Faint lines, plastered over.
The breach.
The house was quiet again. I’d half expected the door to be barricaded shut with planks and nails. But it was just like how I had seen it the first time.
I sat on my knees in front of the door. Now the real test would begin.
“What are you doing? Splitting or chopping?”
That’s what Rowan had asked me. Back when I first arrived. When I needed help with my boiler. He was so happy to help me. I felt the weight of the axe in my hands. I thought of the firewood mashed to splinters. I thought of my neighbour’s face, blade sunk into the curve of her forehead. I thought of the vision of hopefully-not-Rowan upstairs, face halved.
When I’d raised my axe in wrath, in fear, I’d hacked one thing into two. Could an axe ever cut two things back into one?
I looked at the door ahead of me, shutting me out of 1a, keeping me in 1b, splitting the houses in two. It occurred to me that it was entirely possible to chop two things into one.
“What are you doing? Splitting or chopping?”
Chopping, I answered and swung my axe into the door.
The destruction was organised this time. Less adrenaline, more precision. My axe crashed through the wood. Each hit sounded like the beat of a drum. I ignored the ache in my side, the bruises up and down my body, and focused on the work. Splinters and chunks tore away reluctantly. I squinted my eyes against the flying wood. At least it wasn’t blood and gore this time. I had a good steady rhythm, swinging like a metronome, breaking down the barrier in my way, bringing the houses together, making them one home once more.
Suddenly, light poured through the growing gap.
I stopped mid-swing, panted and wiped my forehead.
I tried not to think about where all the light was coming from.
I pushed the axe through the breach and used it to lever and rip away long thin panels. Once the hole was big enough, I barged my shoulder against the gap and pushed my way through.
Into my neighbour’s house.
CHAPTER 46
I wiped the dust from my face, looked about, then leant back against the wall to bolster myself. It took me a moment to realise where I was.
Why is she sleeping in the basement? I thought.
Then I noticed the slanting ceiling and the window set into it. My head spun.
I was in her bedroom.
Upstairs.
I looked through the hole in the wall, then back at the room. Somehow, I had got from my basement to the first floor of 1a.
I stepped away from the hole, feeling as if the floor could disappear beneath me at any moment. Besides the slanted roof and the window, the room couldn’t be any more different to my own. It was lusciously decorated. Sheer curtains dotted with little golden stars enveloped a bed layered in sumptuous fabrics; a thick feather duvet in deep burgundy sateen sheets, a tactile chenille throw, and a creamy fur tossed casually over the bottom. A dozen pillows were piled around a padded headboard shaped like a shell. A string of warm fairy lights lit the bed with a gentle halo. Sweet, little tealights in yellow patterned glasses were dotted atop a walnut bedside table and dressing table, sending flickering candlelight around the room. A wardrobe door hung open as if casually reclining, revealing ruffles and velvets and silks and wools. Draped over the door, a perfumed scarf—still body-warm—scented the air with a heady, floral aroma. It was the same tartan scarf I’d tied onto her door handle yesterday.
My neighbour had been here recently. Maybe I could find out more about her, a clue, a weakness, a key to making her stop.
I edged along the wall, not wanting to touch anything, being careful to step over a pristine sheepskin rug—which somehow looked much softer than mine. So soft and inviting I wanted to dig my fingers into it. I searched the counter tops, littered with glittering necklaces, elegant eye liners and sleek tubes of lipstick. I tiptoed round to the other side of the bed, carefully listening out for movement elsewhere in the house. My eyes caught on something tucked under the bed covers. A pair of silver lacy knickers, the kind that hug and sculpt, and a matching bra, fine and shining as if made from spiderweb. Under the perfume there was another smell, of warm bodies and sweat and hair. Rich and animal.
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.
Stay on task, I told myself.
I backed into the space of the window, burying myself in the heavy damask drapes. I had an overwhelming urge to air the animal smell out. I pulled back the curtains and reached for the latch, then stopped.
The world outside was gone. It was as if the panes had been painted over with black gloss. I leaned against the glass so I could peer outside.
