by Belle Brooks
Morgan, a soldier goes to war and fights for the freedom of his country. I will instead go to war with myself and fight for only yours.
I’m giving you my final gift, Morgan.
Your freedom.
I never deserved you, but I was blessed to have you.
Sleep tight, Red. I will love you from beyond my grave.
Forever yours, Falcon x
“Falcon.” I remember this letter, but it’s not a blue-inked handwritten letter like I know it to be. This is a photocopy, a photographed version. Why do I have only this on my phone?
Suddenly, it’s like a shooting star explodes into vibrant fireworks before me. Pinks, blues, purples, greens—they fill my vision. As these colours blur, then form into the brightest rainbow I’ve ever laid eyes on, my life flashes behind my closed eyes, one clip after the other. It plays out quickly, so quickly that when I see myself running, fighting—when I look at blue eyes that change to green—when I hear the eerie whistle that means danger—I remember. I remember where I am, how I came to be here, and what I’m fighting so hard for.
I cry so forcefully my shoulders shake.
Four hearts beat for me—my own, my husband’s, my son’s and my daughter’s. I need to survive, and now I have a chance because I know who has me—Falcon Sampson. The man whom I couldn’t love like I wished I could. A man who’d shown me a darkness I never wanted to see. A man who’d frightened me, but not in a way that had me fearing for my life; he made me fear for his. I guess I’d been wrong; I guess my life was always on the line.
Thirteen long-stemmed roses filled the pictures behind the mirror. The song that played from the small boom box was one that reminded me of home with Reid and the kids, but was also one I’d shared with Falcon right before this letter came. That song spoke of his kind, yet tortured soul.
They were my hints. Falcon has been telling me who he was all along.
The blue eyes, then the green, the change of voice—it was all a disguise. Falcon had always been a true master of disguise throughout high school.
I sob harder.
If Falcon’s shyness were not so overwhelming for him, then the stage would have been his oyster, and he would have found the bright lights and fame that the universe owed him. The dark side of Falcon, though, would never have allowed him to pursue such a life.
Now, he wants my life.
I wipe my eyes with my free hand and flick them down to the phone as it vibrates.
Unknown Number: Morgan. Let me know you’re okay.
I’m not okay; I’m not okay at all.
I read the previous message.
Unknown Number: Morgan, It’s Detective West. If you need to call, call this number. Only this number. Check for any names, contacts, and photographs on the phone you have. We need any details that can tell us about the person responsible for your disappearance. Then preserve the remainder of the battery. We’re coming for you.
I bash my finger against the keys in response.
Me: It’s Falcon Sampson. He has me. His mother owns a property out past Corbet’s Landing. I’ve never been there, but Falcon told me she did. It must be where I am. I’m somewhere in acres upon acres of bushland around Corbet’s Landing.
My finger shakes as I press down and hit send.
I watch, waiting for the word “sent” to display. It’s taking forever. I look at the service bar. There’s not even one, and the battery only reads six percent.
I walk frantically. I walk in every direction, holding the phone up high, out to one side, then to the other … I’m trying to get enough service to push the message through. One bar appears. I stop dead in my tracks.
The screen goes black.
“Fuck,” I cry.
I’ve no idea if Detective West got my message before the phone went flat, and I’ve no other way to get help.
I drop the phone and run. I run so fast that my once weak legs hold my weight.
Bang!
I can hear myself blood-curdling scream as I shrink to the ground. My head lays to the side. Black boots infringe upon my vision.
“Who am I, Red?” His voice is thick, and one I knew I recognised from the very beginning.
“Falcon Sampson, what have you done?” I whimper.
He laughs. It’s the most psychotic laugh I’ve ever heard, and even though the hairs stand to attention on the back of my neck and my heart leaps into my mouth, I try to get up.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.” He sings this to the same tune as church bells.
“I know it’s you. I saw the letter on your phone.” I sit on my arse, looking up at the black mask covering his face. “No, I saw your letter on your phone.” A shotgun dangles from his shoulder.
Before I have a chance to look away he moves the shotgun, pointing it right at my chest.
“You’re wrong, Morgan.”
Every thought I have jumbles into a twisted knot. “No. No, I’m not.” I shake my head at the same rate as my legs tremble.
He takes two steps toward me. I see him do it, but I don’t hear a sound. “Get on your knees.”
“No,” I shout. “I figured it out. I know it’s you. Take off your mask.”
He laughs. Spittle lands on my cheek.
“I know it’s you.”
“Get on your knees, or I’ll make you.”
Slowly, I twist. The cracking sounds my knees make when I apply pressure to them cause pain that has me sucking air through my clenched teeth.
“Put your hands behind your head.”
“You can’t do this to me, Falcon.”
The gun’s barrel will be against my head. I could be killed execution-style. My stomach turns and my heart thrums so hard that pain shoots into my chest.
He moves as quick as lightning and before I can blink, I’m laid flat on my back as he straddles my waist. His gloved hand hovers above my throat.
“This is your end, you bitch.” His fingers curl around my neck. He squeezes.
I can’t breathe.
“I don’t want to play this game with you anymore, Red.” He smirks.
My eyes are bulging from their sockets, threatening to pop clear out of my head.
“Show me.” I manage to spit out with the last breath I have.
He removes one hand, using the other to keep pressure against my windpipe, and tucks his fingers under the bottom of his mask. Slowly, he begins to peel it away.
Frantically, I suck air into my lungs. I groan as I place my hand on my head where a massive egg protrudes. My eyes flutter open, and as I jump upwards and slide backwards, I realise that I’m alone. I hold my neck and cough repeatedly.
What just happened?
There’s a thick tree trunk straight in front of my line of sight. Did I run into a tree? Did I knock myself clean, cold out?
I think I did.
The Wolf
I watch the circle on my laptop go around and around. Searching, pinpointing, locating. My lips curl upwards. Morgan might have outsmarted me in a moment of overconfidence, but she’s just a worm waiting to be picked off by a vulture now.
The need to take Morgan’s life with my bare hands has all but diminished. All I want is for air to stop entering her lungs and for her heart to stop beating. I can’t believe I fucked this up. I can’t believe I’d been so stupid as to leave scissors out for her to find. I huff, thinking about how many times I’ve played out Morgan taking her last breath in my mind. Now I’ll miss that moment. But I have a new plan, and I can’t wait for her to burn.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, burn in hell, Red, because I’ve had enough.”
The circle keeps turning. Hours have passed, but I know it’s close. I see that my revenge is just around the corner.
Ding.
The noise coming from the computer speaker is music to my ears.
I watch the screen, and there she is—a solid red dot on a map about three kilometres from the major road at the back end of my property. She’
s made some ground. I’m surprised.
I know these location points can change quickly, and the target can move out of range before any ground is made, but with the weather about to turn in a few hours, I take no time in charging through the back door and grabbing the jerry can full of fuel.
The heat of the midday sun causes my black clothing to heat up; I don’t mind, though. I quite enjoy the humidity summer brings, and the fact that a storm is on the horizon and will approach fast. The birds chirp high in the vibrant blue sky, and as I load the jerry can onto the quad bike and tie it down, sweat dripping from my eyebrows over my eyes, I take solace in the fact that the heavy predicted rains will somewhat extinguish the blazing inferno I’m about to create. If the storm passes us by though, I’ll have no choice but to flee and never come back. Well, until it’s safe to do so.
Flames are about to rise—hellish red flames. Morgan should appreciate this gesture, since it resembles the exact place she’ll be going once she’s dead. Hell, she’ll be Lucifer’s problem after all of this. I know he’ll do a much more thorough job of breaking her down than I did. The thought brings me comfort as I turn the key and the quad bike roars to life.
I head in the direction of Red, my soon-to-be-dead player, and as I do, I howl the sound of the wolf. The sound of my impending victory.
I zigzag between trees and hop mounds in my haste to get to Morgan, and even though I’m not going to be able to stick around for the grand finale due to the rapid speed of the blaze about to take place, I know that when I get back, her charred remains will be waiting. It’ll be worth every minute of the game we’ve played together. Even though this time the game didn’t go quite as planned, the memories will still cause electricity to sear through my chest and bring me the sensation of exhilaration I seek.
I’ve not chargrilled a Red yet, so the experience has me curious.
I stop my bike right where the GPS said she’d be. My heart leaps. I’m not surprised she’s not standing here—it’s a given that these things are off at least a small radius in any direction, and that she’s had time to move.
I unhook the jerry can from the back and lay it across my lap, positioning myself so that when I ride, the fuel will spill.
The atmosphere is power-driven. The smell of the petrol has adrenaline bulging my muscles. I feel each one twitch under my clothing when I twist the throttle and listen to the engine roar. I drive. I feel each glug of petrol exit the jerry can on my lap. The sight of it splattering to the ground below makes me drive faster. I’m circling one deliberate lap. “Here, mousey, mousey,” I laugh.
The stale air mixed with petrol keeps a smile plastered on my face, and as I pull to the left, I think back to Red Number Three and the moment I took her life. She fought so hard, but she never made it out of my underground cemetery, not as Morgan did.
“Please, please. Don’t. Don’t!” Donna’s on her knees, her hands held in prayer, begging for her life.
I don’t care to hear it, so I take my boot from the ground and hover it in the air.
“Please. Please let me go.”
“Who am I?” I say.
“I don’t know. I don’t know who you are.”
“Wrong answer.”
Crunch.
The sound of her jaw shattering from the impact of my swinging foot has me cracking my neck, followed by my fingers.
Blood sprays out from her mouth, and as she screams an ear-piercing scream from deep within her chest, I position myself on top of her, applying every bit of weight I have to her stomach.
Her eyes bulge before her chin points upwards and she struggles to draw air.
“Lights out, Red.” I smirk as I squeeze my hands around her neck and gaze into her shocked eyes.
Blood pools in the whites of her eyes, and I can’t help but think how stunning it looks around her blue irises. “You tried to rob me. You didn’t disclose you were a hooker and fucked around in my business. You wronged me, and you will pay.”
She tries to speak. She can’t.
“Save your energy, Red. I want this to last as long as it possibly can.”
Her lips change to the same colour as her eyes, and in this one moment, Donna is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. So much destruction covers her skin.
All the colour drains from her pale face before blood rushes to replace it with red. Her fingers are scratching at my gloves. She’s trying desperately to pry me off her, but she can’t because she's weak.
I laugh. I laugh so hard, spittle lands on her face.
She gurgles. I focus and watch as all the fear leaves her expression, and a peaceful acceptance takes its place.
“You can’t hurt anyone anymore. I’ll be sure to watch you rot.”
One final gurgle takes place, and then her hands drop away.
She’s gone.
The quad skids and for a split second, I lose control. “Stay focused,” I murmur.
I arrive back where I started, and when I pull off my gloves and hold the matches in my hand, I begin to whistle.
There’s something magical about the way the earth can light up with the strike of a single match, and as the dead leaves burn rapidly, I drive away. Each twist of my head over my shoulder shows me the flames rising, and this pleases me. Burn, baby, burn.
If only I could stay around to see it engulf Morgan in the blaze of glory I know it will be.
Morgan
I walk for what feels like hours; it’s more likely to have only been minutes because the passing of time eludes me.
I jump, panic, stop dead in my tracks, cower, fall, scream, run, and collapse, and I pant excessively when I can no longer move a muscle, and I’m laid out on the ground.
A terrifying darkness whisks me away, stealing my breath and sealing my eyes shut. I can’t escape it, so I don’t even try. Instead, I wait for the light, and when it comes, I’m instantly comforted. I’m drawn by it; homed by its glow. Its warmth wraps me up safely like a hand-knitted blanket. I never want to leave the light or the memories that play out while I’m in it, so I hold on to every moment.
And then it’s gone. The blanket is ripped away from me, as is the light. A force, much stronger than any I’ve ever experienced, tugs my limbs in different directions. I can’t see this force, or even touch it. It just exists.
The walls tumble down, and then I’m running barefoot through the bushland. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and I cry, but I don’t dare stop running. My life is in danger because I’m being hunted like prey, and all I have left is this chance to escape. I know who’s chasing me now. I know it’s Falcon. It took me knocking myself out to put all the pieces together, and a dream to remember what once was.
I pass a tree, then another, but my limbs grow weak quickly, so I’m left to walk once more. Time moves like this in a loop, and I don’t know how much has been erased. I wish I still had the phone. I wish it wasn’t a piece of trash now littering the bush like I am. Why couldn’t the battery have lasted longer? Why? I could tell the detective where I believe I am now, and who has me. Falcon Sampson. I look to the solid blue sky above and try to make a judgement on what I see, only nothing has changed from before. So, does that mean time hasn’t moved at all? I walk sluggishly, my shoulders hunched, my head drooping, and before long I collapse, hitting the ground with an almighty thump that knocks the wind from my lungs. I catch my breath, then cry. I smother the noise I make with my hands, telling myself to be quiet because he moves like the wind, and I can’t hear his footsteps … He could be right behind me.
A fierce breeze whips up wildly, and instantly cools my skin. I roll onto my back and watch as sizeable black storm clouds invade the stunning blue sky, drifting in from my right.
It’s going to rain. I’m going to be relieved of my thirst, and the humidity that’s draining the vessel that homes my soul.
Excitement fills my veins just as electricity flashes above me in the sky.
But then the air smells and tastes like heat. It’s dry a
nd sharp with the distinct acrid flavour that comes with the smell of burning wood. The dark storm clouds above glow a bright orange as black snow floats down like flurries onto my face.
“No, no, no,” I cry. That’s ash. The bush is on fire.
BANG.
The sound, although distant, vibrates through my chest, and I launch to my feet, whipping my head left, then right. I’m searching for the direction of the crackling and popping that intertwine with the claps of thunder. Each sound creates a musical symphony to fill the bushland I’m trapped in, and as it does I run again.
I need it to rain now.
“Rain! Oh my God, rain!” I scream.
A blanket of orange and red silk catches the corner of my eye. It’s racing towards me from the left-hand side. It’s a magnificent yet terrifying beast of flames I fear will engulf me before I get a chance to find safety.
Fire is never a gentle master, and it’s not something any human or animal can outrun, but I don’t stop trying as I will the storm to release its fury before these flames swallow me whole.
“Rain!” I scream again.
The coolness I felt only moments ago is replaced by a heat so intense it feels as though my skin is melting away from my flesh. A grey ash cloud billows over the top of me. I blink excessively to ease the instant scorch to my eyeballs, but it’s pointless because now I can barely see. A thick front of smoke drifts and traps me.
Every breath I take scalds my airway, and as I splutter and cough, I panic.
What do I do? I don’t know what to do.
I throw my arms into the air and drop to my knees. The agony that rips through me is nothing compared to my inability to take a breath due to the suffocating pain wrapping around my lungs.
Holy shit. I’m going to burn to death.
I cough. I splutter. I wrap my arm over my mouth and nose for protection.
“Help me.” There’s no sound.
Boosh, boosh, boosh, boosh, boosh.
