by Tania Carver
115
Marina and Sandro walked towards the house, the mist parting with their footsteps. Whatever front door had once been there had fallen off and was rotting away. Marina stepped over the threshold, stopped. Listened. Heard creaking, groaning. Heard the river water sloshing round the foundations of the house, lapping away at it.
And something else. Faint and muffled. Small screams. Small hands hitting something.
Marina gasped. ‘Josie … ’
She made to run inside the house. Sandro stopped her. Marina glared at him, tried to shake off his grip.
‘Wait,’ he said, voice a hissed whisper. ‘The cars outside, remember? We don’t know who’s here. Let’s go carefully.’
The words didn’t penetrate. All she could hear was her daughter’s screams. She shook Sandro off and ran into the house.
She found herself in a central hall, huge, tall, a rotting staircase in the centre. She looked round, tried to get her eyes accustomed to the change in darkness. Saw movement, a light coming from a room off to her left. Ran towards it.
And found herself in what must have once been the living room. There was a woman lying on the floor, unmoving. Standing over her was one of the biggest men she had ever seen. And standing opposite, a naked, bald woman holding a gun.
The woman looked up from the body on the floor, stared at her. Marina took her in. She was like a female version of Frankenstein’s monster. A patchwork person. Marina flinched at the sight of her, but didn’t stop moving forward.
‘Where’s my daughter, bitch?’ She moved right up to the ruined woman.
The woman looked at her. Smiled. ‘Dr Esposito, I presume?’
Marina stopped. Looked at her. ‘You’re the one, aren’t you? You took my daughter … ’
The woman looked over Marina’s shoulder. ‘Golem … ’
Marina felt movement behind her. Smelt something rank, Decomposition and corruption to match the smell of the house itself. She turned. The man mountain was moving towards her. She had time to notice him. His skin was grey. Like a dead person. Filthy, bloodied bandages were hanging off his arms. She saw glistening wounds beneath. He smiled.
And stopped moving. Turned.
‘Hey, mate … ’
Sandro had tapped him on the shoulder. He took advantage of the Golem not moving. Swung a punch at him.
The Golem, eyes full of surprise, tottered, slipped. Sandro followed up with another punch. The Golem went down on one knee, a look of surprise on his face.
Sandro looked at Marina. ‘I’ve got this. Go on.’
Marina turned back to the woman before her. Made her hand into a fist. Put everything she could behind it. All the pain, anguish, heartache of the past few days. And the rage, the silent screams she had wanted to release but had been unable to. Everything. And let it fly.
Her knuckles stung, her arm shook from the reverberation of the impact. She might have done serious damage to her hand, but she didn’t care.
The punch had connected with the woman’s jaw, spun her head backwards, her body following. She had let go of the gun in her hand, sending it flying across the room, and stumbled to her knees. Marina bent down, picked her up by her chin. There was blood all round her mouth. She made a kind of strangled growl as Marina pulled at her.
‘Where … is … my … daughter?’
The woman smiled. Blood glistening on her teeth. ‘Feel better for that? Won’t help you … because it … it doesn’t matter any more … ’
Marina pulled back her hand to slap her face but stopped. The woman was staring up at her, madness dancing in her eyes. ‘Where is she? Tell me … ’
The woman laughed. You can’t talk to me like that. I’m … I’m Dee Sloane … ’
Marina knew she would get nothing more from the woman. She was enjoying Marina’s pain. Instead she turned round, scanned the room, tried to tune out what was before her, listened for sounds of her daughter.
She heard them. Faint but unmistakable. Screams. Pounding. ‘Josie … ’
She dropped the woman who called herself Dee Sloane. Let her crumple to the floor.
116
Sandro was aware of Marina leaving the room. But he didn’t let his concentration slip, didn’t take his eyes off his opponent. Golem? Was that what the insane woman had called him? Whatever or whoever he was, he was there to be beaten. But it wouldn’t be easy.
The Golem looked at him, smiled. Advanced. He looked like he was going to relish the fight. Sandro hated those kinds of opponents. He always just wanted to get it over with. Put the other guy down as hard and as fast as possible. Win. And that was what he planned to do here.
‘You not hurt me,’ said the Golem. ‘I Superman … ’
Oh God, thought Sandro. Chatty and mental. Just what I need.
He squared up to the man mountain before him. The lack of sleep, the exhaustion of the previous few hours slipped away from him. The adrenalin high he had been on when he stepped into the ring hours ago kicked in once more. He brought his fists up, his system pumping. Felt that familiar bodily engine revving. It always kicked in. Like he was a car, speedy and powerful, one that couldn’t wait for the brake to be slipped so he could see how far he could get and how fast he could go.
And something else. Something that was always there. In every fight, in every aspect of every day of his life.
The rage. The familiar rage.
The Golem came towards him. Sandro saw his father’s features imprinted on his opponent’s face.
‘I feel no pain,’ said the Golem. ‘But you will.’
Sandro was ready.
He swung the first blow.
117
Marina ran. In and out of rooms, trying to make out shapes, objects in the dark, trying to find her daughter. Calling all the time, letting Josephina know she was coming for her. That it was all right. Her mother was here.
‘Josie, keep shouting, keep shouting … ’
She did. Calling for her, pounding too. But the calls, the pounding were starting to weaken.
‘Josie … Josie … keep going, keep going … ’
Marina ran into a room at the back of the house. The sound, the smell of the river was strong in there. She could hear it lapping at the foundations, curling underneath her, the wood beneath the floorboards creaking as it did so.
‘Josie … ’
The pounding had been coming from this room. Marina listened, tried to hear it. Couldn’t.
‘Josie … I’m here, Mummy’s here … Tell me, tell me where you are … ’
A thump. Small. Weak.
Marina looked round, scanned the room, eyes now accustomed to the darkness. Checking the rotting furniture, looking for cupboards, anything.
‘Again, darling, do it again … ’
Another thump, even weaker this time.
Another desperate scan of the room. The walls held nothing. Marina looked down, scanned the floor.
And then she saw it.
The trapdoor.
She knelt down, found the metal ring, recessed in the wood. Pulled. It wouldn’t budge. The wood damp and warped.
She pulled harder. Nothing.
Marina felt tears well up within her. Anger, rage and sorrow all built to an emotional crescendo. She wasn’t going to let this happen, she wasn’t …
She pulled again. Put everything she had behind it, every last piece of herself. If she never moved again, it would be worth it to get the trapdoor opened.
It moved. A small amount, but definite movement.
Encouraged, she pulled again, harder this time.
More movement.
She pulled harder, screaming at the top of her lungs.
The trapdoor gave, opened fully.
Marina fell backwards as it did so, letting the heavy wood drop to the floor, the noise echoing round the house, reverberating away to nothing. She got quickly to her knees, looked down into dark space.
And there was her daughter.
Pushed up aga
inst the top of the steps, her eyes wide with terror, soaking wet. Marina leaned in and Josie came straight into her arms.
‘It’s OK, it’s OK, Mummy’s here now … ’
She stood up, holding her daughter close to her, tighter than she ever had before, never wanting to let go. Josephina did the same, clinging on for her life. She smoothed her daughter’s matted hair away from her face, wet from the cellar, from tears. She could barely see her through her own tears. There were times she had doubted that she would ever see her again, ever feel her, hear her. But there she was.
‘It’s OK, Mummy’s here, I’ve got you, don’t worry … ’ The words came out in a cascade of relief. She rocked her daughter backwards and forwards as she spoke.
‘Have they hurt you, darling, have they … ’
Muffled against her, Marina felt Josephina shake her head.
‘I wanted you, Mummy … ’
‘I know you did, darling, and I wanted you too.’ She clutched her tighter. ‘I’m here now. And I won’t let anyone take you away again. Ever.’
Josephina didn’t move. Just clung on to her.
Marina dug into her pocket, brought out the tattered, dirty soft toy. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Lady. I kept her for you … ’
Josephina took it, hugged it to herself.
‘Ah, how sweet.’
Marina turned. Amy had entered the room. Still naked, face a bloodied mask.
And holding the gun.
118
Sandro’s blow connected. The Golem reeled backwards.
‘Gotcha,’ said Sandro, huffing out breaths.
The Golem quickly recovered, looked back at him. Smiled again.
‘You can’t hurt me,’ he said. ‘You can’t kill me.’
Sandro moved round the floor, fists at the ready. Trying to find the right next move, the right combination of blows, the best attack. ‘Is that so? You look like you’re in a bit of a state to me. Like some other fella’s already had a go at you.’
The Golem moved too. Not as light or nimble as Sandro, not a distance fighter like him, just used to relying on his size and the power that came with it for his advantage.
‘Not a state.’ Another laugh. ‘Invulnerable. Invincible. Unbeatable.’
‘Yeah, right, pal.’
Sandro had to admit that there was something behind those words. The dead woman on the floor was testament to that. And the size of him … Sandro had fought some big guys before. And they had been hard fights. The big fellas could throw a punch and get behind it. Make it hurt. He’d had to use every trick he knew just to avoid a beating. And they hadn’t been as big as this one.
He had to win this fight. Because if he didn’t, he would be dead.
The Golem made a move. Faster than Sandro would have expected. He just had time to duck out of the way as the big man’s fist came towards him.
He kept the momentum going, dodged round the side of his opponent, let loose a couple of punches to his ribs. His fingers hurt, it was like hitting a wall, but when he looked at where he had made contact, he noticed blood starting to seep through the other man’s T-shirt.
Result, thought Sandro. Like his arms, he’s got a wound there. A target. Something to aim for.
He swung again. But the Golem was waiting for him. He brought his arm backwards, smacked Sandro in the face, sent him flying. He stumbled backwards, tripped over the body lying on the floor, crashing into the rotted curtain hanging over a window. He tried to grab hold of it to stop his fall, but went down with it in his hands, the curtain pole following.
The Golem, again faster than Sandro would have expected, was on him.
Sandro was trying to wriggle free from the curtain as the Golem brought back his booted foot ready for a kick that would have shattered Sandro’s ribs and taken out at least one of his kidneys. Sandro thought fast. Grabbed the foot as it came towards him. Twisted. Hard.
He heard the terminal creak and snap as cartilage and bone were forced in directions never intended for them. The Golem dropped to one knee. But his features registered no pain. In fact it just seemed to make him angrier.
‘You think that would hurt me? I told you. You cannot hurt me.’
Sandro was momentarily shocked into inactivity. He had expected his move to work. Expected the big man to collapse in agony. Instead, the Golem was back on his feet, his leg twisted, pulling back his fist, readying it to fly.
Sandro turned, scrambled along the floor on his hands and knees to get out of the way. He grabbed the fallen curtain pole to help lever himself to his feet, but the pole snapped in two. He had just got to his feet when the Golem came up behind him, smashed him in the back.
The blow caught him between the shoulder blades, knocked the air from him. He went down again.
The Golem moved in. Turned him over. Knelt over him.
‘You put up a good fight. And I respect that. But now, you die.’
Sandro felt the Golem’s fingers tighten around his throat. Knew he had to do something. Thought fast. He knew the Golem didn’t respond to pain, so there was no point in trying to hurt him. Instead he had to do something physically incapacitating.
The Golem’s fingers were on his neck. Sandro grabbed a thumb with each hand. Bent them back as far as he could. The Golem released his grip slightly, tried to fight him off. Sandro kept on pulling. Felt them snap.
The Golem looked confused, wondering why his hands didn’t have the same grip, why he couldn’t squeeze hard any more. He tried. But it was no use. Without his thumbs, he couldn’t snap anyone’s neck.
Sandro knew he couldn’t rest, that his opponent was still dangerous. He felt around on the floor, found the broken curtain pole. Yes. That would do.
With the Golem still on top of him, he gripped the pole in his left hand, brought it into the Golem’s side, right into the bleeding wound he had discovered earlier.
The Golem didn’t flinch. So Sandro did it again. And again.
The third time he left it there and pushed. Hard as he could. Something changed in the Golem’s eyes. A light dimming.
Sandro stared into his opponent’s face. Saw not the Golem, but his own father. Bearing down on him, hurting him. Ruining him. He had never been able to fight back when he was younger. Used to lie awake at nights planning all the things he was going to do to get even. Never having the nerve to put any of them into practice. Just letting the rage build inside him. Taking it out on anyone else, finding surrogates for his anger.
And here he was again.
Sandro let go of the pole, flattened out both of his hands and smacked the Golem over the ears.
It was one of the most dangerous moves he could make. Not even allowed in the bare-knuckle ring. The mildest thing the blow could do was disorientate, hit an opponent’s centre of balance. It could also burst the eardrums. But the worst thing, if enough force was applied, was unconsciousness and even brain damage.
And Sandro hoped he had applied enough force.
He saw his father disappear, saw the Golem once more.
He looked into the Golem’s eyes again. The light was going out. Blood began to trickle out of his ears. His mouth went slack.
And he collapsed on top of Sandro.
‘Brilliant … ’ Sandro could barely breathe.
He managed to push himself out from under, let the Golem’s broken body slump to the floor. He climbed slowly to his feet. Legs unsteady, head and body sore. Breathing ragged.
But alive.
119
‘And it was all going so well … ’ Amy held the gun on Marina and Josephina. Her bloodied features filled with regret.
‘So well?’ said Marina, clutching her daughter tightly to her chest.
‘Yes. Everything was planned, everything was ready.’
‘Everything planned? You killed … killed someone I loved. You tried to kill everyone I love.’
‘No, not me. Michael Sloane. He did that. I’m not responsible for what happened to your family.’
; ‘Michael Sloane did that?’ Marina clearly didn’t believe her.
‘Graham and I were going to approach you. Ask you to help us with Stuart. We were going to do it properly, formally. But Michael found out. We didn’t plan it well enough. He found out we were going to approach you when you were in that cottage in Aldeburgh. So he got there before us. Firebombed the place. Only I managed to get you and your daughter out of there. And then … we had to improvise.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Amy sighed. ‘I don’t care.’
‘You blame Michael Sloane for everything.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘And why do you think that is?’
‘You used me. You kidnapped my daughter.’
‘I panicked. After the blast. Had to do something. I’d come to speak to you, ask you nicely, but then there was the blast. And Michael was there. You were unconscious, I pulled you out of its range so he couldn’t grab you, throw you back in. Then the car went up. And the only thing I could do was take your daughter. And run.’
‘But … you tortured us — me and my daughter … you enjoyed it.’
‘So melodramatic. We had to see that you weren’t being followed, hadn’t told anyone. So we set a test for you. In the bar in Southend. Told you which motel to sleep at. I even came into the hospital, put the book of maps and the phone in your bag.’
‘You were spying on me.’
‘We already had the equipment. The Sloanes knew what we were up to. Were trying to stop it. Even if it meant killing us. So we were monitoring their calls, checking that they weren’t getting too near us.’ She sighed. Readjusted the gun. ‘Still, it doesn’t matter. Not now. Not any more.’
Marina stared at her, unable to move.
Amy’s finger tightened on the trigger.
There was nowhere for Marina to run, nowhere she could hide that would take her out of range of the gun. And she couldn’t make a grab for it, not with Josephina in her arms. As she closed her eyes to accept was about to happen to her, Sandro stepped out of the shadows and came up silently behind Amy.
