Читать книгу Two Little Girls - Kate Medina - Страница 16

Jessie liked to leave the curtains open at night, to let the stars and the moon come into the bedroom with them. It reminded her of Wimbledon: of the winter evening she and Jamie had wrapped themselves up in blankets and taken their mugs of hot chocolate outside, lain on their backs on the lawn, Jessie pointing out the bear constellations, Ursula Major and Ursula Minor, to Jamie and Pandy, his beloved cuddly panda; of standing at her bedroom window at night, when the rest of the house was asleep, tracking the stars that made up her star sign, Gemini.

When she’d lived with her father and Diane in their narrow terraced house in frenetic Fulham, all she had been able to see through her attic bedroom’s skylight was the sodium streetlights’ orange blanket, cloaking the moon and stars. She had hated the feeling, ever since, of being unable to see the night sky from her bedroom. Callan didn’t mind. He liked the outdoors, was happy to leave the curtains open and let the night flood into the bedroom with them.

With the soft mattress underneath her, the warmth of Callan’s hard body next to her, she should have drifted easily to sleep, but her mind kept circling back to the television news, to Laura … Carolynn.

‘What’s wrong, Jessie?’ Callan murmured, his lips moving against her ear. She could feel him, warm and semi-hard against her thigh. Half-sleepy, half-aroused. Shifting on to her side, she shuffled the gap between them closed and slid her arms around his neck.

‘Nothing.’

‘Sure?’ His fingers moved absently-mindedly through her hair.

‘Sure.’ Linking her fingers with his, she guided his hand to her chest, placed it right over her heart. ‘Your hand would be more gainfully employed somewhere around here, I feel, Mr Callan.

Shifting closer, moulding her naked body to his, she kissed him deeply, her tongue teasing his, felt him harden, fully awake now. And though she tried to lock on to the feeling of his lips against hers, his thumb circling her nipple, the sensation firing hot in her groin, all she could think of was Carolynn, her face plastered all over the television screen. Carolynn Reynolds and two murdered girls.

I’d hate you to actually be able to read my mind. She had been a long way from a mind reader with that woman.

She felt Callan’s hands on her shoulders, rolling her gently on to her back, and he moved on top of her, the muscles on his chest and abdomen hard against her breasts and stomach, his weight pinning her down.

Another little girl murdered in the same place Carolynn’s daughter had been murdered two years ago. Two years to the day. September seventh. Lucky seven. Seven detestable sins.

Callan’s knee eased between both of hers and she felt his hand stroke down her stomach, his fingers slip between her legs, slowly inside her. She gasped, moving her hands to his shoulders, simultaneously holding him away and digging her nails into his back, her body responding, her mind somewhere else, beyond her control, detached from the maelstrom of desire, obsessing.

Outside, the night sky, lit only by a sliver of moon, was so black that the stars dotting it seemed to be pulsing, alive with energy. The curtains framing either side of the window caught her eye. Caught and held it. The left curtain was flush against the window frame, but the right was half-drawn, truncating her view of the sky. The electric suit tingled against her skin.

‘Callan,’ she murmured. He was rock hard against her thigh now.

‘Yeah?’

Usually, she loved making love with him, loved to mould herself around him as he moved inside her, loved to grate her nails down his back as she came. But now the curtains were lodged in her mind along with Carolynn’s lies, two little dead girls, and the electric suit was hissing and snapping.

‘Callan, I just want to, uh, to look at the stars quickly.’

‘Huh?’

‘I just want to look at the stars.’

‘What?’ Pushing himself up on to his hands, he stared down at her incredulously.

Tilting her head so that she didn’t have to lock eyes with him, she slid out from under him. ‘I’ll only be a minute,’ she said.

Rolling back to his side of the bed, Callan put his hands over his face and groaned. ‘Jesus Christ, Jessie.’

‘I’m sorry, but it’s such a beautiful night. It’s going to rain soon and then the stars will be obscured by clouds.’

Her excuse sounded ridiculous, even to her ears, but on the spot she couldn’t think of anything more convincing. Climbing out of bed, she padded over to the window. Raising her arms as nonchalantly as she could manage, the electric suit hot against her skin, she ran her hand quickly down the edge of the right-hand curtain, pushing it back, aligning it with the window frame.

The left curtain was straight; the right still wasn’t. She repeated the movement again, sliding both hands down the curtains in unison this time.

Again – three.

‘What the hell are you doing, Jessie?’

‘I’m just looking at the stars, like I said,’ she managed. ‘They’re stunning tonight.’

The curtains were straight. She knew in her logical mind that they were straight, but the electric suit still hissed and snapped.

Four.

Quickly – five. Still no release.

Perhaps if she ran her hands down the curtains seven times, lucky seven, she’d know they were straight.

‘Enough now,’ Callan said, his tone one of suppressed anger. ‘Come back to bed.’

‘In a minute.’

She had to reach lucky seven, then the curtains would be straight, the electric suit would die down, she’d be able to return to bed, make love with Callan, not think about Carolynn and the lies that she had told. Not think about two little dead girls.

‘For fuck’s sake, Jessie,’ Callan muttered, subsiding back against his pillows.

How many times? Four? Had it been four?

She couldn’t concentrate, knowing that Callan was watching her. Her rational mind acknowledged that her behaviour, the need, was abnormal, but the compulsion to perform the ritual was too strong to resist.

Four? No – no, five.

‘I can see Gemini,’ she managed, running her hand back down the curtain again. Yin and yang. Light and dark. Good and evil.

‘Stop now, Jessie.’

Without answering, she shook her head.

She was pretending to look at the night sky, but Callan knew exactly what she was doing, recognized the compulsion that drove her to perform the ritual even as he found it impossible to understand. The curtains were perfectly aligned, but that didn’t seem to matter. Her OCD had worsened since she’d been invalided from the army and he had no idea what to do about it, how to help her.

Seven. The heat from the electric suit died, as if she’d found the secret emergency ‘Off’ switch.

When she returned to the bed, Callan was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Sliding under the covers, she shuffled across, closing the space between them and pressed her chilled body against his. Curling an arm over his chest, a leg over his thighs, she buried her face into his neck. His body was warm, but she could only feel his bones and the muscles that wrapped around them. Nothing yielded to her touch.

‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ he said, rolling away from her.

He locked the bathroom door and switched on the shower. His erection had died, but his balls were aching. Stepping under the jet of warm water, he tilted forward, resting one hand against the cool tiles, letting the water run down his back while he masturbated. Jessie would know what he was doing, but he didn’t give a shit.

When he climbed back into bed she was lying motionless, staring up at the ceiling as he had been while she’d been fiddling with the curtains. Though he knew that the compulsions were out of her control, he felt unreasonably angry. He had been so ready to make love to her that it hurt.

‘I’m sorry, Callan,’ she murmured, shifting on to her side to face him. Reaching out, she traced her fingers across his cheek, to the scarred rose of the Taliban bullet wound on his temple.

‘It’s fine,’ he muttered, not moving, not responding physically.

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I’m a pain. I know that I’m being a pain. More than a pain.’

He sighed. ‘It’s fine, Jessie. I understand.’ Though he didn’t.

‘I love you, Callan.’

Sliding an arm around her, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, the slight dampness left on his skin from the shower, warming between them.

‘I love you too, Jessie. Now go to sleep.’

‘Night, Callan,’ she murmured.

Now go to sleep.

But would she? Could she? Her mind was starting to race again.