Love Lies Dying (36 page)

Thirty-two

The sound of a car engine woke him.

John opened his eyes and could see sunlight shining through the church. From where he lay on the floor, he could see across the church to the closed front door.

He was stiff and cold. And still wet from his urine.

But the sound of the car engine getting closer took his mind off his current situation.

He tried to shake his head, but his stiff neck wouldn’t let him. He wanted to make sure that the engine noise he was hearing was real and not a figment of his imagination.

But he was sure of it.

It was a car motor.

And it was getting closer.

He held his breath, praying that it was Zoe or Helen, hoping the car would come to the church and not just drive by.

The engine noise became louder.

And then John could hear the sound of the tyres on the gravel driveway.

Yes,
he thought.
She’s here. She’s back! Zoe’s come back!

Trying desperately to break free, John pulled his numb arms towards him once more, hoping against hope that finally they would break free of his bindings.

But the metal of the chair still held; his efforts were futile.

He didn’t want her to find him like this, pushed into a corner, face down on the floor. He wanted to greet her with open arms, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright.

But he couldn’t.

She would find him this way.

Helpless…

The engine noise was louder, echoing around the church now. John could feel the vibrations through the wooden floorboards.

Everything’s going to be alright.

And then the engine stopped.

Yes!

There was silence once more.

John realised he was holding his breath. His ears were straining for any further sounds as he tried to paint a mental picture of what was happening outside the church.

Come on,
he thought to himself.
I’m in here. In here!

But the silence continued outside.

John waited, staring unblinkingly at the front door, almost willing it to open on its own.

Nothing.

Hurry! Please!

Silence settled around him. He tried to look out the windows on the opposite side of the church. But from the ground, he could only see some of the trees that surrounded the church and the blue sky above. There was no sign of any movement.

No sign of anyone.

Please!

John peeled his lips apart and tried to lick them with his parched tongue. He took in a deep breath and readied himself.

“Help,” his dry broken voice barely registered above a whisper. “I’m in here.”

It was no use. If he could hardly hear himself, there was no chance of anyone outside hearing him.

He was
sure
he had heard the car engine. Almost positive. But as the silence continued around him, he began to doubt himself.

Maybe I imagined it,
he thought.
Am I going crazy now as well?

He closed his eyes, trying harder to concentrate on his hearing.

There has to be something…

The vacuum of silence continued.

Please…

As the silence continued, a tear ran down John’s face.

It’s over,
he thought, finally defeated.

And then the car door opened.

His eyes shot open at the sound and he sucked in his breath, as if any noise he made now would ruin any chances of being saved.

Did I really hear that?
he asked himself.
I did. I’m sure of it!

And then, as if to confirm his thoughts, he heard the car door slam shut.

Yes! Yes, I did! She’s back. Zoe! Zoe’s here!

“In here, Zoe!” he tried to yell, but his voice failed him again.

Silence.

Again.

No!

He listened again. His neck ached as he stretched his head around further. He stared with burning eyes at the front door.

Hurry, please!

He tried to rock his body in the chair, hoping to make any noise he could to attract attention, but his limbs were too numb and stiff and cold to help. All he succeeded in doing was sending jagged pain through his neck and head.

He stopped rocking quickly. He didn’t want to black out – not now.

This is your only chance,
he told himself.
Don’t blow it.

He listened.

Nothing.

No sounds.

He began to think his mind had been playing tricks with him again.

Maybe he
was
going mad.

Maybe it would be easier for me if I did...

Then the footsteps began.

He could hear them clearly. There was no doubt. The footsteps sounded loud as they crunched on the gravel and dirt outside.

They were real.

And they were getting closer.

Yes! Quickly Zoe, help me, please!

John’s muscles tightened as the footsteps came closer. His body ached but he didn’t care. He was straining, trying to reach out for her, wishing he could have his arms out, ready to run to her and hug her. Wanting to greet her and welcome her back.

His neck strained as his ears focussed on the footsteps. His eyes never left the front door as tears of joy began to build in them.

The footsteps stopped.

The light shining from the gap between the front door and floorboards was now split. He could make out two shadows under the doorway.

Yes, it’s real. I’m not crazy! I can see her shoes! She’s here to save me!

Another sound now, a rattle.

His eyes shot up to the door handle.

It was slowly turning.

Yes, yes! Come to me, Zoe. Quickly, please!

What if it’s not her?

It has to be!

What if it’s Fox?

No! No, it can’t be Fox!

His whole body was quaking now, the excitement and fear making him shake.

It
has
to be Zoe!

The door swung open.

John smiled, ready to greet her.

And then his jaw dropped.

He tried to scream, but his dry, useless throat wouldn’t let him.

Things would never be the same again.

Thirty-three

Zoe stood in the doorway, covered in blood.

She leaned against the open door. She was breathing heavily as her eyes, wild and wide, looked around the church, quickly surveying the whole building. One hand was still gripping the door handle, while the other held the doorframe.

John looked at her, and he couldn’t believe what he saw.

Her hair was dishevelled. Gone was the tight bun that had held her hair in place when she had left. In its place, her hair was falling around her shoulders and in front of her face, poking up in places and sticking out in others. Streaks of red-pink colour stained her golden blonde locks. It looked as if she had tried to wipe the stain from her hair, but had only succeeded in streaking it more. A few clumps of darker red hung here and there; looking dry and heavy.

Blood?

John didn’t want to believe it.

But what else could it be?

John dropped his eyes lower. The navy top that had hugged her figure so tightly now looked loose on her, as if it had been pulled out of shape. There was a rip in the material by the neck-line and what looked like three holes in one sleeve.

Zoe’s face and neck were stained pink too, just like her hair.

It must be blood,
John thought.

The bloody stain was circular and fanned out, like it had been sprayed there, right across her face and neck. But on her arms and hands, it had been spread into one long stain, as if she had tried to wipe it from her body but had been unsuccessful.

 Her blue jeans were totally covered in it too; long patches spread across both legs and down onto her shoes.

John stared at her. He didn’t know what to think or say.

Slowly, as her breathing became less laboured, Zoe took a step forward and began to close the door behind her.

As she did so, she turned herself around and her wild eyes looked up at the lectern above her on the wall, sweeping across it quickly as if searching for something.

The hair on the back of her head was also bloody.

What the hell happened?

The door closed with a click that sounded loud in the silence.

Zoe’s eyes moved from the lectern to the kitchenette.

Then, her eyes dropped to the floor.

At first John thought she hadn’t seen him.

She looked at him but it was almost as if she didn’t register he was there.

He didn’t know what to do, or say, so he just stared back.

And then she smiled.

The terrified look that had been on her face suddenly vanished and was replaced by her warm smile.

“Johnny?”

He tried to nod but it hurt too much. He smiled back at her instead.

“It’s really you?” she asked as she took a tentative step towards him.

He shook his head slightly, it was all he could manage.

But it was enough.

“Oh, Johnny!” she rushed over and knelt next to him. She leaned down and kissed the side of his face. “I thought the worst when I got here. I couldn’t see you.”

“It’s okay,” he said in his dry, cracked voice.

“My God,” she touched the lump on the side of his face, sending pain through his head. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m alright.”

“What happened?” she asked as she touched his hair and stared into his eyes.

“Long story,” was all John could say.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“It’s okay. Help me up,” he said.

“Of course.”

Zoe placed one arm under his shoulder, picking him up off the floor, and her other hand grabbed the back of the chair.

John felt better already as his neck and face were lifted and freed from the floorboards.

“You ready?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here we go, hang on.”

And in one fluid movement, Zoe lifted John and pulled him sideways. The chair clattered loudly on the floor and John’s body was jarred into place as both he and the chair were returned to an upright position. His head swam from the quick movement, but almost immediately he began to feel better.

Finally, he was in a sitting position again. He rotated his head, hoping to work the stiffness out of his neck. It would take a long time, but he didn’t care. He was thankful to be up off the cold wooden floor.

The sunlight was beating through the windows onto his back, its warmth helping his body recover, and it shone on Zoe’s fair skin as she leaned over him and looked him in the eyes.

He noticed there were tears in the corners of her eyes. He didn’t know if they were tears of joy or sorrow. He guessed he would soon find out.

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded.

She sniffed the air, “You had a little accident too.”

“I know,” his voice croaked.

Zoe ran a finger across his cheek and along his lips.

“And your voice? Damn,” she muttered. “I didn’t think to leave you anything to drink. How could I be so stupid?”

She turned from him and walked to the kitchenette.

“I didn’t think this through at all, did I?” she said over her shoulder to him.

John took a moment to look around at the church once more. He was sitting between the kitchenette bench and the end of the long wooden table. The phone that had caused him so much trouble was on the bench behind him now.

Not that it matters,
he thought.
I don’t need it now.

Zoe returned from the kitchenette with a glass of water.

“Here,” she said, holding the glass to his mouth. “Drink this.”

It hurt to drink, the mouthfuls felt like blades sliding down his throat. But he finished the whole glass quickly, gulping down its refreshing contents. A cold chill spread throughout his stomach and made him feel slightly queasy, but he didn’t care.

“I’ll get you another,” she smiled at him.

He drank the second glass just as fast.

“Better?”

He nodded. “Yes, thank you,” his voice sounded louder as it began to return.

Zoe placed the glass on the counter and stood in front of him. Her eyes were focussed on the floor and her hands were clutched tightly in front of her. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his.

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” she said. “There was nothing I could do.”

He looked at her and studied her face as the tears began to roll down her cheeks, taking some of the dried blood with them. He didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to hear what she had to tell him.

But he knew he had to.

Zoe wiped the tears from her eyes, spreading the moistened blood across her cheeks as she did so. She looked down at her hands and at the stains on her arms.

“Oh God,” she said as she rushed to the sink. “It’s even worse in daylight!”

She turned on the taps and scrubbed at her hands and arms.

John turned to his right and watched her.

She scrubbed hard at the stains, trying desperately to make them disappear. Water splashed onto the counter and floor.

“I can’t get it off my skin,” she said as fear spread to her face and she scrubbed harder. “I’ll never get it off.”

“Zoe.”

Her eyes darted to him. The fear in her face changed to a smile, then to sorrow.

“Oh, Johnny,” she turned off the taps and leaned on the kitchenette bench between them. She stared at him, her eyes deep brown pools of sorrow.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what happened.”

She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair.

“It’s so bad, Johnny, I don’t know where to start.”

“Start from the beginning,” he said. “I have to know.”

But I don’t want to…

Zoe nodded. She walked around to him and jumped up onto the kitchenette counter. Her legs dangled over the edge, right next to him, and her hands automatically went to her hair, where she began to braid her bloody strands.

John thought about asking her to untie him from the chair; to finally release him. But his body was more comfortable than it had been when he was on the floor. And it wasn’t as important as what Zoe had to say.

Untying can wait,
he thought to himself.
I need to know what happened first.

She turned to face him, “From the beginning?” she asked.

John nodded, “Yes.”

“You have no idea what I’ve been through in the past 24 hours.”

“Start at the beginning,” he repeated.

“Okay, Johnny,” she replied with a deep sigh. “From the beginning…”