by Brett McBean
When he could see a little better, he crept up to a small window, but saw that it had shutters. He tried opening them, but they were locked.
“Damn,” he muttered.
He tried the next window along, probably the kitchen, but it too had locked shutters. He then walked around to the back of the cabin and saw a door.
Should I? he asked himself.
He was just curious. Even if the guy was in there, Morrie wouldn’t do anything. But he had to ease his mind. Had to know if Madge had sex with him because she really liked him, or just because she was lonely.
Morrie approached the door, gripped the handle and pulled.
He met with resistance.
He wasn’t surprised, but he felt disheartened. It looked like he was never going to know.
He left the back door and headed around to the front.
So what, Morrie thought. We had a good time, but that was it. If it wasn’t for that kid, Judy and I would be far away by now.
He made his way to his car.
The night momentarily illuminated, and Morrie watched with awe the brilliant flash of electricity. “Amazing,” he said, shaking his head.
Then it was over.
The night returned to the oppressive blackness.
Pulling the keys out, Morrie opened the back doors. He had numerous tools in there from his job that he’d forgotten to put back in the garage. A crowbar was bound to be amongst them.
Thunder grumbled through the sky, then somebody yelled, “Morrie!”
He jumped at the voice, dropped his keys and quickly turned around.
He was surprised to find Madge. He hadn’t initially recognised the voice.
He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he noticed the baseball bat she was holding.
She was standing about four metres away, and the bat that was at first by her side was now raised in an aggressive manner, like she was about to hit a home run.
She started forward, slowly, the bat still poised.
“You bastard,” she cried.
He could detect a wavering in her voice.
“I know all about you and your wife.”
“Madge, let me expl...”
“Shut up,” she bellowed. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit. You’ve tricked me once tonight.”
Morrie thought about grabbing one of the tools. He was close enough to make it.
“Move over to the cabin or else I’ll break this over your head. I’m not kidding. Move!”
But he didn’t want to hurt her. He would try and talk to her. Reason with her. Explain what had really happened, and she would understand. So he obeyed and headed for the cabin.
“Don’t try anything, Morrie. I know you’ve got my gun.”
He turned around. “What? Your gun?”
“Turn around! Don’t talk!”
He turned and continued walking.
He opened the cabin door and stepped inside, Madge only a few paces behind.
“That was quick...” As soon as Judy saw Madge with the baseball bat, her eyes grew wide and she cupped a hand over her mouth.
“On the bed. Sit down, both of you.”
Morrie lifted the hood back off his head and sat down, Judy sitting beside him.
“What’s going on?” Judy whimpered.
“Be quiet,” Madge said sharply.
She slammed the cabin door, her eyes watching them the whole time.
It wasn’t until Morrie saw Madge in the bright cabin light, away from the dark night and the storm, that he noticed the coil of rope around her neck.
Seeing that made him more nervous than the bat. What the hell did she have in mind? He eyed the Adidas bag with the rifle inside. It was sitting just behind Madge. Should he risk it? No, only as a last resort, he decided.
“Please, Madge. I can explain. Put the bat down.”
Madge took a few steps closer. She looked at Morrie, and he noticed tears in her eyes. He could tell they weren’t raindrops; her eyes were red, plus they had a glazed, sad look in them.
He felt sorry for her. It didn’t last long.
With a speed far quicker than Morrie would have thought possible for a woman of Madge’s age, she swung the wooden baseball bat at Judy. There was a dull thud as the bat struck her hard on the cheek, then she fell backwards.
Morrie cried out, and was too distraught by his motionless wife that he didn’t even see Madge swing the bat a second time – this time at his head.
She hit him just above the temple.
The pain was incredible, and his eyes flashed a bright white, much like the lightning he had just witnessed.
He flopped sideways onto the bed.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Simon opened his eyes and got a shock. He had somehow managed to fall asleep. He glanced at the clock radio and saw that he had been asleep for almost forty minutes. Scared, he turned his head and looked around the room. The bathroom was still dark and the second bed was empty. The man hadn’t returned.
Where could he have gone? Simon wondered.
The storm outside was still raging. Something –the thunder?– had woken him.
He turned and saw that the candles had burned about a quarter of the way.
His plan.
He had rested for long enough. The sleep had done its job.
Although his pains were still just as intense, and the cold was settling in again, Simon felt marginally stronger. He now felt like he could try his plan.
Here we go, he thought.
He prepared himself for the arduous work ahead, then clenched his fists up tight and with all his savoured energy, began tugging at the ligatures.
Since the bed was just a cheap make, it wasn’t overly heavy. A man standing over the bed, using a fraction of his strength, would be able to lift it off the ground easily.
So, a young man drained of his strength, and his legs all but useless, would hopefully be able to at least move the bed slightly.
He jerked his hands and upper body about, the bed groaning and scraping along the floor.
He managed to knock the headboard against the wall a few times.
The candles, however, never wobbled.
The slight vibration from shifting the bed along the floor wasn’t working, nor was banging the headboard against the wall.
Exhausted from the little, yet intense work, Simon relaxed his muscles and lay sweating, his nostrils making a loud hissing noise.
He cursed in his head, and closed his eyes, waiting for his heart to slow down.
When his breathing had returned to a steady pace, Simon opened his eyes and looked over at the stubborn candles.
Why didn’t you fall over? he shouted in his head.
He needed to rest for a brief period before he tried again.
He looked at the bedside drawer, wondering why it hadn’t even tottered just a little, when he saw the reason.
The back of the drawer was a few centimetres from the wall. No matter how hard he banged against the wall, the drawer would never shake.
There was only one way he was going to get the candles to fall over – to physically knock the drawer. And the only way to do that was to somehow get the bed over to the drawer and thump the bed against it.
Simon wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do that. It was a big task that required a lot of upper body strength and more energy than he possessed.
Still, he could try. He had nothing else to do except wait for the psycho to come back. It was going to be near impossible without the use of his legs, though.
But, he would try. Nothing to lose and, if it worked, everything to gain.
You don’t get anywhere in this world without trying, he heard his father saying. Remember that, son. Nobody can call you a loser if you gave it your best shot.
If he ever wanted to see his father again, as well as his mother and little brother, he would have to try.
Half a metre.
That’s how far away the bedside dr
awer was from him.
That old cliché came to him: so close, yet so far. He now knew what that saying really meant.
Simon felt strange. He felt like crying and laughing at the same time. Why, he did not know.
Control yourself, he thought. You can go insane after you’ve escaped from here.
The feeling gradually subsided.
He told himself that he needed to concentrate all his energy into moving the bed half a metre to the bedside drawer.
Closing his eyes, Simon clenched his fists again.
He pictured the man, raping and torturing him, the grotesque smile on his face. He pictured his family. Then the man again. David getting shot. The man returning and him still trapped.
With fear, hatred, longing and anger all rolled into one tight ball of energy, Simon opened his eyes and began pulling at the bed.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“I think it’s about time to swap ends,” Al said over the noise of the rain.
Eddy nodded.
“Okay drop him here,” Wayne said.
The three men stopped and placed the body down.
Al checked his watch. “Yep, it’s a bit past three-thirty.”
“How about we take a break?” Wayne said. “We’ve been walking for over half an hour.”
Eddy, who was stretching his back muscles, nodded. “My arms and back are killing me.”
“Can’t be more painful than mine,” Al sighed.
“Couple of sissys,” Wayne laughed.
“I bet you could go for a ten kilometre run,” Al said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Wayne said. He rolled his head, loosening the muscles in his neck
Al sauntered over to a log by the side of the walking track and sat down with a groan.
Wayne wandered over and sat beside him. “How you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m managing. Hasn’t been too bad so far.”
“No,” Wayne agreed.
The hardest part of the walk so far had been going uphill. They hadn’t come across any narrow cliffs or large rocks or deep dark caves.
But they had really only been walking for fifteen, twenty minutes. Since they had to carry the body, the hike would take them nearly twice as long.
They were essentially still at the beginning of the walk.
“Still a long way to go,” Wayne sighed.
“Don’t remind me,” Eddy said as he joined them on the log. “Been a piece of piss so far.”
“Yeah, it’s going to get a lot worse,” Wayne said.
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the rain and the wind. Because of where Wayne was sitting, the body was in darkness. The light shone down the narrow, winding track.
“Does your son know where you’ve gone?” Al asked.
“No. He was asleep. I left a note, though. Told him I’ve gone for a walk in the mountains. I often do unusual things like that, so he won’t think anything of it.”
“Really? Even in the storm?”
“Sure. I love the rain. Love storms even more.”
“That is unusual,” Eddy said.
Wayne chuckled.
“How old is he?” Al asked.
“Eighteen. Name’s Simon. Hey, didn’t I already tell you guys this?”
“Not me,” Al said.
“Yeah, Al was out having a poop in the woods.”
Wayne chuckled, but not too loudly.
“Very funny. And before you ask, it hasn’t been too bad. I guess it’s settled down.”
“That’s good,” Wayne said. “Don’t want you stopping every ten minutes.”
Eddy ran his fingers through his hair. He gazed up at the dark sky. “You know, once you’ve been out in the rain long enough, you barely notice it’s there.”
Wayne and Al murmured in agreement.
“See why I don’t mind walking in the rain,” Wayne told them.
Eddy shifted on the log. “Damn gun. It’s poking into my stomach. Thing’s the size of a fucking cannon.” He sat up straight and fixed the position of the gun.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Magnum,” Eddy said. “Forty-one revolver.”
“Wow, impressive. Very powerful.”
“Yeah, and we won’t hesitate to use it,” Al said.
“Jesus, man,” Eddy huffed.
“Hey, only joking.”
Wayne laughed and shook his head, the light from the headband torch flickering through the trees. “You two are classic. How long you been friends?”
“Too long,” Al said.
“We met each other first year at high school,” Eddy said. “Except I used to beat him up and tease him. He was just a little runt back then.”
“Fuck you, Edward. You never beat me up...”
“And still is,” Eddy finished.
Wayne chuckled.
“Anyway, it wasn’t until year eight that we started hanging around together. And for some reason, we’ve been friends ever since.”
“Ahh,” Wayne sighed. “Isn’t that sweet? And they lived happily ever after.”
“Only if we don’t get caught for what we’ve done tonight,” Al said.
And like a signal from God, lightning cracked overhead. All three men looked up and watched.
After it was finished, and the night was back to familiar darkness, Al said, “Did you all think that the lightning seemed closer?”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Eddy said.
“Just your imagination,” Wayne said. “We’re not that far up the mountain.”
“Didn’t you think so?” Al said.
“No,” Wayne quipped.
“Well, it’s two against one,” Eddy said.
“We haven’t asked Jeffrey yet,” Wayne said. “Hey, Jeff,” he called out. “If you think the lightning was closer, speak now. If not, then don’t.”
The others laughed hard.
“See? It’s even.”
“Fuck, wouldn’t it have been funny if he had spoken?” Eddy laughed.
“Yeah, a riot,” Al said
“This is what we need. Laughter. Makes what we’re doing all the more bearable.”
“You’re right about that,” Al said.
“You guys live with your parents?” Wayne asked.
“I do,” Al said. “But just with my mum. Her husband left when I was a baby.”
Wayne frowned. “What about your real dad?”
“That’s who I’m talking about.”
“He doesn’t like to refer to his biological father as his dad,” Eddy told Wayne.
“Yeah, as far as I’m concerned, that prick wasn’t any father. He was just my mum’s husband who had sex with her.”
“I see,” Wayne said. “That must’ve been hard on her.”
“Yeah,” Al huffed. “So hard that she turned to the booze. Stupid bitch is an alcoholic.”
“That’s no way to speak about your own mother,” Wayne said.
“No? When you raise yourself because she’s too busy guzzling down gin and whisky, you have a right to call her what you want.”
“I know what it’s like living without a father,” Wayne said.
“But was your mother an alcoholic?”
“No,” Wayne huffed. “She never drank. What about you?”
“I live with my brother. In a dump of an apartment.”
“Where is he tonight?”
Eddy shrugged. “Who knows? Probably at home, studying. Fucking nerd. Studying law. Can you believe that?” He chuckled.
“Are your parents...?”
“Dead? Nah. They’re both alive and well. Don’t know how much longer they’ll be together, though. Both my parents fuck around.”
“Really? They cheat on each other?”
“Hell yeah,” Al put in. “His mum’s a regular whore. Fucks guys half her age.”
“My dad cheats, too,” Eddy said. “Both as bad as each other.”
“My God,” Wayne said. “I can’t believe parents could
be like this.”
“What, was your mum a saint?” Eddy said.
“She was a very religious woman, yes.”
“I didn’t mean it literally,” Eddy said.
“I know what you meant,” Wayne said, smiling. “She was both religious and a very caring mother.”
“So then why did you turn to a life of crime?” Al asked. “We both have excuses.”
“I have my reasons,” Wayne said. “It wasn’t anything to do with my dear mother, though. It was my choice. My fault.”
“Hang out with the wrong crowd?”
“I guess you could say that,” Wayne said. “We’d better get a move on. It’ll be light in a few hours.”
“God, I can’t believe I’ve been up all night,” Al said, rubbing his eyes.
Wayne stood up.
“I know. I’m so damn tired,” Eddy sighed. He stood up and stretched his arms to the sky.
With a groan, Al got up off the log.
“It must be nearing four o’clock,” Eddy said, wandering over to the body.
Wayne shone the light at his wrist. “Another ten minutes.”
“Fuck,” Al muttered. “And we’re not even halfway to the gorge.”
Al joined Eddy and Wayne who were standing over the body.
“You both had enough rest?” Wayne asked, looking from one to the other.
They both nodded.
“Look, we really appreciate all your help,” Eddy said. “Out here all night, while you could be fast asleep.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Al said. “Sorry about the way I acted earlier.”
“Glad to help,” Wayne said. “Like I said, I know what you’re going through. I sympathise with you two.”
“You think the cops will catch up with you?” Al asked.
“What? Oh, I hope not. Not if I can help it. We’ll probably just drive far away, change our names and live another life.”
“And he won’t miss his mum?”
Wayne huffed. “She doesn’t care about him. Simon won’t miss her.”
Wayne bent down. The others followed.
When they all had a good hold of the body, Al now at the ankles and Eddy with his hands under the back, Wayne counted, “One, two, lift.”
With moans and strained grunts, they lifted the body off the damp ground.
“Ready when you are, Al,” Wayne said.
“Okay,” Al said, proceeding backwards.
