Death Day (6 page)

    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 reached 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.

    Debbie leant over him and kissed his chest before looking into his face. He smiled up at her and stroked her cheek with one hand.

    'Maybe cataloguing isn't so bad after all,' she said and they both laughed, holding one another tightly.

    They lay there on the floor, naked, for a little while then Debbie said: 'I wonder what it's like to go through life without someone to love. Without someone who loves you?' She twisted the hairs on his chest into little spirals with her index finger.

    Lambert shrugged, 'I've never thought about it.'

    She smiled, 'What was it Shakespeare said, "It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." '

    'Something like that,' said Lambert, trying to suppress a smile.

    'What's so funny?' Debbie wanted to know.

    'You're very philosophical.'

    'Am I getting boring?' She looked into his eyes.

    He tutted and sighed, 'I might have to give that some thought.'

    She pinched him.

    'Ouch,' he said, sitting up, 'you bitch.'

    She giggled.

    'Assaulting a police officer is a very serious offence,' said Lambert in an officious voice. 'You have been warned.'

    'And what if I do it again?' she asked, teasingly.

    'I shall have to consider my verdict carefully.'

    Debbie kissed him on the cheek, 'How about an early night?'

    He agreed.

    

    

    Lambert sat up, sweat coating his body. He stared wildly around the room, his breath coming in gasps. Glancing down at the alarm clock he noticed that it was four A.M. The luminous arms of the clock glowed like gangrenous glowworms in the darkness. Beside him, Debbie stirred, murmured something in her sleep, and was silent again.

    As carefully as he could, Lambert swung himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He turned on the cold tap, filled the basin with water and splashed his face. As he looked up, a haggard face stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. The dark lines under his eyes looked as if someone had drawn them with charcoal. He peered down into the clear water and splashed more onto his face.

    When he was sure he had calmed down, he let the clear liquid out of the basin and padded back to the bedroom, pausing on the way to look out into the night. He could see nothing. Not a light anywhere, just the watery moon slowly being smothered by banks of thick cloud. He shivered, realizing that he was still naked, and hurried back into bed.

    He closed his eyes and waited for sleep, but it wouldn't come. No peaceful oblivion, just that same stubborn image. The one which had woken him in the first place.

    The car careening towards the lamp post, smashing into it. His brother hurtling through the windscreen, while he sat in the road watching.

    Morning was a long time coming.

    

    

    Maureen Bayliss piled the last of the breakfast dishes in the sink and looked at her watch. She sighed. Time to get the kids off to school. The washing up could wait until she got back.

    'Mum. Mum, I can't find my boots,' shouted little Ronnie Bayliss from the living room.

    Maureen hurried to the door and pressed a finger to her lips. 'Don't shout,' she rebuked. 'Your Dad's trying to get some sleep.'

    She looked up at the ceiling as if fearing that her husband, Jack, had been woken by their son's frenzied howlings. Jack worked nights at Medworths Foundry, and if he was disturbed while trying to sleep, he'd be like a bear with a sore back for the rest of the day. That she could do without. She told Ronnie that his football boots were in the kitchen and he pushed past her to find them, eventually stuffing them into the red vinyl bag along with his other games equipment.

    'Is Carol ready?' asked Maureen, glancing once more at her watch. 'We're going to be late.'

    A moment later, the hall door opened and Carol Bayliss emerged. She was a year younger than Ronnie, about six, and Maureen was pleased that they went to the same school so that the boy could keep his eye on her. Carol was a quiet child, withdrawn. Exactly the opposite of Ronnie. Just the type of child whom other kids seem to find a source of amusement. She herself had been to the school twice to report instances of Carol being bullied by older girls and she didn't intend letting it happen again.

    Now she helped the child into her navy blazer and straightened her pig-tails, kissing her lightly on the top of the head.

    Maureen peered out of the living room window and saw that the sun was shining, but she put on her leather coat just in case. There were dark clouds gathering to the east and she didn't fancy getting caught in a shower on the way back from the school. She struggled with the buttons, horrified to see that she was indeed putting on weight as Jack had told her. She breathed in and managed to button it, hardly daring to exhale for fear of the buttons flying across the room.

    'Everybody ready?' she said, and the kids scurried out of the front door before her.

    She followed, closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to wake Jack, and headed up the garden path. As she turned the corner, she couldn't help but notice that the curtains of the Mackenzie house were still drawn. It was unusual for June to be so haphazard, thought Maureen. She was usually a stickler for detail. They had lived next door to one another for the last ten years and had become close friends, both of them having their children about the same time. Now they walked, with the kids, to school every morning, did their shopping together and generally went about their business as one.

    Ronnie opened the gate which led down the path to the front door of the Mackenzie house and, as Maureen followed him, she saw that upstairs curtains were drawn as well. They've probably slept in, she thought to herself and reached for the brass knocker, smiling to herself, imagining June's panic when she realized what had happened.

    Maureen struck hard, stepping back in surprise as the door swung open. Ronnie was about to dash in when she grabbed him.

    'Let's go and wake them up,' he said, leering mischievously.

    Maureen suddenly felt uneasy. Why should the front door be open when all the curtains were drawn? Perhaps Ray had gone out early that morning and forgotten to close it behind him. Perhaps they hadn't locked it the night before, there had been a strong wind after all.

    Perhaps…

    Perhaps
what
?