Lucilla

by David A. Riley

Table of Contents, parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

part 10

On the landing, Miranda paused. Even the lights looked dim along it. Or was she imagining things yet again? She hoped so, though her heart was still racing, and she felt so afraid she almost didn’t want to go any farther. Then she heard it. And she was certain now that one of the girls was moaning.

As quietly as she could, her nerves on edge, Miranda opened the door into their bedroom. In the gloom she could see Wendy was still asleep. Daisy, though, had kicked off her duvet and was rolling about from side to side.

Miranda tiptoed towards her, laying a hand on her shoulders. “Hush,” she whispered. “It’s all right. You’re only dreaming.”

Daisy stopped moving at once except to turn her head towards Miranda, her eyes wide open. Even in the darkness they looked alarmingly bright, as if an inner light was shining behind them.

“Don’t leave,” the girl said. Her voice was quiet but insistent, trembling with fear.

“No one’s going to leave,” Miranda said. “Your parents are only downstairs. They’ll be going to bed soon. And I’ll only be a few feet away down the landing.” Even as she spoke, she could feel her own nervousness. The girl’s voice had sounded so much like Lucilla’s it was uncanny. She tried to convince herself she was mistaken. but she knew she wasn’t.

“You know, don’t you,” the girl whispered. It was not a question, and Miranda felt as if the air had become even colder. “You know who I am, Miranda.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

Miranda straightened. Most of her wanted to rush from the room. She didn’t want any more of this insane nightmare. Lucilla is dead, she told herself. And this is Daisy. My niece. My sister’s child.

“If you let me down,” the girl said, “it will be worse for everyone.”

“Worse?” Miranda felt frightened and weak, certain she was having a mental breakdown. It was the only explanation.

“You must take me away from here — in your car. We must go away as far as we can from here.”

Miranda shook her head. “How? Why? I don’t understand.”

“Later tonight, when they’re asleep, I’ll come to your room. I’ll be dressed. Make sure you are, too.”

“And then?”

“We leave. Bring your car as close to the house as you can. I can’t afford to be outside. You remember what happened at your flat?”

Miranda gasped. “Lucilla?”

The girl stared steadily at her. “If you don’t want your sister and her family to suffer like I did” — the girl closed her eyes — “be ready,” she whispered. “We must leave tonight.”

Miranda stood by the bed a few moments more, uncertain, knowing she should go down and tell Victoria what her daughter had said. What would happen if she did? Wouldn’t Victoria think she was making things up? She would never believe Daisy had said any of this. It was too bizarre, crazy. She wasn’t even sure if she believed it herself.

* * *

When Miranda left the room, she returned downstairs, uncertain over what to say — or not to say — to her sister.

“Everything okay?” Victoria asked.

Feeling guilty, Miranda said it was quiet upstairs. “One of them must’ve been having a bad dream,” she said. She sat down and reached for her wine, then hesitated. Should she drink any more if she was likely to be driving away from here in a few hours? If I’m going to drive away, she thought. If. She had to think this through, she told herself, but how and when? Victoria wanted to talk, and her inconsequential chatter distracted Miranda from what she really, desperately needed to think about.

“I’m not feeling well,” Miranda said suddenly. She put down her glass. “I think I’ll have an early night.”

“Is there anything I can get you? Some tablets?” Victoria asked. Her concern upset Miranda, who felt she was about to betray her and her family. She shook her head. “I’ll be all right. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t put right.”

“If you’re sure.”

Miranda nodded this time. “I’m sure,” though she wished, fervently, that she was when she left the room and went upstairs.

* * *

Inside her room, Miranda sat on the edge of the small bed. Daisy’s bed. How much of the real Daisy was still inside the girl, she wondered, certain now the girl must have been possessed by Lucilla, by her dead spirit, in a way she could not understand, which made her wonder whether Lucilla had been possessed, as well.

Had Lucilla been taken over just as Daisy had been? It was a ridiculous thought, she knew, but what other explanation was there? None of it made any sense to her down-to-earth, practical, sceptical side, except that she knew something she could not describe had somehow crashed through the window of her flat only two nights ago and attacked Lucilla, killing her. She had sensed, perhaps even half-seen the thing. She had smelt it, she knew; she would never forget the stench, that stink of mould and decay. Or the sounds that battered her ears as it all but filled the room with its onslaught.

That had been so insane only something equally insane could explain it.

Miranda cupped her head in her hands and sobbed, wondering what had happened to her life. It was a terrible nightmare, and she would be relieved if she could convince herself it was just the sickness of her mind, that she had imagined it all. But Lucilla had been killed. Her dismembered body had been scattered all over her bedroom. She had glimpsed it once and would never forget the terrible sight. That was not her imagination, she knew. None of it was. Insane or not, it was real.

Just as she was sure that Lucilla’s voice had been real when Daisy spoke to her, Miranda knew she could not ignore what the girl had said, whether she liked what she was about to do or not.

She listened to Victoria, then Bill as they climbed the stairs, their voices low. She heard the light switches being turned off, then an even lower mumble of voices from her sister’s bedroom, before eventual silence.

* * *

Still, Miranda sat on the edge of her bed, listening to the creaks and groans of the central-heating pipes as they started to cool. She listened to the wind outside her bedroom window. As the quiet intensified, she even listened to the sound of her pulse as it throbbed through her temples.

She had begun to feel thirsty as the effects of the few glasses of wine she’d drunk began to dissipate. She would still be over the legal alcohol limit, she knew, but she could drive reliably enough not to attract the attention of the police.

It was then she realised that she was going to do what Lucilla said.

As quietly as she could, Miranda filled a bag with what few possessions she had with her, zipping it shut, then leaving it, ready, on the bed. As the air cooled, she put on a denim coat and a scarf. She sat down again, her light still on, and stared at the door.

Over two hours passed while she waited, before the door opened. Daisy stood on the landing, already dressed, a bag in one hand. She wore her weekend clothes, with a hooded cagoule.

Without talking, they crept downstairs, Daisy leading the way. The hallway felt warmer than Miranda’s bedroom, which made the outside air seem even colder when she unlocked the front door and stepped out onto the concrete path. Her car was still by the kerb. She’d left it there because there wasn’t room along with Bill’s and Victoria’s on the drive.

She turned to Daisy. “I can’t bring my car any closer to the door. Your father’s is in the way.”

“You know he isn’t my father; Victoria isn’t my mother either,” the girl said. “You should get used to calling me Lucilla again. Daisy isn’t with us now; not fully anyway.”

Miranda felt chilled at the lack of concern in Lucilla’s voice, as if Daisy were inconsequential, a negligible necessity.

The girl glanced down the avenue, then up at the sky. She shivered. “Unlock your car and call me when you’re ready.”

Unsure why she was obediently doing what the girl told her, Miranda hurried to the road, unlocked her car, then climbed inside. It felt as if she had stepped into a fridge. She lowered the passenger window and called, “Now,” as quietly as she could.

Lucilla raced down the path and threw herself onto the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Where to?” Miranda asked.

“Just away.” The girl’s eyes were intent on taking in as much as she could of their surroundings as they drove off. Miranda could feel her nervousness.

There was little traffic as they drove through town and took the road towards the motorway.

“South,” the girl said.

“How far?”

“As far as possible. I’ll tell you when.” The girl folded her arms across her chest, scrunching even deeper into her seat so that she looked even smaller than ever. Miranda glanced at her, wondering what hold she had on her. Miranda knew Victoria would ring the police as soon as she found they had both gone missing. How would she ever be able to explain to her sister why she had done it? She knew Victoria would never forgive her, especially after all the help she had given. What an ungrateful slap in the face this was.

Miranda glanced at Daisy, unable to understand how the girl had been able to convince her to do this. Had it been how Lucilla had persuaded her to let her stay at her flat to start with, even though Miranda knew how wrong that was, how it would endanger her career at the Shelter?

What kind of control had the girl got over her? Love? Sex? Or something more?

Miranda gritted her teeth, half-convinced she should turn back now or head for the nearest police station, pathetic though her story would sound if she tried to explain what had happened. It would only take Lucilla to burst into tears, and no one would ever believe anything Miranda said.

She knew her options were limited. And the further she drove the more limited they would be.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Miranda asked.

She saw Daisy look towards her. “I have to,” the girl said. “I need your help,” then closed her eyes. Miranda knew she would get no more from her. Reticent as ever, Lucilla was as tight-lipped as a clam. Miranda knew she had no choice but to keep on driving. And hope that things would somehow, in some way work out.

* * *

By dawn, she was exhausted. Bleary-eyed, knowing she was in danger of falling asleep at the wheel, Miranda drove onto the next motorway service station they reached. As she pulled up in one of the parking slots, the girl opened her eyes.

“I need a rest,” Miranda said. “I need coffee. I need something to eat.” Though whether she would be able to hold anything down, she was not sure. She would probably throw up as soon as she ate it.

“I’ll wait in the car,” the girl said.

“Do you want me to bring you something? Some milk? A Coke? Something to eat?”

Miranda took the girl’s silence as no. Feeling even less sure why she was doing what Lucilla told her, Miranda climbed out and wandered through the dull pre-dawn gloom towards the service station, its neon lights far from comforting.

The place was quiet. The few motorists there were looked apathetic, some heading for the toilets, while others milled about the self-service restaurant which looked as if it had only just opened. There was, though, the smell of hot food. Its effect on Miranda was twofold. Her hunger craved it, but the awful tension in her stomach rebelled. By the time she had a tray in her hand she finally settled on a couple of slices of toast and a mug of coffee. “A large mug,” she said to the girl at the checkout.

Miranda took her tray to a table near the window where she could see her car. The girl was visible inside it, slumped so low it was as if she was hiding. Perhaps she is hiding, Miranda thought, struggling to nibble her way through a slice of toast. It was warm and buttery and made her queasy, though she knew she needed something to eat. She washed it down with a sip of the coffee, hoping it would counteract her nausea.

After forcing herself to eat most of one slice, Miranda finally gave up and concentrated instead on the coffee, when her mobile started to ring. She reached inside her coat, at the same time feeling an impulse to throw up everything she had eaten. Even before she looked at the mobile’s screen, she knew it was her sister.

For several seconds, she stared at Victoria’s name while the phone continued its idiotic tune, undecided whether to answer it or not, knowing there was nothing she could say to her sister to explain what she had done. Abruptly, angry at herself, Miranda cancelled the call and switched the mobile off. There was nothing she could say — nothing at all.

Pushing herself to her feet, Miranda hurried back to her car.

“What’s the matter?” the girl asked as Miranda slammed the door shut behind her and reached for the keys.

“Your mother rang on my mobile.” Miranda stared hard at the girl, searching for a reaction.

“Daisy’s mother was certain to ring,” the girl said. “Did you speak to her?” Miranda shook her head. “She’ll ring the police. She knows your car, its make, its registration. They’ll be looking for it.”

Miranda felt herself panicking again, even though part of her wanted the police to catch them. At least then it would all be over.

Or would it?

“There is somewhere we can go,” the girl said. “It isn’t far.”

Miranda stared at her. “How could you know that? Do you even know where we are?”

The girl’s face showed the faintest of smiles. “Of course I do.”

And Miranda believed her. Crazy though it seemed, she didn’t doubt that the girl knew exactly where they were.

“I feel sick,” Miranda said. “I need the toilets.”

Lucilla smiled, as if amused at Miranda’s weakness.

“Don’t take long.”

Miranda staggered from the car. She did feel sick. The more she listened to Lucilla’s voice from her niece’s lips, the more she realised how stupid she had been. She had carried that parasite to her sister’s house and let it take the girl over. That she hadn’t realised what would happen when she went there made no difference to her feelings of guilt. Miranda was sure she should have realised something might happen, no matter how outlandish it seemed. The signs were there. Miranda could see them now when she looked back over what had happened since she first met Lucilla.

Miranda hurried inside the service station. As soon as she was out of sight of the car, she changed direction and headed for the bridge that would take her to the other side of the motorway. She walked as fast as she could without drawing too much attention to herself.

As soon as she reached the other side of the motorway, she went to the exit. The filling station was a few hundred yards away, where she hoped to find all the things she had decided she would need to end this nightmare.

* * *

Proceed to part 11...

Copyright © 2022 by David A. Riley

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