Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  She wasn’t sleeping and when she did manage to fall into fitful rest her dreams were bad. She ran to the graveyard almost every night, curling up against her mother’s headstone, shivering in the cold. The crime scene photos were singed into her eyelids—Lila couldn’t blink without seeing what had been done to Papa, to Mama, to Maura. The case file had made the recurring nightmare about her family’s death ten times worse and when she woke the tobacco taste stayed for most of the day.

  Before only Mama crawled over to her, but now both Maura and Papa dragged their bodies towards her while she stood in her childhood bedroom unable to respond. Their fingers tightened around her ankles and yanked on her wrists. They were angry because she couldn’t remember and all Lila could do was whimper and beg for forgiveness.

  Then she was in the stable, but there wasn’t just one mad horse, but many and they reared up, their eyes rolling in their heads, foam dribbling from their mouths, kicking her to a pulp. Then the pair of boots in a pool of her blood...but who could it be? If it wasn’t Papa then who could it be?

  ‘It’s the killer. The one who killed them,’ whispered Lila. She pressed her fists against her forehead, tapping with her knuckles. ‘I have to remember. I have to. Who killed you? Who?’

  Lila didn’t realise that Patty had paused mid-browse, three necklaces dangling from her wrists, watching her and growing increasingly alarmed. The young woman rested one hand on her bump and glanced at the blue-green painted antler she had chosen. Quietly she put the goods down and hurried out of the shop. It was a shame—she’d really wanted a reading and had heard good things about Lila Cassandra. But too many crazy things were going on in Deerleap at the moment to take any risks. Patty sighed and rubbed her lower back. I’ll find someone else, someone less...weird. Someone who can tell me for sure whether Dominic is cheating on me.

  If Patty had returned to the shop she would have seen Lila in exactly the same position, head in her hands, sunk in despair.

  It took Lila half an hour before she looked up and realised her customer had gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The hammock swung gently as Bert sipped from a beer bottle. Opening one eye he waved lazily as Alma passed by carrying an old dented watering can. She raised a hand wiggling her fingers in return and disappeared around the back of the cabin. Snatches of song drifted in the air. Her scratchy voice was grating on the ear but Bert didn’t care. If Alma was singing it meant she was happy. And if Alma was happy then Bert was happy.

  He scratched his belly yawning contentedly. It was his day off and what could be better than relaxing in the hammock as feathery clouds drifted overhead and watching Alma potter around the garden while his lunch digested. Alma had baked an apple pie for teatime and delicious scents wafted over on the breeze. Life was good.

  Bert burped, looking around guiltily before linking his fingers over his chest. Who would have thought such happiness was possible after Norma’s death? Drowsy and on the verge of sleep, Bert turned onto his side.

  It was strange to think how different life was before he came to Deerleap. Back then he was engaged to Alma’s sister Norma. Norma, one year younger than Alma, had been his first love. All photographs of her had been destroyed in the fire and Bert’s only copy had been lost forever when he was mugged for his wallet six years ago. But Bert could still remember Norma’s awkward gangly frame, mousy brown hair and overlapping teeth.

  She worked in a bookshop near his house and after liking the way she flushed red when a customer talked to her and the way she glanced shyly at him whenever he walked by, he decided to get to know her better. Never much of a reader Bert frequented the dusty little shop daily to browse and get book recommendations. Finally, after packing his small bedroom with books and working up the courage, Bert, blushing from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, asked Norma out. And she said yes.

  He took her ice-skating, but neither of them could skate so they spent the evening hugging the edges of the rink and holding on to each other and laughing until their stomachs hurt.

  Bert’s parents had died in a car crash when he was nineteen and he didn’t have any siblings to introduce her to. Norma had her parents and sister, and Simon, her baby brother, and after two months of dating and intense badgering from her mother, Norma finally introduced her boyfriend.

  Norma’s parents were kind, simple folk, hard-working but impoverished, and Bert hit it off with them instantly. They admired his trade and liked his trustworthy face and plain-speaking.

  Norma was certain Alma would snare him, but Bert told her to stop being silly. Sure, Alma was attractive and well-dressed and wore her sexuality like perfume, but Bert was in love with Norma and nothing in the world could have changed that.

  Sadly, Norma wasn’t convinced and she cried in the car after that first visit, her nose turning pink like a rabbit. ‘She’s so much prettier than me. And you don’t know what she’s like Bert, she loves being the centre of attention. I’m afraid she’ll steal you from me just to show she can. She...she can be cruel sometimes.’

  Bert brought Norma close. ‘Don’t be silly. I love you, not Alma. And I doubt I’m her type anyway. She’s just being friendly.’

  ‘Friendly? She looks at you like she wants to eat you,’ retorted Norma, scowling as Bert laughed.

  Women like Alma were way out of his league—they were the type who laughed in his face when he was at school, yet oddly enough Norma was right. Alma did fancy him. She brushed her foot against his beneath the table when he came around for dinner. Her eyelids fluttered and her fingers strayed to her neck whenever Bert spoke to her. She peppered him with questions and always ensured she sat opposite him. She wanted to know everything about the house-building industry, about his favourite movies and music. The necklines of her tight-fitted tops became lower and her tinkling laughter when he cracked a joke made his chest puff out.

  Norma of course noticed the lingering looks her sister gave Bert and the way Alma’s hands brushed over his when she passed the potatoes over.

  ‘She’s doing it deliberately,’ Norma fumed, sniffling, her plain face suffused with colour. ‘She can’t stand it that I’ve found a man who loves me. She thinks all men should want her. She hates that I have a boyfriend while she can’t keep a man interested after they’ve got what they want from her. No one will ever marry Alma. The fact that me and you are in a serious relationship even though I’m a year younger than her must be driving her crazy.’

  Bert, feeling desired for the first time in his life, couldn’t help enjoying being fought over by two sisters, but he never wavered in his commitment to Norma. And after getting permission from Norma’s father he got down on one knee and proposed in the overgrown, weed-riddled garden. Norma, upon seeing the tiny diamond ring Bert had saved long and hard for, burst into tears and he swung her off her feet when she accepted, her delighted parents looking on with Simon cooing and squirming in their arms, Alma glowering behind them.

  Bert shifted on the hammock placing an arm over his eyes not wanting to remember but unable to stop the past rearing it’s hideous head like a snake-haired medusa.

  It happened the night before their engagement party. The fire started in the basement ripping through the old house as if it were kindling. So many needless deaths, so much misery, all because of a dead battery in the fire alarm and a knocked over candle.

  Bert remembered standing outside the blackened shell of a house, despair coiling around him along with the smoke. How his heart had leaped in his chest when an ash-smeared fireman told him a young woman had survived.

  On the desperate drive to the hospital, going through all the red lights, one prayer streaked through his mind: Please let it be Norma.

  At the hospital the weary, jaded doctor warned him: She’s in a bad way. She’s suffered eighty–percent burns to her body. Severe pain. Amputation. Might not survive for much longer. She’ll need a lot of skin grafts and rehabilitation. But Bert had zoned out at that point, almost high with rel
ief. A young woman. It must be Norma. It must be.

  Then, with his heart in his throat, he followed a nurse to the acute burns unit staring at the shrunken, blistered figure covered in bandages and tubes, his heart breaking. It wasn’t Norma. He knew that even through the disfigurement. The shoulders were too small, the breasts too big. It was Alma.

  Bert turned away, his heart imploding. Norma was gone. He staggered home and wept, wanting to die, wanting to join Norma in her grave. The last time they had spoken Norma had told him she wanted at least five children.

  ‘I love children. Just think Bert, five miniature versions of us running around. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

  It took Bert another week before he stepped foot outside his home. The first thing he did was visit Alma. Standing next to the bed watching the rise and fall of her chest, listening to the beeping machines, he grappled with his grief, tied it up and buried it deep.

  Norma was gone, but Alma lived. She had no one and had lost everything. Seeing her writhe in agony in that nightmarish ward Bert made an oath: He would care for her and look after her, in honour of Norma’s memory. Norma was a sweet, kind girl, and though she quarrelled with Alma, Bert knew she wouldn’t want her sister to suffer alone. So Bert visited Alma every day, helping her during those long years of recovery and rehabilitation, holding her when she wept bitter tears over her lost looks. But Bert thought she was beautiful and told her so every single day until Alma believed him.

  And slowly and surely Norma faded away, a little at a time until Alma became his moon, sun and stars. They fell in love and planned a life together, living an aimless, nomadic lifestyle until they found Deerleap, isolated and in the shadow of a mountain. They decided to settle in the strange tangled forest where hardly anyone dared to venture and where Alma could live in peace free from pitying stares and uncomfortable dismay.

  Bert would never forget Norma, but the fire could have claimed Alma too and then where would he be?

  The beer bottle fell onto the grass with a soft thump, amber liquid sinking into the soil. Teetering on the brink of sleep his last thought was of gratitude and peace.

  I’m so lucky. The luckiest man in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  George cleared his throat and spat keeping a firm grip on the struggling animal. He ran the electric clippers over its wiry, matted wool and threw a dark look at the rest of the herd. He still had seventeen to go. Shearing was a hot, dirty job and he hated it, but his farm workers were occupied elsewhere and it needed to be done.

  Sometimes when George was exhausted after endless hours of hard work, he considered selling all the animals, apart from a few dairy cows maybe, and focus on growing crops. But the truth was his farm, for the first time in years, was doing all right. It would be stupid to change things now. He knew he was lucky, he might not earn a lot, but through sensible decisions, good land and cost-cutting measures he kept his head above water.

  With a final flourish of the clippers George let the sheep go and it bounced away, relieved. George grabbed another, dragging it over to the stool by the legs and started again. It was a real shame that Daisy wasn’t interested in the farm, but he thought if she ever settled down it would be nice to leave it to his grandchildren.

  George wiped sweat from his brow and frowned. He worried about Daisy. He was glad she had returned to Deerleap and glad she had a steady job, but she had a wild streak and awful taste in men. His lip curled as he thought about Jeff, her last boyfriend. A jobless waste of space who thought riding around on a motorcycle made him a man. No, a man was someone who worked hard, who took his responsibilities seriously.

  He cast his eye around the peaceful farm and felt a faint swell of pride. And why shouldn’t he? After all, this farm was one of the successful ones. Thoughts of Noah Cassandra came unbidden to his mind and with a growl he clamped his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about Noah because then he would think about Amelia and Maura and Lila...

  ‘That sheep looks done to me,’ said a mild voice to his right.

  George started. Inspector Montague leaned on the fence watching him, a hand held up in apology.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  George let the sheep go and cleaned the clipper blade, his shoulders hunched. ‘What do you want? Lila isn’t here.’

  Antagonism poured out of George and Jack knew the man disliked him. He brushed away a lock of hair and adjusted his collar.

  ‘I was hoping you could help me.’

  George snorted. ‘Like you helped me when I came to see you and asked you to stay away from Lila? I know you didn’t because I’ve seen the state she’s in. She looks ill. I don’t know what you’ve said to that girl, but I warned you to stay away. She’s got no place in a murder investigation.’

  Jack’s eyes fell. Lila still wasn’t returning his calls. He knew in his gut that she still couldn’t remember who killed her family and it was destroying her. Jack imagined her clutching her turquoise as she desperately rifled through the crime scene photographs and it made his heart ache. The only way he could bring her peace of mind was to find the person responsible.

  Jack coughed to hide his discomfort. ‘I’m not here about Lila specifically.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I want to ask you about Noah Cassandra.’

  Whatever George had been expecting it wasn’t that. He stiffened, staring unblinking at Jack for a full minute before speaking slowly. ‘Noah Cassandra. Now why on earth would you be asking questions about him?’

  ‘I’m interested in the case. I’ve been reading through the town’s old crime files, so I can get to know the place better. The Cassandra murder-suicide caught my eye, maybe because I know Lila. There are some aspects of the investigation that worry me.’

  Jack didn’t like lying but he wanted to protect Lila from any recriminations.

  George’s dark eyes were unreadable. ‘The case is closed.’ He licked his upper lip a pulse throbbing in his temple. ‘You shouldn’t be raking up the past. We all want to move on.’ He grabbed another sheep and switched the clippers on.

  Jack raised his voice above the buzzing. ‘Did Noah Cassandra have any enemies? Mr Gallahue?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be hunting the killer of those two girls?’ George sneered, switching the clippers on and off. ‘Or are you just hanging around waiting for the next one to be murdered? I doubt Mayor Blore would be happy to know you’re wasting time on a case that’s almost twenty-years-old. Maybe I should give him a call, what do you think?’

  Jack stood his ground. ‘You lived in Deerleap back then. Did Noah Cassandra have any enemies?’

  George’s grip on the sheep loosened and with an excited bleat it took advantage of the opportunity and bolted with half its coat swinging loose. George swore and glared, his eyes reddening, and Jack knew he was wrestling with the urge to punch him.

  ‘Now look what you did.’

  ‘Please, Mr Gallahue, answer my question.’

  George turned away staring at the mountain. When he turned back his face was grave.

  ‘Did Lila ask you to do this? She did, didn’t she? God, that girl, nothing but trouble since the day she moved here. And I don’t believe for a second you were just reading through the case files. You think I’m stupid don’t you? All you city folk are the same.’

  ‘You can believe what you want. But yes, I am reopening the Cassandra file. Noah Cassandra was framed. Don’t you want to know who did it? Don’t you want justice for your sister?’

  George advanced until he was only inches away from Jack, trembling with emotion. ‘Look here. I don’t care who you are, or whether Lila asked you or whatever. Noah Cassandra attacked his family and then shot himself. That’s it. Everybody knows that’s what happened.’

  Jack stepped forward. ‘No. Someone slaughtered the Cassandra family and tried to make it look like Noah did it. I’ve gone over the evidence. I know that’s hard to believe after all this time, but it’s the truth. Now I need your help to bring
this person to justice. For Lila. And for you.’

  The men stared each other down until George broke eye contact. He took his cap off, adjusted the strap and put it back on. Sorrow made deep furrows around his mouth and eyes.

  ‘After all this time, I’ve blamed Noah and now you’re telling me it’s not true. How can you be so sure? This is all nonsense, it must be. Wouldn’t the police have figured it out?’

  Jack rubbed his tired face. ‘I’m certain Noah is innocent. The police saw what the killer wanted them to see.’

  George stared at the ground. ‘So how can I help? I already told the police all I knew back then.’

  ‘I need to know if Noah, or Amelia, had any enemies. Or any issues with anyone, any fights, any arguments, anything they might have mentioned to you. I know it’s a long time ago now but—‘

  George exhaled massaging his forehead. ‘God, I don’t know. I don’t think so. Amelia got on with everyone and I’m sure she would have told me if she was having problems.’ He paused, screwing up his eyes in concentration. ‘Noah...maybe. He might have borrowed money and not been able to pay it back. He got into fights, maybe one those guys...I know there was a band of gypsies who came through Deerleap around that time, maybe they had something to do with it. A robbery gone wrong, or something. But they’re long gone now of course. Other than that—’ he trailed off.

  Jack nodded, disappointed. There was a strong likelihood that after almost twenty years whoever was responsible wasn’t even in the town anymore.

  ‘Here. This is my card. If you think of anything let me know. No matter how small.’

  George studied the Inspector. ‘Why? Why are you doing all this? What’s in it for you?’