Kaleidoscope (12 page)
There was a loud knock from the door - two hard bangs - and Sarah turned around. She glanced in the mirror as she walked by and ran two fingers over her ear, pushing her hair backwards. Her looks had declined over the years, thanks to the abuse she had forced on her body, but she still felt confident enough in her own skin to accept her shortcomings. This was a new customer so she wanted to impress to a certain extent; a repeat client could ensure her an income and she wouldn't have to put up with breaking in any others. She pushed her prettiest smile onto her face and opened the door.
"Hello," she said as she gestured the man into her room.
As he passed by her, she eyed him carefully and slowly closed the door. He was tall; well over six feet and muscular. He didn't make eye contact with her as he passed, but glanced around the room, pushing his cheeks upwards, as if to smile but not quite completing the expression.
"Take a seat." Sarah forced herself to look him in the eye and brush his arm gently.
The man nodded and went over to the bed. "Your name is Sarah?"
"Yes, and yours?" she replied, sitting next to him, placing her hand on his knee and crossing her legs towards him.
The man glanced down to her hand and smiled a smile that nauseated her. His yellow teeth protruded from widening lips and his breath washed over her face. It resembled a pungent mixture of coffee, cigarettes and stagnant water.
"Hal," the man replied, running the back of his hand over his nose and wiping it on his jeans.
Sarah smiled at him, feeling a familiar unease in her stomach and she turned her head away from his to get some fresh air. She thought about her daughter and forced herself to continue the act she was so well rehearsed in.
"I like that name. What do you want me to do?"
Hal's smile broadened into a sickening grin as he ran his tongue along his stained teeth. He put an arm around her and pulled her close. She felt the unease rising, but tried to prevent herself from pulling away.
"Tell me about yourself first," he said, leaning forward and kissing her neck.
Sarah winced as his lips ran along her neck and she involuntarily shuffled away. He looked up and she noticed his expression had changed, as if she had offended him by moving away.
"Okay," she said, smiling her most convincing smile yet. "I'm 26," she lied, "And I love big tall guys like you." She moved closer, but he pushed her away.
"Don't give me the bullshit. Tell me about yourself for real."
Sarah blinked, the unease inside made another lurch and she almost felt like ending it and throwing the guy out. But she knew it wouldn't be as simple as that. Sometimes, with men like him, it was easier to just see it through and avoid the confrontation. She had already decided that she wouldn't be seeing him again after tonight.
"Okay," she smiled and put her hand on his knee again. He seemed to relax. "I'm 34, I live here alone and I'm just trying to make a living."
"There," he said, putting an arm around her again. "Was that so hard?"
Sarah shook her head.
"Do you have family around here?" he asked.
This was an odd question and one that she had never been asked before. She wondered what the correct response would be to give, but in the end she couldn't really see what difference it would make so decided to tell the truth. "No, no ties," she winked and smiled again. "I'm all alone."
The man pulled her closer, his huge biceps squeezing her shoulders and Sarah glanced down, noticing the butterfly tattoo on his arm for the first time. She forced her gaze up, into his eyes. She felt sick, but disguised it expertly with yet another false smile. She knew that she wouldn't be able to maintain the act for much longer; she needed to get things moving. It soon became apparent that, that was also suddenly on her client's mind and he ran his hand up to the back of her head, grabbing her hair and pulling her closer.
"Get undressed," he whispered as his foul breath washed over her face again. Sarah didn't bother using her fake smile as she stood up and began to take off her clothes.
Chapter 13
Lewis drove his car into the dusty car park and heard the gravel crunch beneath the tyres as he pulled up on the far side. It was a cool day and there were only a handful of other cars scattered around. As he got out, he felt a gust of wind roll in from the sea and noticed it gather up some of the dust from the floor. He walked around the back, opened the boot and pulled out a large cardboard box. He carried it out of the car park and onto a narrow gravel path.
It wasn't far, but the box weighed heavy in Lewis's arms by the time he finally reached the top of the hill. He sighed with relief as he placed it down on the grass by his feet and stared out at the calm, blue ocean below. It wasn't as sunny as it had been when he had come to the cliff with Hannah all those years ago, but the sun still broke through the clouds occasionally and he took in the view for a few moments.
The edge of the cliff was a few feet away and a new fence had been set up since the last time Lewis had been, preventing anyone from accidentally wandering too close. The fence posts were short and simply had a green wire mesh running between them, so it didn't hinder the view of the ocean. He could see a couple of boats on the horizon and watched them lumber along as he sucked in a lungful of the fresh sea air. After a while, he sat down on the grass and opened the box.
He had come straight from Hannah's parents' home. They had given him some of their daughter
’
s possessions that they had sorted through, insisting that Lewis should be the one to have some of them to remember her by. He had taken the items, albeit with a lingering reluctance because he knew how hard it would be to go through them. But deep down he
wanted
to see these things,
her
things; possessions that she had touched and cared for.
He pulled out several books. There was a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, her favourite novel, which bore the curled edges and broken spine of a book which had been loved too much. Lewis flicked through the pages and saw some of the handwritten notes in the margins; the book had been the copy she had studied from in her English class.
Second in the pile was a larger book with a hard cover which Lewis recognised instantly. He had seen Hannah recite endless facts from it when they were just children and, as he read the title, it brought a smile to his face: 'Exploring the Universe'. The book brought back many memories for him and he could picture Hannah's face light up as she tried to comprehend yet another amazing piece of information that the book had imparted. But there was a memory that seemed more vivid than the others.
It had been when they were just six or seven and they had both camped out in the back
garden
of
Hannah
's house. Ben had been there too. Lewis could recall the stars being especially bright that night and the cool air danced around them as they stood gazing up. The memory came with such ease and clarity as he sat on the grass, holding the book in his hands. He stared at the cover for a moment then turned back to the rest of the pile.
There were several more paperbacks but Lewis's attention was drawn to a small, padded book at the bottom of the stack. He separated it from the rest and looked at the soft, brown leather that enclosed the cover. His eyes wandered over the small gold clasp and the image of the single rose and he suddenly realised he was holding Hannah's diary. He had seen it before, but she had always been intensely private about the contents of that book. He held it for a few moments, staring in silence at the smoothness of the leather then he placed it on the grass beside him, his eyes still lingering on it for a while. He eventually forced them away and reached back inside the box.
His hand hit something hard and he picked up a small object, lifting it out but realising what it was before he caught sight of it. He turned it between his fingers before raising one end up and placing it to his eye. He pointed the object up at the bright blue sky and slowly rotated it, gazing at the semi transparent colours as they slowly realigned and seemed to absorb each other, changing from one shape into another. He lowered it slowly. Hannah must have decided to look after it when Ben no longer had any use for his favourite toy.
As he held the kaleidoscope, Lewis thought of the day that Ben had been killed. Hannah's house had been bathed in silence as he entered and walked towards Hannah's room in little more than a daze. The news of what had happened to Ben had been told by his parents, but not properly absorbed by his young mind. He wanted to see Hannah to make sure she was okay; he could remember that feeling being overwhelming and he had been surprised by how powerful it was. He went over the back fence of the garden, as he always did, and entered her home through the rear patio doors. He walked slowly, noticing how loud his footsteps sounded on the hard kitchen floor; he had never noticed that sound before. As his feet hit the carpet of the hall, they were silenced and he glanced through the crack in the door to the front room, noticing Hannah's parents sitting in separate chairs and gazing ahead. They resembled statues; the only human part being their motionless eyes, gazing ahead, with sparkles of light reflecting vibrantly from the moisture they held. Lewis thought about entering the room, but couldn't bring himself to do so; what could he do or say that would help them now?
He stepped quietly away and climbed the stairs. Hannah's bedroom door was ajar by only a fraction of an inch. Lewis reached forward and gently pushed it open. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her head lowered and it didn't rise as he entered, his steps loud once again as they woke the creaking floorboards. He watched her for a moment and noticed a tear fall from her cheek and onto her hands, resting in her lap. He saw that the tear was absorbed by a patch of liquid on her skin, rejoining others that had already made the same journey. Then he noticed what she was holding and walked up to sit beside her. He felt awkward and suddenly unsure if he should have come. He didn't have the right words; in fact he didn't have
any
words. But then it became clear that he didn't need any. Hannah leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder and he put a hand on hers as they both held Ben's kaleidoscope.
Lewis dragged himself back to the present and slowly replaced all the items in the cardboard box as the sound of the sea rose from below him. The last item to go back in was Hannah's diary and he contemplated it for a moment. He knew what he wanted to do, but wasn't sure if he should. He went back and forth in his mind, before guiltily unclipping the gold clasp and opening it.
He didn't read the pages but just scanned them, trying not to take in too much information. He told himself that if he didn't read it properly then it was less of a violation; not that the thought eased his rising guilt. After a couple of minutes, he decided not to read anymore and just flicked through the pages, until the book fell open at a gap. Lewis looked at the writing and then noticed that a page was missing - torn out for some reason. He looked at the dates and noticed it had been an entry from sometime in 2001. He thought little of it and continued to flick through to the end where his eye was suddenly caught by one of the final entries.
The writing was scrawled, rather than written in Hannah's usually impeccable handwriting and there were several blotches of ink where the words appeared to have been washed away. Parts of the entry didn't read in sentences but seemed to be composed of fragments of thought. As Lewis read the entry, he felt something stir inside him.
I don't know, I don't know!!! Joe isn't who I thought he was.... What am I supposed to do now?
I know he's good... but of course I don't! What were those things? Should I go to the police? What was he doing with those terrible films?
I can't think! I feel like screaming.
They were real people! They were really killed!
He's not.... he's not who I thought...
The entry covered a page and a half and Lewis read it several times, piecing together the information slowly. He noted the date and realised the entry had been written the day before she had sent him the letter that he had found in his flat. Hannah had seen something that belonged to her boyfriend, Joe. It had obviously upset her, Lewis thought as he saw where the ink had run from falling tears. What had she found?
Terrible films
... but what kind of terrible films?
They were real people, they were really killed!
Lewis tossed the thoughts around his head and a frown wrinkled his forehead. A sudden realisation flooded his mind. Whatever Hannah had found in those 'terrible films' was what had got her killed - he was certain of it; Joe
was
the one who killed her.
He gazed out at the sea as a cold sweat began to form on his face, unhindered by the cool breeze. He felt his stomach twist into a tight knot and then shrink down. Anger began to replace the knot and Lewis felt himself struggling to keep control. Suddenly feeling too warm, he clenched a fist and punched the grass beside him, ignoring the pain as it echoed through his hand.
It was him, it was him.
***
The Golden Anchor was a pub that Lewis had heard of before. There had been a number of incidents to which the police had been called several times in past few months. One man had even been seriously injured after being stabbed following a disagreement that got out of hand. He had survived, but Lewis read in the newspaper that he had spent a number of days in intensive care.
When Craig Blaine's mother had told him that her son had frequented the pub from time to time, it had surprised Lewis. Craig was a big guy but, from what he had been told, Lewis didn't think he seemed particularly street-wise and would probably have come across as easy pickings for those inclined to take advantage of someone like him. Nevertheless, that was where Craig had seen the man with straggly blonde hair that had been seen outside Hannah's flat on the night of her murder - at least according to Craig's version of events.
As he entered the pub and walked over to the bar, Lewis was still convinced that Craig Blaine was
not
the man who had killed Hannah. It was a combination of what he had read in both the letter she had sent him, and reading the strange diary entry. But even more than that, he just had a
feeling
buried inside that was fighting to be set free. It burned his stomach and writhed persistently - a nagging and elusive itch. He was sure that Hannah's boyfriend, the mysterious Joe, was the true murderer and he felt a rising determination to find out exactly who he was.
He ordered a beer and glanced around the room. It wasn't particularly busy, with only a handful of other patrons scattered around. Two men were sitting further along the bar and sipped from glasses of beer while a middle aged woman with too much make-up was drinking from a glass of vodka and staring into empty space. Three younger men stood around a dim light that was illuminating an old pool table. Lewis noticed that two of them were staring at him, but they soon lost interest and returned to their game.
Lewis didn't see anyone who remotely matched the description of the man Craig had seen. He sipped his beer while standing at the bar and pretended to check his phone. Several people entered and left as he stood there, but still no one who had the straggly blonde hair Craig had described to his mother. Lewis finished his drink and called the barman over.
"Another one please," he said, pointing to the empty glass.
The barman, a balding man in his forties, nodded and began pour another pint.
"Nice out tonight?" he asked, glancing up at Lewis.
Lewis nodded, "Not bad, at least it isn't raining."
The barman nodded and a smile flickered on his face briefly. He finished pouring, placed the glass on the bar and took Lewis's money. As he did so, he leaned in close and looked past Lewis, tipping his head forward.
"You know them?"
Lewis didn't look round but could tell he was nodding in the direction of the three men by the pool table. "No."
"They keep looking in your direction, that's all. I just wondered."
The barman placed the money in the cash till and then returned with some change, handed it to Lewis and leaned forward as he had before. "Just keep an eye out. They come in here from time to time and can cause a bit of trouble occasionally.
”
Lewis nodded. "No problem. They won't find any trouble from me."
The smile flashed on the barman's face again as he stepped away, leaving Lewis to drink in peace.
Lewis took his glass and wandered over to a free table where he sat down, noticing the three men whisper between themselves as he did. Eventually they all continued their game of pool as one went to get some more drinks.
Lewis didn't look at them, and again, took out his phone and began to scroll through old messages. He paid little attention to the screen as the alcohol flowed into his system and his mind relaxed.
He sat thinking for almost two-hours, changing his drink and ordering a double whiskey, followed by several more. With each one, he tried to convince himself that it would be the one that held magical properties, and would finally numb the growing ache inside. He tried not to think of Hannah and stay focused, but his will power failed him and, as drunkenness took hold, his thoughts continued to revert to her murder.
