Unspeakable

by Marturano, Tony

  34 The Morning after

  What was left of the night had been restless.

  Ashley, despite her apparent exhaustion, had tossed and turned.

  Rupert was awoken twice by her screams. Both times, she had been clawing at the air above the bed. Both times, he took her in his arms, and held her to his chest where, eventually, she would return to a fitful slumber.

  It was, for this reason that morning came too soon for the company director who had a day full of meetings.

  He had planned on getting to the office early, but refused to leave Ashley alone or let her out of the security of the apartment.

  Something terrible had happened to his fiancé yesterday. The result was giving her nightmares, and he was anxious. He resolved that if Ashley wouldn’t share with him, then he would push to have her speak to his doctor, perhaps even his therapist. He’d already contacted them both, as a precaution.

  He stopped short of telling her to take the day off. He knew that wouldn’t go down well, but insisted that she have a lie in, and when Ashley mumbled that she needed to go back to her flat, to collect post and other items. He insisted that she let him go instead.

  “Stay home. Rest,” he told her. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

  And he was very glad he did. There was no doubt in his mind that Ashley was in no fit state to deal with what he found there.

  In fact, what he discovered scared him to the point where he actually considered hiring a personal security detail, since there was no longer any doubt that he, and the woman he loved, were being targeted, for whatever reason, by someone.

  He immediately placed two calls.

  One to the police, and the other home, where he spoke to Maria, the Italian maid, who confirmed that Ashley was yet to emerge from the bedroom.

  He renewed his instructions that she was to rest, undisturbed, until he returned home, and had managed to speak to her.

  When he eventually made it to the office, his mind was on everything but the day ahead, no matter how much his assistant tried to prep him for it.

  Simply too much had happened in one day, and he needed some time to rationalise it all. To understand.

  What had happened to Ashley that was so traumatic that it was causing her nightmares? And what had happened at her flat? Did she know about it, and kept it from him?

  Was she attacked and feels like she can’t tell me?

  This latest thought had dogged him most of the morning, and it made him worry. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if he learned that Ashley couldn’t trust him with something like that.

  He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a wad of paper, unfolded it, and placed it on the desk in front of him.

  Then, he took a few seconds to consider his actions, and what exactly these entailed.

  Too late now, he thought.

  The so-called damage had already been done.

  Worse, now that he had seen them, he couldn’t get the content out of his head, along with the myriad of other chaotic thoughts that had taken residence there.

  He comforted himself with the fact that the paper that was in front of him was not a direct result of his snooping, but a ghastly by-product of the actions of some unidentified scum bag, who had taken it upon him, or herself, to break into Ashley’s home.

  The first to greet him was a mound of post, flyers and newspapers.

  The second, was a scene of complete devastation.

  The lounge had been turned upside-down.

  Drawers had been pulled from cupboards, and contents emptied. Furniture had been turned over, pictures had been pulled off walls, and curtains ripped from windows. Even the cushions had been dragged from the sofa, ripped apart and their stuffing scattered, dusting the place in synthetic yellow snow.

  It was a similar situation in the bedroom, where clothes had been pulled from hangers and dumped, in a heap, in the middle of the room.

  It was amongst this mess, peeking out from under a pair of jeans, that Rupert noticed the crumpled shoebox. It had been tipped upside down. Underneath it, he found letters, documents, and a wad of bank statements.

  His first instinct was to reconstruct the box and refill it, but it was as he began to do so, that something from one of the bank statements caught his eye. So, he paused to examine it.

  It did not cross his mind for one second that he was prying, for the impact of what he had just discovered was far greater.

  The bottom line of Ashley’s bank statement was overdrawn by four thousand three hundred and thirty pounds. Hooked by this discovery, he proceeded to examine the other documents.

  These were letters from Ashley’s bank, demanding that she bring her account back inline, and threatening to freeze future withdrawals until she did so.

  He checked the dates, some were a few months old, others were recent, and one of them was dated last week.

  Am I so unapproachable? Couldn’t you have spoken to me about this?

  And now, as he sat at his desk and studied another bank statement, his heart sank.

  He’d failed Ashley.

  Yes, she valued her independence, but this. She knew he had the money, but she didn’t feel that she could approach him. What did this say about him? What did it say about their relationship?

  Everything and nothing.

  Her not coming to you about this means nothing. If anything, it’s consistent with the type of person she is.

  Where is all the money going anyway?

  He studied the paper in his hand. Living in London was notoriously expensive, but Ashley didn’t exactly lead an extravagant lifestyle.

  It was as he churned through these thoughts that he noticed it; the thirty-first of the month, a significant withdrawal, a direct debit, paid to the Whitehouse Group.

  He picked up another statement, it was a few months old; same date, same company, same direct debit, same amount.

  The ‘Whitehouse Group’.

  Who were these people, and why was Ashley paying them so much money every month? He needed to know. He might even be able to help.

  He booted up his computer, opened the web browser, typed ‘The Whitehouse’ into the search engine, and waited.

  His assistant deposited a mug of steaming coffee on his desk and reminded him, for the second time, he was running late.

  Most of the links related to The Whitehouse in Washington DC.

  Really? The Whitehouse, Washington? Surely not.

  He tried his search again, only this time he typed ‘Whitehouse Group’.

  The results were an advertising agency, a Wikipedia page for a band, a firm of accountants, a care home, a car parts company, a medical practice, and various other pieces of information that made no sense to him whatsoever.

  He scrolled down and tried the next page.

  “Well, nice to see you actually made it into the office.”

  The voice made Rupert jump, and he looked up to see James standing in the doorway.

  “Blimey, I haven't caught you surfing those porn sites again, have I?” James asked, walking up to Rupert’s desk.

  “Foiled again,” Rupert said, forcing a smile.

  James looked at him curiously and then said, “Rough night, huh? I heard about that little boy on the news. I couldn’t believe it. Are you okay? I tried to call you and Ash, left several messages for both of you, but no answer. I was worried.”

  “You did? I didn’t receive any messages from you.”

  “Yes, left messages for you both to check in, make sure you were okay and let me know if you needed anything.”

  “Well, Thanks. I’m sorry, I didn’t get the messages and I don’t even know where Ashley’s mobile is…”

  “Forget her mobile. Where the hell is she? Her guys told me that she wasn’t going to be in today.”

  “No, no, she’s not feeling well,” Rupert said, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious, as he realised that the bank statements were sitting on his desk.

  “Really?
What’s up with her?”

  “Long story.”

  “Well, I’m all ears. I had to cancel the breakfast meeting because you weren’t here.”

  “Yeah, I know, sorry.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Anything and everything.”

  “Such as?”

  Rupert’s assistant appeared at the door. “Mr Harrison, they’re still waiting for you.”

  “We’d better go.”

  “Hang on a minute, you still haven't told me about what’s going on.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Rupert said, standing up. He grabbed the statements, stuffed them into his pocket and switched off his computer monitor.

  “I may be dead later,” James complained.

  Rupert walked his friend to the door.

  “No, that’s not dark at all, James. Although, I suppose at your age, one has to consider such things,” Rupert said, putting his arm around his friend. “Either way, you’ll have to put that on hold, because I have a lot to tell you, and that’s much more important.”

  35 FRIDAY

  Friday morning seemed dazzlingly bright, yet the muted television, standing on a cabinet at the foot of the bed, was beaming a map of the UK, smothered with black clouds.

  Rachel rolled over in bed, reached out to Jason’s side, and was surprised to actually feel his chest beneath her fingers.

  She opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.

  He was propped up against a pillow with the TV remote control in his hand.

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” he said with a smile, “or should I be saying, good afternoon?”

  “Hey,” Rachel smiled. It was good to see his face.

  “Sleep well? You’ve been spark out since you got in.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just coming up to lunchtime.”

  “Shit, really?”

  She groaned, pulled herself up into a sitting position, and ran both hands through her hair, blinking in an effort to wake from her sleepy stupor.

  “Rough night?” Jason asked, brightly.

  “Oh, you could say that,” she said with a big sigh, as memories of the evening came flooding back to her.

  “Yeah, I heard about what happened. It’s intense. Kettle’s just boiled. I’ll get you some coffee, and you can tell me all about it,” he said brightly, getting up from the bed and leaving the room.

  Rachel vacantly watched the news anchor on the TV. She still couldn’t get her head around the fact that the man was talking about something that had actually taken place there, in her apartment building.

  It was this contemplation that slowly brought the events of last night, back into focus.

  To say that it had been a strange shift was an understatement. It had been downright weird.

  And it all started when her detective work revealed clues into the past of the stranger that was her former colleague.

  Which reminded her; Tom didn’t look particularly thrilled when she’d asked about Keri.

  What does he know? Do they have a past?

  She realised now, that the subject had got buried, as soon as all hell broke loose.

  The most frustrating thing was that, from her dungeon, she had no clue of what was actually happening. She could only hear the wailing of sirens and see flashing blue lights.

  Things got particularly creepy, in a War of The Worlds kind of way, when the beam of a flashlight shone through the window, and proceeded to scan them and the rest of the room.

  It was promptly followed by a visit from two young cops, and an interrogation about what they both may or may not have seen or heard.

  Of course, their frustrated reply had been nothing!

  In exchange, the policemen had been tight-lipped. They refused to share anything about the events of the world above, other than the fact that a crime was being investigated.

  Lilly made an appearance shortly after, and brought with her the devastating news about the little boy.

  News that chilled Rachel, as she recalled the transcribed words on her computer screen.

  A close up of a small boy in his father’s arms appeared next to the news anchor who, grim-faced, mouthed something, before the picture cut to wobbly images of a couple, dressed in black, with matching shades, jostling their way through a crowd, before boarding a car, and driving off at great speed.

  Rachel hunted for the remote, but the picture had already changed to a series of adverts. She gawped at them as her mind wandered back to last night, and that phone call.

  She wondered about the Stanton’s nanny; did she really do this? And if so, why? How could anybody do something like that to an innocent child? She could only imagine what the Stantons must be going through right now.

  And what about the other residents? Were they, like her, in shock right now? Would more of them move out?

  Then, her thoughts turned to Ashley, and she wondered what her only friend down here thought of all of this.

  Rachel’s eyes widened, Dinner tomorrow!

  She’d actually forgotten about it. What the hell was she going to wear?

  It might be cancelled.

  Jason, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, walked into the room and handed Rachel a mug of coffee. She sat up straight before taking the mug from him.

  “So, how come you’re here today?” She asked, after taking a sip.

  He smiled. “I live here, remember?”

  “You know what I mean. You’re normally at work.”

  He frowned, “Is that your way of telling me I’m never here for you?”

  “No, of course not, but if the cap fits,” she said, teasingly.

  “Yeah. Thanks very much. So now I’m being penalised for wanting the best for us.”

  Us. I like the way you say that.

  “Of course not. I’d just like to see more of you.”

  “Well, that is why I decided to stay home today. Thought we could go shopping together.”

  “Shopping?” Rachel’s face lit up.

  “Yes, for tomorrow. The dinner party.”

  “Oh wow, you didn’t forget.”

  “Of course I didn’t forget.”

  She grinned, and kissed him on the cheek, while he glanced at the TV, “Bloody hell, not this again.”

  Rachel followed his gaze, and saw pictures of Darren, and his wife with their son, dressed in a miniature version of his father’s racing uniform. A caption in the right-hand corner of the screen, read, Library Pictures.

  “Turn it up! Turn it up!” she said quickly.

  “Why bother, I can already recite, verbatim, what they have been saying. They’ve been showing this segment all bloody day.”

  “Jay!”

  “Alright,” he said, begrudgingly, picking the remote up from the floor and pointing it at the TV.

  “…. Honoured in the sixties for outstanding contribution to the sport. It wasn’t long before his teenage son, Darren, seen here Go Karting, followed his father’s footsteps, and began to carve his own niche in the racing world by winning several professional Karting championships.

  However, tragedy struck in the late eighties, Terrence Stanton was killed in a racing accident. Darren took the death of his father very badly, which led him to shun the media spotlight. It was only a few years later, that Darren Stanton raced back onto our screens by winning Silverstone.

  Five years ago, he was voted Britain’s sexiest male. That’s when he met the actress Leticia Aaron, seen here at the premiere of her latest film, Desperate Motive. They were married within a year. Two years later, Leticia Aaron-Stanton gave birth to a baby boy. He was named after his famous grandfather, Terrence.

  The scene on the TV then changed to a black anchorman addressing a TV screen. It showed an image of a reporter, standing outside the gates of Heron Heights.

  “Wow, can you believe this?” Rachel breathed.

  “…And we can now join Abigail Palmer live from the Stanton’s residence in London. Abigail, this is shocking
to say the least, and something that has a personal element for you. Right?”

  “Well, yes Peter, it does, in that I was interviewing the Stantons only last night. Darren Stanton, in particular, spoke about his relationship with, and affection for, his son. We can only imagine how the family must be feeling right now.”

  “Quite right. Abigail, are the police any closer to ascertaining exactly what happened, and indeed, who might be responsible?”

  “Well Peter, as you can imagine, the police are not prepared to disclose any information at this time. What we do know is that the Stantons left our studio at approximately 10:00 PM yesterday, and went straight home, where the discovery was made. The Stanton’s nanny, Amy Cumberland, is currently being questioned by police.”

  “Do we have any idea why the police are questioning her?”

  “Well, Peter, what we have are unconfirmed reports that Amy Cumberland was the last person to see Terrence Stanton alive, since she was on duty last night. So, some pretty tough questions will need to be asked before any more can be established.”

  “Abigail Palmer, thank you very much. And now for the rest of the headlines. The prime minister is facing yet…”

  Jason muted the TV once again.

  “She said the same thing this morning.” He commented.

  “I just can’t believe it. This is awful, and it happened here, in this building!”

  “I know. The police have already been on the phone. They want us to give a statement. I wasn’t even here.”

  “I know. We were questioned at length last night,” Rachel said, flatly, still unable to pull her eyes off the television’s muted screen.

  “We?”

  “Yes, Tom and I.”

  It took Rachel a few seconds before she tuned into Jason’s glare.

  “He was down fixing the boiler or something. I tell you, for a luxury building, this place is actually falling apart.”

  “I’m more interested in what the fuck that guy was doing hanging out with you down there last night.”