UNWELCOME GUESTS: An atmospheric, suspenseful thriller

by Anna Willett

  Chapter Twelve

  Micky pressed his palms against the wood. The woman on the other side of the door was saying something but he couldn’t quite make out the words. Her name was Caitlin, and by the sound of her voice she was terrified, but still holding it together.

  “What? Caitlin, I can’t hear you.” He kept his tone calm, under control, even though it felt like his lungs were in a vice. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault. The last fifteen years had been about finding Amy, but now all he cared about was keeping a women he’d never even seen safe.

  “I think he’s coming.” The fear in her voice hit him like a mallet.

  He tried to think but his brain kept spewing up images of Amy. After all these years and so much planning, he was just as helpless as he’d been the day his sister disappeared.

  “Hide.” It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer her. “Do you hear me, Caitlin? Hide.” He jammed his shoulder against the door and shoved. Was it his imagination or did the heavy wood shift under his weight?

  “I can’t leave my husband.” She wasn’t whispering anymore. Her voice was raw with desperation.

  “You can’t help him if you’re dead.” Micky stopped shoving long enough to speak. “Go. Now. I’ll get in somehow.” He forced his mind to work through the layout of the house, searching for Caitlin’s best option.

  “But, I don’t–”

  “Upstairs. The last bedroom. You can get to the attic.” He spat out a string of instructions praying there was still time. “Go!” He bellowed the last word and hoped it was enough to get her moving.

  He pushed back, leaning out from the door. The upstairs lights were on. He could see a rectangle of light coming from the master bedroom. Would she have time to make it to the attic before Felix caught her? Micky pulled his gaze away and concentrated on the door.

  Caitlin said she’d opened the bolt. He fished the keys out of his pocket and grabbed the penlight out of the waistband of his black jeans. Holding the light between his teeth, Micky inserted the key and listened as the lock snapped open. There’d been no point unlocking the door while the bolt was in place, but now the only thing standing between him and Felix was the furniture barricading the door. That, and the gun.

  From what Caitlin described, he was pretty sure they’d wedged the antique sideboard against the door. Micky ran his hand over the back of his neck. The sideboard was made of African blackwood, one of the heaviest woods in the world. He’d bought the piece because of the rich dark colour, only realising how heavy it was when it nearly crippled him and the delivery guy getting it in the house.

  Thinking about the day the sideboard was delivered, the way the delivery guy strained and groaned lifting the oversized antique, gave him an idea. The kid he’d caught round the side of the house, Jace. He was a tradesman, pretty muscular too. Caitlin was his sister-in-law. Micky let out a long breath, the girl said her husband had been shot, Jace’s brother.

  “Damn.” None of this should have happened. Why the hell didn’t he fit an alarm system in the house? Because I didn’t want to risk Felix getting loose and setting it off. Micky had been so sure he could handle Felix, get the truth out of him when no one else could. I wanted to hurt him with no one around to stop me.

  Blaming himself wouldn’t help Caitlin. The best thing he could do for her now was to untie Jace and let him help get the door open. With the two of them pushing, they’d stand a better chance of getting through.

  He pulled his key out of the lock and stuffed it back in his pocket. Just as he took a step away from the entrance, a sound caught his attention. Metal on metal, scraping. Micky ran at the door, using his shoulder as a battering ram. The wood shuddered as a stab of pain radiated through his arm.

  “Too late, Micky.” He’d only spoken to Felix Holly a handful of times over the last fifteen years, but Micky would recognise his voice anywhere. “You never should have brought me here.” There was laughter in his tone. He was enjoying himself. “Without my medication, I do terrible things.”

  Micky gave the door another shove, knowing it was useless. “If you hurt them, I’ll kill you.” How many times had he threatened Felix with death over the last two days? No matter what Micky said, Felix just shook his head or laughed in his face. It was as if the man didn’t understand or care about life or death. Maybe he just knows I don’t have the stomach for killing. A creature like Felix would have a sixth sense for that sort of thing. He knew Micky couldn’t take the ultimate step.

  “I don’t care what it takes.” Micky’s heart raced. “I’ll get in there and tear you limb from limb if I have to.” He thumped the side of his fist against the door in frustration. “Do you hear me?” He was roaring now, all control gone. “You’re never leaving here. I’ll bury you and dance on your grave.”

  “Look what you made me do.” Felix sounded farther away.

  A shot, like a whip-crack, cut through the night. Micky’s knees buckled.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Micky’s voice broke through the fear. Caitlin pulled away from the door and stumbled towards her husband. His chest rose and sank with shallow breaths. Micky was right, she couldn’t help him if she stayed. The only way to help Eli was to get them both out of the house.

  Her mind felt muddy, as if sinking in a turbid pool of despair. The only way to break the spell was movement. She forced her legs to work, stepping past the blood, now cooling into a dark oily puddle on the floor. A whipping noise from the kitchen told her the extension cord was loose. She kicked off her tennis shoes knowing they were wet with blood and would leave a clear trail.

  The stone, icy under her soles, helped shock her to focus on the moment and resist the urge to panic. She bolted for the stairs, flying upwards at a dizzying pace. Below, a crash that sounded like a tree falling. He’s out. The realisation threatened to paralyse her, but Caitlin kept running.

  There was no planning. She acted on instinct. At the door to the room she was to share with her husband, Caitlin paused. Her hands still bloody from the glass cuts and Eli’s wound, she slapped her palm on the spotless white door. Tiny spikes of pain flared as the shards of glass bit deeper into her flesh making her gasp. She grabbed the knob.

  What did Micky say? Something about the attic. She tried to put his words in order, but the sound of her breathing and the thudding of her heart blocked the memory. There was no time to hesitate. Her thoughts kept coming back to the linen cupboard. Inside the wall where she found the gun. A good hiding place.

  She darted down the walkway. Before touching the door, she lifted the hem of her dress and used it to cover the handle. The fabric slipped, refusing to grip. How long would it take Felix to make it through the main room and up the stairs? By the time he got near the top, she’d be clearly visible—an easy shot. The act of clamping the dress around the knob took gargantuan effort, her fingers slipping like clumsy sausages. Please, please. She had no idea who or what she begged.

  The handle moved and the door opened with a whisper. She snatched a blanket from the top shelf, again pulling down a jumble of towels. In the silence, the sound of feet slipping over carpet approached. Caitlin’s heart thudded like a wild animal trapped in her chest.

  She bent and pulled the false panel away from the wall and laid it flat on the floor. Climbing backwards into the cupboard and folding herself under the bottom shelf was easier than she’d thought. Apart from a bump to the back of her head, tucking into the small space was effortless. Or I’m so scared I can’t feel the pain.

  Curled on her left side, Caitlin covered herself with the blanket. Closing the door presented more of a problem. Getting it near closed was easy enough, but fully closed proved to be tricky. Running out of time, she finally hooked two fingers under the bottom of the door and pulled it closed.

  A thin bar of light shone under the door, just enough illumination for her to pull the towels out from under her arm and arrange them in front of her face. If Felix opened the cupboard, the linen would d
isguise her presence, but only at first glance. She prayed it would be enough.

  With the towels over her face, Caitlin lay in blackness. The odour of dust mixed with detergent filled her mouth and nose. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on sound, but in the dark all she could see was Eli: bleeding and helpless. I abandoned him. In her mind, his face blurred and changed into that of a young girl. I abandoned her too. She’d left her husband lying in a pool of blood and fled. Whatever he’d done, the lies and indifference, he didn’t deserve to die alone. Neither of them deserved that.

  Banging. Even draped in fabric inside the cupboard, she could hear the sound coming from the front of the house. Micky said he’d get in, maybe he was pushing the sideboard out from behind the front door. Her heart still raced, but now with the possibility of rescue adding to the fear.

  The seconds ticked by. The walls felt closer as if the cupboard shrank around her. Her bent legs ached, half-pushed into the small alcove where the gun had been hidden. She needed to stretch, work the cramp out of her thighs. It’s only been seconds, I can do this. She tried to talk herself through the panic twisting in her stomach like a nest of worms. Why did she choose the cupboard? Small dark places filled her with dread, ever since… She sucked in a breath and felt the towel press against her lips. Letting her thoughts run wild would tug her into darkness. She couldn’t let that happen, not now.

  The thunderclap came so suddenly, Caitlin jumped, her head whacked the wall. For a second, dizzy and confused, she thought the sound was the cupboard door being torn off its hinges. A second later, the reality of what she heard sank in. A gun shot. Strangely, her first thought was of Micky. Had Felix shot him? The thought tore the air out of her lungs. Then, her panicked mind turned to Eli and she felt a rush of shame.

  Muffled voices, more thumping. Caitlin thought of pushing the cupboard door open and trying to hear what was being said, but her hands remained clamped to her chest. At least in the cupboard she was safe. Am I? What if she opened the door and found Felix standing over her? The upstairs carpet was thick and soft, he could sneak up on her and she’d never hear him coming. But how long could she stay hidden?

  The tumult of shouting and banging ceased. Caitlin realised her fists were bunched under her chin, pressing into her throat. In the silence, her breathing seemed thunderous, amplified by the silence, calling out to be discovered. She forced her fingers to uncurl and slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Here kitty-kitty.” The words rose and fell in a sing-song rhythm, tearing at Caitlin’s nerves. When the gun went off, she’d hoped that somehow Felix was the one hit. But his was the only voice.

  He sounded close. But swaddled in towels at the bottom of the cupboard, it was difficult to tell. She heard doors opening, something smash as if thrown against a wall.

  “I know you’re here, Kitty Cat.” His voice was high, excited. He was enjoying himself. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  Felix was right, she was caught like an animal in a trap. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, falling sideways across the bridge of her nose. She could feel a sob building in her chest, the pressure of it burned her throat. Fear and lack of air pushed down on her until she thought she’d scream.

  “I think I know where you’re hiding.” He gave a snorting laugh. “Not very bright, Kitty Cat.” He sounded closer. Caitlin closed her eyes. “You really hurt me with that glass. I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  I’m going to teach you a lesson. It was as if he’d reached into her soul and pulled a moment from its darkest depths. Two voices raised in song. I’m going to teach you a lesson. A lesson in love. Lo–ve.

  * * *

  Trees, bathed in sunlight. Golden rays haloed Sharon’s long yellow hair. She laughed, a light musical sound. “When we get to my place, I’ll ask Mum if you can stay for dinner.”

  Caitlin let her head fall back against the seat. They were lucky to get a lift from Mr Campson before he left the Civic Centre. If he hadn’t offered to drop them off, they’d be stuck waiting for the bus and Caitlin didn’t want to waste a moment. Saturdays were her favourite, not just because she got to play netball. She loved being on the team, but the best part was after the game. Sharon always asked her over for dinner and sometimes Caitlin would be allowed to sleepover. Those were the best nights. Sharon’s mum usually let them stay up watching DVDs in their games room. Around midnight she’d tell them to get their bums into bed and Sharon’s dad would always yell for her to let the girls have ten more minutes. But he wasn’t drunk or angry like the guys her mother brought home, just sort of funny and serious at the same time. He reminded Caitlin of the dads on TV. Normal. Nice.

  “I’ll have to ring and check if it’s okay.” If her mother was still hungover, she’d most likely get mad and say no. If she was still drunk, on a binge, she wouldn’t answer the phone.

  “I can get my mum to talk to her.” Sharon was so pretty. Everyone at school wanted to be around her, but she chose Caitlin. If part of Sharon’s friendship was based on pity, Caitlin didn’t care. It was enough to have a friend who didn’t judge her limited, scruffy wardrobe or the fact that she never had anyone to her house.

  “This isn’t the way.” Sharon leaned forward and tapped the back of the front seat. “Mr Campson, this isn’t the right way.” She turned and looked out the rear window. “You missed the turn.”

  For a moment he didn’t answer, his bald head gleamed like a pink gibbous moon above the headrest. Sharon, still leaning forward glanced over her shoulder and stared at Caitlin, giving her friend a wide-eyed look of confusion.

  “Mr Campson?” Caitlin joined Sharon on the edge of the seat. In that moment, with both of them leaning forward, shoulders touching, Caitlin felt a tiny spark of worry.

  “I’ve just got to make a quick stop.” He didn’t turn around. “There’s something I want to show you girls.” His voice was relaxed, almost dreamy. It reminded her of the way her mother sounded when she talked about her days at university.

  “We really should–”

  “It’s not far. You like horses, don’t you?” He turned and looked over his shoulder. Caitlin noticed his brown eyes were lined with tiny red veins. “Only I promised a friend I’d feed his horse while he’s away. Thing is,” he turned back to the road. His hands looked huge resting on the steering wheel, there was grime under his nails. “She’s got a foal and won’t let me near her.”

  “Aw.” Sharon sighed. “I wish I was allowed to have a horse.”

  Caitlin poked Sharon in the thigh making her friend jump and give her a questioning stare. Caitlin shook her head, and grimaced, but Sharon shrugged. When Caitlin looked back to the front of the car, she caught him watching them in the rear-view mirror. Even though she knew he couldn’t see her legs, she pulled on the hem of her netball skirt wishing she’d changed before Mr Campson offered them a lift. He made it seem like he was in a hurry, that’s why I didn’t change.

  The car spun to the right and bumped onto a dirt track. They were at least ten minutes out of town. Trees and long bush-grass crowded the sides of the old station wagon. Caitlin remembered driving this way on a school trip to the dam. Only they’d been in a bus, driving along a proper road.

  “We told Sharon’s mum we would be home by lunchtime. She’ll get worried if we’re late.” It was a lie, but Caitlin didn’t feel guilty. She could see Sharon turning her head from side to side, checking both sides of the car. She’s looking for horses. I hope there’s horses.

  “We won’t be long.” Was it her imagination or did his voice sound different?

  Something solid hit the car’s undercarriage, bouncing them up in their seats. Caitlin clenched her hands into fists and held onto the edge of the seat. There were no fences or houses this far east. Sharon turned her attention from the windows and met Caitlin’s gaze. Her friend’s eyes were shiny with tears. Sharon’s hand found hers and curled over her fingers.

  “Caitlin’s right, Mr Campson. My mum will be worried.” Her voice crac
ked. “I think you’d better take us back now.” She squeezed Caitlin’s hand.

  “Yeah. I want to go back.” Caitlin tried to make her voice sound stronger than she felt. “Or… or let us out here and we’ll walk.”

  “It’s just around this bend.” He ignored their pleas. “What was that song you two were singing?”

  “It’s…it’s…” Sharon was crying now. Her face, usually tanned, looked bleached of colour except for the red blotches forming on her cheeks. “It’s Lesson in Love by Gracie Bliss.”

  There’s two of us. He won’t do anything. But wasn’t that why they’d been so quick to accept his offer of a ride? There were two of them. They knew him because he worked at the Civic Centre where they played netball. He even got ice for Sharon’s knee last year when she strained it. He was old. All the reasons why getting in his car had been no big deal, now seemed dumb. Dangerous.

  “There it is.” The car rolled to a stop. “Out.” He didn’t sound relaxed or dreamy. Mr Campson’s voice was loud and hard. It made Caitlin’s stomach flip over.

  He opened the door and after a couple of grunts, pulled himself out. Once free of his weight, the station wagon bounced. Caitlin grabbed Sharon’s netball shirt. “When we get out, run.” She spoke quickly making sure he couldn’t hear.

  “What do you think he’s–”

  The back door creaked open. “Out.” Mr Campson leaned in giving them a blast of stale breath. His eyes were like brown rocks at the bottom of a polluted pond. He sounded angry, like they’d done something wrong.

  They didn’t run. Campson walked behind the girls as they stumbled through the tangled weeds towards a black arc. The cave jutted out of a small hillside like an open mouth. Caitlin could hear his work boots crunching over the forest debris. They were in an isolated area. Judging by the clusters of dented cans, empty bottles and shell casings, it was some sort of hangout.

  As they neared the mouth of the cave, Sharon began to sob. Caitlin took her hand, it was hot, shaking. “Don’t leave me,” Sharon’s voice was small, like a little girl.