Eve Page 2

  “This place gives me the horrors!” She whispered to her friends as she wiped sweat from her pale almond face with the back of her hand. Rooted to the spot, she stared in morbid fascination at the heavily bolted wooden door that led to Sir Clive’s laboratory.

  “He gives me the horrors as well.” She turned her gaze away from the door and parted the cobwebbed hair that hung across her face. Without turning her head, her eyes roved the walls and ceiling. The windowless corridor was dirty with years of neglect, the light sick and yellow from a single weak bulb. With a sudden shiver she imagined a million vile insects crawling through the soft plaster and sagging timbers. Then, with another, deeper shudder, she remembered the last time she’d found herself down there in the cellar. Involuntarily, she turned to face the dresser, where she had crouched, hidden inside the ‘dog-kennel’ and watched in fear as Sir Clive led a young woman into his Laboratory, a red glow on their faces from the open door.

  “And there were others.” She wiped her sticky palms vigorously against the side of her ragged and crumpled white cotton dress, and then turned again quickly, startled at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “It's him!...” She warned her friends, remembering something she had overheard in the kitchen, “...He's as mad as a hat-stand you know!” Like a startled cat she leapt back through the tiny opening behind the dresser into the sanctuary of her catacombs, scampering swiftly and silently upwards through the secret innards of the house. Across silent landings, up twisting stairways, along dusty corridors past empty bedrooms until she reached the cleansing silver and shadow of the moonlit upper floors.

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Richard strode cheerfully up the steps to Reception,

  “Morning Cyndy...” He called over his shoulder while hanging his jacket. “…Out last night?”

  “Yeah…” Her reply came through pursed lips as she applied her lipstick, “…I dumped Mike last night.” She remarked, deadpan, while turning her attention to sorting the morning’s mail. Richard laughed; he had long ago given up trying to keep track of Cyndy's boyfriends. She was short and pretty, hair in a messy blonde bob, although that changed almost as often as her boyfriends. She gave the impression of being the archetype blonde bimbo, a false impression that she used to good advantage, often turning the tables on an unsuspecting ‘male sexist arsehole’.

  The busy morning passed by as quickly as usual and it was soon lunchtime. Richard and Phil often took lunch together in a nearby pub, the Seven Stars, nothing fancy, just a pint and a sandwich, but they enjoyed the break from work and the chance to chat like friends. Since Richard had married they had stopped meeting in the evenings as often as they used to, not because Susan had been awkward about it, things had just changed. The pub was already busy when they arrived at just after one o’clock and they were lucky to find two stools empty by the window.

  Halfway through his ham salad sandwich Richard mentioned the bookshop,

  “It’ll be a shame if the old place closes down.” Phil shrugged,

  “Everything changes eventually, and it is a bit of an eyesore.” Richard put down his sandwich in mild annoyance,

  “No, no it’s not an eyesore. It’s got character, unlike most of the new bland, corporate-image designer-bollocks shop fronts going up in the high street today.” He waved a dismissive hand indicating the fashion shops and burger bars that lined the busy shopping street.

  “Every street in every town looks the same, same shops, same products, what about the-” He stopped mid-sentence, picked up his sandwich again, realising that he’d been down that road once too many times before. There was only a slight pause before Philip restarted the conversation,

  “So, do you know the old boy who owns it then?” Richard finished chewing before answering.

  “No. Not really, but funnily enough I met his son this morning. He assumed I knew his dad, I don’t know why but I’ve got the strangest feeling about it.” Phil gave him a sideways look and then carried on gazing out of the window. Eventually he had to ask the question,

  “So, is it another one of your famous hunches?” Richard paused in thought for a moment, unable to explain his feelings,

  “Oh I don’t know, forget it, it's probably nothing.”

  “Hmm, we'll see.” Phil had always admired Richard's intuitive grasp of things, how he could always see the whole of the moon when others could not.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both staring out of the window as the sky darkened and a light drizzle began to fall.

  “We’d better run for it.” They dashed back through the crowds of shoppers and tourists and reached the office to be confronted by a stern looking Cyndy.

  “You have a ‘client’ waiting in your office…” She uttered the word client like an oath. The two men looked surprised, knowing there were no appointments booked, “…She’s been here fifteen minutes and if-” Richard interrupted her,

  “Cyn, what is it? What’s wrong?” She looked genuinely upset for a moment, then shrugged and put her face straight,

  “I don’t know, there’s something about her, something weird. I don’t like her, but it’s more th-” She didn’t have time to finish, all three of them turned at the sound of a woman’s voice, a voice sweet and low, her diction impeccable but with a trace of a European accent,

  “Do you expect me to wait for much longer?” The beautiful dark haired woman smiled delightfully as she finished her sentence, leaned against the door frame and tilted her head. Philip was the first to recover his composure; smiling from ear to ear he apologised for keeping her waiting and escorted her into his office, calling over his shoulder for Cyndy to provide coffees. She and Richard exchanged looks for a moment before she stomped off to the kitchen,

  “Where do we keep the rat poison?” He heard her mutter.

  A few minutes later Richard intercepted Cyndy in the corridor with the coffee tray,

  “It’s OK Cyn, I’ll take them in for you.” He announced cheerfully. She handed it over without a word, but then, as she turned, she called loudly over her shoulder,

  “Tell him to put her down - we don’t know where she’s been!”

  Philip’s office door was closed; Richard struggled for a second with the handle, and then strolled in wearing his most charming grin. Philip was sat at the side of his desk with the mysterious young woman at its front; both were leaning forward and smiling. Richard felt more than a little unwanted, “Three’s a crowd” he thought to himself as he set down the tray.

  “Thanks Rich…” Philip sounded just a little sheepish, “…Listen; we can fit in a small rush order this week can’t we?” They both knew the schedule was already full for the rest of the week at least, but Phil had given him a look; probably not noticeable by anyone else, the look that signified he wanted a favour. Richard was not going to let him off quite so easily,

  “What sort of rush order?” He demanded bluntly. The workshop was printing flat out and a disruption could be costly.

  “Oh it’s just a few copies of some rare old books, you know, family heirlooms, that kind of thing.”

  “So why the ‘rush’?” Richard teased him, kept him dangling for a few moments, and was very tempted to keep him there, until the look on Phil’s face said ‘please?’ He could never say no to that look, they had been friends for too long, and besides Phil had never had much luck with girls, so if it would help,

  “Yes sure Phil, of course we can, no problem, book it in for the end of the week. I’ll leave it for you to sort out.” With a wink he turned and left the office, saying,

  “Nice to meet you.” to the woman as she fixed him with a green-eyed gaze.

  A little while later Richard was in the print shop checking over the production schedules for later in the week when Cyndy strolled up and gave him a slip of paper. It was a note from Phil.

  ‘Rich, I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off, to pick up those books myself, it might speed things up, see you tom
orrow, Phil.’

  Richard and Cyndy just looked at each other and laughed,

  “Dirty git, you wait til I see him tomorrow!”

  *

  A Roadside Campfire, England - 2000

  In a litter-strewn lay-by at the side of the A34 south from Stratford-upon-Avon, the small Asian man stirred soup over an open fire. His companion, her face set in an unfriendly crumpled scowl, sipped from a flask and occasionally spat on the ground between her feet,

  “Ain’t that crap ready yet?” She gasped, barely able to speak, pointing at his soup and spitting again. The man, apparently unmoved by her rudeness, had a gruff but likeable voice, and a habit of quoting Shakespeare,

  “When I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.” He continued to gently stir his pot.

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  At home that evening Richard chatted with Susan, about the days events. She laughed when he told her about Phil’s antics and promised to give him a good ribbing about it when she next saw him. They had a good relationship; caring without being over possessive and they enjoyed each others company. She worked in a department store in the City, which meant that either of them could be first to get home. They ate mainly out of the freezer during the week and they both liked to get things ready for the other's arrival, that usually entailed opening a bottle of wine, preparing some bread and salad, and putting something in the microwave. Tonight they’d had lasagne and leaves with some garlic bread, their evening had been comfortable and relaxing and as usual they went to bed together and had soon fallen asleep.

  Richard had never been prone to nightmares:

  He woke suddenly with that terrifying sense that someone else was in the room. Although it was dark he could still see clearly, everything seemed normal. Until he heard the breathing, like the panting of an animal, coming from below the edge of the bed on Susan’s side. Very slowly he reached across and gently shook Susan, she didn’t stir, he shook her again more firmly, again she didn’t stir and then his hand felt warm and wet. He sat bolt upright, trembling. Susan lay naked beside him, dead, a long handled dagger embedded in her chest. From below the edge of the bed a face rose up, a girl child, a feral child with the eyes of an animal, she was on her knees, an impish grin on her face. Blood dripped from her chin, the tiny gaps between her teeth stained red. She licked her lips and laughed, head back, almost a howl. Fixing Richard with eyes that have seen hell, she rose up, naked, and scampered around the bed to the door,

  “Come with me.” Her voice hummed like a swarm of insects. He leapt up and ran, through the bedroom door-

  -into a hot red gravel wasteland. It wasn’t day, and it wasn’t night. The moon was high and shimmered a pale purple, the sun lay burnt orange on the horizon. He ran on, a hot dark path burned his bare feet, he too was naked. On either side of the path stood strangers cheering, urging him on. He had a knife in his hand.

  He arrived at a house, alone in the wilderness; a palace made of sand and smoke. Through a doorway of fire and across a hallway of ice he came to a wide staircase of sandstone blocks. She waited at the top. On her hands and knees she grinned salaciously at him.

  He mounted the steps, leaving imprints in the sandy blocks like footsteps on the shore. As he neared her she rolled over and bounced up on to her feet, urging him forward with her finger until they reached a bedroom.

  The bed was a wide altar of ashes; she threw herself down backward sending up plumes of charcoal dust. She exposed herself to him, panting and moaning, urging him on. Richard stood at the foot of the bed, knife in hand, ready to take her and then kill her. It was what she wanted. He knew it. He placed a knee on the bed and leaned forward.

  And then he woke, shaking, shocked, confused and afraid. Susan was on her knees in front of him; the bedside lamp was on.

  “I couldn’t wake you!…” She almost yelled, sounding concerned, “…Are you okay? I’ve been shaking you for ages.” He pulled himself up into a sitting position, wet all over with sweat.

  “God you’re soaked!” She’d leaned forward and touched his cheek.

  “I’m okay, I think I need the bathroom...” He climbed off his sweat-soaked side of the bed and trudged to the bathroom, “…Get me a clean Tee shirt would you?” She grabbed one from his drawer and followed him,

  “Must’ve been some nightmare, you were shouting! What was it about?” She asked, watching him splash cold water on his face. Richard glared at his reflection in the mirror and asked himself, “Good question - what the hell was it about?” The dream had left him with a feeling of confusion and shame,

  “I don't know, but it was so real, I've never dreamt so vividly before, it was like I was really there.”

  “Where?”

  “I don't know, it was crazy, I thought I'd left...” He struggled for words, “...Gone into a different dimension or something.”

  “Like the Astral plane?”

  “What?”

  “Oh it's a like a parallel world or something.”

  “Yeah well it was weird enough.”

  “What happened?” He didn't want to tell Susan about the girl,

  “It’s gone already, I can’t remember...” he lied, “… I was being chased by something.”

  *

  Londinium - AD60

  The Gladiators were practicing on the hard packed earth training area when they first heard the shouts,

  “Boudicca is coming! Boudicca is coming!” The depleted Roman army had already suffered surprising and humiliating defeats by the huge horde of men, women and children gathered as Boudicca’s army. And they were more than a little afraid that the rapid advance on Londinium would arrive before the return of the main Roman army that had been fighting in Anglesey. The Gladiators finished their training session, already prepared for the onslaught, but the green-eyed one had other thoughts in mind,

  “I will not die for any Roman cause.”

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Richard got up late the next morning, Susan had left already, she had further to commute and always left first, but for some reason he missed her more that morning. He felt tired and oddly nervous, the dream had upset him deeply, not because he’d simply had a nightmare but because its contents, his apparent lust for the little girl and the murder of his wife had shaken him to the core., “I'm no paedo, what the hell, it was so damn fucking real.”

  His walk to work was also fraught with unease, he felt distracted and wary, as if he was being watched. He hardly noticed where he was and was surprised when he was spoken to by the tall man outside the Windsor Scientific bookshop,

  “Father is feeling a little better today, good morning.” Richard stopped, looked up at the man, taking in his appearance, his academic-looking suit and thin moustache, a noble face.

  “Oh that's good, must be a great relief for you.” He managed to reply. And again felt hot under the tall man’s gaze.

  “You have bought many books from his shop?” Walther’s inquiry threw Richard into yet more turmoil,

  “Er no, not very many actually.” The truth was he hadn’t bought any; he’d been in the shop on a few occasions but hadn’t seen anything that he wanted to buy. Walther nodded, a thin half smile on his lips, as if he knew the truth,

  “I must see to the canopy. Good day.” Richard felt like he’d been let off the hook and hurried on his way. He bought a newspaper as usual and cheered up a little at the sight of Phil’s car parked in its usual place. He found himself eager to find out how he’d got on with the glamorous new client. In the reception Cyndy was sipping coffee and pointed with her pencil to the door of the print room,

  “He’s in there...” She obviously meant Phil, “…With a pile of knackered old books.” Richard smiled, hung his jacket and went in to see him, his newspaperpaper under his arm.

  “Hi Phil. So, how did you get on with Miss Voluptua?” He joked and expected Phil to respond in a similar vein with one of his droll commen
ts, he was disappointed,

  “Hmm? Sorry Rich, what did you say? Sorry mate, I’m a bit busy at the moment.” Phil hadn’t even looked up. Richard stood there, apparently unnoticed for several more seconds before he tried again,

  “So how many books are there? And how much re-scheduling is there?” Phil was still too engrossed in his work to notice him.

  “Philip!” He used his best ‘my patience is wearing thin’ voice which usually made people sit up and take notice, this time it had little effect,

  “Umm? Listen Rich, why don’t you just let me get on with this, ‘the sooner the better’ and all that?”

  The effects of the nightmare and that vague feeling of unease all built up at once, Richard lost his cool, he grabbed Phil by the shoulders and spun him around so that they were face to face,

  “Since when did you start running this business on your own? We’re supposed to be partners, remember? You made me look like a fucking idiot in front of that woman yesterday and now you’ve completely bollocksed our schedules just because you fancy the under-dressed glossy tart!” Midway through his tirade, Richard saw the expression on Phil’s face change from surprise and indignation to an awful realisation. He slumped down heavily onto one of the nearby swivel chairs. A distant look on his face,

  “Rich I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.” He shook his head as if to clear it and rubbed his temples. Richard was just about to apologise for ranting at him when Cyndy’s voice made them both turn.