Blood RED. Paul Kane

      It was as she brought her head back down that she saw it. Glimpsed quickly, she dismissed the vision at first as being imagined, or due to the wine. But no. As she blinked and opened her eyes again, she saw it quite clearly in the mirrors opposite.

      She squirmed, but this time she was trying to pull herself away from her husband. He in turn, sensing her distress, kept a tighter hold on her legs—burying his mouth even further into her sex.

      When he began to bite, Michelle could hold back her screams no longer—had no wish to, in fact. The pain was excruciating, as his teeth ripped into her most sensitive of areas. She screamed, not only because of the pain, but because she needed help now; she needed help badly. Tony brought his mouth away, blood smeared across his lips and dribbling down his chin as he chewed the most intimate parts of her. Her eyes were watering, but there was worse to come.

      The hands that had only moments ago kneaded her breasts as an act of love were now fastened onto them, squeezing with nails so sharp, they slid effortlessly into the flesh before cleaving it away from her body.

      He rose, leaving more redness to pour from between her legs and from her chest. The thing that looked like Tony stared at her with wild eyes, opening its mouth wider than she’d ever seen another human being do. But in the mirror, oh Jesus, in the mirror ... Michelle could do nothing as he took a chunk out of her neck, pulling tendons away with the first snap. He ate like a ravenous animal, swallowing hard before crunching down on her cheek as well—leaving a gaping hole that exposed her molars. What few blows she’d had the energy to muster bounced ineffectually off her attacker’s hard torso, and soon she’d lost even that amount of fight.

      Michelle’s neck was hanging open, her lifeblood escaping from a dozen wounds before he was done. But one single thread of hope was offered to her. The door opened and in came one of the waitresses that had served their meal earlier. She took one look at Michelle, at Tony, at the mess in the cubicle—and she screamed much louder than Michelle could ever manage now with no throat.

      Tony dropped his wife, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sports jacket. He stared at the waitress as if wondering whether he had time for his third dinner of the evening, then he turned tail and leapt at the window—which was barely big enough for him to escape through. But escape he did, smashing the glass and ignoring the shards that did their best to cut him.

      Michelle, on the floor, tried to keep her head still—gargling with her own juices. Just hold on ... Hold on ... she told herself. You’re going to be all right.

      Except the look on the waitress’ horrified face told her she was so very far from that condition. That it was definitely time to cash in on that life insurance policy her husband had set up for her ... well, it was what he did after all.

      Her husband, that is. Her real husband—the boring Tony who’d never in his life ripped out anyone’s throat or chewed off their ... She missed that Tony now more than anything. And she wished she’d had a chance to tell him that, to try and set a few things right. Instead, she’d wasted it on him: the stranger.

      But the last thing that went through Michelle’s mind as her life ebbed away, was how red her blood was. Bright, so bright. And how there was enough inside her almost to paint this bathroom.

      Then the red became maroon ...

      Before finally turning to black.

      CHAPTER ONE

      She lifted him by the arms and pulled him up.

      “There we go,” she said softly. Hefting someone who was almost twice your size wasn’t that tricky once you got the hang of it. It was all in the momentum, really. Use their own bodyweight to help bring them up and always remember to stand properly, like they’d taught her, just so she didn’t put her own back out. “That’s it.”

      Rachael Daniels held on to Mr Abrahams for a few seconds to make sure he’d gotten his balance, then let him take his first tentative steps of the morning to his Zimmer frame. But she stood close-by in case he still needed her. When she was satisfied he was all right, she straightened his bedclothes, tucking them in at the sides again.

      Mrs Abrahams, who wasn’t that far from needing home help herself, was coming around the side of the bed to give her a hand. Rachael didn’t tell her that she could manage herself, as some might have done—instead, she let her straighten one corner. It was a matter of pride, and she knew that. After all, Mrs Abrahams had virtually looked after her spouse for the last ten years on her own, ever since a debilitating fall had caused his arthritis—which was bad enough before—to worsen considerably.

      Rachael watched the man of seventy-five make his way alone to the bathroom, shambling baby steps all he could manage. In his own way, he had just as much pride as his wife, and though he was grateful for all Rachael did, she was fully aware that if he could manage without her, she’d probably be told to leave quicker than you could say, ‘I’m not going in any home’.

      “Thank you, Rachael,” said Mrs Abrahams, the skin around her eyes even more wrinkled through lack of sleep. “Whatever would we do without you?”

      Rachael smiled. If she weren’t around, there’d be other carers—Mr and Mrs Abrahams wouldn’t have to worry about that. In some respects, they were a little like robots: one breaks down and another takes its place. And this wasn’t something the twenty-three-year-old intended to do until she retired. But she shouldn’t grumble. When she’d first moved here from the sticks, expecting the acting jobs to find her rather than the other way around, she would’ve starved without this line of work to fall back on. Plus, it was nice to know she was helping people and, from time to time, they actually showed that they appreciated it.

      She watched Mrs Abrahams walk out onto the landing, following her husband and placing a hand on his back. “Now you watch your step, John. There we go.” The devotion this woman had shown to him was above and beyond the call of duty. I guess that’s what it really means to be in love, thought Rachael. I guess that’s real commitment.

      She followed them too; her next job being to wash Mr Abrahams, then see that he made it okay to the stairlift, and finally to his electric chair. He didn’t have much of a life, not being able to get out of the house—but at least he had his wife of forty years by his side. Would Rachael be able to say the same when she reached that age? She doubted it.

      Doubted it very much indeed.

      * * *

      Rachael turned the corner and headed towards Handley Crescent, one of the delightful locales making up the notorious Greenham Estate.

      Miss Brindle was the last name on her list, and though she always looked forward to her time spent in that little old woman’s flat, Rachael was aware that this area wasn’t nicknamed ‘Downtown Basra’ by the locals for nothing. Look too closely at any of the side streets or alleyways and you’d find drug dens, even needles on the floor that residents had pleaded with the council to clean up. It hadn’t happened. One woman had even taken the stand of not paying her Council Tax until she felt it was safe to live in this neighbourhood again. The solution according to the powers that be? Lock her up for six months and leave the gangs and druggies on the streets.

      Rachael folded her arms, pulling the blue tabard she wore tighter around herself. She hadn’t encountered any trouble here. For one thing, it was too early in the day for that, but walking through still made her uneasy. It wasn’t even as if she owned a car, so she could lock the doors and roll up the windows—feeling a little safer, at least. She couldn’t afford such luxuries on her wages. Walking and public transport were her only means of transportation ... and the authorities put as much money into those as they did into looking after the Greenham Estate.

      She reached the door of the flat system, buzzing Miss Brindle—or Tilly, as she’d insisted from the start—to let her in. She wasn’t in anywhere near the state of Mr Abrahams and could get herself up with the aid of painkillers and her own two hands, rather than having to rely on Rachael. Nevertheless, she needed help with other things around the flat, and Rachael would always fix her some breakfast, too, while she was there.