Death Day Page 4

  Debbie took one look at him and began laughing.

  'I bet this never happens to Robert Carrier,' he said, grinning.

  She crossed the kitchen and kissed him, peering into the saucepan.

  'What is it?' she asked.

  'What is it?' he mimicked her. 'It's stew, woman, what does it look like?'

  She nipped the end of his nose and retreated into the living room. There, she dumped her carrier bag full of ledgers on the coffee table and called to Lambert that she was going to change her clothes. He shouted something about slaving over a hot stove and she laughed as she bounded up the stairs.

  His mood had changed, she thought with relief. But that had been the problem since the accident. His temper and character seemed to fluctuate wildly. One minute he was happy, the next he was plunged back into the abyss of self-reproach and guilt. Debbie removed her clothes and left them in an untidy heap on the end of. the bed. She fumbled in the drawer for a t-shirt, stood before the mirror, unhooked her bra and threw it to one side before pulling on the t-shirt.

  Her nipples strained darkly against the white material. She slid into a pair of faded jeans, patched so many times she'd lost count, and padded, barefoot, downstairs.

  Lambert was ladling out the stew when she walked into the dining room.

  They ate slowly, at a leisurely pace, chatting about this and that, feeling the tensions of the day slowly drain away.

  He poured her another glass of wine and sat down again, gazing across the table at her as she drank.

  'I'm going back to work at the end of the week,' he said quietly.

  She paused, her glass midway to her lips and asked why.

  'Because I can't sit around like this any longer.'

  'You know what the doctor said.'

  'Oh, sod the doctor. He doesn't know what it's like. Sitting here every day and night thinking about that bloody accident. I need to go back. I need something to occupy my mind.'

  'You said yourself that there was nothing doing.'

  'I know,' he took a sip of his wine, 'but at least I wouldn't be shut up here in the house all the time.'

  'Just give it a little longer, Tom,' she asked.

  'It's been a fortnight now,' he said, his voice growing to a volume which he didn't intend. He looked down at the patterned table cloth and then across to her again. 'I don't think I'll ever be able to face it, so I might as well just keep running.' He drained his glass and poured himself another.

  'And what happens when you can't run anymore?' she wanted to know.

  He had no answer.

  * * *

  Ray Mackenzie stood on the pavement outside his house as the van drove away and rubbed his eyes. Christ, the bloody headache was getting worse and now his eyes were starting to throb. He felt as if he hadn't slept for a week. He looked up into the dark sky and inhaled deeply. As he walked, the medallion bumped against his thigh, secure in his trouser pocket.

  There was a small tricycle lying outside the back door and he bumped his shin against it as he rounded the corner. Snarling, he lashed out at it, sending the tiny object hurtling across the yard.

  * * *

  Inside, June Mackenzie sighed. It looked like one of those nights. She had been expecting him for the last hour and a half. He'd probably been down the pub for a couple of pints. Well, she'd give him a piece of her mind when he came in. Half past seven. What sort of time did he call this? It was the same every day, wondering if he'd be home straight from work or down the bloody pub with his mates. She had put up with it for the ten years they had been married but she sometimes wondered how much more she could stand. If not for Michelle, now nearly five, she would have left him long ago. At thirty-four, she felt that life was somehow passing her by. Even if he'd offer to take her out once in a while that would be something. But no, same routine every night. He came home, stinking of booze. Had his dinner, went back down the pub until nine then flopped in front of the TV for the rest of the evening. Christ, what a way to live a life. His idea of a great night out was sitting and watching a darts match down the local. He'd asked her to come with him occasionally but there was no one to look after Michelle and, besides, she didn't fancy sitting with a bunch of boozy men all night, cracking jokes about their wives' frigidity.

  June shook her head. There must be more to life than this?

  She had thought about trying to get a flat for herself and Michelle but the waiting list was four years long and, with the child just starting school she didn't want to move too far away. Besides, her own measly wage could never support them. She worked part time as a cleaner in a car showroom but there had been talk of cut-backs and she was beginning to wonder how much longer they would keep her on. Ray didn't earn a lot. Just enough to pay the rent and the H.P. They had everything on H.P. If he ever lost his job and the payments couldn't be met, half the house would be repossessed. She shuddered at the thought.

  The back door flew open and Mackenzie staggered in.

  'Who left that fucking thing outside the door?' he shouted, rubbing his bruised shin.

  'Do you have to shout?' she demanded, 'do you want the whole street to hear you?'

  He walked off into the living room, grunting at Michelle who was playing on the rug in front of the gas fire.

  'Your dinner is ready,' called June, 'and has been for the last hour.'

  He ignored her and stormed upstairs, his heavy boots crashing heavily across the landing. She knew that he must have gone into their bedroom. She shook her head angrily.

  'What's the matter with Daddy?' asked Michelle.

  Mackenzie moved about the bedroom without turning on the lights. His headache had grown steadily worse and he found that bright fight aggravated it. Despite the blackness in the room, broken only by the dull glow of the street lamp outside, he moved with assurance. Sitting on one corner of the bed, he pulled the medallion from his pocket and studied it. He guessed by its weight that it must be solid, a good pound and a half. He tried to guess at the value but the persistent buzzing pain which throbbed behind his eyes and in his temples made rational thought impossible. He sighed, disturbed at the intensity of the pain. It felt as if someone were driving red hot nails into his scalp. He stood up, shakily and crossed to a drawer where he pulled out his wife's jewel box. It was wooden, the top carved ornately, making it look more valuable than it actually was. He flipped it open, emptying its meagre contents onto the floor. Then, carefully, he laid the medallion inside. It seemed to wink mockingly at him and, for a moment, a wave of icy air enveloped him. He shut the box lid and -it passed. He hid the small box beneath his pillow and walked out of the bedroom.

  When he entered the kitchen, his dinner was on the table. ItTiad dried up long ago, the chips looking like mummified fingers.

  'I don't want any dinner,' he growled, raising one hand to shield his eyes from the bright glow of the kitchen's fluorescents.

  'Look,' said June, 'it's not my fault it's like that. If you'd come home at the right time.'

  He cut her short. 'No fucking dinner.' He screamed the words, grabbing the plate and flinging it at the far wall where it shattered, splattering food in all directions. He turned on her, spittle sticking in white blobs to his lips. June was suddenly afraid.

  She took a step backward, watching him as he glanced up at the light. He hissed and covered his eyes as if the white glow were causing him pain.

  He rushed to the switch and slapped it off, plunging the room into darkness.

  'Ray,' said June, her tone softening, wondering just what was happening, 'what's the matter?'

  'Light,' he grunted, 'can't stand the light.'

  He turned and stalked into the living room, recoiling madly from the shaded hundred and fifty watt that illuminated the room.

  'Turn it off,' he screamed and dashed for the switch.

  The room was now lit only by the glow of the television screen and Mackenzie growled something as he stood looking at it. Michelle got to her feet and ran to her mother, suddenl
y frightened by her father's behaviour. He put both hands to his head and moaned, slumping into one corner of the room, head down.

  June crossed to the phone and began dialling, 'I'm going to get a doctor,' she said.

  Mackenzie leapt to his feet and was across the room in a second, his hand closing around his wife's wrist in a grip which threatened to snap the bone. She gasped and tried to pull away. The phone dropped uselessly from her hand and swung by its cord. His voice almost a whisper, now surprisingly calm, Mackenzie said, 'No doctor.'

  She looked down at the hand which gripped her arm and tried to pull away. Mackenzie smiled, his eyes blazing in the reflected glare of the TV. He released his grip and pushed June away. She bumped into a chair and nearly fell.

  'What the hell is wrong with you?' she said, becoming angry, 'had too much to drink?'

  He snarled and stepped towards her, bringing his arm back then striking forward with the back of his hand. The blow lifted June off her feet and sent her crashing into the metal guard of the gas fire. She rolled forward, blood weeping from her split lip. Still stunned from the force of the blow, she peered up at him. Mackenzie stood, legs astride, glaring down at her, his eyes narrowed to protect himself from the light of the TV.

  'You bastard,' she said softly. 'You mad bastard.'

  Michelle began to cry. She had been standing in the doorway between kitchen and living room and had seen it all. Now she watched as her father turned and stormed out of the room, his feet slamming up the stairs. She heard the sound of a door being smashed shut. Then she ran to her mother who had managed to drag herself up onto her knees. She caught the little girl and hugged her to her chest, feeling her own blood dripping slowly down her chin.

  This time he'd gone too far.

  * * *

  June looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It said ten thirty-five.

  She had put Michelle to bed two hours before and had sat, alone, staring blankly at the television. There had been no sound from Ray. She had gone up there once and tried to open the door but found that he had locked it from the inside. She licked a tongue across the swollen cleft in her lip. The bastard must have fallen asleep. She had called his name but there had been no answer. Not a sound from inside the bedroom. She had then gone to the child's bedroom at the far end of the landing and peeked in. Michelle had been asleep, a ragged old Snoopy clutched between her tiny hands.

  Then June had returned to the living room. She had sat there all this time. Wondering what to do. If Ray wouldn't open the door, she'd just have to sleep on the sofa. She gritted her teeth. God, would she give it to him in the morning!

  She waited ten more minutes, until the hands of the clock had crawled onto ten forty five, then she moved quickly through the house, locking doors and windows, pulling plugs and prepared to go upstairs. She doublechecked the back door. Burglars had always been one of her biggest fears. Though, God knew, they had nothing worth taking. Nevertheless, she pulled the bolts tight, peering out of the small window into the darkness beyond. The street lights still glowed like trapped fireflies and one or two lamps burned in front rooms but apart from that, the street was quiet.

  She closed the hall door behind her and walked wearily up the stairs. As she reached the landing, she cautiously opened the door to Michelle's room. The child was still sleeping. June smiled and pulled it shut. Then she padded along to her own bedroom. There was no sound from inside and she put her hand on the knob, expecting to find it twist impotently in her grip.

  Instead, the door opened.

  She half smiled. The sod must have come to his senses. June went in, closing the door quickly behind her. Mackenzie was lying in bed, his head covered by the blankets, facing away from her. She undressed quickly and slid into bed beside him. He grunted as she did so, a deep guttural sound which made her sit up. His body moved slightly and she saw his hand slowly pull the covers down. June found herself staring at the back of his head.

  'Ray,' she whispered, touching his shoulder.

  He didn't move.

  'Ray.' She shook him harder and this time he rolled over and looked straight at her.

  She would have screamed had he not fastened one powerful hand around her throat. He pulled her close and she felt and smelt his fetid breath on her face.

  His eyes were gone.

  No whites, no pupils. Nothing. Just two blood red orbs which swelled like crimson blisters from the dark skin which surrounded them. Saliva ran in a crystal river from both corners of his mouth, his red lips flecked with spittle. The nostrils flared as he tightened his grip on her throat and she made a gurgling noise and tried to pull his hand away.

  He was on his knees now, above her, bringing more pressure down on her, as if he wanted to force her through the very bed itself. She struck out at him, her long fingernails raking his skin and tearing three bloody furrows but he kept up the pressure, that insane grin still smeared across his face. The rictus which showed his yellowed teeth, dripped mucous. June saw white stars dancing before her eyes and she knew she was blacking out. Then, suddenly, and with a force far beyond that of a normal man, he lifted her in that one hand and threw her across the room.

  She slammed into the wall, cracking her head. June slumped down, clinging desperately to consciousness. She had one thought. One rational thought in a world gone mad. She must get to Michelle.

  But the creature with the burning red eyes, the creature which had been her husband, rose slowly from the bed and walked purposefully towards her.

  She staggered to her feet, wondering if she could make it to the bedroom door. If only she could get past, lock him in…

  Dazed, she bolted for safety but Mackenzie caught her arm and, with terrifying force, hurled her backwards. She slammed into the dressing table, her head snapping forward to smash into the mirror which splintered. Shards of glass sprayed out into the room, one of them falling at Mackenzie's feet. He bent and picked it up. Razor sharp, it was the length of a milk bottle. He could see his own vile reflection in it as he advanced on her.

  June began sobbing, blood pouring down her face from a cut on her forehead. She tried to scream but it came out as a strangled cough. She raised a hand to ward him off but he brought the shard of mirror sweeping down and it carved off her thumb.

  'Ray,' she croaked and he was upon her.

  The bedroom door opened slowly and Michelle stood there. The noises from her parents room had woken her. Now she stood quietly, watching as her mother died, bleeding from a dozen savage wounds. The child didn't move, her eyes riveted to the slaughtered body.

  There was a movement beside her and she looked up, not quite realizing that the thing with the burning red eyes which stood above her, clutching a length of blood splattered mirror, had once been her father.

  * * *

  Debbie yawned and took off her glasses. She shook her head and sighed deeply. The ledgers stared back up at her, defiantly. Her eyes were beginning to grow tired and she could feel the pain gradually gnawing its way from her shoulder to her neck and up the back of her head. She leant back in her chair and stretched, letting out a moan. The room, lit only by the light of the table lamp, seemed to crowd in on her and she promised herself that she would finish in half an hour. She'd been at it solid for three hours.

  'Enough.'

  Lambert slapped his hand down on the ledger spread out in front of her and she jumped.

  'Christ,' she said, 'you frightened me.'

  'Wrap your gums round that,' he said, handing her a steaming mug of coffee.

  He stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. She purred contentedly.

  'Call it a night, Debbie,' he insisted, his fingers working more strongly. She flexed her shoulders, enjoying his expert touch.

  'What have you been doing?' she asked him, closing her eyes.

  'Watching TV, reading. Nothing much.'

  She took a sip of her coffee, squirming as one of his hands slipped down and touched her breast. She reach
ed up and held it, pressing his hand to her bosom. He responded by squeezing it, feeling the nipple grow hard beneath his palm. He ran his free hand through her blonde hair, tracing one finger across her cheek until he reached her mouth. She parted her lips slightly and- licked at the end of the probing digit. He pulled it away and allowed his hand to find its way to her other breast. Both hands now clamped firmly on the pert mounds, he gently rubbed them, becoming aroused himself by Debbie's tiny moans of pleasure.

  She put down her coffee and swung round on the swivel chair to face him. He smiled down at her, watching as she pulled off her t-shirt, revealing her firm breasts, the hardened nipples now pink buds.

  She reached forward and fumbled with his belt, pulling it free and undoing the top button of his jeans, slowly easing the zipper down. She pulled him closer to her, excited by the sight of his erection. She bent low and kissed him and he groaned from the sensations in that most sensitive area. Her lips fastened around his swollen organ and she drew him still closer, bringing her hands round to grip his buttocks. He held her head, not wanting her to stop the motion of her mouth and tongue but also wanting to enjoy her more fully. Gently, he pulled away and knelt before her, helping her to slip out of her own jeans and knickers.

  She raised one foot which he caught and kissed, taking each toe into his mouth in turn before allowing his tongue to flick its way up the inside of her leg towards her own pulsing desire.

  She edged forward on the chair, giving him better access and, as his tongue parted her nest of light hair, she gasped. He plunged deeper, allowing his probing tongue to taste her flowing juices and she pressed hard against his face until he put his hands beneath her and lifted her to the floor, impaling her on his erection.

  Slowly at first, but then with increasing urgency, Debbie moved back and forth until her gasps became cries, mingled with his own muffled gasps of pleasure as they reached a peak together and he buried his head between her breasts.

  As the sensations subsided, they lay beside one another, aware only of the warm glow from the other's body and the plaintive howling of the wind outside.