Swing Chapter 1

Hi all. Back on here after a VERY long time away from writing anything. This is the first chapter of a novel that has been in the works for years and I've never finished. The whole thing was originally in first person but I think it has more strength in third person so I've re-written it. General thoughts, nit picks - anything welcome :D

Chapter 1 

Lila was pushed from the carriage roughly causing her to trip and fall hard onto the dusty cobblestones of the street. She bit down and winced in pain as a rock dug into her knee, drawing warm, sticky blood. Before she had time to collect herself, a rough, merciless hand grabbed her wrist and twisted it around, dragging her up from the ground as though it were her fault that she had fallen. She was used to it, though. The rough hands spun Lila around to face a horse drawn, ornate carriage. The man who had pushed her sat smugly atop the red leather seats watching the scene with pleasure. He surveyed Lila with a sweeping glance that did nothing to hide his disgust and intrigue. His ugly features contorted into a smirk that stretched the width of his round face.

“It’s a shame,” he said, leaning forward, and twisting a finger around a lock of her dusty blonde hair. Lila wrinkled her nose in disgust and drew back quickly earning her a rough shake from the hands that held her. Seeming to revel in his effect on her the man in the carriage continued, “You were...” He pondered for the right word, drawing his finger away to scratch his chin mockingly, “Fun.” Lila lowered her head as tears pricked at her eyes. She wiped them away with the grubby cuff of her dress; determined not to show weakness. The man in the carriage tutted, turned away and clicked his fingers imposingly. A coachmen sat towards the front of the carriage cracked a whip, sending the horses cantering away down the alley pulling them all out of sight. Lila watched as it grew smaller and smaller, carrying away the man who had sentenced her to this fate; her ‘Master’.

She was left at the mercy of the rough hands which belonged to a man whom Lila was far too well acquainted with. Peter was the man that Lila’s Master had so often used to carry out his dirty work. He was the type of man that enjoyed his work a little too much. He would have done his job for no pay because in his mind the perks of the job were second to none. He was a grunt; not intellectual enough to devise the schemes that his Master created but he had useful street knowledge and brute force that the Master had been quick to employ from the moment they met. His unfaltering loyalty to Lila’s Master was in many ways the only redeeming feature about him. Lila had naively believed that a man with such a common and friendly name could not possibly be bad but she had been proven wrong time and time again. Peter spun her around to face the town square, a cobbled area that was the pulse of the town. It was teeming with people who were out to watch the day’s events. Had he not been working Peter would have been out amongst them enjoying the atmosphere.

Lila had once thought, in her youth, that the town square was a happy place. During her childhood the square had been the home of some of the happiest days she could remember. Christmas Carols spent with her mother and the rest of the town, the weekly market and May Day had all been special memories of happier times but her perception of the square had changed since then, her happy memories blackened by new knowledge. The gallows that were taken down for the celebrations were there, ominous and looming, the noose full of the last pleas of its victims. It was waiting, silently swaying, prepared to snuff out another life; Lila’s life.

Lila tore her gaze away from the rope and surveyed the crowd. Looking at all the people who had gathered to watch her die made her equally as sad as it did angry. They were ordinary people who were going through the same struggles as other ordinary people, but who had been manipulated by men with power into thinking that this was the right way to build a stable community. In Lila’s opinion the men were the worst. They stood and jeered at the gallows waiting for a show and revelling in the atmosphere. She thought it was sick that they would enjoy watching someone die, someone who they didn’t know, and someone who may not deserve to meet that fate. But the truth was plastered in front of her eyes in the sheer anticipation on many faces. She felt sorry for many of the women, who, by the uncomfortable looks on their faces, had been dragged along against their will. Lila knew what that was like because she had been in the same position once and had watched against her better judgement. She shuddered at the memory. A sharp jab in the back from Peter interrupted Lila’s thoughts. She almost tripped as Peter shoved her forward in the direction of the gallows. His vice grip on her wrists made struggle almost impossible but she dragged her feet, wrestling with her captor. She would not go without a fight. Lila had always been a small and slight girl but her recent trauma, although sparing her fierce resolve, had robbed her of any physical strength. She was no match for Peter who could have snapped her like a matchstick had he so desired.

Peter growing wearisome of her pathetic struggles apathetically pushed her up to the gallows, and lifted her onto a small stool. The crowd jeered as he tied her wrists tightly using a piece of coarse rope and slipped the noose that had killed so many in her position around her neck. Lila’s face flushed and a fear that had been simmering softly within her since she’d learned that she was going to hang began to bubble threateningly. She fought with the tears, trying to focus her mind and find a solution but she could not think for the terror inside her that yearned to boil over. She could see no way out; her fate had become an unavoidable truth. As no solution came to her and bodied by her fear and the crowds anticipation she burst into hot tears, unable to stop the sobs from racking through her. Peter smirked and whispered under his breath some eager profanities that Lila was too emotional to hear.

The executioner, a dark haired man dressed in black, stepped onto the gallows and swept past Peter. Peter nodded to him and backed away off the gallows to join the crowd and watch. The executioner wiped sweat from his brow and let out a long sigh, oblivious to the stir that his appearance on the gallows had caused amongst the people. This was his last job of the day and he wanted nothing more than to get it over with and to return to his wife and beautiful, podgy baby who were waiting at home. He strode across to the girl on the stool and checked the noose. It was designed to deliver a slow and painful death during which the criminal’s air supply would be cut off and they would slowly suffocate. It was supposed to entertain the crowd for longer. Satisfied that the noose was fine he placed his foot against the stool. He need only knock it out from under the girl and his day was done. He observed the girl properly for the first time. She was sobbing profusely, barely able to catch her breath. This was unusual for the executioner; the criminals very rarely cried. The girl turned to look at him appealing to him silently. He was immune to such pleas however; the red rings around the eyes and tear tracks down the cheeks of this young girl did nothing to induce any emotion in him.

He looked away from the girl and focussed on the job in hand. He pressed his foot against the stool tipping it enough for the rope to dig into the girl’s throat but not enough to knock it over just yet. The executioner may have had a child at home but he was no saint; he often enjoyed toying with the criminals. He pushed the stool some more.

Lila felt the rope begin to constrict around her throat ad she coughed and spluttered already short of breath from the effort of crying. The roar of the crowd rose in anticipation to an ear splitting volume. Lila spun her head around to the executioner one last time, trying to catch his eye, trying to make him understand.

“Please stop, please! I’ll do anything!” She shouted her voice hoarse and desperate. Even though she thought she had none left, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. The executioner chuckled a little and readjusted his foot ready to knock over the stool and end it.

“Stop!” A man’s shout rose above the roar and a loaded silence settled. Mutters of confusion rippled across the people as heads turned towards the back of the group.

The stool Lila was stood on wobbled back onto two legs as the executioner relaxed his foot slightly in confusion. The noose relaxed from around Lila’s neck and air whistled through her teeth as she tried to catch her breath.

The executioner grumbled in frustration; he could have done without this drama, he should have just pushed her straight off. He turned to survey the crowd, trying to work out the source of the shout. Heads were turning towards a man who was moving towards the gallows, pushing forward through the people.

Lila also looked up to see who had shouted her gaze following the turning heads of the crowd. She noticed the man; he had his hand raised and a grimace on his face. After a few short moments she realised that she recognised him; it was Charlie. She rose onto tiptoe to see him better. It was definitely him; he had the same soft, boyish features that she could remember from when they were younger, and his hair was still the same mousy brown. Lila couldn’t believe her eyes; all thoughts of her predicament momentarily banished in sheer surprise.

“Stop,” Charlie repeated. Lila watched his approach in complete shock. She hadn’t seen him for years. Charlie pushed passed the shocked people in the crowd. His eyes never left the gallows nor the face of his childhood friend with tears glistening like snail trails down her cheeks. His heart was in his mouth; he had no idea what his plan was; he just knew he needed to stop this.

“I want to...I mean I’ll...”

“Spit it out,” shouted the executioner pushing the stool again slightly his patience beginning to fray. Lila wobbled on the stool dangerously.

“I’ll buy her,” said Charlie grimacing. The words had come without him truly thinking about them, this was a product of this awful society he lived in.

“Ah, well it will be a pretty penny for this one, young man,” said the executioner his interest peaked. He had never had someone offer to buy a criminal before but he could see the appeal of this girl to a young man. She was an attractive little thing. He pinched Lila’s cheek between his coarse fingers. Lila flinched away from him disgusted.

“Don’t touch her!” Charlie yelled, advancing forward a few steps. The executioner ground his teeth in bubbling rage, he was in charge here and he’d be dammed if some man with the gall to interrupt his work was going to tell him what he could and couldn’t do. He gripped Lila’s face in one hand and drew the index finger of the other slowly down the line of her jaw, to make a point, before withdrawing his hand. Charlie boiled with rage but knew he had to keep his temper in check for this plan to have any hope of working.

“I have a right to buy a slave girl as does any other man,” Charlie said. He gritted his teeth as he said the words, disgusted with himself for ever uttering them. “Name your price.”

“I would say about twelve pounds and sixpence for this beauty,” the executioner said smirking at Charlie. There was no doubt in his mind that this ruffian would ever have that kind of money and when he didn’t the executioner could get on with this and get home. To his surprise however Charlie counted out and held out a fistful of coins. The executioner narrowed his eyes in suspicion before taking the money. He counted the grubby coins carefully.

“Now, let her down,” Charlie said in a firm tone staring at the executioner as he counted the coins. The corners of the executioner’s lips curled slightly. 12 pounds and sixpence had been the sum he had asked for and in his hand was 12 pounds and tuppence. In his haste the man before him had given him the wrong amount.

“Let her down,” Charlie repeated anxious that the executioner hadn’t moved.

“Fine,” said the executioner looking up at Charlie his eyes glinting. He would let the girl down just perhaps not in the way that the man required.

He faced Lila and grabbed the rope around her wrists bringing her to face him. “Farewell, gorgeous,” he whispered in her ear.

Then he knocked the stool out from under her laughing at his own wit. ‘Let the girl down’ well he had, hadn’t he? She was off the stool. Lila felt the noose tighten around her neck and suddenly there was no air anymore. She heard the crowd roar but whether in approval or shock, she couldn’t tell. Charlie lurched forward screaming profanities at the executioner in shock and horror as he watched Lila struggle. Lila could feel the rope burning around her throat, the air was like fire. She tried to grab the noose to pull it away as black spots gathered in front of her eyes and her legs began to twitch involuntarily. She could taste blood in her mouth. Charlie ran towards the gallows knocking people over in his haste.

Up at the gallows Lila had gone limp. She had given up. She knew she was going to die, and the only thing she could think was that Charlie had paid all that money for nothing. She didn’t have the energy to fight anymore as she felt herself go woozy. She closed her eyes as her lungs screamed for air.

“No!” Charlie roared as he saw Lila go limp and her eyes close. He leapt up onto the gallows, pushing the executioner with a sudden strength, adrenaline coursing through him. The executioner tripped and fell backwards off of the gallows. His roar of surprise was cut off by a sickening crack and a brief stillness settled. Then another wave of noise rose from the crowd, this time it was obvious that they were angry. Charlie, who had barely paid attention to the crack of the executioner’s neck snapping as he landed on the ground, didn’t hear the crowd. He was focussed on Lila. He gripped her around the waist to support some of her weight. The noose loosened a little, but it was still suffocating her. Pulling a knife from his pocket he frantically cut the rope away muttering to himself, urging himself to go faster. “Come on, come on!” The rope finally relaxed its hold enough for Charlie to pull it over Lila’s head.

She fell limply into his arms unmoving, her lips blue and face as white as a sheet. Charlie gripped her more tightly, desperately searching her face for movement.

“Lila? Lila. Please,” he muttered, pulling a strand of her dusky blonde hair from her face. She was still for a few more harrowingly moments before she took a gasp of air, her eyes flying open. Her breath came in painful, ragged gasps that she took a moment to control. Charlie sighed in relief and kissed her forehead fleeting. He adjusted his grip upon her and turned to get down from the gallows. The angry mob greeted him. Many of the men were climbing onto the gallows on either side of Charlie. One of them was shouting and waving his fist at Charlie.

“Murderer, you murdered a good man!” The man yelled. Charlie cursed.

“Hang on,” Charlie muttered almost as much to himself as to Lila. Lila grabbed a fistful of his shirt; it took most of her remaining strength to keep her thin fingers clasped together. Charlie leapt from the gallows landing like a cat on the cobbles, the crowd parted in surprise. He ran forward, pushing his way past anyone who tried to stop him. Charlie was acutely aware of someone pursuing them, but he was nimble and he kept ahead. He sprinted across the streets and cut into an alley that led out of town to Avenue Road towards his home and safety. He ran at full pelt until they reached a small house. It was the nicest one on the road, but that didn’t mean much; Avenue Road was the poorest street in town. Charlie shifted Lila’s weight so that he could support some of her body on his knee, freeing up a hand to open the door. He shot a few furtive glances up and down the street; they had lost the followers. He opened the door, ducked inside and turned to close it tightly, turning the wooden lock.

He took a moment to catch his breath. Their escape had been narrow. Turning his attention back to the woman in his arms he gently tried to set Lila on her feet, but she was still weak and she fell to the concrete floor. She gasped in shock and took a deep breath in. It was still painful. Lila sat up and tried to get the rope off her wrists, so she could make sure her throat was ok. Charlie’s face wrinkled in anguish at seeing her struggle. He knelt quickly beside her.

“Here, let me do that.”

He tried to untie the knot, but it was too tight. He pulled out his knife again and cut through it. Lila rubbed her wrists, coxing the blood back into her hands which had lost most of their feeling. As the blood rushed back the tips of her fingers tingled, she stretched her hands to try and ease it. Charlie watched her, still knelt on the floor. He couldn’t stop looking at her; his thoughts were spinning so fast that he could barely catch onto one. With no warning and before he’d really registered that he was doing it he caught one of Lila’s wrists. He turned her palms up towards him and grimaced as he saw huge welts and burns across her delicate skin.

“Lila, what...?”

“It’s nothing.” She cut him off and extracted her hand. She did not want to explain that the welts had become commonplace to her because her hands had been bound so frequently.

“Are they still following us, are they coming after me?” Lila asked gazing fearfully up at Charlie.

“No, no it’s alright, you’re safe now,” he said gently, hoping that he was right.

Lila smiled weakly and reached up tentatively to touch her throat. There was a substantial friction burn there and her breathing was difficult. It was as though the air was fire, burning Lila’s throat and lungs. She didn’t know whether it would ever be less painful.

“Let me look,” Charlie said. He’d been watching her closely. Lila’s brow furrowed in confusion and she looked at him questioningly. He levelled her gaze the corners of his mouth turning up a little at Lila’s expression. He dropped his gaze to the burn across Lila’s throat and began to explain. He lifted his hand and lightly touched the burn as he talked.

“I found some work as a doctor in the hospital in town, I earn a pittance, but it allows for a few home comforts.” He gestured to a ratty old sofa and a small pile of wood for a fire. He was grateful for his work. In some ways it made him feel as though he was giving back for all the mistakes he’d made in the past.

“I’m going to get something just to clean it,” he said standing and nipping briefly into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a damp cloth which he gently patted across the burned skin.

“You will be ok,” he explained, “but breathing deeply will always hurt a little. For now, try to breathe regularly.” He dropped the hand that had been resting on Lila’s throat hoping that she hadn’t noticed him linger. As it fell, his fingers drifted lightly over the bare skin on her lower arms, he wondered if the contact had sent the same shiver up her spine as he felt.

Lila shivered violently. The grate was bare and the house was not well insulated; it was mostly made of wood and had been thrown together hastily. Lila was only wearing an old torn dress that she had been left in by her Master.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m... I’m not a very good host,” Charlie said embarrassed and kicking himself for saying something as ridiculous as the word host in this context. He went over to the fire and lit it, throwing the room into light for the first time. He knelt over the grate gently blowing onto the wood. Lila noticed how strong his shoulders looked and the way his blond hair had natural streaks of brown. Catching herself, she shook her head and looked away. Oblivious, Charlie threw some more wood onto the fire, sending sparks flying, and stood.

“I’ll get you a coat,” he said. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured awkwardly to the sofa before heading out of the room and hastening up the stairs, his face burning with embarrassment at his awkwardness.

Lila got up from the floor. She was still finding it difficult to breathe but also felt that she needed to stretch her tired muscles. She looked around the room; it was homely, as Charlie had said, particularly with the fire crackling in the grate. But it was still old and worn, and it was obvious that Charlie wasn’t lying about his wage. There was an armchair and a sofa, both clearly second hand, with faded patterns embroidered on the cushion covers, that didn’t match. There was also a small drawing, framed on the wall. Lila moved closer to it and gasped; she recognised it from when she was a child. It was the sketch of her and Charlie playing in the snow that she had drawn when they were younger on possibly the most significant day of her life; the day she was taken away. Lila couldn’t believe that Charlie had taken such good care of it. Charlie thudded back down the stairs and re-entered the room with a coat hanging over his arm. He flushed again as he saw that Lila had seen the drawing but shook it off and held out the coat.

“Here,” he said handing the coat to Lila. She took it and clutched it over her chest. She felt suddenly self conscious though she wasn’t sure quite why. Charlie gestured to the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

Lila muttered her thanks, and made to sit down. As she turned her back to him, Charlie’s eyes widened and he took a sharp intake of breath as he took in the sight before him. Lila spun back round to face him, startled.

“Lila. Your back,” he reached a hand towards her again trying in some sort of physical way to express his concern, anger and sadness in one gesture. Lila instinctively raised her hand behind her to feel the raised, cracked skin, bruises and cuts where she had been beaten time and time again. Some of them still bled a little.

“It’s nothing,” Lila muttered, pulling the coat around her shoulders to cover the scars. Charlie’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t believe that she would brush something so serious off like that. Hot anger bubbled inside him he was filled with a desire to know what had happened and a desire to do something to whoever had touched her.

“Lila?” He looked directly at her. She tried to avoid his gaze but she couldn’t look away from the hurt and anger in his eyes. “What happened to you? Who did this?” He took a few steps toward her, extending his hand, his voice infused with concern and an undernote of rage.

“I’d rather not say,” Lila whispered, averting her gaze and backing away a little. She was momentarily scared of the man before her. After a moment of silence Lila glanced back towards Charlie and watched as his slumped down on the sofa shaking his head his face scrunched up with concern. Lila relaxed a little, here was a man who cared and she should not be scared of him. Charlie looked up at Lila again and gestured for her to sit beside him, he was determined to know, determined to help. Lila deliberated for a moment before approaching the sofa. She sat away from him trying to establish a boundary but Charlie moved immediately to close the gap, angling his knees towards her in an effort to make his concern apparent. He was also drawn to Lila, something within him hadn’t forgotten how he’d felt about her all those years ago and he longed for closeness to her now. He placed a hand on her arm without really thinking and it took him a few moments to pluck up the courage to take both of Lila’s hands in his. He subconsciously ran his thumb backwards and forwards across the smooth surface of the back of her hands. Lila was so surprised at the gesture that she did not immediately pull away. She was so confused about Charlie’s intentions that she merely allowed him to hold her hands for lack of any reason not to. She searched his face in anticipation of what he was about to say but he was avoiding her gaze, trying to pluck up the courage to ask her so bluntly to share her what had happened to her. He was almost too curious, but in his head was trying to justify that that was not a crime. Eventually Charlie looked up towards Lila.

“Please, tell me.” He said, squeezing her hands, his gaze never faltering from her face. It was Lila’s turn to drop her gaze and avoid meeting his eyes. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to tell anyone about anything that had happened to her. She considered herself to be a strong girl; she didn’t want to confess to the weakness of needing to talk about her feelings and hardships. She screwed up her eyes for a moment, searching inside herself for the right thing to do. On not reaching a conclusion she looked up at Charlie again. He smiled a tight smile which was almost immediately replaced with the same look of concern that had barely left his face since he had seen her upon the gallows. Lila found his insistence strangely persuasive and she considered then that perhaps it would be helpful to tell someone. A problem shared is a problem halved and she owed Charlie her life. She met his gaze and nodded. Charlie let out a sigh of relief that he had been holding in. Perhaps now he would be able to help his old childhood friend and ease the curiosity that was burning inside him like an insistent candle. He let Lila’s hands drop reluctantly. She immediately gathered her hands to herself, unsure exactly how to feel about the connection that had just sparked between them. Lila cast about for a start point to her story but she couldn’t think of an appropriate point to begin. Charlie prompted her.

“What happened when you were taken away from Avenue Road?”

Lila bit her bottom lip and ran her fingers through her matted, blood strewn hair. She took an anticipatory breath in and began.

“Do you remember the day that we played in the snow?” She asked him, pointing at her drawing that was hung on the wall. Charlie nodded. “And those men who came to my house?” He nodded again; he remembered it as though it were yesterday. Lila shuddered and said, “They were traders, they took me away from my mother, for ten pounds and sixpence."