Portraits in Flesh

Chapter One

Annabelle opened her eyes just as the severed hand landed on her windscreen: a gold band around the ring finger, a cheap watch around the wrist, no arm. For a moment, she thought the hand was made of rubber, a Halloween joke. How had it gotten there?

Pain exploded in her head and tore all the way down her side.

In agony, she remembered swerving to avoid the lorry. A huge jolt had slammed her body against the car door, followed by a thunderous sound as sheets of metal had rained down on her car. The hand was real; a small trail of blood dribbled down the cracked glass.

An eerie silence descended on the scene—except for the pain.

The pain shrieked in her head and screamed in her shoulder. She wanted to tear at her skin, pound her forehead with her fists, and stab her legs with the shard of glass that straddled the steering wheel and dashboard. She wanted to do something, anything, to stop the pain. She wanted to die. Annabelle wanted to die.

Please let it be over, she begged.

Her mind fought back, and an image of her daughter popped into her head. If she gave up on life now, she would never see Sarah’s face again. She would never see her on her first day at work or see her walk down the aisle on her wedding day. It was as if a fist had punched a hole in her stomach, grabbed her guts, and squeezed until loops of intestine ballooned out between the fingers. Annabelle had to fight the pain.

A terrible acrid smell wafted into her nose. Something was burning. Was she going to be roasted alive, staring at the gruesome hand waving a final farewell to her?

The watch slipped from the bloody wrist and slid down the windscreen.

It was 2:15.

Annabelle screamed.

LISA SLIPPED INTO THE bustling cafe, mumbling excuse me a few times as she squeezed through the takeaway queue that reached to the door. A few leaves skipped along the floor behind her feet, pushed along by fingers of the autumnal wind that had snuck in with her. The wind ruffled the hair of the customers queuing nearest the entrance before darting back out the closing door, leaving the people to smooth their hairstyles and shuffle their feet impatiently.

Lisa found a free table at the back of the room and threw herself onto a chair designed for looks, not comfort. She wriggled out of her coat and arranged it and all her shopping bags around the seat like a bird making a nest.

The waitress caught her eye and sashayed over as if competing with Marilyn Monroe for the lead role in a quirky romantic comedy. After Lisa ordered a coffee, she sank into her chair, wiggling her toes inside her shoes. She desperately wanted to shake her favourite heels off her aching feet, but it wasn’t polite, so she instead settled on mulling over why she wore them. She concluded that she always felt a little special when she put them on, walking more confidently, head held high. Invariably after a few hours, the shoes felt two sizes too small, with insteps made of stone. This never deterred her though. She hoped each time she put them on, her feet would be tougher. They never were.

Shaking the chill from her body, her rich brown hair danced around her shoulders and then settled back into place. Lisa knew her hair was her best asset and always looked after it well. Despite being told frequently that she was an attractive woman, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. A lack of self-confidence and chronic shyness kept her in the background and away from most men. Although no virgin, romantic encounters had been scarce, but she still held onto the hope that her soul mate was just around the next corner, waiting to engulf her in his arms.

She gazed around the room, sighing deeply. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the dark-haired man sitting in the corner to the left of her. His looks had not caught her attention; she could only see the back of his head. What intrigued her was that in a busy café, he had positioned himself so he was facing a blank wall. Nothing was on view to him except the olive-coloured plaster, not even a cheap, tacky poster. People were generally inquisitive, social creatures, but he had moved his chair so he couldn’t see anyone. That made him the most interesting thing in the bland room. An avid reader engrossed in the latest paperback would still glance up now and then to keep an eye on the comings and goings around them. His disinterest fascinated Lisa.

The waitress thumped a cup of coffee onto the table, and Lisa shuddered when she took a sip. No amount of sugar could rescue the harsh taste. When she looked up again, she found her eyes returning to the man who seemed so out of place. His chair was turned at a right angle to the table, and his legs stretched out to the wall. His gleaming shoes just touched the flaking plaster. His right elbow rested casually on the table next to his cup.

Was the lone stranger the last of a group of friends left with the bill to pay? Lisa dismissed that idea as unlikely. There was no evidence that anyone else had been at the table, and that was much too boring for her to dwell on.

He smoothly tapped the side of his cup with the back of his fingers. Lisa shuffled up in her chair and took a sip of her coffee as if he were commanding her to drink up. Now that she was sitting upright, the dark liquid glistening near the rim of his cup was visible, and she noted that he took his coffee black and appeared to find it as unappealing as she did, preferring to drum on it instead of drink it.

Perhaps the enigmatic figure was horribly disfigured and sat with his back to the room to hide his hideous features. Lisa shrugged almost imperceptibly. She didn’t like that idea. Staring at someone’s deformity, even though not visible to her, didn’t sit well with her.

Maybe her curious coffee drinker was a spy, waiting for his contact. She chuckled to herself. He wasn’t blending in too well, and anyway, that was far too clichéd.

Lisa flexed her feet again and settled back into her chair, cupping her drink between her hands, getting at least some warmth from her purchase since it refused to please her taste buds. A couple of women paused by her table, in the middle of a mundane conversation. Irritated, Lisa leant to one side to keep an eye on her newly acquired friend. Perhaps he was so handsome that he tried to stay out of sight, to have a break from the constant attention and intrusion he received. A smile flickered briefly across her face as she pieced together the features that would make up this god of beauty and seduction.

The object of Lisa’s fascination, who had been sitting relaxed in his chair until now, suddenly straightened up. His broad shoulders rose, and his head tilted to one side. It seemed to Lisa he was listening to something. She leant across her table, hoping to pick up on the magical symphony she imagined him to be hearing. In doing so, she glimpsed a sliver of his brow and angled cheekbone. A buzz of excitement quivered in her stomach. It looked like his face would match up with her imagination’s picture of him.

Slowly he swivelled in his chair and looked over his shoulder straight at Lisa. Dark eyes held her gaze, and she found it impossible to turn away. A charge of electricity raced its way round Lisa’s body, raising a nervous excitement everywhere it went. Its finishing line was in the pit of her stomach, where it celebrated by twisting her muscles, making her inhale sharply. She felt paralysed as she held her breath, wanting to turn away but savouring every millisecond his eyes seemed to devour her soul. His intense stare morphed into an amused smirk as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking about him, and he slowly turned back in his chair.

Lisa felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her breathing quickened. There was a hot, bright spotlight on her, highlighting her to the world. Although he had only looked at her for a few moments, surely the whole cafe must have noticed the exchange. Embarrassed, she quickly looked down at her coffee cup, but it could have grown legs and shuffled off the table as far as she was concerned. Her mind buzzed with other matters. How could she have looked at a stranger like that? She didn’t want to glance up in case he was staring at her again or, even worse, not looking at her. Fumbling in her purse, she pulled out a five-pound note and slipped it under her half-drunk coffee, not caring that she was paying far too much. She gathered up her bags and, without looking in his direction, left the café almost at a run, her embarrassment throbbing through her veins.

Halfway down the street, Lisa slowed down to a normal pace. The heat in her cheeks was subsiding, and she started to gather her composure again. A pang of disappointment crossed her mind. Perhaps he had been her hero, and she had sprinted out of there like a startled gazelle. Of course he wasn’t, she told herself. He was way out of her league. She smiled, his image would keep her warm on many lonely nights. In fact, she might take the memory of him to bed with her tonight. A slight frown creased her forehead; she found she couldn’t quite recall his face. All she could picture were his striking, chocolate-brown eyes.

Uncomfortable shoes forgotten and a small smile playing on her lips, Lisa made her way home.

When she reached her front door, she glanced at her watch. She had nearly an hour to kill before her nightly visit to the hospital. Despite the enjoyment she got from her daily chats with the old lady, she didn’t want to go out again today. With a pang of guilt, she realised all she wanted was to stretch out on her sofa and think about the man at the café. While she rummaged around in her bag for her keys, Lisa came up with several excuses she could make but knew she would use none of them. She didn’t want to disappoint her friend.

Her fingers found the keys lurking at the bottom of her bag. She turned the key in the lock and leant her shoulder on the door to push it open. Something touched her arm. Before Lisa had time to react, she was propelled through the doorway. She stumbled into her house, still gripping her shopping bags.

Lisa’s heart raced. An icy blast spread in a triangle, from her stomach up to her chest. Between her shoulder blades, she could feel a lingering handprint—an iron fist digging into her back. Confused, she spun round. In the open doorway loomed the silhouette of a man.

What the hell? she blurted out.

The figure stepped into the dark hallway and pushed the door shut with his foot.

I saw you watching me today. He spoke with a deep, calm voice.

Lisa opened her mouth, but all that came out was an odd stuttering sound.

I’ve been watching you too, he said, taking a step forward.

Despite the dim light, his features came into focus. Bitter coffee rose in her stomach. The man from the café stood before her. The same amused smirk played on his lips.

Wh-wh...? She couldn’t form any words. Her dry throat felt like it had been stuffed with rocks.

His eyes fixed on hers. Despite the smile on his face, a sharp ruthlessness lurked deep within his gaze. Lisa wanted to run, but her feet refused to move. The ice in her chest had spread throughout her body, freezing not only her muscles but also the air in her lungs.

He took another step. Lisa watched helplessly. The room darkened around her, and she became engulfed in his icy stare.

Chapter Two

C ome on, Sarah, we’ll miss the start of the film! called Annabelle from the kitchen as she cradled her cup of lukewarm tea.

Just coming, Mummy—can’t find my pink shoes. The muffled voice came from upstairs.

Annabelle Heywood smiled. It was blissful to hear her daughter’s voice, young, innocent and free of worry. After the long stretch in hospital, she thanked God and her doctors, but mostly her doctors, for the opportunity to spend quality time with her at last. Annabelle touched the scar at the back of her head. She ran her fingers along the ugly ridge, thankful that it was hidden by her hair. That was another element unfamiliar to her fingers—short hair. All her adult life it had been auburn and shoulder length, but after the accident, she’d had her head shaved. When grown back enough to style, Annabelle had instructed the hairdresser to dye it blonde. Her thinking was that if it was going to be different, it should be dramatically different. Last night before pulling her into bed, Thomas, her husband, had murmured in her ear that she looked like a sexy pixie. They had made love slowly and sensuously, the first time since that terrible day. Thomas, touching her like a fragile ceramic doll, had seemed worried she would crumble beneath his fingers. She had tried to reassure him with her body that she wouldn’t shatter, kissing him and holding him with the urgency she felt. Given time, she was sure he would forget he had witnessed how frail her body was. For now, she was happy just to lose herself in his tenderness.

Long after their passion had ebbed, they had held each other. The unspoken words of gratitude for life, love, and each other wrapped around their entwined bodies.

With a sparkle in her eyes from the warm memory of the night, she spun around on the stool and called out, Have you tried the study?

Sliding off the stool, she smiled. She was certain the week ahead would be good. No, not good—great. The thudding of Sarah running from room to room upstairs echoed around the old cottage. Annabelle would have been annoyed before at shoes lying around and not put away in the shoe rack, but now she was just so grateful that she was there to experience everyday normality.

Annabelle went to tuck her hair behind her ears and rolled her eyes. There were no strands to tuck in. She missed her long hair. With a sigh, she grabbed her bag and picked up the car keys from the shelf. The weight of them in her hand seemed strange and unfamiliar. She hadn’t held the car keys since the accident. Thomas had done all the driving, and now she was taking the wheel for the first time since her car had ploughed into the side of the lorry. A swarm of angry wasps buzzed inside her stomach, but she reassured herself that she would be fine; the accident hadn’t been her fault. She was a good driver, and there had been nothing she could have done to prevent it. Her apprehension came from knowing that Thomas didn’t want her to drive.

Not until the doctors have given you the all clear, babe—and then I’ll take you somewhere quiet so you can find your driving legs again, he had said in his calm but firm tone.

The doctor had said she was recovering nicely. That was good enough for Annabelle. Occasionally, she was a little fuzzy on the memory front and her shoulder twinged for no reason, but nothing else was a problem. Thomas was just being overprotective, and she couldn’t blame him. She had nearly died, so she understood his concern. However, she needed to do this—and without the added pressure of him in the car. They were just making a short trip to the cinema, a leisurely fifteen-minute drive, mid-morning, on quiet roads.

Found them, Mummy.

Okay, get them on, and we’ll get going, sweetheart.

She grabbed the satnav and headed to the hall to wait for her daughter. Sarah had gone on and on about seeing the film since it had been advertised on television the previous week. It was a Disney film she has seen countless times, but now it was in magical 3-D. Annabelle would not normally have succumbed to the studio’s attempt to extract more money from her, but it was something that would be good for them both.

Sarah galloped down the stairs, and her mother grinned at her. She was only eight and looked so young and innocent, but Annabelle knew the head of a forty-year-old resided on Sarah’s shoulders.

You’re taking the sticky map? Sarah looked at her mother like a miniature interrogator.

Annabelle smiled. When Sarah had been about four, she had asked them why the sticky map was flashing. Looking at their blank stares, she had rolled her eyes.

The map that sticks to the car window, she had said, explaining with a weary tone. They’d realised she was pointing at the satnav. The red light flashed while it charged on the kitchen counter. They had both chuckled at the great name for it, and it had stuck.

It’s just in case we get lost, sweetie. Annabelle was sure she could remember the way. She had often driven to the cinema, but part of the route seemed a little hazy. The sticky map was just a precaution.

Sarah rolled her eyes. You’ve been there loads of times, Mummy.

Annabelle shrugged, not wanting to bring up her poor memory.

Sarah took her mother’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It’s okay, Mummy, I know you have problems remembering things sometimes. I’ll help you. I know the way.

Annabelle looked down into her pale blue eyes and beamed. Thank you.

Far too old for her years, Annabelle thought once again. She bent down, gathered her daughter into her arms, and squeezed. I love you, little pumpkin.

I love you, big pumpkin, came Sarah’s stifled reply from the folds of the coat that engulfed her.

They walked in step to the car, and once inside and strapped in, Annabelle started the engine. Her nervousness seemed to flit around her stomach in time with the throbbing of the idling vehicle. She stuck the satnav on the windscreen and fiddled about with its position and angle.

Sarah sighed as she rummaged around in the side pocket. Come on, Mummy. Let’s go.

Had Annabelle been delaying the start of their journey? She was nervous but also a little excited.

The navigation system sprang into life. The small screen informed her it was calculating the best route.

It won’t be a moment, Sarah. It’s just working out a route—must be from the last time it was used. Annabelle crinkled her brow as she tried to remember when that had been.

A message popped up on the screen.

Best route calculated.

Time to Destination – 10:56 Hours

Miles to Destination – 635.2 Miles

Annabelle frowned; they had never travelled that distance