‘She was my sister,’ I screamed, blinking tears from my eyes. ‘She was my big sister and I let her down, I … I let you have her and you …’ I ripped out the shard and threw it against the wall as he bellowed in pain.
‘Put the gun to my head,’ he demanded. ‘Put the gun to my head and pull the trigger.’ I pressed the gun to the side of his head. I wanted him to flinch, to beg or plead but he stared back at me, his face pale but defiant. ‘Pull the trigger,’ he said, ‘or I swear, I’m gonna kill you.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, jamming the gun to his temple to mask the tremor in my hand.
‘You do it and you’re just like me, Margarita.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I ain’t like you!’
‘No you ain’t,’ he said, our faces inches apart. ‘There’s only one of us what’s gonna kill an innocent man.’
‘You ain’t innocent, you did it, you killed her …’
‘Shit,’ he said, the words pumping from his chest, his face a bloodied, twisted mask. ‘I married me the wrong sister!’
There was a ripping, splintering sound. Red twisted from under me, pulling the chair back apart and ramming into me with his shoulder. He sent me staggering backwards against the couch, crashing to the floor. Fuck, he must have been working the bars of the chair loose all the time he’d shifted in his seat. I saw him hit the floor, writhing as he worked himself free of the ropes, trying to flip his legs through the loop his bound hands made. The gun skittered away across the floor; I tried to reach it but the urge to run was stronger as I saw Red’s legs come free. I dragged myself up and ran toward the kitchen door.
‘I’m coming for you!’ he yelled. He was up on his feet, cuffed hands in front of him. I spilled out into the yard, the grass shockingly cold and wet under my feet.
‘Oh, you better run, girl!’
Chapter 24
I RAN TO THE FRONT of the house as panic beat in my throat. Red exploded out of the door behind me; he ran toward his truck, as I limped, unseen, to the far side of the house. I pressed myself against the wall.
I tried to control my desperate breathing, straining to hear him coming after me. Darting a glance round the end of the house, I saw the side of the veranda below the steps was open, revealing an alcove under the stairs. I scrambled into it.
There was just enough space to crawl on all fours. The ground under my hands and feet was sodden and stank of mildew and rot. I tried not to imagine snakes lurking there as I peered upwards. The dawn was coming but the sky was still dark, though it was bright compared to the space under the stairs. There were gaps between the boards, striations of grey and silver above me, and then I heard him.
‘Margarita!’ he bellowed. He was following me, coming up on the left side of the house. ‘I know you ain’t far darlin’, what with them feet of yours – come on now, I think we’re done playin’ these games.’
I saw a movement, he’d come round to the front and was standing at the foot of the stairs.
‘You know I’m gonna find you – an’ when I do … I reckon you owe me a whole lot o’ fun.’
I prayed for him to start off down the road, I willed him to think that I’d gone that way, though I knew I’d have been obvious, a silhouette limping against the dawn.
‘I’m gonna forgive you for knocking me down, takin’ my money, callin’ me a murderer, but I’m still gonna mess you up, ‘cause I want to. You come out now … maybe I still won’t be a murderer when I’m through with you?’
The planks above me groaned at Red’s footfall. He was coming up the stairs to the house. He took another step, and I could see him above me, leaning against the rail that ran round the veranda’s edge. His hands were still cuffed together and he was staggering.
‘Margarita!’ he bellowed. ‘I know you’re here …’ I forced my hand against my mouth. If there were no snakes at my feet, there was one above my head and I’d stepped on its tail. Red swore and bent against the rail again. He coughed and I moved, but in the cramped space I could see nothing and collided into a beam supporting the floor above. The noise was imperceptible, but I heard the scrape of his boot on the wood as he straightened up. He was listening.
I eased my fingers around the beam then spread myself low against the ground. I peered at his silhouette above me as I slithered under him, and saw the unmistakable shape of my gun in his shackled hand. He moved with exaggerated care but the hollow veranda was like a drum and magnified each step he took. I’d crawled in at one end and now Red was above me; I had to get to the other side without him hearing. Misdirection, I thought as sweat coursed over my back; you gotta send him the wrong way.
I swept my hands through the soil until my fingers closed around a stone. I grasped it and inched as close to my exit as I could. I had one shot. Then I heard him singing softly above me.
‘In a cavern, in a canyon …’ he took a deliberately heavy step, coming toward me ‘…excavating for a mine…’ He stopped, listening. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the gloom – what had been black had faded to charcoal, the sky I glimpsed through the boards arcing to cobalt. ‘Lived a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter … Clementine.’ He stamped. Shock ricocheted though me. I jerked and the stone, greased with damp, escaped my hand. Swearing silently, I flailed in the dirt, scrabbling through grit and gravel.
‘Oh my darlin’ … oh my darlin’ …’ Stamp. ‘Oh my darling, Clementine, are you lost and gone forever?’ I heard the hiss of his laugh above me. ‘Dreadful sorry … Clementine!’ he barked. My hand found the stone.
I hurled it the way I’d come, and it clattered against the inside of the veranda. Red turned and lumbered toward the sound. I dragged myself through the dirt and slithered out the other way. I broke cover and scrambled to my feet. I could hear him yelling from the far side of the house.
‘Clementine? Comin’ to get you!’
I reached his truck, hanging onto it as I sucked air into my lungs. Jesus, I thought, the tyre’s not even shot out! I jerked my head from side to side, trying to find a way out. I thought of running back inside the house and searching for a knife or hiding under the bed upstairs – both futile against a man with a gun.
The road behind me was hard and dry and my feet were throbbing; either side of me was rough ground and waist-high grass littered with twisted trees – to go that way would be to tie myself in knots for him.
Then I heard her again, Angelic or whatever, whoever she was; the final voice in my head.
‘Water, ma Cherie; he fear her drowned face.’
I stumbled across the rough wet ground and without a second’s thought, dived into the water. Its black depths engulfed me, brackish and thick. The fear of weeds and hidden rocks gripped me but I forced them from my mind and pushed forward. It felt like I was under for an hour, a day, a lifetime – but when I erupted through the surface, I saw I was barely a few feet from the bank.
I thought, or imagined I saw him as I pushed myself under the cold, viscous depths, almost welcoming compared to the thought of Red on the bank, armed.
As I struck out, my knuckles grazed wood. I had reached the boathouse. I could not bear to open my eyes, so groped blindly until I’d caught hold of it, pulling myself forward. For a moment, before my lungs began to burn, before the desperate need to breathe forced me up, there was a voice in the darkness. I felt a desire, deeper than any I’d felt before. Something wanted me to stay, something yearned to be free of all of this madness and obsession. Something in me cried out for rest, freedom, an end to all of it. I hung in the darkness, caught between two worlds as if I were nothing but a whisper.
‘If she ain’t dead, ma Cherie, you still ain’t found her. Ain’t no one else gonna bring her home.’
I broke the surface. Coughing up dirty water, I clung to the side of the boathouse against the drag of the river.
The roar of Red’s truck starting up was like a monster in the dark. I flinched when I heard it, hot panic flashing over me despite the chill of the water. The headlamps
blazed across, throwing the shadow of the boathouse across the river’s oily surface. Crouching as low as I could, I saw the truck looming up on the bank, larger than the house, larger than the whole world behind it. As its eyes burned, the driver’s side door swung open. Red got out, scanning the water. He slammed the door and I dived again.
I felt my way around the edge of the boathouse, the sound of the river hissing and sighing in my ears. When I surfaced, I was inside, hidden in the shadow that the truck’s headlamps carved out for me. I could see the remains of the wooden walkway, offering another oasis of shade, which I reached seconds before I heard him above me again.
‘Margarita?’ he called out. ‘I know you’re in here, I seen you.’
I dragged myself from post to post, my feet unable to find anything but water. He fired into the wall of the boathouse, and the sound sliced through the space. Water sprayed up to meet the fall of splintered timber. In the echo and roar of the noise, I moved through the to the side of the walkway that had no barrier.
‘I don’t aim to shoot you, but if you get shot darlin’, that’s down to you!’
I took hold of the underside of the walkway as he cocked the weapon to fire it again. Summoning every last ounce of strength, I forced myself up through the water and grabbed his injured leg. With a howl of protest, he crashed into the river.
The water seemed to part as he hit it; his body severed the blackness, then it swallowed him whole. He struggled up again, his face twisted in fear, mouth open and terrified. I hung in the blackness as he went under.
I heard music, violins calling as if driven by bellows working a fire, as if the music were cranked out by the turning of a handle. Red’s hands, linked with steel, surfaced; his fingers touching the beam of light from his truck.
‘Drove she ducklings, to da water, every morning just at nine. Hit her foot ‘gainst a splinter, fell into da foaming brine.’
Caught in the water, I saw him, a lifetime before I was born. I saw white silk, billowing up over his mother’s face as his hand reached out to touch her, still with the hope in his fingers he was not too late.
‘Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft an’ fine. Alas for me! I were no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine.’
I heard his howl from beneath the years, his child’s voice as he saw her face under the silk, her skin made luminescent, lips bruised violet, eyes closed as if she only slept.
‘Ya must live with yourself, whichever path ya choose, ma Cherie.’
I pushed off from the post and struck out toward him. I caught him as he tumbled toward the riverbed, and brought his head up. He spat water, gasping, heaving against me, his body limp and shivering. I got my arm round his neck, he thrashed for a moment, nearly dragged us both under, then he surrendered.
I made the underside of the walkway, and wrapped my arm round a post. He breathed, fought to fill his lungs again, the sound sobbing and gasping through the boathouse.
‘What you doin’?’ he asked when he could.
‘Savin’ your sorry ass,’ I said. He laughed.
‘Why?’
‘To save mine.’
Chapter 25
THE EARLY MORNING was cool, and for a moment, the sky was beautiful. Even the swamp seemed calm; the sing and sigh of wind and water a lullaby.
Red’s blood had seeped through his pants, the stain visible in the fabric even though they were now soaked in river water and mud.
‘You better drop ‘em,’ I said as I approached, carrying the second bottle I’d found in the cupboard over the stove. He looked up at me and a smile played over his lips. I dumped his case on the floor beside him. ‘Don’t push it,’ I said. ‘I saved you, but we ain’t friends or nothing.’
‘Sure thing, darlin’.’ He stood up, leant against his truck and unbuckled his pants, his hands still manacled together. He sat down, and I held the bottle out to him.
‘You can do the rest yourself.’
‘Might need a hand with the bandage,’ he said.
‘Call me when you’re ready.’
I walked to the other side of the truck, and listened as he tried to hold in his grunt of pain as he poured vodka over his wound. I’d helped myself to his suit, the expensively made black one, and to one of his evening shirts, though I’d still drawn the line at his underwear. The pants were loose, but I’d synched them tight at my waist using his necktie as a belt.
‘That looks good on you,’ he said as I came back round. He’d ripped the sleeve off one of his shirts and was clumsily binding his leg with it. I knelt down and took it from him.
‘Thanks.’ He sat back, gripping the seat with his hands as I wrapped, tying the shirt tight on itself. ‘You know, that was Armani,’ he said, wincing as I tightened.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I know.’
I helped him into the passenger seat of his truck, his arm about my shoulders.
‘You gonna be okay drivin,’ darlin’, what with your feet ‘n’ all?’
‘Sure. But you can wait for your brother, if you like?’
‘I don’t really have one,’ he said.
‘No shit?’ I raised my eyebrow at him.
He smiled. ‘You ever found the keys for these things?’
‘Nope. Guess they washed away in the river.’ I shut the door for him.
I looked back at the house as I stood with one foot on the well of the truck, my hand on its door. It regarded me with the air of one watching an unwanted visitor, leaving at last.
‘You gonna be okay?’ Red said as I got in.
‘Sure, if I use the side of my feet, then it don’t hurt so much. I took a pair of your socks.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I meant are you gonna be … okay?’ He shrugged.
‘Sure.’ I managed a smile. ‘Unlike Paris.’
‘Oh, he’ll be okay, that one,’ Red muttered out of the window. ‘Always said as you were too fine for him.’
‘Maybe,’ I said and turned the key in the ignition. ‘But that’s okay, ‘cause I’m too smart for the both of you’s.’ The truck spluttered into life at once, like it had something to prove.
‘Don’t think I’d have done what you did,’ Red said. ‘Not if I were you.’
‘I don’t think so either,’ I said, though I wasn’t sure if he meant my saving him, or trapping him with the intent to kill in the first place. ‘But that’s ‘cause you ain’t me, Red. You ain’t a bit like me.’
‘That I ain’t,’ he said and slumped back against his seat. ‘But… I really didn’t kill her.’
‘I believe you,’ I said, adjusting the rear-view mirror. He rolled his head sideways against the headrest to look at me, closed his eyes, then turned his head away.
‘I came upon Lisa in the garden, carryin’ a valise. She screamed at me, said she never wanted to see me again. Something had emboldened her spirit. If he gave her nothin’ else, I guess Paris gave her that. I’ve no idea if he took her life in return, though.’
‘When you saw her, did she say where she was going?’ I asked, watching the boathouse in the mirror, a shimmering mirage.
‘Nope. I guess I realized what a fool she’d made of me … what a fool I’d made of myself. I let her go.’ He looked at me again, shading his eyes from the sun. ‘I am truly sorry for my behaviour toward her, but what you sai … what she told you, I never …’ He didn’t finish.
I pressed the gas, and the truck juddered down the dirt track. I pulled onto the grey road, that one that runs like a scratch on the surface of a marble table.
‘You don’t happen to recall where you hid my Daddy’s money, do you?’
‘Nope.’
I dropped Red off a few yards outside the gas station.
‘Guess you’re keepin’ the truck?’ he asked as he opened his door and slid out.
‘You know everyone round here, you’ll be all right for a ride.’
‘Guess you’re right.’ He raised both hands so he could run one through his hair. ‘Well darlin’, I can’t exactl
y say as it’s been fun, but it’s been real.’
‘Goodbye Red,’ I said and I was about to pull away when he put his hand on the hood.
‘Like I said …’ He paused, his face fractured through the spider web bloom of the glass. He looked smaller in the daylight, older. ‘I’m gonna forgive you for hurtin’ me an’ takin’ my money, but darlin’, if I ever catch sight of you again, I might just remember as how you called me a murderer an’ stuck me with a broken bottle. Reckon you still owe me an apology for that one.’
‘Yeah? That’s funny, ‘cause I thought you’d be madder that I had these all along.’ I held up the handcuffs’ keys before I pressed the gas pedal and jerked away from him, throwing him off balance. He stood in the road and laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as I swung the truck round and faced back into the reserve. I registered the confusion on his face as I passed him, saw in the rear-view that he straightened up and shaded his eyes, watching me until he was swallowed by the curve of the road.
It was an hour’s drive until I reached the wreck of the sports car. Just as Red said, it was circled with a meagre string of incident tape, its front end and driver’s side door crumpled round a large boulder, looking as if someone had taken a can opener to its roof. I pulled up behind and got out.
I uncapped the water bottle I’d brought with me and drank, surveying the landscape. Large birds clustered in a group of trees a little way off from the car, their white umbrella wings open and serpentine necks bent back as they watched me with boot-button eyes. Under their scrutiny, I tried the trunk of the sports car and it opened. My case was still inside on top of Paris’s, though it was lodged fast and would not come free. I dragged the zip open and gutted it, piling out clothes, documents, tools of the trade, my wash-bag and a pair of shoes I could just about stand to put on. I dumped it all in the truck and walked round to the passenger side. Paris’s coffee cup was crumpled on the floor, broken glass and debris scattered on the seat. I leant in, picked over the mess of the driver’s side and something caught my eye. His phone was poking out from under the seat, sticky with blood. I slipped it into my pants’ pocket.
Nemesister: The gripping women's psychological thriller from Sophie Jonas-Hill Page 20
