She Wants My Life

By Noreen. Byrne

Excerpts from "She wants my life"

Twin girls, Sara and Louise were born on the first of June 1982. Sara, the first born, yelled loudly. She was healthy and beautiful with the face of an angel.
Louise is not so lucky: Although she too had an angelic face, her little body was grotesquely deformed.

Louise was sent to a religious order of nuns by a cruel father who refused to accept her as his daughter. Louise, intelligent with a loving heart and caring nature lived for her mother ́s secret visits and dreamed of the day when she ́d be taken home.

Five years later, the twin’s mother, through guilt and grief, tried to take her own life. Rather than loose his wife, the father relented and finally arrangements were made to take Louise home.

Louise sat beside her sister in the back of their father’s car, huddled together in silence. Louise clutched tightly to the hand of her twin and both girls look deeply into each other’s eyes. One sees pain and sorrow, the other only confusion and repulsion.

Only their mother saw the oil tanker as it swerved round the bend and ploughed into them. Louise threw her arms around her screaming sister, covering and protecting her with her own body as they hurl through the windscreen.
Every bone in Louise’s pitiful body was shattered.

Miraculously, Sara survived with only a few scratches.
From then on, the sad and vengeful soul of Louise haunts Sara and those who love her.
Excerpts

Handsome and enigmatic Roland Tyler discovers that the woman he hoped to build a new life with holds a strong and abnormal passion for another woman,

Their moans of desire and shouts of laughter soon turn to tears of fear, sorrow and rage.

On a blistering winter’s night in an isolated cottage in the south of Ireland, Roland Tyler frantically tries to save his wife as she hemorrhages while giving birth.

High-pitched screams came from the cottage. Roland turns and looks up at the front bedroom window. He begins to run, slipping and sliding on the icy path until...

As Roland cleans blood from his new baby daughter, he realizes that they are not alone.

Just moments before death, Sara reaches out and beckons to that which lurks behind her husband ́s shoulder.
The sight that meets Roland ́s eyes hurls him into the darkest, depths of insanity.

The tragic events of that night cause Roland to lose his sanity.
He spends six months in a mental asylum and from there, sent to a convalescence home run by nuns. A place where reality seems unreal and nightmares turn into dreams.

The once handsome and clean -shaven Roland sat crouched in a corner beside the big wardrobe. His jaws as sunken as his wife ́s dead eyes, his cracked lips moved soundlessly.

The nun’s cheeks were sun-kissed, making her heavy lashed eyes look sultry. Oh how he yearned to kiss those pouting lips! Was it wishful- thinking? Were those lips just like his newly sprouted rose buds, ruby red and juicy, ready to open up to the moisture of the early morning dew?’

Matt ́s twisted plans take on a perverse and deadly reality.
Dressed in nun ́s attire he stands in front of his long mirror, caressing himself while moaning and groaning like a wild animal until he collapses into a pitiful heap on the cols stone floor.

The little nun devotes herself to Roland ́s recovery, scarcely knowing that she is fanning the sparks of a shouldering inferno that would reach to their very souls.

He was certain that a god of superior intelligence had sent him all these young nubile virgins.
This twisted concept had festered and ripened in Matt’s head for a long time. “They must wait!” he chuckled to himself. “Let them pray to their Christ to help them to hold back, and have patience. They must be chaste, pure before...”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Noreen. Byrne
• Release date: Oct 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466197473

Noreen. Byrne

Noreen J. Byrne nació en Irlanda y vive en la zona Costa Blanca desde hace diez años como profesora de inglés, durante los cuales ha alcanzado un excelente grado de experiencia y conocimientos. Sus credenciales son: licenciada en Inglés, Literatura Inglesa y TEFL (Profesora de inglés para extranjeros en todos los niveles). Actualmente compagina la enseñanza con la literatura escribiendo cuentos y relatos cortos en inglés destinados a los estudiantes de esta lengua y que se pueden usar individualmente o en pequeños grupos para progresar en los estudios. Noreen J. Byrne ha creado “The Little English Handbook”, una colección que contiene lecciones precisas y de muy fácil seguimiento y comprensión por los estudiantes. Estos cuentos en inglés están traducidos al castellano y van acompañados de ejercicios con respuestas para ayudar al aprendizaje. El último título publicado es “Consigue el trabajo”. Esta edición ha sido creada minuciosamente para todos los estudiantes que están aprendiendo inglés e introducirles algunos de los mecanismos esenciales para prepararse de cara a una entrevista de trabajo. Los precios de esta colección son de los más económicos en España con el fin de favorecer el conocimiento del inglés entre las personas interesadas en el estudio de este idioma. Noreen J Byrne was born in Ireland. She has lived on the Costa Blanca in Spain for the last ten years as an author and English teacher, gaining a wealth of knowledge and experience. She holds a BA in English and TEFL certificates. She enjoys writing short stories, grammar books and guides that can be used for English classes and independent study. The Little English Handbook collection contains concise lessons in easy to follow grammatical structure with short stories in English and a translation into Spanish of the main vocabulary. The books have comprehension questions at the end and further study ideas. Students will gain a great deal of vocabulary and reading and writing experience from these books and will thoroughly enjoy the beautifully crafted stories. Noreen has also written grammar books. These books can also be used for self study and are great for teachers to use as a textbook in class. Coming soon to the collection of handbooks is ̈Get That Job!” This book has been thoughtfully created as an indispensible guide for those learning English and participating in job interviews. It has become a best seller in our classes. The book carefully guides the student through useful techniques to use in interviews, key vocabulary that you must know, body language, and much, much more. The price of this collection of books has been kept very economical for the benifit of all students.

Book preview

Prologue

The Nightmare

Sara, please Sara no, not again! Oh Christ. The man on the bed trashed from side to side, his voice hoarse, as if rising from a sand- gravel pit. "wake up, I must wake up!," He moaned in despair as he plunged further down, tumbling, tumbling into a hellish nightmare.

Roland’s sweat soaked chest rose as he drew in a long shuddering breath. His hand moved to the swelling between his thighs. Sara sat astride him, her slim legs hugging his sides. Beautiful silky blond hair cascaded down over her perfectly shaped breasts.

Tiny beads of perspiration shone on her upper lip. Roland grabbed a handful of her hair, burying his face in it, kissing its silkiness and enjoying its lushness.

He cupped her beautiful face in both his hands, drew her to him, and then brushed his lips against hers.

He felt her tremble as his tongue touched the little hollow of her throat. She arched her back, and moaned as he covered her feverish lips with his own.

Total sensuality of soft, spine tingling kisses engulfed them and with incredibly urgency their hungry tongues probed and explored each other´s mouth. Sara shifted her position. Bringing her lips further down to his chest she began flicking the dark glistening hairs into little circles with the tip of her tongue. His moans caused her sex to swell, and dampen as she squirmed on his hard member.

Roland couldn’t restrain himself any longer. His strong but gentle hands circled her tiny waist lifting her up, and in that same motion, Sara reached down and divided her hot opening to accommodate him. His largeness caused her to cry out, calling his name.

They moved as one. Roland massaged and kissed her straining breasts: her nipples were now hard, straining orbs of desire, quivering in his palms. Sara threw her head back, arching her creamy neck. Frantically she began nibbling his ear, kissing his forehead and nose, frantically trying to keep him inside her. Gasping for breath she pleaded. ‘Don’t stop my darling, never stop loving me, you are all mine my love, mine."

Finally, their primal rhythmic movements slowed, then ceased.

A chilling stillness engulfed the room. Roland felt every vein of blood in his body turn cold as he stared at the vision who had just given him such joy and pleasure.

With every fiber of his being he fought to free himself from his hellish nightmare as he fell further and deeper into the abyss.

Hours later, Roland sat shivering, his hands griping the edge of the mattress while scalding tears streamed from his terror filled eyes.

Chapter

One

Ireland

Carlow’s town center sparkled with festive activity. It was Christmas Eve and people thronged the pavements. Some shoppers already laden down with shopping bags and gift-wrapped parcels; even so, their eager eyes scanned shop windows for last minute bargains. Harassed mothers pushed baby buggies, smiling and apologizing as they bumped and jostled other shoppers.

A bunch of runny- nosed kids stood waiting for their parents, their expectant eyes feasting on the chubby men dressed in Santa suits as they rang their bells while standing ankle high in the soft glistening snow.

Along the main street stood quaint little bars, each one buzzed with cheerful music as high-spirited customers drank their beers and toasted their toes around blazing log fires.

At Doyle’s corner, a burly red-faced Santa smiled as he popped chewing gum into his mouth to kill the smell of hot whiskey he had just gulped down in the Shamrock bar. Then he reached down and ruffled the curly hair of the toddler who brazenly tugged at his Santa jacket.

Usually, John Byrne loved playing Santa, and for the past ten years had volunteered most of his free time in the run up to Christmas. However, today he had an overpowering desire to be somewhere else, but for the life of him, he could not say where that place was. The feeling nagged at him, putting a damper on this otherwise perfect afternoon.

By late evening, a heavy rain of velvety snow covered all signs of the day´s activity.

Nightfall came early and brought with it a deep peace: a peace that was almost spiritual in its silence.

However, less than a mile away, the scenario was far from peaceful. Sara Tyler, in her eight month of pregnancy, lay crouched in agony and struggling for breath.

Out in the front yard her husband, Roland, tried his utmost to get the old van started, but the engine had frozen solid, his key turned and clicked with not even the promise of a spark. He punched his fist into the side of the van then cursed himself for being such a fool. How many times had he and Sara put money aside for a new car? There was always something else of more importance, like repairs to the cottage roof, a new washing machine, or more medication for Sara. Housing sales had slumped recently and even with his good looks and soft- spoken sales patter clients were few, and far between.

Frantic with worry and drenched in a lather of sweat he knew that he had only himself to blame. He should have realized that she was near her time. All the signs were there, even with her drastic weight loss and her ever so slightly swollen belly. His own mother once remarked, ‘She’s much too thin to be pregnant, seems like she swallowed a grape and it got stuck!"

Roland wished with all his heart that his mother could be here right now.

High-pitched screams came from the cottage. Roland turned, looked up at the front bedroom window, and in blind panic began to run, slipping, and sliding on the icy path leading to the cottage door. ‘Hold on Sara I’m coming!" His feet slid from under him and his heart pounded in his chest as he tried desperately to steady himself. He reached out but felt a sharp pain as his head smacked against the concrete pillar. He lay spread-angled on the cold ground. Blood trickled from a small gash on his forehead. The cottage and garden seemed to spin round him as he sank into semi consciousness.

Roland’s mind reeled backwards in time to the night Sara became pregnant. He had come home late to find her asleep, sprawled across their double bed; her silky blond hair framed her beautiful face. The delicate negligee concealed nothing; every sensuous curve highlighted by a film of light perspiration that gleamed on her satin skin. Roland stood looking down at her, admiring her exquisite beauty. A tender smile softened his dark handsome face as he bent down, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘Wake up sleeping beauty," he whispered. Sara moaned and draped a slender arm around his neck. Her natural warm smell caused his already straining erection to throb. Languidly she slid her tongue into his hot mouth, purring like a contented kitten. He stroked her full breasts. Although they were newlyweds, he knew exactly what turned her on. Slowly he circled and then gently pinched her erect nipples until she squirmed and called his name. Roland sucked on the red tender orbs bringing groans of pleasure from her arched throat. His hand followed the curve of her tight belly, down towards soft silky hairs that came alive between his fingers. Sara parted her legs and raised herself up on her heels; her hands grasped the back of the bedposts as he brought groans of ecstasy from deep within her.

‘Oh baby,’ he whispered. Roland could not restrain himself any longer. He quickly pulled away from her, did a fair imitation of Tarzan by roaring, and beating his chest, then whipped off his jacket, trousers and underwear. ‘You my lady are one lusty wench tonight. Sara giggled demurely ‘Prepare yourself woman.’ Laughing, he went to the end of the bed, grabbed hold of Sara’s feet and pulled her towards him. She wrapped her legs around his neck. With both hands, he cupped her buttocks. The heady scent of her sexual musk almost caused him to lose control. Bending his head Roland nuzzled her silky muff until her pleading stopped and her body went into spasms of orgasmic joy. He took her into his arms, covered her mouth with his, and kissed her hungrily. His largeness grew even larger as she took his hard throbbing member into her mouth then turned her eyes up to him to gauge the height of his euphoria.

Roland wanted this to last forever. ‘No no, wait! Sara, stop!" Lifting her, he turned her towards the bed. With her knees on the edge of the mattress, Sara felt his hard hands cup her hanging breasts; his hot shaft plunged into her, causing her to yell his name over and over again.

Lying on the icy ground and with Sara’s screams ringing in his ears Roland fought to bring some movement into his limbs. Something wet and cold slapped at his face and neck. Two large green slanting eyes stared at him. The local tomcat! What the hell? He grabbed the pillar and shaking his pounding head he pulled himself upright and staggered through the door of the cottage. Fingers of raw naked fear clutched his heart.

The bright pink and silver bedroom swam before his eyes. Roland tried to hard focus. He rubbed the heel of his hands into both his eyes then peered at the bed and then Sara. Her beautiful face contorted with agony and her frail body convulsed as she lay curled up in the fetal position. Sara’s stomach was now almost flat. Blood seeped through the silk embroidered bed-cover. Roland strode towards the bed. Oh heaven help us! Sara, Sara, talk to me. Sara moaned weakly, and then collapsed. Roland whipped back the eiderdown and pulled up Sara’s nightdress. What he saw almost stopped his heart. The umbilical cord, it was wrapped around the neck of a tiny baby. It´s eyes almost bulging from its sockets. Quickly searching the dressing table drawer, he found a pair of scissors. He wiped it on the sleeve of his jumper and gently slipped it under the cord and cut. The cord fell away but there was no sound, not a flicker of movement from the child. The room grew thick with silence. His mind raced in all directions, somehow clinging to the hope that this was all just a nightmare. Putting his smallest finger into the baby’s mouth, he hooked out blood and plasma, tiny air bubbles burst from the baby’s lips, but the face remained swollen. Holding the infant to his mouth he sucked on the small nose, spat, then sucked again. Turning the baby over he tapped it on the back, once, twice, then mercifully, he heard little weak splutter, a gasp, and at long last, an ear piercing wail. ‘Sweet Jesus! Roland reached for the nearest cloth to wrap the now whimpering handful. It was Sara’s dressing gown and as he wrapped the little girl up into the silky folds, she clutched his finger, brought it to her mouth, and began to such greedily. Roland now spoke confidently to Sara, assuring her that all was well. ‘Look Sara, we have a beautiful baby girl, she’s fine darling, absolutely beautiful, just like you. Colour crept into the baby’s soft cheeks and a strong healthy yell emitted from her lungs. Roland hung his head and allowed himself a sigh of relief before placing the child next to her mother. He still could not bring himself to look at Sara. Roland walked to the window and placed his forehead against the cold glass then turned and looked at his wife and child.

The blood scared him to hell and there was so much of it. ‘Talk to me Sara, look, you’ve done it, it’s all over now love."

Roland gently moved the baby closer to Sara´s breast and the back of his hand touched her pale cheek. She was cold, very cold, but not shivering. Tears sprang from his eyes. ‘Please Sara, tell me what to do. Be brave darling." Roland, who prided himself in being strong and level headed now felt as helpless as the baby he had just delivered. He held Sara’s face in his trembling hands as he pleaded with her to live. Her beautiful eyelashes fluttered and she looked down at her baby and smiled serenely before gazing up into her husband´s eyes. Two glistening tears ran down her pale cheeks onto the head of her baby daughter. Roland caught both her hands in his and held them to his lips. Suddenly Sara gasped, her smile broadened and her eyes shone with happiness as she pulled away from Roland and raising her arm she beckoned towards the door behind Roland.

An unreal feeling overwhelmed him, slivers of ice floated around his stomach. He felt like a bystander in an accident scene. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. What was the matter with him? Was he going to faint, pass out again? Grown men do not faint for God’s sake. Roland dug his nails into the palms of his hands trying desperately to wake himself up, hoping against hope that this was a terrible nightmare.

Roland quickly glanced over his right shoulder to where his wife was now staring and smiling so warmly. He saw nothing. Sara’s face continued to light up with happiness as she stretched forward in the bed and held out her trembling hand: not to him, her husband, but to someone or something behind him. ‘No Sara love, it’s your illness, there’s no one else here, just me, and our baby daughter. Oh please Sara don´t do this, not now." Roland grabbed her into his arms and held her tightly against his thumping heart. He buried his face in her neck and wept.

He was exhausted, shattered, sick, and tired of her terrible affliction. Even now, thought Roland, even at this glorious moment with their new baby beside her, she still held strongly to her crazy notions. He reached to take the baby but paused, again he felt compelled to turn and look behind him. There was nothing there. His breath came out in a white mist. Suddenly Roland heard a long drawn out sigh, the sadness of it seemed to fill the room.

Roland felt too afraid to turn his eyes from Sara. Her breathing came faster, her eyes gleaming as she became more excited. Sara was dying, somehow he knew she was about to die and there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening, or was there? He forced himself into action and quickly removed the blood soaked padding from between her legs and replaced them with fresh ones from the bedside locker. He tried to will her to live. He took hold of her and hugged her fragile body close, then even closer not knowing who needed whom the most. Sara didn´t speak. He placed her gently against the pillows. She stroked her daughter´s cheek tenderly and then looked over Roland´s shoulder and whispered a name, a name he had come to know and dread. ‘No!" he yelled. Stop this nonsense right now Sara, talk to me He jabbed his thumb into his chest. Me. I´m your husband for Christ’s sake! I´m the father of our baby."

He had grabbed her by the shoulders and he was shaking her, shouting now. Her head lolled from side to side. Spittle splashed his face. He stopped suddenly and once again placed her against her pillows next to her whimpering baby. Anger and sorrow combined to tear at the timbers of his being. Sara had used her last dying breath to whisper to another.

He felt completely out of it, alone in this weird feeling of unreality. Was he mad? Why did he have this feeling of lightness? Surly to Christ he was not feeling relieved? He sat on the edge of their bed and stared at his wife and child for what seemed like hours.

Her unrelenting suffering was over, finished. Never again would he have to listen to, and suffer the torments of Sara’s mental anguish. Their short marriage had been a living hell.

Roland lifted her hand to his lips and held it there then kissing her fingers, he murmured. Sleep now Sara, sleep peacefully my darling.

The baby snuggled closer to her mother’s breast and Roland placed his hand over her downy soft head. Don´t worry little one, daddy´s here.

Suddenly he shivered; he saw his breath rises in front of his face as the room turned icy. Fear twisted his stomach muscles into knots as he turned his head towards the door behind him.

Roland did not recognize the sound of his own screams as they echoed into the night.

Chapter

Two

It was not until two days after Christmas: when a weak sunshine turned the snow to dirty slush, that the sound of a horse and cart was heard passing through the suburbs of Carlow. It was such a welcoming sound too many of the inhabitants as it meant the delivery of fresh milk, butter, cheese, fresh bread and eggs to the villagers.

‘Whoa there Ned. Take it easy boy." John spoke calmly to his trusted horse as he brought his shaky cart up the Tyler's pathway. ‘Something’s definitely wrong here’ he mumbled as he climbed down. John peered into the open door and slushy hallway. It was obvious that Roland’s van had not moved for days. Hard thick snow covered the windscreen where the sun hadn´t reached it under the big oak tree.

John, a hard-working rugged farmer, had no time what so ever for social graces. His large round red face cheered up many a downtrodden traveller that happened to meet him on their journey. Wrapping his large hands around two pint sized milk bottles, he barged straight into the house calling first Roland and then Sara. ‘Stick the kettle on folks I’m frozen to the bone so I am."

No man could have been less prepared for the sight that met John Byrne’s eyes that morning. On the bed lay the dead body of Sara. Her once beautiful face now a pasty grey; her eyes were sunken back into deep sockets. Strange suckling noises came from a pulsating lump beside her breasts. John stared at the quilt covering Sara’s thighs; it was covered with patches of dark brown stains.

A snapping noise came from the space between the wardrobe and window.

What was there frightened John even more so than the scene he had just witnessed on the bed. The once clean-shaven and handsome Roland sat crouched in a corner beside the big wardrobe. His jaws were as sunken as Sara’s eyes, his lips moved soundlessly. Roland’s head jerked from side to side so abruptly that John thought he heard bones snap. The room stank to high heaven.

The milk bottles dropped from his hands and smashed on the floor as he forced himself to walk towards the bed.

John had known Sara Tyler was pregnant; he had his eyes on some cut timber that he was going to use to make a crib to give them as a present. What with Roland being a good friend and all it was the least he could do. They had never allowed him to pass by without a glass of beer or a hot mug of tea. John’s common sense told him that he was now suffering from shock. He used the sound of his own voice to jolt himself into action. ‘Think man, think. As far as he knew, the baby had not been due for another month at least. He, and the rest of the village were well aware of the comings and goings of the Richard Gear look-a -like and his beautiful but batty young wife. The baby?" In two long strides, he was beside the bed, and without stopping to think, he gently grabbed the small bundle. Splut. John cringed as he realized the little mite had been trying to suck milk from its dead mother’s breast.

He so wished he had kept up his milk round over the Christmas but standing in wet snow and chuckling with little kids had left him in bed with a heavy cold and inflamed arthritis.

This is my fault, he thought guiltily as he looked at his friend. With the whimpering baby held tight in his arms the big weather beaten man stood in front of Roland. Excrement and urine were caked to his trousers and shoes. ‘Come on man,’ he bellowed, ‘pull yourself together." Snap, snap, went Roland's head, spittle frothing from the corners of his mouth. John gagged at the terrible smell and tried to hold onto his breakfast as he put a hand on Roland’s shoulder saying: ‘I will be back with help, hang in there buddy.’

He sprinted out the door and hopped up onto his horse and cart. Then he gently placed the crying baby inside his big duffle jacket. ‘Go Ned go!" the old horse pricked up his ears: unaccustomed to the sound of panic in John´s voice. John whipped the reigns harshly. ‘Go like the thunder boy.’ John thanked his lucky stars that Ned already had a good feed of oats inside him before they had set off. Otherwise, they would have had to put up with a slow plod all the way back to the town. He was never as frightened as he was at this very moment. The infant’s life was at stake, Roland’s as well, for surly as man was born to woman something more than met the eye had happened at the Tyler’s cottage.

A factual man like himself could not even try to comprehend it. Whenever anything outside his comprehension would arise, John´s well-used words were ‘Ah sure, we’ll just leave that to the boyos to figure out." He had a lot of trust in the police force especially as two of his nephews had moved up the ranks and had moved to Dublin.

The baby´s tiny hands fluttered and he felt her little body cuddle closer to his warmth.

Boy oh boy, mused John, will I have a tale to tell at the local tonight?"

Jon had been spinning good yarns ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper. The locals never tired of his spirited tales, which usually had them in reels of laughter or with mouths agog. Tonight the pints would flow aplenty to keep his tongue flapping, John knew that if he played his cards right he would be supping free beers for a whole week, and then some.

Chapter

Three

St. Ursula’s nursing home sat in an old world setting between Carlow and Dublin. Here, a religious order of nuns known as the The Little Sisters of Charity dedicated their lives to helping physically and mentally ill patients to lead normal lives. Their own sparsely furnished convent was only a stones-throw away from the nursing home. The Catholic Church had restored it from old ruins and the previous tenants were an order Christian Brothers. The Sisters of Charity spent most of their time in these two buildings or outside in the well-kept grounds. Once inside the big wrought iron gates one had a sense of tranquility and peace.