by Tillie Cole
My blood cooled when I remembered that watch. Tick tock . . . tick tock . . . tick tock . . .
Mrs. Lockwood became lost to her tears. “I knew Heathan would be affected by the murder. What six-year-old child wouldn’t? Only he wasn’t affected like I expected. No”—she shook her head—“Heathan wasn’t scarred by the memory. He seemed . . . inspired.” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “The pocket watch vanished after the murder. We all thought the murderers had taken it or thrown it away. It turned out Heathan had it. It had been damaged, ruined beyond repair. I found him with it when I caught him sitting beside next door’s dog on the side of the road. It had been run over by a car. Heathan was braced over that poor dog, his eyes wide with wonder as he studied its dead body, holding that watch, repeating ‘Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.’ The boy believed the watch was working. Seemed to associate that watch with anything death-related. Always uttering ‘Tick tock’. I realized in that moment that seeing the murder of my father had altered him permanently. All he did after that was read about death, murders, serial killers and ways to kill.
“I couldn’t afford any specialists to look at him. And then things only seemed to get worse. His obsession spiraled. He burned insects. Destroyed butterflies. He was fascinated by their demise, by their deaths caused by his own hands.
“One day, when he was nine, I came home to find him sitting on the kitchen floor. Heathan was covered in blood. There was a knife on the floor beside him and he had cuts all over his body, wounds he had clearly inflicted upon himself. He was rubbing his blood into the skin on his arms and face, only to stop and write ‘Tick tock’ on the kitchen floor with his finger, using his own blood as the ink. I snapped, and I tried to take that cursed watch from his hands.” Her cheeks paled. “That boy of mine. He . . . he shot to his feet, put his hand on my throat, and forced me back against the wall. He threatened that if I came near him again, that if I dared take the watch, he would kill me in my sleep.” She stared at my uncle. “And he would have.” She straightened her back. “That was the day I drove him to the Earnshaw estate and gave him to his father. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
My uncle shook Mrs. and Mr. Lockwood’s hands and got to his feet when the interview had finished. I followed. As we left, Mrs. Lockwood put her hand on my uncle’s arm and said, “I don’t know what he’s done, but that boy is trouble. Nothing or no one will ever get through to him. He will never let anyone in to try.”
That was where she was wrong. Because the girl he let in once belonged to me. An extroverted blond, five foot one and weighing no more than one hundred pounds, now had the full attention of one Heathan James. She returned the favor.
The most fucked-up pairing I’d ever seen.
We drove back to the Ranger base in silence. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Heathan’s mother had said. How even as a child he would kill. Hours passed as I worked at my desk. Just as I had signed off on my last report concerning the tea-party massacre, another file landed on my desk. I groaned and looked up at the junior officer.
“Don’t blame me. Your uncle told me to get this to you as soon as it came through.”
Turning my lamp back on, I picked up the file. “Earnshaw,” the label said. I ran my hand over the file. It was old.
The false report.
I turned the page and began to read . . . and I didn’t stop until I reached the last page. I sat back in my seat and ran my hand through my hair, feeling sick to my bones. The clock on the wall struck three, the loud chimes reverberating around the deserted office.
Yet I remained, eyes closed, knowing that what I had just read was real. And it had mentioned Ellis. Little Ellis. Innocent, fragile, little Ellis.
And Heathan.
It had mentioned Heathan James too.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, fighting the bile that had risen to my throat. And to no one and everyone, I opened my mouth and whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
Chapter 14
The Jabberwock
Dolly
“Did you like your picture?” I asked Rabbit as we drove down another new road.
Rabbit shrugged. “I don’t care about the picture.”
I leaned back in my seat and thought of the picture in my head. As soon as I switched on the TV this morning, I had seen a picture of me and my Rabbit. It was drawn in pencil. “SICK FUX” was displayed along the bottom of the screen. I couldn’t read the rest so good; the words went by too fast. But Rabbit told me it had said we were “Serial Killers.” It had said we were on the loose. It described what we wore, and told people to watch out for us.
I didn’t care about all of that. I just liked the picture of me and my Rabbit. I wanted a copy. I wanted to put it in a frame. “You looked so handsome,” I told him and turned to give him a smile.
Rabbit raised his eyebrow. I laughed at his moody face. “You’re the most handsome boy I ever did see.” Rabbit glanced at me from the corner of his eye and smirked.
I turned up the music. My mummy’s music blasted at us. I thought of what was coming up. I hugged my doll to my chest when my stomach began to drop and shivers broke out all over my body . . .
The Jabberwock.
I swallowed, feeling something I had never encountered before when facing the bad men. Fear. I felt fear as I looked down at his card. Rabbit had given me the card this morning. He had told me that the Jabberwock was mine to kill.
The Jabberwock was the fiercest bad man of all.
He was the evil one who hurt little Ellis the most.
He was the one who put a baby in her stomach . . . then ripped it all away.
I ran my hand over the Jabberwock’s face. I shuddered at the eyes staring back at me.
Nasty, nasty, wicked eyes.
Rabbit’s hand landed on my thigh. Taking a deep breath, I looked at him. I had worn my extra-long false lashes today. I had put my lipstick on extra thick. I needed their protection. The Jabberwock was a good fighter, a very good fighter.
He was my biggest challenge yet.
“You can defeat him,” Rabbit assured me, reading my mind.
I nodded, but my doll shook in my trembling hands. “I . . .” I sucked in a deep breath. “I am scared, Rabbit. The Jabberwock . . . he scares me so.”
Rabbit’s jaw clenched. He looked over at me, and for a moment, I got lost in his silver eyes. They were pretty moons. Their beauty made me feel slightly better. “You can defeat him,” Rabbit repeated. His voice was low and hard. I knew Rabbit was annoyed. I knew he was angry. He was acting like he had done when we went for the Cheshire Cat. Only today, he had not once left me alone. Wherever I went, so did he. When I showered, he was with me, touching my face and stroking my hair. When I put on my makeup, I sat on his lap. And now, his hand remained firmly on my thigh.
If I didn’t know better, I would think my Rabbit was scared too.
“You have your knife and your gun,” he continued. “I’ll be there every step of the way.” His nostrils flared. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
I didn’t know why, but my bottom lip began to quiver. My eyesight blurred as I looked at Rabbit’s hand on my knee. And then I looked again at the card in my hands. He was no different to the other men we had killed. But at the same time, he was completely different. Because he was the man who hurt Ellis the most.
Beyond all doubt, I knew she feared him most of all.
Ellis had gone quiet in my mind. Ever since I told her that we were coming but first we had to defeat the Jabberwock, she’d stopped speaking to me. But I felt her; she was hiding in my mind. And she was in darkness. Scared and hiding in a place where the Jabberwock could not find her again.
Because he wanted to hurt Ellis. He always wanted to really hurt her. Just like when Ellis was younger, he would hurt her . . . then hurt her some more. Again and again, not caring that she cried. Not caring that she wanted her Heathan to make her feel better. The Jabberwock kept taking and taking from her until Ellis became trapped behind the
door . . . trapped in a dark forest full of vicious beasts and mind-numbing nightmares.
Rabbit took my hand. A tear from my eye fell on the back of his hand. Without speaking, Rabbit lifted my hand to his lips. I held my breath, shocked that he could be so soft and gentle with me.
And then he kissed me. His lips, so soft and plump, kissed the back of my hand. Warmth replaced the ice in my chest as his precious breath ghosted over my skin. When he lowered our hands, he kept them on my lap. He didn’t utter a word, but then I was sure that the moment would have been spoiled by idle chit-chat.
The silence told me everything. My Rabbit loved me. He never said so, but I felt it. And that would be enough for now.
I gripped his hand all the way to the place where the Jabberwock stayed. As we pulled into the town that protected him, I smelled salt in the air. I could see the sea as we drove along the quiet streets.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Del Rio,” Rabbit replied and fell silent once more.
We traveled a long way, then Rabbit turned off the road. We drove down a country road until we came to a large stretch of water. I gasped at its beauty. I didn’t get chance to say so before Rabbit asked, “How do you intend to kill him?”
I looked down at our joined hands. “I . . . I don’t know.” I gazed out over the water, glistening blue in the light of the sun. “I want to make him pay.” A deep breath. “The Jabberwock is the worst of all the men. Worse even than the King of Hearts, because he hurt Ellis the most. Locked her behind the door and left her all alone for a very long time.”
I blinked as the tears built again in my eyes. “Ellis told me he was the one who helped send her Heathan away.” Rabbit stilled. His hand tightened around mine, so much that it almost hurt me. “He did so many bad things that I feel, and Ellis feels, the Jabberwock should die in the worst way possible. But . . .”
“But what?”
“But I just can’t think. For some reason, with the Jabberwock, my head can’t think. I don’t know why. There is this big fog in my brain.”
Rabbit gently stroked my cheek. My eyebrows furrowed. That was the second gentle touch I had received from Rabbit. “Rabbit?” I asked, unsure what I was really asking.
“You just kill him,” he said. “No messing around. You go in there. You choose your weapon, and you slaughter him. Don’t let him hurt you. Just kill him. Then . . .” He closed his eyes.
“There is only one more left,” I finished for him.
He opened his eyes and nodded.
“Rabbit?” I held his hand tighter and looked back over the water. It was so quiet. “We are nearly at his home, aren’t we?”
Rabbit tensed, but nodded again. “It is about ten minutes down this road.”
I breathed in through my mouth, then out through my nose. I wasn’t sure how long we sat in the car, looking out over the water, but as a bird swooped high in the sky, I turned to Rabbit. “I’m ready,” I declared, hearing a shaking in my voice.
Rabbit, in his third act of unexpected chivalry, closed the distance between us and kissed me on my lips. My heart skipped a beat at the feel of his lips against mine, so gentle and kind. There was no blood. No biting nor harshness, simply peace and softness.
It stole my heart.
As he pulled away, he left his hand on my cheek. “Rabbit,” I whispered breathlessly and fluttered my eyes open. Rabbit swallowed, his cheeks flushed. There was a strange look in his eyes. One I couldn’t decipher. But if I had to guess, I would venture it looked like . . . some kind of . . . happiness.
Rabbit slid back over to his side and pulled the car onto the dirt road. As we passed the water’s edge, I clutched my knife in my hand. I closed my eyes and let the awful things he had done to Ellis fill my mind. Not only had Ellis told me what he had done to her, she had also shown me. So I replayed the images one after the other. I let Ellis’s cries fill my ears until they rang with pain. And I let myself feel the Jabberwock between my legs, thrusting and making Ellis scream.
Anger, more anger than I had ever experienced before, began to fill my body. I felt it like quickfire, shooting down my arms, my legs and my chest. It reached my fingers, which tightened their grip on the knife. I embraced the anger, so much that when we pulled up to the house, surrounded by dark trees . . . a dark forest, like the one that imprisoned Ellis . . . I didn’t think, I acted.
Guided by the rage bubbling in my stomach, I burst from the car. And I ran and I ran. I ran over the lawn and straight up to the house. I raced up the steps and slammed my way through the front door.
I didn’t wait to see if Rabbit was behind me. A red mist had coated my vision. I had to follow my anger’s path to the source: the Jabberwock.
I ran down the hallway, searching all the rooms for any sign of movement. Someone jumped out at me from the third door. I plunged my knife into his chest . . . and I kept running. I didn’t even stop to see who I had killed. I just knew it wasn’t him. I instinctively knew I would recognize him when we found him. I could never forget the ugly, evil face that Ellis had etched on my mind.
Another person caught me by the hair as I ran by them, wrenching me back. When I turned, a man, dressed in black, stood before me. I stabbed my knife upward through his throat into his brain. Blood immediately hit my face, and his hands fell from my hair.
I turned, searching the large house for my next kill . . . and then I heard it.
“Ellis!” A voice called out from the top of the stairs. “Ellis!” My blood cooled. I knew that voice. Ellis had let me know how that voice sounded . . . and worse . . . he was calling her name.
The Jabberwock, the nastiest of them all, was calling Ellis’s name. Taunting me. Mocking me . . .
He was going to die.
I ran up the stairs two at a time. I raised my knife above my shoulder, ready to strike. When I reached the top, I heard footsteps. Whipping my head to the right, I set off at a sprint. I chased the sound of the footsteps until I entered a darkened room. I narrowed my eyes, searching for the monster, when he called her name again. The Jabberwock was across the room, standing in the shadows.
He stood right before me.
I shook with rage. I shook as anger-driven energy surged through me, and my legs propelled me forward. I had only taken three steps before my footing faltered. Suddenly I was falling. I screamed as I fell . . . down and down. Until I hit something beneath me. Something soft broke my fall. I looked up, dread and absolute terror holding me captive.
A hole . . . a hole above me . . . a rabbit hole.
“No,” I whispered and searched around me. I was in a room: a room with three doors. Jumping from whatever I was sitting on—I looked back to find it was a bed—I ran to the first door. It was locked. I ran to the second. It too was locked. “No!” I called louder, my voice cracking in my throat. I approached the third door, dragging my feet. I reached out . . . It was locked.
I shook my head. I shook my head so fast that I became dizzy. Something clattered on the floor. When I looked down, I saw that my knife was on the hard wood. I backed away. I backed away until my legs hit the mattress.
My bottom lip shook as I took in the four walls surrounding me. The three doors . . . it was a replica of the room I had been trapped in for years.
I was back in the room of doors.
A sob crept up my throat. Strength seeped from my body, like blood draining from a wound. My body automatically curled on the bed, arms wrapped around my waist for protection. I closed my eyes, trying to fight the dark and the sinking pit that was forming in my stomach.
Suddenly the door to my right opened. My eyes snapped open, ice-cold fear freezing my bones. I watched as a man walked through. I stared at his feet, at his polished black leather shoes . . . That was all I needed to know who had trapped me.
His legs were in my vision as he reached the bed. I closed my eyes when a hand pushed through my hair. I wanted to move, I wanted to run away, but the room of doors kept me trapped. My body wouldn’
t move. My hand wouldn’t slap his touch away.
“Ellis . . .” he whispered. I felt his voice slice down to my soul. Felt its talons scrape the fragile glass that was my heart, tapping at the weak spots, until it shattered apart, finally draining all my courage and hope.
The Jabberwock’s hand stroked roughly down my face, replacing the sensuous path that Rabbit’s had traced a short while ago. I wanted Rabbit’s touch. I wanted his gentle touch caressing my skin.
I wanted Rabbit, full stop. I wanted Rabbit. But he wouldn’t find me in this room. He wouldn’t be able to get it in—all the doors were locked. Only the Jabberwock had the keys.
“My Ellis,” the Jabberwock whispered. The bed dipped at the side. I felt the Jabberwock’s body move closer. I smelled his scent—whiskey and smoke.
I hated the smell of whiskey and smoke.
“You think I didn’t know you were coming?” He chuckled. The sound hurt my ears. “As soon as I heard the victims’ names, as soon as I saw the picture on the news, I knew you’d be coming for me.” A finger slid under my chin. He forced my head to the side. “Open your eyes.”
Unable to resist his command, I did as ordered. The instant I saw his face, I felt the makeup Rabbit had bought me fall from my face. I felt my dress fade from blue to black. I felt Dolly disappearing. Felt her bravery and courage evaporating into the dank air. I shook with fear.
“Ellis Earnshaw,” the Jabberwock said. Only when I looked into his eyes, I saw that he wasn’t the Jabberwock. Instead Uncle John sat beside me, holding my face.
“Uncle John,” I whispered. He grinned.
“There she is,” he said and traced his hand down my side until it rested on my bare thigh. “My little Ellis. With an English accent, no less.” His eyes flared when they fell on my dress. “You always did like to play, didn’t you?” And then he began to lift it. My breathing quivered as his calloused hand crept up my thigh toward my bottom. I choked down a sob when he pushed my knickers aside and flattened his palm on my buttock. I squeezed my eyes shut as he moved to kneel beside me.
