It exploded.
Chapter 4
I HIT THE FLOOR as the noise ricocheted through the bathroom, eyes closed as the shower of glass rained down around me. For an instant the world seemed stunned, then Red started shouting from downstairs.
‘Margarita?’ There was a second volley of shots, muffled and chaotic, then nothing. I got onto all fours, straining to hear something, anything, but everything was quiet save the hiss of the shower. My God, had they shot him?
Heart thudding in my throat, still on my hands and knees I inched the bathroom door open. The space beyond was dark, the only light falling from the open bedroom door onto the landing. Keeping low, I slipped out, hanging back from the banister railing. Shit, I cursed under my breath, I should have locked the front door, and where was Red, what was happening?
‘Maybe they ain’t done with you yet?’
I heard something, a crack against the background noise of shower and swamp. I listened against the dank heat, crouched at the top of the stairs, panic beating inside my chest. Nothing. I inched forward and peered through the banisters. Heart beating in the darkness, I felt the weight of my injuries drag on me, felt the spin and ache at the back of my eyes. Sweat prickled over my forehead and stuck strands of hair to my face; the house crackled around me, counting, waiting.
Then it came again – crack. Was that a footstep? Red would have called out, surely, or I’d have seen him by now? I gripped the banister; a child alone in a house that knew more than she did. Where the hell was Red?
Tick – snap – tick – it was nothing, it was the house, fidgeting over the swamp like it had ants in its pants, like it had a bee in its … a bee in its bonnet? A sound juddered through the space below and fear washed over me, had me white and sweating and clamping my hand over my mouth, to muffle my fear.
‘Count to ten, count to ten, then he’ll go away again. Make it through to twenty-one and you’ll live to see the sun.’
Crack.
‘You okay up there, darlin’?’ Red’s triangular face appeared below, framed in the space between the banister’s uprights.
Relief flooded over me. ‘Jesus, what’s going on?’ He motioned me to be quiet and come down. Christ, I thought, had he been there all along, moving through the space with hardly a sound, hardly a ripple?
Keeping my head bent, I scrambled to my feet and creaked down the stairs to where he was crouching. When I was close, he took hold of my arm and pulled me down onto the floor next to him, our backs to the wall a few feet from the front door. Peering over, I saw the kitchen door was shut.
‘Okay?’ he asked.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Not sure yet.’ He waved me to silence, finger up, his eyes scanning the gloom as we listened. All I could hear was our breathing and the house. Red started, his head snapped round and I looked, but saw nothing.
‘What?’
He shook his head. ‘What happened up there, they took out the window?’
I nodded. ‘Who is it?’
Red shrugged. ‘Didn’t hang around to ask. If someone’s shootin’ at you, they ain’t usually much bothered ‘bout introducing themselves.
‘What happened?’
We inched a little further along the wall, both of us moving as if past a pack of sleeping dogs.
‘I was just fixing myself a glass of water in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘You lock the front door?’ I nodded. ‘Heard the window get shot, just about to stick my head out when the damn windshield went out too. Like I said, when someone’s shootin’ at you, you get hid an’ don’t ask why.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
Red raised his finger, then got slowly to his feet. Back to the door he paused, risked a glance through the window, then ducked down beside me again.
‘Nothin’ out front.’ He looked sideways at me. ‘I was wrong, you ain’t good at findin’ trouble, trouble’s good at finding you.’
‘You think they’re after me?’
‘Damned if I know.’ Red got up and moved toward the couch, head down. He took hold of one end. ‘Hate to impose, but if you don’t mind?’ It was surprisingly heavy but between us we got it against the front door.
‘Three possibilities,’ Red said, keeping his voice low. ‘They’ve gone, or they’re waiting.’
‘You said three?’
Red grinned. ‘Or they’re ‘bout to walk in.’
He didn’t need to ask twice. Together we blocked the kitchen door with the table; then Red dragged the kitchen cupboard across it, spilling out its dented ephemera as he dragged it in place.
We stood and listened again, my spine bowstring taut. The light from the window Red had uncovered in more optimistic times bore through the gloom and burned a square on the floor behind me. Then I saw Red was looking at the staircase.
‘What’s that noise?’
‘Shower … oh!’
‘Shit darlin’!’ I realized why he’d bolted, and followed him to the foot of the stairs. He banged into the bathroom, re-emerging a moment later.
‘Ain’t no more than a trickle.’
‘Shit, I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind that now. Maybe it ain’t all gone …’ halfway down the stairs he paused, squinting through the window, then he raised his hand to shade his eyes and frowned.
‘What?’
‘Light caught something out there, moving on the road. Car?’ He looked down at me. ‘You ain’t got another gun, do you, tucked away in your purse’?’
‘No.’
He came back down the stairs. ‘Shame, ain’t much here if it comes to it. Might still be nothing, though.’
‘Someone’s out there,’ I said. Red nodded. ‘But they haven’t tried to get in yet?’
‘No, they ain’t.’ He walked over to me, his shoulders hunched, moving with little noise despite the uneven floor.
‘So what, they’ve gone or …’ He sat down on the couch.
‘Or they’re waiting.’ Well, two out of three left then, I guessed.
We waited too, side by side, Red twitching his head from time to time, a dog with his ears pricked up. With the doors closed, the heat had built up in the house, and Red’s t-shirt was stained with sweat, a dark line spreading down his chest.
‘You think they’ve gone now?’ I asked, unable to bear the whole minutes-passing-like-hours thing.
‘Depends who they are. You wanna poke your head out the door and see?’ He sniffed.
‘You think they’re after me?’ I said, watching his face as he stared at the floor. He drew breath through his teeth, and stretched his lips back into a grin before he looked at me.
‘Don’t forget, there are two of us here.’ He grimaced. ‘Might just be a car full of drunk kids. This place is in the middle of a whole heap of nothin’ now called a wildlife preserve or some such, and there ain’t many as comes this way for much but birdwatching. Even so, you’ll always get kids looking for space to misbehave, let off steam.’
‘With guns?’
‘You are from back east after all,’ he said and smiled. ‘Welcome to the South, darlin’.’
‘If it was just a car full of drunk kids, then they’re probably gone by now, right?’ But Red didn’t look convinced by this. ‘You don’t think it was a car full of drunk kids, do you?’
‘I’m open to suggestions.’ He glanced down at my side, raised his eyebrow. ‘You’ve been shot, someone shoots up my truck. We know someone don’t like you, or me.’ He met my gaze. ‘Or us both.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Okay.’ He got up. ‘Let’s go see how the land lies shall we?’
‘You think?’
‘Gettin’ bored sitting on my thumbs,’ he said, and stood up on the couch, his profile black against the light. Looking up at him, I could see the arc of his spine, the talons of ribs beneath his shirt. He looked compact, I thought, the way a greyhound looks sleek under the velvet of its fur – all that power just waiting for the crack of a starting pistol.
‘So …’ he said and I j
umped, then pretended I’d been lost in thought. ‘Why don’t we shift that table? Take a look what’s out there. You wanna stick your head out, or shall I?’
‘I dunno, you still think they’re shooting at me?’
‘You think they care?’ He got down again. ‘I might just be gettin’ paranoid here; I was inside when they started shootin’, so it’s possible they just saw an old shack and an old truck and took a shot, didn’t bother to stick around and see what they hit.’
‘I guess.’
‘Well, if they’re after you, then I reckon they won’t be so keen to take a shot at my grizzly old mug. And if they’re after me, well … won’t make no difference.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t answer at first but walked over to the kitchen and took hold of the cupboard, waiting for me to join him. When I did, he said, ‘Well, ‘cause if they’re after me, I’m already dead.’
‘Who the hell’s after you?’ I asked, and leaned against the cupboard. Together we eased it back then moved the table, ploughing it through the drift of spoons. Red straightened up and looked at me.
‘Later …’ he muttered. Then he crouched down by the door, back to the wall. ‘You’re gonna stand behind the door, then you’re gonna ease it open slow, and stay right behind it, okay?’
‘Fine by me.’ I got hold of the hasp and swung the door inwards, keeping behind it as Red advised. As the door opened, a line of light ran between the hinges, a gold thread in the dark. Red took a moment to check his cover, then slipped out. I moved to watch him, my eye to the hinge crack.
He kept low, moved like he knew what he was doing. His truck was a few feet away, but having only the crack of the hinge to look through, I couldn’t see what state it was in. I saw Red make its shadow before he too was obscured from my view, and as far as I could tell, nobody shot at him, no black-clad assassins wrestled him to the ground. I closed my eyes and listened, fatigue washing over me as I struggled not to ask what the hell was going on yet again. I opened my eyes as the line of light flickered; Red was back inside and he closed the door, softly pulling it from my fingers. He was carrying a plastic water bottle, scant reward for his bravery.
‘You’re alive then,’ I smiled.
‘Seems so.’ He leant against the door. Now it was closed we were in near darkness; what light there was licked over the whites of his eyes. ‘Truck’s fucked,’ he said. ‘Shot out the tyre along with the windshield.’ He twisted the cap off the bottle and drank. I was close enough to see the water pulse down his throat, and watch a drop trace a line down his neck as it escaped his mouth. I slunk back and leant on the edge of the kitchen sink. Red lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth. ‘Forgive me, but after all that, I’m none too keen on changing the tyre in full view of the road.’ He held the bottle out to me.
I put my hand over my eyes. I felt sick, heavy and was aware my hands were trembling. Somehow I’d enough energy left to take the bottle from Red and limp from the kitchen to throw myself on the couch, back to the door. I swilled water into my mouth and tilted my head back, holding the liquid in my mouth as I closed my eyes.
I heard Red move into the room, then heard a chair scrape across the wooden floor as he pulled it out and sat down.
‘If it makes you feel any better, reckon they’ve gone for now.’
I swallowed the water but did not look at him. I heard him sniff. ‘Maybe they were just tryin’ to see if this place was empty or not, looking to see if we’d run? Kids with an ants’ nest.’
‘I’m sick of not knowing,’ I said under my breath.
‘Well.’ I heard his chair creak. ‘I’ll give you a moment, I need to freshen up a little.’ I heard him walk away, then opened my eyes to watch him go. I breathed deeply and took another swig of water as he ascended the stairs and disappeared into the bathroom. I thought of his reaction to the shot-out window, imagined him throwing himself down beside the truck for cover, and that made me think of the shot-out windshield. If, of course, it really was shot-out. I focused on the kitchen door and the mess of scattered debris. He’d rather insisted he go out there, hadn’t he? Maybe that wasn’t just his gentlemanly concern for my wellbeing.
I got up and slipped across the room to the kitchen door. Outside, the light burned my eyes as I blinked them clear. The sky above was blue, but the day was turning toward the evening; something in the light had a sense of gathering in. There was the truck, and just as Red had said, its windshield was shattered, the spiderweb of glass somehow still clinging to its frame. A second step outside, and I felt dangerously exposed, my clean shirt a bright, white target. I glanced back at the truck, which even if I could magically start it, was now missing a tyre, according to Red. Then I shaded my eyes and scanned the horizon, the boathouse, the road, the alien landscape that was my world, seeing nothing, imagining everything.
For all that I wanted to run, for all I was sure I had to leave, something stronger was nagging at me, telling me that I was meant to be here. Like the ‘PARIS’ matchbook in Red’s room, like the fear that someone was out here, waiting, watching; like the half-remembered snatches of voices that seemed to come, if only I could be quiet, if only I could stop trying to make them. I looked up at the house, its broken window the blinded eye of a Cyclops. It knew, I was sure of it. It knew why I was here and who I was, and it mutely challenged me to find out. I looked at the road one last time, hoping against the gathering dusk that I’d see a car, but there was nothing save for a flock of white birds scratching across the sky, heading home to roost.
‘All right,’ I told the house, squinting up at it again. ‘Let’s see what you got for me.’
When I re-entered, Red was on the landing. He was stripped to the waist, an undershirt thrown over his shoulder and his sleeping bag rolled up, tucked under his arm. He sauntered down the stairs and paused at the bottom, dropping the bag on the floor.
‘You see anything?’ he asked. ‘Anything that alarms or … appals you?’
‘No, it’s just like you said.’ I closed the door, snuffing out the light behind me. ‘Looks like we’re not going anywhere today.’
Red took a few steps closer and stopped to pull his shirt on over his head, then paused with it halfway down his body. ‘The kitchen padlock’s there, might be wise for you to lock up. Just in case we’re wrong.’
‘Wrong?’
Red grinned. ‘If they do intend on coming back, don’t wanna let them in without a struggle, do we?’ Then he pulled down his shirt.
The padlock was on the edge of the sink. I reached for it and felt its weight in my hand. I brushed the key jammed into its lock, then fitted it into the hasp on the door and clicked it shut. I withdrew the key and set it down on the kitchen counter. I kept my forefinger on it a moment longer, trapping it against the pitted wooden surface as if it might scamper away. There I was, all locked in, and I’d done it all by myself.
‘Best make ourselves comfortable,’ Red said as he came toward me. He glanced down at the counter where I’d placed the key. ‘All right with you, darlin’?’
I pressed my finger harder against the key and slid it a few inches forward. ‘Sure.’ I smiled at him. ‘I’m fine,’ I lied and took my hand away.
Chapter 5
‘WELL, ALL’S NOT LOST,’ Red said. ‘All we gotta do is wait for the mornin’ and my little brother.’ He took the water bottle from me.
‘Isn’t he older than you?’ I said as he unscrewed the top, though I honestly could not remember what he’d said.
‘Sure, but he’s a head shorter.’ He grinned. ‘Really riles him up when I call him that.’
‘What’s his name again?’
Red sipped the water. ‘Robert.’ He ran his tongue over his teeth.
‘Red and Robert. I gotta say, your Daddy sure liked his ‘r’s.’
‘Reckon he did.’ Red tapped the bottle on the edge of the sink. ‘Best make this last; there ain’t much in the tank and I doubt it’s all that clean anyhow. I’m gonna take the weight off.
Care to join me, shoot the breeze?’
‘I guess, while we’re waiting for Robert.’
‘Don’t you fret, he ain’t one to be tardy. Now, I might just be misremembering this, but I’m sure I read somewhere …’ Red turned on his heel and opened the cupboard I’d placed the key on. ‘That if a person’s trying to recall what’s been forgot, then it’s best just to keep on talking.’ He crouched before the cupboard and peered inside. ‘They do say that if one gives the conscious mind something to bother itself with, what’s lost …’ He closed the door without producing anything. ‘What it’s lost just kinda bobs up.’ He frowned and then tapped the side of his nose twice with his finger. ‘Maybe if we were to talk awhile, it might bring that something to mind?’ He reached up, opened the high cupboard opposite the stove and took out a bottle and two stumpy shot glasses. ‘Ha, knew I’d seen it earlier.’ He grinned. ‘May have myself a little, seein’ as we ain’t in a hurry. Join me?’
I inhaled. ‘Not sure I should, seein’ I’m so messed up.’
‘Good for what ails you.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, we ain’t overburdened with supplies, might have to be a frugal supper.’ He reached in again and held out a bag of chips. ‘Touch of whiskey might oil the wheels, as it were.’
‘Sure, why not?’ I dug my hands into the pockets of the jeans I’d taken from Red’s case, and walked into the main room.
Red gave me the couch, though I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately putting himself between me and the kitchen door, or being a Southern gentleman. He settled back on his sleeping bag, leaned against the seat of the couch and popped the chips.
‘This seems to be it as far as supper goes,’ he said, crunching a mouthful. ‘Can’t say as I care that much for chips, but hell, it’s not the food but the company as makes a meal.’
‘So what, you ain’t gonna catch us a catfish?’ I said and stretched out my legs until my feet were behind his head.
‘Ahh well, ‘bout that.’ He kicked off his boots. ‘I must ‘fess up here, I ain’t really all that for fishing and the like, that’s kind of my brother’s … my brother’s amusement.’
Nemesister: The gripping women's psychological thriller from Sophie Jonas-Hill Page 4
