My Guardian Angel, Page 2

  Back in her room, she stared at her crusted pillow and felt nothing. She was exhausted. She checked Simon’s room. He was sleeping peacefully, their mother having finally done something towards looking after him.

  The thought of returning to her cold room was not appealing. She moved over to the bed and crawled under the covers. Simon mumbled in his sleep and moved over to make room.

  Sally smiled. She felt warm and safe.

  ***

  She dreamed of muffled pleas and veiled threats. In her mind, the disembodied voices wrapped around her, drowning her in emotion. She twitched, reaching out. She felt Simon, safe and sleeping. Her rock, her reason. She curled up against him, the voices quiet once more.

  “Wake up little Sally,” she heard him whisper. She frowned, flapped her hand above her head.

  “Leave ‘e ‘lone. Sleepin’,” she mumbled.

  “Little Sally, you will die if you don’t wake up.

  She felt the shadows tickle her face. She tried to swat them away.

  “Sally!”

  She jerked awake, sitting up. The room was dark, a tree twig tapped at the window. She shivered. Simon had cocooned himself in the entire quilt. She grumbled, lying back down.

  “Hello little Sally.”

  “Peter?”

  “None other,” the creature smiled.

  “Where are you?”

  “Right in front of you. Can you not see me?”

  “Why do you talk like that? No, I can’t see you.”

  “How about now?”

  He dropped onto the bed, crouched like a tiger waiting to pounce. She shrieked, clapping a hand to her mouth before she woke Simon.

  “Don’t do that!” she snapped. “You frightened me half to death!”

  “A half death from me is desirable when the alternative is a full death from your father.”

  “From Dad? He’s back?”

  “Oh yes, and he has a friend with him. A scrawny little man by the name of Jack. At this moment they are making sport with your mother, teaching her her place as it were.”

  “I don’t understand-“

  “Irrelevant whether you do or do not. He will kill your mother first, and then come for you. Are you ready for the game to end?”

  “Simon?”

  “Will be safe. I will hide him in the shadows. This I will do for you.”

  “You really are my guardian angel.”

  “I am what you believe me to be.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  Teeth clicked against one another as he grinned at her once more.

  “Get up, little Sally. Find the Jack-man. He relieves himself under the stairs. Lock him in. Use what he has dropped to make a fire.”

  She nodded, sliding from the bed. Her feet were sweating and the cheap carpet irritated the scabs on her heel.

  She turned back, but Simon and Peter were gone. She searched the bed, but there was no one there.

  “He will be there when it is time for you to take him,” she heard Peter whisper in her mind.

  ***

  She crept silently down the hallways; years of practice lent her speed and stealth.

  The toilet under the stairs was a tiny affair. She was all too familiar with its dimensions. Many punishments had left her locked in there for hours.

  She listened at the door, nose wrinkling when she smelled him. Slowly, silently she pushed the bolts across, locking the familiar, hated man inside. She knew firsthand what he was capable of, and she had no qualms about his death- or his arrest. Either would suit her.

  As she moved away, her toe kicked something heavy. She crouched, examined it. A heavy, gold engraved lighter. It looked expensive. She smiled, glancing over her shoulder.

  The toilet flushed, the door rattling immediately after. Dirty.

  “Joe? What the hell, Joe! Let me out.”

  She listened to the door rattling.

  “Come on, man, this ain’t funny! Joe!”

  She giggled, sidled up to the door.

  “Hello Jack.”

  “Who’s that? That you, Sarah?”

  “No. Not Sarah.”

  “Who is it? Let me out. I ain’t here to hurt no one.”

  “I know who you are Jack,” she laughed, voice singsong. “I know what you did.”

  “Girl, you let me outta here right now or I’ll-“

  “Goodbye, Jack.”

  “Hey, no, wait a sec- I’ll give you what you want. Just let me out of here.”

  She laughed again, walking away. She had a job to do.

  ***

  She heard movement upstairs. She peered round the banister. Light flooded the landing. She saw her father walk across into the bathroom. There was something strange and awkward in the way he walked.

  The door clicked shut. She waited until she could hear the shower running; then padded up the stairs. It was dark again, the bathroom light blocked by the door. Only the small window above let through enough light for her to see her way around.

  The carpet felt wet under her feet. Her father had probably walked water through to the bedroom. She knew her mother hated that.

  She stopped at her parents’ bedroom. It smelled strange, like metal and excrement. She could see her mother lying still in the bed.

  “Mom? Can you hear me?”

  She moved over to the bed. She shook the still figure, pulling her hand away when she felt the stickiness.

  By the glow of the street lamp, she could see dark, almost black blood. When she raised her gaze once more she saw what her brain had been telling her was there all along, glinting at her. She felt weak and frightened, like a child for the first time in a long time.

  “Mom? Please Mom, wake up.”

  She didn’t cry, even though she desperately wanted to. She stared at the great carving knife for a moment; then remembered herself.

  She walked quickly down the hallway, paused at the bathroom. She pressed her ear to the door, listening. He was singing.

  Her mouth turned down at the corners and her eyes narrowed. She felt the shadows behind her move.

  “Did he do it?” she asked quietly.

  “If not him, then the other, either way, both had a hand in it,” the dark shadow replied, caressing her bare arms. She nodded, looked at her feet.

  “And Simon?”

  “Sleeping like a babe. He is in his bed once more, waiting for you.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  She shivered as long black fingers tapped over her shoulders.

  “Are you going to back out on me, little Sally?”

  “No. He’s gone too far. I won’t let him hurt anyone else. I won’t let him poison Simon.”

  The creature chuckled quietly and hugged Sally from behind.

  “Then I shall leave you to do what is required.”

  She nodded and it backed away.

  “Wait.”

  “What is it, little Sally?”

  She paused, thought carefully about her next words, and knew there would be no turning back from them.

  “He mustn’t survive.”

  “That,” the creature said smugly, “will not be a problem.”

  ***

  He turned the dial. The water shut off, leaving him naked and clean. So much blood, he thought. Unbelievable just how much blood the skinny little body had held.

  He ran thick fingers through his hair, shaking the water from him. There was a cold draught in the room.

  He reached for the towel, scrubbing himself dry before wrapping it around himself.

  A swipe at the mirror revealed his face. Handsome as ever. He grinned at his reflection. With this face he thought, I’ll have them eating from the palm of my hand.

  He went through the motions of grooming- lathering gel over his stubble, using a cheap disposable razor to trim it into shape. He had to look the part, after all- and clean-shaven always went down better with women...

  He stretched out his neck, ready to do his jaw line.

 
; “It is all for nothing, you know,” someone whispered next to his ear.

  He jumped, the blade slicing through flesh. He hissed as it stung, cursing at the line of red under his chin.

  “It is a good colour for you.”

  “Who’s there?”

  He spun round. Nothing. He crossed back over to the bath, ripping the curtain aside.

  “Not in there!” the voice teased. Childlike and singsong.

  “Who are you? Where are you?”

  “Right in front of you.”

  He leaned back; saw the figure on the toilet.

  “Who the hell are you, how did you get in?”

  “My name,” the figure said, kneeling on the plastic lid, “is Peter. I am a friend.”

  He backed up towards the sink, eyes staring at the creature.

  “You’re not human!”

  “You are correct.”

  “What are you?”

  “I am-“ he paused, thought about it for a second and grinned a shark’s toothy smile. “I am a Guardian Angel.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “You know, you are taking this rather well considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “You are an adult. And I am here to kill you.”

  “Bull. You’re a figment of my drunken imagination.”

  “Incorrect. A figment yes, but not of your imagination. I come from little Sally.”

  “That little brat?”

  “Oh yes. I am every dark thought she’s ever had, every wish to see you dead, every fantasy about driving a knife into your chest. The last one, by the way, was from seeing what you did to your wife.”

  The thing grinned again, subtly shifting to its feet.

  “If she saw, then she’ll have to die too.”

  The creature cackled.

  “You cannot harm her.”

  “Watch me.”

  “You misunderstand. You cannot harm her because you will be dead.”

  The creature leapt, sailing through the air faster than the human eye could track. The man reared back, raised his arms to protect himself, and screamed as ten long, sharp shadows sank into his chest.

  Blood bubbled in his throat and mouth as he desperately tried to breath. Icy heat leached through him from the shadows. He grunted as the creature slowly pulled them out one by one.

  “I made sure to miss your heart,” it said. “You see, Sally didn’t say anything, but I know she wants you to suffer, the same way you’ve made her suffer since you started beating them.”

  He gurgled, tried to speak. Managed a guttural scream deep in his throat as the shadows pierced his lungs, stomach, liver- one at a time, infinitely slowly. He flailed about, tried to push the thing away from him, to wrestle it off of him, but it was insubstantial as shadow, impossible to grip, let alone struggle with.

  Warm blood dripped from the wounds, soaking into the towel. It became heavy, dark and sodden. His strength started to fail. He leaned against the sink unit, using it to prop himself up. He tried to reach for the door.

  The knives bit into his arm. He whimpered, clutching it to his chest.

  His eyes darted about, wild, frenzied. He heard the door open.

  “Sally,” he gurgled.

  She stood in the doorway, Simon curled up and sleeping in her arms.

  “Sally, please,” he grated, “Help me-“

  “You should hurry up,” she said, voice even, steady. “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way. The fire will reach here soon.”

  The creature smiled. Madness danced in his eyes for a moment.

  “As you wish,” he said. He turned back to the broken figure beneath him.

  “I told you the colour suited you,” he said, plunging his shadow fingers through weak flesh.

  “Sally! Sally please don’t go, don’t leave me! Sally! I’m sorry! Help me, please!”

  She turned her back on the scene. The sight of spurting blood sickening, the sound of his terrified voice threatening to break her resolve. Even now, she wanted to run to him, to cradle him, to hear him promise it was the last time, that he didn’t mean it, that it was just a nightmare, and in the morning, everything would be okay...

  Her knuckles were white as she clung to the banister; Simon was heavy on her arm. She felt him stir.

  “Sally? What’s burning?”

  “Nothing, Simon, it’s just a dream,” she whispered.

  “I can hear screaming.”

  She paused, listened. The bathroom was silent. She looked up to the landing. Peter stood there, the bleak darkness of his body illuminated by the fire that swept through the upstairs.

  His teeth glinted orange, his eyes glassy and reflective. There read no emotion.

  “Goodbye for now, little Sally,” she heard his voice in her head. “It was fun to play with you.”

  “Goodbye, Peter. Thank you.”

  She thought she saw him step backwards into the flames. She blinked, turned back towards the front door- towards freedom.

  “Sally?”

  “Yes, Simon?”

  “Who’s Peter?”

  She smiled, unlocked the front door, and stepped out into blue flashing lights and their new lives.

  “A friend, Simon. A very good friend.”

  END

  About the author

  Leanne is a graphic designer and complementary therapist by trade. Writing is her escape. She lives in the middle of nowhere, England with her long suffering other half and three cats. Sometimes she emerges from her ever growing aloe vera forest and grumbles at the outside world before retreating back into the shadows.

  Occasionally she blogs over on her website, but more often than not she’s hunched over her desk drawing and muttering to herself.

  Other Titles by Leanne Fitzpatrick

  The Bitter Taste

  Runaway Dead: A Cherry Garcia Investigation

  In the Hands of a Saint: A Cherry Garcia Short Story

  Dare to connect socially

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  Blog: https://www.leannefitzpatrick.co.uk