Relaxing her aching shoulders, Emily felt the sudden urge to laugh. Instead, she replaced the torch between the tree roots, took up the shovel in both hands, and resumed digging.
Minutes passed. The rain refused to ease off. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deepen the hole without it filling with muddy rainwater. It wasn’t just spilling in from the surface, it was seeping through the earth itself. Emily stopped digging and spent the next minute scooping up water and throwing it out. It was a hopeless task; like Sisyphus from Greek mythology, doomed in an endless cycle of pushing a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down.
Giving up, she pushed the shovel back into the mud and dug faster. Her muscles complained. Doubt and frustration plagued her. It was the flowers that had brought her here. The flowers and the tattoo. But perhaps she had confused their meaning. Perhaps she was out here digging up nothing but dirt and rock while someone else was drawing their last breaths.
She had her answer a minute later. The shovel struck something that didn’t feel like earth or stone. A tree root, she wondered, as she cautiously poked around with the edge of the shovel. She stared into the dark pool that sloshed about her knees. She grabbed the torch and pointed it downwards. The water was too murky to penetrate.
Repulsion crawled up Emily’s spine as she realised what she would have to do. Tossing the shovel onto the ground, she set the torch on the edge of the pit. Then, taking, a deep, calming breath, she sank down into the icy water. It rushed through her jeans, biting her legs and making her bones ache. Emily clenched her teeth and peered into the murk. Then, she thrust her hands under the water.
The earth was already taking back what the shovel had found. She clawed at the wet soil, raking it back. Her fingers brushed against something soft and sinewy. Emily cried out. Her back slammed into the side of the earth. Trembling with both cold and fear, she took in another breath, balanced herself, and plunged her hands into the water once more.
She dug back the earth and found what she’d been looking for. Ignoring the bile rising in her throat, she ran her fingers along its round contours, tracing the forehead, the nose, the hollows of the eyes.
Her hand moved lower, scooping earth away from the neck, the shoulders, the left arm. Her fingers moved down and rested upon the hand. Gently gripping the wrist, Emily freed the arm and lifted it out of the water.
Nausea choked her. She stared at the limb in horror, almost letting go. Without the protection of a coffin, nature had gone to work on the body, sucking it dry of nutrients, withering it like a dead tree. But even though decomposition was occurring at an accelerated rate, the skin still clung to the bones like old leather.
Terror devoured Emily’s insides. She fought it, pushing it to the corners of her mind. Scooping up a handful of water, she poured it over the arm, then gently wiped away the remaining dirt.
The tattoo was faded, barely there, but she could see the arrows pointing outwards in the shape of a star. It was the same symbol carved into the tree above her. The same symbol drawn in Sam’s blood. Horror swarmed over Emily’s skin like flies. She let go of the limb and watched it sink beneath the muddy pool.
Franklyn Hobbes had never left Meadow Pines. He was dead. Murdered. Buried in a shallow grave. And Melody had been there the night he’d been killed.
Hoisting herself out of the pit, Emily pulled her knees up to her chest and shuffled backwards until she the felt tree trunk press up against her spine. The cold dug into her ribs and nipped at her skin.
Two options presented themselves. Either Pamela had told the truth—or what she believed to be the truth—or she had lied to cover up Franklyn’s murder. If she was being honest, how could Melody’s presence be explained? Franklyn had visited Meadow Pines twice. Melody had not been in the photograph taken on his first visit. Yet, there were images of Franklyn on Melody’s tablet, as well as photographs of flowers left on his grave.
Emily’s thoughts turned to Pamela. By the time Franklyn Hobbes had returned to experience his psychotic breakdown, Meadow Pines had been facing financial trouble. Pamela had said it herself—involving the police would have led to public knowledge and an irreparably damaged reputation. She had covered up Franklyn’s attack on Marcia. But what if she had also covered up the truth of what had happened afterwards?
Emily’s mind spun a dizzying web of scenarios and possibilities. Unearthing Franklyn’s body had only resulted in unearthing more questions. As she mentally played out the events of the last two days, her eyes wandered back to the shallow grave. Whatever had happened that night, it was clear that Melody was at the centre of it all. Why else would Pamela cover up her presence? Why else would there be pictures of Franklyn and his grave stored on her tablet? And there was something else. Following Franklyn’s disappearance, Melody’s face had appeared in Pamela’s photograph album with such frequency that one would be forgiven for thinking she’d taken up residence at Meadow Pines.
As much as she didn’t want to believe it, Emily could only reach one conclusion: Melody had killed Franklyn Hobbes and Pamela had covered it up.
Perhaps Melody had acted in self-defence. Perhaps not. A threat to Meadow Pines would be a threat to her only real escape from desperate loneliness. What had happened in Melody’s life for her to have ended up in the wastelands of society, unwanted and unloved? Emily felt a rush of empathy, of sadness. She tried to think of an alternative explanation for the evidence that she’d uncovered that would relinquish Melody of guilt, but no matter how many paths she followed, they all ended at the same destination.
Melody killed Franklyn Hobbes. Did that mean she had also killed the others?
Emily stood. She looked down at her wet and soiled clothing, at her shivering hands. Had Oscar shown Franklyn’s picture to Melody? Had she flown into a blind panic and killed him before he could find out what she’d done? But what about Sam and Marcia? Why had she hurt the people that she claimed were her friends?
Emily’s head spun. She could feel the beginnings of a headache. Every question she asked was like a blooming flower, the petals unfurling to reveal yet more mysteries. Emily didn’t have the answers. But she knew someone who just might.
Picking up the torch, she cast one final look at Franklyn’s grave, pulled up the hood of her raincoat, and started back towards the house.
She had just reached the meadow when a shrill scream soared high over the treetops. Emily stopped dead in her tracks. Like a dying star, the scream faded, leaving only the fizz of drizzle on grass. Blood pulsing in her ears, Emily turned away from the house and headed north, back into the forest. Ten minutes later, she came to a stop behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. The rain had finally relented. Above the canopy, clouds were dispersing. In the near distance, Emily saw moonlight glancing off the lake like shattered shards of mirror.
Switching off the torch, she tucked it into her coat pocket and moved up to the next tree. She cocked her head and listened. There had been no more screaming. Now, she heard the lake lapping softly against the shore and somewhere overhead, the low hoot of an owl. She moved closer. A light cut through the trees, yellow and bright.
Emily was running out of forest. Fifty metres to the west, she could see the jetty jutting out over the lake. A lantern sat at the end, illuminating the surrounding water and the small rowboat that jostled and pulled on its tethers. There was something else on the jetty, long and crumpled like a pile of cloth. Emily squinted in the dark. The pile of cloth moved. It moaned and squirmed.
“Marcia!” Emily breathed. She was still alive. Adrenaline racing through her veins, Emily moved towards her. She kept low and to the shadows, wincing at the crunches and snaps of the forest floor beneath her feet. She edged closer, suddenly aware of the danger she was putting herself in. The only weapons she possessed were the torch and her bare hands.
The jetty was five feet in front of her. Marcia lay on her side, turned away from Emily. Coils of rope bound her arms to her torso and tied her ankles together. Her cloth
ing was muddy and torn. Marcia shifted her head. Streaks of drying blood caked her hair.
Emily looked back into the forest and across the shore of the lake. Then, pulse racing, she stepped out from the trees. Fear gripped her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She moved quickly, stealing glances over her shoulder as she made her way to the end of the jetty. Her eyes moved to the boat. As she came closer, Marcia thrashed violently. Her moans became frightened sobs. She rolled onto her front and began choking on the gag in her mouth. Emily rushed to her side.
“It’s going to be all right. You’re safe now. I’m going to help you.” She put her hands on Marcia’s shoulder and felt her flinch. “I’m not going to hurt you. I have to turn you over so I can untie you.”
With one hand on Marcia’s shoulder and one on her hip, Emily rolled her over onto her back. Light from the lantern spilled across her face.
Emily stopped breathing. For a second, confusion fogged her mind. Then, she fell back onto her haunches. She’d been mistaken. Lying on the jetty, tied and gagged and peering up with terrified eyes, was Melody.
It took another five seconds before Emily came to her senses. Springing forwards, she pulled the gag from Melody’s mouth.
“Help me!” Melody cried. “Please, help me!”
Her eyes moved over Emily’s shoulder, growing wide with terror.
Emily spun around in time to see a shadowy figure, then a large chunk of wood swinging towards her head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The pain in her temple forced her awake. She tried to open her eyes and found she could only manage the right one. Her vision filled with a vast black field of countless stars. She watched them sway from left to right, right to left, the motion repeating over and over until she felt sick.
She tried to sit up but was unable to move. The surface beneath her head was hard. She smelled damp wood, mould, spoiled water. She tried to move again but it was as if her wrists and ankles were cemented together. A wave of pain swelled up from her temple. Emily wrenched her head to the left and vomited. She choked, drew in a breath, then coughed as forcefully as she could, expelling the burning liquid from her throat.
Her vision returned to the sky. Why wouldn’t the stars stop moving? The world turned yellow, then red, then black.
***
Sounds woke her. The rustle of leaves as a breeze shouldered its way through the forest. The rhythmic splashing of water, followed by the patter of raining droplets.
Pain ripped through her head. Emily opened her good eye. She lay in the boat, trussed in ropes, her body trapped beneath the centre thwart. Trying to ignore the searing pain in her temple and the taste of blood in her mouth, she titled her head. The boat was still moored to the jetty. She could hear Melody’s muffled sobs coming from somewhere above.
Emily felt eyes upon her. A shadow sat at the edge of the jetty, legs dangling over the water.
“You’re awake.”
Emily thought she recognised the voice. The shadow moved into the light, peeling away layers of darkness. Marcia peered down at Emily, then turned to look back at the jetty. Behind her, Melody’s sobs grew even more pitiful.
“Sorry about your head. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Emily tried to move her hands and succeeded in wriggling her fingers. Attempting to rotate her wrists was rewarded by a stinging bite from tightly-coiled rope. She winced, then returned her one-eyed gaze to her captor.
“I don’t understand. I saw the Land Rover, the blood.”
“You saw what you were meant to see.” Marcia’s gaze returned to the jetty. She picked up Emily’s torch and flashed it towards the trees. Shoulders heaving, she turned to Melody, frowned, then pushed herself off the jetty and into the boat.
Emily rocked from side to side. Nausea swam in her stomach. She watched as Marcia untethered the boat from its moorings, then used an oar to push away from the jetty. Sitting down on the centre thwart, feet either side of Emily’s body, she slotted both oars into the rowlocks.
Marcia began to row, expertly cutting the oars through the water. As the boat moved away from the jetty, Emily had a sudden and clear vision of what was going to happen to her. A bolt of panic shot through her chest and up to her head. She pulled her left arm up and her right arm down, trying to free herself. The rope bit deeper, slicing through skin.
Her vision spiralling, Emily rested her head on the bottom of the boat. Marcia rowed for a minute more. Then, pulling the oars out of the water and resting them on her knees, she leaned back and picked up the torch. Blinding light flashed in Emily’s face. She squeezed her eye shut.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Marcia said. “I want you to know that this wasn’t supposed to happen. You seem like a nice person. Perhaps if we’d gotten to know each other a little better we might have become friends.” She paused. “But you’ve brought this upon yourself. I hope you realise that.”
Emily struggled to find her voice. Panic sat on her chest, its hands around her throat. Lowering the torch, Marcia pointed it at the side of the boat. The light bounced back in a soft glow, allowing Emily to make out her features. She was surprised by what she saw. Instead of the hardened face of a killer, she saw fear and guilt and regret.
Conscious of Emily’s gaze, Marcia reached for the torch. A bloodstained bandage was wrapped tightly around her hand.
“Why are you doing this, Marcia? Why is Melody tied up?” Emily asked, finding her voice at last. “Is it because of Franklyn? Is it because of what he did to you?”
Switching off the torch, Marcia plunged the boat back into darkness. She picked up the oars again. “What would you know about that?”
“I know what your mother told me. That Franklyn attacked you. That Sam chased him away.” Emily paused before she spoke again. “You killed Sam. He loved you.”
The oars hit the water and Marcia began to row.
“I didn’t kill Sam,” she said, her voice pushing through clenched teeth. Was that anger Emily could hear? “I didn’t kill anyone.”
Confused, Emily tried to sit up. Her neck hurt. Her heart throbbed. Her eye felt as if it had been scooped out and dumped into the water. She lay back down, forced to stare at the stars once more.
In the darkness, she heard Marcia let out a long, faltering sigh.
“If you didn’t kill anyone, who did?” Frustration momentarily pushed Emily’s terror to one side. “Can’t you just tell me what the hell is going on here? If I’m going to die surely I have the right to know.”
She fell silent. As she waited for a reply, she looked up at the swaying stars. Melody’s sobs were still audible but further away now.
“Tell me what you know,” Marcia said.
Emily drew in a breath and felt pain in her chest. “I know that Oscar didn’t hang himself. I know that he was a private investigator searching for Franklyn. I know that your mother lied to me. The night Franklyn attacked you, he didn’t run away. Somebody killed him.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because I just dug up his body.”
Marcia lifted the oars. Water ran off the paddles and cascaded into the lake.
“Melody was there that night,” Emily said. “Did she kill Franklyn? Did she kill the others?”
In the starlight, she saw Marcia turn and look out across the lake. She remained unmoving for a long time before she spoke again.
“Before we came to Meadow Pines, I was so happy. I loved my friends, my school. Dance classes on a Tuesday evening, gym on Thursdays. Life was good. Then Pamela took it all away from me. She brought me here to Meadow Pines, tried to convince me that it was exactly what we needed. Of course what she really meant was that it was exactly what she needed.
“I hated her for it. I wanted to run away, back to my home. Back to my friends. I was twelve years old. Who takes a twelve-year-old to the middle of nowhere and isolates her from the world? No TV, no phone. No one to talk to. How was that ever a good idea?”
The t
hrob in Emily’s head intensified, pulsating from her swollen eye and temple and down to her jaw.
“It must have been hard,” she said.
Marcia spoke through clenched teeth. “Like you can’t imagine. Meadow Pines was such a mess when we found it. Aside from not wanting to be anywhere near the place, I knew it would be a huge mistake to take it on. But Pamela was insistent. She was absolutely convinced it was meant to be. The setting, the house—it was all perfect in her eyes. Never mind the money that was needed to get the place into some sort of inhabitable shape before we could even think about opening it up to guests. But if you know anything about Pamela, it’s this—she’s stubborn as hell and she never gives up. So, regardless of what I wanted, off we went to live in the middle of the forest without electricity or proper running water. She spent every penny we had and borrowed a whole lot more from the bank. I was already thirteen by the time Meadow Pines opened. Come opening day, Pamela was in so much debt that even I lay awake at night worrying about it. But I’d never seen her so happy. Especially when people finally started coming to the retreats.”
“I’ve already heard this,” Emily said, her patience fraying at the edges. Her pain had worsened. The ropes bit into her skin. “Fast forward a few years and Meadow Pines wasn’t doing so well again. You were in debt. One more knock and you stood to lose everything. What happened with Franklyn?”
Stars flashed in Marcia’s eyes. One by one, they faded into darkness.
“We were struggling with the competition. Thanks to a boom in mindfulness meditation there were retreats opening all over the place. We couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments and the bank was threatening to take Meadow Pines. Pamela was going to lose everything she’d built up. You see, regardless of my feelings, I knew that she wouldn’t be able to take it. Some people just aren’t built for what our world has become. They’re too sensitive. If Meadow Pines closed and Pamela had to return to the world, she would have cracked. That was what we were facing when Franklyn came back.”
Cruel Minds Page 18
