Taboo

by Casey Hill

  Chris shook his head grimly. ‘As plans go, I’ve heard better—’

  ‘Hop out,’ she ordered, unwilling to wait around any longer. ‘You’re on foot from here.’

  Chris reached for the door handle, then paused. ‘Reilly, can I just say—’

  She hushed him into silence. ‘Don’t say anything – it’s bad luck. I’ll see you in a little while, OK?’

  He gave her a steady, appraising glance. ‘Just be careful. And don’t do anything stupid.’ He threw open the door, letting a blast of cold air into the car, before disappearing between the nearby bushes.

  Reilly eased herself across into the driver’s seat. The pedals were too far away for her to reach so she slid the seat forward. She was about to put the car in gear when she paused. The confidence she had displayed when convincing Chris that they should face this without delay seemed to seep out of her now that she was alone.

  Suddenly, she felt like a small vulnerable child again, a million miles from a highly trained FBI investigator. Everything she was doing was wrong; Daniel would have kittens if he knew. She was going in blind to a suspect’s house, no reconnaissance, no weapon, almost no backup, intending to just accept whatever she found and deal with it on the fly. Was she crazy?

  But another voice, a more calming one, rose up in her mind. She was doing something that her old tutor had also drummed into her – using her instincts. Her instincts, he used to tell her, came from deep inside the subconscious mind. And the subconscious mind – ten times larger than the conscious mind – had access to a range of information that the conscious mind could only dream of. Listen to your instincts, he would say, they’ll usually guide you in the right direction.

  And what Reilly’s instincts were telling her was that this was the only way to do it. That Jess was waiting for her, had taken her dad captive, and that if they went in with force her sister would simply kill Mike and make her escape for another day.

  Reilly slipped the car into gear and moved closer to the renovated house. At this point, the best way to handle this was face to face.

  It was a small, three-bedroom house near the end of the cul-de-sac, easily identifiable by the skip, loose plasterboard and other DIY materials strewn around it.

  Without thinking, Reilly turned the car around at the end of the row and parked it facing up the road, ready for a quick getaway. Conscious of the rapid beating of her heart, she took several deep breaths before turning off the engine.

  In the sudden silence she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, the wind whipping up the rain past the window. She wondered where Chris was. Well, wherever he was, he was undoubtedly getting wet.

  She stowed the keys up behind the visor – again, out of habit – then kicked the door open. The rain had turned heavy, blasting in her face as the stepped from the car and forcing her to hurry up the path toward the house. With the moist drops in her eyes it was hard to see clearly and as she neared the house Reilly peered at the door, trying to find the doorbell – but there was no need.

  The front door opened wide as she approached. A woman was half hidden behind it, a gentle smile on her face. ‘Terrible night, isn’t it?’ her little sister said, casually. ‘Come on in and get dry.’

  42

  Reilly stepped inside, brushing the rain from her hair. Jess closed the door behind them and slid the chain into place. She was holding the .38 loosely, not pointing it at Reilly, but it was there just the same, a quiet threat, a gentle reminder of who held all the cards.

  Reilly looked around her. There was a smell of fresh paint in the air. The hallway led straight down toward the kitchen, a door on the left leading to the living room, another to the right.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s fine – you’ll see him soon.’ Jess nudged Reilly toward the living room with the gun. ‘Go on through.’

  She stepped into the room. It was small, newly decorated with a neutral carpet but almost devoid of furniture. A small battered sofa sat in the middle of the room and over by the window was a workman’s bench on which stood a laptop.

  The back wall had been opened out into an archway and led through to a dining room. In the darkened room Reilly could see a small dining table and four chairs.

  ‘Sit down,’ Jess commanded.

  Reilly did as she was told and looked properly at her sister.

  It had been such a long time since they’d seen each other, the last time had been back in the courtroom when Jess was being led away in handcuffs. Of course she looked older, but the same fine bone structure was there – she’d not put on any weight and her high cheekbones still dominated her delicate face.

  What had changed was her expression. Jess had always had a searching look – she was the most demanding kid Reilly had ever met – but she had always tempered it with an underlying sweetness. Now, as her cold blue eyes gazed down at Reilly, that sweetness was entirely absent. In its place was a calculating look, a chilling gaze that seemed to be constantly assessing and calculating, looking for weaknesses, points of advantage.

  ‘You look tired,’ she observed.

  Reilly gave a bitter laugh. ‘Hardly a surprise. I’ve been kind of busy lately.’

  ‘Really? Anything interesting?’

  She met her gaze. ‘Just some warped individual who seems intent on wiping out innocent people for kicks.’

  Jess raised an eyebrow. ‘That does sound interesting – you making any progress?’

  ‘Of course. We know who it is; but personally I’m at a loss to understand why anyone would do such things.’

  Jess gave a little smile. ‘It’s always so hard to understand other people’s motives, isn’t it? How can we ever truly understand what someone else feels, what they’ve experienced?’

  Tired of the games, Reilly suddenly moved straight to the heart of it. ‘Why, Jess? Why this mayhem, all these innocent people? And why here?’

  Jess shrugged. ‘Twelve years is a long time, Reilly. A long time to be locked up with a bunch of crazy psychotic people. When you first go in you look at them, and think, I’m here by mistake, I’m not like them, I’ll never be like them. But then, little by little you stop seeing the differences and actually start to notice how similar you are …’

  Just keep her talking, Reilly thought. Keep her talking while Chris finds another way into the house. ‘But you weren’t like them,’ she argued. ‘You were just a kid, a kid who was pushed too far.’

  ‘Maybe I was when I first went in,’ Jess looked sad for a moment, almost melancholic for the person she used to be. ‘But if you’re smart, you learn to adapt, learn to do what you can to survive.’ She stared back at Reilly. ‘I adapted, I survived, and mostly I learned about people – parents – and what they can do to you, how they can fuck you up.’

  ‘But you’re out now, Jess. You survived. So why carry on? Why not stop all this right now?’

  Jess’s look was challenging. ‘And do what?’

  ‘I’m not saying I can let you go free,’ Reilly continued, aware that she was babbling, but she was trying hard to hold Jess’s attention, ‘you’ve gone way beyond that – but they have no death penalty here …’

  Twelve years of accumulated bitterness rose up in her sister’s voice. ‘Oh. So I should go back to prison then – for the rest of my life?’

  ‘Dad and I are both here – we would be able to visit you—’

  A bitter laugh. ‘One big happy family, right?’ Jess shook her head. ‘The fucked-up mother, the freak daughter behind bars, and then the caring father and sister coming to visit every Sunday with their newspapers and fruit cakes and the scent of the outside world hanging on them? I don’t think so.’ She stepped back toward the computer and glanced at the screen.

  ‘Then what?’ Reilly asked. ‘What is the point of all this? How does it end?’

  Sitting there on the couch, wondering what was going to happen next was driving Reilly crazy. Where was her father? And where was Chris?

  She
leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of what Jess was doing with the PC. ‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.

  ‘Wonderful things, computers,’ Jess answered, nonchalantly. ‘Did you know that you can track someone’s movements, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, just from their cell phone? It’s great to be able to finally use some of the skills from all those courses on the inside.’

  As her words sank in, realization hit. ‘So that’s how you tracked me …’

  Jess suddenly moved the screen round so that Reilly could see what she was looking at. ‘That’s not all you can do with them,’ she observed, dryly.

  Reilly stood up to peer at the screen. It was split into four: four images from four CCTV cameras covering the outside of the house. Damn, Reilly had been so focused on what she might find inside the house, she’d neglected to spot that. Three were still, showing nothing – but the fourth was trained on the back door of the house and clearly showed Chris, trying to pry the back door open with some kind of gardening tool.

  ‘Ah, I was wondering where your boyfriend was,’ Jess said, grimly.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ Reilly began to inch closer, willing Jess to drop her guard, or perhaps give her an opportunity to get the gun away from her.

  ‘He’s almost in – time to say hello.’ Jess spun around suddenly, making Reilly jump. She raised the gun toward her. ‘Turn around!’

  ‘Jess—’

  ‘Turn around!’

  Realizing that there was no arguing, Reilly did as she was told and turned slowly to face the wall. ‘Jess, I—’

  Jess flipped the gun around in her hand and with a swift strike, clubbed Reilly behind the ear with the barrel.

  Reilly dropped like a stone, searing pain flashing through her brain and sending a wave of nausea racing through her body. She hit the deck, crumpled in a heap.

  Jess looked down at her and smiled softly. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  43

  Chris had searched the back of the house but found no way in, at least not one where he could gain access unnoticed. The place was locked down tight, no windows even halfway open. His best bet seemed to be the back door – it was old and made of wood and would probably pry open if he had the right tools. He just needed to stay as quiet as possible and hope that Reilly was keeping her sister occupied. In the meantime, he’d alerted Kennedy who’d automatically called out the Bray unit. With any luck they should be here within minutes.

  Chris wiped the rain from his face and looked around. He was already soaking wet and cold but he ignored his discomfort. Reilly was in there alone with her mentally ill and very dangerous sister; this was no time to think about himself.

  He looked around for something to prise the door open with. There was nothing useful lying around but the neighbors had a garden shed. Trying not to make a sound, he hopped the low wooden fence and landed softly in a flowerbed, his joints groaning afresh. He crept toward the shed – there was no padlock so he slipped the door open. Peering into the darkness he saw the vague outline of some gardening tools propped against the wall. He felt around and found a small shovel, a hoe, then finally a fork – those might work.

  He grabbed the shovel and the fork and headed back next door. Creeping up to the back door, he peered inside. Although visibility was poor, he could at least see that it led straight into the kitchen. A dim light shone from the front of the house, down the hall and into the kitchen. He could see plain white cabinets, a ladder and some workbenches – and over on the windowsill, a tool box. He set the fork against the door and tried jamming it between the door and the frame. After two or three attempts, he managed to get some purchase and slipped the prongs in between, forcing the door inwards a little.

  With the fork jammed in place, Chris reached for the spade. He slid it into the crack, lined it up against the lock and shoved. Nothing.

  The rain was still falling in sheets, running down into his eyes. He wiped his hand across his face. A couple more attempts, and then he’d just smash the glass, noise be dammed – he had to get in.

  He positioned the shovel again and pushed with all his might – almost falling straight inside as the door opened. Then, cocking his gun, he stepped into the kitchen, and paused, listening. The house was silent – no voices, nothing. He tiptoed forward toward the front of the house, creeping softly. Suddenly a shadow filled the hallway, blocking the light.

  ‘Hello, Detective.’ Before Chris could react there was a quick flash and a burning pain in his shoulder.

  ‘This is a private party,’ Jess said, her voice cold, biting. ‘No crashers allowed without an invitation.’

  The force of the bullet drove him backward into the doorway. He stumbled over the doorstep, landed in the mud and the rain. He tried to turn over but the wheezing in his punctured lung sucked all the life out of him.

  Jess reached down and picked up the gun that had fallen out of his hand. ‘You know, it would never have worked out between you and Reilly,’ she informed him. He looked up. She was standing over him, his own gun pointing right at him.

  His breath was ragged, hard to control, the pain and the dizziness already threatening to overwhelm him. ‘She wants to help you, Jess,’ he gasped.

  ‘Of course she does.’

  The gun fired for a second time.

  Reilly woke up slowly. Her head was on fire, a searing pain pulsed down the back of her head and into her neck. She tried to sit up but a wave of uncontrollable nausea swept over her. She leaned forward and retched onto the pale carpet, a short dry heave of bile and pain that left her feeling worse than ever.

  Unwilling to move, she gazed at the carpet. It was vaguely familiar but right now it didn’t seem to be important. Something else was much more important – but what?

  ‘I hope you’re going to clear that up.’ A voice came to her.

  Reilly tried to focus – the stars swirling in front of her eyes were doing nothing for her nausea. She slowly pushed herself upright, fought off another wave, and took several deep breaths. The pain was concentrated on the back of her head – she reached up, slid her fingers in through her hair, and found a moist, painful spot. She quickly pulled her hand away – it was too sensitive to touch – and found her fingertips were sticky with blood.

  ‘Come on, Reilly, pull yourself together.’

  Reilly looked around. The small room, the smell of paint – suddenly it all came back. She turned her head, another wave of nausea, and saw Jess sitting calmly on an old battered sofa. And in the chair beside her was Mike. He was unconscious, held upright in the chair by several thick bands of duct tape wrapped around his chest.

  ‘Dad …’ Reilly struggled to her feet, still dizzy, but gaining strength by the minute. She stood steadily for a moment, caught her breath and looked around.

  Jess sat very still, watching her. She seemed calm, composed, the most serene Reilly had ever seen her.

  ‘Is he …?’ Reilly croaked.

  ‘Dead?’ Jess gave a sad smile. ‘No. I just bought him a nice bottle of Jameson and encouraged him to finish it.’

  As if to verify Jess’s words, Mike gave a drunken snore and moved slightly against his bonds.

  Reilly exhaled. At least her dad was OK. But what did Jess intend? Then she remembered something else.

  ‘Chris – what did you do to him?’

  Jess remained cool as ever. ‘I simply reminded him that this was a private family gathering and he had no business interfering.’

  Reilly’s heart sank. Was Chris OK? Had she hurt him, or worse …?

  Mindful that she was most likely in this on her own, Reilly tried to regain some kind of composure.

  Suddenly, her gaze was caught by something she had missed before – she had been so focused on Jess and her father that she hadn’t noticed another chair situated in the archway between the two rooms. Sitting on top of it was another gun.

  Reilly quickly withdrew her gaze, not wanting Jess to realize what she seen. If she could just get th
ere without Jess noticing – talk, distract her, anything, while she slowly moved toward the gun.

  She put a hand up, held her aching head, and took another tentative step toward the archway ‘So, what happens now?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s for you.’

  Reilly paused, realizing she was referring to the gun. She looked at her questioningly.

  ‘It’s for you,’ Jess repeated. ‘Go ahead, pick it up.’

  Reilly looked again at the gun and then at Jess as if to ask her permission. She chose her steps carefully, fully expecting some kind of trick, but Jess sat silently watching her. She darted forward and grabbed the gun up from the chair. It felt light.

  She exhaled, disappointment flooding through her. ‘No ammo.’

  ‘Nope, there’s ammo all right.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘One bullet.’

  Reilly’s brain tried to take in the significance of this. She opened the gun to find that Jess was indeed telling the truth – the magazine was empty but there was one in the chamber. She flipped it closed and automatically trained it on her sister, worried why this seemed so easy.

  ‘Stand up.’

  Jess shook her head. ‘It doesn’t work like that, Reilly.’

  ‘I said stand up! I will shoot you, Jess, if I have to.’

  A slight smile. ‘Oh please, don’t ruin the suspense …’

  Then, before Reilly could react, Jess produced a syringe from behind her back, and pressed it against Mike’s neck.

  ‘Don’t—’

  ‘I presume you know what’s in this.’

  ‘Pentobarbital,’ Reilly snapped, breathing heavily. She moved closer.

  ‘Stop right there.’ The hypodermic pricked Mike’s neck, causing him to twitch slightly. ‘It’s a lethal dose,’ Jess informed her. ‘Not like the little shots you and the others got.’

  Reilly shuddered, remembering all too well the damage that stuff could do. ‘Put it down, Jess, or I will shoot you.’ Her hand shook as she tried to aim carefully at her sister.

  ‘Do you know why I went to see Mom that day?’ Jess asked, suddenly as if they were having a normal, run-of-mill conversation.