by Gilmour, SJB
Then what did I do? Oh, thinking about it was so hard.
I remembered sitting down on the floor and pulling the light fitting out of the box. I assembled it, made sure it was clean, and then put it and my screwdriver on the bench.
Here it comes, Eugenie. Good girl. Keep it coming…
I’d walked across the kitchen and switched off the power at the switch on the wall. Then I went outside!
I did! I did turn off the power at the mains! The hinges had creaked when I’d opened the fuse-box door. I remember being nervous there might be spiders in there, even though I knew that fear was ridiculous because I’d sprayed that box inside and out with surface spray just the week before.
Then what happened? Think!
It was so hard to dredge those memories up, but once I had, they became so clear it could have happened yesterday. And it scared the living daylights out of me. Well, perhaps that’s a poor choice of words, considering I’m dead and all, but there’s no need for profanity, even in the face of a discovery like that.
I was on the ladder. I had unscrewed the light-bulb and now just had the bare socket. That had to come off if I was going to put the new fixture in. I unscrewed everything. Even if those wires were inert, I was being careful. I was always careful. I climbed down off the ladder and put the bulb and the old socket on the bench and then went back up the ladder with the new socket.
Unscrewing the wires with gloves on had been easy, but I’d always found it impossible to screw them on with gloves, so I took them off and chucked them to the floor. I found the green wire and screwed it to the earth point. Then I screwed in the blue neutral wire. Next I held the red active wire by its plastic covering, but I was at the wrong angle. I had to jiggle it a bit to get it into the point to screw it. I went to press the bare copper wire into the point.
Kabam! It was as if every muscle in my body clenched as hard as they could, all at once. It was loud too. The loudest sound I’d ever heard. I was falling through the air. The carpentry horse! I couldn’t move at all as I fell. I couldn’t avoid it. I felt it connect with my brow and my head begin to move backwards from the force.
Then I was looking down at my body from above. Everything was quiet. How did I get there? What? What’s going on? Was that me? What? Oh Lord! I’m dead!
I tried to scream. Goodness knows I wanted to but I couldn’t. I looked about. I could see my body lying on the floor in a growing pool of blood. No! I moved, I don’t know how, but I did it, down to the floor. Oh my Lord, the silence in the kitchen — in me — was deafening.
Wait, what’s that? Yes, there was a noise. It was a squeak and a thud. What was it? What was it?
The sound of the door shutting broke my concentration. Damn it! I hadn’t noticed James and Nayani join up with the other cop who’d stayed outside. What had I heard? I tried to bring the memories back but they were fuzzy and I was feeling oddly weak from the effort.
I paused to watch Mitch and Sally. He was hugging her while she cried into his chest. The bold front was gone and now, alone with her Mitch, her big, strong safe Mitch, it was all coming undone. Oh how I envied her at that moment. Isn’t it weird? I felt anxious and tingly as if I was shivering from fear and cold, and snuggling into that chest of his would have been very nice indeed.
Sally barely registered that the police had driven away, she was so surrounded Mitch. I couldn’t help it. I sank into Sally’s mind as she nestled her head in that warm, firm chest of his. There was none of the usual double-play I’d come to expect from those minds I could read; thinking one thing and saying another. Sally wasn’t so sad or unhappy as she was just wrung out. The worry from the last few days, the good news this morning, now coming home to find her house had been invaded (Oh Sally, if only I could have undone it!) — it was all too much.
She sniffed and pulled away a little, feeling embarrassed at having such a snotty nose and tear-stained face.
‘Ah fuck it,’ she muttered and then grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on my bench. Doing so made me remember how good it felt to blow my nose and get rid of what always felt like a bucket of snot.
‘Hey,’ Mitch said gently. He hugged her again. Those arms just seemed to wrap around her so much it was like they’d circled her twice. Her face pressed sideways into this chest so her nose was flat against one of those lean pectoral muscles. She loved the way his heart beat so strongly. She could feel it against her cheeks. His breathing, slow and measured as always made her feel comfortable and secure.
‘So what do we do now?’ Sally asked him. ‘Change the locks?’
‘If you want.’ Mitch’s voice was slow and careful. ‘The best thing we can do is not let this turn us into head-cases. We’re in the country. We want a house where we don’t have to lock our doors at night and have security screens on our windows like we had in town. Nothing was taken or damaged.’
He nodded at a small green ceramic bowl near the microwave. The “disappearing green pot” was where he deposited a few hundred dollars in cash each week for Sally should she need it. At least four hundred dollars was in there at any one time.
Sally nodded, sniffing again. ‘I know. It’s just—’
Mitch smiled and hugged her tight. ‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘I know.’
‘I need you,’ she said simply. She reached up with both hands and pulled his face down to hers. She began half-kissing, half-nibbling his chin and lower lip. She wasn’t being driven by lust so much as she was a dire need for some release from all this. Sex, she knew would take her away from the doctors and the chair and those damned cops. Like a junkie needed to escape into the bliss of a hit, she desperately wanted to lose herself in the heat and smell and tingling thrill of Mitch.
I have no idea what Mitch was thinking, for I was still deep within Sally. In a way I was Sally. We were Sally and Eugenie.
Mitch responded, but not as he’d done in the past. This time, he was slower to harden, but harden he did. We could feel his erection growing as we pressed our belly into his groin and our breasts against his flat stomach. He held us close to him, one hand in our hair, the other resting firmly into the space between our shoulder blades, pressing us against him.
He moved that hand down further to the small of our back, massaging its way further still to the twin dimples we knew he loved so much just at the beginning of our ass cleavage. He reached further down yet to our buttocks, cupping them both in that one strong hand.
Before, when I’d been in Sally’s mind, I’d witnessed her making little mental asides, like noticing how strong his hands were for a writer, or for a lean guy like him, how bigger and more muscular he seemed when he was inside her. Now there was none of that.
Mitch moved his hand from our hair to down half way down our back and he lifted us up. Oh we felt so close to him then. So warm and safe. Loved and wanted. Our nether regions were beginning to moisten and ache in that hot, tingly way. He lifted us up then, just as he’d done when we’d first seen the place, only this time, it was so much more intense. We were so much closer to him than ever before.
Was Mitch psychic? How could he know just how much we needed him to do what he was doing, and be doing just exactly right? Oh goodness we loved him!
We kissed him harder, our movements became more urgent as the desperate need within us to be naked with him, surrounded by him, filled with him, grew inside us. We weren’t thinking of anything now. Our eyes were shut as we kissed him. His stubble was stinging our mouth and chin. Our mixed saliva was hot and metallic.
We leaned back for a moment and began pulling up his shirt. Mitch turned around and carried us to the bench. There, the only time our lips parted was when we both stripped our shirts off over our heads. Then he picked us up again, and did that thing again; his hand running up through our hair and the base of our head. It sent a charge through us that just multiplied our desperate need for him.
We reached back behind us with one arm, straining at the shoulder to undo that itchy bra strap. A qu
ick wriggle and it was gone. Pressed against him, our nipples hard and our body aching, we were losing ourselves in his kiss, in his heat. He was holding us tight. Our eyes were shut. There was movement — were we moving? We could barely register what room we were in, let alone if we we standing still or being carried towards the doorway.
The wrench that tore me from Sally’s mind was like a blow. Mitch had carried her out the doorway and into the hall, crossing the invisible barrier of my jail. Aaargh! If I’d had nerves, I’d have been screaming in pain at that forced separation. Wailing to myself, I shot my consciousness about the walls and ceiling as if I was a ball in a pinball machine. I was frustrated. I was hurt. I was stinging from the rush and sudden quashing of sexual arousal, not to mention the shock and horror of what I’d learned from James and my own memories.
What was that noise I’d remembered hearing? It was a squeak. Metallic… It was the fuse-box! The door squeaked as it was being closed and the thud that followed it was it shutting. But who did that? Wait… If someone shut it, they could have opened it. Why did they—? Saints preserve us, I’d been murdered too! Someone actually killed me. They knew what I was doing, waited for the right time and then arranged my “accident”.
I forced myself to calm down so that I might go back to those awful moments immediately after my death. I’d heard the noise of the fuse-box door shutting, but I had not gone to the window to look out. Whoever my murderer was, they’d escaped unseen. The next time I saw James or Nayani or any cop for that matter, I wasn’t going to be gentle about keeping their thoughts on track. I wasn’t worried about justice or any of that nonsense. If there was a murderer out there, then Mitch and Sally might be in danger. Also, I made a note to have serious words with Mason. He might be able to find Alec and get him to return. If Alec could do as I could and guide the thoughts of the living, he could be very useful in the police station.
I mulled about this until Mitch and Sally came back down. They’d showered again and both seemed much more relaxed.
Twice, thought Sally. I can’t believe he fucked me twice so quickly. Normally takes him half an hour at least to get it up again. Fuck I’m hungry.
I didn’t need to even touch her mind. Her thoughts were emanating so strongly, she may as well have been shouting them.
Mitch too had his mental volume turned up to eleven. My balls ache. Glad she’s feeling better now. Oh man, they ache. Thirsty. Not beer. Water? Juice? No, water with lemon.
Mitch cut a lemon in half and squeezed the juice from each half into a glass for him and one for Sally. These he filled with chilled water from the fridge. Sally took hers with grateful smile, and sipped it. Mitch downed his in one go then poured himself another.
Sally pulled a large pot out of one of my cupboards and filled it with water. She set it on the stove with the gas up high, then poured about a tablespoon’s worth of salt into the palm of her hand and then tossed it into the swirling water.
This made Mitch very happy. ‘Good idea, babe. We kinda missed lunch there.’
Sally rolled her eyes at him. ‘Like you keep regular meal hours. I’ve seen you go for days without eating when you’re writing.’
Mitch grinned and went into my larder. ‘Spaghetti or shell pasta? They’re all we’ve got.’
‘Shell. I want broccoli pasta. Get us some garlic too, would you?’
Sally then went to the fridge and retrieved a head of broccoli and two small red chillies. The stalk of the broccoli, she diced and added to the water in which small bubbles were beginning to form on the bottom of the pot. The rest, she set aside while she chopped up four cloves of garlic and the two chillies.
I watched all this with great interest. I’d not seen or heard of this recipe before. I touched her mind briefly. Images of a small, wizened old Italian woman, all dressed in black, flashed through her mind. Just like Nonna use to make, she thought. Only I’m taller. She smiled to herself as she remembered the little woman standing on an upturned wooden tomato box so she could reach over the stove.
Sally divided the pile of garlic and chilli into two, and chopped one half into the pot with the broccoli stalks. She examined the bottom of the pot. Yes, those bubbles were getting bigger. She added the rest of the broccoli and replaced the lid.
Now he had slaked his thirst, Mitch went to the fridge for a beer.
‘Get the Parmesan cheese while you’re there, and wine for me, thanks babe.’ She was now scrolling through her iPod for a playlist.
I angled around to see the small screen on the amazing device. Oh, I liked this one. It was mostly jazz but also had a lot of gospel thrown in. It surprised me that Sally had even made such a list. Her mind was not a religious one. In fact, I’d felt her reflecting many times that God certainly did not exist. Sally pressed play. I chuckled to myself that the first song was Fun in The Church by some Americans called Cannonball Adderley and Fleming Williams. Sally grinned and turned it up loud.
When the pasta and broccoli was ready, she drained nearly all of the water out it then put it back into the pot, stirred in the remaining garlic and chilli along with a generous sploosh of extra-virgin olive oil. She stirred it over a low heat until the vapours from the fresh chilli and garlic began to sting her nostrils — about two minutes.
They barely said a word as they ate. Boy, they were hungry! There wasn’t a single noodle left in the pot when they were done.
Chapter Five
After they’d eaten, my loving couple turned off the iPod, fetched themselves more booze and ensconced themselves in the lounge room. Once I heard that iconic double oh seven theme music, I knew they were settling in for an evening of pure escapism. Lucky for me, they didn’t have the television up too loud, so I was able to concentrate. It had occurred to me that if I could dredge up the memories of the moments before my own death, maybe I could do so with Ashleigh’s.
It was easier this time. It was much like what I imaged a hypnotist would be saying to me, only without the whole breathing thing. And the eyes-shut thing, too. I don’t breathe and I can’t shut my eyes, but I can do the next best thing. My larder has some nice dark spots behind Sally’s bulk bags of flour. That’s where I went.
We were in the hall. No, wait. I was in the hall. Ashleigh was sitting on the stairs. He was wearing his holey King Gee work pants and his “I Like Big Books And I Cannot Lie” t-shirt with a picture of a bible on it.
‘They look the same to me,’ I’d told him as he showed me the two steps. The new one’s final coats of varnish had cured and it was ready to go into the slot.
Ashleigh smiled and nodded. ‘It’s just ever so slightly thicker at this bit here. Shouldn’t squeak.’
I’d shaken my head at him. ‘Whatever makes you happy, husband of mine.’ I looked around the hall and towards the windows. It was a cool, cloudy day. I remember feeling that chill that would make most people want to turn up the thermostat on their central heating. My puritan Catholic upbringing wouldn’t sit for that nonsense. I’d put a jumper on first. Then, and only then, if I was still cold, I’d light the fire.
Ashleigh saw me wriggle my shoulders the way I always did when I was feeling cold. He wasn’t going to wait.
‘Genie, we’ve a beautiful fireplace and more wood than we could use in lifetime. How about we light the fire?’
We’d had the same, well he called it an argument; I called it a discussion, many times. I checked the fireplace. There was enough wood for the night, just. If I was going to light the fire, I’d do it right and keep it up and roaring. We’d need more wood. I went out to the shed for firewood. I remember thinking he was lucky he was working on that step, or I’d have words with him about sending his wife out into the cold for firewood.
The shed had been on the property when we’d bought it. It’s not uncommon for local farms in the area to have big sheds to house tractors, utes and all other sorts of things. Most sheds out here are bigger than the houses people live in. Our shed was no different, only we didn’t have a tractor; jus
t a beat up old Mazda ute. What did we do with the rest of the space? We stored firewood. I mean, why not? It stayed dry, we could keep it relatively bug-free, and more importantly, snake free.
Don’t get sidetracked Eugenie. You may not know who killed you, but you might be able to figure out who killed Ashleigh. Concentrate. What did you see? What did you hear?
I walked to the shed. It was much colder outside. It was windy too. In strong wind, the sound of it rushing through the trees is amazing. It’s a white noise that muffles all kinds of other sounds. I could barely hear my own steps on the gravel of the driveway. I saw young Kelly on her BMX bike again on the dirt road. I waved. That dear kid loved her bike, and would ride it up and down the road for hours, doing jumps on the four-wheel-drive trail along our fence-line, and skidding through the mud. She waved back as she pedalled past.
I went into the shed and immediately felt relieved to be out of the wind. I looked around. Ashleigh was more organised than I certainly, but in a different way. He’d left the wheelbarrow near the door, instead of near the wood-pile the way I liked it. I remember feeling both frustrated and amused with the way he’d also left a pair of work gloves on the handles. I normally put them in what I considered to be their spot on the tool board.
