29. Imprisoned
1863 Words
Sally-Anne
Arriving at the house I was just the tiniest bit tempted to look in the kitchen, perhaps I would find everything to be the way it had been before but the dried blood on my skin told me otherwise. I went to the front door instead.
It took a lot to open the front door. It wasn't that it was locked or anything - it was that I was afraid. With a trembling hand I opened the door. One step into the foyer and my instincts were screaming at me to run, a stench that I couldn’t place hung in the air, foul and dense. Straining my ears I listened for the tiniest sound but the only noise was the Grandfather clock ticking steadily.
I took the stairs one at a time feeling tense and worried. So many thoughts were clamoring for space in my head making it increasingly difficult to focus.
Was I alive or dead or possessed? What was that smell?
Thirsty.
Did I really kill my Ma and Pa? Where was Ricky? I hope Peter is ok. Where am I going to go once I've got him? Should I take him to my Uncle’s?
Thirsty.
Could I even manage that? Maybe I should go and get my Uncle instead?
Thirsty.
Where did Pa come from in the kitchen? Had he come from outside? Should I get cleaned up after I check on Peter? I mean I was a mess. Would the Police deal with this? Would I go to prison?
I was at his door. A white door with little sailing boats painted on it. Ma had been confined to the house for most of the pregnancy, Dr’s orders, so she spent the time preparing for my little Brother's arrival - which included painting these cute boats. I ran my finger over a wavy blue line feeling the texture of the paint with all its little ridges and grooves.
Slowly I pushed the door open and slipped inside. The curtains were closed but I could see him curled up in his crib clutching his teddy. There was only the barest slither of a moment's relief before reality came crashing down around me.
He was grey and still.
There was no sweet twitch of his fingers or toes as he slept, his chest didn’t rise and fall with rushed baby breaths.
He was dead.
How could this have happened? I’d only been gone a few hours at most, hadn't I? Confused and heartbroken I delicalty pulled his crocheted blanket up over his lifeless form before fleeing the room. Once on the landing I wavered, unsure of what I should do. My parents were dead at my hand, my little baby Brother was gone as well. I was a dangerous villainous monster. I couldn’t stay in the house because eventually someone would come. They would find the horror that I had visited upon my loving family and if I were here I was certain they would meet the same fate.
I meandered through the house trying to suck up all the memories I could. A realization was dawning on me; the thought twirled around in my brain, fluttering tentative and half formed. My sin was undeniable, I was going to hell, I had snuck around behind my parents back with a boy, I had MURDERED my Ma and Pa for no reason and I was … I didn't know what I was, but it was unnatural and wrong. One more sin was what I was contemplating, I just didn’t know how.
Downstairs I hovered in the dining room, the smell was stronger here, making me curious and weary at the sametime. I needed a knife but I didn’t want to face the horrors that I knew were behind that door. The Grandfather clock ticked pensively and I paced the room intime with its echoing beat. After my umptinth lap around the table I had an idea. Moments later I was in the parlour digging through Pa’s deskdraws. Grasping the ornate letter opener I went back to the dining room and sat at the table to pray.
‘Dear Father in Heaven, give me strength in the face of my sins. Please take care of my Ma and Pa and little Peter. He will be a beautiful little angel in your arms. I’m not asking for forgiveness because I don’t deserve to be forgiven but I know you are a merciful God, please have mercy on my soul.’
I didn’t think about what I was doing - I just did it. My hand was steady as I gripped the letter opener in my left hand and plunged it deep into the flesh of my right forearm. As I drag it from my wrist to my elbow I scrunch my eyes shut against the sharp searing pain.
I wait.
The letter opener is still embedded in my arm. I wait but nothing seems to be happening.
With cautious eyes I look at my arm only to find it unmarked, bar the letter opened that was sticking out; the flesh around it unbothered by the protruding foreign object. Shocked, I pulled my chosen weapon from my flesh, staring in fascination as the wound sealed immediately. No scar, no scab - the only blood that remained clung to the letter opener, coating it with a thick dark layer that was almost black.
My hand trembled with uncertainty. I brought the bloodied letter opener down again, watching this time as I speared my flesh and forced the impromptu knife up my arm.
A cold dread washed through me replacing the previous fascination as the broken flesh knitted neatly back together in the wake of the blade.
There was no mercy.
The grandfather clock chimes the hour making me jump, a haunting lilting tune followed by a single solid strike. 1am?
With barely a thought I stood before the clock. I could smell the polish and wax layered over the soft woody scent, hear it ticking monotonously as each cog fulfilled its purpose, see the black metal hands pointing dutifully to the Roman numerals of the face. My mind was whirring at a rapid pace as I eyed the clock with suspicion. I’d snuck out at midnight to see Ricky, it couldn’t possibly be 1am.
Above the main clock face there was a semicircle panel accented with stars and a little moon showing it was night, an arch of numbers encompassed the top showing the date. It was like a punch to the gut. The pendulum swung back and forth within the confines of its comfy little world oblivious.
The world was made of treacle as I reached out and opened the glass paned door. Carefully I took hold of the pendulum stopping it, and just like all the hearts in this house, it lost its rhythm.
Feeling overwhelmed I made my way back out of the house at a slow pace, the night air still felt thick and the foul odor from the house was clinging to my nostrils. There was only one place I could think of to go.
Amongst the crop of one of the back fields there was a trap door with a stairwell leading to a set of cells. I’d stumbled across it a few years back when I was playing, being an old property I assumed it was a relic from the slaver days. As I climbed down the stairs shutting the trap door behind me the learing face of the grandfather clock swam before my eyes, the date sitting proudly at the top of the arch.
It had been 3 days. 3 days since I met Ricky in the woods, 3 days since I fled my home leaving the bodies of my Ma and Pa strewn on the kitchen floor, 3 days where my poor defenceless baby Brother must have cried and screamed as he slowly died of dehydration. There had been no one to feed him, no one to change him, no one to comfort him. The most innocent and precious babe suffered a vile and cruel end all alone because of me.
Now so would I.
I entered a cell and sat on the brick bench putting my ankles into the open restraints. As I pushed back into it there was a metallic clang and it snapped shut. I raised my arms and pressed my wrists into the manacles on the wall feeling a wave of relief as they also clamped shut.
Slumping back I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. This would be my end.
“What are you doing Sally-Anne?” Ricky’s voice called softly, bemused, cutting through my solitude. Surprise turned to fear in a flash.
He regarded me with one raised eyebrow from where he leant in the cell doorway, his brown hair swept to one side.
“Ricky!?” I gasped. “No, no you can’t be here, it’s not safe. You have to go! Leave, please Ricky!” I told him desperately. Ever so slowly Ricky tilted his head to one side and smiled a cold smile. With the smile still hanging from his lips he stepped over to me.
“No, NO, Ricky stay away, please.” I shrank into the wall hoping he would heed my warning but he didn’t. Ricky knelt in front of me, his eyes now lower than mine. Those beautiful deep cherry wood eyes looking right at me.
His hand skimmed my cheek. Completely distracted by the lightness of his touch I couldn’t help but get lost in the moment. How had I not seen how beautiful he was? His flawless skin, smooth angular face and those captivating eyes. His eyes looked at me as I looked at him, I watched as something swirled in their depths. It wasn’t something I recognised and it made me uneasy, it was sharp, calculating and wild.
“I’ll be back for you.” Ricky said, his voice soft and melodic. I watched him leave, my thoughts tangled and unfocused by the strange exchange, my jaw slack with unspoken words rotting in my mouth. I wanted to tell him not to bother but the primal voice within was weary of his words, sweet as they may have seemed there was an underlying meaning that didn’t sit well with me.
The pain was raw and fresh, a wound open and bleeding across my mind, my heart, my soul. Whatever Ricky was planning didn’t matter, there was only the pain. I focused on the pain and holding the wound open. I deserved it.
Moonlight. It was the first thing I saw …
The sound of a drum…
Eyes that poured grief into my soul like a river feeding the ocean…
A thud, knees on stone…
Sailing boats, grey and broken…
The haunting chime of the clock…
Cold metal against my palm...
Darkness that I knew but couldn’t see …
Moonlight.
A drum.
Eyes.
Thud.
Grey.
Chime.
Cold.
Darkness.
Moonlight, drum, eyes, thud, grey, chime, cold, darkness.
Moonlightdrumeyesthudgreychimecolddarkness.
The replay whirred faster and faster, all consuming, ripping my wounded soul wider and wider till I was all wound and no Sally-Anne.
- Writer
