“The blood droplets go in the same direction as the other prints,” she concluded.
“What exactly are you saying?” Wheeler replied.
She gave him a glum look. “I’m guessing it means that the climber, Peterman or Sanders, got back down okay but Marie wasn’t so lucky. Marie landed awkwardly on this hidden stump and injured herself, probably quite badly.”
* * *
Ned Mackie flung the empty vodka bottle across the room. It spun through the air, struck the antique clock on the far wall, and crashed onto the floor.
“Don’t know my own strength,” Ned muttered to himself, frowning at the bottle lying on the carpet beside the garbage can. Oh well, the clock was ugly anyway.
Ned held the crystal tumbler up, fascinated by the way light from the window sparkled through the cut glass. He’d spent most of the day alone in his bedroom, with a whole bottle of Smirnoff Red he’d swiped from Wheeler’s bar. It had turned his brain into a pleasant hazy mush and kept back all the painful realities he didn’t want to think about any more. At least, it had until now. Thoughts of Abby crept back in and were consuming him again. The worry pendulum had swung back hard and hit him right between the eyes.
He put the glass to his lips and glugged the last inch of vodka. The liquor had completely numbed his mouth and throat, but it still produced a dull, hard fire in his guts. He wanted it to make his head spin so hard that he’d have to lie down and sleep. Instead it just made his heart beat harder and his body sweat more. Maybe it was better not to sleep anyway – his dreams were where he encountered Abby most vividly, most intimately. Yes, best to stay awake. Sunlight poured in through the window and warmed his tired body.
The empty glass fell from his hand and hit the floor with a loud clatter. Ned opened his eyes with a start. He’d fallen asleep after all.
“Can’t even get that right.” The words barely escaped his cracked lips.
He wondered what time it was. The clock had stopped since he’d thrown the bottle and his wristwatch had fallen down the back of the bed last night. He stood up on wobbly legs, went over and stuck his hand down between the mattress and the wall, but his drink-clumsy fingers couldn’t find the watch.
His head began to swim, and he quickly sat down again. The big, padded chair was comfortable, but he didn’t want to fall asleep again. This time he was sure that Abby would come in his dreams. A stark image of her appeared front and centre into his mind and, with a shudder, he tried to shatter it and chase it away.
He rubbed his sticky eyes and struggled back up out of the chair. Strong coffee, Wheeler’s fancy Italian roast, was what he needed to keep the hurtful images away. His foot kicked against the empty liquor bottle as he shuffled out the door and down the stairs.
The kitchen was empty and silent, which suited him just fine. Those other bastards, with their endless running around, could go to hell – especially Wheeler. This room was where Abby had been attacked, assaulted. If only he’d been there to save her. There were plenty of weapons around; those big copper pans hanging from the ceiling rack would have done the job. A nice sharp kitchen knife to Sanders’ throat would have been better still. He squinted at the tiny electronic clock on the microwave and discovered that it was already five-thirty p.m. God almighty! He’d slept all afternoon.
He brewed a pot of coffee and sat at the table, sipping the hot, creamy liquid. The kitchen was cooler than his bedroom, but he didn’t mind that. His head was already clearer, and he was calmer overall. It didn’t matter so much now when random memories of Abby began to flit through his mind.
The day they first sat side by side at the staff meeting; their first night together at his apartment; six months later blowing their savings on an expensive honeymoon in Venice. Soon afterwards he got his first psychiatry practice and they bought a house that she loved but which he could barely afford. Then came the first year of marriage with all the crazy rows; the apologies and making up; the dinner parties with colleagues and the new found social status she brought him among his peers.
All gone forever; he knew he’d never get her back again and it made him feel old beyond his years. He wondered if any of her old feelings for him still existed, buried beneath the surface. It didn’t seem like it. She belonged to Sanders now; had done ever since they’d reappeared on the boat together. Finding her on the boat had turned out worse than never seeing her again at all. Sanders had gone zombie, and he’d made Abby that way too. She was like a cult member now; her will completely dominated. He’d seen that kind of abuse many times in his clients.
And how would he diagnose his own mental health? “In danger of becoming clinically depressed,” he murmured to himself with a wry grin. He ran through the symptoms he’d memorised years ago; lackadaisical pessimism and inability to experience pleasure, feelings of inadequacy and ennui, loss of appetite and recourse to substance abuse. Yup, he had just about all of these. Worst of all, he had little desire to do anything about it. He told himself what he never told his clients; the battle was over, and he’d lost.
He knew he should join Wheeler and Toby and the teenage twins but didn’t have the slightest urge to do so. They could be on the other side of the world for all the motivation he had to go find them. He got up and emptied his remaining coffee into the sink. Wheeler had nailed wood posts across the window above the taps and Ned looked out through a gap between them, at the yard out back, the timber stack and the shed where they’d put Sanders. It all seemed so long ago.
Maybe he would make a fresh brew, bring it upstairs and do some reading. He rinsed the carafe and filled it with cold water. The water felt good as it tumbled over his hands and he leaned over the sink and splashed his greasy face. Dripping water, he groped for the hand towel and patted his face dry. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking through the window gap at a face outside.
Abby’s face. She was on the other side of the glass, alone, staring at him. Their eyes locked and he stood absolutely still overcome with fear, hope, dread, and terrible longing all at the same time.
She stepped closer to the window until her lips almost touched the pane. The angled sun shone directly on her face, but her eyes never blinked and never left his.
“Ned, come outside and join me.”
Her mouth was closed and motionless, but the words were loud and clear inside his head. How was that possible?
“Ned darling, you want to be with me. I’m here now come out and we’ll be together again.”
He gazed at his wife’s still, impassive face. The face of the one he longed for, that he couldn’t live without. If this was the only way to get her back, then he would do whatever she asked, whether he wanted to or not.
“Ned, unlock the back door and come out to me.”
He started to move toward the door, but something held him back. Some hesitation, an alarm bell, buried deep down inside. The voice in his head grew hard, insistent.
“Right now, Ned. We don’t have time to lose.”
Still he paused, uncertain.
“Ned, come out now or you’ll lose me forever.”
Numbing loneliness flooded over him in a dreadful, terrifying wave. “Okay, I’m coming.”
He moved to the door in a kind of daze. Although he could no longer physically see her, a vivid photographic image of her, three dimensional and alive, stayed at the forefront of his vision. She was inside him, controlling him, manipulating him, but he didn’t care.
I want this to happen anyway.
He released the door lock, slid back the bar, and turned the handle. As the door opened he expected to see Sanders and the rest of them standing on the other side, waiting to grab him. If they’d been there, he might have found enough willpower to fling the door shut in their faces and scream for help.
But there was no one there except his Abby, standing with her arms wide open and reaching out to him. He rushed forward and hugged her tightly, committed himself to the comfort of her embrace, the sweet surrender of sub
mission.
The heat of his body merged with her coldness. A flicker of regret deep inside him was instantly extinguished. Within seconds a terrible new oneness flooded Ned’s being.
PART THREE; SCISSORS
Then Jesus asked the demon-possessed man, “What is your name?”
“My name is Legion,” he replied, “For we are many.”
– Mark 5 v. 9
Chapter Eighteen
The afternoon crawled on and there was so much tension in the air I could have bit it. There was nothing for Nora and me to do except keep Toby company and idle away the time. Toby and Nora started discussing supper recipes and I kept well out of it. Feeling trapped and bored, I stood at the living room window, peering out between the slats. White cirrus clouds drifted high in a beautiful pale blue sky, and I longed to be outdoors enjoying the sunshine. In a couple of hours, the light would quickly fade and another day would be gone. I turned away from the window and looked around for something to read.
Wheeler entered the room and the expression on his face made me forget about finding a book. He stood in front of the three of us, his big hunting rifle cradled in the crook of his arm, barrel pointed at the floor. Whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be good news.
“Ned’s missing now too.”
“Since when?” Toby asked.
“Not very long, probably. An hour or two at most. I found the back door lying open and searched every room in the house. Apart from us, there’s no-one else here.”
Toby stood up, alarmed. “You’re sure?”
“Don’t worry,” Wheeler replied, slapping the stock of his rifle, “They know better than to come inside again.”
Toby scowled right back. “I’ve had enough of this macho nonsense, Julius. We have to call in police and emergency services right away.”
“He’s right,” I agreed, “We have to get help.”
“I’ve done everything necessary for the rest of today,” Wheeler snapped back at me. “My supply helicopter will be here tomorrow. It’s a Sikorsky and can easily hold all of us.”
Toby didn’t look convinced. “Why not just call nine-one-one? You can do that from your office, can’t you? You’ve a satellite link in there, right?”
Wheeler scowled. “We’ve been through this already. What would I tell the police? That some of my guests had wandered off, stolen a few groceries? Sanders’ gang would tell them a different story, and who would the cops believe? It would be our word against theirs and I’d look like a fool.”
“But we need help,” Nora insisted.
“No, we don’t,” Wheeler replied. “Involving police would only make things worse. They’d probably arrest me for locking those bastards out, threatening them with a firearm, or some other stupid, trumped up charge.”
“At least we’d have police protection,” Nora said.
“You really think so?” Wheeler replied. “Sanders and company have some sort of hypnotic power, we’ve all experienced it. So how do you know they wouldn’t get the cops to join their side? We’d have heavily armed police rounding us up in no time.”
Toby looked shocked. “You think Sanders could do that?”
“Yes, I do. You’ve seen how they invade my home for new recruits.”
After a moment’s silence Toby spoke again. “Julius, you’ve made some good points. But you have to contact someone back in the city, even if it’s only your lawyers. Someone else has to know what’s going on up here.”
“I agree,” Nora said.
“Me too,” I echoed.
It was Wheeler’s turn to be quiet. He seemed to be considering something. Then he let out a big sigh.
“Okay, I get it, it’s ‘Mutiny on the Bounty’ and all that. Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting some of my security guards up here. There’s one big problem though.”
The rest of us waited impatiently.
“Come with me.” Wheeler led us out of the living room, across to his office, and unlocked the door. He swung it wide open.
“Take a good look,” he said.
Inside, the room was a wreck. Everything electronic had been broken. Telephone handsets were missing and dialing panels had been split apart. Communication wiring hung loosely from the wall. Where the window pane had been there was now a nice big hole and the boards that Wheeler had nailed across it were strewn across the floor.
“When would they have done this?” Toby asked.
“Looks like one of the times we were occupied upstairs, some of them came in the front. Probably Peterman cut the window pane out and Sanders did a nice, quick job on the equipment. I had this room heavily soundproofed so I could work in peace, so Peterman knew they were safe.” Wheeler closed the door and nodded down the hallway. “Thank God the gun cabinet is solid steel, screwed to the floor, and I’m the only one with the key.”
“So, what do we do now?” Toby replied, “This is a dangerous situation.”
“I agree,” Wheeler replied. “Peterman and Marie know the helicopter’s coming, so they’ll try to force us to join them before it arrives.”
“Can they get in again?” Nora asked, fear in her voice.
“Nothing has stopped them so far,” Wheeler replied grimly.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“Get back into the living room and we’ll talk about it,” Wheeler replied.
Back in the big room, Wheeler took out a bunch of keys and locked the door. The rest of us stood in the dim light coming through the window slats and waited.
“Here’s what we do,” Wheeler explained, putting his rifle down and pointing across the room. “There’s a small washroom over there, so we’re self-contained in here.” He held out his hand and began counting off points on his fingers. “First, we fetch food and water from the kitchen and stash it in here. Second, we haul four mattresses in and sleep here tonight. Third, I keep this rifle handy, and Toby can have one too if he wants. Fourth, no-one leaves this locked room until we hear the helicopter land on the helipad. Fifth, we run for the chopper and get the hell out of here. Any questions?”
“We’re leaving the others behind?” Toby asked.
“What do you think? Fancy sharing a helicopter with them? And you really want to let them loose in the city?”
“It’s inhuman to leave them stranded here,” Nora replied.
Wheeler snorted. “What’s inhuman is what they’re trying to do to us. Anyway, there’s a shed full of food out there and Peterman has the key. Once I get back I’ll send my security team up here to fix the mess.”
“They need medics, not hit men,” Toby said coldly, suspicion written all over his face.
I pictured the sort of people that Wheeler most likely had in mind – ex-military professionals used to black ops killing in the Middle East, who would be fed a story about a violent home invasion gang. They’d be well paid to dispose of the ‘problem’ and bury the evidence afterwards. Up here, no-one would ever find the bodies. Wheeler might even enjoy supervising the clean up job.
“We can discuss what happens to them after we get home safely,” Wheeler replied, as if he would include us in any such decision. “In the meantime, you can either become a zombie like one of them or stay locked in this room with me tonight.”
* * *
I wrapped a couple of sheets around the mattress I’d lugged all the way down from my room, folded them over neatly, and rested a pillow on top. Then stood back and admired my handiwork. Not bad, considering my mom was always bugging me to make my bed properly every day, “Just like Nora does.” My travel bag sat at the foot of the mattress, with an extra large t-shirt on top that I would use as a nightshirt. I didn’t put it on. Wheeler insisted that we stay ready at all times, and “Sleep with our boots on, like cowboys,” whatever that meant.
There were three other mattresses spread across the room, Nora’s closest to mine. I caught her eye and went over to her.
“Looks nice and comfy,” I said, pointing at her stuff, “I’ll be glad to get tonigh
t over with. We seem to have wandered into the middle of a horror movie.”
“I know what you mean,” she replied, “I always liked those movies. Now, don’t like them so much.”
“Trapped here in this room, in the middle of nowhere, it feels like we’re the last people on the planet.”
“Don’t worry bro. It should all be over soon.”
I nodded. “What do you think of Wheeler’s plan?”
“It sucks. He’s an insecure, vulgar, misogynistic, narcissistic jerk; a young Donald Trump on steroids. But what can we do about it?”
I looked across the room at Wheeler, who had a typical tight-lipped frown on his face, and stifled a laugh. “Yup, what he says goes. I’m okay with tonight but it’s what happens to Georgia and the others afterwards that worries me.”
“Me too. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
I leaned closer to ensure that no-one could overhear us. “Wheeler has something nasty in store for them and I don’t like it. Toby doesn’t either. He’s going to report to the police when we get back. We should go with him.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “He’s already talked to me about it, Nick. No need to ‘mansplain’ it.”
I felt my cheeks flush and was about to apologise when Wheeler came across the room to us. He stood his rifle against the wall and called Toby over too.
“This is your last chance for you three to arm yourselves,” Wheeler announced, “After this, I’m barricading the door and no-one’s getting out again. It’s now or never.”
“I won’t shoot at our friends,” Toby replied, “And I hope you won’t either.”
“So be it. Nick? Nora? You’re old enough to defend yourselves.”
Nora shook her head firmly.
“Nick?”
Uninvited Page 18
