Page 6 of Taunting Tarran
Guilt is what plaguesmythoughts. So when the lawyers and the estate agents came sniffing, I told them I’d be leaving it in the care of the farmers who already tended to the land and it would provide them and their families’ accommodation. They can live off the land, as my grandpa had, and the balance from the cultivation would be deposited into a euro account, of which I have zero interest in accessing, as its sole existence came about because I shot my grandpa in the face.
‘Ms Pinegrove!’ small fingers tug at my sleeve, pulling me from my thoughts. The girl’s eyes, big and bright the kind that light up the room.
‘Yes, Alison?’ I smile as the five-year-old bounces up and down, cupping herself between the legs.
‘Can I go to the toilet?’
I smile, ‘Of course. Do you want me to come with you?’
She huffs. ‘No! I’m a big girl.’
‘OK, but take Susan with you,just in case.’
Children can be so innocent. ‘OK,’ she drawls. Her long lashes accentuated as her eyes drop, her chubby cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink.
Swallowing, I put my memories of a life far behind me to the side, and I wipe away the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Seeing these children every day, and being their teacher, enables me to hold back the nightmares as I struggle to hold onto my sanity, despite the recurring voices.
Eso es cariño, abre la boca.
‘NO!’ I scream.
‘Ms Pinegrove?’ the children ask as Tommy’s hand closes around mine. My eyes are wide with shock as I blink forcing back the tears.
‘It’s OK...’ I nod.
Twenty years have gone by, and still I feel the urge to punish myself for what happened. I live alone because most nights I’m thrashing around in the bed, screams clawing at my throat, my arms flailing and nails scratching at my skin until I’m bleeding. A lifetime isn’t long enough to accept my freedom, because every night I’m taken back, trapped inside that cage, with some dirty, old farmer pissing in my face, my face that still had the contents of my grandpa’s head all over it.
And all I did was run. Run away from the other captives. I left them. I LEFT THEM.
I survived. Yet, all I want to do is fucking die.
Mum said it was Survivor’s Guilt. That’s as far as her help went. She offered nothing else, no advice. I had to figure outeverything on my own. And it was only when I accidentally cut my finger chopping onions that the pent-up tension from all these years began to seep away. In that moment, the haunting voices only quieted when I too was suffering, and that’s when I heard about The Lickerish Lounge.
CHAPTER 3
THE BUTCHERBIRD
I had never been to a club like The Lickerish Lounge before. I imagine these types of clubs all being the same; the feeling of a malevolent force extending its tendrils and enveloping each client into its dark embrace. If not, then I got lucky, because that’s exactly how this club feels.
Two months ago, the five of us – dubbed the ‘Birds of Prey’ by someone at some point – Rachel, Anna, Emma, Sarah, and I, were seated in my car, listening to Sarah recount the embarrassing story of her foolish boyfriend Steve getting stabbed in the bollock by a black stiletto.
‘I can’t believe that arsehole!’ Sarah snapped, throwing her phone in her bag as she climbed into my car passenger seat.
‘You have to dump him now!’ Anna demanded shaking her head, before Emma shrugged, ‘What a loser…’
‘It’s not that easy…’ Sarah huffed.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Sarah?’ Anna muttered, but I stayed quiet. I never was one to say much, always happy to be the designated driver. I rolled my eyes as I turned on the ignition, pulled out of my parking spot and headed to Emma’s house to drop her off.
I felt Sarah’s eyes bore into me as my forehead dropped towards the steering wheel and I fought the urge to look too interested.
‘Steve’s a dick,’ I nodded quietly, letting the girls cuss and berate Steve, and how their lives would be so much easier without men.
‘So, tell me from the top,’ Emma asked as I drove to drop them off at each of their houses.
‘Well,’ Sarah turned in her passenger seat, facing Anna and Emma, ‘I overheard him telling one of his mates how sore his dick was. I thought that’s odd as we hadn’t been intimate for weeks.’
‘And…’ Emma urged.
