Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (22 page)

‘Hello?’ she says eagerly.
Let it be her.

‘Donna, I was starting to worry. Satori’s been here. He might come to you,’ says Freya.

‘He’s already been here. He smashed the front door.’

‘Shit! Are you okay?’

‘He didn’t get in…You wanna come over?’ Donna asks.

Silence. ‘I-I can’t. I can’t…it’s too…oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.’

‘I understand,’ says Donna.

‘Raven was my best friend. She was like a…’ The words trail off into harsh and rasping sobs from a throat, which burns from hours of crying.

‘I’m sorry,’ Donna replies.

‘Do you want to come here?’ Freya asks.

‘I’m not sure I could leave the flat.’

‘Ivan’ll pick you up if you want,’ Freya offers. ‘You should come. Get out of there for a while. Please.’

Donna looks towards Sarah’s bedroom door. It hangs ajar but the clothes and bed cannot be seen, only darkness.

‘Please come,’ Freya says. ‘We’re worried about you.’

Donna nods. Then she remembers the telephone in her fist. ‘Okay then.’

Returning the handset to its cradle, Donna pauses. Has she done the right thing? What if she’s out and Sarah comes back or phones?
Mobile, where’s my bag?
Her memory holds no key. It is too full of Sarah’s face. Starting in the kitchen, she searches the flat and finds it squatting in the living room, half hidden by shadows. She grabs her bag from underneath the coffee table and checks her phone. One missed call and one message. Her heart somersaults as she hurriedly checks who they’re from. Freya, of course, she must have tried to reach Donna on her mobile first. Putting the phone back in her bag, she checks her keys are there.
Do I need anything else?
The doorbell rings.
He was quick!
Taking her bag and coat, Donna walks down the stairs. Broken glass covers the floor. As a piece crunches beneath her boot she feels frightened by the silhouette beyond the door.

‘Who is it?’ Donna asks.

‘Ivan,’ Ivan replies.

Grabbing the keys from her bag, she tries to unlock the door but her hand shakes violently. Putting the palm of her left hand against the wooden doorframe, she tries to guide metal into metal with her right. On the third attempt she stops and rests the tip of the key against the metal surround. Keeping the pressure steady, she drags it towards the hole. The sound the key makes as it scratches the metal is the sound her soul has made since she was told that Sarah had killed Raven: a dull, insistent scream. Closing her eyes, she tries to block out the world but images of Sarah and Raven fill her head.

‘You okay?’ asks Ivan.

‘I’m just trying to get the key in the lock. Give me a minute.’

‘You wanna pass me the keys and I’ll unlock the door?’ he asks.

A tanned forearm appears through the broken panel. She takes a step back so that his fingers do not accidentally touch her shin. Shards of glass glint evilly beneath his arm and for a moment Donna imagines the hand of God reaching towards her through the starlight. Will he save or punish me? The fingers wriggle and Donna remembers the keys. She hands them to him.

The door opens inwards and she steps aside to let it swing past her. In the doorway stands Freya’s brother. Donna swallows. It’s like she’s never seen a man before, his kind face, slightly puffy from his own tears, his strong shoulders and scruffy thick blond hair. The urge to hold him, to fuck the pain away in his arms makes her body shake even harder. Maybe he knows how she feels because he holds his hand towards her.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ he says softly. ‘Freya’s worried sick about you.’

Donna nods and concentrates on walking towards Ivan’s Citroen. She hears him lock the door behind her then he is at her shoulder and her mouth feels dry again. She wonders whether he can hear her panting. At this moment her plan to avoid the complications of sex, to be in charge of her own life and not let it go out of control, seems pathetic. How can denying part of your self be a positive thing?
Just ask him. Tell him you want him, need him, to make you feel better.
Ivan opens the car door for her. His skin, as it moves past her face, smells like sage. She closes her eyes and licks her lips. Stepping into the car, she decides to keep her mouth shut. In silence they sit, side by side, as Ivan guides the car back to his parents’ house.

Chapter 33

‘Mum,’ Freya shouts into the silent house.

There is no reply. If her mother hears she does not answer. Freya hangs up her jacket and sits on the bottom step staring at her boots. With a sigh she starts unbuckling them. Her chest is tight with unshed tears.
Okay, so this is freedom. This is what I have been craving. So why do I feel miserable? Mum bursts into tears every time she sees me. I’m a disappointment. She hates me. I don’t blame her. It’s like it was five years ago. Does she feel she’s lost me too? Does she blame herself?

The day after her mother had found her in the garden, leering through her brother’s window, Freya tried to tell her that it wasn’t what she thought. Childish tales of spying and war games spewed from her mouth. They came too late.

Lilith calls to Freya. She calls through the pages of the book and in dreams of lust and blood. She tells Freya she can make things better. Freya knows it’s a lie. Lilith cannot help her repair this wound, only make her forget it ever existed. She doesn’t want to forget, not yet.

Wandering into the kitchen, she sees her mother smoking by the window.

‘Mum, I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?’ Freya’s eyes plead.

Her mother tries to focus on her face. Her stare is ugly, hungry for a sacrifice. She has been waiting for this moment. Freya feels herself falling into a trap and struggles like a fish on a hook.

‘I think you should see someone,’ her mother says. It’s all she says before she walks away.

Freya reaches for a chair and slowly lowers herself onto the seat.
My mother thinks I’m insane.
Freya stares at the doorway where her mother stood moments ago.
What should I do? Is this choice mine, or can she force me into therapy?
Do I want to be free of these feelings?
The overwhelming desire to tear her brother’s clothes with her hands and his skin with her teeth, it could be something she needs. Without that, perhaps she would no longer be Freya, but some hollow shell simply pretending to be her. The powerful need to feel not only him inside her, but also her goddess, may be the only way she can feel whole. She doubts she would feel happier if every nerve ending wasn’t screaming to be touched and every breath wasn’t a lust filled pant.

Visions of nothing but darkness and a slumped figure drooling in her lap fill Freya’s frightened mind. She shakes her head.
No.
Lilith I accept your help. I welcome you into my heart and mind. Make me strong.

Freya leaves the house behind. She considers heading towards Raven’s but decides there is no point, she cannot help.
Satori? No, he would call my brother. I don’t know anyone else.
The thought of visiting Dave makes her shudder. She must do this alone. Skirt waving like a flag in her wake, she runs to the place she feels closest to her new sister: the lake in the park and the weeping willow where she sat and watched Raven and Ivan. It seems so long ago when she drew the symbol on the boathouse. She wonders if it’s still there. Staring at the spot, since repainted, she feels it glow hot beneath the surface. Digging into her pockets, she finds no pen to remake the mark. She looks around for something and finds a cigarette stub on the step.

The mark is easy to reproduce. She holds its shape in her head and moves her hand slowly. Curves and waves, dots and points, all are reproduced perfectly. When the work is done she squats in front of it and empties herself of all but the drawing. The scrolls unfurl inside her body. The lines are like fingers. The sharpened points penetrate her skin. Her fear vanishes and she feels warm. She licks her lips and lets the image’s journey continue. It brushes her shame away with gentle strokes. Her body and mind are pure. Love can never be shameful. Self-love, love for others and the need to make connections are the most natural, most holy feelings of all.

When Freya opens her eyes she sees the world around her once more. It feels brighter and smells sweeter than she remembers. Taking great gulps of air, she sucks them greedily into her lungs. Her eyes absorb the beauty of the trees and grass.
How many shades of green are there?
She has never seen such colours until this moment. The lake shimmers. Its surface looks silver and she is certain the sun is dancing across its gentle waves. A breeze, fragranced by late roses, caresses her hair and face. Its touch is gentle, reverent almost, as if nature worships her just as she admires its hypnotic beauty. She wants to taste the world. Lick the trees, drink the water. She runs excitedly around the park experiencing anew things she had ignored since leaving toddler-hood. She hears laughter then realises it is her own. Grey and brown people are blisters on the park’s beauty. They walk their dogs or run along the labyrinthine pathways. She sees them but they lack lustre compared to the surreal hues of the plants and earth. She passes them, neither noticing nor caring if they watch her in confusion or fear. Exhausted she lets her knees fold beneath her and falls to the ground. Rubbing her face in the grass, she smells its sweetness. Dew cleanses her face. Kissing the crumbly dirt, she laughs.

‘Are you okay, love?’ someone above her asks.

Realising she has forgotten how to speak, she nods.
Surely my laughter must show him I feel fine.
His shadow blocks the sunlight from her skin.
Why doesn’t he move away?
She looks up and sees a man with a caring smile painted across his face.

‘Let me help you up,’ he says, holding a hand towards her.

She shakes her head and crawls a few feet away. The sunlight warms her skin again and contentment fills her. She hears the man walk away.

‘They’re on their way,’ she hears another voice tell him.

Looking up, she sees two men staring at her. They stand about ten metres from where she lays.
Who is on their way
? Something tells her she does not want to be here when
they
arrive. A voice in her head urges her to run. She pushes herself to her feet and sprints across the grass. Without thinking she runs home. She leaps up the stairs taking two at a time and throws herself onto her bed. She thinks about the park, remembering everything. Imagining that her mattress is a bed of moss in the centre of a forest, she falls asleep.

Chapter 34

Donna wakes to a sharp cracking sound. It is the noise of glass breaking underfoot. Someone is in the house.
Which house?
For a moment Donna isn’t sure where she is. Her eyes adjust to the bright sunlight streaming through her open curtains. She is at home in her own bed.
How did I get here?
The question will have to wait, the more urgent one being—
who is downstairs?

Pulling back her duvet cover, Donna realises she is fully dressed. Her shoes have been removed but her skirt and blouse cling to her body in a combination of sweat and static. Clumsily, she tries to creep to the top of the stairs before the intruders reach the landing. She grabs a discarded stiletto boot as a weapon. With her free left hand she grasps her door handle. Her body shakes.
Will the door click as it opens? Will I be heard?
As she pulls the door towards her a few inches she catches a glimpse of an old woman, dressed in various shades of brown; her white hair is scraped back from her narrow forehead. Donna opens her fingers and the boot falls, with a thud, to the floor. The woman looks up and sees Donna’s face in the gap between the door and jamb.

‘You must be Donna,’ she says.

The woman’s voice carries none of the emotion Donna thinks she should feel. It is cold and sharp.
Is this what Sarah’s parents had expected? Was the murder simply a natural culmination of Sarah’s life choices in their eyes?
Donna shudders.
Surely no one can be that prejudiced?
Perhaps the woman is simply empty of tears. Too many have been cried over the past days.
Donna can understand that. Her own chest feels hollow; although she knows she has plenty more tears to cry.

‘I am. I’m so sorry,’ Donna says.

The woman exhales ‘Huh,’ and turns towards the top of the stairs.

An old man with granite hair turns around the corner and touches his wife’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Donna…Which was her room?’

‘Oh, um…here,’ Donna says, pointing at the room at the end of the hall. ‘I’m afraid the police left it in a mess.’

‘You’ve been in there?’ Sarah’s father asks.

Donna blushes. ‘Just for a moment.’

He nods and follows his wife along the corridor towards Sarah’s door.

‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’ Donna asks as they pass her.

The man turns towards her. His eyes are hazel, a startling combination of gold and green. Donna feels herself shrivel under the weight of their stare. She pulls her clothes around her, trying to create a barrier between herself and this man’s disdain.
He hates me. I have never spoken to him before, and yet he hates me.

‘Two teas, milk no sugar.’ Then he passes without another word.

Donna sinks to the floor. She crouches there, her fingers gripping the carpet, trying to calm her racing heart. Sarah’s father terrifies her. A momentary sense of relief that she never had the opportunity to join his family fills her head.
Poor Sarah.

She struggles back to her feet and heads for her wardrobe. Grabbing a baggy jumper and ankle length skirt, she starts to get changed. Her mouth tastes bitter. She will brush her teeth while she waits for the kettle to boil. The kitchen is tidy. The washing up all clean and put away.
Did I do that?
She fills and starts the kettle then tiptoes to the bathroom. She can hear people moving around in Sarah’s room. Low whispers scratch at the peripheral of her hearing. She wonders what they are saying, but dares not eavesdrop. Bolting the bathroom door behind her, she feels a little safer, a little less the intruder in her own home. Her purple toothbrush rests beside Raven’s black one. The neat little hole, which used to house Sarah’s is empty. She douses the brush with water and squeezes too much paste onto its bristles, then scrubs her teeth until her gums bleed. Pink foam fills the basin. She knows she should stop now, open the bathroom door and make the cups of tea, but she just keeps brushing. Her eyes drip tears.