I roll my eyes, make my way over to the sink where I tip out the mug’s contents, ensuring I give it a good rinse and wipe around the rim. I’m forced to step over Louisa as I do, who mumbles something incoherent. I tut. If the police do their job correctly they may somehow discover I was here at the time of the crime. I don’t suppose they will though. Understaffed you see – another shameful consequence of our incompetent new government.
‘You’ll stay as you are. And please keep your voice down, I really don’t want the neighbours hearing.’
The hippy shuffles around on her bottom as if attempting to stand. ‘Are you actually listening to me?’ she asks, her breath now somewhat laboured. ‘I’m bleeding out. You’re going to need to get me to a hospital. Or at least let me call an ambulance.’
I slide my eyes down to the steak knife which lies discarded a metre or so away from her, a mental image playing out behind my eyes, one which consists of me bludgeoning her to death with it. At least then she might stop prattling on and on as if she’s the only one to consider. Unfortunately it would be far too messy and, although unexpected, I surmise that this alternative situation has unwittingly added an extra layer of authenticity to the staging. The hipster’s still somewhat useful, although it pains me to say it. No, her demise will have to wait; after all, patience is a virtue, and fools make mistakes ‘Give it an hour and then call the ambulance,’ I tell her, lowering myself into a crouching position ready to begin the process of waking up Sleeping Beauty. ‘It should all be over by then anyhow.’
‘An hour! You can’t leave me an hour! It’s gushing out!’
I suck on my teeth, her dramatics seriously starting to sour my palate. ‘Forty-five minutes at least. And don’t forget to explain to the paramedics that lovely Loulou here was threatening to throw herself off the nearest bridge just before she stabbed you. Don’t forget the stabbing part, please, I quite like that bit.’
‘No,’ she screams, her hissy fit conjuring up an array of strange grunting noises which makes me come over all queasy. ‘I won’t sit around and die. You said you loved me. You said we could be together; that we’d get rid of Louisa so me, you and Cory could be together for ever! You said I just had to do as you said and then I’d finally be able to have my baby!’
‘Deary, deary me.’ I reach over towards the knife, the handle fitting into my gloved hand like it was crafted especially for this purpose. The voice of God suddenly booms in my ear, his breath shaking the entire house. ‘You were only ever a disciple of mine, dear Magda, a way to spread the good news.’ I bring the knife down into her stomach, tilt my head to the side and smile. ‘Surely you must have realised that all disciples are persecuted eventually? Still… it was all for a good cause.’
‘Louisa… Louisa… come on now, up you get.’
I look up through half-shut eyes, see a figure crouched in front of me. Lips moving. Head tilting. Eyes alight with excitement. Familiarity fires off my brain stem but falls just short of recognition. ‘Who are you?’ I ask, the question clawing its way out of my mouth. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Louisa. Don’t be silly – it’s me. There’s been an accident. We need to get you out of here.’
The pain in my head radiates down my spine as I try to sit up, sights and sounds bending back into shape but remaining somewhat awry ‘What accident?’ I poke my tongue around inside my mouth, counting my teeth one by one to check none are missing. ‘Have I had an accident?’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘No.’ Tears well up in my eyes. Think, Louisa. Think. Think. One thing you can see. One thing you can hear. One thing you can touch. I narrow my eyes, see a cupboard door. A brass tap. A tub of unopened formula. ‘I’m in the kitchen.’ I sound strangely triumphant.
‘You are. But we need to get you out of here.’
A pair of arms wedges themselves under my armpits, hoisting me to my feet. ‘No, I feel sick. Leave me here.’ I slump down into the human aid, both of us falling backwards, my legs and arms as heavy as lead. I’m lightheaded, acid burning my throat’s lining. ‘Call an ambulance. I’m going to puke.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Laboured breaths vibrate into my eardrum. ‘Just move. Now. The ambulance is waiting. Stand straight and walk.’
Relief floods through me, visions of the ambulance parked outside a mirage in my mind’s eye. ‘Are you the paramedic?’
‘You know exactly who I am. Stop being ridiculous. Place your feet in front of you, there’s a good girl.’
The heels of my bare feet skin across the hard, cold floor, unable to find my footing. ‘Where’s Cory? Is he safe?’ My eyelids fall down over my eyes, my neck ready to buckle. I need to sleep. I can’t stay awake. ‘Cory…’ I manage to squeeze out his name through my teeth, prising my eyes open. ‘Can you tell me if…?’ A figure, dressed from head to toe in black, silences me. It lies motionless, a knife sticking out from its torso, its white, withered hand wrapped around the handle. I blink in rapid succession, a scream of terror starting somewhere in the base of my stomach. ‘No, no, no…’
‘She’s dead. You killed her. That’s why we have to go.’ The voice is calm, monotonous.
I’m suddenly outside, the cold wind whipping my hair up into a frenzy. It’s dark. So dark I can no longer see. ‘The ambulance,’ I stutter, feeling saliva trickling down the corner of my mouth. ‘Where is it?’
‘I’m taking you to the hospital. Get in the car.’
‘But what about Magda?’ Her name on my lips causes a memory to bleed into the forefront of my mind. ‘Oh God. I killed her. Am I under arrest?’ I bend my back and shoulders around in an attempt to face what must be a police officer, certain the car in front must be a police car.
‘Just get in the car.’ A force knocks me forward, a sound, a baby’s cry, floating out from the passenger seat into the night air. I spin round just as a car flies past the garden fence, illuminating the person’s facial features, sudden recognition turning my stomach to liquid. ‘Oh good God.’ I look back again at Cory, lying on the passenger seat of the car. ‘Why on earth do you have Cory?’
‘His name is Gabriel,’ says Doctor Hughes. ‘And I’ve come to take him home.’
‘The Angel Gabriel was sent from God.’ Luke 1: 26
‘It’s okay, Gabriel… Daddy’s here. You remember me, don’t you?’
I smile at my son before glancing over at Louisa who now lies face down on the back seat of my car. It pleases me that she remains motionless, her right arm hanging limply down into the footwell. I’d never have hit her if she’d just got into the car quietly. Honestly, women can be their own worst enemies at times.
Old Dee Bridge is less than a mile away, and I toy with keeping the lights off until I reach it. Although I very much doubt I’ll be pulled over or spotted at almost 11 p.m., you can never be too careful. Fail to prepare… well, you know my motto by now.
The interior light allows me to properly see Gabriel for the first time since he was reborn. It’s been difficult to live without him for the past two years, to hold on to God’s words that we would one day meet again.
I can see him properly now, his features all in perfect proportion, his eyes dark and oval. No longer am I restricted by the lens of my binoculars, or having to steal glances as I follow his useless mother through the city. He looks up at me, recognition shining in his eyes. Up close, he is more perfect than I remember him to be. His eyes are brighter, his skin whiter. God has obviously taken very good care of him in the time he’s been away.
‘Did you enjoy heaven?’ I ask him, seeing my own image reflected back in his pupils. ‘I’m your daddy. I’ve been waiting such a long time for you.’
He opens his mouth and cries, his porcelain skin blotching up. ‘Don’t be sad. It will soon be over. We just have to dispose of the vessel and then we can be on our way home. Here, look…’ I open the glove box and pull out his baby-blue blanket, his name embroidered on the side. ‘You loved this blanket. It was your favourite.’