Entwined

Entwined

Issy

“Let’s make a baby,” I say.

Lifting my head, he kisses me gently, each light touch of his lips on my mouth increasing the urgency of my need. Tongues entwined, eyes shining with love, we undress one another. Laying on the top of him, my breasts pressed against his chest, our bodies melt together with desire...

A sharp noise shocks me into consciousness, the dream still echoing selfishly in my head like distant thunder. As I get up, queasiness hits. The persistent ringtone continues to shrill, bringing me back to earth.

“Hello?”

“Ms Lavigne? Are you there?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“It’s Edge Security here. Is everything okay, Ms Lavigne? Your alarm has been activated.”

The alarm?

I look around. It’s a battlefield. Hundreds of shattered pieces of glass shine on the carpet with visible blood trails.

What happened? A flash memory hits me. A fight. Screams. A man. A woman. And a third person. Me?

My head hurts.

“Hello? Ms Lavigne?”

“I, I think you might need to call the police. I’ve got a feeling something terrible has happened.”

“I’ve just triggered the police response alert. Please stay calm. They should be there within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Are you hurt, Ms Lavigne?”

Injured? I just don’t know. The throbbing inside my head is the only palpable pain right now. At the touch, my fingers brush something sticky and warm. Blood? Moving on further down my face, the ride is bumpy. There’s definitely some swelling, congealed scratches even, from someone else’s finger-nails. My whole body aches. Badly. More glimpses of the struggle surface. Suddenly, everything comes flooding back to me with crystal clarity.

“Ms Lavigne? Is there anybody else I can call for you?”

“No, don’t worry, I shouldn’t have called,” I say dropping my phone. A searing pain breaks apart my soul; salty tears roll down my aching face. I want to go back into the living room, but the thought of it is too much to bear. The room spins. Gasping for air, a silent roar comes out of my mouth followed by hysterical sobs.

Nearby, the scream of the approaching police siren matches my howl. I force myself up and look in the mirror. My clothes are ripped apart, blood stained. My olive-skinned face has turned a ghostly white, badly bruised with swelling around the left eye and a slightly bluish lip. I touch the wound on my head, it hurts.

The buzzing intercom brings me back to reality.

“Officer Novak,” a middle-aged man says as I open the door. “Ms Lavigne. I’m responding to your alarm, is everything OK?”

“No,” I reply, lip trembling.

“Ms Lavigne, may I come in?”

Knowing I have no choice, I lead the way to the living area, but stop before reaching the door. My body starts shaking, my heart pounds like a drum in my mind. Confusion and vulnerability slowly give way to remorse and shame.

“It all happened so fast. I just acted…”

“Is there anyone else in the house with you?” Officer Novak asks.

“Yes, I mean no, not anymore, it’s just me” I answer.

“Okay. Just to be sure, Officer Callahan here will do a full search of the premises. In the meantime, let’s start at the beginning. Are you able tell me what’s happened?”

The flashback of blood splattered across the white living room carpet returns to me.

“Ms Lavigne?” Officer Novak places a hand on my shoulder. I jump at the contact.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you. Where’s your kitchen? I think a hot drink will do you good.”

“Yes.”

When I reach the end of the corridor, I realise it is the way towards the bedroom, not the kitchen. I turn around. Officer Novak looks at me quizzically.

“My apologies, I’m still slightly disoriented.”

“That’s ok… hey, I didn’t realise you were bleeding, let me call a paramedic.”

I look down at my blouse; there’s blood. The realisation makes me lose my balance. I fall into the arms of Officer Novak. For a moment, my eyes lock onto his; an inexplicable curiosity mixed with an acute neediness overwhelms me. But the brief feeling of warmth is quickly replaced by a piercing chill. The brief sympathetic look in his eyes disappears. Professional distance. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my body.

“I think I’d better sit down.”

“Good idea. Where’s your bathroom?”

“Please call me… Issy. It’s on your left.”

When he comes back, Officer Novak hands me a towel and tells me to press it against the wound until the medics arrive. My stomach tightens at the pressure and nausea creeps in.

“Let’s get that coffee, shall we?” he offers, holding me steady.

As we reach the kitchen, I edge myself up onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

“May I?” Officer Novak asks, pointing at the coffee machine. I nod. “This is an amazing piece of machinery you’ve got here, Ms… Issy,” he continues pressing the touch screen. “Milk?”

“Black please.”

“Maher, over here,” Officer Novak shouts at the arriving paramedics.

“What’s up Novak?” Maher asks.

“This is Ms Lavigne. Looks like she’s been stabbed.”

Like a good girl, I lift my shirt. There’s a horizontal knife laceration across my stomach. The examination of the gash and contact of her cold hands against my skin only exacerbates the tightness in my body.

“You’re in luck,” Maher concludes. “Although impressive, it’s shallow. You won’t need stitches, but I’m going to clean the wound for you and put some antibiotic ointment on the cut. I’ll use some closure strips to keep it tight and dress it with a sterile bandage.”

“Thank you,” I manage to say before a cold sweat washes over me. “I think I’m going to be sick…” Officer Novak pulls out a paper bag from his coat pocket just in time. I wretch into the bag.

Once it’s over, I clean myself up with some paper tissue that miraculously appears out of his pocket. The paramedic and I stare at him in puzzlement.

“You’re awfully prepared,” Maher says.

“Let’s just say, I’ve learnt the hard way,” Officer Novak offers.

A childish laugh suddenly escapes me.

“Well, at least you’re looking healthier,” Maher giggles as she picks up her medical bag. “Do you need me for anything else, Ms Lavigne?”

“No, thank you. I’m good,” I reply, a smile still playing on my lips.

Before leaving, Maher whispers something in Inspector Novak’s ear.

Unblinking, Officer Novak stares at me with cold hostility. His jaw clenches, his icy gaze slices through me.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask hesitantly.

“Nothing for you to worry about right now,” he replies, his mouth softening into an over-bright smile. “Anyway. Are you ready to tell me what happened earlier?”

“If we must,” I respond. “To have to relive the whole drama again is...”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. Indeed.”

I take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee. In spite of its acidity and tired flavour, the caffeine kicks in immediately.

“Have you ever felt like there’s a part of you missing, Officer Novak?”

“I can’t say I have. No. Why do you ask?”

I’ve experienced a sense of loss all my life, a yearning void that never leaves me. Growing up in an orphanage from five to ten, at times my loneliness became so acute that it developed into a psychological pain. At the age of six, I manifested an imaginary friend. Lucille. She was fun to start with, a creative way to fill a hole; someone to play with when nobody else would. Slowly she became a permanent feature of my childhood; an unbreakable bond that lasted for years. But eventually over time, she faded away.

“Issy!”

“What?” I look up surprised. “I’m sorry; I was just remembering something...”

“Anything related to the assault?”

“No.” I’m just deflecting the inevitable. “My apologies.”

“Let’s move to the other room so you can walk me through what happened?”

“Do we have to?” I lament childishly. “I just can’t face it… perhaps it was just a bad dream that turned into a nightmare.”

“What makes you think that? The laceration on your body seems real to me. It’s probably your brain strategising and finding ways to avoid reality, even denying that anything happened,” he tells me.

As we walk closer to the crime scene, my inner monologue fires up: What have you done? You’re going to get caught. There’s no coming back! I’m unable to rationalise the thoughts, to shut the voice down; it’s like interference that causes the radio to keep switching from one station to another. I put my hands over my ears; the voltage is unbearable. I can feel Officer Novak watching me. Dizzy and sweaty, I let my hands drop.

“Shall we?” Officer Novak asks, showing me the way towards the living room.

“I can’t…”

“Open your eyes,” he says.

“No…”

“Please, look.”

Blinking my eyes open, my brow furrows. “How can that be?” I ask turning to him.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t understand!” I shout searching the room. “I’m not crazy!” I continue possessed.

It looks as though a tornado has brought the living room to the ground; a shattered glass table, artefacts strewn all over the place, and blood. So much blood.

“Did the paramedics take them?” I falter.

“What are you talking about?”

“The bodies.” In my mind’s eye I see Zander, his handsome lifeless body, lying next to a woman on the carpet like two macabre mannequins in a slaughterhouse. My husband. His lover. The thought of their bodies, frozen in time, prostrate on the floor makes me flinch. “Impossible…,” I mumble to myself unable to reconcile the reality with my recollection of events. I scan the room once more.

Rothko’s abstract red painting Untitled hanging on the wall no longer looks out of place; in fact, it blends in perfectly.