by Paul Kane
Breath coming even faster now, Angela pressed the button again. It showed the creatures moving forwards, crouching and advancing; the light had only put them off for a second or two - or maybe they were using some other sense to find their way? Something akin to what bats use in caves, going by those ears?
It didn't matter - they were coming for her and they were coming more quickly. The flash didn't affect them quite so much the second time and, without pausing now to study them, Angela pressed the button again. If nothing else, maybe these pictures would serve as evidence of what had done this to her… assuming her remains were ever found. Not that it would do her much good in the here and now.
In the here and now, she was moments away from being attacked. The only thing Angela could think of doing was using the camera again - defensively, as a weapon, but they were already on her, denying her that opportunity. In fact one of them, maybe even the same one, bit into her hand and caused her to drop the phone, sending it clattering off into who knows where? At the same time the other bodies crawling over her were pushing her down onto her back, and she collapsed with a grunt. Once the dots in front of her eyes from the flash had cleared, she could see the creatures mountaineering up her body, feel the clawed hands that were worse than Robert and his explorations.
There was a hotness in her shoulder, and once more it was alive with pain. Angela shifted her head to the side and saw a member of this brood licking at the wound, spittle trailing from its mouth; slurping up the blood there - sticking its tongue into the hole to get at more of the vital liquid; not that she could afford to lose any more.
She attempted to move, to try and shrug them off, but it was impossible - there were simply too many and they were a lot heavier than they looked. Like concrete slabs laying on her, in fact, making it even harder to breathe. The one biting into her hand was knocked off by another of the creatures, both competing for a new prize: who'd get to devour her. If there was pain there, she didn't feel it - was too preoccupied by the burning sensation in her shoulder. Angela was trying to hang on to consciousness this time, but could feel herself failing - she didn't want to black out only to wake and find parts of her missing, parts of her being snacked on: an arm, a leg, a hand, a foot... Being dead she could just about handle; it was quick, it would be over and done with - for her part - relatively quickly. But losing herself piece by piece? Mouthful by mouthful? That would bend her mind so completely…
And Angela did black out at that point, the agony from her shoulder simply too much. But it wasn't for long, or at least she didn't believe so. When she did come to again, the weight was gone from her frame. She looked downwards and saw that the creatures had shifted - were no longer on top of her, arguing over the prime cuts. Experimentally, Angela moved a leg, a foot, an arm… All seemed to be working as normal, unless it was phantom limb syndrome or something? No, she was able to see that they were all still there, everything intact: her body whole. She reached across to her shoulder, tentatively touching the bullet-hole there… except it wasn't a hole anymore. There was nothing but puckered skin; not burned, but cauterised. Something in the creature's spit?
Of the monsters there appeared to be no sign - had they been scared off again? Like they had by her scream before? No, for she could see them now, just out of reach. They were all there, gathered in a horseshow shape. Waiting and watching her, but not as a prelude to an attack - she didn't get that from them this time. After all, why would they strike and then withdraw, leaving her unscathed, only to surge forward again? In fact, not only was she unscathed, they'd stemmed the bleeding from her shoulder; healed her, even. It was numb, but she could at least move her arm a little.
It was something she did now, helping herself to get upright again. The creatures still kept their distance, still watched and waited - but for what? Angela frowned. The "attack" had only come when she began to root around for the phone, only increased in intensity when she started using the flash. They'd got it out of her hand as quickly as they could, but then the one who'd bitten it - the smallest one, she recalled, and even as she looked now at the bites she saw they weren't that deep - he'd been knocked away so he couldn't do any more damage to her. They'd pinned her down so they could stop her from taking the photos, so they could fix her injured shoulder. Defending themselves rather than assaulting her.
Helping her…
The furrows on her brow deepened; she didn't understand. Why, out of all the people who had fallen foul of this trap (and each time, they must have covered the ground back up again, she realised - which also meant there was another, easier way out of there than actually climbing up the incline; a way to get out of this hole) - why had they spared her? What made her so special?
Red on white, a voice said from somewhere - her mind, although it sounded an awful lot like a man's timbre. A fleeting image of the rose came to her, a rose in the snow.
"Hel…Hello," she spoke tentatively, the word sounding odd even to her; her throat almost seizing up with the pitiful attempt. Unsurprisingly, there was no reply, so - determined - Angela tried again: "Hi there." She held up her hand, the one attached to her wounded arm, which made her wince a little - but all this elicited was puzzled looks from the seven shapes, a couple gaping at each other in bewilderment. They were the strangest things she'd ever seen in her life, not quite human but humanoid - as if perhaps they had been once. She wondered how long they had lived here. Years? Generations? Maybe their ancestors had been human at some point? She rested her aching arm and raised the other one, held out her hand as you would do when giving your pet a treat. "I…I'm not going to hurt you."
It seemed like a weird thing to say, especially given their apparent intent. Definitely, given what they'd done to these other poor wretches down here. But Angela chose to look on the bright…well, brighter side. They had decided not to dine on her, for whatever reasons. And they were a damned sight better company than "Uncle" Robert and his gun.
"I'm not going to…" She shut up immediately when one of the pack, a particularly vacant-looking one, began lumbering forward. Angela thought about withdrawing that hand now - what if he simply bit off the fingers? Ladyfingers…hmm, yum!
But she was glad she didn't when, instead of baring its teeth, the monster nuzzled up against that hand. Angela felt like recoiling - felt also a little like being sick, but fought it.
And, forcing herself to do so, she stroked the top of the thing's veiny head. It purred - actually purred, even though the sound was gurgled and thick with mucus. Not a dog, but a cat.
Seeing this, the others approached, all seven of them, nuzzling up against different parts of her. Some of it was actually even quite pleasant; some of it also tickled. In spite of herself, Angela smiled. Then she laughed.
A laugh that went on so long, she thought that she had finally, truly, gone insane.
*
Ruth stared out at through the gigantic window and sipped her whiskey: Queen of all she surveyed.
She allowed herself a grin; she'd earned it. Things were shaping up nicely, very nicely indeed. The shares had been floated, bought, and now she was one of the most powerful people on the planet.
Power… Ruth savoured the word, the way it sounded. She could do anything, go anywhere. Power; she had so much power. It was better than being helpless, better than the things she'd had to do to get her and Robert out of that cesspit they'd lived in when her mum had died. Correction: been killed. That had been the first lesson… Power wasn't just about money - although that greased the wheels - it was about control. Being in control and controlling others. They'd had money, before, but then it had been taken away from them. Then their one remaining parent had been taken away as well. Someone had to take charge, take control, and it was never going to be her brother.
Oh, Robert had his uses - especially as he got older and larger, better able to handle himself - but he was a bit of a blunt instrument. No finesse. Just look at the way he'd gotten rid of Angela… If she hadn't wanted a certain amou
nt of distance on this one, Ruth would have cheerfully handled the problem herself; taken great pleasure in it actually, as she had Angela's cloying father. The two terminations couldn't have been more different, could they? The father "natural causes", buried, and the daughter - shot and dumped in the wilderness somewhere for the animals to pick at. Somewhere she'd never be found. Robert had brought back the jacket with her blood all over it as proof, which she'd later incinerated.
That child had always been a nuisance; if it hadn't been for that stipulation in the blasted will about looking after her, Ruth might well have simply strangled her a long time ago. The girl had to live to attend the same university where her parents had met and fallen in love - though if he was hoping for that to happen again, he was sadly mistaken because times had definitely moved on. The daughter had to live and so Ruth had kept her shut away, hidden and guarded until it was time. Even when Angela had headed off to Uni, she'd been monitored by Ruth's network of spies - it was how they'd discovered what she'd been up to, digging into the past (she was good, Ruth had to give her that - even uncovered some things she'd paid a lot of money to make "go away").
She'd also been monitored by that outside world Angela was so desperate to get out into, though, hadn't she? Time was, it used to be Ruth's photo in the tabloids, scattered all over the internet with pundits declaring how stunning she was - pictured getting out of limos, attending premieres and galas; stepping out through the doors of the most high-profile hotels and restaurants. Then they'd started snapping Angela: "Reclusive daughter of millionaire businessman all grown up! And so beautiful!" Started to forget about Ruth, focussing on that runt instead - in spite of the fact she didn't even like the attention. It had begun to die down a little the more time the girl spent at university, the novelty wearing off, but it had soon ramped up again when news broke about her being missing - wiping Ruth's face off the net once more.
She'd been questioned by the authorities, of course, but nothing had come of it; that power again, in action. Besides, she had plausible deniability this time. And an alibi - in residence at her place in the South of France while it was all going down; had only been back a few days, actually. Worried, obviously, but it was nothing to do with her… Ruth had been the one who'd kept her safe all these years, after all; hadn't even wanted to let her go away; had warned her about the perils of college and those boys there. Maybe one of them had done something? Go look into that!
With no more news, it had started to go away again - been replaced by something else. Nobody was going to mourn Angela and she'd eventually be totally forgotten about; leaving Ruth to wallow in her luxury, living her days out in peace, being serviced by nubile young studs - a far cry from the sweaty old men she'd been forced to screw on her way to the top. So much better than that drip, Angela's father. God, by the end of it she hadn't even been able to look at the man, he was so wet. And as for the way he was with his child… pathetic. Every now and again she'd get a twinge, though, watching them; maybe wonder what her life would have been like with such a devoted dad. Didn't matter; hadn't happened. You can't change the past, only the future - and Ruth had done that so spectacularly well she'd even surprised herself. She sipped at the 50-year-old Royal Salute Scotch, relishing its warmth as it trickled down her throat. Glad she was inside on such a night - the whiteness having covered everything for the last few weeks. Stepping back a little, she caught her reflection in the glass of the window. Those perfect cheekbones, the red lipstick (not natural - not like hers), eyes accentuated by eye shadow and sheltered by pencil-thin eyebrows; the whole thing framed by her dark hair, pulled back tightly on the top but flowing around her face like a cowl. The designer purple-blue dress she wore clung to her in all the right places, showing off her still perfect body - power and money could even fix the advance of the years. There was no way she'd ever end up an old crone with white hair and a hooked nose. No, she was going to live forever!
Her grin widened. "Who's the fairest of them all now?" Ruth said to herself and let out a chuckle.
Suddenly, another face appeared at the window - replacing hers and causing Ruth to drop the crystal whiskey glass she had in her hand. It was a face she recognised. A face she never thought she'd see again outside of an obituary column.
"Angela," she whispered, hand going to her mouth. "It can't be." Just your imagination because you were thinking about her, just-
The girl was wearing another coat, a much bigger one to protect her from the elements. She looked a little the worse for wear, hair out of place (typical student really), a healed-up cut on her lip, but nothing drastic. Certainly not dead, as Ruth had been promised. Pale, but then she always was. Pale as-
Angela knocked on the glass and again Ruth started. Almost stepped sideways onto the smashed whiskey tumbler.
"Let me in, Ruth," she mouthed, pointing across to the handle on the French doors not too far away.
Ruth's mind was reeling. Robert, the incompetent moron - this was his fault somehow! Had assumed he'd left Angela for dead, lied about it to her and thought presenting Ruth with the bloodied coat would be enough. And she'd believed him, fallen for it, when clearly the girl was still alive. Ruth didn't believe in zombies… well, not really, not the kind that could walk around and bite you at any rate.
But why hadn't she gone to the authorities? Told them about the whole thing, demanded they arrest Robert and her - not that it would do any good, the amount of police, lawyers and judges she had in her back pocket. Maybe that was it; was Angela thinking that there was no point? Perhaps she was here to get her own back, personally… It was probably what Ruth would do herself, and for a fleeting moment she actually felt a hint of pride at her erstwhile charge.
Angela rapped on the window again. "Ruth!"
"All right, all right," she said, irritated, and went over to the door. As she did so, unlocking it, another thought - another question - occurred to her.
How did Angela get past the security in this place, which Robert alone oversaw (she didn't trust anyone else but him)? It took a key card and code to get through the gate… Then the door was open and Angela was inside; it was time to play the caring stepmother. "Angela, darling - where have you been? There have been people out looking for you."
Angela grinned, a little like the one that had broken across Ruth's face a few moments ago. "They wouldn't have found me. Not in a million years."
"Well, come in, come in. You must be freezing."
"I'm okay," said the girl.
"Let me get you something to drink. I was just…" She nodded at the floor, at the remains of the ten grand a bottle drink.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Angela replied with absolutely no remorse in her voice.
"Not to worry." Ruth wandered over to the drinks cabinet. "You want one of those?"
Angela shook her head, slowly.
"Oh, that's right, silly me. You don't drink, do you? Imagine that, a student who doesn't drink. That's like a vampire who doesn't suck your blood." She laughed at her own joke. "Apple juice, then? Looks the same at any rate."
Ruth turned her back on Angela, fixing the drink. Her hands were shaking a little, so she told herself to calm down - to get a grip. To take charge of the situation. Get. It. Under. Control. Jesus, when she got hold of Robert she'd-
Letting out a breath, she turned around again and walked back over to her stepdaughter. "Here we go, that should do the trick."
"I think there have been quite enough tricks, Ruth - don't you?"
Ruth frowned. "I…I'm not sure what-"
"You can drop the act. There's only you and me here. I know what you did, Ruth."
"I don't know what it is you think you know, but I can assure you-"
"Your assurances don't mean a great deal, do they? About the same as your wedding vows, I'd say." Angela pursed her lips at that, and for a moment Ruth thought the girl was going to cry.
"This is getting us nowhere. I've not been back in the country long; I was as shocked as anyone to he
ar you'd gone missing. But, well, I'm delighted you're back."
That grin again. "I couldn't miss my own birthday, now, could I?" "Your…" Ruth had forgotten about that; the little bitch would be entitled to half of everything once that clock hit twelve.
"What's the matter? You don't look very delighted now, Ruth. Thinking about your money? Our money? Is that it? You want to know something? I was never that interested in it before - would've let you keep the lot. Would give it all to have him back, my daddy."
Ruth couldn't help it; her lip began to curl. "Daddy? I could tell you a thing or two about your daddy."
Angela held up her hand and it seemed to pain her to do so, as if her arm was hurt. Of course, the blood on the coat - she'd been shot in the shoulder. Ruth mentally filed the information, as she did with everything, for future use; if it came to a fight, say, but she was hoping Robert would intervene before then. Where exactly was he when she needed him?
"I know all I need to know," stated Angela. "I know he was a good man who was fooled by an evil woman."
Ruth raised an eyebrow. "Evil? Don't be so melodramatic, child!"
"I am not a child!" spat Angela. She let the words settle before continuing. "I also know he would have been ashamed of what you did with his company in his name."
"I did what I had to," growled Ruth. "That's what I always do!" "As did I," Angela replied coolly.
Ruth looked at her sideways. "What? What did you do?"
"I bought all the shares, Ruth. The company's mine. Lock, stock and barrel."
"I don't believe you! How could you have…"
