Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  Part of her was relieved not to have seen someone die in her subconscious’ torturous visions, but at the same time it saddened her that she hadn’t woken, expecting Rob to be at her side. As cruel as the daily heartbreak was, there was always that split second. But today she hadn’t thought Rob would see to that drip. She hadn’t wondered what their day together would bring. Was this a sign that her body was starting to accept he was gone. She wanted to cry at the prospect that she was starting to let go. It made her want to cling even tighter.

  Her sense of smell kick-started to life, and it was all she could not to throw up. What was that awful smell? Metallic, maybe? With her mouth as dry as sand, it was hard to distinguish any kind of flavour to the smell. She would have to open a window, but to do so would mean crawling from the pit of bed, and her body refused to obey. So instead she tried to focus on breathing through her mouth, but it wasn’t easy.

  Oh why wouldn’t someone take away this pain?

  Why had she allowed herself to drink the concoctions in those fish bowls? She vaguely remembered how sweet each had tasted, but she had no idea what was in any of them, and how many different spirit-combinations she’d devoured. That bloody Janice: it was all her fault! Megan could only hope that she was suffering as much this morning, as the other ladies had all drank a lot more than her.

  An image of Janice’s plush home entered Megan’s head, and she refused to admit to herself that she was even the slightest bit jealous, even though she knew she was lying to herself. A fancy home, a fancy car, a husband and children who probably adored her: for all her faults, Janice had landed on her feet, and Megan couldn’t help but wonder if Janice realised just how lucky she was.

  This wasn’t doing her any good. Wallowing in pain was not the answer. Her thirst would only grow the longer she remained where she was, so it was time to kick her remaining senses into gear.

  Gently flexing her fingers, she tried to concentrate on repeating the action with her toes, as she did every day, but she couldn’t feel a thing at the foot of the bed. But as she slowly pulled her hands up from under the duvet cover, she couldn’t escape the stickiness of the skin around her fingertips, like someone had poured treacle over her hands and left it to dry out.

  What the hell?

  And that’s when she forced her eyes open, blinking against the light framing the curtains, and wishing she’d kept them shut. The pain in her head worsened as she allowed her eyes to adjust, and again the feeling of nausea overwhelmed her. The thought of breakfast only made her want to throw up more. Propping herself up in bed, she allowed her gaze to fall on her hands, and stared blankly at them for a good minute, trying to determine what the dark substance was.

  Ketchup?

  Had she asked the taxi driver to stop at a kebab shop on the way home? She doubted it as her funds were so low. Had she cooked a snack when she’d got home? If she had, she couldn’t remember doing so, and wasn’t sure there was any food in the flat that would warrant the use of sauce.

  But she felt grubby, and didn’t want to remain in bed for a moment longer.

  Pushing the duvet back, and keeping her eyes shielded from the light, she had to manoeuver her legs around and onto the floor, reaching out for where the wheelchair usually stood, and surprised to find it not there. She dared to open her eyes a fraction, to scan the room for it. How odd. No matter how drunk she’d been, she couldn’t think of any reason she’d have left the chair in the living room and then presumably crawled to bed.

  And then she spotted it, rested at the other side of the bed. Dragging herself across the mattress, she lowered herself into the chair and wrapped tissues around her hands so she wouldn’t get any of the sticky goo on the wheels and then on the carpet. Moving as swiftly as her headache and tender body would allow, she peeled the tissues from her hands, depositing them into the toilet, and then scrubbing her fingers with soap and a nail brush. The reddy-brown water rushed down the plughole, and the fresh floral scent of the soap permeated through her nostrils. It didn’t help the wave of nausea, but as she dried her hands on the nearby towel, she felt a fraction cleaner.

  The living room was brighter than the bedroom, with the flimsy curtains doing little to block out the intense sunlight. She was sure there were some painkillers in one of the kitchen drawers, and as she opened each one, and searched, her mind finally processed that she was naked. No nightdress, no jeans or top that she’d worn at the pub last night. And that treacle-like substance was splashed up the inside and outside of her legs.

  What the hell happened last night?

  Filling a large glass with water, she pressed it to her lips, and drained the contents, before refilling. The dryness remained in her mouth, but at least her tongue was no longer sticking to the roof.

  Was she dreaming again? Was this like the nightmare where she’d found Janice’s lifeless corpse? Was she even in her own home? It looked and felt so real, but then all the other nightmares had too.

  Pinching the skin on her forearms, she dug her nails in as far as they would go. The intense pain temporarily relieved that in her head, but as she opened her eyes and stared down at her naked body, she had to accept that this was indeed reality.

  But why couldn’t she remember how she’d got home?

  Closing her eyes, and resting her head in her hands, she battled the pain to try and spark any kind of memory. They’d waited at the pub until all the other ladies were safely tucked up in taxis or had been collected by disapproving partners. And then they’d climbed into the back of a taxi, and Megan had insisted they drive via Janice’s house first, as Chandlers Ford was closer than Lordswood. They’d arrived, and Janice had paid the driver, leaving enough to cover the rest of the journey, and then they’d watched as Janice had opened her front door.

  But then the memory went blank, and she couldn’t remember anything until she’d woken minutes earlier. Had she banged her head? Had she blacked out?

  Heading back to the bedroom to dress, she gasped as she finally saw the state of the bed. The reddy-brown substance covered the sheet beneath the duvet, as if someone covered in blood had climbed in and slept there. And as Megan stared down at the splashes on her legs, she wanted to vomit as the nightmare of her astride Janice filled her mind with panic.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Leaning over, Jake pressed his finger against the phone’s screen to kill the alarm. It felt like he’d barely slept, but the time suggested he’d managed to grab at least five hours. And it would have to do, as staying in bed all day would get him no closer to discovering why Carlos had driven into that lake.

  His calf still feeling tender, he decided to skip the morning jog that probably would have done wonders to jump start his brain and shake off the last of the sleepiness still present in his body. So instead he showered and was just finishing his second mug of strong coffee when Gabby appeared in the kitchen.

  ‘Morning,’ she yawned, rubbing one eye with a balled up fist.

  She was the spitting image of Isabella at the same age, and he didn’t want to think about a possible future where he didn’t get to see her every morning at breakfast time.

  ‘Morning, sweetheart,’ he said, lowering his mug and moving to the cupboards. ‘You want cereal or toast this morning?’

  ‘Cereal, please,’ she managed, stifling a second yawn, and leaning against the countertop he’d recently vacated.

  Opening the lower corner cupboard, Jake removed the box of cornflakes, before reaching for a bowl in one of the higher cupboards. He liberally poured the cereal in, before topping with the milk he’d left on the counter after making the coffee.

  Gabby accepted the bowl and spoon and shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room, grabbing the television remote as she rested her breakfast on the small table and took a seat. She had the children’s channel on the box by the time Jake meandered in. Taking a seat, he continued to watch his daughter, waiting to see if she would met his stare, but soon realising her mind was engaged with the car
toon.

  ‘Hey,’ he tried, ‘what have you got on at school today?’

  She shrugged, never taking her eyes from the screen. ‘Stuff.’

  ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘Lessons.’

  Jake couldn’t stop himself from smiling as memories from his own childhood filled his mind. He now understood exactly how frustrated his own parents must have been when he would only provide limited information about his time spent at school. Life could be cruel that way, like his punishment for being an uncooperative child was to experience the same treatment from his own offspring.

  Rising, Jake moved across and sat on the chair closest to Gabby, reaching for the remote and turning off the television.

  ‘Hey! I was watching that.’

  ‘Well I’m sure you’ve probably seen it a hundred times before, and if not it’s bound to be repeated again later today. All that channel ever seems to do is rehash the same six hours of shows over and over.’

  ‘What’s going on? Why are you acting so strangely?’

  ‘I’m not, I just thought it would be nice if we chatted before I have to go to work.’

  She lowered her spoon. ‘Okay, what do you want to chat about?’

  Jake hadn’t thought that far ahead, but something buried deep was urging him to make the most of this precious time before it was too late. ‘How’s school?’

  She began eating again, talking between mouthfuls. ‘School’s fine. How’s work?’

  She didn’t mean to come across as flippant, so he let it slide. ‘Work is busy,’ he offered, realising that her limited information answers were only a reflection of his own. ‘In fact, I’m working on a really big case at the moment. A man killed himself at the weekend and it’s my responsibility to work out why.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ she said, her eyes focused on the cereal.

  ‘That’s not the word I’d choose to describe it, but I suppose so.’

  ‘How did he do it?’

  ‘How did who do what?’

  ‘How did he kill himself?’

  Jake narrowed his eyes, certain this wasn’t the direction he’d wanted the conversation to go. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Was he the person who jumped off that building the other day?’

  Jake’s chest tightened. ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘It was on the radio news when Mum picked me up from school. It must be terrifying falling all that way.’

  ‘It’s Friday today, and that usually means you have fish for lunch, right?’

  She nodded, unexcited by the prospect of lunch.

  ‘And is it P.E. today as well?’

  ‘No, we did P.E. yesterday.’

  Jake was about to probe further, desperate to know more about what made his daughter’s mind tick, when Isabella strolled into the room, wearing a figure-hugging summer dress and sandals.

  ‘Hurry up and finish your breakfast and then you need to -’ But she stopped as soon as she saw Jake in the room too. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were still here.’

  Jake stood and followed her out of the room and into the kitchen. ‘Have you got plans for today?’

  ‘I’m meeting Sabrina for coffee after I’ve dropped Gabby at school. Why?’

  Sabrina was Isabella’s best friend and not a fan of Jake. But whether that’s who she was actually meeting, or whether she’d subbed Sabrina’s name for someone else, he could only guess.

  ‘Just wondered,’ he said. ‘You look good.’

  This made her stop still, and look over at him, her lips curling into a smile at one side. ‘Thank you. What are you up to today?’

  ‘Working a suicide in the New Forest. Do I need to collect Gabby from school tonight, or -’

  ‘She’s staying at a friend’s house tonight, so her mother will collect them both I think.’ She bit her lip. ‘I thought maybe it would give us a bit of time to talk about the future?’

  Although it was a subject they’d both been avoiding, it was about time they did discuss it like adults. ‘Sure.’

  ‘What time do you think you’ll be back from work?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I can’t see any reason I’d be late.’

  ‘Okay, well maybe we could get Chinese?’

  That uncomfortable divide was still there, with neither properly able to say what they wanted to, and both conscious that Gabby was within earshot. ‘Sounds good. Hey, are you okay getting Gabby to school? Do you need a lift?’

  ‘No, I’m going to walk her there, make the most of this warm weather before the rain comes. They reckon it might chuck it down tonight, and then it’ll be much cooler over the weekend.’

  Is this what they’d resorted to: chatting about weather patterns? Their marriage felt like a lame beast begging to be put out of its misery.

  Jake continued to watch her, as she put away the dishes from the draining board, and then moved back to the living room to chase Gabby into getting her school uniform on. Checking the time on his phone, Jake was surprised to see he’d missed a call from Harry Venables and that a voicemail had been left.

  Unlocking the phone, Jake pressed the phone to his ear and listened carefully.

  ‘DS Knight? Sorry to call so late. I guess you’ve probably gone to bed. Listen, I did the digging like you asked, and I’ve found out something that I think you need to know. My shift doesn’t start until lunchtime tomorrow, but give me a call if you want to meet before.’

  Jake jotted down Harry’s location, and was out of the door before Isabella provided any more weather updates.

  FORTY-SIX

  The bus was packed full of children in grubby uniforms, ties already pulled down, shirts untucked and cans of fizzy drink swaying as they jostled about on the back seats. It was a wonder the driver hadn’t asked them to shut up or turfed them off the bus yet.

  The woman with the pushchair glared angrily at Megan. She’d been put out when the driver had insisted she remove her child from the pushchair and fold it up as the bus wasn’t large enough to accommodate it and a wheelchair.

  ‘But I was here first,’ the woman had complained, but the driver had simply shrugged and lowered the ramp for Megan to join.

  She tried to ignore the glare, but it was like the woman’s eyes were burning a hole in the back in her neck. The sound of the children, the bus’ shaky movement and the stench of passengers already sweating before the day had hardly begun was bringing the nausea back. Not that she was sure it had ever gone.

  After scrubbing every centimetre of flesh in the walk-in bath, Megan had forced down a slice of stale bread, a mug of hot coffee and two painkillers, none of which had lifted the pressure in her head. And the sweat building at the base of her spine wasn’t a direct result of the humid bus, and more about the terror of what she would find when she reached Janice’s house.

  Flashes of the nightmare – legs astride Janice’s body, thrusting that knife up and down, savouring the warmth of the blood as it splashed against her cheeks, and the metallic taste as she licked fresh drops from the blade – peppered her mind’s eye.

  But Megan wasn’t a killer.

  Her mind raced with questions. What if she’d asked the taxi driver to stop so she could get out? What if she’d followed Janice home and had attacked her? But with what? The most offensive weapon she carried in her handbag was her mobile phone, and that would barely leave a scratch, even if thrown violently. It certainly wouldn’t cause the volume of blood she’d woken up in.

  She’d stripped the bed, bagging up the stained sheets and depositing them in the large communal bin. The blood had seeped through to the duvet as well, but she’d put that in the washing machine on a high temperature, as she couldn’t afford to buy a new one. Fingers crossed it would dry overnight and be reusable. If not, she would have to wait until Monday for her next pay.

  She’d tried calling both of Janice’s mobile numbers, but neither phone was switched on, and Janice had said she wouldn’t be at work today, so the only way to val
idate that she wasn’t going crazy was to return to Chandlers Ford. And as the bus pulled over at the stop, Megan’s pulse quickened. It was a relief to escape the rowdy children and dirty stares, but the fear of what she might find was almost enough to keep her on the bus and return home.

  But she had to be brave.

  She had to know.

  The driver set the ramp down for her and for once she didn’t argue when he offered to push her down it. Her head and shoulders felt like she was carrying another person on them, and her palms were clammy, as she tried to grip the wheels and push on. From the bus stop, Janice’s home was a good ten minute walk, fifteen in the chair, and as she made it to the road, her mouth was dry, her upper body dripping with sweat, and the bile building in her throat.

  And then she saw the circus halfway along the road, and the terror went up a notch.

  Two marked police vans, three other cars and an ambulance lined the road where the taxi had stopped last night. She wanted to turn and wheel away, but something deep inside wouldn’t allow her to go, and still she moved forward, craning to see exactly what had happened and why such a presence was there. She couldn’t be certain they were even at Janice’s house, until she reached the outer perimeter and spotted the large white canopy on the driveway, above where the white sports car had been parked last night.

  Megan froze, wishing she’d stayed in bed, wishing she hadn’t got off the bus, wishing she could will her body to get up and run.

  The area immediately outside of the plush detached property was surrounded by people in blue protective overalls milling about, camera flashes popping like a thunderstorm. Although the road was blocked by vehicles, the perimeter tape stopped before the house directly opposite, meaning Megan was able to wheel forwards, glancing right as casually as her shaking body would allow, desperate for any kind of glance to confirm she had jumped to all the wrong conclusions.