Araluen

by Judy Nunn

  As soon as Stanley saw Michael he knew that something was terribly wrong. But he’d known something was terribly wrong when the man had come downstairs to the pool half an hour ago. The glassy eyes, the tight smile, the air of supreme confidence - all the signs Michael displayed when he was drugged out of his brain - but there had been something else. Something driven, something insane. ‘Hello, Derek. Having a good time?’ Michael had asked, but his voice had a strange, intense edge to it. Stanley had known then. Of course no one else had noticed.

  He’d watched as she kissed him and he’d watched as the two of them went off together, Stanley cursed himself. He should have stopped them.

  ‘What is it? What have you done?’ He was already racing up the stairs.

  ‘I’ve killed her. She’s dead,’ Michael whimpered as Stanley pushed past him and into the bedroom. ‘She’s dead. I’ve killed her.’

  Stanley stared at the body on the bed. ‘Oh, Christ!’ he said as he knelt beside her. He lifted her and thrust a pillow beneath her shoulders. Then he arched her head back and placed his mouth over hers. As he alternated between breathing into her and pumping her chest, he kept saying over and over, ‘Breathe, Mandy, breathe. Can you hear me, Mandy? Breathe, Mandy, breathe. Can you hear me?’

  As he said it, the fog in Michael’s brain slowly cleared. Of course! This wasn’t Emma. It was Mandy. When he’d gone down to the pool to get Emma it had been Mandy who’d kissed him and thrust herself against him. It had been Mandy who’d come upstairs with him and Mandy to whom he’d made love. How could he have thought it was Emma?

  But that meant that he hadn’t killed Emma. On the instant of that realisation, Michael’s panic disappeared and he felt suffused with a sensation of utter calm. Stanley has killed Mandy, he thought. He watched as the half-naked Stanley ground the heel of his palm into Mandy’s chest. ‘Breathe, Mandy, breathe.’ Stanley has killed Mandy. That’s certainly what it looked like - and that’s what it would look like through the lens of the video camera…

  Michael quickly pulled on his jacket. He positioned himself where the camera could see him. ‘What have you done, Stanley? What have you done?’ The camera microphone would pick that up.

  ‘Breathe, Mandy, breathe.’ Stanley didn’t hear a word as he locked his mouth over hers. Even better, Michael thought. It looked as though he was mauling the girl, raping her even. It would be easy to edit the tape. And the soundtrack. It was what he was good at, wasn’t it? Give him enough footage and he could create whatever fantasy he chose.

  ‘Stan! Stop it! For God’s sake, what are you doing?’

  ‘Breathe, Mandy, breathe.’

  Michael thought of the gun in the top drawer. He’d be defending Mandy’s honour, wouldn’t he? Then he realised that the dressing table was out of camera range. Damn. No good. The gun would look too premeditated. The killing of Stanley needed to be impulsive, accidental. He could hear himself saying, ‘I was simply trying to stop the man.’

  Then he saw the bottle of Bollinger sitting on the dresser, clearly in view of the camera. Yes, that was it.

  ‘Stop it, Stan, leave her alone!’ Michael grabbed the bottle of champagne and smashed it with all his might across Stanley’s skull. The bottle didn’t break, but there was the sound of cracking bone and Stanley slumped forward on the bed.

  Michael dropped the bottle and ran to the door but he didn’t leave the room. He turned and looked at the bed. He was well out of camera range and the lens would be seeing what he was seeing. Stanley’s body sprawled across Mandy’s, her eyes continuing to stare blankly up at the ceiling.

  He only waited a moment. Then he went downstairs. It was time to tell everyone to leave. After they’d gone, he’d ring the police.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE PICTURE IN THE top television monitor remained relentlessly still. Not a shred of movement. Just the bodies of Mandy and Stanley sprawled on the bed. Blood seeping from the wound in Stanley’s head, spreading a deathly red stain across the white linen, Mandy’s eyes still blindly riveted upon the ceiling.

  The picture in the bottom monitor was more active. The basement camera covered the downstairs door which opened from the swimming pool to the steps leading to the street above. As an extra security precaution, Michael never used the basement entrance. Access to the pool was always via the stairs from the living room. Now people were hurriedly dressing, preparing to leave. Emma was asking Michael something but he was shaking his head as he rounded up his guests and directed them upstairs.

  ‘He’s getting them all to leave,’ Karol said. ‘What’s the girl up to?’

  Franklin didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the row of monitors in the corner of the security room - the monitors which, for a full six weeks now, had been permanently linked to Michael’s security system.

  It was nearly seven o’clock in the morning. He’d come as soon as he’d received Karol’s call: ‘You need to see it, boss,’ was all Karol had said.

  Karol hadn’t contacted Franklin until he’d realised that Michael had killed the girl. Jesus Christ, he’d thought they were just screwing.

  Franklin had arrived in time to see Michael’s attack on Stanley.

  Together they’d watched as Michael prepared to go downstairs. Karol glanced at Franklin, awaiting instructions. Was he to call the police? Was he to go around and sort out the situation himself? But there were no instructions.

  ‘We do nothing,’ Franklin ordered, sensing the enquiry. ‘We wait and see what he does next.’ Karol stood beside him, eyes glued to the monitors.

  What could they do? Franklin wondered vaguely. It was too late to save the girl. Or Stanley. Ultimately, it was too late to save Michael too, but maybe, just maybe, they could save the Ross family name.

  Franklin watched Michael hurrying the guests into the living room. Presumably the boy had a plan, he thought. Was he going to ring the police once he was alone? Yes, he might just get away with it if he did that. Stanley had killed the girl. It could certainly look that way and, loathsome though he found it, Franklin would support the theory. But as soon as Michael was cleared of any involvement, Franklin would have him committed - for good. Quietly, privately, and with no fuss. Yes, he’d have to make sure of that.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Karol asked as he watched Emma beside the basement door. It was frustrating; he couldn’t see her clearly behind the others.

  But Franklin didn’t hear him. Despite the plans forming in his mind, the old man felt numb as he watched the last of the guests, including Emma, leave the house by the front living room door. His grandson was an insane killer.

  As soon as everyone had gone, Michael busied himself around the living room. Franklin and Karol found it difficult to see what he was doing -he kept walking out of camera range - but he appeared to be tidying up.

  ‘He’s clearing away the drugs,’ Karol said.

  ‘Good. That means he’s going to call the police. If he plays it right, he should get away with it.’

  Karol looked at Franklin. So that was the old man’s plan - he was going to help cover for his grandson. Karol nodded. Personally he couldn’t see why Franklin should waste his time caring about a madman like Michael Ross. The boy had always been a lost cause, in Karol’s opinion. But Karol wasn’t there for opinions. He knew that. He was there to do Franklin’s bidding. And if Franklin Ross wanted to save his grandson, then that’s what Karol would help him do.

  For several moments, Michael disappeared from view altogether. Then he reappeared in the bedroom upstairs. He didn’t even glance at the bodies on the bed as he cleared up the cocaine on the dressing table. He knelt beside the safe in the corner, carefully stacking away his drug supply.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ Franklin muttered. ‘Hurry it up. Ring the police!’

  ‘Boss. Look.’ Karol pointed to the bottom monitor. The basement door which led to the steps and the street outside was slowly opening. ‘The girl,’ he said. ‘She’s come back.’

  Emma quietl
y closed the door behind her. She looked about and then she walked towards the stairs.

  ‘What the hell’s she up to?’ Franklin barked.

  ‘So that’s what she was doing,’ Karol said, ‘she was unlocking the door before she left.’

  As Emma slowly started up the stairs, Franklin grabbed his cane. ‘Get the car,’ he ordered.

  It had been cold outside on the steps and Emma’s breath came out in short bursts of steam as she climbed the stairs. She wasn’t sure why she’d come back, but she hadn’t believed Michael when he’d said Stanley had gone home. Stanley wouldn’t have left without telling her. And she hadn’t believed Michael when he’d said a police contact of his had telephoned saying the place was going to be raided. Something had happened, she was sure. Something had happened that prompted Michael to get rid of them all.

  At the top of the stairs, she looked about the living room. No one there. Michael must be upstairs, in the bedroom.

  Her heart was racing and a terrible fear overcame her. It’s the drugs, that’s all, she told herself, still feeling decidedly strange - drug-induced paranoia, that’s what it was. She was behaving like a fool, she told herself. No doubt she’d get upstairs and find that Michael had put himself to bed. But she couldn’t help thinking that if there was a raid imminent, why wasn’t he in the living room waiting for the police?

  She looked up at the landing. The bedroom door was ajar. Quietly, she started to climb the stairs.

  Michael closed the door to the safe, crossed to the table and picked up the telephone receiver. Then he remembered the video camera, still filming behind the air-conditioning vent. He turned off the switch inside the walk-in cupboard. As he closed the door, he heard a noise. There was someone on the landing.

  He quickly crossed to the dresser, took out the gun and trained it on the bedroom door as it was slowly pushed open.

  Emma stood there. She saw Michael immediately but she didn’t really take in the gun. Her eyes focused on the bed.

  ‘Oh God.’ She stood frozen to the spot. ‘Oh God, what’s happened?’

  ‘Emma.’ Michael slipped the gun into his pocket. ‘It’s terrible. They’re dead. I was just going to call the police.’

  But Emma wasn’t listening. She crossed and knelt beside the bed. ‘Oh God! Michael, what have you done?’

  ‘Stan killed her, Emma. I came in and he was attacking her, so I … ’

  ‘Call an ambulance,’ she ordered.

  ‘He was killing her, Emma … I had to do something - ’

  ‘I said, call an ambulance. He’s alive.’ The fear had left Emma. Stanley was breathing. What should she do? She mustn’t move him. No, she mustn’t do that. She looked at Michael. ‘For God’s sake, call a bloody ambulance,’ she snapped again.

  But Michael just stood staring at her. ‘He killed her, Emma,’ he said. ‘Stan killed Mandy.’

  She rose and crossed to the telephone. But, before she could pick up the receiver, Michael’s hand was on hers.

  ‘No, don’t do that.’ She looked at him, looked into the eyes of a madman. ‘Stan doesn’t deserve to live, Emma,’ Michael said slowly. ‘He did a terrible thing. He killed Mandy.’

  Emma fought to stem her returning fear. She had to take control, had to reason with him. But how did one reason with a madman?

  ‘Yes, he did a terrible thing,’ she said. ‘But we still have to call an ambulance. And then we have to call the police, all right? The police will sort everything out and he’ll be punished. Now let me use the phone.’

  She picked up the receiver again but he ripped it out of her hand. She tried to grab it from him. ‘For God’s sake, Michael, he’s dying!’ she yelled.

  ‘Let him,’ Michael snarled, and he swept the telephone off the table and onto the floor.

  As Emma made a dive for it, she felt something hard press against the back of her head.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said, and she turned to see the barrel of the automatic pistol pointed at her temple. She could fight the fear no longer. Terror overwhelmed her and she froze, staring up at him.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Emma,’ he said, and very gently he helped her to her feet. ‘I love you. You know that. Now come on, let’s sit and talk.’

  He led her to the foot of the bed and sat her down. She was terribly aware of the bodies of Mandy and Stanley directly behind her. She was also aware, as Michael sat beside her, that the gun was no longer pointing directly at her. He was holding it in his right hand and resting it on his knee as he put his left arm around her shoulders. The shred of reason she was fighting to maintain told her that, if she could lull him into a false sense of security, he might relax enough for her to make a dash for the door. If she dared.

  ‘We don’t need Stanley,’ he said. ‘Just like we didn’t need Malcolm. Or Marcel. It’s you and me, Emma. It’s always been you and me. There’s no room for anyone else, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, sick with fear and realisation. ‘Yes.’

  He drew her to him, cradling her head against his chest. ‘You know how much I love you, don’t you, Emma?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, staring in terror at the pistol resting on his knee. ‘I know.’

  He started to rock her gently back and forth. ‘It was beautiful when we were together,’ he murmured, ‘when I thought it was you.’ She didn’t dare say anything. ‘I didn’t know it was Mandy. It was you and me, and we were so close.’ He stroked her hair. ‘So close, and I wanted us to die together. That’s how beautiful it was, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I understand.’ She didn’t resist as he raised her head.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. And he kissed her. His lips were soft and his hand caressed the back of her neck.

  ‘Let’s die together, Emma.’ His mouth travelled down her neck and she watched as he raised the gun from his knee. Oh, dear God, he was going to kill her. ‘I want you to be mine forever.’ His right arm circled her and he pulled her to him in a close embrace, his breath warm against her neck. ‘Love me, Emma, love me,’ he whispered. And she felt the gun drop from his hand onto the bed behind her.

  Now, she thought. Now! And, with all of her strength, she pushed him from her. But Michael was too quick. As she started for the door, he grabbed at her coat. She tried to wrestle out of it but he stood and pulled her to him. Once more she was in his embrace and once more he had the gun in his hand. She stopped struggling as she felt the barrel press against her ribcage.

  ‘I didn’t want it this way, Emma,’ Michael said, as she felt the gun travel towards her heart. ‘I wanted to love you before we died … ’

  ‘Put the gun down, Michael.’ It came from the doorway. Two silhouettes were framed in the early-morning light.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ the voice said again. Michael knew that voice.

  Franklin and Karol stepped into the room.

  Emma held her breath as she felt Michael tense beside her. The gun was against her left breast. Any moment, she thought, any moment now.

  ‘You heard me, Michael. Put the gun down.’ The voice demanded obedience. It always had, and Michael found himself automatically lowering the pistol.

  ‘Grandpa,’ he said.

  ‘Put it on the bed and then we’ll ring the police and sort out this whole mess.’

  The gun remained in Michael’s hand, but he’d forgotten it was there. It dangled loosely by his side and, despite the fact that his left arm still encircled her, Emma started to breathe a little more freely.

  ‘Stan killed Mandy, Grandpa.’

  ‘Well, we can certainly make it look that way.’ Franklin gestured at the telephone. Karol picked it up from the floor and replaced it on the table. ‘Now put the gun down,’ Franklin repeated as he lifted the receiver.

  Something in Emma snapped. In an instant, the fear left her to be replaced by cold, blind fury. One person was dead, another lay dying and all Franklin Ross could think about was safeguarding th
e character of his family. He was prepared to sacrifice Stanley Grahame to preserve the precious name of Ross. Even if Stanley were dead, it was a shocking proposal. What about Stanley’s name? Stanley’s family? What gave Franklin the divine right to assume that the Ross honour was superior to that of others?

  ‘He’s alive,’ she said. It was an accusation.

  Franklin was genuinely taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to him that the man might be alive. He’d been so occupied with his scheme to save Michael that he hadn’t given a thought to Stanley Grahame. It certainly complicated things.

  ‘Did you hear me, Franklin?’ the girl snarled. For the first time he looked at her and he could see the scorn blazing in her eyes. ‘Stanley’s alive and I’m calling an ambulance.’

  But the harshness of her tone jolted Michael out of his compliance and, as she reached out towards the telephone, she broke the command Franklin held over his grandson.

  Emma was ordering Grandpa Franklin around, Michael thought. That couldn’t be right. And she certainly couldn’t leave him. They were together now. Soon to be together forever. He pulled her back beside him. His arm locked about her waist and the gun once more snapped into position against her heart.

  Yes, that was better. He was the one who was in control here. Not Emma. And not Grandpa Franklin either. Not any more. Michael felt elation. A sense of freedom overwhelmed him. Freedom from Grandpa Franklin. At last.

  ‘Put down the gun, Michael,’ the voice once more commanded, ‘and let Emma go.’

  ‘No, Grandpa.’ Michael smiled at Emma who stood, transfixed, the gun at her breast. ‘Together forever,’ he whispered. He would shoot her through the heart - he wouldn’t destroy that beautiful face. ‘Emma. Emma, my love.’ His finger slowly started to ease back the trigger, but a movement he caught from the corner of his eye momentarily distracted him.

  Grandpa Franklin had given a sharp nod, a signal. What did it mean? Michael turned to see.

  In the instant that it happened, he was thirteen years old again. He was staring through the windscreen of a car and Karol Mankowski was standing there, his arm outstretched, the sights of his gun trained firmly on the person behind the wheel. In a second the blonde’s head would shatter and her blood would splatter Michael in the back seat, and Karol would have saved his life.