Should Have Killed The Kid

by Frederick Hamilton, R.

  After handing one to the soldier – who didn't thank him, just stared flintily – Dave took a sip of his own and immediately coughed and wheezed at the alcoholic burn that ignited his throat. Across from him, the soldier had a similar reaction.

  Marge laughed and slapped her knee.

  'Ha. Put fucking hairs on your chest or what? Old family recipe, that one. Looked like you all could use it.'

  Dave stared into the cup at the innocuous looking brown liquid that sloshed around the rim. It was the first taste of alcohol he'd had since the whole thing started and despite swearing then that he'd never drink again, it fit him like an old set of clothes.

  Here we go again. Knew you wouldn't be able to last. Naomi's voice carried a knowing tone but Dave didn't care.

  He pushed it away and took a second, more ambitious mouthful. The liquid scalded his mouth as he gulped it down, the image of Naomi shaking her head at him doing nothing now that he'd got a taste.

  He surfaced, gasping, to find Marge peering at him over the rim of her own cup. Something about her eyes made him think that she knew exactly what was running through his head. He didn't know if it was just paranoia, but he couldn't help thinking she knew exactly what effect the spiked drink would have on him. The look made him deeply uncomfortable as Sally finally sat down in the armchair.

  The wince told Dave that it was a painful process.

  'As I was saying.' Marge kept the honeyed tones she'd used to talk to the boy but her words didn't quite mesh right after she took a sip of her coffee and smacked her lips. 'It's a mighty fine fucking mess all around, isn't it? Was it really that difficult? Knowing the consequences and everything and you still couldn't do it?'

  Dave winced and tried his best to avoid the soldier's eyes as they narrowed.

  'I don't know that it went quite like–' Dave started to protest.

  'Bah,' Marge waved her hand, dismissing the remainder of his sentence. 'I'm just fucking with you. Monty fessed up to what he did. Fucking ridiculous behaviour. Cunt should have known better. There was no fucking way you should have been put in that situation in the first place. Normally it's months before you're even allowed near one of the bluestone rooms... Shouldn't be surprised though, I guess. Poor fucker never was right in the head after that wife of his up and carked it. Hard enough being a fucking gatekeeper let alone being one with without a support group. That takes a... more specialised sort of personality. Should have really seen something like this coming. Hindsight's a fucking bitch, right?'

  Marge paused for a sip of her drink and looked Dave up and down.

  He did his best to ignore the appraisal while simultaneously keeping an eye on the soldier to see how she was reacting. Her attitude since their words in the car had not exactly been friendly. He couldn't help thinking that she was going to abruptly leap from her chair and throttle him. Screaming: HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING WHAT YOU'RE PLANNING!

  'Still, I've got no fucking idea what the hell Monty saw in you. Don't know why he'd thought it'd be sensible to hand you the knife. No offence intended but even in the short time we've been acquainted, you don't exactly strike me as the fucking pinnacle of back-bone.' For just a brief second, a cruel twist worked its way into the old lady's smile as she leant forward and hissed, 'Probably shat your pants when you saw all those bodies, didn't you?' She speared him with her gaze, chuckling. Dave blinked, too startled by the sudden transformation to be really freaked out until a second later when Marge leant back and grinned and he began to wonder if the short interlude had really taken place or just been in his head.

  Whichever it was, it chilled him to the core.

  There's something not right about her, he thought and immediately congratulated himself on achieving the understatement of the decade. Really? No shit. There's two dead people strapped to rocking chairs in her house. A dead husband in her car and you're finally putting all the pieces together, Sherlock.

  'What do you mean by it being appropriate to give him the knife?' Sally asked and Dave winced. The saliva dried to a paste in his mouth.

  Marge slowly looked from Dave to the soldier.

  'She doesn't kn–'

  'I told you, remember?' Dave realised he was a little hasty cutting the old lady off but had no choice except to continue. 'Remember how I said Monty tried to get me to kill a child. It was on the drive up and because I didn't, that's why all this shit happened.' Dave babbled hoping it'd distract from what he was pretty sure Marge had been about to reel off. 'It's–'

  Sally's eyes shot daggers at him and Dave trailed off when he realised he probably wasn't helping matters. He returned to gulping his drink, seeking comfort in the familiar burn. Whatever was in it had a kick. He already felt a little light headed.

  Yeah right, that's the way, hide away in the bottle, Naomi's voice picked the perfect moment to chime in. Dave already felt horrible. The extra little bit of icing almost brought him to tears.

  It took him a moment and another couple of quick sips to shake it off.

  'Why are the bodies out there?' Sally inclined her head toward the hall and Dave hissed at the tersely worded question.

  Why the fuck would you draw attention to it!

  Marge didn't answer at first and Dave felt the taste in his mouth turn progressively sour.

  'Come here, boy.' When she did finally speak, her words were not what he expected. She leant forward and held out a hand. Obediently the kid walked over. 'Now what's your name, little man?' she asked and Dave realised that he'd not got around to asking that yet.

  'It's Will,' the kid mumbled, distracted as he still kept one eye on his miraculously healed hand.

  Dave wished he'd remained silent. He immediately felt something inside him recoil. You can't do it now, you know his name.

  'And do you like cake, Will? I think you might do, mightn't you?'

  The kid nodded vigorously.

  'I asked you a question–' the soldier started to interrupt.

  Marge glared at her.

  'I heard you.' All warmth leeched from her voice. 'It's just that some fucking things should not be fucking discussed in front of a fucking child.'

  The soldier's pinched features left Dave unsure who the most pissed off one was: her or the old lady. When Sally opened her mouth Dave thought she it was to argue. He could easily see the situation escalating. Neither seemed the type to back down. Fortunately the soldier seemed to think better of it and after a second of glaring closed her mouth again, nodded, then looked away. The muscle in her jaw still pulsed away though, and Dave's unease did not abate one iota.

  Marge returned to the kid.

  'So you like cake, then?'

  Back to the honeyed tones.

  The kid nodded, although, by the way he looked from the old lady to the soldier, he knew something was up.

  'Well that's just goddamn fortunate as I think if you go through into the kitchen there you'll find a big slice of one right in the fridge.' Despite, his obvious unease, a faint smile played over Will's mouth at Marge's words. 'Yeah, you like that? Well that's fine but you've got to do me one favour first, okay? Yes. You've got to promise me that you are going to eat the whole thing for me. That you'll stay in the kitchen and won't come out until it's all finished. Can you do that for me, Will?'

  'Okay.' Will nodded again, though his voice still contained a hint of wariness.

  Probably can't believe something good's happening for a change, Dave thought.

  'Good boy.' Marge patted him on the head. 'Go on, now, that's the way.' Will obediently bounded across the floor and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Marge turned back to the soldier.

  She whistled softly under her breath.

  'That arm looks bad. Could probably fix that up for you.'

  'Stay away from me,' Sally hissed and reached toward her hip. Dave thought it looked like a reflex. Like she was reaching for her gun that she'd lost back when they'd fled from the skyscraper. Marge's eyes narrowed at the gesture and a very bad fe
eling buzzed in Dave's stomach.

  For a moment he felt certain Marge would attack the soldier. The fire in her eyes was that strong. But the moment passed and Marge smiled, her stony gaze abruptly lighting up.

  'Feisty fucker, aren't you?' She laughed but the soldier didn't share her mirth.

  'Why are ther–' she started to ask.

  'Oh that's my son and Mary, his daughter, my granddaughter.'

  The off hand way that the old lady reeled off the information chilled Dave to the core. As did the casual manner in which she sipped at her drink afterward. Even Sally faltered for a response in the wake of the revelation.

  A beat passed during which time Dave buried his head in his hands and rubbed at his face, a part of him hoping it was all just some sort of bizarre hallucination.

  Marge snorted.

  'Oh don't look at me like that.' Dave assumed she spoke to the soldier. 'They all knew it might come down to something like this eventually... and well, even if they didn't, they probably should have. I needed their blood for the warding spell. What the fuck else was I meant to do? Protecting the portal is the only thing that matters. One breech is far more than enough... And I must say that I have done a fucking masterful job too. If it wasn't for that spell you're turning your nose up at, we wouldn't be fucking sitting around here all civilised like. The portal would probably be drawing those things like a moth to a flame. Like a fucking beacon.'

  Marge paused for another sip and Dave risked a look up. It was a mistake. She grinned and winked at him just as he raised his eyes, and he felt something clench in the pit of his stomach.

  'Bunch of whining cunts anyway,' Marge added under her breath and the thing in his guts clenched even tighter.

  It suddenly fully clicked for him.

  She's a nutcase. A complete fucking psychopath.

  'And before you think to go and take it on yourself to do more exploring to uncover further horrors. There's two more down that way.' Marge pointed to the hall. 'Grandson and that whore my boy took up with. And if you're about to get up on your high horse over that then I better tell you not to bother. If it wasn't for sacrifices like this then none of this shit you take for granted would be here. Would've been fucking overrun years ago. These cunts had been trying to bust through for decades. Fucking centuries now. These fucking portals have almost doubled in the last decade alone. And the only thing holding them back has been us. And what you see around you. So you can fucking wipe that look right off your face.'

  Dave wasn't certain what look she was referring to. His face felt completely numb and paralysed. Marge didn't pause to explain.

  'You have no idea what it's like. Don't get me wrong, Monty fucked up bad. But it was only a matter of time before something was going to happen. Too many cooks. That's what the problem is. Though I must say I always thought it was going to be a fucking newbie who dropped the ball. Necessity forced us to lower the standards. Never thought old Monty would be the one to bring it all unstuck. Shit, the gatekeeper's been in his family since the days of fucking yore. Hent was one of the first portals to appear in Australia.' Marge shook her head and snorted. 'Ha, just goes to show what I've always said. Don't fall in love. Fucks you up every time. Ain't that right, Dave?'

  Caught off guard by the abrupt question Dave found himself nodding as he thought about how Naomi's voice still lingered despite all the other bad shit that had occurred since the break up. As soon as he realised what he was doing he stopped though, feeling a little shocked that the old lady had got him to so readily agree with her.

  'What the hell are you talking about?' the soldier hissed through clenched teeth. 'What the fuck do you mean by portals?'

  Marge's eyes flicked to Dave. 'You haven't told her?'

  Dave felt his eyes widen. 'Well... Um... It's... I don't...'

  Marge sighed and rubbed her wrinkled forehead a few of times.

  'Monty didn't tell you either, did he? Oh sweet holy fuck. What a fucking balls up. I fucking told that cunt when he came floating on through whining about how this was the end for him and all. I told him – and you can fucking quote me on this, "You need to make sure he knows what to do in case I don't make it in time".' Marge shook her head. 'Just out of curiousity what the fuck were you planning on doing when I showed up? What, were you just going to drive and hope for the best? Did Monty even explain the ritual to you?'

  'Ah, he said that I should drive and that I'd know–'

  'And you didn't fucking think to clarify? Do you even realise how precious a resource that child is? Have you even stopped to think how many others there are around at the moment? Especially in these parts? I'll fucking tell you, Dave, alright? A big fat, fucking zilch and you just want to throw away the last shot we have.'

  'He's going to kill it, isn't he?' the soldier interjected quietly when Marge finally paused for breath and Dave felt his own cut off in a hitching hiccup.

  'Of course he's going to fucking kill it,' Marge scoffed. 'Obviously you've missed the major gist of what's going on at the moment but to put it to you short and fucking sweet, that boy is our only fucking hope of salvation. Without him there's no hope of salvaging anything from this motherfucking shit fight of a balls up–'

  'You can't do that,' the soldier said, once more in the quiet tone though it still managed to cut across Marge's ranting.

  'Excuse me?' Marge remedied that by raising her volume substantially.

  'What, are you deaf as well as psychotic?' Sally abandoned her softer tones and snapped instead. 'I said you can't fucking do this. It's not right.'

  'Not right? NOT FUCKING RIGHT? WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW, HUH? What the fuck have you done that would make you think you can sit there and–'

  'WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE? I CAN FUCKING TELL YOU WHAT I HAVEN'T DONE. CAN YOU GUESS WHAT THAT–'

  'OH, FUCKING LOOK AROUND YOU. LEAVE YOUR FUCKING PREACHY SHITE AT THE DOOR. THINGS HAVE CHANGED, IF YOU'RE NOT AWARE OF IT–

  'YEAH JUST TRY AND–'

  'WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, HUH? I COULD FUCKING TURN YOU INSIDE OUT, JUST LIKE FUCKING THAT?'

  The old lady clicked her fingers and silence blossomed. Despite her bluster the soldier paled somewhat. Dave used the moment to interject.

  'What do you mean some hope?' His voice came out all croaky and he had to repeat himself a second time to be heard. But he persevered. Something about the old lady's phrasing had struck a bad chord with him.

  'Ha!' Marge scoffed turning to shake her head at him. 'What you thought you'd go and kill the kid and that would be that, instant cure? Poof, everything's fine again?'

  Marge's words sent panic rocketing through Dave.

  'What do you mean?'

  'What, you thought it would be that simple?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Don't know what the fuck Monty ever saw in you.'

  'WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!' Dave's voice rose in volume with each mocking sentence.

  'Fucking no wonder that you dropped the fucking ball on–'

  'WHAT DID YOU ME–'

  'SILENCE!!!' Marge roared and Dave's jaw shut with a click mid sentence. The menace in her voice was impossible to miss and the image of the dead man strapped to the rocking chair flooded Dave's mind, leaving him lost for words.

  'How'd you go?' As Dave gaped, Marge abruptly underwent another transformation. The screaming nutter vanished, replaced by the saccharine sweet grandma once more as she called to the kid who stood uncertainly in the kitchen doorway.

  The chocolate smears that ringed the kid's mouth as he stared around cautiously indicated it'd been a pretty successful mission.

  'What the hell–' the soldier started to protest.

  'Shut it.' Marge hissed out of the corner of her mouth before returning her attention to the kid.

  'Come here. It's okay.' She held out her hands.

  After another look around, the kid walked forward and let her envelop him in a hug. Dave felt sick to the stomach watching the display. He wondered: how can she be so nic
e when she's going to have a hand in killing him? Until he realised that it pretty much mirrored his behaviour up until that point and the sick feeling grew worse.

  'Now,' Marge patted the kid on the head, having released him from her hug. Dave focused on that, grateful for any distraction as the unanswerable question floated through his mind. Could I do it? Could I really do it? 'I think everyone's getting a little tired, what do you think?' Marge continued to stroke Will's hair though the quick glance she shot out of the corner of her eye let Dave know who the true audience for her words was meant to be. 'How about we have a little quiet, hey? At least until maybe you can get some sleep. What do you say, Will? Would you like a little quiet?'.

  'You can't fucking–' the soldier chirped up in protest once more.

  'No. I said silence.' Marge held a finger against her lips. 'I'm sure we can all work out the concept, can't we, Will?' The old lady cooed to the kid who couldn't quite stop a grin from creeping across his face.

  The soldier, despite her injured arm was up off the couch in a second, her cheeks flaming red with anger.

  Oh fuck, here we go, Dave thought but the soldier didn't attack the old lady like he expected. Instead after a tense, drawn out moment, she turned and stalked from the room.

  Marge watched her go, a faint grin playing across her wrinkled face.

  'Don't go outside,' she called out in a faux helpful tone and then turned to wink at Dave again as though it was some hilarious joke.

  He didn't know what reaction she expected but clearly it wasn't the one he gave. The smile dropped from her face and, just as quickly, Dave dropped his eyes to the floor to avoid her glare.

  Dave gently returned his glass to the coffee table when his shaking hands threatened to spill the remaining contents.

  Marge barked a short burst of laughter at his discomfort and Dave could just imagine her ruffling the kid's hair again.

  'Come on, let's get you some rest, huh? Get you off to bed.'

  22.

  Dave tried his best to sleep but couldn't quite relax enough to get there. Too many difficulties stood in his path. First was the rapidly discovered fact that although the couch appeared comfortable on first inspection, that couldn't have been further from the truth. The cushions that covered it were threadbare at best and after a half hour, it felt as though he was sprawled directly on the slats underneath. Adding to his discomfort was the fact that he couldn't turn his brain off. Couldn't stop running over his current situation. Running over how badly things had gone off the rails.