by Kit Tinsley
She looked from the box to her husband. He saw tears forming in her eyes, and then her cheeks flush with rage.
'You bastard!' she screamed, and then ran to the en-suite bathroom, the door clicking loudly behind her.
Steven froze in shock, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Julia sat on the toilet with the seat down. Tears had streaked her face. Her mind raced with thoughts. How could he have done this to her? She had already been through so much.
'Julia?' he asked through the door. 'What's the matter? Why have you locked yourself in there?'
She couldn't believe he needed to ask. Did he really believe that he would just get away with it?
'Nothing,' she said in a tone that didn't do anything to hide her anger.
'Open up then.’
She got up, looking in the mirror to wipe the tears from her face. She wouldn't let him see those. She barged past him.
'What's wrong?' he asked
It was as though he had no idea what she was angry about. She looked at him with her mouth gaping, unable to believe why he was having such difficulty seeing why she was upset. She shook her head and bent down to pick up the shoes from the box.
'For God's sake,' Steven shouted, making her jump. 'Will you just answer me? What's the matter with you?'
Now she felt a spark of rage. She grabbed the red stiletto and threw it at him hard.
'Give these back to your fucking whore!' she screamed.
'What?' he said exasperated.
'Those aren't mine, Steven. So whose are they?'
He took the shoe and looked at it.
'They must be yours. You have so many, no wonder you forget a pair now and again.'
'They're not even my size, Steven,' she screamed. 'They're miles too big for me. Your slut must have massive feet.'
'Perhaps they're Wendy's, or her sister's, they're always leaving stuff here.'
'Oh please, Steven,' she said. 'Neither Wendy or her sister would be seen dead in anything that tacky. Was she a fucking prostitute?'
She threw the other shoe, hard. It connected with Steven's forehead, the heel scraping the skin.
'Owww,' he screamed.
'Get out!' she screamed.
'Julia, calm down!'
Fire rose from her belly and ignited the furnace of anger in her mind.
'Don't tell me to calm down!' She screamed. 'You think you have any right to tell me to do anything ever again? I want you out of this house. I want you out of my life!'
Steven stepped forward and slapped her.
'Shut up!' he yelled. 'You're getting hysterical.'
Julia held her face. Never before had Steven even looked like he would raise a hand to her. Even in their worst arguments, it was just something she did not believe that he would do. Now he had done it. He had hit her. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, but fierce enough to sting.
For the first time in their marriage, she felt scared of him. He looked at her, rage still burning in his eyes. For a moment, she thought he would hit her again.
A clicking sound from behind disturbed her thoughts; she turned to look what it was. A bright flash of white light appeared just behind her. Like the one she had witnessed in the attic, only this one was definitely in the room. The ball of light appeared for a split second, floating in the middle of the room. Its flash lit up the walls around her.
Forgetting for a moment what had just occurred between them she turned to Steven to ask if he had seen what happened. She thought, at first, that he must have as his eyes were wide. Quickly she realised his was not an expression of wonder, but one of terror. He was going red and fighting to draw breath. He clutched at his chest and fell to his knees in front of her.
Julia rushed to his side.
'What's wrong?' Steven, what's wrong?'
He stared at her with pleading, watery eyes, as his lips took on a purple hue.
'I... can't... breathe,' he sputtered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain had returned with a vengeance, falling in sheets from the now black sky. The flashing blue lights of the ambulance lit up the trees in the driveway. Mixed with the rain it gave everything a slightly unreal and melancholic appearance.
The paramedics wheeled Steven out on the gurney, an oxygen mask over his face. He seemed to have been slipping in and out of consciousness.
They had arrived quickly, but then again, the hospital was just around the corner. Julia followed them out, holding a coat over her head as she walked to the ambulance.
Once there the paramedics loaded Steven into the back. One of the paramedics stayed in the back with him, the other jumped out of the back and shut the door.
'Are you coming with us, Mrs Draper?' he asked. 'Or did you want to follow in your own car?'
'I'll meet you there,' Julia said.
'Do you know the way?' he asked.
'Steven works there,' he's a surgeon.'
The paramedic opened the back door again.
'Hey, Tony,' he said to the other paramedic, who looked up. 'He's one of the docs from the hospital, so better take good care of him.'
Tony nodded and gave a thumbs up.
Then the driver shut the door again. He turned to Julia.
'He'll be fine with us.'
Julia smiled and the driver hopped into the front. The ambulance pulled away. Julia watched as they left her driveway. She could barely believe everything that had occurred in the last forty minutes. She ran back to the house, remembering the car keys were inside.
The hallway was dim. In the darkness she flicked on the lamp on the table. It cast a reassuring glow over the room. She studied herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, and her makeup had run. She would normally not have left the house like that, but this was an emergency after all. She grabbed the keys and turned to leave.
There was a creak from behind her. It was as though someone was on the staircase. She spun around, only to see there was not any one there.
'He deserved it,' a whispering voice said, next to her.
Julia fled the house and ran to the car.
Sam had not wanted to return home after his meeting with Superintendent Reed. He had wanted a drink. In honesty, he had wanted to get drunk, very drunk.
He couldn't face going out in Lincoln though. Too many people. Someone would recognise him, and he'd probably get into a bar fight. This was the last thing that he wanted with his reputation already in tatters.
Instead he drove to Darton. It was a little town only fifteen miles south west of the city, but in terms of size it felt like it was a world away.
He knew the town well. His first post when he made detective was there. He had been assigned under DCI Jon Pearce. That man was a bully, and a thug, but he was also a damn good copper. Sam had been sad to learn of his death. His killers still hadn't been caught. His body, along with many others, had been discovered at the scene of a farm fire last year. Another copper, Holly Booth, and a local journalist, Pearce's nephew, were still missing, presumed dead.
Going to Darton presented the problem of how to come home. He decided he would probably just spend the night in his car. It wouldn't be the first time and he doubted it would be the last.
He parked up near the old windmill that was now some kind of cafe, and walked through the rain to the Nag’s Head. He looked inside and saw that it was still fairly dead in there, so he went to the bar and ordered himself a pint of Tuborg.
He found himself a small table at the back of the pub. Hidden under the stairs to the dance floor above, it was shaded enough for him to hide and drink himself to oblivion.
He bore Reed no ill will for trying to remove him from the case. If he had been in the Superintendent’s place he would probably have done the same thing, and before now. However, he did not want to leave until that bastard was caught. He had lost his family over the case, he had lost his reputation, and he was sure that he was close to losing his job.
He wondered where the Ripper was at that
moment. Was he planning his next crime? Was he committing it? Or was he watching Sam?
'I know you,' a woman's voice said behind him.
He turned to see a very cute woman with black hair standing behind him.
'I don't think so,' he said, before turning around.
'Yes, I do,' she insisted, taking the seat opposite him. 'You're that detective, aren't you?'
'Maybe,' he said, hoping that short answers would make her give up her enquiry. If she didn't, he would have to leave and find another pub.
'Yeah. The one trying to catch the Ripper,' she said, smiling. It made her even prettier.
'Trying and failing, the papers would say.'
The woman laughed.
'I don't really put much faith in what the papers say,' she said. 'Last year our local paper was trying to convince us we had a big cat killing people round here.'
He remembered those stories. The Darton beast they had called it. He wasn't sure, but he thought it had something to do with the death of his old friend Jon Pearce.
'I'm sure you're doing your best,' the woman said. She smiled at him. It was the sort of smile he hadn't seen from a woman in a long time, or at least one he hadn't noticed. She was hitting on him.
'I am,' he said, finishing his drink. 'Can I get you a drink?'
'Rum and coke please.'
Sam walked over to the bar, wondering where this was going.
Julia was sitting in the waiting room in Accident and Emergency. They had said that she could go through, but she did not know whether she wanted to see Steven yet.
She was also aware that doctors made the worst patients. She had no desire to watch Steven be difficult with the people who were trying to help him.
So instead she stayed in the waiting room, pretending to read the celebrity gossip magazine that was at least three years out of date, and reflecting on what had happened.
The flashing light in the bedroom, the clicking sound that had preceded it. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that it had sounded like a camera.
Then there had been the voice before she left. It had sounded as though someone had spoken right next to her ear. There had been no one there. She guessed that it had been her imagination. The traumatic events that had just happened had made her mind go into overdrive.
That prospect was of little comfort to Julia. In some ways, she would have preferred the voice to be real. If it was in her head then that implied she was losing her mind, again.
What if she was? Could she face that again? She didn't think so. It had been too hard last time. Could she expect Steven to stand by her through that again? She didn't want to do that to him. She would not do that to him. What about her career? How long was a major artist’s agent like Fran Winston going to keep her on when she was in and out of the mental hospital? She doubted it would be long. They were friends, yes, but it was a friendship based on a business arrangement.
Who would she have then? She supposed all she would have would be Wendy her best friend, and someone who never judged anyone. Maybe this was because in her early years as a model she had fallen into the eating disorder trap that so many of those girls did. Wendy had been strong enough to pull herself out of that, but knew how easy it was to fall into the traps of mental illness.
Wendy had visited her every other day last time. She had turned down jobs, just to stay close to the hospital. Unlike everyone else, she had not tried to mollycoddle her on these visits. Instead, she had listened and told her when she thought Julia was being ridiculous. Sometimes Julia had got mad at her for her blunt approach, more than once telling her to fuck off and not come back. Wendy always did though. No matter how bad the previous visit had ended, she always came back and began with a clean slate.
A tall, haggard looking man walked over to her. He looked older than she guessed he really was. He wore the disheveled look of a junior doctor.
'Mrs Draper,' he said, extending his hand to her. She shook it and stood up.
'I'm Doctor Williams. I've been treating your husband back there.'
'How is he?' she asked. Despite her anger she still loved him.
'He's stable now,' Doctor Williams said. 'We'd like to keep him overnight for observation, but it was just a severe asthma attack.'
Julia shook her head and looked at the doctor confused by what he had said.
'No, that can't be right?'
'Why not?' Williams asked.
'Steven doesn't have asthma.’
'I'm sorry, Mrs Draper,' Williams said. 'He does now.'
When Sam returned from the bar, the young woman had taken off her jacket and made herself comfortable. He wasn't sure what he was doing. This was the first time he had flirted with a woman since the breakdown of his marriage. After his wife had left, he had thrown himself even deeper into his work. Even deeper into the Ripper.
She took the drink from him.
'Thank you.'
Sam tried to place her accent. She was English, of that he was certain, but there was a hint of something else, German perhaps, as though she had spent a long time living abroad. This wasn't uncommon in Lincolnshire. All of the air bases meant there was a plethora of RAF brats in the county, people who had spent their lives moving around due to having a parent in the forces.
'So, what do you do, Miss?' he said, sitting down.
'Ariel.'
'Like the little mermaid?'
She laughed and nodded.
'I didn't take you for a Disney fan, Inspector.'
'Please, call me Sam,' he said, removing his own jacket. 'My daughter is a big fan.'
The woman looked at him and sighed.
'Typical,' she said. 'Another married man.'
'Actually, we're separated,' Sam said, taking a sip of his drink.
'Sorry,' she said. 'It's just I only ever seem to attract married men.'
So he was right? There was a kind of attraction, and she felt it just as much as he did. He didn't know where it would lead. He was unsure if he wanted it to lead anywhere, but it was nice to know that he still had the ability to attract a woman.
'You didn't tell me what you do.’
She laughed.
'No, I got distracted. I work for the bank in town. Lloyds. I'm a cashier.'
They talked a little about her job, apparently just a stop gap, then about her childhood. Sam had been right, daughter of an airman, many years spent in Germany. Fairly happy, but never found it easy to make friends.
'Do you have any siblings?' Sam asked, thinking of his own experience as an only child.
Ariel looked sad.
'I had an older sister, but she passed away a few years ago.'
'I'm sorry,' Sam said.
'It's alright,' Ariel said. 'It was a blessing in the end.'
Sam nodded. He understood this feeling. His mother had suffered for years with cancer, getting smaller and weaker with each passing day. Watching her deterioration had been like watching her fade, slowly, from existence. When she had finally passed away, despite his grief, he had felt a sense of relief.
'I guess you deal with death all the time in your job?' she asked.
'More than I'd like,' he answered honestly.
'Do you get used to it?'
He shook his head.
'No, it gets easier to learn to cope with it, to distance yourself from it, but you never get used to it.'
She looked at him inquisitively.
'Does it hurt you when he kills?' she asked.
'What?' Sam was unsure of her meaning.
'I mean the Ripper,' she said. 'When you find a new victim, does it hurt you?'
It was a line of questioning that Sam neither understood, nor felt comfortable with. He had come to Darton to drink himself stupid, and try to forget all about the Ripper, just for tonight. He had struck up a conversation with a beautiful young woman, thinking she would be a welcome distraction. Now, though, she was asking such personal questions. Not about the case per se, but about his feelings ab
out it.
'I die a little inside,' he said, his voice low. 'Every time that monster takes another life, he kills a little bit of me.'
Ariel looked engrossed.
'Because you feel you've failed them?'
Sam nodded.
She leant over and took his hand in hers. He looked into her eyes and saw a strength he hadn't noticed before.
'I believe you're doing everything you can, Sam,' she said, sounding genuine. 'The fact you haven't caught the Ripper isn't a reflection on you. I don't care what the papers say.'
Sam wanted to believe her words. He had done everything he could, but still he felt responsible.
'If it doesn't reflect on me, what does it mean?'
She shook her head.
'Maybe no one can catch the Ripper.'
It was like she had just spoken his greatest fear out loud. He was reminded of the original Ripper, the one who had stalked the streets of Whitechapel in London so many years ago. He had never been caught, his identity never revealed. Jack the Ripper had taken on mythic status all over the world. He was the ultimate example of a serial killer.
Sam shuddered to think of the Lincoln Ripper taking the same level of infamy. Was that what the killer wanted all along? To become a legend in his field?
'I will catch him,' Sam said.
She leant forward and kissed him, slowly, yet with a deep passion.
'I'm sure you will'
She grabbed her jacket and got to her feet to put it on.
'You're leaving?' he asked.
'Yes, sorry,' she said. 'I have to meet a friend. Thank you for the drink.'
Sam nodded. It was likely for the best. Though he was attracted to her, he was in no state to start any sort of romantic attachment. There was too much to be done. Far too much.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Like all hospital rooms, this one had the aroma of disinfectant and air fresheners, there to try to mask the ever-lingering scents of despair, pain and death. Julia looked at her husband lying on the bed. He looked frailer than she had ever seen him. He had an oxygen mask over his face and a series of wires were hooked up to him from a machine emitting occasional beeps.
