by A. S. French
The thought of Lawrence Snow brought Astrid crashing back to earth. Her flesh crawled as she remembered the danger she might be in with this woman and her strange journey.
‘I haven’t seen him in years. He loved my older sister but hated me. So he beat me until I ran away.’
She didn’t know why she said such a private thing to Sawyer. She watched Sawyer’s face turn to ash. There was a slight tremble on her lips, which vanished when the American spoke.
‘If I’d had a gun when I was born, I’d have shot my father and brother on the spot.’
The silence was an abyss around them, a great big gaping void threatening to swallow the car and the world outside. At that moment, Astrid recognised a connection between them that went beyond the sexual tension, a bond forged before they were born into lives neither of them wanted.
Sawyer broke the quiet. ‘Pick out your favourite album; we’ve got a way to go yet.’
Astrid pushed her broken memories aside and selected something more pleasing. She took the disc out of the case and pushed it into the player. The familiar sound of a train huffing and puffing drifted out of the speakers.
‘How’s this, Ms Sawyer?’
‘Station to Station; an excellent choice. I knew we’d get on like a house on fire.’ Sawyer’s grin lit up the car. ‘And call me Rosie.’
‘I’ve never understood that expression. I’ve been inside a house on fire, and it’s not pleasant at all.’ Astrid stared at the back of the CD. ‘Fire is a cleanser, perfect for redemption. Why does your father want to see me?’
Sawyer ignored the road as the car bumped over the potholes. ‘He tells me nothing of what he does, of his operations and schemes. My brother is the favoured child. All I do is my best to annoy them.’
Astrid peered deep into the blue of Sawyer’s eyes and sank below a sea of her own dysfunctional family values.
‘Aren’t you afraid to be with a suspected murderer?’
Rosie’s hand slipped on the wheel as she turned to the windscreen and let out that breathy laugh once more.
‘Oh, Ms Snow; I’m no more scared of you than I am of the wind and the rain.’
The car bounced from side to side as if they were at the dodgems. Their legs brushed together, and Astrid forced her heart to slow down. ‘And I see driving wildly in the dark doesn’t worry you either.’
Sawyer removed a hand from the wheel and reached into her pocket, getting the two photos she’d taken earlier and handing them to Astrid.
‘They should have developed by now. What do you think of them?’
Astrid peered at the first, of her startled face looking like a rabbit in the headlights. The second was more flattering, catching the blue of her gaze and her steely expression.
‘At least you caught my best side.’
Rosie’s laugh shook through her and rattled the wheel.
‘Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen that yet.’ She winked at Astrid. ‘But there’s always later.’
The Thin White Duke sang about throwing darts into lovers’ eyes as she scrutinised her companion.
‘Are you a keen photographer, Rosie?’
Sawyer nodded along to the music.
‘It’s one of my favourite things in the world.’ She pointed at the glove compartment. ‘Put those photos of you with the ones in there for my collection.’
Astrid did as instructed and wondered what this enforced rendezvous was all about.
‘Why am I here?’
Sawyer grinned. ‘Why did you come to our little town?’
She rummaged through her brain to remember, to question why she stepped off that tattered old bus.
‘I was looking for a grave.’
‘Well, we’ve plenty of those.’
The night slipped away as a barrage of lights greeted them; there was enough illumination to guide a plane in as Sawyer stopped the car. Astrid got out and thought she’d stepped onto the set of Gone With the Wind. To describe it as a house would be to do it an injustice. She gazed at a beautiful white-columned mansion that crowned the hill they were striding towards. Enormous trees were on either side of it and nestled at their trunks were large birds. Off to the right stood another building, more modern and functional looking. Sawyer’s brother and four goons waited outside it.
‘I’m not getting a tour of the mansion, then?’ Astrid asked as Sawyer strode beside her.
‘Only presidents and governors get to go in there.’
A fence ran between the two buildings, and as Astrid stared at it, she saw how either end tailed off to circle the whole property. They must have driven through gates she didn’t see in the dark. She followed Sawyer through the door and scanned the area for her bearings. If she had to leave in a hurry, she’d need an escape map ready.
It was built like a warehouse inside, with a top floor containing rows of machinery, boxes and barrels. They made for an office ahead of them.
‘What happens here?’ Astrid said.
Rosie removed an e-cigarette from her purse. ‘We make vapes.’ She cringed as she spoke. ‘Father is wonderful at future projections. He knew before most others smoking was reducing in popularity, which meant there’d be a gap in the market for something else. Always have a backup, is his motto.’ They were nearly at the office door. ‘He told my mother he’d deliberately planted two of his seeds in her, so if the first one failed, he could use the second as a failsafe.’
‘How romantic,’ Astrid said as she walked into the room and stared at old man Sawyer.
Some people walk fast, and they talk fast, their teeth all chattering and jumpy as if they’re going to fall out of their mouths. Benedict Sawyer was the opposite; everything he did was slow and languid. Not because he was old and his skin looked like rhinoceros hide, but because his mind appeared, she guessed, to work at a thousand miles a minute, and he had to force the rest of him to keep his thoughts in check. She recognised it in his black eyes and the way his mouth curled up like slugs sliding across the ground; recognised it in him because she saw it in herself.
‘Sit, Ms Snow.’
It was a command, not an offer, crafted from a voice made from crushed gravel. She had no choice but to do as he said. The goons gathered around him like disciples at the Last Supper, all apart from Rosie who was standing next to the window, twirling a vape between her fingers.
Astrid waited for Sawyer to speak. One of the first things she’d learnt at the Agency was never to volunteer information. Silence didn’t make her uncomfortable, but she knew most people would fidget, mentally and physically, if the vacuum went on for too long. As she waited for him to talk, she scrutinised the men around him: they were all tall, six foot three or four, as if they’d been snatched together from the same incubator at birth, and then stretched out. With arms made from solid beef, they stared at her as if she was the appetiser before the main course.
‘Thank you for ridding the town of that irritating woman.’ The words crawled out of his mouth. ‘And I apologise for whoever did that to you.’ He pointed at her hand. ‘When I find out who it was, I promise to make them pay.’
Astrid flexed her injured fingers. ‘You’re happy because a woman and her two kids are dead?’
He placed his fingers on the table. ‘Who am I to judge your actions, Ms Snow?’ His grin curled her stomach.
‘I never touched her or those children.’
‘You mean, apart from inside the bar?’
‘Why don’t you ask your son about that? I recall him being there on the night.’
If only I could remember the rest of what she said to me.
Sawyer shifted in his chair as the son glared at her. ‘It doesn’t matter now, Ms Snow; all I’m concerned about is the future. I’d like you to come and work for me. It would be nice to have a fresh perspective on my team.’
Astrid stood and pushed her chair back, the wood screeching against the concrete floor. The thugs stuck out their chests in unison and flexed their biceps.
‘I work for
nobody but myself.’
The son bent his head to whisper into the father’s ear.
‘Ah yes, I’ve heard about you running away from your British spy group. And your family problems. I’m sure you could settle all your issues if you came and worked for me, Ms Snow.’ She gripped the back of the chair. ‘You could even bring your niece here to experience some genuine American hospitality. Olivia; is that her name?’
The blood drained from her flesh as Rosie Sawyer snapped photos of the people in the room. Astrid considered her options, calculating if she could deal with Sawyer’s goons before getting her fingers around his neck. All the maps she’d constructed in her head led only to her demise. She consigned all of them to the bin.
‘I need time to think this over.’
Sawyer’s eyelids crawled over his eyes. ‘Of course, Ms Snow, of course. Such a life-changing decision for you and your family needs careful consideration. My daughter will escort you to your car, and then perhaps you’ll return with good news for me.’ His smile made her skin crawl. ‘And I hope the Campbells are showing you the best Bakerstown hospitality.’
She turned from him, blood boiling in her veins like lava. She left the building and marched out with an ache gushing through her bones. Rosie caught up with her as Astrid drew up a future map where she pummelled Benedict Sawyer against his vape factory. They got into the car and drove away.
‘Would you work for my father?’
The car trundled towards the exit. Astrid saw the gates, ancient-looking metal constructs which slid to the sides as they approached.
‘Why haven’t you left here, Rosie?’
Her laugh wasn’t husky this time, but nervous and low. ‘And where would I go? I have nothing of my own, no money, nowhere to live. I’ve spent twenty-eight years in the Sawyer cocoon, smothered by people who won’t allow me to leave.’
Astrid peered into the night. ‘I ran from home many times, the final one sticking when I was fourteen. Then I lived on the streets before falling in with the wrong crowd and the wrong boy. I broke the law for them, and they abandoned me. Another group came to my rescue; eventually, I left them to be on my own.’ She turned to Sawyer. ‘You can’t stay caged forever.’
They picked up speed, flying over the dirt and heading to the slip road where Astrid had left Campbell’s car. Once she got there, it would be fifty miles before her meeting with Medusa. After an eternity of silence, Sawyer spoke.
‘You don’t miss your family in England?’
Astrid pushed away all thoughts of Medusa, remembering how Benedict Sawyer had licked his lips at the mention of Olivia.
‘I have a niece I haven’t seen for a while.’
Did Sawyer’s reach extend that far he could hurt Olivia in England?
‘It must be nice to have people you love,’ Rosie said.
Astrid wiped the damp from the inside of the window.
‘You don’t know genuine fear until you’ve known love.’
It didn’t matter what she found with Medusa, didn’t matter who’d framed her; she couldn’t leave Benedict Sawyer sitting comfortably in the knowledge he had something over her, not after he’d threatened Olivia. She stared at Rosie’s reflection in the windscreen.
The road bumped a few miles more before they reached the car. They stepped out together, and Rosie took another photo of Astrid as she strode to Campbell’s vehicle.
‘Keep driving, and don’t come back, Astrid.’ Sadness seeped out of her voice.
Astrid had her damaged hand on the door as she turned to Sawyer.
‘You’ll see me again, Rosie; you and your father.’
She got into the car and put the events of the last hour behind her. She drove fifty miles with a playlist of Bowie tunes in her head.
And an image of Olivia in trouble.
15 Feel the Pain
It was five in the morning when Astrid reached Sugar Hill, stopping at the first secluded spot she found. She wasn’t tired, her mind wired by her recent experiences. She removed her phone and checked for new messages from her sister, unsurprised not to find any.
Did Courtney go to the police as I told her to?
Unless her sister had changed since they were teenagers, which she didn’t expect, she guessed she’d wait until tomorrow before speaking to the police, which was a mistake. She read the texts again.
Olivia is getting strange messages on her computer.
Olivia has a game on the computer where she plays against friends online. She’s been getting messages there telling her how pretty she is, talking about her hair and eyes. And she doesn’t have a photo attached to her account.
Olivia doesn’t have access to a mobile phone, and she can’t get into my computer because it’s password protected. I don’t know about the school, but I’ll ask them tomorrow. Do you think she’ll be okay?
What Courtney had said was troubling, but she knew there had to be more to it than those texts. For her sister to reach out for her help, it must be tearing her apart.
So why am I here? I should drop everything and go home. My family needs me.
Her ribs hurt as she laughed out loud.
Family! She hadn’t had a family for a long time. She had no good memories of them, and her last visit with Courtney had only added to their mutual antagonism: a trip to her sister’s house which turned frosty the second she arrived.
‘You should have warned me you were coming.’
‘I’ll stick a red flashing light on the top of the car next time.’
It was the reception she’d expected, Courtney’s face resembling someone who hated every reminder she had a sister. She made no effort to open the door any further than the few inches it was already. It was nine o’clock on Saturday morning, and Astrid wasn’t there to heal a sibling breakdown that had festered for over twenty years.
‘Is Olivia awake?’
Courtney didn’t reply, stepping inside and leaving the door open. It wasn’t an invitation, but Astrid took it anyway. She followed her sister through the corridor and into the living room. Courtney adjusted the volume on the radio.
Astrid sat inside this stranger’s house. She examined the pale bare walls, the giant TV in the corner, the shelves full of porcelain figurines, and the framed photographs of Olivia. None of the furniture was cheap: a thick carpet separated a luxurious three-piece suite; two over-hanging lamps settled into the edges of the room.
‘Olly is out with Jack on his morning run. They won’t be back before mid-day.’
To Astrid’s surprise, Courtney lit a cigarette.
‘I thought you quit smoking when you were a teenager?’
Courtney snuffed out the match and dropped it into an ashtray. The cigarette lingered between her lips as she spoke.
‘I started again when you began hacking for those criminal thugs.’ She blew smoke, which swirled towards the ceiling.
‘Can I return later to see Olivia?’ The fumes attacked her lungs, and she fought off a coughing fit.
‘Do you remember what I said to you the last time you were here?’
She twisted in the seat. Painful memories squeezed at her brain, obliterating her previous calm with the guilt sitting not on her face. but inside her heart. What had happened couldn’t be undone.
‘You said I was a danger to Olivia, and I should get as far away from her as possible. You promised I could phone her every once in a while, but that was it.’
Courtney continued to suck on the poison stick.
‘Are you still a danger to her?’
Ghostly fingers clutched at her chest.
‘I don’t know, Courtney; I hope not.’
Her sister turned her back on Astrid, stubbing the cigarette out on the shelf at her side.
‘Then I think you should leave until you know for definite.’
Without looking at her, Courtney reached over to the radio and increased the volume. Astrid stood and turned for the door.
‘Can I still phone her?’ Smoke drifted over h
er face.
‘I’ll get her to text you.’ A smile crept from Astrid as she was leaving the house. It soon vanished. ‘I’ve given Dad your number as well.’
Electric fire shot through her heart. Her knees weakened as her legs trembled. She stumbled down the step and into the wall surrounding the garden. A cramp stabbed her neck as she twisted her head around.
‘He’s alive?’
Courtney laughed at her. ‘What made you think he wasn’t?’
Astrid’s fingers dug into the concrete. ‘I was told he was missing, assumed dead.’ She’d hoped he was dead, dead for a long time.
Another cigarette was in her sister’s hand. ‘He was travelling and incommunicado from the rest of us.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
A thousand crippling memories crawled out of the sepulchres of her mind, horrible images that burnt into her sinew and muscle.
‘He’s here every weekend to see Olly; she loves getting to know her grandfather.’
Astrid wasn’t a grown woman anymore; then, in the garden of her hated sister’s house, she was young again: a child who all of her family had betrayed.
‘You can’t let that happen, Courtney; you can’t.’
Her sister stepped forward, dripping ash onto the grass and spewing smoke into the air.
‘You’re going to tell me what I can and can’t do with my daughter? What gives you that right, you who nearly got her killed?’ The fire burnt in her eyes.
‘He’s dangerous; you know this. You can’t allow Lawrence anywhere near her.’
Courtney lifted a hand above her shoulder and Astrid expected a punch. Her fingers trembled, but no blow came.
‘You lied about him, and you ruined his life, and you sent our mother to the nuthouse because of it.’
She’d never seen her sister this angry. If she hadn’t lost all sympathy for her years ago, she could have felt sorry for her, but she didn’t: the only compassion she had was for Olivia. Compassion and fear.
Astrid pulled from Courtney and left the garden. She strode away without looking back. On her flight to America, she’d wondered if she’d ever return home.
