Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

I stepped out of the doorway before she could reach the far end of the alley, and caught her up. When I put my hand on her arm she turned sharply and fear showed in her eyes, so I smiled and held out a handful of cash. I have no idea how much money I was actually offering her, but the faint fear was instantly replaced by greed, so it was probably quite a lot.

Neither of us knew the other’s language, and although I dare say I could have made myself slightly understood with a few Italian phrases, there was hardly any point, and the language of money is universal. She looked at the money, then she looked at me and nodded. She glanced up and down the street, which was deserted, then up at the buildings. Apparently satisfied, she pointed to the doorway where I had been standing.

If I had been in my normal frame of mind I would not have considered, for a moment, performing that act in such a public place. I’d like that understood. But as it was, I pulled her into the shadows and pushed up her skirt, unbuttoning my trousers with my free hand. Then I backed her against the wall and we strained and heaved and sweated together in that doorway. But since it’s no part of this journal to record what it has pleased someone to call the slaking of fleshly lusts, I shall merely say the encounter was brief and achieved its culmination. Even with the lure of the money, she flinched several times, and once, just as I reached a climax, I slammed into her with such force she cried out in pain.

On a purely physical level I was satisfied. But on a wholly different level – on the dark plain where my other self walked – there was more I had to do to her. I had to. It was the only way to slake the insistent hunger and appease the agony in my head.

I did it there in the shadowy doorway, closing my hands round her neck – rather a coarse-skinned neck she had, I remember – and pressing hard into her windpipe. She choked and spluttered, flailing at me with her hands, trying to gouge my eyes, the vicious little slut. But I was too strong for her and within minutes spittle was running from her mouth and, as she jerked and fought, urine streamed down her legs and splashed over my shoes. That’s from the spasms that strangulation causes and it’s something that nearly always happens. In fact, I remember once in London— But I was much younger then and not so experienced.

It was only when her tongue started to protrude from her mouth and her eyes rolled up that the darkness began to loosen its grip. I let her fall to the ground, fastened my trousers, sufficiently calm by this time to feel annoyed at the mess over my shoes; they were handmade leather, bought in Jermyn Street. It was my own fault; I should have known better than to wear them.

I stepped back into the sunlight, and went briskly along the alley, back towards one of the cathedral squares. You’ll note that I had no concern as to whether I might have left any damning evidence behind me – that’s the weakness in my armour. Anything could have fallen from my pocket or my wallet that could have identified me when the girl’s body was found. That’s why I never made an attempt on Crispian during one of these darknesses.

Later

When I sat down to make this journal entry it was night-time. But now, as I set down my pen, I realize I have written all night, for I see that a thin dawn is breaking and it’s the start of a new day. A new day. When I began writing a description of the Messina episode, I had a hundred and eight hours of life left to me. Now I have ninety-eight.

The Present

Everyone in Upper Bramley and the surrounding villages agreed it was a relief when Priors Bramley was finally pronounced safe and wholesome.

The news Ella had been dreading came on the final day of the decontamination operation. She had tried to pretend nothing would happen – that the body of the man would be too deeply buried, or the cleaning project would not go as far as Cadence Manor. But here it was, as clear as a curse, setting the little town buzzing like a hyperactive wasp. Human remains had been found, said people excitedly. Only a collection of bones, but unmistakable. No, it was not known precisely where the bones were – the police had not released much information yet. But the body was thought to have died around fifty years ago, so clearly someone must have been in Priors Bramley that last day – perhaps somehow trapped – and maybe overtaken by the tainting chemicals.

Even Upper Bramley’s bored teenagers were sufficiently roused to take an interest, because this was the grossest thing you could imagine. A degree of rivalry sprang up among the fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds, as to who could tell the most ghoulish story about corpses with acid-corroded faces who wrapped bony fingers around people’s throats and crushed them to their fleshless chests. The Red Lion, as usual alert to local mood and hearing this version, took spare-ribs off its menu and substituted vegetarian flan.

On the day the discovery was announced, Derek brought the details home, and told Ella about it over supper, which Amy had cooked and Ella suspected she would not be able to eat. But Derek, eating Amy’s chilli con carne with what Ella felt to be insensitive enjoyment, reported that the entire council offices were agog over the news. The body was no more than a cluster of bones, of course, said Derek, but there were rumours about some of the bones being damaged.

‘Does that mean it was a murder?’ said Amy, wide-eyed.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Ella at once. ‘He might have fallen downstairs or something.’

‘“He”?’

‘Or she. Figure of speech.’

‘Actually, I believe it is a man’s skeleton,’ said Derek.

‘Wouldn’t it be cool if it turned out to be one of that old family who lived there?’ said Amy. ‘The Cadence lot. You always hated them, Gran. Maybe a black sheep turned up and one of the po-faced Cadences clonked him on the head. Or it was an illegitimate son who had to be silenced to protect the family’s reputation. Or even—’

‘The Cadences had long since gone by the 1950s,’ said Ella repressively. ‘It won’t be that.’

‘A man in my department said the police are going to do DNA and dental tests,’ said Derek.

With Derek, there was nearly always a man in his department or in the Operatic Society or the Gardening Club, who knew more than anybody else.

Ella said, ‘Probably it’s just some old tramp who didn’t know about the Geranos experiment.’

‘And thought he’d found a good place to spend a few nights?’ said Amy.

‘Yes. They’ll never be able to identify him, not after all this time.’

‘This man at the office thinks they’ll use carbon dating.’

‘Carbon dating is a bit of a blunt instrument for anything after about 1950,’ said Amy. ‘Radiocarbon concentration was hiked up after then because of the thermonuclear bomb testing, specially in the northern hemisphere.’

‘My word, imagine you knowing things like that,’ said Derek admiringly. ‘They’re saying the bones were found in the old lodge house,’ he added. ‘A man in my office was talking to one of the CID chaps.’

Ella felt as if cold water had been flung straight in her face. She only just managed not to gasp. ‘Did you say the lodge? The body was found in the lodge?’

‘Yes. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Just that I thought somebody said it was in the manor house.’

‘No, definitely the lodge.’

The lodge, thought Ella. But we left the man’s body inside the manor house. It was wedged in the chimney shaft – wedged in very tightly, as well. My mother saw it there, for goodness’ sake. She told me so. It couldn’t have moved, not unless…