Blood Fugue (15 page)

‘No, but you just can’t —’

‘Shhh. Just relax and enjoy.’

Gina sucked Amy’s clitoris between her lips and into her mouth, tonguing it softly. Amy didn’t protest. Not even when Gina pulled on the damp string leaving Amy unprotected. The explorations of her tongue were shallow to begin with but soon they went deep.

Very deep.

Chapter 16

Much to Maria Jimenez’s surprise, it was Carla who discovered the old trail on the third morning of hiking along the deteriorated Eastern Path. José had come down hard on the girl for scaring Luis with her nonsense and Carla had hardly spoken since.

The trail became rougher that morning. José and the children had coped well but Maria, though she said nothing, had struggled to keep up. Her blisters had popped but she did her best not to let anyone see her limping. Twice today they’d been forced to remove their backpacks and clamber over fallen evergreens and Maria was beginning to believe, like her daughter, that they should turn back.

An hour and a half of trudging later, Maria noticed a change in the trees around them, particularly on the right hand side of the trail. The pines became less frequent giving way to many more broad-leafed trees, particularly oaks.

José paused often to study his old map beside the one Mr Kerrigan had given him. It prevented everyone from settling into a good walking rhythm but Maria didn’t mind at all. Her feet were chafed and sore and it had been her who slept badly the previous night. Every break in their forced march was a chance for her to rest.

The night before, after they’d all crawled into their sleeping bags, Maria had mulled over what her daughter had said. Instead of dropping into an exhausted sleep, as she should have, she became anxious. America was a land of guns and serial killers. There were huge wild spaces where the law held no sway, of which these mountains were a perfect example. Maria knew better than to entertain the same thoughts that had so upset Carla, but in the cramped space of the tent, there was suddenly nothing else to think about. Everyone around her had already fallen asleep. Something in her, a protective instinct perhaps, had kept her on the razor’s edge between sleep and wakefulness throughout the whole night.

Maria heard a voice in those fitful hours. At least, she dreamed a voice. In the smothering darkness, she had become aware of the sound very far away and lay there uncertain if she was asleep or awake. Eyes open or closed, it made no difference to the blackness that surrounded her. The voice came again. It didn’t sound like it was laughing. To Maria, it seemed that someone far away in the night was crying insane, desolate tears. The wind had breathed through the trees and the voice dissolved to become a part of that sighing.

As they halted yet again, Maria leaned her backpack against a tree trunk to ease the weight and wondered about this trip they were making. She knew José would not hear any opposition and that they would keep going until thwarted or successful but now, very suddenly and unquestionably, she wanted to go home. She watched the intense expression on her husband’s face as he scrutinised his maps, looking up at the trail over and over again. It was for him that they were doing this. It was his grandfather who had lived in these hills, his bones they needed to return home. It was nothing to do with her.

‘I want you all to keep your eyes to the right of this path.’ said José. ‘Look for anything that strikes you as unusual. We are trying to find an entrance that may have been obscured by many years of growth.’

He held both maps in his hands and walked more slowly as he kept his attention on the trees. Over the next hour they covered no more than a quarter of a mile.

‘Maria, what do you see?’ he asked.

‘I see trees and trees and trees. That is all.’

‘Keep trying,’ he said.

It wasn’t until noon that they found it. José had begun to lose patience.

‘I don’t care if we have to stay out in these woods for two or three more days,’ he said. ‘We are not returning to the car until we find this trail.’

Carla called out.

‘Hey, Papa, look at this.’

‘What? What is it?’

‘Look there.’

He followed the way her finger was pointing and stared for several moments.

‘I don’t see it. What are you showing me?’

‘Look at those two trees,’ Carla said, ‘They are very similar, no?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘So, they are like a gateway. Maybe the start of the trail was marked like that. And look, there is a little more space between them than between the other trees.’

José shook his head, irritated at her foolishness.

‘There is no space at all Carla,’ he said. ‘It is thick with vines and bushes. You cannot go through that.’

‘Papa, you were the one who said it would be overgrown,’ insisted Carla. ‘Can’t we chop away some of the growth?’

He considered it.

‘You’re right. We should try.’

Using the machete, José made an opening wide enough to stand in and peered into the green gloom.

‘Yes, it could be . . .’

For a few minutes he hacked further into the thorns and brush until he was out of the sunshine and surrounded by older growth, dead now for lack of light. Slashing at these was easy, they snapped or shattered and he began to see that the trees were indeed spaced widely enough for a trail to have been there. He returned to find them all staring in after him.

‘Well done, Carlita. You are now officially smarter than your father. You can lead the next expedition.’

After twenty minutes more he gave the blade to Luis who hacked hard but made little progress. He was followed by Carla and then Maria, both of whom tired quickly, before José took over again, providing the longest and most productive stint each time. They were creating not so much a trail but a tunnel of sorts, for the vegetation pressed close above and all around them.

‘I feel like a mole,’ Carla whispered.

José, too intent on making way, kept chopping. It was slow going.

After a couple of hours the mesh of creepers and brambles thinned and the trail opened up. José took the machete, wiped it clean and replaced it in its sheath in the webbing of his pack. Even though it was early afternoon, down here it was cool and shadowy. The trail was still covered by the lower branches of trees, still imprisoning them in a ‘pipeline of vegetation’. It was broader and wider, though, and they were able to walk upright without thorns catching at their hair. Back in the other direction, the path they’d cut looked like a black shaft with no light at its end.

Trees crowded close on both sides, the spaces between them impenetrable and overgrown. The ground was littered with decaying fallen leaves many layers deep. The undisturbed air was silent and dusty with mould and spores. José was able to set a decent pace again and they followed him in single file. From time to time a solitary needle of sunshine would pierce the leafy strata above them and make contact with the ground.

The path curved gently, first to the right and then to the left, making it impossible to see too far ahead. The one advantage was that they now seemed to be walking down a very slight slope that made the walking easy for a change.

Then the trail ended. José approached the blockage of twisting thorns and vines. The tangle of undergrowth began at ankle height and reached up to cling to the lower branches of the trees.

‘Mierda.’ He said.

Luis and Carla giggled.

‘José, if we want to find a place to pitch camp we ought to go back now,’ said Maria. ‘There’s no space to set the tent up here.’

‘We’ll find space on the other side of this.’

José swung his machete again and again, its blade sometimes ringing out a clean steely note as it struck through the stems and tendrils, other times thumping dully as it connected with solid wood or the ground.

No one spoke.

Amy woke to the sound of her own heartbeat rushing in her ears. The ache in her head coincided with every pulse. Her mouth and throat were dried closed and there was a fat worm of nausea in her stomach. The hangover was far worse than she’d expected it to be.

As she lay twisted into the sheets, she went back over the evening in her mind. She remembered the sadness, the need to go out and escape it, the slimy barman. Then she remembered the girl, Gina, and the drinks and laughter. The dancing. Then the walk home, the last drink.

And the loving.

She tried to swallow. There was no moisture in her mouth at all. Her tongue seemed to rustle in its drying cavern, withered like a slug in the midday sun. She could hear the soft breathing of the girl and the weight of her body affecting the shape of the bed.

As quietly as she could, Amy swung her legs over the side and crept to the bathroom closing the door behind her. In the mirror she caught sight of herself and gasped in shock. Her mascara had spread, ringing her eyes with black. She was pale beneath what little make up remained and the bruised crescents below her eyes made her look fifty. She filled a glass with water from the tap and drank it straight down. She took another and another until her mouth felt like it was rehydrating. She brushed her teeth and gargled mouthwash silently. Then she removed her make up and moisturised her face.

The urge to pee was last in order of importance. As she sat with her head in her hands, she remembered what Gina had done to her.

God, I’ll be such a mess down there by now.

She wiped herself, expecting dried and fresh blood on the toilet tissue. There was nothing. Standing up she bent over and checked her thighs for the caked menstrual flow she knew would be there. She was clean. Her period had stopped the same day it started.

Gina scared it back into me.

She put her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle and then crept out to the phone in the front room. All the curtains in the house were closed but she could tell from the blaze around their edges that the sun was bright that day and she didn’t want to face it. She called in sick. Mr. Olsen was peeved at first but when she mentioned female problems he became flustered and hung up. Amy smiled to herself. Her head was clearing already.

In the bedroom, Gina hadn’t moved. She slipped in beside her and snuggled in close. She felt Gina jump at the touch. Her body tensed. For a few seconds there was no movement from her at all then, in a determined flurry, Gina leapt from the bed and ran to the wall. Turning back with the sheets clutched to cover herself, she stared around the room, a look of incomprehension on her face.

Amy watched in shock from where she lay, still naked and now uncovered.

‘Where the hell am I?’ demanded the girl.

Amy had difficulty speaking.

‘You’re in my house, Gina. You wanted to come back with me.’

‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’

Amy was incredulous.

‘What?’

‘Please,’ said Gina, ‘Just tell me what’s going on.’

The girl was on the edge of tears. Amy’s nausea returned as she realised that she‘d done something unforgivable with a girl young enough to be her daughter. But it hadn’t been like that. Amy remembered it all. Gina had made the first moves throughout the entire evening; she’d seduced Amy like a professional. So what was this turning into now? Blackmail? Amy turned an angry knife of regret against herself as she thought about how pathetic her relationships had become.

‘Don’t you remember anything at all?’ she asked.

‘No. I want to know why you were in that bed with me. I want to know why we’re both naked.’ Gina’s voice was gaining in volume and escalating in pitch. ‘I want to know what the fuck is happening here.’

Chapter 17

‘Take it easy, Gina. You want me to tell you what happened? Fine. But calm down, okay? We can discuss this without the help of the neighbours.’

‘No one’s going to calm down. No one is going to take it easy until you explain what the fuck you’ve done to me.’

Gina’s eyes were wide, the whites showing. Her body was shaking and her face was pale. Amy’s stomach tightened and her pulse quickened in response. She began to ease herself back out of the bed. She wanted to stand, to bring herself to the same height as Gina and put some distance between them.

‘Don’t you move,’ Gina said. ‘What are trying to do?’

‘I’m not trying to do anything. You’re scaring me and I’m backing off.’

‘I’m the one who’s scared here. I’m the one whose been fucking kidnapped. You tell me what happened.’

‘You picked me up in Mulligan’s last night. You bought me a drink. We talked and I bought you a drink. Any of this sound familiar?’

‘No it doesn’t. Keep going.’

‘We had a few beers and you asked to come home with me. You said you wanted to spend the night here and . . .’

‘And what?’

‘Please, Gina. You’re making this so hard. We had a great time right up until we fell asleep. I don’t understand why you’re being like this.’

‘I’m making it hard? I am? You know what I think? I think you drugged me. God knows what you did to me after that, you fat fucking dyke.’

‘How can you talk like this, Gina? You picked me up. You made passes at me.’