WE ARE THRILLED TO WELCOME BACK, AUTHOR ROSHAN K PITTEEA, WHO IS SHARING EXCERPTS FROM CHAPTERS 1 AND 15 FROM HIS SECOND NOVEL, 'THE VOODOO ROOM' #RWRTeam Blog #ReadWriteRepeat

Zara Joseph didn’t need to feel its presence to know it was there. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Perhaps it would spare her if she pretended to be asleep. The hiss of its straw mane announced its presence like a rattlesnake’s tail. A shadow fell over her, blocking out the soothing glow of her little brother’s nightlight. Remy was fast asleep in the top bunk. She knew she had to stay silent, if only to protect him from the horror of this new visitation.

Longanis.

That’s what Papa had called it. A voodoo sorcerer with power over life and death. Papa had told her in hushed tones how the longanis used to venture down from the mountains to his village, offering to kill or cure if the price was right. He’d broken out into a hearty laugh as he reminded her that Mama’s family had a longanis in every generation.

Zara stifled a yelp. The tickle of the straw on her bare arm might as well have been a rake dragging across her skin. She could smell it now. Incense. Rum. Something else. Something foul, scorched. The smell of Hell. All those sinners being burnt alive for their wrongs. Mama often reminded her that wickedness had a price.

Zara wracked her brain, wondering what wickedness a ten-year old girl could have wrought to warrant being haunted by a longanis.

She flinched as the cold, dry fingers scraped slowly down her cheek, leaving a powdery residue in their wake. Grave dirt. The longanis moved between life and death. It could drag the dead from their resting place to do its bidding. Her breathing quickened now, despite her best efforts to pretend that she was still asleep.

“Zara.”

Oh, God.

“Either you pay, Zara,” the hoarse, chilling voice whispered. “Or Remy pays.”

Zara could hear Remy’s gentle snores, his eight-year-old’s dreams undisturbed by their deathly visitor. She rolled onto her back and forced her eyes open slowly. Nothing. The soft ochre glow of the nightlight warmed the room. A dream. Zara shuffled, trying to prop herself up.

Her vision exploded with red and grey. The skeletal face of death, its red mane bristling, confronted her. Zara screamed.

The longanis’ cold, grey hand gripped her jaw like a vice, the dead black eyes boring into her soul as it rasped, “You will pay, child! You will pay for your wickedness!”

Zara squeezed her eyes shut and screamed again. If she closed her eyes, the longanis couldn’t enter her soul.

“Zara!” The voice was high-pitched this time.

Zara summoned her courage and forced open her eyes. Remy’s brown eyes studied her from the top bunk. “You woke me up!”

“I’m sorry.” Zara sat up and glanced around. The room was empty. She looked back up at Remy. “Go back to sleep.”

Remy huffed and rolled over, disappearing from Zara’s view. She was relieved that he didn’t see the tears starting to fall from her eyes.

* * * * *

“Put the knife down!” PC Louis Mortimer squared up to the heavyset man before him, PAVA canister drawn.

His aggressor wasn’t of a mind to listen. “Fuck you, pig!”

Louis held his ground, assessing the threat. The male was a similar age to him but easily twice his weight. Even though he wasn’t the picture of peak fitness, he could easily do Louis some serious damage. That was even before factoring in the six-inch hunting knife in his right hand.

Louis gave the final warning. “Put the knife down!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, his thumb depressed the trigger on the PAVA canister. In the same instant, his attacker charged forward with a loud bellow. Louis watched the jet of incapacitant spray zip past the brute’s right shoulder. He was quick enough to strike outwards with his left arm, smashing the back of his hand into the inside of the assailant’s wrist with enough force to send the knife clattering out of reach. It wasn’t enough to stop the big bastard from crashing into him, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Pinned to the ground now, Louis’ eyes went wide with panic. He’d been here before. His attacker’s grey eyes flickered green as he grabbed Louis’ throat, the weight of his body squeezing the air out of Louis’ lungs.

“Lights out, little piggy,” he growled, leaning in close to Louis’ face. The plump, ruddy features morphed momentarily into a handsome movie-star’s visage.

Louis roared with a superhuman rage as he smashed his forehead into his opponent’s nose. He heard something crunch seconds before drops of warm, metallic-smelling liquid dripped onto his cheeks.

His attacker groaned terribly and rolled off Louis, clasping his hands to his bleeding nose.

**********

Phillipe moved through the house quietly. He’d returned home around six o’clock to find the place deathly silent. Lisette was asleep on the sofa in the living room, an empty wine glass on the table beside her. He knew she wasn’t a heavy drinker; more than likely, it was fatigue that had overcome her.

The fact that the children were quiet and nowhere to be seen told him that Lisette had sent them to their room for some infraction. Phillipe went into the kitchen and noted that there were no signs of the children having eaten. It wasn’t unusual for Lisette to send them to bed without food when they angered her severely. They were permitted to leave their room only to use the toilet. If they were thirsty, they had to drink from the bathroom tap. To defy those rules meant risking harsher punishment.

Phillipe quickly plated two bowls of rice and curry for the children and set them on a tray with two small cartons of apple juice. He whisked up the stairs and entered their room. The children were laid on their respective beds and looked over to him forlornly. Phillipe handed them each a bowl of food and a carton of juice.

“Eat up quickly,” he said. “I’ll come back in ten minutes to take your bowls. Don’t make any noise to wake Mama.”

The children nodded and began devouring their food. Phillipe left them and went back downstairs into the living room. He sat in the armchair to the right of the sofa and gazed over at Lisette. The chatter of the gameshow on the television provided the necessary white noise to keep her fast asleep. She looked so serene, her beauty reminiscent of when he had first met her.

Even in those initial meetings, when their parents had chaperoned them, Phillipe had sensed the fire in her. She was stubborn and impulsive, a force of nature. Their marriage had been far from easy but he loved her all the same, loved her ferocity. His eyes grew heavy as he rested his hand on his stomach to quell the dull ache that still hadn’t shifted. Whatever his fate, he would never stop loving her. Phillipe closed his eyes, intending only to sleep for ten minutes or so.

* * * * *

“Yo, Lo-Mo!”

Louis blinked as Sabina’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “What?”

“How many people for a riot?”

Louis rubbed his eyes. “Twelve or more, present together and using or threatening unlawful violence for a common purpose.”

Sabina gave him a short round of applause then tossed a mini-Snickers from a tub of Celebrations at him. “Correct. You’re going to ace your exam, babe.”

Louis shrugged and popped the chocolate in his mouth. As he ate it, Sabina asked, “How did Connor seem to you today?”

“Pretty much on his usual form. Why?”

Sabina leant sideways to peer at him through the gap between the computer monitors. “He wanted to know whether he could ask Elliott questions at the Section 28 hearing.”

Louis pondered for a moment then said, “Makes sense, I suppose. Aside from the images on Bryan Hillesley’s computers, the only person who really knows what happened to Connor that night is Elliott.”

“In some ways, it’s a mercy that Connor was knocked out with ketamine,” mused Sabina. “But then, he’s left with his imagination to fill in the blanks. Poor kid.”

“Yeah.” Louis nodded sadly. His eye caught the time on his monitor: nine-twenty. He stood up.

Sabina eyed him suspiciously. “Where are you off to?”

“Luke’s got something for me,” Louis replied quickly, not looking back to see whether the lie had landed. He hurried out of the office to the lift. Damien was a creature of habit and would no doubt be parking up anytime now then heading to the locker room to get kitted up for the night-shift.

His earlier conversation with Rona had bothered him. It weaved into the twisted messages Simon had fed him during their relationship. Simon had made him believe that he was controlling, that he manipulated the people around him because of his own insecurities. People who were foolish enough to want to build any sort of relationship with Louis would quickly find that they had to do things his way or be cut off. After they’d separated, Louis had started to realise that Simon was the manipulator. The current situation with Damien had made Louis question himself once more.

Like most convincing lies, there was a seed of truth at the core. Yes, Louis wanted things his way. He’d grown up having his needs mostly ignored or superseded. Yes, he’d had food, warmth and shelter but it was the emotional stuff that had fallen short. Louis had learned from a young age not to ask for what he wanted, unless it was absolutely necessary. The fear of triggering a meltdown in Rona or a drunken rage from his dad was what he’d weighed against his own needs. Over time, he’d learned how to navigate his parents’ fluctuating moods. Perhaps that behaviour had continued into adulthood? What Simon had tried to do was convince Louis that he was wrong to seek out what he needed.

Louis felt a strange sense of achievement as his epiphany broke in the stale-smelling lift. It was OK to ask for what he wanted, to set boundaries in his relationships. Damien had some choices to make but his unhappiness wasn’t to do with what Louis wanted for them. He had a fair point about Louis trying to push him into doing something before he was ready; that was something Louis had taken on board.

The lift doors opened on the basement floor and he headed towards the male locker room. A quick check

inside confirmed that Damien hadn’t landed yet. Louis glanced at his phone. It wasn’t quite nine twenty-five. Damien liked to be ready to go by half-nine, even though his shift officially started at ten. Louis loitered in the corridor, hoping he hadn’t missed him. It would be easy enough to send a text but he felt that he needed to do this in person. Once again, the inherent danger of the job made him reluctant to delay saying the important things.

Louis had decided to give Damien the time he needed. As hard as that was going to be, Louis felt it was the right thing to do. Damien had never given him a reason not to trust him, so why not afford him some more time? If they were in the same situation this time next year, that might be different. On the other hand....

He stopped the train of thought there. If he allowed himself, he could spend hours weighing up the pros and cons and still not reach a firm decision. It was so hard not being able to talk to anyone about it. Sabina would be the first to tell him if he was being an arsehole, or if she thought he was being taken for a mug. Likewise, Luke would offer some wise counsel whilst making a confectionary-related bet that everything would turn out fine.

The door at the end of the corridor swung open and Damien walked through. He was wearing a light-grey

hoodie over his uniform top with a black holdall slung over his shoulder. His boots were bulled to perfection. A lot of the younger officers were happy to let that habit slide as soon as they left training school, but not cops of Damien and Luke’s generation.

His expression was one of pleasant surprise as he walked up to Louis. “Alright?”

Louis breathed in the scent of Boss as Damien kissed him lightly on the lips. The fact that there were no CCTV cameras in this hallway didn’t detract from the fact that Damien was once again breaking his own rule about public displays of affection at work.

“Good shift so far?” Damien asked, bringing the holdall off his shoulder to dangle down by his ankle.

“Yeah, pretty Q,” replied Louis, knowing better than to jinx himself with the word ‘quiet’. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Damien frowned. “Yeah?”

Louis nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could get his words out, the door at the end of the corridor opened once more.

“Hey, Damien!”

Louis narrowed his eyes as Amy strolled towards them. Her blond hair was tied up in a neat bun but her tac-vest and body armour were in her hand.

Damien nodded at her.

“Hey, Louis,” she said, not bothering to look at him as she inserted herself between them.

“You clocking off early?” Damien asked.

Louis folded his arms, his jaw tightening.

“Time off for good behaviour,” Amy replied breezily. “And rest days start tomorrow. Pop in for breakfast after your shift?”

A red mist descended on Louis’ vision. His feet felt rooted to the spot. He took a deep breath. He was going to give Damien time, even if his first instinct was to explode with jealousy.

“Thanks for the offer, mate,” he heard Damien reply. “Got plans.”

“Aww!”

Louis didn’t need to see Amy’s face to know that she was pouting. He sidestepped from behind her and said, “Have a good shift, Damo.”

Damien looked perplexed, a rare sight indeed for someone who was normally ice-cold under pressure. “Louis...”

“Got to go, mate,” Louis said with feigned cheerfulness. “Big job on upstairs. Have a good one.”

He turned on his heel and swiftly exited the corridor. Give him time.

* * * * *

Zara looked up from her sketchpad, distracted by the giggles coming from Remy’s bunk. Papa hadn’t returned to collect their empty bowls. The sun had slowly faded, making way for night. The moon stretched its silvery fingers across the bedroom floor, only to be beaten back by the nightlight’s glow.

Zara had quietly gotten herself and Remy ready for bed earlier, anxious not to incur Mama’s wrath. She looked across at the tray with the bowls on, which sat on the desk opposite the bunk beds. Was it best to leave them there, hoping that Papa took them away before Mama realised? Or was it safer to take them down, wash them and put them away? Mama might think she and Remy had helped themselves, which would certainly result in unpleasant consequences.

She licked her dry lips, ever-so-slightly resenting her earlier decision to give her apple juice to Remy because he’d still been thirsty. Zara could have insisted that he went to drink from the bathroom tap but that would have entailed her having to help him reach it. If Mama thought they were messing around...

Zara swung her legs off the bed and sat up. She would go for a drink, check to see what had become of her parents then make a decision about the bowls. Before she left the room, she climbed up two rungs of the ladder and peered into Remy’s bed. He was laid on his side, his curly hair awry and his brown eyes wide. When he saw her, he smiled serenely and waved slowly as he whispered, “Hi, Zara.”

“Al dormi,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. He was hot to touch and her hand came away wet with his sweat. She lifted the covers off his top half, noting that his Spiderman pyjamas also felt damp. She tested the sheets towards the middle of the mattress to make sure he hadn’t wet himself and was relieved to find them dry. He was obviously just hot. The room didn’t feel that warm to her but she thought nothing more of it as she climbed back down.

Zara opened the bedroom door a crack and peered out into the dark hallway. The television was on downstairs. Her parents’ bedroom door was open, the room itself in darkness. She proceeded cautiously towards the bathroom, aiming her footsteps as close to where the skirting boards met the floor to minimise any creaking. She slipped into the bathroom, closed the door softly then turned on the light.

Once the door was bolted, Zara breathed a heavy sigh. She leaned over the white porcelain sink, switched on the cold tap and cupped her hands underneath it. She gulped a few mouthfuls of water, slaking her thirst.

As she stood back up, she regarded herself in the mirror. Zara had always found it strange that her eyes looked so different to those of her family’s. Theirs were brown and hers were green. Papa joked that she’d inherited them from Mama’s side of the family, the eyes of a longanis.

Zara leaned closer to the mirror and touched her left cheek. She could see the faintest of bruises from where Mama had slapped her the other day. She’d already contrived to blame it on fighting with Remy if any of the teachers asked but none of them had. Poor Remy, she thought. Always bearing the brunt of their mother’s temper. He wasn’t a bad boy. He was just so energetic and curious. Unlike her, he wasn’t afraid to use his voice. She envied him that.

Zara took a few more mouthfuls of water then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She didn’t feel quite ready to leave the relative safety of the bathroom. Sighing, she moved over to the toilet, lowered her pyjama bottoms and sat down.

As she waited to see if anything would happen, her eyes drifted around the tight, rectangular room. The white tiles were broken up by a dark-blue border that ran along the mid-line of the walls. Above the toilet, which was situated on the outer wall, was a small window that was kept open to allow steam to escape. The old white bath, which creaked whenever someone got in it, was enclosed by a cream shower-curtain. On impulse, Zara moved it aside so she could check there was nothing behind it. It didn’t seem so irrational, she told herself as her eyes drifted up to the loft hatch in the ceiling over the door. There were monsters in the house.

Zara wiped herself, flushed the toilet and washed her hands. She hesitated a moment, gathering her courage before she shot the bolt back and went back out into the hallway. As she started down the stairs, she sensed something wasn’t right. After a few more steps, she realised the front door was open. In the same split-second, she spotted her bedroom door was ajar. Remy!

Zara rushed down the stairs. Beyond the front door, she could see that the gate was open but Remy was nowhere to be seen. She tried not to panic as she hurried to the threshold of the living room door. The television was still on but both her parents were fast asleep on the sofas. She turned on her heel and pulled her trainers on quickly. If she could just get to Remy and bring him back inside, she’d be saving him from the beating of his life. Zara rushed out of the house, taking care to close the front door just enough so that it wouldn’t lock behind her.

* * * * *

Rita McDonald hated driving through the city at night. Bad enough that she had to do it in the daylight. Fast approaching her sixty-fifth birthday, Rita’s confidence was dwindling. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had to visit her elderly mother in King’s Hospital, there would be no need to make this awful journey. Valley View General would have been easier to get to but King’s had the specialist stroke unit. Rita had decided to stay longer tonight because Mum seemed a little unsettled. Her verbal communication was nowhere near restored but it was obvious to Rita.

She didn’t care that there were nurses and assistants on the ward. They did a fantastic job of looking after the patients and she prayed for them every night, a small token of gratitude for the care they gave to their charges. The news was full of horror stories about the National Health Service but they couldn’t have been further from Rita’s experience. If anyone tried to criticise the nursing staff at King’s, Rita would be the first to speak up in their defence. Even so, they didn’t understand Mum in the same way she did.

Rita grasped the steering wheel of her red Hyundai Getz with both hands as she turned onto Pembroke Avenue. Her shoulders unconsciously squeezed up towards her ears, as if the gesture would somehow make herself and the little car smaller as it chugged through the narrow street. There were parked cars on both sides of the road. Rita prayed that she didn’t clip a wing-mirror because, God forgive her, she wouldn’t be stopping to leave her details. This wasn’t one of the worst parts of the city by any means, compared to the likes of the Woodfield Estate, but it was still far from salubrious.

The clock on the dashboard read quarter-past eleven. Rita was surprised she hadn’t had a call from her husband yet to check whether she’d left the hospital. Then again, Layton was probably four whiskies down and nodding off in front of Sky Sports. She squinted at the road ahead of her, the streetlights and the moon just about improving visibility. The junction with Pembroke Road wasn’t far off; plainer sailing from there. Rita began to run through the jobs on her to-do list for tomorrow, most of which were church-related. So much to do, never enough time.

“Better late than never,” she muttered, her eyes dropping to her handbag on the passenger seat as her phone beeped to herald the arrival of a text message. She had no intention of replying to it whilst she was driving, just glad to know that Layton had...

“Oh!”

Rita slammed her foot onto the brake pedal as she saw a tiny figure in the middle of the road. The curly hair and beatific smile were all she registered as the car ploughed into the child’s body.

The screams Rita heard next weren’t from under her car. She slowly turned her head, her eyes latching onto a little girl in her pyjamas standing between two parked cars.

**********

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COMING SOON: On Monday, 27th October, our team member, author Lorraine Carey, is sharing an in depth look at her protagonist, Dani Reyes, from her 'Women of the Willow Wood' trilogy.