“Well, in that case, it leaves one option.” Mike licked his lips. His urge to see Amy’s reaction to his next proposal was exhilarating.
Amy straightened up. “Let me guess, you want to fuck me?”
The words stunned Michael. He groaned; his breath shot from his lungs. He backed off a step, then two. How did she know?
Amy smiled, angled her head, and chuckled. “You really think I didn’t know what an initiation involves? I’m not stupid, you know?”
“How…how, there’s no way you could have…”
Sandy was still fussing at Amy’s feet. “Well, you’re a teenage boy. In a house with a girl on her own? Teenage boys think with their dicks and not much else. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. And I’ve seen that look in your eye before. Remember that day we went swimming? Shame on you. Only, did you think far ahead? What would happen if you did happen to get your hands on me? For fuck sake, Sandy, fuck off!”
Amy stepped back and picked up Sandy, cuddling the puppy in her arms. She stroked its fur and looked up at Mike, smiling. The dog started panting, happy in its embrace.
“My dad could get me off. Money is power. Who can stop me?”
“I bet he can get you off, fag. Your teachers teach you that?”
“Fuck off.”
“Your father wouldn’t even look at you for touching me, an innocent little girl. Money has turned you into a monster. I used to enjoy hanging around with you. Now? It makes my skin crawl.” Sandy was fidgeting in Amy’s arms, uncomfortable. “Your dad would be ashamed of what you become, a money grabbing, power-hungry parasite.”
“It’s not going to matter when I get hold of you.”
“You speak to all the girls like this?”
“Sometimes. It usually works. Money talks, Amy.”
“What do you do when you get hold of them?”
“Come here and you’ll find out.”
“I doubt that will happen.”
“Oh yeah? What you going to do to stop me?” Mike took a step forward.
Amy’s lips curled and opened. She licked her lips. “You want to know?”
“Yeah. You’re Amy Brunswick, a nerd, a geek. You have imaginary tea parties with your fucking dolls. You don’t even factor on the coolness scale; you’re nobody, invisible. No one even bats an eyelid at you. Your parents don’t even care about you, your daddy spends all his time away and your mummy is one Vicodin away from a severe mental breakdown. Ask my mum, she’ll agree with me. Those are her words, not mine. You’re pathetic.”
“That all you got?” Sandy was yelping now, wanting to get away. Amy held on firmly, stroking the puppy with hard, uncaring hands. The puppy bucked and twisted, trying to bite her.
Mike laughed. “My God…you’re so lame. You can’t even comeback properly.”
“I don’t need a comeback. I’ve already won.”
“Oh yeah, how’s that then?” Mike bunched his fists. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Amy smiled. “This is how. Just so you know—this was your fault.”
A darkness filled Amy’s eyes. The smile dropped from her face.
Mike looked at the girl and shivered.
Suddenly, her hands grabbed Sandy by the scruff of the neck and the small of the back and twisted violently. A sickening crack shattered the silence in the air. Sandy yelped in pain as her neck and spine was broken. The head twisted right around until she was staring over her own back, the eyes emptied of life.
“What the fuck…” Mike groaned and backed away, speechless.
Amy continued twisting until the head pulled away from the body in a spurt of blood and crack of fragile bone. A puff of wet fur splatted onto her chest. Urine started dripping from the dead puppy. “I win,” she uttered. Her eyes were full of vehemence and menace.
Mike howled in fright and stumbled back, knocking one of the dining room chairs over. The wood hit the floor with a hollow clonk. Amy tossed Sandy into the air and punted her against the wall. A huge smear of blood screeched across the paintwork as the small, dead corpse bounced in the hallway with a wet thud.
“I loved that puppy. So what do you think I’m going to do to you if I get my hands on you?” Amy’s eyes glazed over.
Mike yelped and backed off, standing behind the dining room chairs. “You wouldn’t, it’s murder.” Sweat broke out on his forehead.
“We still haven’t discussed your plan to fuck me. Did you not think it through? I’m nine and you’re a teenager. It’s illegal and, considering I’m not consenting, classed as rape. Those charges are quite severe if what my good friend has told me is true. You’d be putting yourself in the frame straight away, being here and all. You really are a shit for brains idiot, aren’t you? Even your sap father’s money wouldn’t get you out of that one.”
“Yes it would. Money can buy anything.”
“It doesn’t buy respect, apparently.”
“Fuck you.”
“So little Mike turned into a pervert. Why am I not surprised? Do you pay the women off? Or do you just bury the bodies?”
Mike said nothing.
“C’mon, Mike, share it with me. It’s Amy, your childhood friend.” Amy took a step forward.
“Fuck you.”
“Well, we know that isn’t going to happen, don’t we? You see, I brought a friend with me and…well, let’s just say three’s a crowd.”
Fear cupped Mike’s balls, his scrotum shrivelled and his flesh spiked with gooseflesh. His eyes lowered to the desecrated puppy corpse on the floor. Blood was pooling out around it. The dead eyes stared up at him.
This is your fault.
“You’re lying. No one is here; your mum said you were alone.”
“Yes, she would. Unfortunately for you, she missed that vital detail out, I’m not alone.”
“You can’t pin anything on me, you have no witnesses.” Mike’s eyes were wide, bulging. They darted an inch every second, scanning the surroundings, petrified. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Not true. You see, I don’t need a witness to pin this on you. I won’t even tell my parents it happened. And true, you didn’t actually do anything; you only implied that you’d sexually attack me.”
Mike started to relax. Maybe he could talk his way out of it. His dad would pay him off, surely. “That’s right.” He remembered the phone in his pocket, recording. “I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent. People say rape all the time. Like a joke.” Mike swiped his forehead, wiping the sweat away.
That’s it. You’re in the clear. Dad will work his magic.
“If you think the recording will get you out of this, you’re mistaken.”
“It’s evidence. Evidence. I can use it. It’ll get me off…”
“It could do. But, I don’t care about the evidence. What makes you think you’ll walk out of this house?”
“I will. You can’t stop me.”
“How about we play a game? My choice, this time.”
“No, I’m done. I just want to go home. Your mum can stick her money.”
“Let’s play…initiation. I have an initiation of my own.”
“You’re crazy, a fucking mental case.”
“Mike, meet Charlotte.”
Mike frowned. Amy looked beyond him and chuckled. Mike froze, swallowed, spun around, and looked into the eyes of hell. A waving wisp, in the shape of a young girl, stood before him. The eyes latched onto him, and held his gaze. They were sunken and yellow, level with his, with only the faintest of dark retinas in the middle. Cat’s eyes, only meaner and filled with absolute terror. Black tendrils snaked out from the centre, webbing the yellow orbs. They were supported by…nothing, nothing but distorted air. The figure waved back and forth, watching him. Before he succumbed to the power of the eyes, he put a hand out and it passed through the mist—whatever it was. He felt his hand slapped away and it fell to his side.
Boo, it whispered.
Mike shit his pants. A second later, his bladder released. The wet, excreting
sounds filled the air in unison. Captivated by the eyes, Mike didn’t feel the warmth of fear-induced urine splatter his thigh and trickle down his leg or the warm expansion of his boxers as his faeces curled into them, pushing against his butt cheeks, seeping through the leg hole and pattering the back of his legs and socks.
The stench was unimaginable.
Amy chuckled in the background.
Mike screamed as Charlotte moved towards him.
TWELVE
Bruce awoke with a soft mumble. He opened and closed his mouth, making a wet smacking noise with his tongue. An occasional beep from a machine filled the comfortable silence. Patricia, asleep in the chair beside him, awoke at the noise from her husband. She straightened up and placed her clammy fingers on Bruce’s uninjured hand. The motion caused the handcuffs to clink gently against the metal frame of the bed.
“Hi, honey.”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital. You had an accident.”
Patricia wasn’t quite sure how to broach the incident. What would Bruce remember? How would he react? She hoped the cuffs were enough to keep him subdued. Bruce looked around the room at the cables and monitors and tubes. He tried to pull his injured hand over, but the handcuff restrained him. A huge metal clank filled the room, followed by a scraping. “What, what the hell?”
He looked down at his restraints. The bandage around his hand. A speck of blood was seeping through the cotton. “What happened?”
Patricia stared at the hospital floor, unsure of her next sentence. She didn’t want to incite rage in her husband. “You were attacked…by Amy.”
“What?” Bruce’s eyes softened and a wetness started to build at the rims of his tired eyes. “Why?”
“You…you hit her, Bruce. The second time, she defended herself and…well, now you’re here. She ripped the skin off your goddamn hand.”
“I wouldn’t hit Amy. Never.” Bruce said it with conviction.
“You did. I saw you do it. You were in a rage, uncontrollable. If she hadn’t stood up for herself…well, who knows. You might have killed her!”
“Pat, I don’t hit Amy. If I did, well, I don’t remember…”
“You’ve been drinking…haven’t you?”
Bruce laid back on his pillow and frowned, thinking. “I had one…an eggnog for lunch…and maybe some…Jim Beam the other day.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“What? Pat, I don’t drink. You have to believe…”
“You’re in a hospital. The doctors did tests. Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Bruce said nothing. He closed his eyes, compressing the tears, and one rolled down his cheek. For three long minutes, he didn’t say anything. He shook his head. Patricia leaned in with a tissue and wiped his face. Tears rolled down her cheeks. One fell off and exploded on Bruce’s shirt. “How…how hard did I strike her?”
“Quite hard. You pulled her out of the car and slapped her.” Patricia leaned on the metal bar, inches from her husband’s face. “Then she did this to you.” Patricia pointed at the bandaged hand.
Bruce followed her eyes. “Looks painful.”
“It wasn’t nice. Your skin was hanging off, blood everywhere.”
“Damn.”
Silence enveloped the couple. Patricia stared at her husband. He gazed off into nothing with wet eyes, pondering his next question. “The handcuffs. Are they to stop me opening the wound?”
Patricia leaned back and swallowed. “Erm…no.”
“Then why am I cuffed. Wait…cuffs? Hospitals don’t use…Patricia, what’s going on?”
Patricia stepped away from the bed, her hand still on his. “There’s something else.”
The door opened and D.S Moore entered the room. “Mr. Brunswick, my name is D.S Moore. How are you, sir?” He shut the door behind him. He was alone.
“I’m just peachy, who the hell are you?”
Patricia felt her husband tense beneath her fingers. She retracted them slowly. Another tear slowly caressed her cheek and she groaned, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“You people don’t hang about, do you? Swooping in whenever you can. I was having a private moment with my wife, thank you.”
“This won’t take long. If you cooperate, it’ll go a lot smoother.”
“If my hands weren’t restrained, I’d be flipping you off right now.”
“There’s no need for that tone, Mr Brunswick.”
“No need? You handcuff me to a bloody bed and I have no damn idea why. Have the common decency to explain and I’ll be the judge of if I can answer you or not. Okay?”
D.S Moore looked at Patricia. She shook her head and looked away from him, staring at the floor. Moore took a breath. “Do you know a Dr. Sam Barden?”
Bruce sneered the mere mention of the name. “Yeah, I remember that wanker.”
Patricia leaned in close. “Calm down, honey. Please. For the love of God…”
“Mrs. Brunswick…step away from your husband. Please.”
Patricia did as she was told. Bruce laughed. “Are you serious?”
“How do you know…Dr. Barden, sir?”
“He was our psychologist. For Amy, our daughter. We took her there earlier today…wait, how long have I been here?”
“Okay, we’ll get to that. Can you tell me what happened? The extent of your visit?”
“We took Amy in for a discussion. Took about an hour. We left, decided he wasn’t any use. We went from there. Decided not to pursue it.”
“Were you…”
“Hold on, now I have a question. Why are you asking this? Did the doctor mug off some other dozy cunts as well?”
“Mind your language, Mr Brunswick. No, he didn’t. We found his dead body early last night.”
“Last night?”
“It’s Thursday morning, Mr. Brunswick.” Moore slid his sleeve up his wrist and checked his watch. “Nearly four am.”
Bruce went to say something and stopped. He thought back. “We left there at two, just after lunch. We had some food on the way and we went home after, I think.”
“We believe you were alone with Dr. Barden for approximately three minutes following the meeting. His receptionist, Carol, remembered you raising your voice. We also found cash, with your fingerprints on, in the reception. Dr. Barden was dead on his couch.”
“You think I did it?”
Moore said nothing. Bruce looked down at the handcuffs and realised his situation. “Of course you did. Lock up the innocent, let the guilty get away with it. Corrupt, the lot of you.”
Moore ignored the comments. “Were you alone with Dr. Barden as mentioned?”
Bruce said nothing. After a moment, he nodded. “After the meeting, Amy went down to the car with Patricia. I had a few words. His therapy wasn’t working on my girl. His methods were a little…unusual. Or too post-modern, but either way, my girl didn’t get any better. I saw her talking to…”
Then it hit him. He looked down at his hand, and then to his wife—who shook her head in warning—and back to Moore.
“I saw her talking to Charlotte. Which made me realise she wasn’t getting better, only worse.” Bruce shivered, remembering the events that put him in the hospital. He remembered the sickening tearing of flesh, the look on Amy’s face. His little girl.
He remembered slapping her and groaned.
“We know about Charlotte. What happened when you were alone?”
“Oh no, I’m not doing this without a solicitor. You want to pin this on me, fine, but I’m not going down for someone else’s crime. I want my solicitor. Now.”
“Very well, sir. Do you have someone in mind or shall I provide one?”
“Patricia, give him my card.”
Patricia collected Bruce’s wallet from the side and removed his solicitor’s card, checked it was correct, and handed it to Moore. She said nothing.
“Excellent. I’ll give them a call. Until then, don�
�t go anywhere.” Moore smiled at his joke and left. Bruce sneered as he left the room.
Patricia placed her hand back on her husband’s. Bruce stared off to the left. “What did you tell them?”
Patricia sighed. “The truth, Bruce. I didn’t want them taking you down. I told them everything I know. Apart from…”
“Charlotte?”
“Yes. Charlotte…” Patricia didn’t continue, for fear of having the discussion overheard. Bruce looked at her and they both nodded, silent in agreement.
Charlotte did this, not Amy.
Patricia groaned. She slid the chair towards the bed, its legs squeaking on the floor. Lowering her rump into it, she sighed. “Now, we wait.”
Bruce nodded.
It would be a long night.
THIRTEEN
The ringing phone shattered the comfortable silence in the house.
Amy folded the corner of her page over and placed it on the pillow beside her. She slipped off her parents’ bed, hitting the laminate flooring with a gentle thud, and scooped the phone off the cradle. She placed it to her ear, the receiver bigger than her head. “Hello?”
“Hi, honey, it’s Mummy.”
“Hi, Mum.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Mike is here, looking after me. We stayed up all night playing games.”
“That’s good, honey. Listen, I was just calling to see if you’re okay. Tell Mike you can have the day off. No school, okay? I’ll pay him more if he stays with you.”
“It’s okay, Mummy, I’ll go to school. I don’t want to miss anything. I can get the bus on my own; I’m a big girl now.”
“You’re such a good girl. In Mummy’s special drawer, there’s some money. Take some for your lunch, okay?”
“Okay, Mummy.”
“Can I speak to Mike?”
Amy turned around and looked at the bed. She grinned. “He’s in the toilet. He might be a while. Like when Daddy does.”
“Oh, okay. Sure thing. Don’t worry; I’ll see him when I get back. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here but I will be coming home this afternoon anyway, okay? I need to check on you and get some fresh clothes. I’ll see you after school, okay?”
Charlotte Page 8
