10. Toccata & Fugue
The statues lie broken, shattered destroyed
They can’t understand how to fill up the void.
Sarah-Jane was screaming. The duvet opened up before her and the little juicy bugs poured out, twisting and turning their bodies in a macabre dance. Hundreds of them - Millions of them - Short fat maggots of varying hue: white ones, pink ones, red, yellow, and brown. They climbed up her legs and onto her contorting body. Within minutes, she was covered. The humming of the little insects invaded her ears. The bugs themselves crawled into every orifice of her body: her ears, her nose and her mouth. She screamed again. The invaders wriggled and writhed all over her frame searching out her flesh. She gouged her nails into her thighs to brush them away. She thrashed at her torso pulling her tea-shirt, ripping it from her swarming body. The little beasts squealed as she knocked them from her sweating skin. – She was frantic. She could feel them in her hair and on her face – she ran from her room and into the shower and turned it on. The water cascaded down her wretched face and mingled with the salty tears of her panic. Her arms were still flailing about in a vain attempt to rid herself of the little monsters.
She slumped down in the corner of the shower and left the water streaming onto her infested body. Head held in her folded arms, she screamed and screamed again before entering the forest of her worst nightmare. Long tall elms lined the road “Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St Clements” but it was St Michaels that chimed out the hour. She plucked the fruit and took a bite. . It seemed to work the maggots seemed to be getting less. They were slowing down. They were dying. They pupated on her skin. She felt no movement on her flesh, no more crawling on her body. She breathed deeply, the panic subsided and sobbing she lay face down in the shower waiting for the water to cleanse her of the dead larva.
It was Enoch who finally turned the water off and took Sarah back to her room. He carried her gently and lightly on the wind and laid her on the primrose duvet. He whispered a sweet greeting in her delicate ears. Mark could see what was happening. He was watching from the shelter of the Elm trees. Enoch was with his Sarah-Jane, she was virtually naked and they were alone in her bedroom. Mark lunged at Enoch and Sarah could see the long blade as it plunged through Enoch’s side. A red river flowed and stained the virgin white sheets. A lake of crimson blood spread out from the corpse, flooding the duvet but then dries up. The wound was still pumping, but the blood had ceased it was hundreds of tiny spiders that now gushed forth from Enoch’s drained cadaver.
Sarah watched in horror as the spiders ran on their tiny legs about her person. The screams came back. She fought the rampant arachnids. She fought hard. She ran. She ran fast brushing the creeping things from her body. She removed the last of her clothes ripping them from her infested body. Frantically she ran through the house. She heard them behind her. They were talking, whispering. They were planning. She could hear them plotting. She knew they would soon all mass together joining to form one massive spider – she had seen it before, but never like this. She bellowed and screamed but nobody could hear. The noise of their little voices was deafening. They were taunting her, challenging her to turn around and face them. She ran down the stairs sobbing as she went; she could hear their laughter behind her. She bellowed and screamed but nobody could hear. She ran into the hallway, not daring to look in the mirror as she passed for fear of glimpsing the giant that surely now followed her. Her legs ached from the scratches, her arms were tired from fighting and tears blurred her vision. She opened the front door and ran down the path. She was crying. She was yelling, shouting. Were they still there? She could still feel them behind her. The square engulfed her. She could still hear their incessant chatter. She cried out once more asking them to stop. She ran across the uneven pavement the tar was cold on her bare feet. She screamed again. She didn’t see the people in the square, She didn’t see the passers-by. She didn’t see the Rover as it entered the square and she did not see the panic on the driver’s face as a naked girl frantically confronted him dripping wet, flapping her arms and screaming and screaming and screaming.
There, in the intricate cells of twilight, where no-one comes or goes
Only shadows are permitted to die
There, in the silent valley of the statues where the purple spiders wait
Only ripples on their web are alive
Here, in the soft glow of the neon shade, she walks the twisted highway
And screamed as he tried to brake!
For a second the whole square froze. The world stopped spinning and actually went into slow motion. Sarah-Jane lay motionless on the cold black tarmac. People all seemed to stop and stare, silently pointing. A hush pervaded everywhere. The wind no longer whistled, the birds stopped singing, the church bells of St Michael’s stopped chiming. The pigeons had all but disappeared and even the sky held back from rolling the clouds across its grey façade. It was only for a second, a millisecond even, but all was still….
……… A woman screamed and a crescendo of noise broke out. Pedestrians just passing by rushed to help the stricken couple. Mobile phones were ringing, horns were blaring as the traffic came to a grinding halt. Someone dragged Bob from the shattered Rover just before it exploded and burst into flames. Sirens were echoing through the side streets searching their way to the tragic scene.
By the time the paramedics arrived, a young man in a blue suit had taken charge, managing the crowd whilst another chap directed traffic away from the accident. A local resident had fetched blankets out for the victims. The crowd just watched. Sarah-Jane was static, her face blank, impassive, and her pupils wide but still, looking up at the ever-darkening sky. Bob was moving, but in a total state of shock, his disorientated mind trying to establish a link with reality. This town was bad, from the moment he first came here, the signs were there, (or rather they weren’t there, which brings us back to that ring road again!). The omens were definitely black. He had even read his horoscope at Mrs Greens’ guesthouse “An unnecessary journey will bring you trouble”. Of course, Bob did not believe in all that nonsense, but he was in trouble now all right – he couldn’t feel his legs! He felt someone loosening his collar, he could hear voices even though they sounded distant, and he felt the stretcher as they strapped him in it, but he still couldn’t feel his legs. He looked down, they were there – blurred and uncertain, but they were there .
“Why can’t I feel my legs” he screamed
“Don’t worry sir, we’ll have you sorted, very soon now” Bob did not hear the paramedics voice after that. The injection worked very quickly.
Bob remembered nothing about his journey in the ambulance, which was probably just as well.
The Chesford General Hospital stood on the north side of the city. The journey involved negotiating some nightmare traffic and numerous speed humps, designed for maximum discomfort of the patient, all along the six-mile route. There used to be an Accident and Emergency hospital in the centre of town, but under the new and efficient National Health Service it closed and a hotel now occupied the site. There still was a medical facility in the middle of Chesford specialising in what was now euphemistically called ‘Trauma Care’ but all accident victims and coronary care emergencies were taken first to Chesford General. They were left waiting around for hours to be assessed, recorded, filed and eventually treated and were then transferred back to the Trauma Centre or, depending on the severity of the driving and the number of sleeping policemen encountered, to the Spinal Injury Clinic on the other side of town. It is this procedure typical of most large towns and cities that serves to explain, at least in some small way, the ever-decreasing waiting list in our hospitals (or should that be deceasing) If you can sit up to drink tea, or dress yourself then you are discharged. You may need to come back to deal with anything you may have contracted whilst in there, after you taken your turn on the waiting list of course, but at least for now you can go home.
It was much later in the evening when Edna Sullivan discovered what had happened to her ’baby’. Returning home to find a sympathetic policewoman in her house, Edna was told the front door was open and they needed to secure the premises, Sarah-Jane was still alive but she was undergoing tests and would not be able to have visitors until tomorrow. Dr Patrick arrived shortly afterwards to sedate Mrs Sullivan.
“You need some rest – you’ll be no good to Sarah, or Mary else eh?” he said kindly and gave her the two tablets “Take these now with a drink of water and two more in six hours if necessary. I’ll pop back in tomorrow, and we’ll have more news then”
“Mary, where’s Mary? “ Edna managed through her tears
“Oh she’s okay she’s with her nanny, she doesn’t know anything yet, we thought it best.” The woman police officer held out a glass of water for Mrs Sullivan. Edna took the drink and swallowed the sedatives.
“Can we contact anyone else for you, what about Mr Sullivan” she continued.
“I don’t think that will be necessary” said Dr Patrick, who appeared to be taking charge of the situation. He knew the family well enough, and knew that wherever Frank Sullivan was he would not be much use to anyone. “I’ll send my nurse round to keep you company” he said to Edna and I‘ll tell her to inform Father O’Malley.
“Thank you doctor, you’re very kind; all of you. I don’t know what I do without you “Edna made her way upstairs with the doctors assistance and was soon asleep.
As sleep kissed her troubled brow and night besieged her mind
Blackness hides the dwindling light and she is left behind
Crying in her slumbers’ dream, yet she knew not why
Pools of empty tears were all that she could cry
Empty hands of silent love, an absent strain of life
Time, the ebbing surf recedes; a foaming haze of strife
Lucy sat in Caspers’ wine bar waiting to meet her soon to be ex husband Bob, sipping with lady like delicacy at a Port and Lemon. It was her third and last. She had decided that fifty minutes was long enough to wait even for Bob, after all it was a woman’s prerogative to be late. But she knew Bob and how much he relied on her. She knew that if she was not there to help him as she had always done in the past he would never make an appointment on time. How on Gods good earth had he managed all this time without her to do his washing, cooking and ironing? She even chose his clothes for him; he had terrible dress sense. Lucy realised that this was probably the first time in over six months that she had spent anytime thinking about Bob. She had not really missed him always having found herself too busy, but now she found herself waiting with anticipation like a young girl on that first date. The reason was of course, she really did want to see him.
She fingered the stone on the ring that Michael had given her and smiling to herself thought that she probably did as much for Bob unpaid as she now did for Michael on a salary. In addition, Michael was kind and loved her, though she supposed Bob did too in his own way. Michael showed his love with gifts, he was certainly more generous than Bob, and more affectionate. No, she had made her mind up Michael needed her. She would say ‘yes’ to Michael and start divorce proceedings. She finished her drink and went towards the door.
“Oh I’m sorry,” said Mark, apologising for colliding with Lucy as he entered Caspers
“It’s okay I wasn’t looking where I was going,” replied Lucy picking her bag up from the floor
“Let me get you a drink by way of apology” Mark offered.
“No it’s alright I was just going”
“Please I insist” Mark smiled despite his troubled mind.
“Port and lemon then please” Lucy thought it better to stick to the same poison, since cutting back on her drinking she had been very good with booze. She genuinely was not bothered about a drink now, but this boy’s face looked familiar. She recognised him from somewhere in her past - her recent past!“Haven’t we met somewhere before?” Mark said putting the drinks down on the small table by the door
“I’m not sure but …..Yes!” she said suddenly as the picture of Sarah-Jane crashing into Michael came into her mind, she remembered how taken Michael was with the young girl.” I have an excellent memory for faces but I just couldn’t place you before. Do you remember about two or three weeks ago outside the supermarket, I was with a chap in a wheelchair, Michael Sands, and your girlfriend……”
“Sarah-Jane” interrupted Mark as Lucy struggled to put a name to the face in her head “she fell over the chair,” he added recalling the incident. He went quiet as he thought about Sarah in the hospital.
“Yes, that’s it Sarah-Jane. How is she by the way?” Lucy asked warmly breaking the silence with polite conversation.
“Not well actually” Mark responded, “There was a very bad accident this afternoon in the square, she was run over by a car” Mark spoke in a low voice and Lucy could hear the tremor in it
“Oh I’m ever so sorry to hear that,” said Lucy wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up, but she was a genuinely compassionate person “Many others hurt?”
“The driver of the Rover looked in a bad way but no-one else was involved. They don’t even know who the driver was, he wasn’t local, Geordie I think someone said. It’s only just happened everything’s a bit of a blur at the moment not much information yet. You know how it is.”
Lucy stopped sipping her drink and stared at Mark - “Rover” – “Geordie” they were the words she heard; nothing else. “Bob drives a Rover,” she said aloud - and at that instant, she knew why Bob had not shown.
Lost in the forests of her conscience
Hand that beats the heart of love
Soft sweet murmurs of the memory
Has vengeance come from God above?
Silver leaves on sun-kissed pavements
Blowing in the silk blue sky
Death won’t answer any questions
She didn’t even say goodbye
Larry wasn’t expecting a pick-up. He wanted to get back. It wasn’t that unusual for him to have an extra drop suddenly thrust on him or even some returns that someone had forgotten to tell him about, but it was all a bit unexpected when Jack rang him to say he would have to call in at Hull on the way back.
“Stop whining! You’re on double time. It won’t take you long, there’s nowt on the road on Sundays” Jack was his usual likeable self. Larry grumbled and complained but knew that Jack was just the messenger and if the Fat Man had authorised it, he would have to do it. It must be important he thought to himself, the darts and a couple of pints in the Fox would have to wait. It’s not as if Larry was any good at darts anyway – his belly was not the officially required size.
The dirty narrow tracks at the rear of the docks took Larry into Dentons yard. It was strange that old Bill wasn’t there to great him – “Bet the tight bastards wouldn’t pay the old salt overtime” Larry said loud enough for ‘the tight bastards’ to hear had they been there. He clambered down from the cab and walked over to the tall sliding doors. Stacked just inside were four boxes, sealed with tape and marked in felt tip with the legend ’Pointers Inks’ Larry signed the returns docket put the top copy through the slot on the office door and loaded the packages onto the van.
He started the Transit and manoeuvred it back out on the road, whistling to himself and too engrossed to notice the dark blue Peugeot that followed at a discreet distance.