by Anna Willett
Staring wide-eyed into the darkness, desperate to make some sense of her surroundings, something brushed her cheek. She thought of the cupboard, the feeling of something crawling on her skin. Still holding the handrail as if it was the only thing that anchored her in the blackness, Caitlin shrieked and swatted at her face. Her fingers touched something cold, it disappeared and then hit her cheek a second time. A cord. Grasping blindly, she took hold of the swinging cord and pulled.
Pale, almost blue light shone down illuminating the access panel and glinting off the folded ladder. Caitlin’s first thought was the pole. She looked around her knees and to her right, spotting it just out of reach. Only daring to let go of the handrail for a second, she reached over and grabbed the pole. Micky had given her hurried instructions on how to get into the attic, but nothing on how to secure the hatch once she was in.
Even without the pole, Felix could find something to stand on and hook his finger through the ring. As the thought ran through her mind, a rumble came from below. He was moving the bed, she was sure of it. Caitlin did the only thing she could think of to keep him out; she shoved the pole through the handrail. The pole was longer than the width of the opening, wedged across the rail it would prevent the hatch from being pulled down.
A scratching at the access flap and the distinct sound of the ring rattling shattered her last nerve. Caitlin leaned back on her haunches and pressed her fists against the sides of her head. Why didn’t he just go? Her body felt heavy, slack and used up as if the constant fear had sucked every ounce of strength from her muscles. She didn’t have much more to give. The access flap jumped, rattling the pole. He was trying to get in.
“Just go.” She leaned down and screamed, “Just go! Go!” Her voice rasped, cracking with desperation.
For a second there was no response. She allowed herself to hope, maybe he’d heard her and decided to give up. To her left, a chunk of ceiling exploded with and ear-splitting crack, sending fragments of plaster and wood in all directions. Stinging heat tore through her ear. The suddenness of the shot and the pain set her off balance.
She fell to the right and forced her body to roll, trying to put some distance between her and the splintered patch of ceiling. She had to move, get away from the access flap. Caitlin pressed a hand to her injured ear and managed to get her legs under her. The attic was little more than a crudely put together loft space. A large expanse of beams laid over with planks. At the far-left end, a window.
Moving slowly, trying to minimise the sound her bare feet made on the boards, she headed for the window. If she got to the far end, she’d be away from the last bedroom, maybe over the master bedroom. The important thing was not making any noise. If Felix didn’t know what part of the roof she was in, he wouldn’t be able to take shots at her.
The air in the attic was stifling and heavy with dust. A few tins of paint and some carpet off-cuts were the only items she could see. Caitlin reached the window and sank down with her back to the wall still holding her ear. How long had it been since she’d last sat? It seemed like she’d been on the run for hours. Her limbs felt battered, her right leg throbbed, and her ear burned as if it had been scalded. Gingerly, she let go of her ear, wincing as the air touched the wound. Her fingers were sticky with blood. She risked exploring the damage and discovered a hunk of what she guessed was splintered wood protruding from the top of her ear like a jagged earring.
A wave of wooziness swept over her and the attic dimmed. She pulled her fingers away and drew in a deep breath through her nose. An old mantra sprang to mind, something she learned in high school health class. Smell the rose and blow out the candle. Deep breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. She repeated the process, taking in a long breath and then letting it out again. The dizziness faded. Her mind began conjuring up images of what the wound might look like, but she quickly shut off the thoughts.
Caitlin examined her leg, unsure why it felt so warm and heavy. What she found was more disturbing than the splinter sticking out of her ear. On the outside of her calf, two red welts, each about the size of a pea with a bruised spot in the centre. Her mind jumped back to the cupboard. The crawling feeling on her skin. The evil looking twin marks on her skin left her in no doubt a spider had not only crawled over her leg, but had bitten her. She shuddered and let out a whimper. As if the night wasn’t horrendous enough.
A ripple of nausea stirred in her gut. Spider venom going to work on her or a physical reaction to the thought of a bite? She didn’t know what to think, all she knew was that when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, somehow they did. Without actually seeing the spider, she had no way of knowing how serious the bite might be. A Huntsman spider had large powerful fangs but was harmless enough—usually. Her mind threw up an image of another spider, shiny body, inky black with a distinctive red dorsal stripe. If it was a Redback, she might be in real trouble.
She ran her hand through her hair and gasped as her palm flicked her ear. A new rush of tears filled her eyes. “Micky, you said you’d come.”
Caitlin let her face fall into her hands. Deep exhaustion engulfed her, sucking every drop of determination from her body. With the immediate danger on hold, she felt her mind slip into numbness. A numbness starting with her thoughts and spreading to her nerves and bones. She had no desire to fight the feeling, not for a while at least.
Chapter Sixteen
Blood covered his hands. Felix tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants, and held them up to the light. For a moment, he lost himself. Levelling out, that’s how he saw the chunks of time when his brain stuttered to a halt. Felix stared at the blood, it looked almost too bright under the light. His blood, spilled by the bitch.
He’d been off his meds for almost three days. His thoughts were sharper now. He could hear himself think. The thoughts exquisite, the memories tantalising. Except for—his mind halted. Blyte’s face ballooned in his brain. A spectre dogging his steps; if not for the meds, Felix would never have allowed himself to be cornered—tricked. He rubbed his hands on the front of his shirt leaving smears of blood mingled with grime.
So many years spent in a cocoon of need. The meds were supposed to take away the impulses that gnawed at him, but instead, the pills made him helpless. The nurses at the hospital treated him like a child. Not with kindness, but disgust. He could see the loathing in their eyes even as they pretended to understand. He’d been living a half-life, never at peace, always needing the satisfaction that no one could understand. His thoughts turned to Uncle Howie; he understood. Uncle Howie knew they were just men following their instincts, no worse than… His thoughts faded. The pale walls reminded him of Graylands, for an instant he thought he was back in hospital.
Felix tapped his finger on the swelling below his eye. A splinter of pain jabbed at his face, clearing his thoughts. Levelling out the doubts. He was in Blyte’s house and there was work to do. Blyte and the two brothers, were like the nurses; simple-minded and brutish. They thought they’d cornered him, but he’d show them.
“A quick stop.” His voice was calm, almost cheerful as he pushed open the door to the master bedroom. Locating the items he needed took less than a minute. “What a dump.” He remembered the line from an old movie and chuckled. He really had made a mess of the room.
He shouldn’t be angry, not really. Blyte did him a favour in a way. Jumping him outside of the local swimming pool, bringing him here had, in many ways, set him free. Countless days spent wandering, watching but powerless to plan or act. All that was over now. After tonight, he’d start again. The lessons he learned last time, with Amy, would make him cautious.
Amy. With the haze lifted, he could remember his time with her. Not the first, but to his mind the best of his girls. Felix reached the end of the walkway. Absently, without even thinking, he shambled to the stairs. Blyte’s face appeared in his mind, souring the image he’d been enjoying. So desperate to know. He snorted. All the pleading and the beating. Felix felt a buzz of p
ride. He didn’t break. He’d never break.
“It won’t be long now, Micky. You’ll see her soon.” He headed down, drips of blood, warm and sticky ran down his stomach, dripping from the hem of his shirt. His spirits were high. So high he wanted to sing. The words popped into his head. He remembered hearing the children at Storytime at his local library singing it. There was nothing more enjoyable than Storytime. He frowned. Until that bloated cow librarian gave me the evil eye. He pushed the unpleasant thoughts away and started singing, softly at first but then with gusto.
“When all the hens were roosting and the moon behind a cloud, up jumped a scarecrow and shouted very loud.” He walked towards the front door, gun dangling at his side, a woman’s white t-shirt slung over his shoulder and a bedspread tucked under one arm. The sound of pounding came from the back door.
“Time to make myself scarce.” He spoke to the empty sitting room and then continued singing. As he walked towards Eli’s lifeless body, Felix paused and bent over the dead man. “Up jumped a scarecrow and shouted very loud.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Wait.” Micky pulled back from the door. “Did you hear that?” He took another backwards step.
“Hear what?”
Micky ran to the edge of the deck and jumped. The light was on in the attic, spilling out an eerie blue-white glow. She made it. A weight, like a sack of cement on his chest, lifted. He’d only spoken to Caitlin for a few minutes, but there was a sadness in her voice that he knew was in his own. Always there, underlying everything he said and did.
“What is it?” Jace stood by the door, his face in shadows.
Micky pointed up. “Your sister-in-law. I told her to get up to the attic. Light’s on.” In spite of the situation, he couldn’t help grinning. “She did it.”
A shot rang out. This one closer, overhead. Blyte leapt back onto the deck and ran at the door. “We need to get in. Now.”
Another shove and the door moved inwards. Jace pulled back and turned so he was side on. He tried to slide his large frame through the gap. Micky watched him knowing there wasn’t enough room. He was desperate. Micky couldn’t blame him. His brother was in the house, maybe dying as they struggled to get the door open.
“Keep pushing.” He tried to think of something comforting, but came up empty.
Jace wedged his arm around the door and his right leg through the gap. He grimaced and clamped his teeth together. Micky waited while the other man squirmed and pushed. Finally, Jace pulled back from the gap. He stooped over and braced his hands on his knees, panting with exhaustion.
When Jace looked up, his face was pale and bathed in sweat. “It’s my fault they’re in there.”
Micky couldn’t argue. The kid shouldn’t have stolen the key and copied it. It was a dumb thing to do, but maybe Micky should have been more careful. He should have never left Felix in the cellar and gone into Mandurah. What was he thinking? I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been blind with hatred for so long, I stopped thinking about anything else but finding Amy. But was that really what he was trying to do? He realised the quest had become more about punishing Felix than helping his mother find closure. Everything else came second to his obsession, even finding his little sister.
“We’ve all done stupid things.” He thought of clapping Jace on the shoulder, but the idea seemed forced—awkward. “Let’s try and put something right.” He jerked his chin towards the door.
Jace nodded and straightened up. “Yeah. Right.”
They worked on the door, with each centimetre the heavy wood moved, they took turns trying to fit through the gap. After a few more minutes, Micky sucked in a breath and squeezed into the gap. To his surprise, his body slipped through and he found himself in the kitchen.
He turned and spoke to Jace through the gap. “I’ll try and shift the fridge from in here.” He was whispering now, aware that Felix was armed and could be anywhere. While his training told him to be cautious, Micky had a gut feeling that told him a coward like Felix Holly would prefer sneaking around to a front-on assault—at least when it came to dealing with another man and not a woman or child.
“Do you see them?”
Micky could only see one side of Jace’s face. The torch light washed his skin in blue making him look ghostly. “No. Nothing.” Micky wiped his hands on his pants and stepped around the fridge.
The extension cord trailed from the sleek silver handle. He could see how Caitlin had rigged the cellar door to keep Felix trapped. He was struck by her inventiveness. There was a bloody handprint on the fridge—impossibly red against the white. A small hand. The sheen of sweat on his face grew cold on his skin, trickling down his neck like icy fingers. He’d seen a lot of blood during his time in the army, but nothing had ever chilled him as much as that single handprint.
“Blyte?” Jace’s voice from the deck dragged his attention away from the blood.
“Right here,” Micky called around the giant appliance. “I’m going to shut the back door and get behind the fridge, see if I can edge it out a bit further.”
He closed the door and squeezed in behind the fridge. What the hell was I thinking? Who needs a fridge this size? He braced his hands on the maze of black metal that criss-crossed the back of the appliance and pushed. The white giant slid forward a few centimetres. He hoped it would be enough because he had a feeling they were running out of time.
This time, when Jace shoved his shoulder through the gap, the rest of his body followed. He started for the sitting room but Micky stopped him. “Wait. I need something first.”
Jace shrugged. “So get it, I’m going to find Eli and Caitlin.”
“No. Just give me a minute.” Micky paused. He was telling the truth about needing to grab something, but he also didn’t want Jace finding his brother alone. “I need you to watch my back while I do a bit of climbing.”
Jace looked confused, but nodded. It was an impatient gesture. He looked over Micky’s shoulder and his eyes widened. “Holy shit.” Micky followed Jace’s gaze. “Is that… is that a handprint?”
Micky left Jace staring at the fridge and dragged a stool over to the kitchen bench alongside the wall to the sitting room. He climbed up and opened the double doors on the top shelf. A row of eight wine glasses sat on the white laminate lining. Taking hold of the first and last glass, he lifted and pulled at the same time. The entire row came out in his hands, the glasses glued in place.
“You have got to be kidding.” Jace spoke from below him. “Is that a false shelf?”
“Hold it for me, will you?” Micky handed down the shelf, complete with wine glasses. The dumbfounded look on the guy’s face almost made Micky smile.
Jace held the false shelf, turning it side on so he could examine the base. Micky turned back to the cupboard and reached in with both hands.
“Jesus. Is that thing loaded?” Jace put the false shelf down on the stove-top and stared open-mouthed at the sleek black shotgun.
Micky jumped down from the stool holding the gun out in front of his chest. “It wouldn’t be any good to us if it wasn’t.” He slung the strap over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Micky could smell the body before they got near the front door. The sickening mix of blood and deathly odours hit the back of his mouth. There was no stopping Jace, he darted forward and fell to his knees.
“Eli?” Micky watched the kid put his hands on his brother’s chest as if he could shock the body back to life. “Eli.” Jace’s shoulders hunched, he lowered his head until it was nearly touching his hands.
Micky felt his gut tightening. He didn’t want to watch, but found it difficult to pull his gaze away. They never found his sister. He didn’t get the opportunity to say goodbye to her. The loss of what should have been his right weighed on him. It almost took his sanity. But watching Jace crouched over his brother’s body, Micky wondered if he’d been better off.
Something caught his attention. Jace’s brother had been shot twice, that was clear. Covered in a yellow
blanket, a dark patch of blood had soaked through just below the left ribs. Judging by the size of the patch, the man had been alive and bleeding heavily when the blanket was put over him. What interested Micky was the head wound. He’d been shot at close range, just above the right eye. His right hand or what was left of it, lay on his chest, bent at an awkward angle. Micky was no expert, but it looked like the guy was not only alive when he was shot the second time, but conscious. He raised his hand to try and block the bullet.
Micky didn’t think it possible to hate someone with more bitterness than he already did with Felix. He’d never met Jace’s brother. That wasn’t quite true, he’d spoken to the man through the door. Exchanged a few angry words. Yet the thought of him trying to block the shot, wounded and alone, stirred something dark and cold in Micky’s heart. A need to hurt. A longing that could only be satisfied by violence.
He could hear Jace speaking, talking to his brother. The man’s voice sounded hurried—pleading. Micky turned away not wanting to hear but unable to tune the words out. I’m sorry, I should have been there. How many times had he wanted to tell Amy those very words?
This was only the beginning. There would be years of guilt and grief ahead and in those long years, it would always come back to this moment. Jace would be a prisoner of this memory, maybe for the rest of his life.
He noticed blood, dropped in splatters on the stone floor. The trail led from the stairs to where Jace still crouched, now holding his brother’s uninjured hand. For the first time since entering the sitting room, Micky realised the front door was open. He turned from the door and noticed a pair of black tennis shoes tossed to the side near the study.
