Repay Evil with Evil: Repay Evil with Evil

Repay Evil with Evil

Patrizia Sabrina Prudenzi

translated into English by Robert E Anderson

Repay Evil with Evil

Written By Patrizia Sabrina Prudenzi

Copyright © 2021 Patrizia Sabrina Prudenzi

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Robert E Anderson

Cover Design © 2021 Timo Kümmel

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Repay not evil for evil.

––––––––

I Peter 3:9

Content

Chapter 1 – WAKING

Chapter 2 – FREEZING

Chapter 3 – HORROR

Chapter 4 – KNOWLEDGE

Chapter 1

WAKING

Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. The floor beneath her bare feet was cold; she had forgotten her slippers under her bed.

Her blood rushed in her ears. She pressed her teddy bear Ninna tightly against her chest. The darkness frightened her. She had called out, Mom and Dad, but no one had come or answered her. Only Ninna was with her, but Ninna never answered her.

She gave the door a gentle push. Mom and Dad had to be in their bedroom.

The light dazzled her.

It was all right after all: her parents were in their bedroom, as usual.

Nothing was stirring. It smelled strange.

Something wasn’t right with Mom and Dad.

She hid her face in Ninna's thick fur.

She didn't want to look any further.

The teddy bear fell from her hand.

Mom and Dad: why is blood coming out of your eyes?

Mom and Dad didn’t answer. Mom's mouth was wide open in a silent scream that had long since faded away. Dad's face was covered with blood.

Julia couldn’t see clearly what was wrong with them. And why were Mom's guts bulging out of her belly?

In the no man's land between dream and dawn, Julia gasped for breath. The gray mist from the realm of dreams lifted. She breathed through her mouth. Why had she dreamed these terrible things again today? It was all so long ago, another time, another life, she had been a child then, she was now a woman, she would be 23 years old soon. She had forgotten so many things, except those horrible images.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you're not a little girl anymore!

The nasty inner voice that always punished her for her stupidity was working. Julia opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling above her. Her throat tightened. She didn't know that ceiling, that much was certain. Where was she this time?

Just don't panic, don't let anything show: she had to stay calm. She slowly turned her head to the right and made certain to not move too much.

A dirty white wall, a dark carpet full of crumbs. She didn’t know this place. Maybe she was still dreaming.

My God, please let this be a dream ...

She closed her eyes, counted to three, then opened them again. The dirty wall was still there. It had happened to her again. It had happened to her again!

Where was she? Where in the hell was she this time?

She had to remain calm.

Where was she? That was the only thing that mattered. She had to find out quickly. She was cold. She looked down at herself. She was lying stark naked on a blanket. Something to her left radiated warmth.

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head to the left. Her breathing stopped. She bit her lips to keep from screaming.

Someone's brawny back rose up next to her. Someone with a tattoo on his shoulder. A sword piercing a weeping heart.

How stupid, it flashed through her mind.

She breathed very softly. She didn't know anybody with a tattoo like that. She was naked and, judging from the light coming in through the dirty window panes, it was still very early in the morning.

Let me out of here!

Her fingers carefully felt the edge of the bed. She quietly let herself slide over it. Her rear landed unceremoniously with a dull thud on a coarse carpet. She peered over the edge of the bed; the strange man had not woken up.

Her clothes were strewn all around the floor. She must have been in a hell of a hurry to get herself undressed. It was disgusting. How had things come to this? Had she no self-respect anymore? Her blackouts had never been this bad before. She picked her blouse off the floor. Balls of dust and lint, hairs, and crumbs were clinging to it. It was very, very disgusting. The carpet had certainly not been cleaned since the days of Jack the Ripper.

She gathered up all her clothes and pressed them against her stomach. Something creaked loudly. She held her breath and made herself as small as she possibly could. There was a shuffling sound, a few heavy footsteps sliding above her head, and then nothing more could be heard. The upstairs neighbors. It was really high time to get out of here before her host woke up. She really did not want to have breakfast with this guy.

She crept to the end of the bed with only one hand on her knees.

Where had her shoes gone? Without her shoes, she couldn't possibly make it home ... make it home ...

She had absolutely no idea where she was.

There was another shuffling sound from above. With all the noise, the man might wake up at any moment. Hurrying up was the order of the day. The door was half open in front of her. Could the man see her if she left now? She had to risk it.

She crawled along very slowly, with bated breath. Only in the corridor did she dare to stand up. She carefully freed her clothes from all disgusting foreign material, then quickly got dressed.

The red satin of her blouse looked like a signal color, even in this poorly lit corridor. It was not appropriate for the early morning hours. Where was her jacket? The blouse was very thin and, in addition, she was still missing her shoes. She couldn't possibly walk around London without them.

Still no sound came from the filthy bedroom.

The corridor was bare except for two more doors to other rooms and a front door. The door at the end of the hall was open. One of her high-heeled red patent leather shoes was lying next to the doorframe. She tiptoed to the lintel. This was the kitchen. She grabbed the shoe and crouched down to look for the other one. Nothing to be seen. But her jacket and small handbag were lying under the window. The red and gray checkered curtains, which would have been the envy of any grandmother if they were clean, were filthy and hanging down limply. This guy's pad was simply disgusting.

She could only hope that nothing had happened between them. But why had she been naked? She didn't want to think about that. She would have to digest that first. She could only hope that he showered more often than he cleaned.

She glanced out the window, which opened onto a narrow gray backyard framed by concrete and walls. The windows of the next apartment were only an arm's length away. Only at the very top was a patch of sky visible. Gray, but at least somewhat light, to some extent. She quickly put on her jacket, slipped the straps of her bag over her shoulder, and slipped back into the corridor. What time could it be? Hopefully still early enough that no one had noticed her staying out all night. She cautiously opened the only other room door in the corridor. The sour stench of urine hit her. The room was windowless and dark. She carefully flicked the light on. The bulb, hanging naked from the ceiling by a power cord, illuminated a miserable scene of gray tiles with countless lime stains. Her shoe was lying in a puddle next to the toilet bowl. Probably urine. She fought the gag reflex that suddenly came over her. She took a few deep breaths in and out, then bent over the sink, ignoring the filth, and turned on the faucet. She washed her face and hands, then took a gulp of cold water. That settled her stomach. Whether wet with piss or not, she needed her shoe. She turned off the water and looked towards the toilet behind her. She choked a scream in her throat. How had she thought that the puddle was urine? It was blood – a huge puddle of blood that was slowly getting larger. The liquid, already almost clotted, was about to soak her entire shoe ...

Stop!

That couldn’t be!

She held on to the sink. This had to be a hallucination: it wasn't real. The liquid couldn’t move on its own. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked terrible. Her dark short hairstyle was unrecognizable, her blue eyes were bloodshot, and the two dark circles below them clearly showed that she was not living a healthy life. She pulled herself together and picked her shoe out of the puddle with two fingers. Urine, piss, no blood. Fortunately, the inside was dry and clean. She pulled the pathetic towel from its holder and rubbed her shoe dry with it. Then she hung it back in its place, turned off the light and closed the door behind her.

With her shoes in her hands, she bent down and slipped past the bedroom door. A vague image of a man buying her drinks flickered in her memory. She had been in a club. What did the man actually look like? She couldn’t remember, and now she wouldn't go in to find out. At what point had she lost control of the evening? She shouldn't have drunk so much in the first place, but she had been so terribly angry.

Yes, so angry because ...

Because?

The gray veil settled in over her memory again. Now she could only hope that the front door was not locked. She slowly pushed down the handle. It wasn’t locked. Free! She breathed a sigh of relief.

She ran barefoot down the stairs. Only at the front door of the shabby building did she dare put on her shoes. She fastened the buttons of her jacket and went out. The street was deserted. A cool breeze penetrated through her clothes and made her shiver. She pulled the collar of her thin cotton jacket up as high as she could, even though she knew it wouldn't help much.

Once on the sidewalk, she stopped and stood still. She had never seen this street before and had no idea from what direction she had gotten here. The buildings all looked the same. Smaller houses of two or three stories and several apartment buildings. Everything looked shabby, the window panes were dirty, and the plaster had cracks. Cars were parked on both sides of the street. Weeds grew here and there at the edge of the sidewalk. Everything was colorless, a symphony of dirty gray colors. If someone wanted to make a video about an English slum, this street would be the ideal stage set. What now? Where should she go? She didn't have the slightest idea where she was or how to get home. She looked right and left down the street. Nowhere did she see anything familiar. She checked the contents of her purse. Only a little bit of change, not enough for a cab. Damn it!

One direction was as good as the other: the main thing was to get away from here first. There was an intersection to the right. She started moving quite easily. Her heels hit hard against the concrete pavement. She tried to walk as lightly as she could. At the corner, she stopped and looked back. Everything was quiet. The engine noise of a large vehicle drew nearer. A bus was turning onto the street. A red double-decker was coming straight towards her. The 87 line, which went almost to her host parents' house. This was her salvation. She ran towards the vehicle and waved at the driver.

***

It was warm on the bus. She enjoyed the soft embrace of the seat cushion and held onto the front seat with both hands. She had been lucky: her money had been just enough for the ticket. A fat man sat in the front row behind the driver's seat, talking to the driver now and then. She couldn't understand them, but that wasn’t important. She took a deep breath.

Her host parents would put up a fuss. She gradually remembered the angry face of Evelyn, her host mother. Marc, her husband, had stood by and looked at her disapprovingly. They were nice people, but somewhat narrow-minded. She was twenty-two years old, after all, and could very well go out in the evening if she felt like it. But Evelyn and Marc felt that going out during the week was not all right. She wouldn't be well-rested the next morning, and she was supposed to be fit for her classes at the university. On the one hand, it was touching that strangers cared so much about her. Her parents would probably have been like that, too, if they had lived long enough. Would her mother still have her beautiful oval face, softly framed by wavy, shoulder-length hair? Or would her hair have turned gray by now? She had bled from her eyes. Her father as well. Both had been torn from their lives far too soon. She felt a lump in her throat. Her eyes were burning. She glanced furtively ahead at the two men, who continued to talk undisturbed, paying no attention to her. It was always like this when she thought about Mom and Dad. It would be better if she could have forgotten everything, really everything.

But that didn't solve her current problem. There would be trouble at home, that was certain. She would have to talk with her host parents. To tell them they were nice people and that she liked living with them. But that she was old enough to make her own decisions. She was an adult, and she could come and go as she pleased. She had to make that clear to them, in a calm tone and without slamming the door behind her. She didn't need to tell them about all the drinks and the pathetic one-night stand. The Collinses would certainly not like that.

***

As she rounded the corner, her eyes met those of old Mrs. Dunay. Julia stopped. The old woman was standing in an old-fashioned nightgown in her front yard next to the garbage can, looking absent-minded. Hopefully, she wouldn't get the idea of screaming out loud now, as she had done many times in the past.

Julia quickly walked up to her and quietly called over the fence, Hello, Mrs. Dunay, good morning! ... What are you doing out here so early?

The old lady's watery eyes tried to focus on her. The old lady had to be freezing. Her gown was thin and the wind was quite chilly. Who are you? And what are you doing in my garden?

Julia tried to hide her surprise. Was old Mrs. Dunay senile after all?

I'm Julia Walz, the Collinses' au pair. Can I help you in any way?

Ah, the Collinses, with their two brats. Her eyes flashed. She seemed to remember the Collinses. I was just going to get the paper, but I can't find it.

Mrs. Dunay turned about helplessly about.

Holy cow! What should she do now? She couldn't possibly leave the old lady standing there. Julia looked at the entrance of the row house, the door of which was standing wide open. The newspaper was lying there. Mrs. Dunay had probably stepped over it and hadn't noticed.

The paper is right in front of the door, Mrs. Dunay.

The old woman's expression brightened. She turned to the door, then back towards her.

Yes, you're right, my dear. Fine, so I can have breakfast now. Have a nice day.

Mrs. Dunay turned away from her and hurried up to the door. She picked up the newspaper and disappeared into her house.

Julia covered the last few meters to the Collinses' house with a pounding heart. She could only hope that they were still asleep or already on their way to work. She didn't feel like discussing anything, not this early in the day. They would have plenty of time to talk in the evening.

All the windows were still closed, and no lights were on. Perhaps they had already left. The garage door was locked, as usual. She didn't have a key for it, otherwise she would have liked to check if the little car the Collinses always drove into town was still there. She unlocked the front door and stopped. The house was deeply silent. Nothing was stirring. She hung up her jacket on the coat rack, took off her red shoes, and slipped into her comfortable slippers. It was just after seven, she saw from the large grandfather clock in the corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief. The Collinses were already gone; they always left the house shortly before five-thirty on weekdays.

The children! She had almost forgotten the little ones. They had to get on the school bus at seven-thirty. She ran up the stairs and opened the doors of the two children's rooms one after the other. She especially had to prod little Marvin, who was still in kindergarten. He was a grouch in the morning, just like herself.

Hello, sleepyheads! Get up! The new day's begun!

Marvin yawned and stretched under the covers with pleasure.

I'd like to stay home with you. We could bake a cake.

She laughed.

Get up now, and hurry. I'll warm the milk up for you.

Chelsey hurried past her towards the washroom. She was only eight years old, but she could be as touchy as an adult. Had she been like that herself? She didn't think so. Her childhood had been lost to her for quite some time, since the age of eight.

Why are you waking us up so late? You know I need time in the morning.

She disappeared into the washroom and slammed the door behind her.

Julia ran downstairs and headed for the kitchen. Her host mother must have had a real cleaning frenzy the night before. The country-style kitchen furniture was gleaming, all the kitchen appliances were neatly hung on their brackets next to and above the stove, and the wooden countertops were tidy and sparkling clean. Evelyn Collins was a very tidy woman, but this room now looked like the kitchen in a furniture store.

She opened the refrigerator: the milk for the cocoa had to go onto the stove immediately. The milk bottle was not on the door shelf as usual. She paused for a moment. How could that be? Had the Collinses left the milk on the table? She glanced over at the seating area. The dining room table was clean and empty. The small table in the kitchen was also empty and unused. She closed the refrigerator. The German coffee maker on the countertop also looked unused, as did the steel thermos that stood open to the side of it, its screw-top lid lying next to it. Had either of them had to leave the house so early today without having eaten breakfast at home?

That had never happened before. The children's voices reached her from upstairs. Marvin wanted to go to the washroom and Chelsey was evidently still in there.

She ran to the foot of the stairs.

Chelsey, open the door and let your brother in!

But I'm ...

I don't care about that! You open the door right now or there won't be any cocoa for you today! And hurry up!

She heard the door being unlocked upstairs. Damnit, where was the milk? Following an intuition, she opened the front door. The milk bottle was still outside: no one had brought it in. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts earlier that she hadn't noticed the milk. She looked at the bottle. Something was strange. This had never happened in the house before either. The Collinses were early risers and Mr. Collins brought in the milk and the newspaper first thing in the morning.

Even the newspaper was still lying there.

She grabbed the bottle and the newspaper and hurried back to the kitchen.

***

The children made it to the bus at literally the last second.

The driver gave her a curious look as she said goodbye to the little ones in her red pick-up blouse and house slippers. Let him think what he wanted. Now she had taken care of everything that needed to be taken care of and finally had some time for herself. The first thing she would do was take a shower to wash the filth from that guy's filthy apartment off her skin. After that, she would have breakfast and then get some sleep. She really didn't feel like going to the university today and could definitely afford to play hooky.

***

When she woke up, the sun was shining through the curtains. She had to blink, it was so bright in the room now. The alarm clock told her that it was shortly after ten. She rolled to the edge of the bed and looked directly at the dust lying in the corner. The Collinses had a cleaning lady, but she was only brought in for bigger jobs, such as cleaning the windows or spring cleaning. The children had to keep their rooms in order themselves. Unfortunately, this was also true for her, the au pair girl. She sat up in bed.

She could clean the house after all! As a peace offering, so to speak. The Collinses were really nice to her, much more understanding than her aunt and uncle in Germany had ever been. The Collinses seemed genuinely interested in her. She couldn't explain to herself what had driven her to be so cheeky and unkind to them the night before.

Yes, she would do that. She would stay home today and clean the house. That way, the coming evening's talk with them would be much easier for her – then she could show that she was full of good will – in hopes of perhaps persuading the Collinses to be lenient.

She just had to hurry a little before the kids got back. Besides, cleaning would also help her forget her discomfort about last night. She could no longer do anything about what had happened. She just couldn't lose control of herself so easily anymore. A one-night stand was fine, but next time not with a guy like that and certainly not in such a dirty apartment. No way!

***

She sat down on the landing, exhausted. The first floor was almost surgically clean. She had vacuumed the living room, dining room, and even the ironing room, as well as the playroom, and dusted everywhere. The guest washroom was now also in tip-top shape. All the shelves and windowsills were shiny, and she had even cleaned the dust off the potted plants, removed wilted leaves, and cut off a dead branch here and there. Now it was the turn of the upper floor. She just had to do the big washroom and the children's and the parents' bedrooms, and then she would take care of the winter garden behind the house. She could also tackle that when the little ones were back. Chelsey had to do her homework after dinner anyway, and she could put Marvin in the sandbox in the backyard, right in front of her.

The Collinses would be all eyes tonight when they came home!

***

The clock struck the full hour twice, then twice for the two quarter hours. Half past two. She had only an hour until the little terrorists were back. She would do Chelsey's room later, or better yet, order Madam to clean it up herself. Just the thought of Chelsey's offended expression made her smile. That was a good plan. Now she would move on to the Collinses' bedroom.

She placed the fresh laundry she had carried up from the ironing room in the basket on Chelsey's bed. That could wait. She was sweating as if she had jogged ten kilometers. Actually, she didn't know what it was like to jog ten kilometers – after all, she had never lasted that long. She giggled. The physical work made her more relaxed and she felt really good.

Only the bedroom was left to do, after that everything important would be done. She grabbed the vacuum cleaner parked in the corridor and marched resolutely towards her host parents' bedroom. She put the device down in front of the door. The small wheels squeaked slightly and the long suction tube slipped out of her hand and banged against her knees.

Damned!

She angrily grabbed the tube and pushed the door open with her free hand.

It was pitch black in the room. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something was wrong. It smelled so strange in the room, from which nothing more than a fine lavender smell usually emanated. Lavender, Evelyn's favorite scent.

Metallic. It smelled metallic.

The room was quiet and had a metallic smell.

Julia held her breath. She suddenly felt the urge to turn and run away. It was like ...

It was like ... back then ...

With her parents ...

The morning after.

She gasped loudly and covered her mouth with her hand.

She had to get in there. It was just one of her hallucinations. The doctors had never figured out why she was having such terrible visions and ...

Get a grip!

She had to force herself to look. Daylight illuminated a small area in the entrance hall. The wooden floor and part of the white carpet runner made of coarse spun wool were visible. She scanned the wall with her hand ...

Something was wrong. The dark spots on the carpet ...

... It's just a daydream, as always ...

... her fingers found the switch ...

... just a daydream ...

... why was it so sticky? ...

She flicked on the light.

Blood everywhere.

The white walls covered with red streaks.

Blood splatters interrupted the vertical stripes of the wallpaper and formed horrible patterns in all directions.

Marc Collins was sitting upright in bed, his back supported by the side bedpost. His pajamas were soaked in blood and tattered, his mouth agape as if he were screaming against injustice. His eye sockets were empty.

Mom and Dad, why is blood coming out of your eyes?

She forced herself to take a better look.

Someone had gouged out his eyes. She fought the nausea. Where was Evelyn?

A bare foot peeked out to the right of the bed.

She braced herself against the wall and forced herself to take a step.

There lay Evelyn Collins, or what had been that kind woman. She was stretched out on the floor. Her face was covered in blood, you couldn't see it clearly, but you guessed that her eyes had been gouged out as well.

Her stomach had been slit open. Her intestines had swelled out and lay between her spread legs and to the side of her.

Julia staggered and fell against the wall.

Just a dream, remember!

She closed her eyes and counted to seven. Her magic number. Then she looked again. There was still a metallic smell and nothing was moving.

Marc stared at her out of his empty eye sockets.

Evelyn did not move.

***

What do you mean you weren't home last night?

The inspector's dark eyes unmistakably scrutinized Julia. The indignant undertone in his voice annoyed her. He probably thought she was a tramp, but he was decidedly too young to give her a moral lecture. He could be in his early thirties at the most. His red-haired and pale colleague, a very tall woman for an Englishwoman, cleared her throat and gave him a sidelong glance. Was she embarrassed for her boss?

The inspector continued to stare at her, silently. He was really waiting for her answer. She clearly felt a warm wave starting from her neck and creeping over her cheeks. Now she was blushing too!

But she blushed out of anger, not embarrassment, as this policeman would naturally believe. She was furious at his impertinent question.

I'm old enough to spend the night outside my host parents' house if I feel like it. Don't you think so?

She smiled coldly at him to emphasize her superiority. The red-haired pillar of salt next to him looked at her without expression. The woman could just as well have been made of cardboard. Since the beginning of the questioning, the policewoman had not said a word and had not moved. This was clearly an interrogation and not just a witness interview, she had understood that long ago. Police officers probably always acted this way with people involved in a murder case.

She turned her head away from them. Somehow today felt like a bad dream. Perhaps she was in reality still sleeping next to that guy with the silly tattoo and dreaming. And she had already thought this morning that the situation could not get any stupider.

The hustle and bustle in the stairwell could be seen through the open kitchen door. Hooded figures in white overalls and blue plastic overshoes ran back and forth like busy ants, up and down the stairs.

Miss Walz, I'm not interested in your personal life. It's just that there are two badly mangled bodies upstairs and I need to find out what happened here. So please answer my question.

The inspector put the pen he was holding between his lips. Actually, he had a beautiful, masculine mouth set above a prominent chin with a small dimple. With his dark hair combed to the side, broad shoulders and athletic body, he looked genuinely attractive.

What was she thinking about? Was she going insane now?

The inspector put his pen back on the notepad.

So, you said you weren't home tonight. Where were you?

Julia swallowed. Now she had to come out with the truth, whether she liked it or not. She couldn't think of anything plausible to say. If only the pillar of salt would stop staring at her with her cow's eyes without eyelashes. There was something obtuse about the woman that got on her nerves quite a bit.

She lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap to escape the cow look.

I was with a friend, she answered as quickly as she could.

Inspector Nyomda tapped impatiently on the paper.

Name and address please.

Her cheeks burst into flames for the second time. Do I have to give you that?

Yes, it has to be. We need to look into that. I think you will understand why.

And now, what was she supposed to say? That she had had recurrent memory blackouts ever since she was a child, so that sometimes she missed entire days without being able to remember even a single second? The inspector would never believe her.

She only remembered the dirty apartment and the stupid tattoo, but not how she had gotten there, let alone where this apartment was located. She had not noted the name of the street. Everything else was as if erased, shrouded in the usual gray veil that had blocked her memories at inopportune moments like this since she was six years old. Perhaps it would simply be better to tell the truth. She sighed loudly.

Inspector, I can't remember that right now. I know it sounds very strange, but I really can't. I've forgotten the name and address of this man. It happens to me a lot when I'm under stress.

He frowned. Hadn't you known him that long?

She shook her head.

It's coming back to me, for sure. I just need some rest. Everything today is so, I don't know ... so unfamiliar and terrible. Evelyn and Marc, seeing them like this, I've been here all day with just them, cleaning, oh God, I can't even think about it ... this is ...

A thick lump in her throat prevented her from finishing her sentence. To her horror, she noticed that her vision was gradually blurring. She didn’t want to cry in front of these two strangers and covered her face with her hands.

Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to ..., burst out of her.

You don't need to apologize. The policeman's voice now sounded soft. Here, take this.

A paper handkerchief dangled in the air in front of her face. She grabbed it.

Thank you.

If you don't feel well, we can continue later.

She shook her head.

No, let's get it over with.

Good. So, you came back this morning. What time was it when you got here?

I don't really remember. I think it was around seven o'clock. At half past seven the children are picked up by the school bus. I made breakfast for them and then took both of them to the bus stop.

He raised his dark eyebrows.

Yes, the children. He turned to his colleague. Where are the kids now?

They're with the neighbor, Inspector.

One