Anna was sitting at one end of a Victorian sofa, a small table at her elbow and the large sewing-box which stood on it was open, She was sewing a button on a shirt and as he watched, she reached into the mending-box, fumbled for a pair of scissors and cut the thread.
Billy took off his overcoat, dropped it to the floor and moved towards her, shaking with excitement. She was aware first of the coat dropping and then the faint sound of his approach and frowned, her face turned towards him.
“Who is it? Is anyone there?”
He paused momentarily and she stood up. Billy approached on tiptoe and as she half-turned, clutching the shirt to her, a needle in the other hand, he circled behind her.
“Who is it?” she demanded, fear in her voice.
He slipped a hand up her skirt from the rear, cupping it between her thighs and giggled. “That’s nice. You like that, don’t you? Most girls like what I do to them.”
She gave a cry of horror, pulling away, turning to face him at the same moment and he reached forward and slipped a hand inside the neck of her dress feeling for a breast.
Anna cried out, her face a mask of horror. “No, please – in the name of God! Who is it?”
“Fallon!” he said. “It’s me, Fallon!”
“Liar!”, she screamed. “Liar I’ and lashed out blindly, catching him across the face.
Billy slapped her back-handed. Til teach you, you bitch. I’ll make you crawl.”
He knocked her back across the sofa tearing at her pants, forcing her thighs apart brutally, crushing his mouth on hers. Through the unbelievable horror of it, the nameless disgust, she was aware of his hand between his legs fumbling with the zip of his trousers and then the hardness pushing against her.
She screamed, he slapped her again, forcing her head back across the end of the sofa and her right hand, grabbing at the table for support, fastened upon the scissors. She was almost unconscious by then so that as the darkness flooded over her, she was not aware of her hand swinging convulsively, driving the scissors up under the ribs with all the force of which she was capable, piercing the heart and frilling him instantly. Finding the front door barred, Fallon had only been able to gain entry by breaking a kitchen window. He arrived in the sitting room to find Billy Meehan sprawled across the un-conscious girl and hurled himself on him. It was only in dragging him away that he saw the handle of the scissors protruding beneath the ribs.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. The first room he tried was obviously her uncle’s, but the second was hers and he laid her on the bed and covered her with an eiderdown.
He sat there holding her hand and after a while her eyelids flickered. She started violently and tried to pull her hands away.
Fallon said soothingly, “There, now, it’s me – Martin Fallon. You’re all right now. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
She gave a great shuddering sigh. “Thank God! Thank God! What happened?”
“Can’t you remember?”
“Only this dreadful man. He said he was you and then he tried to… he tried to…” She shuddered. “Oh, God, the feel of his hands. It was horrible. Horrible. I fainted, I think.”
“That’s right,” Fallon said calmly. “Then I arrived and he ran away.”
She turned her face to him, those blind eyes focusing to one side. “Did you see who it was?”
Tm afraid not.”
“Was it…” She hesitated. “Do you think Meehan was behind it?”
“I should imagine so.”
She closed her eyes and when Fallon gently took her hand, she pulled it away convulsively. It was as if for the moment she could not bear the touch of a man – any man.
He steeled himself for the obvious question. “Did he have his way with you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Would you like me to get you a doctor?”
“For God’s sake, no, not that. The very idea that anyone should know fills me with horror.”