Defender

by G X Todd

  The redneck in front of her was tall and broad-shouldered. His strong jaw was covered in silver-flecked dark stubble, and his long, lean legs appeared as strong as tree trunks. More lumberjack than redneck, then. There was something else that set him apart from the rednecks in the movie, and Lacey’s throat began to ache when she realised what it was. This man reminded her of the Boy Scout. Not in colouring or facial similarity, or even in physical size, but there was something in his stillness, in his ease with himself, that echoed the characteristics of her dead friend.

  ‘Boss?’ Posy said.

  The Boss’s head turned. He tipped it to one side, as if he were listening to something far off in the distance, but it lasted only for the next second and then he was focused on Lacey and Alex, his eyes taking stock, roving over them, up and down, stopping at places in between, even pausing to study their feet, before coming back to their faces.

  ‘Names?’ he asked.

  Lacey opened her mouth but quickly closed it again when Alex spoke up. She had already forgotten her agreement to stay silent and let her do the talking.

  ‘I’m Alexandra. This is Lacey.’

  His eyes rested on Lacey’s face for a long moment. Then he spoke to Alex again. ‘You don’t look like family.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ Alex said.

  ‘Lovers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Friends, then,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. We’re friends.’

  ‘Can never have too many friends,’ he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an entirely too-pleasant way. The deepness of his voice sent a sonic vibration humming through Lacey’s chest. It warmed her like a nip of her grammy’s sherry used to.

  I don’t like him, the voice said.

  Neither did Lacey, but she didn’t share that with the voice.

  ‘Friends, yes, Boss,’ Posy said happily. ‘Friends are good.’

  The Boss pushed away from the window and strolled slowly towards them, his eyes dark and knowing. He hadn’t once acknowledged Posy’s presence, and he didn’t glance in his direction now as he stopped behind the armchair, his big hands resting on its back. He casually leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Alex.

  ‘Where is Red, Posy?’ His attention flicked to Lacey, then returned to Alex. The small smile he wore was amiable enough.

  Posy smiled nervously at Lacey, then looked back at the tall man. ‘Boss?’

  ‘I sent you out to find her. Where is she?’

  ‘Hmm . . . no sign, Boss. We looked all over. Up and down, crossways and underways. No sign nowhere.’

  The leather creaked in the man’s grip. ‘Where’re Jebediah and William?’

  ‘Jeb’s downstairs. Doc’s lookin’ at him. He got hisself stabbed.’

  ‘By who?’ He raised his brows at Lacey and Alex. ‘By you?’

  Lacey shook her head.

  ‘No,’ Alex answered.

  ‘Bill’s deader’n shit,’ Posy said sadly.

  For the first time, the Boss turned to look at Posy. The young man grew still, his nervous jittering disappearing as soon as taller man’s eyes found him.

  ‘Who?’ was all the Boss said.

  ‘Some tall fella. He was with them.’ Posy jerked his thumb at Lacey and Alex. ‘Jeb shot ’im in the head.’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  ‘He’s killed Jeb, too,’ Lacey said.

  Alex squeezed her hand hard enough to make her bones grind painfully together.

  The tall man turned to her. He smiled, all charm and warmth. ‘Has he now? This man was your friend, too, I take it?’ he asked.

  ‘We knew him, yes,’ Alex answered, unsuccessfully trying to redirect the man’s attention back to her. Already, Lacey regretted speaking up.

  ‘It would seem Jeb paid him back in kind, shooting him in the head and all,’ the Boss told Lacey.

  Her face grew hot, a throbbing sensation in the back of her skull making her eyes pulse in their sockets.

  Keep it together, girl. Don’t let him get to you.

  The tall man’s eyes crinkled even more, the attractive wrinkles emanating outwards like starbursts. ‘He was your friend, I can tell. And that’s OK – friends come and go. It’s in their nature to be transient. But he’s dead now, and I’ – he leaned further over the armchair, pitching his voice lower so that he was speaking directly to her – ‘I can be your new friend.’

  ‘I don’t want any more friends, thank you,’ said Lacey.

  The tall man laughed, the boom of his amusement bouncing off the walls. Lacey half expected to see plaster fall from the ceiling.

  He grinned broadly around at the others, even clapped his hands together, seemingly delighted by Lacey’s reply. ‘She doesn’t want any more friends, she says.’ He laughed again.

  Posy laughed, too, but you could tell he didn’t see what was so funny. He brightened immediately when the Boss came over to him and slung a beefy arm around his gawky shoulders.

  ‘I like this one,’ he told Posy, still grinning at Lacey. ‘You did good. I forgive you for not finding Red. I have others still out looking for her. They will bring her back.’

  Posy smiled real wide. ‘Yeah, Boss. Yeah, they’ll find her, I bet.’

  ‘Have these two been checked for—’ The big man whistled and twirled a finger above his ear.

  Lacey’s heart stopped. She even imagined she could feel the something in her head, that new space at the back from where the voice sparked and spoke to her, grow perfectly still, as if it were suddenly paying very close attention.

  ‘No, Boss. Not yet.’

  The tall man slapped Posy on the back, hard enough to make him jolt forward. ‘There’ll be time enough for that later. Go see how Jebediah is doing and report back to me.’

  ‘Sure, Boss, sure. I’ll go see.’ Posy eagerly bobbed his head, walking backwards again, still grinning and nodding as he went through the door.

  Lacey listened to his running footsteps scamper up the corridor.

  ‘He’s a fool, but he has his uses.’ The Boss smiled apologetically. ‘Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. Charles Dumont.’ He made a mocking half-bow to them. ‘A fancy name for a country bumpkin, I suppose you’re thinking, but my great-grandpappy was French and my great-grandma French-Peruvian. I’m afraid my claim to civility starts and ends there. I’m a New Orleans boy born and bred, although such divisions of birthplace are fairly redundant these days.’ He had an odd way of speaking, his drawl slow and considered, his vocabulary a lot more sophisticated than that of the rednecks in the movie Lacey had watched.

  He’s not everything he appears. Quelle surprise.

  ‘Mr Dumont, could you tell us what you want?’ Alex asked.

  Charles Dumont pursed his lips. ‘What I want?’

  ‘Yes. What do you want from us?’

  All amusement and charm dropped from his face. ‘Alexandra, allow me to be blunt with you. I want and will take everything from you I damn well please.’

  Dumont went straight back to smiling once he’d said it, but the dead calmness of his words spun round and round like a top in Lacey’s head.

  Everything he damn well pleases.

  He’ll get it, too.

  – You need to help us.

  There was a second’s stunned silence. Who, me?

  – Yes, you! Who else do I have talking to me inside my head?

  I don’t know. You weren’t speaking to me a minute ago.

  – Well, I am now! Can you help us or not?

  I don’t know . . . Maybe. But we have to be careful. I’m not sure what these people are looking for, but if it’s voice-hearers they want, maybe we could— The voice meandered off into unintelligible mutterings.

  – Could what? What are you talking about?

  Lacey exhaled hard and fast through her nostrils, trying to keep hold of her patience, and it wasn’t until she noticed Dumont watching her that she realised this internal conversation was playing out on her face.


  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  He looked curiously at her.

  ‘I get distracted sometimes,’ she explained.

  ‘Distractions can be dangerous,’ he said. ‘Especially when it’s important you pay attention.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

  ‘I think Alexandra and I need to have a private conversation. I’d like you to wait down the hall with Louis.’

  Lacey looked up at Alex and held fast to her hand. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Alex said, but she looked scared. ‘It won’t take long.’

  Dumont had gone to the door. He called for Lou.

  ‘Alex—’ Lacey began.

  ‘Shhh, it’ll be OK,’ she whispered. Stepping in front of her, Alex cupped the back of her sweaty neck. ‘We’re just going to talk, work something out. Everything’s going to be fine.’ She tried to smile, but it was a poor effort.

  Lacey’s heart hammered. She felt panic rise like an electric current, starting in her stomach and trickling up to her throat, bathing it with an unpleasant metallic taste.

  Alex stroked the back of her head.

  ‘I wish I had my rifle,’ Lacey said miserably.

  Alex’s smile was sad. ‘Me, too, honey. Me, too.’ She glanced over Lacey’s shoulder, smile wilting. She took her by the shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.’

  Lacey wanted desperately to believe her.

  Look what she’s been through already, the voice reasoned. She’s a survivor if ever I saw one.

  Dumont came back in, Lou behind him. He ordered the man to take Lacey out of the room, and Lou took hold of her arm just above her elbow. His grip bit into her flesh as though his fingers were made of bone and nail and dead things. He tugged her away from Alex.

  ‘Alex!’

  Alex looked more scared for Lacey than she did for herself. ‘Shhh, it’s OK, baby. Don’t fight them.’

  Lacey tried to snatch her arm out of Lou’s grip, desperate to go back to Alex, but Lou wrapped both arms around her waist and physically lifted her off the ground. She yelled and kicked and threatened vicious bodily harm, but he was surprisingly strong for a skeleton.

  The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was Dumont, all amiability gone, a dark excitement in his eyes, and this time he looked exactly like those horrible rednecks who hurt the poor, pig-squealing man in the movie. And, behind him, Lacey’s last friend in the whole, entire world stood alone in the centre of the room, the setting sun painting the left side of her face, highlighting the bruises that hadn’t had time to heal.

  CHAPTER 4

  Lou carried her to the end of the corridor and out into the stairwell. She had stopped yelling by the time he had kicked open the fire-door, but she was still trying to wrestle herself free from his hold. He threw her into the corner. Her elbow glanced painfully off the guard rail, her shoulder thudding into the concrete wall. She turned and put her back in the corner, staying down, and glared at him.

  ‘Stay put,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck you, Grandpa.’

  He wheezed a laugh, his beard twitching up at the corners of his mouth, but said nothing more.

  She hunkered there, her elbow throbbing and her hand tingling horribly, and wished Lou dead. Wished he would drop dead right where he stood, a clogged artery sending his heart into cramping spasm, or a clot in his brain firing off spastic jolts through his limbs, making his eyelids flutter madly while the rest of his brain imploded.

  You’re a mean little thing, aren’t you?

  She folded her arms over her knees, hid her face in them and gave into the tears. She made sure not to make any noise, not wanting to give Lou the satisfaction of hearing or seeing her cry. In the darkness of her folded arms she couldn’t stop the replay of sounds her brain had recorded: Alex’s pained whimpers in the bathroom each time the Boy Scout unwound another strip of wire from her bleeding wrists, the little gasps when either of them accidentally touched one of her many bruises, the way Alex had whispered her name that first time, one eye narrowed because of her swollen cheekbone, her voice roughened from screaming. Only now the sounds were superimposed over the room Lacey had just been in, and it was Dumont standing over Alex, with the backdrop of the broken city behind him. He towered over her like an adult would a cowering child.

  You should stop this, the voice said. It does no good.

  Her grammy would say the same. And hadn’t the Boy Scout told her that not all people were bad, and he would know, wouldn’t he? He would know better than anyone.

  She made a gigantic effort to push the awfulness away, and in its place she saw the Boy Scout walking towards their car, his motorcycle empty of gas and leaning on its stand behind him. The faint smile he’d given her when he’d climbed into the back seat and she’d told him that he was stuck with them now – it was such a small thing, that smile, but she’d seen it, and it had made her happy because maybe it meant he didn’t mind that so much, being stuck with her. And now he was dead. And Alex would be dead soon, too, or worse. Lacey hiccupped on a sob and clamped her teeth together so hard she was afraid her jaw might crack.

  The voice came again, even softer this time. I’m sorry.

  – No you’re not! she thought furiously.

  I am sorry, Lacey.

  – You said you could help us.

  I said I could ‘maybe’ help, it said carefully.

  ‘Then help already!’ she said out loud.

  Lou grunted, but Lacey didn’t look up.

  Shhh. OK.

  She did look up this time, the smallest flame of hope stirring within her breast. If it helped her, helped Alex, she wouldn’t care if hearing voices meant she was crazy. ‘OK?’ she asked.

  Yes. OK. Now stop talking. You’re drawing attention to us.

  ‘OK what?’ Lou said to her through a mouthful of teeth and beard.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m not talking to you.’

  The one they call Doc will be coming up the stairs soon. When he gets here, you need to tell him that Dumont is messing with Alex.

  – The guy in the hat? Why? What’ll that do?

  Just say it.

  ‘Then who’re you talking to?’ Lou asked suspiciously.

  ‘No one. Fuck off.’

  Lacey!

  Lou’s bushy eyebrows lowered and joined in the middle but, before he could answer, a door opened and closed somewhere below them, echoing in the stairwell. Two sets of footsteps began to ascend.

  Lou stepped over to the railing and peered down. ‘Ho, down there!’ he called.

  ‘Lou! We’re comin’ up!’ It was Posy.

  A few seconds later, the wispy-bearded man loped around the corner and bounded up the final flight, his thin chest heaving from the effort. Behind him came Doc, his hat sat on the back of his head, his stride more graceful, his eyes already looking upwards at Lou, then sliding over to find her sitting in the corner.

  ‘Charles wanted an update on Jeb,’ he told Lou in that quiet voice of his.

  ‘Yup. He says you should go ahead and leave the information with me,’ Lou said.

  Doc glanced over at Lacey again, his striking green eyes considering and sharply intelligent. Without saying a word to her, he nodded to Lou and gave him the update. Jeb was stitched up, but the next few hours were critical. Jeb’s injury was severe; he was unlikely to recover. He’d lost a lot of blood.

  Lou said he would pass it all on, and once again the man in the hat looked over at Lacey.

  Say it now. Quickly.

  Doc turned to go, and Posy hastily scooted out of his way.

  Say it!

  Doc had already jogged down three steps.

  ‘He’s-got-my-friend-Alex-in-that-room-with-him!’ The words ran together in Lacey’s rush to get them out.

  Tell him he’s messing with her.

  ‘He’s messing with her!’

  Posy made a low, nervous, humming sound.

&nb
sp; All she could see was the back of the man’s hat, black and perfectly oval. Slowly, his head turned and he looked at her again.

  She was breathing hard, her panic so real it felt like a live thing fluttering inside her heart, her throat, her ears.

  Doc looked away from her and down at the ground in front of him, at what Lacey wasn’t sure, the steps maybe, or his own feet, and for a long second she thought he would continue on his way without another word, just carry on down the stairs and turn the corner without looking back, and she would be left on the landing with the old, bearded, empty-eyed man, nothing to do but sit and wait and imagine all the horrifying things happening to her friend. But then he turned on the spot and came up to the top of the stairs and quietly asked Lou to open the fire-door. Lou didn’t immediately move to obey. He looked over at Lacey, his eyes narrowed, his beard twisted into a sneer. He mumbled something that sounded like ‘Little bitch’, but he didn’t say another word as he moved out of the way, pulling the door open as he did.

  ‘Oh, boy,’ Posy breathed, bouncing on his heels as he looked between Lou and Doc.

  Doc disappeared into the corridor. Lou and Posy went next, and Lacey jumped up, hobbling after them, nearly falling, her feet lumps of tingling needle-pricks as blood rushed back into them. She stumbled through the door, the heavy mechanism clunking shut at her heels.

  Doc had already reached the closed door by the time she caught up with them. Posy was at the rear, and he glanced back at her, excitement shining in his eyes. Doc didn’t knock but swung the door open and strode inside, Lou right behind him, already apologising for the intrusion.

  All Lacey could see was Alex. She was practically sitting on the floor, her back against Dumont’s leg. Her shirt had been torn open and the skin of her breasts and stomach was pale except for the ruddy smudges of old bruises. A belt had been wrapped around her neck and she was strung up by it, the end of the leather wrapped in Dumont’s fist. He held up most of her weight by that single tether, her butt a few inches off the ground. Already her eyes had rolled up, only their whites showing. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth. The belt dug into her neck, red, angry skin rucked up above it. Her face had turned purple.