'TIL IT BLEEDS - [Chapter 1]

Read the first chapter of Book 4 in the Louise Miller series.

Jonathan Peace

Jul 19, 2025

MAY, 1990

All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you truly are.

Robin Williams

Thursday 10^th

RUNAWAY HORSES DRAGGED LINDA FORWARD, her trainers hitting the pavement in time to the music, a steady beat that saw her move from Dewsbury Road and onto Denholme Drive. Her eyes were fixed forward, watching out for any dog shit on the pavement; there was no way she could afford another new pair, not with work cutting back on her hours.

On her right, the sandstone wall that marked the boundary of Oak’s Auto’s was overhung with greenery; the tall trees that hung over the wall were the namesake of the business and they cast a cooling shadow under which Linda now ran.

John Kettley had said there was a heatwave coming, but she hadn’t thought it would be this hot. Then perhaps you should have gotten up earlier, she admonished herself, her heart racing, sweat pouring down her back. That way you wouldn’t be going for your run when it was the hottest part of the day.

She couldn’t argue with herself; she had gotten up late and instead of hitting the road at a cooler eight in the morning as was her usual routine, the late night and prospect of yet another unscheduled day off meant she could have a lie in. Linda hadn’t meant for it to be this long though.

The pavement dipped suddenly and she stumbled, her foot catching in yet another pothole. She slowed, not wanting to twist her ankle or even worse. It was one thing to have one or two shifts cancelled, she had enough saved that she could cover her bills still, but to take a long time off… there was no way she could survive that.

Linda bit at her lip as a wave of anxiety washed over her.

It had taken months to get back on her feet after Brian had left her, at first recovering from the embarrassment and then swept under a deluge of activity as she found her new flat on Dewsbury Road just opposite to the Red Lion. For a few weeks she had worked there, pulling pints, ignoring the comments and politely refusing the requests for a quickie down the cellar from the whale of a landlord. She had needed money and after seven years being a housewife, there was little else she could do.

There was a lot she wanted to do. For as long as she could remember, Linda loved to draw, at first with crayons when she was a child, then moving to poster paints in school. They were the crude drawings of a child but fuelled in such a way that only a child’s imagination can. Magical forests, the trunks as wide as a mountain and twice as tall; rivers of the deepest blue that traversed wonderous snow-laden landscapes and the darkest night skies filled with stars that shone in a rainbow of colours. For a long time she continued to draw, quick sketches in snatched moments when Brian wasn’t demanding her attention, or her cooking or her body – not that that happened a lot. He had been more interested in watching the darts, or the wrestling, than exploring their intimate relationship.

And so she had drawn, continuing and deepening her enjoyment until now, she crafted pictures with oil paints, working not on scraps of paper but large canvases that would, hopefully, eventually grace the walls of her flat. Perhaps the living room. Maybe the bedroom.

The music stopped and the cassette clicked off and so Linda slowed then stopped herself, taking a moment to flip the cassette over. A line of sweat ran down her forehead to drip over her eye, somehow finding escape from under the neon pink of the sweatband that kept her blonde hair from falling into her eyes. Using the matching wristband, she wiped the sweat away and started forward once more, Belinda Carlisle now singing Whatever It Takes.

A private smile danced across Linda’s face. Whatever it takes, that’s what she had said to herself. She would do whatever it takes to make her dream of being an artist a reality, and, fingers crossed, it looked like that might actually be about to happen.

She had left the Red Lion to go work at The Lodge as a waitress but she still continued to paint, and it was while working there, chatting as she did with the guests, that one of the owners expressed an interest in her painting and so she had brought it in one day for them to look at. They had loved it and offered to buy it from her. She had given it to them on the understanding that they would hang it so people could see, along with a small note beside it with her name.

Since then she had been asked to paint for three people, each one buying her work. A few more of these and even if they cut her hours permanently, she would be able to support herself through her art. She’d even made the local paper with a short article about her work. The local council had said there were grants available for people to set up art installations, but she needed more work done for that.

Whatever it takes, she thought, and let out a laugh.

The red brick houses of Denholme Drive ended and Northfield Road began with a small gravelled car park, surrounded by bungalows set back against low grass broken by concrete steps and a wheelchair ramp. The homes belonged in the main, to elderly tenants and a couple watched now as Linda jogged by.

She waved. They scowled but didn’t wave back.

Ahead she could see the edge of Holy Trinity Park, its large trees offering a welcome respite from the heat. A row of low slung garages stood on her left, three of their closed metal doors white, the rest a rusted black colour. Graffiti had been daubed across most of them, colourful turns of phrases that Linda remembered from her time at the Red Lion, words she would never use, could ever use.

Linda jogged down the slight incline and into the park. Her route would take her through the park, out past Holy Trinity Junior and Infants school and onto Church Street where she would run into town, turn left at the crossroads and onto Dale Street. At the bottom she would turn left again onto Dewsbury Road and head back home. It was a route timed to take no more than half an hour, but in this heat, she would be lucky if she was back home by one.

Why did I come out again? she silently asked herself as she jogged along the backside of the football pitch, past the white net-less goal posts and onto the path. Her heart was beating harder now and she was finding it hard to breathe as well. Too hot for this.

Slowing down, Linda took in several steadying breaths, wiping the sweatbands across her face and arms to get rid of as much of the clammy sweat as possible.

Ahead and to her left, the sounds of children playing in the schoolyard rose into the warm, Thursday air. She could see them scurrying about the playground, some chasing others. Some just standing in groups. The tall figure of a teacher could be seen wandering between the groups as the dinner-time break continued. Linda could remember her own time at Holy Trinity Junior and Infant’s School, especially the dinners. Spam fritters, chips and beans, followed by semolina with a blob of jelly that looked like a blood-clot in a sea of frogspawn. Or sponge coated with a thick custard so pink it hurt the eyes.

Walking briskly past the school, Linda headed into a dark stretch of the path where the trees bent across the pathway. Her body fell cool instantly, the heat of the midday sun struggling to penetrate the foliage. The low brick building of the public toilets stood on her right, half hidden by the overgrown bushes and trees that covered the main wall. The doorway stood open, the metal gate turquoise with rust. Crushed cans lay scattered around the entrance, along with about a hundred dead fag ends. More graffiti covered the wall – GRAVEYARD JACK LIVES ON – in now faded red letters that she supposed were meant to represent blood. Crude images of genitals and what appeared to be a well hung animal beyond description were dotted around the large letters, as though the artists had been trying to illustrate the point.

Movement caught her eye and she slowed. The shadow within the open doorway seemed to grow darker, just for a moment and she could have sworn she heard a low groan. She wasn’t certain, it could have just been a trick of her imagination, her dehydrated mind conjuring sounds and sights in its need for water.

She scolded herself for venturing out without bringing anything to drink. Perhaps she should turn back. Forget the rest of the route and just go home.

It would be faster and she could feel a headache coming on, brought about by her exertions and the heat.

Before she could decide, a blur of movement caught her attention as a figure detached itself from the side of the building where it had been lurking, protected by the trees and the angle of the wall. She just had time to register that it was a man dressed in a thick parka – how could he stand the heat? – before she was grabbed and pulled from the path and into the bushes.

A gloved hand covered her mouth, stopping her scream from escaping.

He didn’t say anything as he pushed her to the ground, her head striking a rock or thick mound of earth so hard that her vision swam. All she saw now as the weight settled on her was a blurred outline of a head covered with the parka’s hood. Whatever face lay within was shrouded in a thick mix of shadow and her swirling vision.

He ripped her headband from her in one violent motion, tearing some of her hair in the process. Tears filled her eyes. And then he jammed it into her mouth, thrusting it to the back of her throat. She gagged on the taste and scent of her own sweat, but then she was being lifted and turned over so that she was now lying on her stomach.

One of his hands came to clutch her throat; the other pushed beneath her waist and lifted. Then she felt her jogging trousers being yanked down and cold fear about what was going to happen pushed every other thought from her mind.

‘HEY! HEY! What’s going on there?’

The shout came from everywhere and Linda’s heart soared as she felt the weight lift from her back.

‘Get off her!’

It felt like a punch in her back, just to the side. And then another in her shoulder. And another.

And then he was gone. Linda could hear his footsteps and body crunch through the overgrowth as he ran away. At the same time she could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears. In her head. She could also feel wetness running down her back and side. Warm.

‘Hey lady?’ she heard the voice call, and it was the sweetest sounding voice she had ever heard. ‘Lady… are you all right? Can you move?’

She didn’t want to move. She wanted to lie there, still face down and just close her eyes.

‘Oh Jesus. Eric… go get help.’

‘From where?’

She just wanted to sleep.

‘Go. Now!’

Yes. Sleep. Whatever it takes.

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