Female Novel
Chapter 54
It’s hard to tell, but it feels longer before she comes back. As the time stretches…
And stretches…
Has she given up on me?
Abandoned me to the dark?
My nerves stretch too…
Still, I try to move around, as best I can; try to keep muscles limber and joints supple.
I’m going to need them.
And at last, the light clicks on. A minute or so later, she teeters in, in her unsuitable shoes, the heelsclick-clicking on the concrete.
Jenny would have come down here in those steel-toed boots she has. Mitch would have wornsneakers. I think even the Haswell woman would have come in something flat-soled.
But Juliana, true to form, wears the four-inch spikes she thinks are glamorous, this time as part of silvervinyl knee-high boots. The rest of the outfit involves an electric blue skirt and blouse, a 70s Sci-Fisilver-blonde wig and green-glitter nail varnish.
I drag myself to my feet, making a show of slow, unsteady movement, keeping well to my side of thenow much-broken white line. “Good morning Juliana. I think it’s morning? Yes?”
She scowls. “How many times do I have to tell you? My name's not Juliana.”
“Ah, yes. So you keep saying.” I stand against my wall, well away from the painted line. And I keep myvoice soft. “It’s Sola, isn't it. Or Solana. But you were Juliana before that. You’ve had me thinking about
that. What it means. And I've had quite a lot of time to think.”
She sniffs. “I’ve no idea what you mean. Now…” She pulls her chair a little closer to the line, makes asthough to sit… “… are we going to talk about something sensible? You were rude to me last time and Ihaven’t decided yet if I’ve forgiven you.”
“What’s to forgive, Juliana? Or if there were something to forgive, what’s the point?” I take a steptoward her. Uncertain for a moment, she takes a step back, glancing down at the line, but she’s where Iwant her, closer to the back wall.
“What’s got into you?” She jerks her chin at me. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“No, not nonsense. But I have had plenty of time, as I said, to think about what it’s all about. What’s thekey to all this.”
She folds her arms, sucking in her cheeks. She drums fingers against an arm, then looks to her side.She aims a finger. “This key you mean?”
And just like that, the Juliana smile is back. “You do mean this key.” Unhooking it, she dangles itbetween thumb and forefinger. “You’d love to have it, wouldn’t you, Larry. You never will.” She turnsback, to replace it on its hook.
Carpe diem...
I speak quickly, interrupting her movement. “A question for you, Juliana.”
She turns back, head inclining. “Oh? What?”
“What do you look like?”
She swings her head, frowning. “You know what I look like. You're looking at me now.”
“No, I'm looking at wigs, and costume and makeup. What do you look like when you get out of bed inthe morning? What do your lovers see when they wake up with you?”
Her lip curls. “They never wake up with me. My bed is my own.”
“Really? That’s interesting. Alright, I’ll ask instead, how long do you take getting ready before you leavethe house?”
The folded arms are back, but she’s still standing, and the key is still in her hand. That chin jerk again.“What’s it to you?”
“Just curious? You see, I remember you from when we first met… My little Potato Face…” Her lipsflatten… “I’m wondering how much you have really changed?”
Her pupils are pin-pricking. Her chest rising and falling more quickly…
“Then too…” I continue, “I’m wondering too about the whole Sola business…”
Her lips part, her breathing growing quicker…
“Sola? An interesting choice. Meaning All alone? Well, you're bound to be alone, aren't you. When youslaughter every living soul that touches you…”
Her lips are beginning to peel back, her knuckles whitening…
“… But somehow, that didn't feel right. Who names themselves for being an outcast? Even when thecasting-out is self-imposed…”
I wait, to give her chance to reply…
…
…
“I see I'm right. It’s not Sola-The-Girl-Who-Walked-By-Herself…
“So, then I thought about Solana... Sun girl? Sunflower? Sunshine?” I fake a laugh. “I don't see youfacing the sun anytime. I get it. I used to be like that myself. But of course, you and I met when youwere very young. And you already know that about me. From the days when I called you Po-ta-toFace.” I lean on the words, smacking each syllable from my lips.
She could be carved from stone, save for the pulsing of the vein at her neck.
“So, what else?” I pace a little, the four or five steps the chain will allow me, one way, then the other. Iwag a forefinger at her. “I went through your stuff you know, in your apartment, before you went on themurder-go-round with your friends there. It threw me, seeing what was in there. Your cosmetics. Yourclothes. Shoes. Wigs. Beads and bangles. All your stuff. But where were you? Where was Juliana?”
Another pause, to see if she will respond. I continue my pacing, my small circle of movement, warmingmuscles, loosening stiff limbs.
Juliana could be struck dumb.
“You know, I find I keep comparing you with my Jenny. She had a bad start too. All my fault I know. Butshe turned herself around. Became her own person.
“I couldn't understand why you hated her so much, especially after I told you she'd been one of you, atBlessingmoors. You should have sympathised with her. But then, Jenny’s beautiful, isn’t she. Even afteryou imprisoned her, degraded her, left her to lie in her own shit for a week, she still looked beautiful.
“It's no credit to her, of course. She's just lucky that way. Jenny wakes up, no make-up, hair like a bird’snest. But she looks in the mirror and what looks out is beautiful... What do you see Solana? Without all
the fakery?”
She breathes in short shallow snatches…
Almost there...
… Time to move in for the kill…
“And another thing… If I were in a room and Jenny had spent any amount of time there, I'd know it onthe spot. Her trademarks. Her signatures. Books. Knick-knacks. Souvenirs. All things that saysomething about her. Things that tell a story…
“But then, I was looking at the crap you fill your life with. Nothing in that bedroom was you. Everything Isaw there was something to cover over you... Insofar as there is a You, Juliana…
“In fact, the only object I found in that room that seemed even remotely personal was a book…” I stoopto pick up the tattered and mouldy copy of ‘Poisonous and Psychoactive Plants: A Handbook’.
“At the time, I didn’t think much about it. Then later, well… you do murder for fun, so fair enough. Butwhy not, a guide to hand-weapons, or history’s most famous serial killers…?”novelbin
She’s poised, trembling… A push and…
A quick check and yes, she’s still clutching the key…
“… But there was just this single book...” I heft the text and drops open now at the page I want. “I readthis at first because I was bored. Then, I read it again because I wondered what you’d dosed yourfriends with…” Holding the pages open, I read aloud… “Belladonna… meaning ‘beautiful woman’…Symptoms of poisoning… dilated pupils, rash or flushed skin on the face, neck and upper body,accelerated heartbeat, epileptic spasms, vomiting… Yes, that pretty much covered what I saw…”
Although facing down to the page, I look up under hooded lids. Juliana’s face is twisting… Her weightbegins to shift…
“Also known as Deadly Nightshade…” I lick a fingertip, turning the page with a large deliberatemovement… “Family name… Solanum… A family of plants including Belladonna and the othernightshades plus various plants of agricultural importance including… tomatoes, aubergines and… thepotato.”
I snap the book closed, taking a step closer to the half-visible line. Then another.
“So… Solana…” I grin. “Here we are. All those years. All that pretence. All the covering up andpretending to be the exotic Belladonna. You touch people and they die. All those murders…
“And at the end of it all…” I put the sneer into my words… “… you’re still simply my little Potato Face.”
Juliana shrieks, launching herself toward me, arms outstretched, hands opening to claws, coming formy eyes. I step back, drawing her in, and at the last moment, her gaze drops to the ground, to thefractured remains of the white line, her safety boundary.
For the briefest of instants, her eyes widen and her face goes slack as she realises what she’s done…
… I grin at her…
She jerks backwards…
… But I’m already moving…
She tries to retreat, to draw back beyond her safety line, but in her confusion, she’s not payingattention. The long heels slide on the slimy footing and her feet skid out from under her. Arms flailing,she starts to fall, reflexively reaching for me as I hold out my hand, then trying to snatch back asthought catches up with reflexes….
… But I already have her, clutching her wrist in a grip I’m not about to break. In her screwed-up fist, sheclutches the key. My free hand flailing, I’m grabbing for the closed fist, but she’s squirming andstruggling and, outstretched as I am, and in my weakened condition, I can’t both restrain her and forceher fist open.
Semi-supported by my hold, she doesn’t fall all the way, but hangs poised, scraping those pointedheels over the concrete, trying to regain her feet, trying to break away.
But on the slick surface, there no grip to be had and the heels scrape uselessly at the concrete. Shecries out, face contorting as she tries to twist free of my grasp. Shrieking like a banshee, screechinglike a fishwife... “Fuck you!” … she struggles and squirms and twists…
… then abruptly, changes tack, flinging herself forward, and head down, drops to my hand, sinking inher teeth.
Pain stabs up my arm and involuntarily, briefly, my fingers slacken. And in the instant before I regainmy hold, with a shriek of triumph, she’s pulled free.
As she slips loose of my grip, she drops, landing with a bump on her ass, scrambling backwards,shoving herself along on palms and the ridiculous silver-vinyl boots.
Hurling myself after her, forward and down, I land with a jarring thud, arms at full stretch, straining toreach her before she retreats beyond my range. She kicks at me, the steel-tipped heels stabbingtoward me like chisels. One jabs into my bitten hand. There must be pain, but I don’t feel it as my otherhand brushes her ankles, then tightens around into a firm hold.
Inexorably, I haul her back towards me, well this side of what’s left of the painted line. She screams andshrieks and twists, but I have her by both ankles now.
And finally, I have control. My flaccid muscles trembling with the effort, I draw her close, then roll on topof her, using my weight to pin her. On all fours above her, circling her paired wrists with one hand, Iprise at her fingers, trying to open the closed fist where still, she clutches the key.
Under me, she lurches, her knee rising to my groin and reflexively, I jerk away, my grip on her wristsloosening. She’s still under me, but her face twists into a twisted smile, a rictus of a grin, and she hurlsthe key…
… Or tries to…
… as I regain my hold of her hand, cutting the movement short, and as she lets fly, the key simplydrops, clinking to the ground, then skittering along to settle a few feet away.
Releasing her, I dive for it, scrambling on all fours, groping to reach it. But now Juliana’s on me, kickingand screeching and snatching. Her long fake nails scrape down my face and with a jerk, she kicks forthe key. I'm ahead of her, snagging my foot around hers to prevent the movement. But I can't shakeher. She’s like a fucking rat, or some blood-sucking leech, clinging, shrieking at me, hampering mymovement.
“Fuck you.” I heave and push, breaking loose of her, but she comes back at me, clawing and clutching.And this time, I slap her across the face, hard enough to knock her sidelong, to addle her…
… and in the instant that buys me, shoving her away, I scrabble for the key again.
And my fingers close around the precious thing…
With it clutched in my fist, I scramble upright, but Juliana’s on me again, rising with me, handsoutstretched, hurling herself bodily. The impact knocks me back and her own momentum carries herwith me, but the chain tugs tight at my ankle, unbalancing me and I fall, taking her with me.
I land hard, concrete below, Juliana above, the breath huffing out of me with the impact. Winded, I losethe moment. We roll and grapple, both trying to stand, each impeding the other. She slams down on myhand with her fist, smashing my hand on the unyielding surface. Numbed, my fingers go slack, and witha shriek of triumph, she grabs the key…
Trying to rise, pinned by her weight, with my other hand, I lash out, back-handing her. Catching the sideof her head, it knocks her weight from me, and the key flies free again, this time close to the channeledge.
I stagger upright. She’s semi-stunned by my blow, but only briefly, and as once more I stumble towardsthe key, she’s with me, clinging like some sucking parasite.
I spin, this time punching hard. She staggers back, but in the same moment, toppling, she kicks out atthe key…
… overbalances and falls, her head striking the wall with an audible Crack!
I dive for the key…
… Her eyes roll white…
… it skitters over the concrete to the edge…
She drops…
It drops…
… and plinks down into the oily water. It gleams, then sinks out of sight.
Frozen, I watch my freedom sink into blackness.
How deep is it?
I’ve no idea. I’ve never had the slightest urge to get closer than I needed to the polluted water.
Don’t panic…
It’s a drainage channel
How deep can it be?
Movement behind me…
… and I whirl…
She’s on her hands and knees, crawling away from me. Her movements are slow. Blood trickles fromher nose.
“Juliana?”
She crumples, sinking to the ground. Rolling, she curls in on herself, facing me. Her eyes are dull butthey fix on me. Her words are breathy, barely audible. “I win...”
Fuck that…
“I don’t think so, Juliana. It won’t be pleasant, but I’ve enough reach to fish the key out. It might take mea while to find it at the bottom, but it’s there. I can get it.”
Her lips stretch. “You think?” She still stares at me, but the light in her eyes is fading.
Kneeling on the edge, I look down into black water.
The key…
As it went over, it slightly scuffed the muck and slime: not much, but enough for me to have the exactspot. I should be able to reach it. I’ll be at full stretch on my chain, but the channel surely can’t be morethan three or four feet deep…
Surely…
But on the brink, I hesitate.
The steady drip from my ‘drinking water’ supply sets ripples spreading, making random garbage bobsluggishly. Yellow-tinged foam and threads of scum dot the unappealing surface, breaking up the oilyveneer.
The idea of reaching down into the water appeals about as much as going bald or breaking both legs.
On the other hand, staying here with only rats and the dying Juliana for company appeals even less.
A change of clothes was not among the amenities offered by my hostess and my shirt is hardly fresh.Still, I strip it off before I start…
Clean clothes…
Crisp linen, freshly laundered…
…
New underwear…
What I’m wearing under my tattered and stinking trousers would stand up by itself.
Naked from the waist up, I lie, full-length on the ground, pulling a loop of my chain close by to givemyself some manoeuvring ability. It’s not too bad, and with my face pressed cheek-down to theground…
… and with only a moment’s hesitation…
… I can reach…
My fingers dip below the surface…
The water’s not cold, not at all. Rather, it’s tepid. Somehow, that’s not comforting.
… then my wrist, then my elbow…
With the water almost to my shoulder, I encounter resistance, my fingers reaching mud…
Please… let it be mud…
Whatever it is, it’s gloopy, syrupy almost, as my hand descends into this surface-under-a-surface. Andit’s warm…
Something rotting?
My stomach coils uneasily, but I try to ignore it.
And my hand is still descending…
How deep is it?
I roll, balanced precariously on the edge, and still, I’m not touching bottom.
… I feel it…
Something hard…
The base of the channel…
Thank Christ for that…
… but only just. The tips of my fingers are only just grazing the surface. I shuffle to almost overhang theedge, now clinging to my chain with one hand to keep myself from falling in. Slime kisses my cheek. Myface almost skims the surface, but no matter how I reach, I’m only just touching the bottom. More to thepoint, I’m not touching the key and, at full stretch, my groping range is only a few inches wide.
Frustrated, I pull back, rolling away to lie on my back.
I stare up at the ceiling.
There’s only one way I’m going to be able to search properly.
Oh, God…
I’m going to have to go in for it.
The idea of wading through the putrid water…
…
Freedom…
I eye the foul surface…
Strip off?
But I can’t. With the cuff in place, the only way I could remove my pants would be to rip them opendown one leg.
Once I’m out, I don’t know what I’ll have to face above ground. If I’m in a city somewhere, a semi-nakedman is liable to cause comment. If I’m in the wilds, I’ll need my clothes in good condition… such as canbe managed.
The chain clinks as I shuffle to the edge, then gingerly swing my feet over, sucking back my disgust atthe putrid touch of the water on my feet, like the kiss of a corpse. As it covers my ankles, lapping at theraw skin where the steel cuff rubs, I pray for antibiotics.
Holding onto the edge against slipping, slowly, I lower myself in until I’m standing thigh-deep, my feetwallowing in several inches of sludge. Keeping my hold on the side, I probe with my toes.
I’ve read of people searching for clams and oysters this way. I imagine they expect to encounternothing worse than the odd empty shell or a sulphurous smell in their hunting. But I’m on edge, trawlingtentatively with my toes in case of broken glass or rusted metal…
But there’s nothing. A few bubbles rise, then plink out to non-existence. More follow. I’d gotten used tothe smell down here, not registering it any more. But now, it stinks.
No glass…
No drinks cans…
How far from civilisation am I?
Doesn’t matter…
Freedom…
I keep probing, less cautious now, extending my circle.
Be there…
Please be there…
I’m stretching out, coming to the end of my range… Leaning back to hold the sidewall with my hands, Ipush forward with my legs and feet, feeling for anything, that might be a key.
The chain clinks taut. It will go no further…
Stretching now, reaching, full-length, the cuff bites into already sore flesh and…
There!
My toe nudges against something; a something just the right size for a key.
Yes!
Curling my toes around the object, I draw it closer. Dragging it inch by inch from the edge of the world,scraping it over the bottom, I draw it into my range. And now it’s easier, the key sliding easily, closer,ever closer, until I have it, there at my feet.
Quivering and shaking, running on an adrenaline high, I release my death-grip on the side. Stooping toretrieve my prize, reaching down, I raise my chin against the stinking wash over my mouth. The key’sslippery in my fingers, sliding through the slime, trying to escape my hold.
I bend a little further, and as my hand fastens around the Holy Grail, my feet slide from under me and Igo down.
My fall is speedy and inexorable. Scrabbling madly at the side with one hand, the other firmly grippedaround the key, I can’t stop myself. I have barely time to clamp my mouth closed as I go under.
As I slide, I’m almost down when, with an agonizing pain at my ankle, the chain pulls taut, spinning meas it does so. Pain spears up my leg as my knee twists and unthinkingly, I try to scream…
… the sound cut short as putrid water fills my mouth and nostrils.
My eyes are squeezed closed. I’ve lost my sense of up or down and the chain wraps at my ankle,weighing me down, hampering my movement
Spluttering for air, coughing and heaving, I resurface, then as my feet slide through the ooze, sink downagain. But I have a scant moment to fling out a hand, to grab the side, and this time, as I go underagain, my plunge is curtailed.
Coughing and puking foul water, chest heaving, for a while, all I can do is prop myself against theside…
Then I remember…
Panic stabs…
But I open my hand, and there’s the key: slime-covered and foul, but still the most beautiful thing I’veever seen. Muttering a silent Hallelujah!, I toss it across the floor where it comes to rest under the fixingbolt of my chain to the wall.
Prone on the ground, Juliana, to my surprise, is still alive,
She watches, unmoving, unspeaking, but conscious, in her expanding pool of blood. Her chest risesand falls, the breath rasping in her throat. Her make-up is smeared like that of some monstrous clown.One pupil is hugely dilated: the other pinpricked. Both follow me as I haul myself out of the water, thendripping, pad across to my spot by the wall, sit and pick up the key.
I wipe it clean, for all the good it does, on my rancid trousers, then insert it into the padlock…
… or try to…
It won’t go in.
Turning it around, I try again.
It still won’t go in.
Mouth and throat suddenly dry, my stomach clenching, I stab the key at the lock, trying to force it in.
But. It. Won’t. Go.
It won’t go…
It won’t go.
It’s the wrong key.
From across the floor, that giggle… That Juliana giggle…
Her voice is a bare whisper, but she’s grinning: a manic, lunatic grin.
“But…” I stare at her, the useless key slack in my hand.
“You don’t think…” She stops to heave air… “… I’d have ever left the real key here do you?” Shebreaks off again, gurgling against the blood which trickles from her nostrils and over her lips.
“But… I saw you hang it up. When you first brought me here. I saw you.”
“Just my little joke.” She coughs and her face twists, more blood spilling now from her mouth. “Gotcha,Larry.”
And as I watch, in a slow exhalation, the air escapes her throat. Her eyes lose their focus and freezeinto a sightless stare.
“Juliana?”
She doesn't move, quite still. No lift to her chest. No flutter to her eyelids.
“Juliana?”
She doesn’t move again.
I’m quite alone.
No-one knows I’m here.
No-one is coming.
I gaze into the abyss.
And the abyss gazes back.
*****
‘The Master’s Child’ Concludes In
Natale