The drawing pin felt cold and hard against my thumb. The smooth surface was unyielding. Leaning my weight into it, I forced it into the plaster until any initial resistance gave way with a faint creak.
Stepping back, I looked up at the black banner, now hanging in its rightful place. The white wolf’s head stared out protectively over what would soon become my domain.
“There, back where it belongs,” I said, turning to face Lela.
From where she lay, with her legs stretched out across the length of the sofa, Lela’s gaze met mine. Her hand reached up, slowly brushing back the hair that had fallen across her face. The bruising beneath her eye had faded to a pale yellow, barely visible anymore. Exhaustion shadowed her perfect features, yet she still managed a smile, just for me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“I’ve been better,” she said in a low, slow whisper. “What did I drink last night? My head’s in a total scramble.”
“Just one too many vodkas,” I replied, a soft giggle just escaping my lips. “Why don’t you rest up? I’ll give the house a tidy, then perhaps we’ll go for a walk to clear your head before Ingrid gets here.”
Her smile widened as I gently lifted her head and slid a cushion underneath.
“You’re a lifesaver, babe,” she said as her eyes drifted closed.
The glow of the morning sunlight cast across her face, bathing her features in radiant gold. A pastel pink hue blushed her cheeks while her chest rose and fell with every silent breath she took.
The creatures purred a low rumble in my ears as I stood mesmerised by her. “She’s yours.”
After tonight she would be, after tonight Ingrid would be out of the way for good and Lela would be free of that dull, stifling drudge. Free to express herself without being pulled down. Free to live her life the way she was supposed to live it.
I would finally set her free.
****
I moved through the living room with a silent, cold efficiency. With surgical precision, I began to straighten the photo frames on the windowsill. I plumped the cushions, carefully laying them back on the sofa so as not to wake Lela.
In the kitchen, I cleared the plates from the table and tipped the remains of our breakfast into the bin before dropping them, along with our coffee cups, into a sink of steaming white bubbles. I washed them until they gleamed spotlessly. Once dry, I stacked them back in the cupboard, straightening them to a meticulous edge.
I refilled Bella’s water and emptied a fresh tin of dog food into her plastic bowl.
By the time I had finished, the kitchen shone. Every surface polished, the floor was immaculate.
Returning to the living room, my gaze once again fell on the sleeping figure of Lela. Bella was curled at her feet, her snore a dull rumble, her chin resting on Lela’s knees. Tiny dust motes danced, appearing and vanishing in the still air above them. They reminded me of the fairies from the stories we used to read and the games we used to play.
The cool, citrus scent of polish clung to the warmth of the room.
Leaning back against the doorframe, I drew a deep breath, taking in the perfect scene laid out before me.
But I wasn’t done, not yet.
Gingerly, I made my way upstairs, the wooden steps groaning faintly beneath my feet.
As I glanced into Lela’s bedroom, the sheets and covers were a dishevelled heap. The white lace nightdress I’d helped her into last night was piled at the end of the bed next to her discarded bathrobe.
I hesitated for a moment, but I didn’t stop. Across from her door was mine.
My room was veiled in darkness. The heavy curtains, still drawn, allowed only the thinnest silver blade of light to penetrate the gloom.
Kneeling down beside my holdall, I slipped my hand into the main compartment. Rummaging around amongst my clothes and a handful of other possessions, I finally found what I was looking for. The smooth, sharp edge of a box.
It was one of the very few personal items that I had retrieved from my house, one of the very few that had miraculously not been taken or ransacked by Lars.
Inside the box was a beautiful, delicate watch. The alternating white and yellow links of the bracelet glinted faintly. The mother-of-pearl face seemed to glow with its own iridescent light. It was a watch that was very special to me. It was the watch that my grandfather had given me on my eighteenth birthday. I slipped it into the pocket of my blue jeans; tonight it would serve a very special purpose.
Downstairs was silent as I made my way out of my room and into Lela’s.
I straightened her thick duvet and fluffed up her pillows. As I did so, my hand dipped into my pocket, hesitating for a moment as it closed around the cold, heavy weight of the watch. I pressed the smooth metal into my palm before slowly drawing it out. The second hand swept effortlessly from one moment to the next.
Then, with one simple movement, I slipped it under the pillow.
Quickly, I hung Lela’s bathrobe on a hook behind her door before neatly folding her nightdress. Closing my eyes as I did so, I let that sweet scent of her envelop me. That intoxicating blend of her soft, spicy perfume mixing with just the slightest hint of sweat.
As I laid it gently at the end of the bed, my eyes drifted over the room, drawn almost instantly to her corkboard. It was a vibrant collage, bristling with photos and ticket stubs, a tapestry of Lela’s memories and dreams.
Reaching out towards it, my fingers tingled with a sudden, sharp heat as I traced a line from photo to photo. Private glimpses of Lela and Ingrid, images of her family… My hand froze, hovering over a photo of the two of us together, our arms wrapped around each other, our faces bright with laughter.
My mind snapped back to the day that picture was taken. It was our last day of school. The sun was shining brightly when Dad’s red Mustang pulled up outside, its engine grumbling a deep, heavy growl. I remember him offering to take a photo of the two of us with the disposable camera Lela had bought at the corner shop on the walk in that morning. She had hesitated at first. She always seemed shy around him for some reason but eventually she had agreed. We posed together, arm in arm, outside the old black wrought-iron gates of the school. The distant chatter of students and the rustle of leaves filled the air.
The memory felt like a lifetime ago, back when it was just the two of us. A moment of pure potential. Two best friends with their whole lives before them. But even then, although I didn’t know it at the time, Ingrid was lurking in the shadows, hiding behind the façade of Lela’s supposed relationship with Asmund.
Leaning forward, my fingertips closed around the red plastic pin impaling the glossy memory. Gradually I eased it from the board, catching the photograph in one hand and pressing the pin back in with the other.
****
Downstairs, the living room was exactly as I had left it. Lela was still peacefully sleeping off the effects of the drugs I had slipped her at the Kjelleren while Bella was still snoozing at her feet.
Moving to the window, the glass felt cold against my forehead as I peered out into the street. It was quiet, except for a solitary car rumbling softly past.
Glancing down, I plucked up one of the four picture frames sitting on the windowsill. It was a small, silver frame. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it. In fact, it felt thin and flimsy. Cheap. Certainly not something that Lela would have bought.
My fingers pried at the poorly made clasps. Carefully, I worked the backing loose, the sharp metal tabs resisting my efforts and digging painfully into my fingers before finally giving way. Reaching into the gap, I slid our school photo into the frame, pushing it in front of the meaningless, mundane snapshot that had occupied the space. Some drab shot of Ingrid with an inane grin plastered across her face. The words, ‘Love you always’, scrawled in a spidery hand across the bottom in black marker pen.
Lela was worth more than a pointless picture in a tacky frame.
Returning to the sofa, I gently nestled myself beside my slumbering family. Bella’s head snapped up as she let out a low, inquisitive huff before settling down across my lap. Lela stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
With one hand gently scratching Bella behind the ear and the other draped over Lela’s hip, I could feel the warmth of her through her gloss black leggings. Looking down, she was so still, so peaceful. Her eyes closed, her vibrant pink lips parted just the slightest crack.
So beautiful.
So perfect.
So mine.