by Paulie Celt
He wrapped on the door again. “Hello?”
The young woman did her best to wrap the towel around, under her armpits, with trembling hands. She focused on the door and spluttered out her words. “Almost done. Sorry. Be a few minutes.” Her lungs continued to suck in oxygen in an attempt to feed her recovering heart. She released her vice-like clamp on the porcelain and flexed her digits to shoo the pounding of her blood in the joints.
“OK sweetheart.” His footsteps backed away from the room and dissipated.
Taking a few moments to allow her breathing to return to almost normal, Susan cupped more water onto her face and closed her eyes.
She dabbed with the edge of the towel she wore, and let the damp corner fall back around her shins. Her gaze happened upon the pile of clothes behind the door and she picked them up before unfastening the lock and opened the way to the hall.
The prostitute padded over the carpet, the sleeves of her sweatshirt dangling against her body, from the pile. She approached the bedroom with the merest hint of a smile across her lips.
A blood curdling scream echoed through the entire house.
Susan shot out both hands to clamp around the door frame, her knees wobbling like spoiled jelly. Her lips stretched beyond capacity. They threatened to split at the corners. She sucked in a short burst of air and screamed again. Her eyes dared not blink. The pupils locked on the obscenity before her.
Simon lay sprawled out on his back. His lower limbs spanned out to cover the width of the duvet. Crimson splashes decorated the top half of the bed.
“You fool!” The young woman gagged on her words. She dry heaved and rose the back of one hand to wipe at her mouth. Her eyes stuttered, but refused to stray any distance.
His bathrobe lay wide open. Crimson saliva bubbled from between his weak, flexing lips and streamed over his chin. Just below, a gaping rent peeked out from between the man's panicked fingers; his digits clutched in desperation to ebb the scarlet torrent. His eyes swelled in the sockets, like those of a deer with its throat viced between the jaws of a hungry lion.
She leaned to one side, just in time, and puked. Her knees gave out and she collapsed to the floorg. She gasped for air. The fetid stench of copper, excrement and her own vomit forced her to wretch another foamy load on the carpet.
A low, gurgling growl filled the room.
She stretched her neck to see peek the top of the bed. With an outstretched finger she wiped the contents of her stomach from her lips.
The middle-aged man's limbs twitched. His fingers loosened their grip and lost all strength. His lungs emptied and the growl whimpered out. He continued to gawk with cold, stiff eyes. lifeless eyes.
Susan's neck jutted forward and steam erupted from between her lips, as her throat convulsed and found nothing else to expel.
She reached toward the edge of the bed and hesitated. Her attentions moved to the surface of the dresser. She pulled herself up off the floor and balanced her weight on planted palms. Her nose twitched against the vulgar odours. Tears trickled over her cheeks.
With her breath wheezing in her lungs, Susan walked her hands across the top of the chest of drawers. Her feet followed, a little less steady. She turned to face the window and propelled herself towards it. Her fingers found the cold, wooden surface and she pressed her face to the chill of the glass.
Outside, everything but the top of a tree, bathed in the light from the bedroom, slept in darkness.
She fiddled with the latch and, after long seconds, unfastened it and swung the pane out into the night. Fresh air. She gasped the scent of damp grass into her respiratory system until she wobbled, light headed, and almost collapsed.
She narrowed her eyes and peered into the darkness. Her tongue licked around the inside of her mouth and she spat salty bile to the ground below. The heave of her chest slowed and the desperation of her gasps reduced. The young woman broadened her shoulders and inhaled a lungful of the cold night. Her fingers trembled as she darted her eyes from side to side, searching for a plan of action.
The knife. Renewed panic racked her body.
She attempted to dry her eyes with the backs of her hands. Her limbs tensed with fearful adrenaline. She twisted her hips and turned back to the body on the bed. Her pupils criss-crossed the chaos with lightning speed. They paused to repeat the process a little slower. Nothing.
Pinching her nose between a thumb and forefinger, she edged forward until the tips of her toes bumped against the base of the bed. She searched again. Nothing. Fuck.
Her brow wrinkled and she chewed the inside of her cheek. She tightened her eyelids against the watery, blurring orbs inside. Her attentions turned back to the window and she filled her lungs with a few frantic gasps.
The petite woman shivered and a resigned sigh escaped her throat. She turned on her heels and bounded around the bottom of the bed. Reaching the other side, she tore the pillow from its place and jumped back as the familiar handle glared back at her. Bloodless. She wrinkled her features in confusion.
She wavered trembling fingers in front of her and lowered them as if offering food to the snarling teeth of a dangerous animal. They brushed against the wood and stalled. She slid down over the ridges and wrapped a trembling grip around the weapon, pulling it free from its hiding place.
The light of the room formed shards on the edge of the blade. Bloodless. Unused. Innocent.
How... what did he use? Her thoughts fled in terror.
Susan leapt around with such ferocity that her ankles ached under the thud of her heels. She threw the weight of her body against the door and slammed it shut. A few items on the dresser rattled from the wood-on-wood impact. Her eyes jolted in erratic patterns, the vision hampered by over-active tear ducts. Searching. Hoping. They bulged against the sockets and threatened to burst free.
Struggling to breathe, through a mixture of panic and the scratching scent of a violent murder, she sprang to the other end of the chest of drawers, sweeping the top bare with a sweeping forearm.
She pushed her knees against the furniture and pushed. It moved, but not a lot. Her features ached as she flexed them in rage. She surged forward. Half way. She filled her lungs and choked as the rank air raped her senses.
A guttural, gurgling screech reverberated between the walls. Using every last ounce of strength she had, and some she didn't know about, she jammed the bulky dresser against the door.
She collapsed in a heap. Her eyes blinked to retain consciousness. Her breath rasped in her throat, and tearful spittle foamed from the corners of her mouth.
Her eyes refused to budge from the bulk of the dresser. She watched for any movement. Any sound. Any... one. Her fingers clenched into fists and she pushed herself up onto her knees.
She ground her teeth and attempted to pull herself to her feet. It failed. She flopped back down and seethed in agony, as lactic acid burned in her muscles and joints. Sweat bled from her hairline and drenched red-hot flesh of her face. It mingled with the salinity which flowed from her eyes.
The door and dresser remained still. Like the body on the bed. Dead.
Susan's breasts jiggled. Her heart hammered like a pneumatic drill within the prison of her ribcage. The towel lay around her waist and thighs. She squeezed and scrunched the thick material against her palms for better grip. A hard gulp racked her throat and she pinched her shoulders to aid the gesture. She coughed and the remainder of the tears in her mouth sprayed from her lips in a mist.
With meticulous movements, she crawled her fingers up over the top of the chest of drawers, until her palms spanned out across the hard surface. The muscles in her forearms flinched. She struggled to her feet. They faltered. Her torso hugged at the cabinet, giving her legs time to acclimatize.
The door, and hall outside, loomed in silence.
The young woman managed to stand. Tears streamed from the taut lids of her eyes. She reached down to the floor and gathered up the mass of the towel from around her ankles. Swiping its dry folds ove
r her face, she removed the moist hindrance from her vision and blinked hard. A loud snort rang out from her nostrils.
She fumbled her way back to the window, pushing it as wide-open as her arms could stretch. Her eyes squinted to make out the ground below. She dabbed at them again with the towel and shook her head from side to side. Her teeth bit into the fragile flesh of her bottom lip, as if in rebuke, and as the coppery taste of blood trickled over her tongue, the tears stopped. She gave one last wipe and returned her gaze to the world outside.
A smattering of rain still pierced the night sky. Clouds blocked out the glow of the moon, making most of the surroundings fade into shadows and nothingness. No movement. No other houses within shouting distance. Or screaming distance. She appraised the distance to the ground and her fingers fidgeted on the sill, as she rolled her eyes back to the heavens, as if searching for inspiration.
Her tongue flitted across the back of her teeth as she pondered the possibilities. She returned her gaze to the darkness below. Her fingers worked their way up over the sides of the window frame, testing the grip. She paused. Her features darkened as she pictured herself laying on the dark, wet grass below. Injured. Crippled. Vulnerable to an attacker. Dead? She ripped back her hands as if from the flames of a fire, and the tears returned.
She turned around and scanned the room again. A flicker of light caught her eye, from the floor just beyond the nearest edge of the dresser. She leapt the short distance and clamped the handle between her fingers so tight, they ached. Her gaze continued to search. Anything.
Her eyes sprang to life. A single thought pierced the young woman's mind. She pinched her nostrils and edged toward the body. Using the blade of the knife, she checked his dressing gown pockets. Nothing. She moved to the bottom of the bed and spotted the clothing. Her toes flicked at the pile of material. She peered into the bundle. Something hard nudged at the sole of one foot.
She dropped to her knees and almost tore the trouser pocket open. Her fingers found cold, hard plastic. She pulled the item out and her tears trickled between the trembling smile of her lips.
The LCD display of the mobile phone glowed with various colours.
Her eyes darted to various points on the readout. Battery: half full. Signal: full. She peeled back her lips and revealed a bemused grin. Her forearm swiped across her eyes to clear her view.
Struggling to steady her hand, Susan prodded at the small buttons of the device. 9... 9... 9. She pulled the phone to her ear and waited.
The dial tone rang out like a bugle at a victory parade.
She straightened herself up, a renewed vigour in her joints. “Hello?”
“Police, Ambulance or Fire Brigade?” the tinny voice at the other end asked.
“Police,” she begged. The growing stench of the room caught her senses. “Police and ambulance.”
A muffled click.
The prostitute swallowed so hard, she almost choked.
“Police.” A monotone, male voice.
“Please help. Please.” Her knees gave out. She landed in a heap on the floor, her fingers clinging for dear life to the phone and knife.
“I need to know where you are and what the problem is, Miss.”
“He's dead.” She spat her words out, spraying the buttons of the phone with a mixture of tears and saliva. “Someone killed him.”
“The address, Miss, I'm going to need the address.” The man spoke in a level, calm voice.
She froze. “The address?” Her shoulders sagged and the phone almost slipped from her grip..
“Are you at home, Miss?”
“No. I don't... “ Her words cut off. She swivelled around on her hips and rested the knife on her thigh. Her free hand probed the pockets of the man's trousers. She sighed aloud as they found a wallet. “Just a second.”
The policeman waited.
She tore the wallet open, ripping at the compartments and seeking out some form of ID. A high pitched squeal erupted from her throat. A driver's license.
She held the piece of plastic in front of her face and read off the address to the officer on the phone.
“I'm going to need more details, Miss. Are you alone in the house? Are you sure your friend is dead?”
She ended the call. Her muscles relaxed and renewed aches and pains palpitated through them. She rested her eyes for a few seconds and tapped the handle of the knife with an outstretched finger.
The marching band behind her ribs reduced to a twenty one gun salute. She sucked in a lungful of stale, repulsive air and gagged. The moment snapped her back to reality.
With an effort which stretched her eyes in surprise, she jumped up to her feet and bounded to the window. Her elbows rested on the sill as her gaze stabbed through the darkness. She twitched her ears, readying them for the wail of the siren. Her feet squirmed in the carpet, as she waited.
In the distance, a light glared through some trees. It snaked around various corners.
Susan's heart leapt into her mouth. She locked her gaze onto the beam, praying for the accompanying siren.
The luminance faded and disappeared.
She bit her lip, sucking in air through her teeth as nibbled at a split in the skin of her lip. “Come on!” She pushed her head and shoulders out into the night, twisting to look in all directions. Nothing. She exhaled through her nose and wiped at the sticky fluid which escaped with it.
A shiver slashed through the young woman's body. She became aware of her nakedness and turned to face the bundle of her clothing. Near the door. Near the attacker. She quivered at the thought.
She tiptoed to the nearest corner of the cabinet, her eyes never leaving the door. Silence. She edged further still. Her fingertips crept along the solid surface. The clothing ruffled around her toes and she swept down to pick them up in her arms. Her breath wheezed through her lungs as she raced back to the safety of the window.
“Ah!” She dropped her eyes to the toes of one foot, cursing under her breath at the searing pain. The knife lowered to the sill, before her fingers rushed to knead at the tender skin. She spotted the offending object. With an angry kick, she cleared the aftershave bottle under the bed. Her gaze faltered as she remembered the shoes. She shot a glance to the other side of the bed, but shook the thought off. No way.
Her fingers gripped the sides of the sweatshirt and pulled it over her head, allowing the wrinkled fabric to unfurl over her torso and hips. She hugged one hip to the window sill and lifted a foot to line up the leggings with her limb.
Her standing foot pulled out from under her. The whole room appeared to vibrate as her shoulder thudded to the floor, taking the brunt of the fall.
She furled her lips in puzzlement. The emotion surged into one of terror. The grip around her ankle released and the bulk of the bed creaked in her ears.
Without giving herself time to protest, Susan shot her gaze to her feet.
Two large, white-clothed arms bundled out from under the bed.
She screamed with such intensity, her own ears ached.
A balaclava-clad head and broad shoulders revealed themselves.
Her limbs locked by fear, Susan gasped for air.
Raising to his knees, the attacker ran his gloved hands up his victim's shins. He pulled her legs apart and worked higher.
The muscles in the young woman's thighs flexed and strained as she tried to close them. The effort paled against the strength of the stranger.
Her teeth and fists clenched for strength. Susan rolled her weight back onto the bottom of her spine and pulled her appendages free. She propelled her feet through the air with all her might. The bare heels surged toward the murderer. One of them impacted with his shoulder and knocked him off balance.
“Stupid bitch,” he seethed through the mouthpiece of his mask. His large hands pawed through the air. His thick fingers clutching for flesh.
Susan wheeled her legs as if willing a bike toward the finishing line. One made contact with the bridge of the man's nose. Her skin drenche
d in blood as the bone shattered and erupted with deep red fluid. She roared. Her features scrunched tight as she fought through the pain barrier in her leg muscles.
The attacker rose up on his knees. His torso expanded to double the size. He plunged an unforgiving fist through the melee. It landed. The blow pulverised the muscle of the young woman's thigh with one clean hit.
She howled in agony and her legs stopped dead. Tears streamed her face and her mouth hung open, choking on the salty saliva filling her throat. She attempted to plead with her assailant, but the words left her lips as nothing more than a panicked gurgle.
The masked man jabbed his hand toward the prostitute's throat, pausing just short and chomping down on a fistful of the sweatshirt which adorned her. He jumped to his feet and tugged her with him. He grunted as he moved.
“Please,” she managed, before coughing and spluttering on her own liquid breath.
He yanked her forward, holding her face-to-face with the spoils of an earlier battle. “Look at it, bitch. You're fucking next.” His arm tightened and twitched. He lifted her off the floor. His eyes blazed in the sockets and a solid lump prodded through the front of his trousers. He pushed it tighter against her naked thighs.
The younger woman's limbs flailed, without strength or any real direction. Her vision darkened as her eyelids narrowed to slits. Please. Please. She struggled to suck air into her aching lungs. Her lips quivered in terror.
One large glove reached inside the man's jacket pocket. He pulled out a long object. The obscene, crimson stains on the blade glared light the light.
Susan's eyes bolted to life. They ballooned and threatened to explode through the sockets. She stretched the contours of her mouth to scream, but gagged before the intention manifested.
