"Don't say that. Don't you dare!" Her eyes are red, puffy, ready to burst. Her lips quiver uncontrollably. "You're the only thing that keeps me going."
"Look at me!" I yell. "I'm a cripple. I can't touch you or hold you. Can't be there for you when you need me most. I can't protect you anymore."
"No, please," she says, hands clamped over her ears. "Stop."
"And what happens when they come for us again?" I ask. "I'll be a hindrance. A useless sack of meat that drags you all down with it. I'm sorry, Rose. I'm better off dead."
"No," she bleats. She snatches my lifeless hands away from my sides, presses them to her chest. "I'll always be here for you. I'll sit with you every day, sleep next to you every night. I love you, Ry. I love you so much."
I feel my saturated eyes finally give. Tears fall freely, soaking my pillow, as I say, "Then let me go."
She shakes her head, shaking her own tears free. "No. No, I can't. I-"
"My bandage," I say, eyes pointing down to my abdomen. "Unwrap them. You'll see."
She does as I ask, tugs at it, pulling it free of whatever holds it to me. With an oozing slurp, it comes loose.
"You see?" I say. I know she does. Her horrified look, the stunned silence. She sees alright.
"No," she sobs. "No, no, no, no." She presses the wound, the black, decayed flesh that now surrounds it. "How has this happened?"
"Your mum's salve didn't work," I say. "Infection set in quickly."
"Is this why? Why you've been so warm and feverish?" she says, panicked, barely taking a breath. "No. We can stop this. We can heal you. We can-"
"Rose, stop." I stare into her eyes; her beautiful, emerald eyes. "I'm already dead. The longer I stay alive, the more I'll suffer. Please ... just let me go."
She growls a sorrow-filled rumble as her jaw tightens. I can see her pain, her suffering. I cannot imagine how such a decision would tear her apart inside. She wants to keep me here for her own reasons, I get that. But I am not long for this world. I cannot be who she needs me to be.
She stares at me for a time, runs her hand down my swollen cheek and through my hair. She gently lifts my head, takes the pillow from under it.
She leans in, kisses my forehead, as she says, "I love you."
"I love you," I say. The words are a whimper, barely audible through my sobs, but she hears them. Her melancholic smile tells me so. "Tell your mum and dad what's been happening. Tell them-"
She silences me with a kiss. "It won't make any difference," she whispers. "He'll just hurt them for knowing."
"So what will you do?" I ask.
She lifts the pillow, holds it above my face, and says with a heartrending tenderness, "When he comes for me next, I'll pretend he's you."
Before I can respond, the pillow comes down. I do not struggle. I submit, accept my fate as my heart shatters into pieces. I have failed her. I have left her alone. Alone with him. All I see is black. Yet, in the darkness, I picture her face. Her piercing green eyes. Her long auburn hair. The freckles that grace the bridge of her nose. Her pouty lips, so soft, so kissable. I would do anything to kiss those lips once more, as I was, when I could hold her body close to mine. It is too late, now. The black turns to colour, swirls of vibrant patterns and shapes. I can feel myself slipping, escaping the shackles of this painful reality.
I'm sorry, my beautiful Rose. I wish we could have had more time together.
I love you, always.
ROSE
Sunday, 18:12
I sit there, staring vacantly at his lifeless body. I see through the swelling, the cuts and the bruises. He looks so peaceful, so handsome. I feel sick to the pit of my stomach. The pillow now rests upon his chest. I dare not touch it again. My hands are shaking. I hold them before me, glare at them in disgust. The hands that have taken a life. The hands that killed the man I love. I hate myself for what I have done. A hate that sinks in deep, cuts like a knife each time I play it over, and over, and over in my head.
I suddenly feel alone, as if I am all that is left in the world. Maybe I am. Maybe Mum and Daddy have been taken, killed even. But then I hear it, and I remember. A series of clangs, ringing through the common room, echoing through this dingy tomb that was once a place of refuge for me. If Mum and Daddy do not come home, I will never be alone. He will always be here, torturing me. More clangs, pounding, rattling on his door. He is angry. He wants out. I make the mistake of thinking I am safe. He is locked in, caged like the beast he is. Or so I thought. I realise, all too late, that the safety I felt was nothing more than an illusion. I hear the locks on his door buckle, fall to the floor. My heart sinks as I look to my own security, the door that would prove to be my last line of defence, left wide open.
I am moving before I have chance to think on it, make the common room before I have formed a plan. He is there, standing statue still, staring at nothing in particular. His eyes are bloodshot, a half empty bottle clutched loosely in his left hand. His knife is in the other.
He is oblivious to my presence. Tears gather at his stubbly beard. It is an odd sight. Such sadness, such guilt. I did not think him capable of such feelings.
I glance back at Ryan, only for a split-second, and am horrified at what I see. The pillow is still on his chest. Damn. Nothing says you are guilty quite like leaving the weapon at the murder scene. I begin to backtrack, but soon hold my footing. There is no time. If he catches me in here, I am dead.
I tip-toe towards my room, inch by inch, step by step. He does not look up. As I reach my door I act quickly, leaping through, pulling it to a close. Before it has closed fully, I catch one last look at him. His eyes are on me, now. An evil look, that of a man who has lost something precious; of a man who seeks vengeance. I slam the door, drop the bar into its seat. He has no idea of just how much he has lost. Not yet.
I grab hold of my bedside locker and heave it against the door. Then the dresser, the chest of drawers, the bed itself; anything to obstruct him. Once everything I can lift on my own is pressed against the steel barricade, I sit, wait, listen. It is not long before I hear exactly what I expect to. Screams of pain, shrieks of fury; the cries of a father who has lost a son. I know I am safe all the time I can hear him, but then he goes silent. I hear shuffling, thuds of boots on dust covered concrete. He is coming for me.
My door booms, clangs, rings a chorus of chaotic drumming. I curl up in the corner, hug my knees like little girl lost. It does not take him long to loosen the bar of its fixings. The screw heads snap, shear off as if made of twigs. He bursts through the pile of hastily stacked furniture with effortless ease. I cower away in my shadowy corner as he paces, snorting his rageful grunts.
"You killed him," he hisses. "You killed my boy." I say nothing, bury my face in my knees. "You took my boy from me." His voice is loudening, filled with anger, with hate. "Get up, Little Bud. Get on your fucking feet."
"Please, leave me alone," I utter feebly. My whole body trembles, prickled by what feels like a million tiny pins. "I didn't do anything."
"Didn't do anything?" His face is red, eyes bulging, spit frothing at his mouth as he shouts the words. "You smothered him, you little cunt!"
"I didn't, I-" He lunges forwards, grabs a handful of my hair.
"On your feet, whore." He pulls me up by the fistful. I scream. My scalp feels as if it is on fire, peeling back on itself. As I find my feet, he throws a fist into my stomach. He lets me drop. I curl up, holding my abdomen, cradling the life growing inside of it. I do not know why. Mother's instinct, perhaps. Maybe he has done me a kindness. Maybe he has killed his bastard before it had a chance to be born. I wail with the pain that shoots through me. It seems to reach every last inch of me.
With each breath it begins to pass. I roll onto my back, sit upright. "What are you gonna do with me?" I whimper. He does not answer. He grabs my hair again. The next punch connects with my jaw. Fuck, that hurts. I feel like I have just crashed, face first, into a wall. I lay on my side, dazed, stars dancing in my eyes. I brea
the deeply. The pain begins to subside once more. I am not as scared of him as I once was. There is not much he can do to me that he has not already done. I do not have much left to lose.
I roll onto my back. I touch my hand to my jaw, dabbing gently. "Mum and Daddy will be back soon," I say. "They'll see the bruises and-"
"And what?" he yells. He puts his foot on my throat. I grab at his boot, try to push it off. It does not budge. He is too heavy. I am too weak. He waves his knife before my eyes. "What do you think they'll do, Little Bud? If they ever make it back, I'll cut your dad from balls to brains and see if he actually has any guts after all. I'll cut your mum's poisonous little tongue out, pull each of her teeth, one by one, and fuck her skull till she begs me to put my knife through her heart. That's if she even has one. And as for you, Little Bud ..." He undoes his belt, pulls it from around his waist. He folds it, snaps it together. The whip-like crack echoes, bouncing from wall to wall. I close my eyes as he raises it high and brings it down on my face, across my cheek. It burns, stings with numbness. My eyes open to knuckles. My head is rattled between fist and concrete. The stars return to my vision, dancing in a sea of swirling colour. He is a blur, no solidity to him. Yet I feel his touch, a rough grasp as he wraps his belt around my wrists, ties it off tight. "... You're about to know what true suffering is."
JOHN
Sunday, 20:17
"You're overreacting," I say. I have been listening to Cait's rants since we left. What has she got against David? Why does she hate him so much?
"You've seen what he did to his own child. He's a fucking time bomb, and his time's nearly up." She is upset, I understand. She has grown fond of Ryan, as have I, but we cannot change what has happened, however unfair.
"We need him," I say. If a look could kill, her eyes would have shot a hole straight through me.
"No, we need Ryan," she growls. "A hunter. Not a reckless brute who breaks peoples necks when he loses his rag."
"He made a mistake, Cait," I snap. I am tired of this repetitive conversation. "I'm pretty sure, with all that's happened, he's learnt his lesson."
"And what about your daughter?" she asks. "What lesson has he learnt from her?"
Now she has my attention.
"What do you mean?" My voice rasps with a hiss as I ask it. "What has he done to her?"
"Ask him!" she yells. "Or better still, check the bruises and knife wounds on Rose's neck." I gawk at her, surprised by her outburst, shocked by her revelation. At first, I think it nothing but lies. But then I think better of it. Cait may not always tell me the whole truth, but she never lies.
I pull up kerbside. Cait unbuckles her belt, attempts to leave the vehicle. I stay her with a hand. We are at our destination, but this conversation is far from over.
"He's been harming her?" She nods. "Abusing her?" Another nod. "And you knew all along?" My voice is low, dangerous.
"No," she yelps, "of course not. I only saw her cuts when I checked on her this morning."
"So how do you know it was David?" I ask. Her eyes fall to her knees, hands fidgeting. I know I am not going to like what she has to say. Still, I need to hear it. "Out with it, Cait, for fuck's sake!"
"Because he told me he would, okay?" She is crying. I had not noticed her tears begin to fall. "He came to me and said he would hurt her if I ..."
"If you what?" I ask, frustrated by the sudden pause. She is as silent as a grave. Tears drop, splash on her leggings, but she makes no sound at all. "IF YOU WHAT?!" I lose control, only for a moment. Cait nearly jumps out of her skin. Now, she whimpers, sobs. "I'm sorry." I rest my hand on hers. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."
She looks up from her lap, into my eyes. I hear her words without her ever needing to say them. I let out a sigh, an agonising gasp of betrayal. "I'm so sorry, John." She lunges forwards in her seat, towards me, arms open. "I-"
"How many times?" I snap, pushing her arms away.
"John, I-"
"How many?!" I shout.
She closes her eyes, another tear falls as she does. "Seven," she says. I pull the handle, boot the car door open. "John, wait." She grabs my arm, tries to pull me back in. "Let's talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about," I say, snatching my arm away. "Let's just get this done; for Ryan. I don't want to hear another word from you tonight." I slam the door in her face, walk away. I do not want her to see my tears. She does not deserve to.
The road is silent, as I would expect it to be. Not a soul has set foot here for years, except us. A gale howls above, sending icy whips through the streets that cut like a knife. Either I am getting older, or the winters are getting colder.
I stop when I reach the door. It is dark inside. The moon's light holds no sway in the cramped lobby, or the narrow corridor beyond. "Is this the place?" I ask curtly. Cait nods. I do not waste a glance on her. I grab the handle and slowly pull the door open. I hear nothing but wind, swirling gusts, scattering leaves along the roadside. I lift my foot, ready to bring it down on the other side of the threshold, but pull the step back before it reaches inside. "How could you? After all we've been through, how could you do this to me?"
"I'm sorry," she bleats. "If I could take it back, I would."
"Why did you do it, Cait?" I surrender a small amount of sadness as I ask.
"It was months ago, just after they first found us." I slump to the tarmac, back against the glass frontage, as she continues. "You were out hunting every night with Ryan. Rose locked herself away every night." She crouches in front of me, holds a hand to my cheek. "I was lonely, John. You hadn't touched me in months." I pull away from her touch, bow my head. No one likes to hear hard truths. "He was just there, every night, swaying me with his devilish charm."
"So it's my fault," I snap, eyes leering up at her. "Because I was out every night ensuring our survival, our daughter's survival, you think it justifies fucking another man?"
She stays silent, as do I.
I rise to my feet, take another look into the darkness. I cannot see much, a desk, a few chairs maybe. It is hard to see anything through the veil of black. I take one last look at Cait. She crouches, still. Her eyes are closed, fingers entwined with her curly brown locks, gripping tightly. My hearts aches as I look at her. So long have I held her high up on a pedestal. I guess we all have to fall sooner or later.
I step inside the lobby. The wind dies almost instantly, the once furious roar no more than a distant whistle. My eyes adjust quickly. Things become clear in a blink. The room seems untouched; chairs arranged in neat rows, the desk furnished with pens and paper. It is as if those who worked here just walked out one day and never returned.
"It was always you." Cait appears behind me. She rests her hand on my forearm. "Even when I was with him. You are the one my heart belongs to."
I snatch my arm away. Through gritted teeth, I hiss, "Shame your cunt belongs to anyone who treks this far north." I regret it as soon as I say it. She is sorry, I can tell. That does not stop the bitterness I feel towards her, or him. "What did he say about Rose?"
"He said that if I wasn't willing, he would get his kicks somewhere else," she says meekly. "It doesn't take much to know what he was implying."
I grit my teeth, playing it over in my mind: his hands all over Cait, her moans of pleasure as he thrusts relentlessly. The same with Rose, but her moans are screams of sheer terror as he holds his blade to her back. My blood begins to boil, I feel every muscle tighten. "So it is your fault." She looks at me, incredulous. "You fuck him while my back is turned, and then, once you've had your fill, you step aside and let him prey on our daughter."
"No, it's not like that," she snivels. "I just-"
"I don't give a fuck, Cait." I force as much spite into my words as my broken heart can muster. "You did what you wanted, the rest of us be damned. Then, when you decided it wasn't what you wanted anymore, you put yourself before Rose. It finally makes sense, now. He didn't hurt Ryan to teach him a lesson. He did it because he didn't wa
nt anybody else touching what he thought was his. Don't you see, Cait? Everything that's happened, all the shit that has torn us all apart, left Ryan paralysed, turned Rose into a recluse; it's all your fault."
"I ..." She retreats into herself. "I know," she utters. "I didn't know what to do. I was so scared of losing you and Rose. I'm so sorry, John." I pull her close, hold her tight. She cuddles in. She has no idea. "I love you so much. If I could go back-" I shush her with a finger. The embrace was not meant as a show of affection. I was pulling her clear, shielding her, holding her out of sight. I point beyond the desk, to the corridor at the far side of the lobby. Something is already in here, waiting for us. It knew we were coming.
In such a confined space, I truly see its size: huge, easily double my width and at least a head taller. Armour covers its entirety, dark, glossy; An obsidian knight. A visor spans the face of its helmet, smooth black glass, opaque in appearance, but I know it can see us clearly. It stands fast, watching us as we watch it. Cait reaches inside her coat. As she pulls her hand free, I notice it is not empty.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" I ask abruptly. She smiles, all notions of sadness and self pity pushed far to the back of her mind. She aims, pulls the trigger. The sound is muffled, suppressed, barely a sound at all. Good thing, too. We do not want to attract more of them.
I watch as the bullet hits its mark. It falls to its knees, then onto what was once its face, the remnants of which now besmirch the walls and floor. "C'mon." she says. She is already moving. My lungs burn. Panicked, I have forgotten to breathe. "John, come look at this." She kneels beside it. I creep over warily. "What do you make of this?"
I take a moment, gather my thoughts. Just men, David had said. It is only now, standing over this fallen brute, that I believe him. I see gray matter, cranial fragments; everything I would expect to see in such a wound. Its skull has been blown wide open. Blood and flesh, nothing otherworldly about it.
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