Slave of Darkness

by Francesca Lewis

  ‘Of course it’s not true,’ she snapped, and immediately heard a whispered chuckle. Hastily she turned her head in the direction from which the sound had come, fully expecting to see Edward standing in the kitchen with them, but he wasn’t there. Or at least, he wasn’t visible to her, but he was there just the same. She could sense it.

  As she removed Steve’s dirty plate and took a tub of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer for him, she knew Edward was watching her. She could feel his eyes watching every movement and she felt on edge, constantly terrified that he was suddenly going to materialise.

  When Steve had eaten his desert he pushed back his chair and gave a small sigh. ‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked her.

  ‘Go? Why should we go anywhere? Nothing’s changed, Steve. We’ll carry on as we are.’

  ‘But do you still feel the same about me?’ he asked.

  She knew she had to reassure him. If he started to believe his imaginings were the truth then he might confide in Sandra and Graham. Once that happened they’d probably tell him about Judith Wells and then all of them would be watching her closely, waiting for her to give some sign that she, too, was losing her grip on reality. She couldn’t allow that to happen. ‘I’ll show you what I think of you,’ she whispered, catching hold of his hand and leading him into the front room.

  As soon as he’d settled himself in his favourite armchair she sat on the floor between his legs, letting him stroke her hair, and soon he was bending forward, kissing her passionately. She knew Edward was watching them, she could almost hear his breathing, but there was still no sign of him. A sense of bravado filled her. Not only was she going to make Steve happy, she was also going to show Edward that she did have a life away from him.

  Reaching up she unfastened Steve’s jeans and pulled them slowly down his legs, caressing his thighs. Reaching inside the leg of his boxer shorts, she lightly tickled his testicles and within seconds his erection was pushing its way through the opening of the material, swelling rapidly. Marianne knelt up so she could draw him into her mouth.

  With a murmur of contentment Steve closed his eyes, allowing the pleasure caused by her lapping tongue to wash over him. Only then did Edward Sharpe make himself visible to Marianne. He was standing behind Steve’s chair, glaring at her, his eyes dark with fury. Marianne removed her mouth from Steve’s erection and smiled sweetly at her ghostly lover, before turning her attention back to Steve.

  She did all the things she knew Steve liked best. Her tongue caressed the sensitive ridge of flesh beneath the glans, occasionally swirling around the tip and dipping into the tiny eye. Every time she did this Steve would jerk and his hands, which were resting on her shoulders, tightened convulsively. After a time she used her mouth to suck him, and as she sucked she gripped the shaft with one hand, then slowly pumped it up and down, providing a different kind of stimulation from the soft caress of her mouth.

  ‘God, that’s good,’ moaned Steve, opening his eyes for a second and looking down at her. ‘You’ve no idea how great it feels.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ she said, and she could because the memory of how she’d felt when Edward’s tongue had licked her clitoris was still clear in her mind. ‘I love doing it for you,’ she murmured, raising her eyes to see how Edward would take this. He was pale, and she was suddenly alarmed because he looked down at Steve as though he’d like to kill him.

  Releasing Steve’s erection, she moved her fingers lower, lightly caressing his tightening testicles instead, but all the time she continued to lick and suck on the head of his penis until he was groaning helplessly, close to coming.

  Marianne started to suck harder but then Steve gently pushed on her shoulders. ‘I want to come inside you,’ he said huskily.

  She saw Edward watching them both. He was still very pale but he also looked excited, aroused by what he was seeing, and for the first time since she’d met him Marianne felt a surge of power. Now he was the one experiencing the frustration, now he would know what it was like to suffer, and she stripped off her clothes and lay on the carpet, holding her arms up to Steve. ‘Quickly,’ she said throatily. ‘I want to feel you inside me.’

  Steve needed no second invitation. Within seconds he was lying on top of her, sliding into her moist, welcoming warmth and she deliberately gave a loud cry of ecstasy, knowing it would infuriate Edward. ‘Oh yes... yes!’ And because she knew they were being watched, her excitement really did soar.

  Steve was moving spasmodically in and out of her. ‘I can’t wait much longer,’ he grunted.

  Marianne wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper inside her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she assured him. ‘I’m nearly there, too.’ It wasn’t true but she was very close. As Steve gave three final thrusts before spasming above her, her body teetered on the brink of release, but it was over just seconds too soon and he left her stranded.

  Edward Sharpe was standing over them, glaring down in much the same way as he used to glare at Tabitha and John. Marianne decided to pretend she’d come. Letting out a cry of satisfaction, she clutched at Steve. ‘That was bliss,’ she gasped. Steve rolled off her and lay on the carpet with one arm over her breasts and his eyes closed. He was obviously exhausted.

  To Marianne’s disappointment Edward had vanished, but she was certain she’d managed to make him jealous. It was only fair, she thought, because Steve, without realising it, was jealous of Edward. Then, to her shock, she felt hands on her ankles and her legs were pushed apart as the familiar fingers began to snake up her inner thighs. ‘No!’ she hissed.

  ‘Is my arm too heavy?’ Steve asked sleepily.

  ‘No... you just relax,’ she said gently, hoping he might doze off after his exertions.

  ‘So what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. I had a twinge of cramp.’

  ‘Well, that’s okay then,’ he muttered.

  He was almost asleep, but not quite, and Marianne didn’t dare utter another sound. Edward’s fingers were moving incredibly lightly now, stroking her sex lips with insidious gentleness until she felt them parting, opening to allow him easier access.

  She was horrified. She wanted to move, to jump to her feet and leave the room, but that would have upset Steve and she was anxious not to give him further reason to doubt her. Instead she lay in rigid anticipation, waiting for Edward to do as he wanted with her.

  He played with her for several minutes, massaging the succulent flesh, occasionally sliding a finger inside her, but never for quite long enough to trigger her release. Then, clearly tiring of the game, he began to circle her clitoris with two fingers. The pressure was firm, the movement exactly what she needed until, with shocking abruptness, all the pent-up desire waiting to be released spilled out. Despite her determination to keep silent, she heard herself groaning in ecstasy as her body trembled and quaked when she finally climaxed.

  Steve’s eyes flew open and he propped himself up on one elbow. ‘What happened to you then?’ he asked.

  ‘I shivered,’ she said lamely. ‘It’s cold in here.’

  ‘You were playing with yourself, weren’t you?’

  She grasped the excuse gratefully. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, pretending to be ashamed.

  ‘Bloody hell, you’re insatiable. Soon it’ll take more than one man to keep you happy.’

  She nearly laughed at this, and just before he disappeared, she saw Edward smile.

  As he’d obviously intended, his actions had spoilt the moment and when Steve got to his feet, grumpily pulling on his jeans, Marianne hastily got dressed too. ‘I think it’s time we went to bed, especially if you have to be off early in the morning,’ she said.

  ‘I need to find my old briefcase,’ said Steve. ‘It’s got some papers I want for tomorrow’s meeting. Have you any idea where it is?’

  ‘It must be in one of the cases I haven’t unpacked yet. They’re all in the attic.’r />
  ‘Right, I’ll have a look before we go to bed.’

  Marianne decided to go into the attic with Steve. She was drawn to it, associating it with the past and forbidden pleasures. As Steve started going through the packing cases she opened her great-aunt’s old trunk and took out the book on Moorhead House. All she wanted to do was read the piece about Edward again. Now she knew him better it would be even more intriguing.

  When she opened the book a square of old paper fell out from between two pages and floated to the floor. The paper was yellow with age, the edges curled, and Marianne stared at it in astonishment because she knew perfectly well it hadn’t been there the first time she’d opened the book. Someone had placed it there since, and it wasn’t difficult to guess who.

  ‘What’s that?’ Steve asked absentmindedly.

  ‘I don’t know, probably an old recipe.’

  He turned his attention back to the packing cases and Marianne lifted the paper so the light fell on it. It was a drawing of Edward and his sister, and the artist had captured the essence of them with incredible accuracy. Despite the fact that they were both dressed in their best clothes and Judith was smiling, they were still intimidating.

  ‘I can’t find the bloody thing,’ muttered Steve. ‘Are you sure you haven’t unpacked it?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ snapped Marianne.

  ‘What’s the recipe for?’ he asked, pausing in his search for a moment. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to try it out on me?’

  ‘It isn’t a recipe.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘A drawing.’

  ‘A drawing of the house?’

  ‘No,’ she said, and without thinking, she clutched the paper to her breast.

  ‘Hey, let me have a look,’ said Steve. ‘Come on, it can’t be a secret.’

  ‘It’s just a drawing of two people, that’s all.’

  ‘Then let me see,’ he insisted, making a grab for the paper.

  ‘Careful, you might tear it,’ she admonished.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So, it could be valuable.’

  ‘I doubt it, it can’t be that old.’

  ‘But it is,’ she whispered.

  ‘What d’you say?’

  ‘I said, it is old.’

  Steve frowned. ‘How do you know?’

  She didn’t know what to say. She could hardly tell him she’d met these people, they’d lived in this very same house a hundred and seventy years earlier and the drawing must have been done around that time. ‘You can tell by the clothes they’re wearing,’ she muttered.

  ‘That doesn’t mean it’s an old drawing, stupid,’ he scoffed. ‘Any artist can draw people in old-fashioned clothes. Come on, let me see it.’

  Marianne didn’t want him to touch it. She didn’t want him anywhere near it, but she knew she couldn’t refuse. Grudgingly, she handed it over. ‘There you are. I told you it was nothing special.’

  Steve looked at it carefully. ‘That man looks familiar,’ he said pensively.

  ‘Familiar...? What do you mean, familiar?’

  Now it was Steve’s turn to seem uncomfortable. ‘When I came home earlier and burst into our bedroom, thinking there was someone there, just for a brief moment I did see someone, a man, and he looked just like this man.’

  ‘And I thought I was the one going mad,’ said Marianne, trying to lighten the suddenly oppressive atmosphere.

  Steve shook his head. ‘I don’t understand it. I could have sworn...’

  ‘Sworn what?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m being utterly ridiculous. He doesn’t look very nice though, does he?’

  ‘I think he’s quite attractive.’

  ‘Look at the lines round his mouth and eyes,’ said Steve, pointing at the paper. ‘He looks like someone who lived a life of excess and debauchery.’

  ‘That sounds delicious,’ laughed Marianne, still trying to lighten the mood. Then she peered more closely at the drawing. ‘There’s another figure in the background,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I didn’t see one,’ said Steve.

  ‘Well, there is, sitting down behind them... look.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Steve, squinting as he peered closer. ‘It looks like a young woman, but her features are very vague. I suppose she’s of no importance.’

  Marianne felt as though he’d slapped her. ‘How can you say that?’ she asked angrily.

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘That I’m of no importance.’

  ‘That you’re of no importance?’ he said incredulously. ‘I never mentioned you. I was talking about the young woman in the picture.’

  Marianne felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she’d said what she had. ‘I – I didn’t mean me... I...’

  ‘What are you getting so worked up about?’ asked Steve.

  ‘I’m not getting worked up.’

  ‘Yes, you are. You’ve gone all red and you sound really flustered.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, just find your briefcase and let’s get to bed,’ she snapped.

  ‘Are these people in fancy dress?’ asked Steve. ‘Is this someone you know? Someone who lives round here?’

  ‘It’s an old drawing,’ Marianne repeated. ‘Look at the paper. You don’t get paper like that any more.’

  Steve tested it between finger and thumb. ‘Artists still use paper like this.’

  ‘Steve, don’t you think you’re being just a little bit paranoid?’ said Marianne. ‘If you’re trying to say that this man’s my lover, why on earth would I keep a picture of him hidden in a book in a trunk in the attic?’

  ‘To look at when I’m not here.’

  ‘But I’m looking at it now, when you are here,’ she pointed out.

  ‘He excites you, doesn’t he?’ Steve said perceptively, watching her reactions closely. ‘Even the sight of him is enough to arouse you.’ He ran a hand over the front of her sweatshirt. Marianne tried to push him off but she wasn’t quick enough and she knew he’d felt how hard her nipples were beneath the fabric.

  ‘Listen,’ said Steve slowly. ‘I’m not stupid, Marianne. There’s something going on here and I want to know what it is. I’ve always thought of you as being absolutely honest and I want an honest answer to this question. Have you got a lover?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly.

  ‘But you’re falling in love with someone else, aren’t you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not, Steve. There isn’t anyone else. If I’d wanted to have an affair I’d have had one in London. Let’s face it, I had plenty of offers. Think about this logically. Our nearest neighbours are Sandra and Graham and you don’t think it’s Graham, do you?’ Steve shook his head. ‘Okay then, apart from him, who do I meet?’

  ‘The postman,’ Steve suggested, without conviction.

  ‘He’s nearly sixty.’

  ‘The milkman, then?’

  ‘He delivers around four in the morning. Anyway, I wouldn’t know him if I met him. Believe me, Steve, I haven’t met anyone who lives near here apart from Sandra and Graham, and that’s the honest truth.’

  ‘So why are you so fascinated by this drawing then?’

  ‘Well, it’s an extraordinary coincidence, but he looks like the hero of my book,’ she explained, not untruthfully. ‘He’s exactly how I’d pictured him and it was a bit of a shock seeing him like this.’

  ‘Maybe you’d seen the picture before and he’d stayed in your subconscious,’ suggested Steve.

  ‘Maybe,’ agreed Marianne. ‘Mind you, that doesn’t explain why you thought you knew him.’

  ‘No, and I haven’t even read your book.’

  ‘Maybe he’s a ghost,’ said Marianne, knowing she was beginning to tread on thin ice.

  ‘A ghost?’ St
eve stared at her. ‘Are you saying this is a drawing of someone who used to live here?’

  ‘Well it could be, couldn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Steve conceded.

  ‘If it is, then perhaps in a way we’ve both seen him. Maybe that’s why I’ve used his face in my book, and why you thought you saw him in the bedroom. Perhaps his presence has remained behind for over a hundred and fifty years.’

  ‘Why do you say a hundred and fifty years?’ he asked. ‘You don’t know that’s when he lived here, if indeed he did.’

  Marianne could have bitten off her tongue. ‘I, um, I’m only guessing because of the clothes.’

  ‘I see.’ Steve stared at the drawing once more. ‘Well, if he is still around, I think we ought to have someone in to exorcise him. He looks a very unhealthy influence to me. Maybe that’s why you started writing all those lurid sex scenes. Perhaps you were picking up perverted vibes from him.’

  Marianne was furious. Suddenly she wanted to blurt everything out, to tell Steve what was happening and what incredible pleasure Edward had brought her. She was so angry she actually opened her mouth but then, at the last moment, self-protection took over and she turned away without uttering a word. ‘I think this is all getting rather silly,’ she murmured.

  ‘I don’t know, you might have a point. You do hear about things like that.’

  ‘Well, I think I’d know if I’d seen him,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not suggesting for one moment he’s a ghost who materialises,’ Steve argued. ‘All I’m saying is that your idea about his presence lingering on might be true. I’m not a total sceptic where these things are concerned.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t be jealous of a ghost, would you?’

  Steve laughed. ‘Of course not! A ghost wouldn’t be any competition. Besides, if he really did live over a hundred and fifty years ago I don’t suppose he did anything interesting. I rather think modern man could see him off any day.’

  Marianne knew different, but decided against telling him so. ‘And what about all that “life of excess and debauchery” you were talking about?’

  ‘That would be drinking and prostitutes,’ said Steve casually.