Lucy sat on the steps of the basement thinking through the last few days. Was she cursed? She had gone to such pains to get things just right: why weren’t things turning out as they should? It all went downhill after she admitted to killing Harry Edmonds. But she had no choice. He would have found them. Men like that always did. And Emily had been so noncommittal about leaving; it was just a matter of time before she went crawling back. That was why it had to be just the two of them, without the distraction of other family members draining her affections. Not that Harry was that affectionate a spouse. From what Emily had told her, Lucy had done her a favour. It was why she paid Harry a visit after taking Emily to her special place.
She had left her finger on the doorbell longer than she should, as if she was injecting every bit of frustration into the stiff plastic buzzer. The door – which should have been her door – was opened before her. A gruff-faced man stood there wiping some crumbs from his shirt before giving her the once-over.
‘Hello, can I speak to the lady of the house, please?’ Lucy had said. ‘I have some good news I’d like to share with her.’
‘There’s no lady living here; you must have the wrong address,’ Harry had said, before attempting to shove the door closed.
But Lucy had come too far to take no for an answer. Shoving her foot in the gap, she raised her voice. ‘I believe you’re mistaken. Your wife entered our prize draw and won a necklace,’ she said, rattling the bag which contained a long smooth box.
Harry extended his hand. ‘She’s out. Give it to me and I’ll pass it on.’
‘I’m afraid I need a little bit of paperwork completed to say I’ve handed it over. Can I come in? It won’t take a minute.’
‘She’s visiting her mother. I don’t know when she’ll be back. Leave your card and I’ll get her to give you a call.’
Lucy paused. It was the pause, the flicker of anxiety in her blue eyes that gave Harry the edge, the recognition. She knew that now. Because he had seen that look before.
‘On second thoughts, why don’t you come in?’ he said. ‘I’ve got a phone number here somewhere.’
Lucy smiled, allowing herself into the hall. A fresh bouquet of lilies carried a welcoming scent. She brushed past them into the living room.
‘It’s not often she has visitors. I’m sure she’ll be disappointed she’s missed you. Why don’t you have a seat?’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy said, but chose to stand. She had been here once before: when Harry was out. Emily had been tense, begging her to leave before her husband returned.
Harry folded his arms. ‘Now how about you tell me where your mum really is?’
Lucy gasped as he turned and locked the door. ‘How did you know?’
‘She told me you were pestering her. What do you want? Clothes? Money? Take them; I’m glad to see the back of her.’
That explained a lot. ‘So you knew about us?’
Harry gave a bitter laugh. ‘You should never have come back. She was happy until you turned up.’
‘No she wasn’t! You made her life hell; she told me.’
‘The best thing she did was get rid of you,’ Harry sneered. ‘I gave her some order in her life, pulled her out of the gutter, despite her being used goods. Still, I don’t expect you would understand that, with your background.’
‘You know nothing about me,’ Lucy spat. ‘If it weren’t for you, Mum and I would be happy. We could have had a good life, but you forced her to give me up.’
Harry threw back his head and laughed. ‘I know that you’re poison. Evil in its purest form. I was protecting your mother by insisting she get rid of you. But here you are back again like shit on a shoe. This is all your fault.’
‘You stand there and call me evil? You beat my mother. You need to be taught a lesson.’
‘And you’re gonna teach it, are ya?’ Harry said, pushing her backwards.
Lucy gasped, enraged by the contact. Anger bubbled up inside her: the powerful rumbling thunder of hate. She flashed him a smile, catching Harry’s astonishment as the persona of the unsure, nervous woman evaporated before him. Launching herself onto his bulk, she screamed a string of garbled words as her fists flew, punching his chest. ‘C’mon then,’ she said, sending him stumbling backwards. ‘Or do you only hit women that don’t fight back?’
Gritting his teeth, Harry fought to maintain his balance, pushing his attacker back on the floor. Groaning with the exertion, he straddled her, his face ashen, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. He grabbed her wrists, fighting to control her flailing fists. ‘You think you can come to my home and call me a wife beater? Well, let me tell you what you are. You’re a rape baby. Born from rape. How do you feel now, you dirty bitch?’
Lucy’s body went limp as shock invaded her being. ‘What? No, it’s not true, you’re lying.’
‘It’s no wonder you’re screwed in the head,’ Harry panted. ‘Your uncle is your father. How about that? Your mum’s spent all these years trying to forget what he did, and then you turn up on her door to remind her.’ Another bead of sweat dripped from his forehead, landing on Lucy’s neck. ‘Can you imagine how she felt when you wrote those letters? Sick to the stomach, she told me.’
Lucy turned her head away, the prickly carpet pressing into her face as angry tears streamed from her eyes. This was not supposed to happen. This was not part of her plan.
‘I’m calling the police,’ Harry grunted as he rose, his breaths jerky and laboured. He picked up the phone, rubbing his chest with his left hand.
Silently Lucy’s fingers crept to the box containing the mock prize. It was long and narrow like a necklace box. Flicking off the lid, she grasped the contents.
At first he gasped in surprise, unaware of the foreign object tearing through the folds of his skin. Lucy pulled back the knife, triumphant and smiling, as he staggered forward on shaky legs. Adrenalin coursed through her body, making her strong, infallible. She could taste his blood from when it splattered against her lips, and her heartbeat pumped to accommodate the rush. Her senses heightened. She had entered the addictive phase of her predatory nature.
Harry dropped to his knees; his breath laboured and whistling as a stream of blood poured down his back. After one sudden wheeze, he lunged forward, his nose cracking as it made contact with the carpet. The clock ticked away the final seconds of his life, and waves of euphoria shuddered through Lucy’s body.
Lucy’s eyes snapped open as she emerged from the memory. She stroked the blood-encrusted blade, wondering: if she took a bath, would the water turn pink? Another opportunity to revisit that heightened state of pleasure. Rising from the stairs, she welcomed the thought of another bath. But she had things to do. The black-bordered envelope lay propped on the kitchen table, and she had preparations to make. Emily may not have been her mother, but she would give her the farewell she deserved.