Friday 24 May 2013

Nora (Part 4)


Fear ran through her slowly like ice down her spine. Nora watched through the bars. The door shut behind him, plunging the room back into almost pure darkness. He did his usual routine; hung up his keys, took off his tie and put down his briefcase. As he did so, the case flipped open and the contents spilled across the grey carpet. Wigs, glasses, lumps of flesh coloured mould. His lifted up a strip of rubbery skin. It was the bridge of a nose, slightly raised.
            ‘Your daddy has a lovely face,’ he said. He did not look at her as he spoke, but she knew the words were directed towards her. They were alone as usual. ‘I really fooled you with that one, didn't I?’ His voice was high and smug.
            Nora did not answer. She stayed curled into a ball, her knees held tightly to her chin. Tears stained her cheeks, though she had lost the strength to cry days ago.
            She winced. Now the process had started. He turned to the window and made a cross symbol in the air with his hands. She knew without looking that he was smiling.
            ‘Save me with your greatness, for I shall do your bidding.’ He let out a little laugh. It was like a snake shedding its skin. A rebirth, that’s what he called it. First he removed his trousers and underwear, leaving his torso fully dressed. He then slowly removed his blazer and began unbuttoning his shirt. It was at this point that he always turned to her, still smiling. She pushed herself back against the end of the cage.
            It was demonic. He stood, naked and white in the middle of the blackness. He removed his glasses and pulled off his moustache. Then the hair. He let out a sigh of pleasure as he lifted the wig, still attached to his smooth scalp by trails of thick glue. They snapped one by one. He was like a huge, hairless child. The only things which did not shine were his yellow teeth.
            ‘And I am reborn from my chrysalis,’ he said. He raised his arms. ‘Into the realm of the Lord. And he shall love me like no other, for only I can hear his will.’

*

He was sat on the sofa beside the cage, legs crossed and raised on the table. He glugged down gallons of coke noisily. Nora wasn't too sure how God felt about coca-cola, but the man’s teeth definitely didn't appreciate it.
            ‘It was always you, Nora. I could sense it from the beginning. We are the chosen ones.’ He stared at the wall in front of him as he spoke.
            ‘Shut it,’ said Nora. It had taken her days to find courage to speak, but as soon as she did her speech evolved immediately into shouts. ‘I want to go home!’
            He laughed. ‘Patience. We will be going home soon. Together. Into the kingdom.’ He sighed, re-crossing his legs. ‘I felt a connection to you, Nora. I watched you. Watched you for so long. You are the one, the other messiah. You made me...’ he paused, searching for the word. When he found it, he widened his shining eyes towards her. ‘Excited.’
            ‘Weirdo,’ she said. She began banging on the bars, singing the word violently. ‘Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo!’
            This made him anxious. His mouth contracted into a single line. He rushed over to the tiny table and picked up his red pen. He drew line after line across his body and began to shout. ‘Shut up!’
            Nora did so. She had never seen him so crazed. A mixture of terror and pleasure bubbled inside her.
            As the hours passed the tiny room was plunged even further into darkness, lit only with a misty red glow from the setting sun. He had been pacing around for what seemed like an age, muttering incomprehensibly to himself. Nora had not spoken in hours. In fact, she was beginning to dose off.
            She was shocked back to reality by the sound of his voice. He barked as he turned towards her. ‘But enough chit-chat.’ His smile was back. It was huge, splitting his face in two. ‘It is time.’
            Nora screamed as his shadow engulfed her.

*

After Dave Buckard’s arrest, seven days after Nora’s body was found, a familiar man was discovered by D.I. Dresdon hanging from a ceiling fan in one of the station offices. Words were scrawled across his forehead in red pen.
            In the name of the Lord          
            It was not until D.I. Whittin’s autopsy that a surprising discovery was made about his hair.

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