A Peculiar Collection Page 5

already got someone new?” John shoved the door out of her grasp, and sent her flying across the hall. “And he’s wearing my bloody clothes! What did you do, move him in the night I left?” John circled Sam. He rolled up his shirtsleeves as he moved, flexing his muscles and sneering. “You’re really scrapping the barrel. How old is he – nineteen? Twenty?”

  “I-I-I don’t know,” Suzie mumbled from the floor.

  “You don’t know, you don’t know,” he repeated, his voice high and whiney. “Well I know something. He’ll not get the chance to vote.” John lunged.

  Suzie was not quite sure what happened next. Sam’s movements were so quick, her eyes couldn’t keep up. The vase disappeared from the hall table; the contents appeared in long streaks across the wall, the rim smashed off in one smooth movement. John fell to the ground, shards of porcelain embedded in his chest, his screams filling the flat. Sam held the remains of the vase in one hand and jabbed with it, as John crawled away, and towards the door. Alex appeared. He stood watching from the doorway to the kitchen, licking his lips in wide sweeps, and growling.

  “You’ve got two?” John shrieked. “Keep them off me!” He maneuvered himself onto the path outside, climbing to his feet as he crossed the threshold, and for a moment, there was silence in the flat. Then Sam strode once, twice, and broke into a run, chasing after John.

  “Holy shit!” Suzie looked for Alex. But he’d lost interest, and returned to the kitchen.

  Suzie ran to her bedroom, and threw on some clothes. Seconds later, she wavered at the front door, listening for a struggle, shouts, yells, anything to hint where they might have gone. But the street remained quiet. Mr. Collins strolled by, a newspaper under one arm, his little Labrador puppy straining at the leash.

  “Good morning,” he said, and tipped his hat at her before turning into the path next door.

  “Morning,” she replied, and retreated inside. Maybe if Mr. Collins had not seen or heard a fight, everything might be okay. John could not be badly injured, or he’d have bled all over her carpet – and certainly wouldn’t have run off down the street.

  She turned to the mess in the hallway, and collected up the remains of the shattered vase. Water dripped down the wallpaper and onto the carpet. After she’d rubbed that dry with a tea towel, she gathered the flowers for sorting, and returned to the kitchen. Alex had left both plates licked clean. No doubt gone to his favorite spot on the sofa, where the sun flooded in throughout the morning.

  Something scratched at the cat flap.

  “Sam.” Suzie ran over, her hands trembling as she fiddled with the lock, and opened the door wide for him. The smile fell from her face, her pallor swapping for a sickly green.

  Sam strode in and dropped a head on the tiles. He sat down next to his offering and looked up at her. “You like?” he asked, and smiled.

  Where Angels Sing

  The afternoon sun hangs low in the late winter sky. Birds sing for warmer days and swoop along a powder blue horizon in dark streaks. Trees tremble in the breeze, showing off their engorged purple buds, a testament to the lengthening days. And my car comes to a rest upside down, wheels spinning as they try to regain traction.

  In my head, I can still hear the screeching of the tires; feel my stomach falling through my legs as the car skid in the water. Raindrops from the compact grey cloud above are drumming a beat on my Toyota’s chassis in time to the red rain inside. Like a vice, the seatbelt squeezes me, distorting my torso into lopsided halves and all the while the pain grows. I open my eyes, my head aching from the rush of blood, and blink slowly I examine the inside of the car. All around me, chaos is gathered in piles. Used tissues mingle with pens, and various maps rub shoulders with half empty coke cans.

  Struggling with the seatbelt, I press my fingers desperately on the red plastic release button while the other hand grasps at the slippery edges of what feels like cheese wire. But I’m pressing too tightly against the strap, gravity tries to tug me back down to earth, and panic makes my legs push. All the while I gasp for breath. I notice small noises, then realize I’m whimpering for help. My murmurs bring me back to my senses, for long enough to know what I need to do, to free my body. Before I can forget, I relax, and pull my legs under the seat. It’s difficult, but I manage to lift myself towards the floor and release is a brief pleasure to be savored before I crash onto the roof.

  Among the debris I’m lying in, I find my mobile and pray that this section of country road has a signal. With shaking hands I clutch the handset and press the green button on the selection ‘home’.

  Somewhere, just a few roads away, two miles from my twisted metal prison, a phone rings. Its cold mechanical tone doesn’t care about the pain that’s growing. The hissing silence between tones hears me begging for an answer. Crunched into a contorted pile of limbs, I hold my breath, one more ring left before the answer phone steals my thoughts.

  “Hello?” Such a sweet word tickling my ear and kissing my mind, I struggle with my emotions. Forgetting to answer I burble incoherent turbulence back along the airwaves. “Hello, who’s there?” Your voice gains a hard edge. I think you’re about to slam the phone down.

  “It’s me,” I cry, finally stringing syllables together. I listen to you pause, perhaps to take in the stridency of my voice. “My car, it slid… crashed. I’m hurt. There’s blood everywhere…” A sticky wetness warms my back and a metallic taste coats my tongue as I speak.

  “Where are you?” his shout echoes in my head, urgent words coated with fear. “Where are you?”

  “At the top of the hill, on the tricky bend. I was driving too fast and spun the car. The sun was in my eyes and I didn’t see the flood…” I sob as a fresh wave of pain crashes over me. “I wrecked the car, I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t give a toss about your car, just hang on…” I can hear you on your mobile, speaking with the emergency services.

  A break in the clouds releases the sun at such an angle that light barrels in through the windscreen and blinds me. It flickers though the rain that still pelts the car. I close my eyes, but the darkness is too comforting, calling to me, insisting I stay its inky embrace. With enormous effort, I force consciousness.

  “Tell the kids I love them, and how I’m sorry for all the times I yelled,” I say, hoping you have the landline up to your ear. You pause in your information giving.

  “Why are you saying that?” He sounds hurt, like I should know better. The problem is I do, but his words add to the cuts and bruises.

  “I’ve always loved you, always, nothing else matters…” I say, trailing off as I catch sight of my left leg, it’s broken, shards of white bone pierce my black tights. Strangely, I’m annoyed at the ladders streaking up and down what remains of my leg.

  “Shut up!” he yells. I’m sure I can hear tears mixed in with his words, and I’m touched. Even the births of our children failed to steam my hard man’s eyes. “They’re on their way. The ambulance is coming, just hold on!” He’s shouting again, ordering my body to obey. But it’s going through a rebellion, the pain is lessening, the compromise - a silver fuzz that’s stealing my vision.

  “I love you,” I whisper as the world loses its signal.

  It seems as if I only blinked, but things have changed. I’m now high above the car and it takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing as I haven’t seen many cars up the wrong way. Like a balloon I float in a cloud of ambivalence over the flashing lights as they assemble. Bees are gathering to the honey pot, a swarm of bodies pulling mine free from the wreckage of my car. They hunch their shoulders at the persistent rain and two figures in green overalls pound at my chest and pump unnecessary air into my lungs.

  I smile and look away. The sun on the horizon has been replaced by a sparkling city of crystal, a blinding white vista that beckons to me, insistent, and obediently, I bob through the air towards the vision. The confusion of human life is fading, leaving me only with satisfaction. Worries are now gone, guilt is forgotten. I wonder wh
y I’d bothered to drive so fast.

  My chest expands and pain surges under my skin. I stare at my front and frown, not understanding. Raising my head, I seek out the crystal city and its variegated silver beauty, but it’s gone, replaced by dirt and blood and confusion, noise and shouting that insists I stay.

  With a gasp, I return fully to my injured body, and watch the unwelcome and harsh reality of life as it rushes about me. It’s too much, the translucent beauty of the vision I had cries for me, and as the paramedics force my breath back into me so I tear at the methods. Saline solutions go flying and I choke and gag pulling out the tube they forced down my throat. The compress on my leg takes more work. Two men are trying to stop me now, but I rip at the bandages with the last of my strength and blood pours freely. Behind me, a machine screams in a solid tone and the paramedic starts pumping at my chest again.

  I wonder if later, they’ll say I died with a smile.

  But as my body fails, shadows congregate around me. Terrifying inky shapes creep out of the bushes. They’re waiting for their chance, malicious intent oozing out in panic inducing waves. Desperately, I try to levitate into the sky, and back to the crystal city.

  Now the creatures are slithering under the vehicles that encircle me, like inky spills on the tarmac. I don’t