by Matt Hilton
The doors didn’t slow my charge. I threw my weight against them and they burst inward with little resistance. Then I was in the workspace and I blinked at the sudden darkness. The abrupt change from white to black upset my equilibrium and I experienced a rush of blood to my head. I ignored the sensation, moving quickly to my left, feet probing for the rungs of the ladder that climbed to the platform overhead. I found the first rung, grasped for the ladder and began clawing my way hand-over-hand. Dizzy, nauseous, I ascended like a spastic arachnid.
It was dark, but my vision was beginning to adapt. Above me was the hatch that opened onto the platform, puissant yellow light etching its sides. I thrust against it and the trap flew up and over, the booming concussion jarring my senses as it slammed down on the floor. The notion that my entry into the attic space was too easy didn’t strike me. I was simply thankful that the trap gave way. Forgetting the consequences, I began hauling myself up through the gap, my elbows locked as I took the entire weight of my body, feet swinging into space.
I was in that precarious position when Cash hit me. I didn’t see him coming. I was barely aware of a shadow looming at my side, then a rope was looped around my neck and something incredibly hard caromed off my skull. Sparks danced a fandango across my vision, and my mouth was flooded with saliva laden with the essence of copper. Miraculously, I didn’t immediately pass out. Perhaps it wasn’t Cash’s intention to knock me unconscious with the blow, maybe it was just oversight. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t fight back. What with the rope biting into my throat and cutting off my air, the whack to my skull making my mind whorl, it was everything I could do not to fall back through the trapdoor. A plummet to the earthen floor thirty feet below would most definitely have been the end.
Cash tugged on the rope, hauling me backwards. I was now on the platform, but was unable to find my footing as I was dragged across the rough planks. I grasped for the rope round my throat, digging in with my fingers to alleviate the choking pressure. Another jerk of the rope tightened it further. I gagged, attempted to suck in air, gained nothing. The sparks in my vision were turning red. Then black. Though I knew who was behind me, who was killing me, I craned backwards, trying to see his face. I wanted to see him and remember so I could curse him all the way from Hell. But then he struck me again. This time I felt my eyebrow open up like fruit left too long in the sun. Blood cascaded over my features, invaded my mouth. I made a moaning gurgle, shoulders going limp.
The bastard hit me again.
SIX
Connor’s Island
I blinked out of my fugue. Four years and a few months later. I was surprised to find myself lying amongst tough grass and sodden moss. I was face down, my arms stretched in front of me, my hands wrist deep in brackish water that had turned my fingers numb. I pushed up, taking stock of my surroundings. Disorientation assaulted me. Past and present blended and I raised tremulous fingers to the gash above my eye, only to find the puckered scar and, not blood, but rainwater trickling from my nose. I rolled to my knees, then collapsed onto my backside, head in hands, and I moaned in dismay. Hunched like that, the rain chattered on my raincoat, plastered my hair to my forehead.
I felt almost hypoglycaemic. I shivered. No energy. I coughed to clear my throat. Finally I forced myself to stand. Out here at the centre of Connor’s Island the night was as thick as tar and every bit as black. Only the crystalline shards of rain lent any contrast to the picture. I pushed through the tall grass, following the dim trail of flattened stalks that must have been crushed when I staggered from the road in the grip of my memories. It was only fifty strides-or-so to the road, but the distance felt interminable the way I shuffled along. I was relieved, at last, to find tarmac beneath my feet again. I almost set off jogging. Almost, but didn’t. I was still too weak.
Judging by the row of red lights hanging on the horizon to my right, I guessed that I needed to go left to continue my trek over the island. To be honest, if the submarine tracking station lights hadn’t been visible, there was no guessing which way I’d have turned. I may have ended up heading back towards Skelvoe harbour and my walk in the night would have been for nothing.
As I walked I regained some of my strength, partly due to the anger building inside me. It was many months since I’d experienced what my doctors had colourfully termed ‘an episode’. With my preparation, and the self-control exercises I’d made part of my daily routine, I had largely eliminated the memory-imposed states of mind that had plagued me the first few weeks following the nightmarish events in the watermill. To find that I was still a slave to their effects after all this time was more than disorienting; it was also frustrating. Kind of pissed me off.
More than anything I wanted to be free of the memories. Because, not only did I want to move on, to kick-start my life, I wanted to cleanse my soul of the shadow, which that day had placed on me. In forgetting that awful day, I believed I could finally be free of my brother’s taint. But therein lay the problem. The son of a bitch just wouldn’t allow it. And now, as ever, he chose to remind me.
“Accept it, dickhead. You are never getting shot of me. There’s just no way, Carter. I’m with you all the way, bro. Like an insect caught in amber.”
“More like a fucking fly in the ointment.”
For once his laughter curtailed rapidly, and I was allowed to continue on my way with only the most delicate of sensations tickling the base of my subconscious. His intention was to remind me that he was still around, but in a way that shouldn’t impede me. He also wanted me to know that he had chosen to back off, and - for which I should be grateful - that now, when I was at my most vulnerable, he had decided not to torment me. He intended that I understand, and appreciate, that he was upholding his end of our bargain.
His silence allowed me space to think, to consider, and ultimately…to remember. But this time I was adamant that the memories would be under control and on my terms. I recalled again the telephone call I’d received at my office at Rezpect Sports. How my fear for the welfare of my fiancée and the life of my unborn child had caused me to drive like a madman through the heart of a blizzard. How I’d arrived to a deserted home, found the room defiled by my brother’s insanity, then followed his tracks to the decrepit watermill. And that’s where everything changed. My life. My hopes and dreams. My burden.
Four years ago…
…The noose around my throat burned my skin. My wrists were raw wounds. My eyebrow was gashed to the bone. My nose, broken and also split like rotting fruit, throbbed with pain. Blood and snot gathered in my mouth, my eyes were full of tears, my hearing whistling as though I was in a wind tunnel. Total sensory overload. My mind should have shut down. I shouldn’t have been able to bare the agony, the horror, or the worthless futility of it all. However, the hatred I felt for my brother would not allow me escape. Through the tears I glared at his sweaty face, desiring nothing other than the opportunity to chew it right off. If I could have, I would have done it. I’m sure he knew it, too, because he was cautious and always remained out of range of my snapping teeth.
I was bound to an upright joist that supported the roof, with my arms wrenched backwards round it, my ankles crossed one over the other and also cinched tight. The noose was round my throat, though some slack had been allowed so that I didn’t choke outright. It wouldn’t be much fun if I died before my brother was done with his administrations.
Cassius Bailey moved in front of me, sinuous as a leech as he sought a fresh place to bleed me. In his hand he held an ignominious-looking craft knife. The blade, diamond-shaped, no more than an inch of metal protruding from the orange plastic handle, could have as well been a samurai sword. It was every bit as sharp and able to cut strips from my body.
Not for the first time, I gathered the blood-clotted mass in my mouth and spat at him. He merely smiled through the gore plastering his features. He stuck the knife into the flesh above my left nipple and sliced downward in a vicious curve. I yelled in both agony and hatred. Mostly hatred.<
br />
Cash laughed.
“Pussy,” he called me.
I gritted my teeth, then hollered directly in his face.
He laughed again. “Listen to you. You aught to be ashamed of yourself, brother, for making all that noise over one itty-bitty scratch.”
“Fuck you, Cash!”
“No, Carter. Fuck you.” He punctuated his retort by slicing me again. My face screwed tightly against the pain, my cry coming out in a stuttering moan. Cash snorted. He reversed the blade, drawing it upward from my solar plexus almost to the top of my sternum. Every millimeter of the way the blade tip grated on bone. I screamed, and this time couldn’t halt it.
“Pussy,” he said again, eyes wide, gloating.
I lunged against my restraints. The upright creaked, didn’t move. Straining against them only served to tighten my bonds.
“I’m going to kill you!”
“Hardly likely,” Cash said. “Considering I’m the one with the knife, and you are the pussy tied up and crying like a baby.”
“You are going to die…”
“Not before you, Carter.” He held up the knife, inspected the tip, and appeared satisfied that it remained sharp. “Kind of the nature of things. See, you’re the big brother. Me, the little brother. Big brothers die before little brothers. No?”
“I swear to God-”
“Don’t bother. Your god isn’t here today.”
“-I’m gonna make you pay-”
Cash snorted in derision. “Stop whining, will you?”
“-for everything you’ve done. I swear to God you’ll be made to pay it all back ten times over. A hundred times.”
“You know something, bro? I’m beginning to grow a little tired of listening to your bitching. Maybe I should open up your throat right now and have done with it.”
“Maybe you should, you sick-minded bastard!”
“Only that wouldn’t be half as much fun as making you suffer for a few more hours, would it?” He rotated away from me, lifting the knife to point across the platform. I hung my head, refusing to look at what he indicated. “Seeing as you went and spoiled what me and Karen had going on.”
He walked towards her. Stood with his hands fisted on his hips as though surveying his handiwork.
“Don’t, Cash. Don’t touch her.”
But he was of a mind to touch her. It was why he’d allowed Karen to summon me home, so that I could bear witness to his cruelty. By doing so, he was torturing me more than all his cutting of my flesh could achieve. Despite myself I looked across at where Karen was bound to the opposite upright joist. Cash stared back at me over his shoulder as he reached out with his free hand and fumbled at one of her breasts.
“Take your fucking hands off her!”
“Uh-uh, Carter. Going to have me some titty-squeezing fun.”
I roared. Strained at my bonds. Dust sifted from overhead. My throat was ragged enough, but my roar of frustration left it ripped and bleeding.
“Listen to you,” Cash said. He walked back towards me, sashaying his hips, flicking the blade of his knife. “All that fuss about nothing. Don’t worry, Carter. I am not hurting Karen’s feelings. You know she’s beyond feeling.” He stood so close to me I could feel his breath on my skin. “Why can’t you be as quiet as Karen?” He put a hand over his mouth, tilted his head to one side. Hamming it up for effect. “When I used my knife on Karen she didn’t make all that howling and screeching.”
“Bastard,” I hissed. But he wasn’t listening. He was too caught up in taunting me.
“Of course, it was different when we were back at the house. Boy, oh, boy, but did she scream then. Screamed for England, the hot-arsed little bitch. See, I wasn’t using this little ol’ knife then.” He wagged the craft knife. Then, suggestively, he dropped his free hand to his crotch, gripped himself. “Gave her nine solid inches of the Love Dagger. Cut that bitch right to the core.” He leaned in closer to me. Stared me dead in the eye. “You know something? You should be thanking me, Carter. For killing her, I mean. Saved you a whole heap of trouble that was bound to come to pass. There was just no way that she’d be happy with you after she’d got a taste for the ol’ Love Dagger inside her.”
His face swam in my vision. In and out. In and out. But I stared beyond him at the forlorn wreckage of my dreams. In the flickering of a single lantern Karen was a pale blur against the darkness beyond. She was naked, a scarlet-edged shadow at her lower abdomen marking the debasement Cash subjected upon her and our baby. Her hair hung in tatty ribbons around her shoulders, her head lolling to one side. Our eyes met. Mine were feverish; her’s were dull cataracts. And I saw reflected in them my failure. I saw loathing. Scorn. And I saw the bitter understanding of my betrayal. I’d promised that I’d keep her safe; I’d keep our baby safe. That I’d always be there for them. But I’d come home too late. And, that, I just could not live with.
Hatred drove me. It grew beyond pain. Well clear of the capacity for rational thought. Animal-like I lunged forward, clamping my teeth on the flesh of Cash’s shoulder. I sank my teeth through clothing into skin, grinding into muscle with wild beast tenacity. Cash tried to pull back, but there was no way he was getting away from me without relinquishing a sizeable chunk of his anatomy. I chewed even deeper, tasting, for the first time, blood that wasn’t my own.
“You frigging tosser!” Cash brought up his hands, tried to pry me loose, the knife in his hand scoring lines in my scalp. When that didn’t work, he forcefully tried to tug away. I followed him, our combined weight dragging on my bound wrists. A tendon ripped above my right elbow, but I didn’t let go. I hung on, savaging him. He was screaming now, and deep inside I felt a trickle of satisfaction at his pain. But it simply wasn’t enough. I wanted payback. I wanted his throat.
Cash stabbed me. He thrust the craft knife into my gut, twisting it. I grunted between my clenched teeth. Didn’t let go. He thrust again. Scored my hip. I chewed down, feeling tendons popping in my jaw. Frantic, Cash threw himself back, ready to give up a mouthful of his skin in order to get away from my teeth. But I didn’t release my hold. Like Cash, the centuries old joist had experienced enough abuse. It gave way, snapping in an explosion of splinters and worm-ridden dust. I went to my knees, Cash under me. I aimed to hold on, but the shock of our sudden fall dislodged my teeth from him. Beneath me, Cash kicked out, his boots barking my shins. He slashed with his knife, and I earned yet another stripe across my chest. I squirmed up, and Cash propelled himself away, coming to his feet, even as I tried to rise to mine.
“You fucker!” he yelled as he swung towards me. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Do it then,” I screamed at him. “But you’re coming all the way to Hell with me.”
I launched at him, driving forward with my feet, head down, shoulder in his guts. Barrelling him backwards across the platform even as he stabbed down at my back. Through the flimsy plank wall we went…out into space. As we fell Cash screamed. I was silent. Snowflakes swirled around us and I felt as weightless and insubstantial as they did.
Cash struck the great wheel spine first. The noise was like a gunshot. He pinwheeled away - I followed like a streamer in his wake - all disjointed and lifeless. Then we hit the flat expanse of the dead river, throwing up algae and weed and gouts of putrid water. We sank like rocks. And that should have been that.
But our ferocity was too intense. We continued to struggle even as we sank. Cash with his fingers entwined in my hair, my legs somehow snared around his by the loose rope trailing from my ankles. We glared into each other’s eyes, even if by natural standards that must have been impossible. Plumes of bubbles marked our screams and curses for a short while.
Then the bubbles were no more. The dark was absolute.
The next thing I was aware of was lightning. Blue flashes that invaded my vision, flickering strobes of light the likes of which I’d never saw before. Flakes of icy snow pattered on my lashes, briefly trembling there before the heat of fever melted them to nothing.
There was movement around me. Unintelligible words spoken as hands worked on me. The thunder sounded like the disembodied crackle of a radio. There were distant shouts. Another roar of thunder much closer by sounded like a revving motor.
Metal was placed on my chest and lightning struck at the centre of my being. My body convulsed, back arching.
“Whu?”
I sucked in air.
The voices were less frantic now, but no less urgent.
I felt myself raised up, a hand tugging loose the bindings from my wrists. I was placed on a raised platform. Something was tugged down over my mouth and nose. Sweet oxygen flowed down my throat like the passage of angels. A shroud of wool was wrapped around me. A blanket? My head lolled to one side.
The blue lights continued to strobe across my vision. A man in green and another in fluorescent yellow moved across the scene. They were indistinct, blobs of colour only. Yet I could see the surface of the river many yards away with superhuman clarity. The river was still and flat and murky once more. Dull as the lifeless stare of my fiancée. I blinked. The water erupted upward. Not like a geyser or a fountain, or anything else out of nature. It almost sprang from the surface like the coils of a sea serpent. It folded, rippled, and then slithered with terrific speed towards the riverbank.
I stared at the paramedics and cops around me. Why weren’t they reacting? Couldn’t they see this miraculous but horrifying event?
The coils crackled with violet energy, interspersed with veins of scarlet and an ugly colour like bruised flesh. Then it jerked, swung about fluidly, and rocketed towards me. I could go nowhere. I was strapped to the stretcher and was being bundled into the rear of an ambulance. No one was paying the ethereal serpent any heed.
