by Mark Ayre
Sudden rage twisted Christina’s face and, before she could catch herself, she had taken a big, sloppy step forward, landing her foot so close to the edge of the stairs he thought for a second she might slip and plummet towards him. That would have solved his problems but wasn’t to be. She saw what she was doing and stepped back, wobbling a little but with eyes fixed firmly on him. He didn’t try to take another step.
“How did you - ah, Sharon.” He nodded. She took another swig. “I didn’t understand at the time. I was not much more than a child. Now though, I know my mother did what was right for the family.”
“But you loved your brother.”
“See, you’re the child. Time to grow up, James.”
At this, he put his head in his hand.
“You’re crazy. Crazy. Even if I accept you couldn’t bear your children being with drug addicts, you think it’s acceptable for your mother to disown her son for loving an Asian girl? That was sickening then, but it’s 2018 don’t you understand? But this was your mothers way so on you plough.
“Sure, Mohsin was a pain, getting suspicious of George, asking questions and refusing to back down, but that wasn’t the worst of it, was it? That wasn’t why you attacked him? You couldn’t stand the thought of your daughter being with an Asian man. That’s why you did it yourself, rather than get your stooges involved.”
“I would not expect you to understand my values, nor do I much care if you do.”
“You make me sick.”
To this, Christina didn’t respond. Her eyes kept on him, and the bottle remained hanging by her side. She didn’t take another drink. James felt himself swaying, as though drunk on the horror of it all. He stared at the woman he had respected so much, remembered how he had wished his mother could be like her. How wrong had he been?
“You’re lucky you chose the green dress that night,” he said, and Christina cocked her head in a questioning manner. “Of course you weren’t expecting Charlie to be kidnapped, and the spotlight to shine on the street. How glad you must have been George was in a car with Claire, fucking up an alibi. I saw the two of them though. Saw his suit and her dress. Only she was wearing green too. If you’d worn something else, maybe I wouldn’t have been fooled.”
But he didn’t think that was true. He had believed because he wanted to. Had the dress been a different colour, he no doubt still would have found a way. He turned to the door, pointed at the chair.
“I told you Mohsin was awake. I guess that was a mistake. Now he has to go. Emma’s a lost cause so what, you’d kill your daughter? You might regret that when you wake up hungover in the morning.”
Christina raised her bottle, swigged deeply from it, drank and drank until it was all gone. She chucked it without noticing he was now only one step from the top.
“There won’t be any more mornings. For me, or any of us.”
“One thing I don’t understand.”
The box slid open. Her fingers were on the match. He was poised, ready to go, but this he needed to know.
“Why did you kill Mac?”
“Oh, James. Luke killed Mac.”
“No. Luke disappeared the first night. He had achieved what he needed to, and there was no one to stick around for. Nothing since then has involved him. I should have known as soon as I saw the note. Different handwriting to the first. So why do it? Why kill her?”
“That,” Christina said, “is knowledge you will have to go without.”
James was stunned. He had expected answers. He paused, and that might have been fatal.
She plucked a match from the box. Then he was moving. Diving up the last step and barrelling towards her as she went to strike it.
Crash.
They hit the wall, sending the match and box flying. He kicked the chair from the door as he went after Christina, scrabbling to grab what she had lost.
“Now’s the time to get out.”
Once more Christina had the match and box in her hand and was standing.
He charged again as the door burst open. He grabbed her, and they grappled as she screamed and cried and demanded he release her.
“I did everything. Everything for them.”
Behind them, someone was calling, and she was tugging and scratching at his eyes. As she went for one last strike of the match, he pulled her with all his might, and they fell.
He hit the bannister and knew it would not save them. In this old house, nothing was sturdy.
Their weight took the bannister out. He felt it crumple and they were falling, tumbling over the edge and down the side, crashing to the ground below.
Here he lay, his world fading out of focus, his head swimming yet again and as he fell into unconsciousness, he could hear only Christina, whispering beside him, saying the same words again and again.
“I did my best for my family. I did my best for my family. I did my best for my -“
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mohsin was by James’ side when he woke. That was weird. They had yet to speak more than a few words to each other. First Mohsin had been hospitalised. Now James.
He knew he was in hospital. Could tell by the bright lights glaring off-white walls, the septic smell in the air, the constant beep, beep, beep of the heart monitors, and the rough feel of the cheap sheets cocooning him. He was one meal from completing the five sense hospital experience. Or maybe an orally taken pill. That would do it.
“Good to see you again,” Mohsin said, and James returned the sentiment.
Although the man above him looked tired and weak, he was okay. Recovering from the attack. The only good news James could take from all this.
“Christina?” he asked. His throat was sore, but he was feeling okay. No doubt down to the morphine. Or perhaps he had suffered so much pain over the last couple of days he had become immune. He liked that idea but didn’t suppose it would be the case.
“She’s fine. Healthwise, anyway. Doc's checking her over now, and by the end of the week, she'll be in a cell. Emma has two brothers on the run, and in a matter of days, she’ll be looking at both parents locked up. It’s been quite a weekend.”
“Good,” James said, then, off Mohsin’s look: “that Christina and George could go to jail. Maybe the girls at EKC will be safe from abuse, and you and Emma can be together.”
Mohsin laughed at this, then held up a hand in defence.
“It’s true about the girls at EKC, and I thank you for getting that out in the open. But Emma and I are not going to be together.”
“Why not? You seemed pretty keen when she dragged you upstairs at the party on Friday, and you met at the shack last night.”
As he asked this, he remembered his theory about Mo working with Mac and Luke. Goosebumps ran along his arm, and he shifted in discomfort.
Mohsin didn’t notice. He was smiling as though James was simple.
“The night I was attacked I was asking Emma about her father. I told her what I found and asked for her help, which she promised me. We met at the shack to talk about her mother. She wanted to know if Christina attacked me and I was happy to confirm. But us, dating? Please. I thought I had a chance with Mac -“ at this he broke off, saddened by his loss. He would feel that for now. Maybe not once he had a chance to think about how she had used him while seeing Luke on the side if that was the case. “But me and Emma are nothing more than friends. I’m not her type.”
“No?”
James wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He had been falling for Megan and was sure Emma held only contempt for him. But he remembered the night they had spent together. How things seemed to change. Could feelings develop there? He wasn’t sure and tried to push the thought away, looking instead at the screen of Mohsin’s phone, now being held inches from his face.
“Look.”
“What is it?” James asked.
“A double date. Me and Sasha - my ex - Emma and -“
“Alex.”
He reached forward. Took the phone. Stared at the screen an
d the picture in front of him. Wondering if the horrors of this weekend would ever end. If only he had never fallen off that curb. He would have seen the warring women, got scared, and walked away.
None of this would have happened to him.
“We’ve never been more than friends,” Mohsin was saying, but James was no longer listening. His heart was pounding, and it was showing on the heart monitor. Mohsin looked at it and put down his phone.
“Are you okay? Shall I get a nurse?”
“I’m fine. I just need some rest.”
Mohsin wasn’t sure, but he stood, and they said their goodbyes. Then James was alone, lying in his bed, distressed and filled with fear.
He could see it now, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place, but he didn’t want to see it. Was afraid to see it. Because of what it meant to him.
Eventually, a doctor came, and he was given something that would help him sleep. He was grateful for it. Monday night was closing in. Another day was done, and even as the dark thoughts turned within, all he wanted to do was -
Rushing water. On and on and never-ending. It crashes through the dark, hitting the stone walls, some of it flicking onto the banks. All the time interspersed with -
The beep of the hospital monitor, erratic, first fast, then slow as James tries to settle, as he sees -
Luke, walking down the steps, approaching with a morbid expression and darkness in his eyes. He lowers his hood and says -
“Hello, James.”
Still, the water crashes, but that wasn’t Luke’s voice. He steps forward and holds out a hand. James doesn’t want to take it, but he isn’t in control. His arm lifts, their palms touch. Luke squeezes, except it isn’t Luke, it’s -
“Emma?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
One hand has his, and the other comes towards his chest except it isn’t hers it’s -
Luke’s again. The palm on James’ chest and he can’t fight. He is being shoved back, and he feels the slippery surface beneath him. Hears the water, louder than ever, and knows it is hungry. Another step back and this time there is nothing to land on, and he is -
He jerked at the sensation of falling and felt pain stab at him. This woke him a little and he was able to hold onto the present for a second, though he knew it wouldn’t last long. Above him Emma sat, watching. Her hand hovering where she tried to touch his chest. He shuffled towards her, and she lowered her hand, touching him. It was soft but troubling. He thought about the picture Mohsin showed him. About Katy and Alex. The difference between cocaine and weed.
“The reason your mum killed Alex… it had nothing to do with drugs, did it?”
“Doubtful.”
“Mohsin showed me a picture. You two together. You looked a cute couple.”
To this she said nothing. Still held his hand but the other came away from her chest. Dropped by her side, limp. He stared at it a few seconds, then met her eyes again.
“You took Charlie, didn’t you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Lots of reasons. It’s true, isn’t it?”
He needed her to say it. Was desperate for her to confess before he slipped away. Because he was falling again. Slipping into memories and over the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor there was -
Water rushing onwards. Hungry water. Black water and -
Bright white walls that seemed to be splattered with -
Blood. It’s on the floor too, and his dad is hovering over the body of his uncle. Sobbing. James sees what he is going to do and wants to shout out, but all he can do is wonder why it smells so strongly of -
Antiseptic, mixed with Emma’s perfume. Not just that though, he can smell -
The woods, long ago. The sweat of two boys running and playing, away from everything, except, the mood is turning, an argument brewing and -
He was drifting.
“Emma, please.”
“I spoke to Megan. She told me about your last meeting with Luke. Tell me what happened. Tell me how you know I was involved.”
“Lots of reasons. I saw the picture and -“
“The truth. Last chance.”
The pounding water. The fight. Luke is screaming and screaming and -
“I know. I know because -“
He didn’t want to see it, but it paraded in the back of his mind. He looked at Emma and knew she saw it too.
“When did you last speak to your brother?”
“Three months ago. He stopped calling.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I suppose that makes sense.”
“How do you know I kidnapped Charlie?”
“I know because it has to be you because he can’t have been involved.”
She continued to stare. He looked away, felt sleep grab at him.
“Luke can’t have done it, because I killed him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Stories can be doctored. Dreams, too.
For the first time, James dreams the truth, as best as he can. He feels it all as it was the first time, and it is far worse than any nightmare could ever be.
He is at the river bank. The water is racing. Luke is yelling.
“Fuck you. It was a huge mistake, and I’m trying to apologise. Why don’t you accept it and move on?“
The words are spat with venom. Real anger and hatred. The moment they are out the face that expelled them crumples into misery yet again.
“I’m sorry, James, I’m sorry. I never meant to.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you.”
The anger is building now. Like a black snowball it rolls, growing in size with every turn. Quickly, it is becoming too large to manage. Before long, it will be unstoppable.
“This was not some slip and fall. This was no mistake. You had music and candles. You waited until I was out of town and you seduced her. Bedded her. You -“
“Fell in love with her. James, I’ve fallen in love with her. I never wanted that to happen. You’re my mate -“
“No. You’re lying. Lying.”
“I’m not. I know it’s hard, but you two weren’t right for each other. You weren’t working. James, listen to me, I love her. I love her.”
“No.”
The anger is reaching critical mass. He rushes forward, shoves Luke hard. The move takes his betraying friend by surprise. He slips, goes over almost comically, landing on his back and smacking his head.
For a moment, he is still, and the shock is a block in the road, holding the rolling ball of anger. James steps towards his friend with panic touching his heart.
“Luke, are you -“
Luke moves fast. Rising to his feet like a magician and swinging a fist. James barely has time to register its arrival, and he is spinning from impact, his jaw roaring in pain. He falls, and as his hand stops him going all the way, he feels more pain shoot up his arm.
He looks to the betrayer’s face but sees only a foot crashing towards him. It hits his shoulder, and now he does collapse onto wet concrete. He looks at his friend and sees all apologies and regrets are over. The anger has built-in Luke as it has in James and he is about to lose it.
“Fuck you. I’ve tried to apologise, and you don’t want to listen. You want to attack me well fuck you -“
His foot again. It hits James in his stomach, and he folds. If something has been holding James’ anger, the foot knocks such blockage from its path. Now it is rolling faster than ever, growing vaster than ever. He remembers only two times he has felt this angry. A laughing boy and a laughing man. Toby, who pretended to be his friend then mocked him behind his back. Uncle, who took his mother then laughed in James’ face about it.
He sees them both at once. In the woods, he shoves Toby hard and watches him roll over and over down the hill. In his father’s bedroom, he is on the floor, but takes the metal picture frame and swings it. Toby lands, head hitting a rock. Uncle falls, smacking the bedside table. In both cases blood spits in anger towards James.
From the woods, he runs. Terror to
uching his eyes and fear touching his heart. Would have run from the bedroom, too, but his uncle is laughing at him still, although there is blood at his skull. He continues to laugh as James sees red and falls, landing on uncle and bringing the frame down again and again and he is crying and screaming until rough hands pull him away. Drag him and snatch the picture frame. James stares into the eyes of the man who raised him and realises what he has done, far too late to fix it. He promises himself he will never lose his temper like that again but years later, by the roaring river -
Luke’s foot swings again. With a yell, James catches it, pulls hard and fast. Luke slips for a second time and goes to ground. Now Luke shouts and scrabbles round. Pulls himself to his feet and almost slips again as he does. By the time he gets steady and turns James is up too, half aware that there is something wet and heavy in his hands.
“I’m going to be with her James. I love her, and I’m going to -“
James swings without thought. The picture frame hits Luke around the side of the head. It is not big, but large enough to send Luke to ground again. Large enough to draw a lot of blood. The wounded’s hand clutches the place where the blood is flowing. Soon the white of his skin is red too. His hair is fast becoming matted with it, and his neck looks like a stone slab beneath a cursed water feature as the blood trickles over it. It is far worse than with his uncle, and James stares at the picture frame, horrified. Except, this is no picture frame. It is a chunk of concrete, and it has done far more damage.
James looks into the eyes of his victim. They are full of hatred, but weakening with each passing second. He does not talk, but James does.
“I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry. Let me help.”
And he wants to. He really wants to. He has dropped to the concrete, and he begins to lower himself towards Luke.
But Luke has other ideas.
He screams a word that James cannot make out and comes forward. A blood streaked hand hits James, and he falls, hitting the wet slabs of the bank yet again. Luke is standing above him, covered in blood and looking quite mad. He leaps forward and, out of instinct, James lifts his legs and kicks.
