Mayhem on Nightingale Street (McNamara, #1)

CHAPTER ONE –––––––– * * * * A SHARP SCREAM PIERCED the silence of the night, filling the air with the smell of fear. She woke up frightened, shivering and panting, as if from a nightmare. Turning on the light, she discovered John, her lazy and chubby husband, lying next to her, his knuckles pale and clenched in terror on the blanket wrapped over his chest. His eyes were wide open and horror was engraved on his face. Neither of them said or did anything. It was as if that scream had paralyzed their minds and bodies. All they could do was look at each other—eyes wide and faces pale. They couldn’t imagine what had happened, or understand what that horrible scream, which had spoiled their night, could possibly mean. After several long moments of painful silence, John spoke in a low murmur, as if he were afraid he’d awaken ghosts lurking in the dark. “What the hell was that, Doris? Did you hear it?” “Of course, I heard it, stupid,” she spat. She finally felt safe enough to speak. “Why do you think I’m staring at the walls in the middle of the night? You absolutely must go out and see what’s going on,” she spoke quickly. Her usual determination screeched in the man’s ears. He looked at her in shock. He couldn’t believe his ears. The daft woman actually wanted him to go out there. Her words stirred a torrent of anger in him. Years of frustration had already piled up in his chest painfully and the dam broke. “You’ve given that a lot of thought, haven’t you?” he snapped at her in a bitter voice. “Do you think I’ve got the guts to go out there, in the night, after something like that?” he shouted, waving his hand in the air. “You must be daft, woman.” For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything, but the look on her face did the talking for her. Not that he cared to know. After forty years of marriage, her opinions weren’t a secret anymore. He was aware of the shift in her feelings for him. She’d looked at him differently for a few years now. She didn’t harbour any warmth or delight for him in her bones. “Oh, God, you’re so pathetic! You’re such a wimp, you know!” she exclaimed bitingly. She thought she might make him move if she’d used such words. She knew what buttons to push so that he’d do her bidding. Over the time, she’d learnt how to use everything in her favour. “This time around, you can say whatever you want, my dear... This time, it won’t work,” John dragged his words. “I don’t give a fig about any of that. I won’t go out just to please you... you... harpy!” he stuttered. “It sounded like it had come directly from hell, and hell and I have nothing in common save for you,” he repeated one of his favourite quips. “I know, I know, don’t remind me,” she snapped back, annoyed. By now, she would know his lines by heart. They had been living together for far too long and there wasn’t anything left unsaid between them. “But maybe someone needs help and look at us, we’re just lying here. We’re wasting our time talking nonsense,” she whined. “Well, if you’re so brave, my dove, then, maybe, you should go out there,” he challenged her, with more than a little sarcasm colouring his voice. “But, I don’t advise you to do that. You’re crazy, old bat! I tell you.” “I don’t think so,” she replied grumpily. She had sharpened her ears to catch any noise from outside. “I hear hurried steps outside, John... I think, Mr Thompson’s woken up... I’m sure I hear others as well... Well, what do you say now?” she eagerly provoked him. She was sure his pride would suffer if he didn’t go out then. Men were like that. They would take a dare at the snap of a finger. They always tried to show they were better, stronger and braver than any other man in the room. “All right, back off!” he snapped, throwing the cover away. “If he’s out there, I’ll go, too. Now, just shut up, back off, and let me get dressed,” John bellowed, cornered by his nagging wife. He got out of bed, still springy for his age, and went to the bathroom to get his bathrobe. His gestures were abrupt, full of irritation. He tied his bathrobe and went downstairs. All the way down, he muttered a few choice words under his breath about his nosy wife. She had remained in bed. She was content to stay there and wait for news from him. Of course, she didn’t have enough courage to get up and go look out the window, like she usually did. Yet, she would push him out in the middle of the night just on a whim. He opened the front door to bright lights. All the windows on the little street were lit. The uncharacteristic illumination unsettled him. Not even at Christmas did their street display so many lights. They were Scots and they minded their pockets after all. John noticed three men heading with long strides towards his front lawn. They were talking to one another and pointing to one spot on his lawn. He glanced there as well. When he saw what they were staring at, his blood ran cold. Right there on his lawn, a body lay motionless in the light of the moon, which had just come out of the clouds. It took him only an instant to notice the blonde hair and the white dress. The dress was torn and stained with blood and the green of the grass. The body’s right hand lay in full sight. The crooked fingers created the illusion they intended to cling on to something in the air. Then, the smell hit him — somewhat sweet and sour at the same time. One wouldn’t forget that smell. He could have betted his last quid in the bank that the scent would linger there for days or maybe more. The lawn didn’t belong to him anymore. John suddenly felt dizzy and overwhelmed. His body seemed to have left the material space occupied by the horrific scene before him. The relief was shortly lived, though. The nausea hit him, like a ruthless punch in his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. John bent in an awkward position and remained hunched, unable to move. His muscles lacked oxygen and he tried to breathe, yet he couldn’t. His lungs screamed for air. His head was spinning faster and faster. He saw everything as if through a dense fog. Mr Thompson was on his lawn, and he had just leaned over the body splayed on the grass. He said something, motioning to Mr Reid, who lived in the third house across the street. Mr Reid replied. John thought it was strange that he couldn’t make any sense of the two men’s words. Then, John caught a glimpse of a shadow in the dark, by the corner of the house at the edge of the lawn. He felt threatened, although he still had enough wits to understand it was just foolish thinking. Nothing bad could happen to him with so many people around. John had never been a very brave man. That was more evident now when he was old and lacked the advantage of youth’s stupidity. Overwhelmed, he fell on the veranda like a log. Everything went black and downright silent around him. Only that iron fist of pain, squeezing his chest tight, remained present for another second. Then, the peace he’d longed for, surrounded him. It was a safe and easy way out, although, truth be told, John had never thought he’d feel that way when his last day would come. From upstairs in her bed, Doris, his wife, heard Mr Reid call to the others. “Oh, I think Mr Dobbs fainted. We should call a doctor or something, I think.” Doris’s fingers and legs started shaking. Dark thoughts piled up in her mind. She wanted to get out of bed but her legs shook badly and didn’t help her much. She finally threw her legs over the edge of the bed, but she couldn’t find her slippers, although they were just there, right where she would always leave them, under the bed. She couldn’t pull herself together. She knew John. He might have been a little lazy and sometimes too stubborn for his own good, but he wasn’t the coward she’d accused him to be. He’d never fainted before, even if the situation had been bad. Guilt weighed on Doris’s heart. If it had not been for her, her husband wouldn’t have gone outside at all. He would have lain next to her, in their old bed, waiting for everything to get back to normal. John wasn’t a curious person. No one would have cared less about what happened in the street or in their neighbours’ houses. Doris tried to keep her balance, leaning against the wall on her way down the stairs. She was shaking all the worse, the closer she got to the hallway. Then, for a moment, Doris controlled her wild panic. Truth dawned on her — things wouldn’t ever be the same for her again. Something irreparable had happened to her husband and that would change her life. That unbearable thought made her move faster down the stairs. When she reached the hallway, Doris saw the front door opening, and fear seized her heart. Stunned, she watched the slow movement of the door. She held her breath, waiting to see who would come inside her house. After a few seconds, heavy steps sounded on the wooden floor. Two men entered but she didn’t recognize them at first. They were carrying her John in their arms. She stared at John intently, willing him to move or say something. She glanced at the men again and now, she recognized her neighbours, Mr Thompson and Mr Reid. Mr Thompson said, “Don’t be afraid, Mrs Dobbs. I think Mr Dobbs has just fainted, that’s all. He’ll be back to his usual self in no time, you’ll see. I do hope he doesn’t have a weak heart, though,” he continued, shaking his head. “That scene out there isn’t for the faint of heart. Where should we put him, Mrs Dobbs? The doctor is on his way already. He’ll be here in a minute. Mrs Dobbs?” He kept talking and talking, his lips moving, forming words, yet Doris couldn’t hear a sound. She needed a few seconds to become aware that they were staring at her. She shook her head to clear her mind. Mr Thompson repeated slowly, when he understood she was in shock, “Mrs Dobbs, are you feeling well? Where should we put poor Mr Dobbs?” Doris struggled with herself and finally pulled herself together just enough to reply softly, “On the sofa, I think. Aye, on the sofa,” she repeated in a stronger voice. She almost regained her old composure. “I think that’s the best place for him now. Thank you, Mr Thompson. You said the doctor was coming?” “Aye, Mrs Dobbs, right now. I’ve asked Mr Brown to call him. We’ve called the police too. They’re on their way.” “What happened, Mr Thompson?” she asked, somewhat reluctantly. That was something peculiar. She was always the first on their street to find out what was going on around. She made it her business to know if a neighbour had had a row with his wife or with another neighbour. She had been the first who found out that the Porters’ little Patsy had eloped with that good-looking young man, who was working for the Browns, or when the Davidsons had decided to divorce. “It’s best you didn’t know, Mrs Dobbs. It wouldn’t do any good to you now, I think. Here’s the doctor,” Mr Thompson said when he glanced out the window. The doctor’s car had just stopped in front of the house and Mr Thompson went out to greet him. Doris sat down on an armchair near the sofa and studied her husband. John’s face looked unnatural in the soft light of the living room. All colour had left his cheeks. His left hand still clenched his bathrobe stiffly, and the other hung on one side of the sofa lifeless. Doris didn’t hear him breathing and she knew. The doctor needn’t come anymore... At least not for John. He was gone. She didn’t move. She merely stared at him. Only one thought repeatedly sounded in her mind like a mantra, drowning out the sounds from the street, her heartbeat, everything ‘He’s dead. Oh, God, he’s dead.’ She felt like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut off. Nothing bothered her anymore. Even her pain had hidden inside her mind. ***