Silk Over Razor Blades

  ***

  In the car, a plain grey vehicle, with a police radio in place of a CD player, she curled around her seat belt and gazed out the window, watching the world outside slide through her reflection. It blurred, much as Jason had when he’d plunged down with that dagger. The thought of his persistence made her cringe and test the integrity of the mental door holding his thoughts away from hers. Would it also protect her location? It hadn’t before.

  The car idled at a set of traffic lights and Lenina found her mind drifting, picking apart the encounter in her house with the care and attention she usually reserved for museum samples. Part of her baulked at the cold analysis of her actions, the rest was grateful for it.

  Nick was dead. Probably lying on a cold metal table to be prodded and poked by medical professionals with no idea of who he was or what he meant to anybody. He would mean nothing to them but a number and a name, probably written on a small piece of card, attached to a pale big toe with a thin piece of string.

  His face swam before her, the kind smile, crooked nose, dimpled chin. And his eyes: so very, very blue. The image changed. The smile became a scream. The chin a bloodied stretch of skin. Blue, washed out and empty.

  She tasted his blood. So sweet. So smooth. Gliding down her throat like the liquid silk and touching every part of her with its warmth. Better than food. Better than sex. Better than Pauline.

  The truth struck her so hard she thumped back against the seat, staring out the window while her fingers trembled.

  Two deaths. One night.

  I really am a monster.

  Where then were the tears? The frenzied confessions of guilt? There was no guilt, just the gentle pulse of pleasure as she remembered the blood. The taste. The smell. The power.

  Who would be next?

  She unclipped her seat belt and yanked at her door handle.

  Tristen gave a cry of alarm. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I can’t stay with you. It’s too dangerous. I might— he could—’

  The car slowed but didn’t stop. ‘Sit back, Lenina. Put your belt on.’

  ‘No. I have to leave. Let me out.’

  Stoney silence.

  ‘Open the door!’ Breaking the lock would be easy, as would leaping from the car even as it moved. She could roll across the tarmac and leap up unharmed, running before he had any chance of catching her.

  Her skin tingled with the need to flee.

  ‘I know you’re scared, but this isn’t the way. You need to let us help. Let me help.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I’ll protect you.’

  ‘What about everyone else?’ The words burst free before she understood them, but as soon as they were loose, Lenina knew the truth. Jason found her once; he could, and would, do so again.

  She turned her attention to the imagined door between herself and the ginger haired monster. Still in place. Still sturdy. For now. She added several chains, a padlock and a deadbolt to the projection in her head. The sense of solitude in her own mind deepened.

  Better, but not foolproof.

  Lenina faced Tristen. ‘I can’t go to Ramona’s house. What if he knows about her? She won’t be safe.’

  From him or from me.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘A hotel? B&B?’

  Shadows striped Tristen’s face and shoulders in a rhythmic pattern as he drove. His hands gripped the steering wheel at a textbook two-and-ten but his attention strayed from the road.

  ‘I can’t let you do that. You need to be with someone.’

  ‘So I can put them in danger too?’ Her insides writhed as she considered it. In that moment, she had no idea who was the bigger threat. ‘I’m not myself. And that man attacked me in my house. I won’t risk leading him to my friends.’

  Tristen pursed his lips. ‘Fine.’ He stamped the foot brake, bringing the car to a squealing stop on the side of the road. Ignoring the toots and waving fists from other cars, he performed a daring U-turn and sped off in the opposite direction.

  Catching her sidelong look he fixed his gaze on the road and squared his shoulders. ‘We’re going to my house.’

  Panic fluttered through her belly, followed by a stab of pleasure. Then confusion. ‘Is that allowed?’

  He wouldn’t meet her gaze, looking instead at the road with an expression of deep concentration. ‘You’ll be safe and among company. If this guy has been following you he won’t know anything about me. You can have my bed; I’ll sleep downstairs. However we do this, I’m not leaving you alone tonight.’ At last he met her gaze, pausing at a set of traffic lights to stare into her eyes.

  Even in the darkness the green of his irises was visible, bright and vibrant like a pair of emeralds. His hair billowed around his face, dancing in the gusts from the air conditioning.

  When the lights changed he returned his attention to the road. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?’

  ‘I will. Soon.’

  Lenina returned to watching the streets roll by.

  After hours of hustle and noise, question after question, and constant looks of pity on every face she saw, sitting in silence suited her. The pity bothered her most. While there was no way for the officers to know the truth of Nick’s death, knowing she didn’t deserve their kind looks and gentle words made her stomach writhe. That, more than any other thought, stopped Lenina reaching out to her friends and family. Instead she sat in Tristen’s car, enjoyed the steady rhythm of his breathing and the faint traces of peppermint on his breath each time he spoke.

  After ten minutes he nosed the car on to a drive lined with pruned hedges. Lenina gazed at the red brick, polished windows and small garden filled with flowers. Two small gnomes with silly hats and fishing rods stood to one edge of a tiny pond made of shiny plastic.

  ‘This is where you live? Seems . . . not like you. Too homely.’

  ‘I’m homely.’ Tristen appeared hurt.

  She patted his hand. ‘You’re young, good looking and single with a good job. I expected a bachelor pad.’

  ‘You think I’m good looking?’

  Lenina nibbled her thumb nail. ‘Did I say that?’

  He shrugged, though not without a tiny smile. ‘Maybe I misheard. But . . . I was married once.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Her name was Ava. Pretty woman. Smart. Funny. She looked like you too. Something in your eyes.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She died.’ The flat way he said it told Lenina that part of the conversation was over.