fifty-seven

The next morning, I realized without a shadow of a doubt that I would be leaving my flat, forever. Justine would now be enough. My flat seemed like a dead religion, a church empty of significance. The paintings, the statues, the patterned tapestries all seemed irrelevant. They were hollow artefacts, even the portrait of Justine had shrunk to a simulacrum. I was about to own the real thing. I packed a suitcase of a few clothes, and some money. Lethe looked on indifferently from the corner which she had not stirred from in days.

I kept the methylated spirit underneath the bathroom sink. I unscrewed the lid and took the bottle through to the drawing-room where I splashed the spirit over the blood-stained sofa, the carpets, the Chippendale chairs, the walls, Jack’s blood-stained portrait of Justine. The strong succulent smell made me feel light-headed. I went up to the doll I had placed on the mantelpiece and soaked her dress in the inflammable liquid. I struck a match and set fire to her. The flames engulfed the doll immediately, the plastic face concaving, as if at first she were about to burst into tears, then into irreparable deformation. The photograph of Justine, propped up beside the doll, melted into streams of red and gold. The flames quickly licked upwards towards the portrait of Justine above the mantelpiece. I saw her smiling at me between the flickering flames as the paint dripped off her face.

I picked up my suitcase and made my way out of the burning flat. I wondered how long it would be before someone called for help. What mattered was that they waited long enough for all my mementos to beauty to be destroyed. I no longer needed them. I was about to rescue and possess the icon of beauty itself. As I got into the lift of my apartment block and shut the heavy black metal gates together, I could taste the acrid smell of burning in my mouth and hear the other-worldly screams of Lethe being burned alive.

I was euphoric – by burning my flat I had eradicated my solitary past in preparation for a future with Justine full of exquisite pleasure. As I climbed into the taxi I turned my head to take one last look at my flat. Flames were beating out of the windows of my top floor, angry and impassioned, demanding gratitude for their force of will. I never doubted their power to cleanse.