by R. A. Casey
I open my eyes, and I look at these two people.
I look at them, and I want to cry.
I look at them, and I want to beg.
And then, in that instant, a snotty, snivelling mess, I remember something.
The GoPro.
The one I attached to my chest when I went to meet Cameron.
The one uploading to that remote space with a different password because I was worried about the last time I was hacked.
The camera, still recording all this with its six-hour runtime.
I look at them, and suddenly my broken phone doesn’t feel like it matters.
If I can just reach into my pocket, hit Share, it’ll all be on Facebook.
It’ll be on YouTube.
The whole damned thing will be online, and there isn’t a thing they can do about any of it.
I feel my sadness changing, as Andy and Moira stand there, those cocky, confident looks still on their faces.
I feel it changing to something else.
To strength.
To power.
“What’re you smiling about?” Andy asks.
I didn’t realise I was smiling. But I am. I’ve got a big smile across my face. And I’m laughing, now. Actually laughing.
Andy and Moira look at one another. And I see their concern. Their confusion.
“Shut her up,” Moira says.
Andy walks over to the stool.
I can see he is getting ready to kick it from under me.
“You might want to wait,” I say, reaching for the GoPro.
Andy stops. Suddenly, he’s calm again. “What is that?”
“This is a GoPro. I’ve used it to record everything. The meeting with Cameron. I forgot to turn record off. So it’s been on. It’s been on this whole time. What a shame, hmm?”
They stare at me, both of them. I can see Andy’s face turn, and it is delightful.
“Bollocks. You’d never—”
“Never what, Freddie? Or should I call you Andy, now? Never be clever enough to set a GoPro up? Never be so wise as to do something like this behind your back? Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Give me that.”
He reaches for it, and I hover my finger over the Share button. “Don’t come a step closer. One step closer, and I hit share. It goes online. It goes to YouTube. It goes everywhere. This whole conversation. This entire exchange. It goes online. And you know too well, Mr Technology Man. Once something’s online, it stays online, whether you delete it or not. Whether you destroy this device or not. Right?”
Andy is actually speechless.
“What on Earth’s she talking about, Andy?”
“Mum, not now,” he says, raising a hand. And then he takes a step towards me. “Sarah. Hitting that button would be a big mistake.”
“No,” I say. And as in pain as I am, as betrayed as I feel, as much as this feels like the end of the road, I feel strong.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I have some control over the demons of my past.
And it’s even fucking sweeter knowing that this is the man who broke my life in two.
That these are the people who broke my life in two.
“I haven’t had the best life,” I say. “But I can tell you one thing. One fucking thing. There’ll be a lot of stories about me. A lot of tales, when all this goes live—”
“Sarah—”
“But I am adamant about one thing. I did not kill my son. I was raped. I was betrayed. And I was lied to. And I have told lies myself, sure. I have done some bad things. I turned my back on my baby in a moment of panic. I cheated. I slept around. And I haven’t been the best person. I killed my sister, and I do not fucking regret it. I’d rip her fucking head off again and rip the fucking heads off the lot of you if you were all here lined up before me right now. For what you did.”
Andy steps forward, but Moira pulls him back, the anger bubbling in his bloodshot eyes.
“But I did not kill my son.”
I lift the GoPro in the air.
Tighten my grip around it.
My thumb on the Share button.
“Get down, Sarah,” Andy says. “There’s… there has to be another way. Right, love? Right?”
I hear the softness and the fake care in his voice, and I find it pathetic. I find it hilarious. Desperate. Weak.
I see the desperation in his eyes, and I hate him.
“If there’s one thing I regret more than anything, it’s falling for your bullshit. But for the first time in my life… no. I’m not going to do what you want me to.”
“Sarah—”
“Enjoy prison, Andy. Really. Enjoy it. Because you are not in control here. For once in your life, you are not in control over me.”
“Sarah!”
I hit the Share button.
“No!” he shouts.
And then I look down at him and smile.
“This is the moment your life splits in two,” I say.
Then I take a deep breath.
I close my eyes.
And I think of Charlie’s hand in mine as I step off the stool.
As the noose tightens around my throat.
And as the darkness fades to light.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
I am running through the maize fields, my baby crying in my arms, and I know I need to get away.
Because if I don’t get away, and they find out what I’ve done to my sister, they will punish me for what I’ve done.
I want to get away from here. I’m supposed to be meeting Gregg. I’ve told him I’m meeting him at four, so I can take the baby, and the pair of us can leave. I twiddle the ring around on my finger. The one Gregg bought me. The identical rings we both have, each of us, to remind ourselves of each other. The one I can’t always wear. The one I have to hide to avoid any questions. Elephants on there, my favourite animals.
We can leave, and we can be away from this. From all of it. Forever.
But something is stopping me running. Something stopping me from going.
And that something is the fear.
The fear I feel about being a mother at sixteen.
The fear I feel about taking a baby who was put inside me, against my will, by Elana’s boyfriend, Andy.
The fear I feel about looking into this child’s eyes and knowing how he came about, and knowing what life was intended for him by the people who were supposed to care about me.
I look at the edge of the maize fields, and I know the future is ahead. I know I can walk out there. I know I can walk out there, and I can end this. Once and for all.
But then I look back, and I know, deep down, that if I walk away with the baby, I will never be free of the Family.
I will never be free of this life.
And they can do a far better job of raising a child than I can, that’s for sure.
I look down at the baby. Look at him in my arms. Charlie. That’s what Elana called him.
And as he lies there, contrasting the blood on my hands and my wrists with his pale skin, I feel love. A deep, deep sense of love.
And also a sadness.
Because I know exactly what I have to do.
I lower him down. Right down, right to the ground.
I lower him there, and I rest him in a thicker part of the maize.
So he’s protected from the wind. From the rain which is starting to fall, cutting through the summer heat. From all the elements.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I cry. “I… I really wanted things to work out. I really wanted to be a good mummy to you. But I’m—I’m not ready. And these people. Even though I never fit in… They’ll look after you. They’ll care for you. Way better than I can.”
He stares up at me. Clutches for me.
And as I pull myself away from him, I want to reach right back down for him. I want to fight all the logic in my mind and pick him back up. Because he’s my son. He’s my son, and I love him.
But then I stand up, and in
the heavy wind, in the clouds, I squeeze my sweaty palms together.
Smell the warmth of the summer air.
And I run.
I don’t stop running until I reach Gregg.
I’m in his car. He’s telling me everything is going to be okay, but I don’t believe him. I am hysterical. My memories of what happened here are blurry. Muddy.
“It’s okay, Sarah. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
And I remember sitting there in his passenger seat and his hand on my thigh and feeling like I’ve killed my son.
And hearing his words.
“We’re together now. It’s just us. We don’t have to worry about them anymore. We’re together. We’re—”
His hand is damp.
Sodden.
And his ring is missing.
His ring.
His…
That’s when I open my eyes, and light fills my vision.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
I open my eyes, and I see bright light shining down from above.
I don’t know where I am, but my neck hurts. I’ve got a sore throat. Really sore. Feels like I haven’t drunk a thing for a week.
Fuck. It feels like I haven’t done anything for a week. My body is so stiff. I’m in agony. Total agony, everywhere.
I lie there with this light shining down at me, and somehow, I feel comforted. I feel the warmth of the light, and it reminds me of being in hospital. Or being in the psychiatric hospital. I felt comfortable there. Safe. Like nobody could get to me. Like I was totally resistant to whatever threats there might be outside.
Or inside my own mind, even.
I open my eyes wider, and I see two people standing above me. They’re doctors; I’m convinced of it. Doctors or nurses. I can hear them mumbling things, but I can’t make out their words for the ringing in my ears.
I close my heavy eyelids again. I’m in pain everywhere. I don’t know where I am or why I’m here, but I get the sense that it’s something big. That something big has happened to put me here.
That pain around my neck. It feels familiar, somehow. It feels…
I remember.
Standing on the stool in my attic.
Stepping off the stool.
And the rope tightening around my neck—
“What should we do with her?”
I hear those words, and my skin turns cold.
The light in my eyes fades.
The buzzing in my ears fades out.
The warmth turns to ice.
I open my eyes.
I am in my attic still. In the darkness, still.
Only I am on the floor now. On the wooden floor. The taste of blood and dust filling my mouth.
Andy and Moira are standing at the other side of the room, chatting amongst themselves. They seem bothered about something as Andy stares at his phone screen, rubbing his fingers through his hair. They seem bothered. Fixated on something.
They’re so fixated on the phone screen that they don’t even seem to see me.
And then it clicks. It clicks because I hear my own voice coming from that video.
“Well, can’t you log in and delete it?” Moira asks.
“I could. But she’s changed her password. Changed her frigging password.”
“How many friends are on there?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s gone live.”
“How are we going to counter this, Andy? What are we going to do?”
They both look at one another. So fixated on one another. And I sense an opportunity. A chance.
I turn around, but my neck is so stiff. Either the rope snapped, or they cut me down after I sent the video of their confession of everything online.
They are trapped. They are cornered.
They need me alive.
But I can see the hatch of the attic.
I can see my opportunity to get away.
To escape.
I stretch out my fingers. My arms. Try to drag myself along this wooden flooring. Try to avoid catching their attention. To avoid drawing any attention my way.
I keep on going. Keep on dragging myself along. Keep on pulling myself, faster now, even though my body aches, even though it’s wracked with pain.
I pull myself further and further when I feel a hand around my ankle.
“I don’t think so.”
And then I am thrown around onto my back again. And Andy is above me, practically drooling.
He has hold of his phone. Shaking in his hand. Points it right at me. The GoPro in the other hand.
“Delete it,” he says.
I look up at him, and I can’t help smiling. Because he needs me now. He needs me more than he’s ever needed me.
He hits me across the face. “Delete it. Now. A couple of people started watching it on Facebook. But not a lot. Delete it, and we can find another way through this. You need my support, and you know it. Delete it, and we can get you back to the hospital. We can treat this like some kind of episode. And then one way or another, we can start again.”
I laugh louder this time. And then I find myself spitting right in his face. “I love how much you need me. I love how much you are begging. Because it makes me realise just how weak you really are.
He looks down at me. His nostrils twitch. He is not the man I fell in love with. Not the man I thought cared about me. Adored me.
“Andy,” Moira says. Almost sensing danger. “You need to keep calm here, love.”
But I can see from the look in Andy’s eyes that it’s already too late.
He lifts me up with immense strength.
Tightens those big hands around me—the ones that used to stroke my back so tenderly.
And then he throws me.
Throws me like I am nothing.
Right to the other side of the attic.
I crash against the outside wall. Dust and debris tumble down, cover me.
He walks over towards me.
“You’re a bitch,” he says. “A murdering bitch. You murdered my Elana. You murdered my son.”
“I didn’t murder my son.”
“And you killed everything good in our lives. All of our lives.”
I see him stepping forward, I see the rage in his eyes, and I know he is beyond the point of rationality and reason anymore.
I know he is going to kill me.
He steps further forward. I am cornered. I am trapped.
But at least I have this one thing over him.
At least he’s going down with me.
At least he’s…
Going down.
I remember something.
The hole in the attic.
The one in the bathroom ceiling.
Just how fragile is it, really?
He walks towards me.
His footsteps are heavy.
His eyes look possessed.
His fists are clenched. Tight.
“You took it away from us. But you won’t have the last laugh. I swear to God you will not have the last laugh.”
He comes at me. And I see the section of floor above the bathroom. I see how loose it looks. How weak it looks. Right where that gap is.
And I see that possessed look in his eyes.
He walks towards me, and I know I have a chance.
I run.
Run as quickly as my agonised body will allow.
“I don’t think so,” he shouts.
He grabs me.
I slam down, face first, against the floor.
I hear it creaking.
Hear it move.
Stare down the gap towards the bathroom, a single wooden beam crossing between the two rooms.
Andy laughs. “Thought you could trick me, did you? Actually thought you could get the better of me here? Well, you’re wrong, Sarah. You’re very wrong.”
I feel his hands against my ankles, and I know my plan has failed.
I know my time is up.
I know…
And then I see it.
&
nbsp; The Stanley knife.
The one he said he’d lost ages ago, right when we first moved in.
The one he’d been looking for for months.
His favourite Stanley knife.
It’s right there.
Right on that wooden beam beneath me, between the attic and the bathroom.
“Come on,” he says, tightening his grip on my ankles. And I know he’s going to drag me away. I know my time is running out. “It’s about time we finished what we started here.”
I clench my jaw.
I reach down, as far as I can, for the Stanley knife.
For a horrid moment, I feel it wobble, like it’s going to fall down to the bathroom below.
And then it’s in my grip.
It’s between my fingertips.
It’s—
It falls.
I see it drop down below.
I hear it hit the bathroom floor below.
And then I feel Freddie’s hands tighten around my ankles again and feel him drag me away from that gap in the ceiling.
He yanks me away. Grabs my hair. Holds himself up to me. Right up to me. Looks at me with those manic eyes.
“How about we do it like you did it to him? To your son?”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t know what he’s talking about.
But before I know it, he has me on his shoulder.
“Andy,” Moira says.
He pushes past her.
Pushes past her and drags me out of the darkness of the attic.
“We’ll see how you like it. See how it makes you feel.”
“Andy, I don’t know what you’re—”
“We’ll see how you like being drowned. And we’ll drown you right where you deserve to be drowned.”
It’s only then that I realise where he’s taking me.
The bathroom.
He opens the door. Drags me across the tiled floor. He opens the toilet lid and the seat. And then he takes a piss and drags me right over to the toilet. Flushes it a few times, so the water is really high.
But all I am looking at, beside the toilet, is that Stanley knife.
The one that fell from above.
“Any last words?” he asks. “Anything to say? Before I make you go through exactly what Charlie went through?”
