“I don’t think I can. Not if the police release Alicia.”
“But what about us?”
“I don’t know – we’ll have to work something out.”
“We have to.”
He finishes the last of his coffee and looks at me with strangely bloodshot eyes. “Something’s wrong…”
His hand slips through my fingers. There is a sickening thump as he hits the floor.
“Deacon!”
His skin is cold and clammy, but I feel queasy even as I rush to his side. I retch as I roll him into the recovery position, then double over as the nausea hits me.
Where is my phone?
My ears buzz and tingle and black dots dance in front of my eyes. This is the last thing I remember.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A thick fog weighs me down. I try to make sense of what’s happening but my brain can’t seem to process it and my body refuses to help.
I try to lick my lips, but my mouth feels heavy and my lips taste slightly sugary, like when you lick an envelope. Or when someone sticks a strip of parcel tape over your mouth.
As the fog lifts, I look down and see that my arms and legs are also bound with tape, making it impossible to move from the cold, hard surface I’m lying on. To my left, I can see an old oak dresser, stacked with willow-patterned cups and plates.
I’m still in Tumbledown Cottage. Tied to the kitchen table.
Panic grips me. I don’t understand what’s happened. One minute we were talking, the next we were dropping like flies.
“Deacon?”
But my words are muffled.
“Deacon!”
There is no reply. Desperately, I look around.
Where are you?
Finally, I spot him – tied to a chair, his head slumped forward in his lap.
“Deacon!”
There is no response, but I can tell by the rise and fall of his stomach that he is breathing.
High heels clack on the wooden floorboards. I close my eyes and try to pretend that I’m still unconscious. The footsteps stop. Hair tickles my neck. She is standing right over me, her breath like fire.
“I know you’re awake, Isabel. You might as well open your eyes.”
I shiver uncontrollably as her slim fingers trace my neck.
“Are you cold? Maybe I should light a fire?”
My eyes snap open and she nods with satisfaction.
“What did you do to us? Poison our coffee?”
But my words are stifled by the tape.
“We’ll just wait for Deacon before we begin,” she says, as though we’re about to conduct a seminar.
“Begin what?”
Deacon’s eyes flicker open and shut.
Oh god. I’m so sorry I got you into this.
I watch his face go from confusion, to alarm, to anger, all in the space of about thirty seconds. He looks at me and I look at him, desperate to communicate. Desperate to escape.
“This conversation is getting a bit one-sided.”
Alicia leans over and rips the tape from my face. It stings, but I refuse to show any emotion.
“Are you at least going to tell me why?” I say, stalling for time. I’m very aware of Deacon, straining to get free.
“Why? You know why!”
“But why now, after so many years?”
She looks at me cautiously, as if deciding whether I deserve to hear the truth.
“I found you by chance,” she finally says. “I had a job to do in Queensbeach and I popped into Robertson’s for some supplies. That was where I saw you. I recognised you straight away.” Her voice drops slightly. “I remembered you, as if it was yesterday, but you didn’t even give me a second glance.”
“Maybe I didn’t see you…”
“You served me at the till! We had a conversation. I even asked you about places to stay and you told me about the caravan park.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. I meet a lot of people at Robertson’s.”
“My life was hell when I met you at camp, but clearly, my pain meant nothing to you. I told you my deepest, darkest secret and instead of helping me, you made it a thousand times worse. So yeah, when I saw you again, I saw my chance to get my own back. I wasn’t that innocent, little ten-year-old anymore. I knew I could destroy you. So I watched you for a while, found out where you lived, who your friends were. And then, when I was ready, I arranged for us to meet.”
She looks around for something, I’m not sure what. I glance at Deacon, who is struggling for all he’s worth but his binds hold tight.
“What does FRY stand for?” I ask, desperately. Anything to keep her talking.
“You still don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“Fire Releases You. My dad was right about that. It does release you.”
Her wicked eyes sparkle. “There’s something incredibly wild about starting a fire from scratch. It’s like giving birth to a brand new life. I can make fire from the most basic ingredients. I don’t even need matches.”
“I know. I saw you at Deacon’s barbecue. You made a fire out of practically nothing – just a couple of flints rubbed together.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I? It’s such a beautiful thing, fire.” She smiles thoughtfully, before snapping back to attention. “And now, you’re going to burn, bitch!”
She storms over to the stove and there is a click as she ignites the flame. Then she picks something up and places it on the hob. The resulting smell reminds me of the soldering iron we had in the tech lab at school.
“What are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer.
“What is that?”
I’m not even sure she hears me. She is too enchanted by the flickering blue flame, the crazy witch.
I glance at Deacon, but he is squirming too intently to catch my eye.
Shit! How do I get her talking again?
“How did you start that fire, that day at Deacon’s?” I ask.
But the conversation is over. After a couple of minutes, she picks up whatever it is by the handle and brings it over to the table. It looks hot. Really hot. The bottom is smouldering.
It’s a branding iron.
“Nooo!”
She brings it down on my stomach and I scream as I have never screamed before.
The branding iron burns straight through my shirt, onto the tender flesh of my tummy.
“Get it off! Get it off!”
The pain! I wiggle and writhe with all my might, but I can’t shift it. Can’t shift her.
“Somebody! Help!”
And just like that it stops. I watch in amazement as Deacon rips through his bonds with the aid of a penknife he must have had in his pocket. He flings her across the room, the branding iron clattering down to the floor beside her.
“You OK?”
I nod, but Alicia is as quick and agile as a cat. She hits the ground running and takes off at quite a speed.
“Quick, catch her!” I shriek, as she bolts for the door. Deacon runs after her. He has to, because as long as Alicia is free, we will never be safe.
My eyes stream as I look down at the scorched skin on my stomach. A freezer full of ice stands just a metre away, but I am still bound to the table and can’t move an inch towards it. It feels like eternity until Deacon returns, but it is probably only a couple of minutes. He drags Alicia with him, kicking and yowling like an animal, tearing at his flesh with her teeth.
“Quick, tie her up!”
I ache to be set free, but I know he must deal with her first. I’m still in agony, as he shoves her into the very chair he himself was tied to and binds her tightly with her own tape, which she left conveniently by the sink.
Finally, he rushes over to me and places a bag of frozen peas on my stomach, before slashing the tape from my arms and legs.
“Are you sure she’s secure?” I ask, glancing nervously in Alicia’s direction.
“For the time being. Now, let me see that wound
.”
“It hurts!” I whimper.
“I know,” he says. “Let me help you over to the sofa. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“How did she find us?” I ask, once I’m settled.
“She must have followed me up here. I’m so sorry, Isabel. I just had to see you.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m so glad you did.”
My voice drops to a whisper. “But what are we going to do with her?”
His eyes meet mine, and I’m not sure I like what either of us is thinking.
Fate has twisted the knife once again, leaving us with a cruel dilemma.
“We have to let her go sometime.”
“If we do, she’ll kill us both.”
“Then what are we going to do – go to the police?”
“But what if the police let her go again?” I bite my lip. “We don’t have to decide right now, do we?”
“I suppose not.”
I get up and walk over to Alicia. It feels strange to finally have all the power.
“Don’t get too close,” Deacon warns.
“I need to ask her something.”
I pull the tape from her mouth and hope it stings her as much as it stung me.
“What did you do with Fluffy?”
“You’ll never know.”
She spits in my face.
I seal the tape back over her mouth and walk away. Any sympathy I ever felt for her has gone. She doesn’t have a human bone in her body.
*
The evening passes almost pleasantly. Deacon cooks sausages and mash for supper and it tastes bloody good - the best meal I’ve had all week. He offers some to Alicia but she refuses to eat or drink anything, even water.
See? You’re killing me.
She thinks by doing this, we’ll have to let her go, but she’s wrong.
We don’t have to do anything.
Her little girl voice is soft and pitiful but it has no effect on me anymore.
“I need to go to the toilet!”
“Then I’ll take you.”
Deacon looks up sharply. “We’ll both take you.”
“How can I sleep?” she whines as the day becomes darker. “Tied to a chair like this? It’s not right.”
“You’ll live.”
There can be no opportunity to escape.
“If you don’t let me go, my sister will go after Rhett.”
“She’s bluffing.”
“And Kate.”
Neither of us even look up.
“And the baby.”
“How does she know about the baby?” Deacon whispers. “They haven’t even gone public yet.”
“I don’t know.”
It’s like she has hidden knowledge.
“Have you been spying on us?”
“Spying on you? I could still be living in the Beach House for all you know! It’s so ridiculously big, you’d never notice!”
I shudder at the thought.
“Did you really start all those fires?” I can’t help asking. “At the caravan park? And Bernie’s car and the gym? Oh and Rose Cottage?”
“Rose Cottage?” she laughs. “That one was Jody!”
So Rose Cottage was Julio’s fault – in a way.
*
I never thought I’d be able to sleep with Alicia so close to me, but somehow, curled up in Deacon’s arms, I do. There are perfectly good beds upstairs but we choose to sleep on the threadbare sofa. It’s vital we all stay together, in the one room. That way we know where everybody is. There’s no chance Alicia can escape.
In the morning, Deacon examines my stomach again.
“It’s looking much better,” he says with satisfaction. “Maybe it won’t scar after all.”
It will scar. I know it will.
In fact, I’ll probably be scarred for life, but at least now my outside will reflect my inside.
“Do you think she meant it about Jody going after Kate and Rhett?” I whisper, as we eat our breakfast.
“I don’t think she’ll have much chance as long as she’s locked up in prison, being someone else’s bitch.”
My cheeks burn, as I remember what it was like, being locked up with criminals, not knowing if I would ever get out. But I won’t allow myself to feel pity for Jody. She might not be as bad as Alicia, but she’s guilty nonetheless.
We try to ignore Alicia, snarling and moaning in the corner all day while we play cards and watch TV.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
“Shit, who’s that?”
As fast as lightning, Deacon flies over to Alicia and plants his hands over her mouth, warning her to be quiet. Then she starts shouting and screaming as loud as she can. I grab a strip of tape and plaster it over her mouth, but her cries are still faintly audible.
I go to the peephole.
“It’s Marjorie! What does she want? The rent isn’t due till the end of the week.”
“She probably wants her umbrella back. I was supposed to return it this morning.”
“What shall we do, pretend we’re not in?”
“No, she’ll only come back. Quick, let’s hide Alicia in the bathroom. She won’t be able to hear her there.”
We pick her up in the chair she’s tied to and carry her through the utility room to the back of the house.
Even with tape over her mouth, it is impossible to make her completely quiet.
“Shut up!” I hiss, terrified that Marjorie will hear.
But the harder I try to silence her, the more she yells.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to knock you out!” I threaten, looking around for a heavy object. My eye rests on the big, red fire extinguisher in the corner.
How appropriate that would be!
I pick it up and walk towards her with it, but Alicia just laughs.
She thinks I don’t have it in me. That may have been true once, but I’m not so sure anymore.
“I’ll deal with her,” Deacon says, taking the fire extinguisher out of my shamed hands. “You get rid of Marjorie. Just for heaven’s sake, don’t let her in.”
I hurry to the door, grabbing the umbrella from the coat stand on the way.
“Hi Marjorie,” I call, trying to drown out Alicia’s cries. “Here’s your umbrella.”
“Thank you, dear. Here, I made you a casserole. I know how you young things don’t have time to cook.”
She hands me a cloth-wrapped Pyrex dish.
“Oh, how lovely of you!”
The old lady peers past me into the cottage. “Shall I pop it in the oven?”
“No!” I say, a little too sharply. “I mean, we’ve just had afternoon tea. We’ll have it a little later.”
“As you wish, dear.”
But she still doesn’t make any move to leave.
What does she want?
“So, I understand you’ve got your friend Deacon staying with you?”
“Yes. I hope that’s all right?”
“Only, you arrived in such an awful hurry. I thought maybe you’d had a falling out?”
“Me and Deacon?”
What is she getting at? God, how do I get rid of her?
“Isabel?”
I turn round to find Deacon standing behind me. He has stripped down to his boxers, his hands placed confidently on his broad hips, so little is left to the imagination.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise we had company!”
Nicely done!
The old lady blushes.
“Oh, I see, I’m interrupting! Please excuse me. I’ll leave you to it.”
But she is smiling as she hands over the casserole and instructs me to heat it at 180 degrees for fifteen minutes.
Gossip! That’s it. She was just after was a bit of gossip.
She wanted to know if Deacon and I were together, because the last time she saw us, we definitely weren’t. Well, the spectacle Deacon just treated her to seems to have satisfied her curiosity. I watch as she clambers back into her Land Rover an
d pets the little dog who is waiting for her in the passenger seat.
“Do you think we got away with it?” I ask, as she drives away. I set the casserole down on the kitchen counter, and try not to stare as Deacon slides back into his jeans.
“I think so. I don’t think she would have hung around otherwise. Besides, she’s a little hard of hearing if I remember correctly. I don’t think she would have heard Alicia unless she’d come inside.”
“I just hope you’re right.”
“Hmm…hmmm,” comes Alicia’s muffled cry from the bathroom. She still has the tape over her mouth.
“We’d better go and get her.”
“Do we have to?”
“Afraid so.”
“I need to stretch my legs,” she whines, when Deacon removes the tape. “My legs ache. My ribs ache. Everything aches. I’ll get deep vein thrombosis.”
“Come on then. We’ll walk you around the living room for a bit. No funny business though, or you’ll go right back in the chair.”
*
Marjorie’s casserole is delicious. There’s plenty left over but Alicia refuses to even taste it. She’s still on hunger strike. Hasn’t drunk a drop of water all day. I wonder how much longer she’s going to keep this up for. How much longer we can hold her.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Deacon asks me, as we finish washing and drying the dishes.
“We probably shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
But I have just got out of prison. Don’t I deserve to relax?
“Perhaps one glass won’t kill us?”
He grins. “I’ll get it.”
We snuggle on the sofa and watch old movies, back to back. We don’t really notice when one glass of wine becomes two but soon, we’ve finished the entire bottle.
“Shall we open another?” he asks, but I’m already up and reaching for the corkscrew.
“What are we going to do about her?” he murmurs, coming over to take his glass. “We can’t keep her tied up like this forever. It isn’t right.”
“Why isn’t it right? After everything she’s done to us.”
“You know we’ll have to let her go sometime. We’ll just have to figure out how we’re going to do it.”
“But we can’t!”
“There’s no other option. We’ll have to go to the police. Ask for their protection.”
“You think I’m going to put my life in the hands of the police, after everything that’s happened to me?”
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