Unspeakable

by Marturano, Tony

  On the other hand, she could have the project taken away from her, since she wasn’t supposed to be dealing with it in the first place.

  She worked in fiction.

  The Jackie Harris book was autobiographical. The only reason she was involved was because Jackie had approached her directly, and refused to deal with anyone else.

  Jackie had also promised to deliver the complete manuscript over a week ago, but so far she hadn’t seen anything.

  She made a mental note to contact her at some point today. Maybe have lunch. In fact, lunch was best. Jackie was a jittery creature and Ashley had noticed, during their previous encounters, at her best when she actually had something to focus on.

  The slamming of the front door startled her as a cold draught swept in, bringing with it the scent of Rupert’s aftershave.

  He was back.

  She poured shampoo into her hand and then massaged it into her scalp as the steam that had filled the room shifted when the bathroom door opened and a shadow appeared on its threshold.

  It stood for several seconds, watching her naked outline through the glass of the walk-in cubicle.

  A minute or so washed by before she opened her eyes and was startled to notice Rupert’s outline standing there.

  She squinted through the foam and the blur of the misted glass. “Rupert?”

  He did not reply.

  “Rupert, you pervert!” she called out to him. “Why don’t you go and do something useful, like putting the kettle on.”

  She heard him chuckle.

  “And close the door behind you; it’s freezing!”

  He disappeared but did not shut the door, and he was going to pay dearly for that.

  She finished washing, stepped out of the shower, and dried herself with a bath towel, before moving over to the steamed up mirror and rubbing a patch clear until her reflection was revealed.

  She gasped; dark shadows circled puffy eyes. She still looked drained, if not haunted.

  Great. Now I’m coming down with something.

  She fixed the towel around herself and brushed her teeth. When she was done, she left the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom where she slipped into panties. Then, instead of pulling on her own clothes, she plucked out one of Rupert’s shirts.

  Wearing his shirts made her feel good. Closer to him. She especially loved them when they had been worn, and smelt of him, along with remnants of his aftershave.

  She left the bedroom and made her way up the short corridor towards the entrance lobby, then the kitchen.

  The penthouse was deathly silent, the only sound was that of her bare feet slapping on the parquet flooring, which, of course, reminded her of her dream. Outside, the muffled hum of London rush hour was in full swing.

  “Hey you…” she began as she entered the kitchen, but did not finish the sentence for it was empty. The cooker and coffee pot were cold, the black marble surfaces gleamed, and the room was quiet until the fridge sprang to life, making her jump.

  She shook her head and then headed across the hallway to the dining room; glass pendant chandelier hung still, glass table clean but no sign of Rupert.

  “Rupert?” She called, aloud.

  No reply.

  She looked back into the entrance lobby, as the clouds shifted overhead, and a strobe of sunlight flickered through the vast domed ceiling. It resurrected an army of shadows, and sent them marching across the walls and paintings as if inspiring the subjects to life.

  “Rupert?”

  The shrill of the telephone, mounted on the nearby wall, startled her. She instinctively snatched it from its cradle. “Hello,” she said, testily.

  “Hey you. I’m on my way back and I just wanted to call ahead, check if you were awake and if you needed anything.”

  A roller coaster sickness gripped Ashley’s stomach, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle.

  “Rupert?”

  “Yes baby, it’s me.”

  Blood pumped behind Ashley’s ears and her eyes widened, as she scanned the room and the doors that led off to darkness.

  Suddenly, the air chilled once more and the goose pimples returned to her legs and arms. It was as if the air conditioning had been turned to high.

  “R…Rupert…Where are you?” she croaked for her mouth was dry.

  “I’m just walking out of the bakers. The pastries are still oven warm. Did you want me to pick something else up for you?”

  There was silence as Ashley backed up against the wall, gripping the handset tightly as if her very life depended on it.

  Another cloud smothered the sun, plunging the place into a duskish hue.

  Ashley’s eyes darted over to the dining room door, where she thought she’d just seen a shadow.

  Oh, God, Rupert, help me.

  Her whole body began to tremble as the realisation sunk in and fear, like a rat, scuttled up her spine.

  “Ash?” the voice on the phone called, but she could not respond, for horror had frozen her tongue; someone was in the apartment and whoever it was, it wasn’t Rupert.

  19 Noises

  Rachel awoke to an excellent mood.

  She’d spent a fantastic evening with Jason. It was everything she’d hoped for, and more.

  They had been whisked away from Heron Heights in a limousine, for a whistle-stop tour of London by night. It included crossing the River Thames, over Westminster Bridge, with the giant wheel that was the London Eye on one side and the Palace of Westminster, Britain’s Parliament, on the other.

  Rachel was awestruck; these were places she had seen many times on TV and in movies, but never in person.

  The best, and most hilarious part, was when Jason encouraged her to attempt sunroof selfies with the iconic tower of Big Ben in the background.

  They laughed a lot and she was reminded why she loved him so.

  Then, it was off to see one of her favourite musicals, and to have dinner in a small restaurant, just off Covent Garden.

  It was well after eleven when they left the restaurant, yet the city was still wide awake, buzzing with the sights, sounds and smells of a bustling metropolis.

  Rachel very much enjoyed Manchester’s nightlife, but she soon discovered that it wasn’t a patch on London. There was something about The Old Smoke that lifted her spirits, as if she’d come back home to an old school friend, the crazy one, forever spontaneous and always up for a good time.

  She felt invigorated, inspired, happy and deliriously in love.

  Jason had been very affectionate; they’d kissed and held hands the whole time they walked among the crowds.

  The streets were alive with people of all different nationalities and colours. From green ghouls to red demons, white ghosts and blood oozing zombies. All kinds of folk who used Halloween as an opportunity to express jaw-dropping makeup creativity, many to movie standard.

  Rachel was enraptured.

  Jason suggested that they go to a club, but she reluctantly declined.

  She had work the next day.

  There was only so much excitement a girl could handle in one night. Besides, now that they lived together, they had all the time in the world to go out and do the things they enjoyed, whenever they wanted.

  “Speaking of which,” Jason reminded her with that inimitable smile.

  It was well after 01:00 am before they returned to the apartment.

  They’d both had quite a bit to drink, and were schoolchild-giggly as they undressed each other and climbed into bed, to make love.

  Because that was exactly what they did.

  Jason was how she remembered him; attentive, sensual and considerate this time. The only point he hadn’t been was when she had taken control by climbing onto him and regulating the pace, until they both climaxed in an explosion of shudders.

  Rachel smiled at the memory.

  She had been in London but one day and she’d already fallen in love with the place. That, and the fact that she felt like she’d become some kind of
socialite.

  It was a show last night, drinks with some of Jason’s business contacts tonight, and then they also had the dinner invite to Ashley and Rupert’s penthouse!

  She was very much looking forward to that because she liked them. They were, after all, the only two people she knew down here. So far, but she felt reassured that, by the way things were going, she would have a new network of friends in no time.

  It was 10:10 am.

  She wasn’t due to start her first shift until lunch time. Lilly had told her that she would cover the evening shifts for a few days, until Rachel had managed to acclimatise to her new home, and of course, the job.

  So, she stretched like a cat, and languished in the warm bed while gazing at the blue sky beyond the window. She thought about her old job that she realised, she didn’t miss at all.

  She thought about her mother, and wondered what she’d make of her new home, in the heart of England’s capital.

  Probably complain about the way it’s decorated.

  She sighed.

  It had been a long time.

  She missed her parents. Maybe not on a daily basis, but at moments like these, where she was doing well for herself and wanted to share her happiness.

  You should get in touch. Maybe later. Let’s get settled in first.

  She pushed the quilt aside, climbed out of bed and walked into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and mused some more about her life.

  It was through the hissing of the tap and the scrubbing of the toothbrush that she heard them.

  Or so she thought.

  She shut off the water and listened.

  Nothing... but she was sure she heard something fall, heavily, against the ceiling.

  She waited and listened.

  Nothing.

  She was about to restart the brushing when she heard it again, something was being dropped, or more precisely from the sound of the skid, thrown to the floor in the apartment upstairs.

  I thought nobody lived there.

  She waited and listened a few more seconds, but there were no further sounds.

  It was as if they knew she was there, as if they knew she was waiting for something else to happen… then it did, another thud.

  That was not my imagination!

  Without further ado, Rachel rushed back into the bedroom, pulled on clothes, grabbed one of Jason’s caps and tucked her hair into it.

  She checked the image in the mirror and frowned; she didn’t like herself without makeup, and this morning she was looking particularly tired and washed out.

  The reality was quite the opposite; Rachel didn’t need to paint her face to look pretty.

  She didn’t have the stereotypical angular features of a photo model, but she certainly had the clear soap and water complexion of an English rose, with brown eyes and broad facial features, that were easily softened by her shoulder length hair.

  She left the apartment, made her way over to the elevator and frowned when one of the overhead lights flickered and died as she approached.

  The elevator was already travelling down to the lobby, so she looked over to the opposite side where a fire door wore a plaque with the universal symbol for Stairs.

  It was only one floor.

  She took them.

  Apartment 8’s doorbell didn’t seem to work so Rachel knocked a few times with no reply.

  This frustrated her. She knew what she had heard. She did not imagine it; someone or something was in there.

  It was this that led her to glance furtively around and then try the handle; the door was unlocked.

  She paused to consider but had already made up her mind.

  Inside, the apartment was similar to Jason’s.

  The front door opened to a small hallway with three doors; bedroom and bathroom, kitchen/dining room and, straight ahead, the lounge.

  “Hello? Is anybody home?”

  Silence.

  She shivered. It was unusually cold in here. As if someone had left a window wide open.

  “Hello? Anybody here?”

  Nothing.

  The air was still, dense and musky, as if the room could do with a good airing. This was consistent with what she had learned; nobody had lived there for a while.

  Rachel knew she was trespassing. She had absolutely no business being there, but she brushed the thought aside. She was on a mission now, one sanctioned by her own sanity.

  She needed to know what the noises were all about, since she was unable to reconcile these to the fact that the place was supposed to be empty.

  “Hello?” She shouted, belligerently, almost annoyed that nobody was answering her.

  Still nothing.

  So she stepped forward. Slowly advancing into the lounge.

  She was wearing training shoes, which meant that her tread was quiet, but for the wood floor that creaked nerve-jangling loud as if protesting against her intrusion.

  The lounge was ablaze with daylight as there were no curtains at the picture windows, nor blinds on the balcony doors, leaving the sun to shine, intermittently, on a dazzling collection of white dust sheets that occupied the space, like sleepy ghosts.

  “Is anybody home?”

  No; there were no feuding neighbours, just floating dust particles.

  Rachel sighed deeply as she surveyed the rest of the room, half expecting one of the dustsheets to jump out at her and yell, “Surprise!”

  It didn’t.

  The room was empty but for the outlines of what Rachel could identify as a corner unit, a side unit, and a coffee table surrounded by two double sofas and an armchair.

  Could she really have imagined that row yesterday, and the noises this morning? Of course not, but she reasoned that the sounds could have come from any of the apartments, not necessarily this one.

  Really? Is that how you’re going to sell this to yourself?

  She knew that the sounds had come from the apartment directly above her.

  This apartment.

  Yet, she could not see any indication of that. It was clear that the place was empty and, judging from the dust, had been that way for a few weeks now.

  Creak!

  She spun around, just as the room was plunged into shadow, as the sun was swallowed up by a black cloud.

  She swore, throwing her hand to her mouth, as if to stifle a scream, when her own reflection in a large wall mirror made her jump. It was the only thing in that room that wasn’t covered.

  Jesus Christ!

  She laughed, nervously, but her smile disappeared when her dishevelled, washed out look gawked back at her.

  Now that is scary, she thought, whilst admiring her bravery for leaving the house without a scrap of makeup. It was something she’d never done before.

  Must be love, she thought with a big smile.

  She moved closer to the mirror and proceeded to tuck runaway strands of hair under her cap, but froze as hot and cold shivers slithered down her back, and curled into a knot in her stomach.

  There, in the mirror, she could see not just her reflection, but also that of the armchair behind her, and there, quivering under the dustsheet was the unmistakable outline of a person!

  Incapacitated with fear, she could do nothing but watch whoever it was as they sat perfectly still but for the billowing of the white fabric, as they breathed in and out.

  In and out.

  Rachel’s whole body began to tremble as the breath froze in her mouth. She willed her body to move, to run, scream but she was paralysed.

  And then, slowly, and to her absolute horror, the profile shifted as the outline of a head slowly turned to look in her direction.

  Creak!

  “Miss!”

  “Jesus Christ!” She yelled as the young security guard, the one who had reluctantly fetched her suitcases from outside, appeared in the doorway beside her.

  Her heart was pickaxing its way out of her chest.

  “You frightened me to death!” She said, angrily.

  �
��What are you doing in here, Miss?” The boy asked, ignoring her tone and the terrified look on her face.

  She didn’t reply.

  She was busy scanning the armchair. It looked perfectly innocuous with the sheet draped over it. In fact, now that she scrutinised the thing, the sun decided to make an impromptu reappearance, she couldn’t even imagine how she could have mistaken that outline for anything other than what it was.

  Nonetheless, she marched over to the armchair, emboldened by the presence of the security guard, and yanked the dust cover off.

  “Miss!” The boy protested. “What the hell are you doin’?”

  As expected, nothing but an empty leather armchair revealed itself to her.

  Did I imagine that too? What about the breath? I definitely saw something breathing!

  “Miss?” The young man repeated with that apathetic tone she was rapidly growing to dislike.

  She was still gawking at the piece of furniture but, eventually and somewhat reluctantly, turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry,” she stuttered, unable to find words. She dropped the sheet back on the chair without bothering to rearrange it, “The door was open and I decided to have a look around.”

  “I’m gonna’ have to ask you to leave,” the boy said, suddenly developing a backbone.

  “How come?” she asked, defiantly, still unnerved but what had just happened.

  The boy, now rabbit in headlights, shrugged, “I’m just doing my job,” he said.

  Rachel nodded and walked over to him. Then, after glancing around the room once more, asked, “Do you know who used to live here?”

  The boy gave a shrug, “Sorry, haven't worked here that long.”

  Rachel nodded, then left.

  20 Intruder

  When Rupert returned to the penthouse, the first thing he noticed was the stillness of the place. That and the freezing cold; it felt warmer outside.

  “Ashley?”

  There was no reply.

  Closing the front door behind him, he called out again, “Ash?”

  No answer.

  He checked the dining room, the bedroom, even the bathroom, but nothing, just the dripping showerhead.