a bin bag with a distant thin clatter.
An unpleasant odour has filled the room. Leah belches, suppresses
a gag, swallowing down vomit. She fights to keep it at bay but the smell is unbearable; the stale stench of sweat combined with the tart metallic tang of blood. It assaults her olfactory system, making her nauseous and dizzy. Using a gloved hand, she props herself up against the nearest wall, fighting the sickness. She closes her eyes, hoping to stem the sensation, waiting for it to pass. The contents of her stomach bubble and swirl until she can hold it back no longer. Hands clutched over the belly, she leans forward, heaving and retching into the black bag, warm bile splashing into it, spreading and dispersing, sliding over the bits of broken and twisted jewellery.
Leah moves back, her face twisted. She is panting and gasping, using the back of her latex covered hand to wipe at the gelatinous strings of saliva that hang from her mouth. They smear over her chin, thick and warm, causing her to shiver as she wipes at her cold flesh. She swallows repeatedly, all the while attempting to regain some sort of normality, to restore her dignity and keep herself upright when the floor has increased its gravitational pull, doing its damnedest to drag her down, beckoning her to drop to her knees and curl up in a tight foetal ball.
She checks herself. This needs to stop. No time for regrets or fear or contrition. She has to get going, to clean up in here before leaving the flat for good. Her breathing is laboured, anxiety rising within her. Leah counts, her voice a whisper in the silence of the room. She will give herself until ten, and then she will move, forcing herself out of this stupor, her body springing into action. She will clean this place and get out of here, close the door for good and never return. Not to the house nor to this street. This is it. It’s over, her obsession, her desperation to get Jacob back. It’s at an end. All she needs is a few seconds to gather her strength.