Chapter 5

Annie Butler took a few deep breaths. Her head hurt. She tried to move. She choked back a sob. It hurt. Where was she? She couldn't think. She lay very still, scared of the pain. But the darkness frightened her worse. It was a dark that she couldn't understand. It took away her sense of sight and hearing and smell. She was cold, and yet, she was wet with sweat. She couldn't stop shaking. Her breath came in gasps because everything hurt and she hated this horrible dark.

She coughed. The noise was a foghorn to her ears. So, her ears did work. She whispered, "Hello?" Her voice trembled like the rest of her.

Nothing.

She listened. Water dripped. She lay on something soft, like a mattress. She flexed her fingers. One hand wasn't held down and she slid it to her chest. On top of her a huge, flat something pressed into her from head to toe. She took a chance of pain to strain against it to shift it away. The thing was soft but unyielding and it smelled bad. She forced her breathing to slow and for the rest of her to remain calm. Think.

Don't panic.

Don't cry.

It did no good, this pep talk. Heat flushed up to her face and tears burned her eyes. With her free hand, she rubbed her eyes to force the tears away. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, but she could breathe. Her stomach cramped. How long had she been here? Mom had breakfast waiting.

Mom! A blubbering sob choked her and she coughed and coughed and couldn't breathe. Pain shot across her skull and the dark inside her head took her away again.

***

Monday, 3:03 a.m.

Charles didn't want to move until his eyes became used to the darkness. He stared around the murky garage to discern familiar shapes. He wiped the cold sweat from his oily face. The choppy lass had it coming to her. He made his way past the old canvasses where turpentine permeated the dust and petrol smell.

The wife had been fast asleep for a little while. He'd added that special something to her nightly glass of red wine.

To see the time, he punched a fist into the moonlight streaming through the window. He must judge the tide well. Can't keep the girl's body around here forever. The Wife might find her.

He'd had no choice but to end her pitiful life. To clean up the filthy mess was the first order of business.

Then to deal with the American woman. A travesty, to allow foreigners into this country without restitution of some kind. If he were in charge, things would certainly be different. And this mess was all her fault. If she hadn't resembled Mother so closely and flaunted about so he would notice-stupid get!

His mother's voice rasped inside his head, "If I could have undone you from my womb, I would have."

"Why have you always hated me? Cecil was your fault. Your fault. You. You!" Tears rolled down his face. He held his stomach and took a slow breath.

A gossamer thread caught the moonlight. He watched the spider, mesmerized, but he grew bored with the creature's exacting ministrations. So, as each strand was cast he took control, and, line by meticulous line, he disassembled the web. With one finger he smashed the helpless creature. He used the spider's remains to draw the letter O on the windowpane. The moonlight broke through the clouds and silvered the opaque smear.

He opened his cold storage box, took out a jar of her blood, dipped his fingers in, and smeared it across his face. He drank the remainder.

From inside, he shoved the garage doors open. He started the car and reversed. He prayed silently to the only god he believed in, Lady Luck, you've been there for me, be with me now. He drove along B3263 south away from the village and, finding a certain private road, drove until he could park with a view of the sea. Colored a gray sepia wash, the entire world lay open around him, barren and desolate. The moon outlined each scuttling black cloud with white. He watched and waited. There was a storm coming. One huge cloud in particular moved closer and closer to the awful lunar spotlight. As he examined the landscape and waited, he hummed.

Demon arms of black stone jutted up from the sea, gnarled hands clutched at the water's surface. As waves washed over them, he could almost imagine the desperate movement of the damned and drowning.

"Hurry!"

The voice. Always the voice. Always interrupting.

He got out of the car and went around to the boot. He leveraged the girl's body from the car, checking to make sure the cloth sack tied around her head would not slip off. He did not want to see that face again.

He pulled her to the edge of the grass verge above the beach and propped the body up beside him, like a plastic mannequin. He slid with it down the side of the steep embankment. Her leg almost tripped him up at one point, but he caught himself. He let their weight work and they reached the beach somewhat together.

Above the crash of surf he heard, "Evil will slay the wicked; the enemies of the righteous will be condemned."

He doubled over, curled up on the wet sand, and covered his ears with his hands.

He pushed against his ears, harder and harder, until a groan squeezed out of his throat. He whined, "I try to do good, Mummy. I try."

Nothing.

He rolled onto his back, held his breath and counted to thirty. Into the ensuing moment of silence, he gasped, "All I've ever wanted from you ... Just tell me you love me."

Inside his head, the grate of labored breathing diminished. His racing heart calmed. Standing, he shoved the girl's body with his foot. "I hate you."

Lifting the stiff, angular body roughly to his shoulder, he carried it to one of the dozens of outcrops of rock. The tide would take care of everything. Chances were, only a few minutes remained in which he could do this without being seen. Damned early commuters. He wedged the body between two jagged rocks.

In a hurried frenzy, he took a leafy sprig out of his pocket and tucked it into the string around the neck. In the old days there had been meaning in things.

Charles stood as tall as he could. The wind buffeted his body. Normally wound around, plastered to his bald pate, his thin, gray hair flew in long, gray Medusa-like strands around his ears. He spoke out bitterly, fist to the sky, his words spit at the sea, "The young live forever. Do you hear? Forever."

He glanced up toward the cliff's top. His heart skipped a beat, then jolted through his body. Had something moved up there by his car? He sidled away from the body and quickly made his way crab-like across the rocks. He jumped down to the sand. The waves muffled any noise he might have made as he scrambled up the steep embankment. The grasses stretched without end like a large swath of deep-purple crushed velvet. In the distance, barely discernible, a black dog ran towards the village church whose square tower was visible above a line of rock and hedge. Charles let out a long hiss of breath, then got back in the car and drove back the way he'd come. His breath came in heavy gasps. His heart thundered in his ears, all the winding way. He secured the car in the shed. He had to keep it hidden, and surprisingly, his mum remained silent.

Once inside the house, he cleaned his face and relaxed. He tilted his watch face to the moon. It had taken him forty minutes to rid himself of the body. After a little while, the tune "As Time Goes By" played in his head and he murmured the words.