Chapter 33
Ellie drifted in and out as the car spun its way out of the city limits and into the dark surrounds.
Even when she managed to hold her eyes open for more than a second, she could see nothing but the back of the passenger seat in front of her.
She was aware of a creeping blackness, no more lights flickering by.
The stop-start motion of city driving gave way to the smooth acceleration of the highway, helping soothe the thudding of her heavy head, the throb at her temple and the sick swooping sensation in her gut every time she opened or closed her eyes.
She was aware of Estella, the warmth of her thighs beneath Ellie’s head, the careful way her arm draped over her, as if she was trying to avoid hurting her further, the faint spice of her perfume mingling with the scent of blood that Ellie couldn’t get out of her nose. And then, finally, nothing.
“We’re here.”
Ellie opened her eyes — hours or days later — to the realisation that the car was no longer moving.
The night seemed eerily silent without the roar of tyres against the road, the engine ticking as it cooled.
The car door beside Estella was open, spilling cool sweet air and a soft hum of frog-song into the stuffy vehicle.
Ellie groaned and managed to drag herself upright.
Her head pounded like she’d drunk a whole bottle of vodka and her vision blurred.
She leaned back on the carseat in defeat, closing her eyes again.
The steady heat of Estella’s body pulled away, but just as she felt the loss, a low voice arrived like an apparition, warm, deep and familiar. “Eloise.”
When her eyes cracked open again, there he was. Broad-chested, a thick dramatic moustache with heavy eyebrows to match and dark eyes filled with softness.
“Hugo.” She could have wept just at the sight of him, but she found herself oddly empty of tears.
“Come on, my love.”
Ellie sighed and managed to shift her aching pile of disconnected limbs to the car doorway, where she found herself scooped up in the air, cradled against Hugo’s large chest like a baby.
She tried to protest, but he hushed her and she tried not to throw up at the seasickness of being swayed along a gravel path.
She opened her eyes briefly to glimpse a half-moon set low in the inky sky, leafy low trees lit up by small white lanterns.
The light grew brighter as she caught a glimpse of the beginning of an elaborate wooden house porch, and she scrunched her eyes tightly against it.
The scent of roses bloomed in the night.
“Oh darling, how butch of you,” murmured an unfamiliar man’s voice, as low and patrician as Hugo’s.
Ellie could only crack her lids open a fraction as they passed indoors under brighter house lighting, but she caught a glimpse of another grey-haired, older man, bright blue eyes, an elaborate green smoking jacket.
“You lucky thing, I wish he’d carry me over the threshold like that,” the man said, and just like that, Ellie felt safe.
Hugo followed the other man’s directions and she was gently deposited on a heavenly soft bed.
“The light—” Ellie managed, and the lamp on the bedside was almost instantly dimmed to a low burn.
She felt safe to open her eyes, just barely long enough to see herself surrounded in close forest green walls, white linen, framed art, fresh flowers.
The sheets smelled like sun-dried lavender, just strong enough to make the blood-scent fade.
“This is Harry,” Hugo told her, and the two men set about removing her shoes and socks, fussing around the pillows, gently dabbing blood from her face with soft towels and tucking her in.
“Where’s Estella?” she whispered, through the pounding in her brain.
“You need rest,” Hugo said reprovingly, as if that was any kind of answer.
“Oh, leave them be you old curmudgeon,” said Harry. “Come on in, darling, I know you’re out there.”
Then Estella was there, her face sickly white in the low light, sitting beside the bed, holding her hand. Ellie gave in to the darkness.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she was aware of murky dreams, snatches of too-bright colours that made her groan and shrink away, whirling behind her closed eyes, a fairground ride she couldn’t escape.
Up and down, sinking into darkness, whooshed up into the glare, over and over again.
Zara kept calling for her. “Ellie!” I’m here, Ellie, tried to tell her.
I’m right here. But Zara kept calling her, insistently, refusing to let it go.
“Ellie! Ellie, can you open your eyes for me?”
Ellie groaned. It wasn’t Zara. She had no idea who this stranger was, and she didn’t want to know. She tried to bury herself deeper into the sheets. “Sorry, honey,” the voice was gentle but persistent. “Open your eyes.”
Ellie reluctantly cracked opened her eyes to see a different woman kneeling by her bed, the room dim and dark green.
The curtains were still closed, but light spilled around the edges.
For a long, frightening moment she didn’t know where she was or why her head kept pounding.
She didn’t know what time it was. The room was empty, except for this stranger.
Was Ellie supposed to know her? She was around Ellie’s age and had dark glossy short hair that swooped across her forehead, warm dark skin, big soft eyes.
Impossibly pretty. She smiled reassuringly at Ellie.
“Ellie, my name’s Prisha, I’m one of the local doctors. Do you know where you are right now?”
Ellie was underwater, watching everything play out from the wrong side of the surface of a pond. She blinked, slowly. “I’m at Hugo’s,” she croaked. “But I don’t know where that is.”
“Close enough,” the woman said. “It’s Harry’s house, but he and Hugo are obsessed with each other, so I guess it’s basically Hugo’s now too. And we’re in Gold Hill. Does that sound right?”
“Um.” Ellie had been to Gold Hill a handful of times over the years, for hen’s parties and romantic getaways. It was that kind of town. “Estella brought me here.”
A strange expression crossed the doctor’s face. It was somewhere between a wince and wonder. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Estella Grant brought you here. We’re going to keep you safe, okay?”
Ellie had been beaten, of that she was fairly sure, but she couldn’t remember much else outside of a vague sensation of pain, fear and darkness. But even through the fog she knew what Prisha was worried about.
“It wasn’t Estella,” she said, her voice a rasp. Why? Had she been screaming? “She wouldn’t hurt me. She saved me, actually, I think…”
“She does seem to do that sometimes.” Prisha pressed her lips together in a firm line.
She made Ellie squeeze her hands and push her feet up and down as she moved around the bed.
She shone a little light in her eyes and palpated her neck, spine and abdomen.
She inspected the stitches in the side of her head.
She asked questions that made Ellie feel sick, but after a gentle conversation and examination, Ellie declined the need for a sexual assault kit.
She cried then, even though she was relieved, feeling the full weight of what she’d escaped and how vulnerable she’d been.
Prisha did her the kindness of dispensing strong painkillers, and she stayed with Ellie, keeping her fears at bay with her soft chatter and lovely smile.
As the dull throb receded and sleepiness kicked in, Ellie thought she heard herself ask again for Estella.
Just before the tide of darkness pulled her under, she heard Prisha’s response.
“She left, Ellie. She said she had some business to take care of…”
The next time Ellie awoke, she was utterly alone.
The curtains were all the way open now, but the light that came through was heavily filtered by thick green leaves on the other side of the glass.
She couldn’t figure out how late it was, but it felt like it was afternoon.
She tested out moving and found that while her body ached, the throbbing in her head had dissipated.
Her bladder was crying out, and she fumbled her way out of bed, her head spinning as she stood upright, finding to her relief an exquisitely tiled ensuite bathroom.
She did a double take as she looked in the mirror.
She was washed out white to the point of looking pale blue, dark rings heavy under her eyes.
A bruise bloomed angrily across her left cheekbone and a dressing covered the wound on her temple.
Her hair was a frazzled mess. Everything ached.
She wanted a shower, but she didn’t trust the way the room occasionally tilted if she moved her head too fast.
She teetered in the doorway afterward, gazing longingly back at the bed.
It was tempting to lie down again but she’d slept for so long she didn’t think she could pass out.
The idea of lying there alone, watching the light fade, seemed too much to contemplate.
Besides, her stomach was starting to growl.
How long had it been since she’d last eaten?
She tiptoed out into a long hallway. The light spilled brighter out here, bouncing off the polished caramel floorboards, the walls pale dove grey, covered in more framed paintings than a gallery.
She could hear a low murmur of voices at one end, from the same direction the sunlight glowed, so she crept towards them, one hand on the wall to steady her.
“Cacao cinnamon or hibiscus lemon myrtle?” It was the older man again. She remembered bright blue eyes, sparkling with both humour and concern. He’d seemed so unflappable, as if injured women were dropped at his house after midnight quite regularly. Harry.
“Don’t you have anything normal? Camomile or peppermint?” The local doctor was still there which struck Ellie as odd. She’d thought hours or days had passed, but still, Prisha lingered.