Bad News

by Amy Cross

  She turns to me, and then she freezes as soon as she sees the gun.

  “Where did you -”

  She hesitates, and then she looks down at Malone.

  “Oh,” she adds, “right.”

  “If you move one inch,” I continue breathlessly, “I'll shoot.”

  “That thing probably isn't even loaded,” she replies.

  I aim past her and pull the trigger, shooting at the far wall. The sound is so loud down here in the basement, and Esmee instinctively winces and puts her hands over her ears as I aim the gun back at her again.

  That was lucky.

  “You were saying?” I ask.

  She lowers her hands, and now she looks genuinely worried.

  “Here's what we're going to do,” I continue. “We're going to go up to Roper's farmhouse, and from there we're going to call for help. And then, while Aiden Malone is recovering, you're going to tell the police everything. Do you understand? No more lying, Esmee. No more covering things up. You're going to make sure that everyone knows exactly what you did to Thomas Roper. Got it?”

  She stares at me for a moment, with a kind of blank expression, and then she slowly nods.

  “Get moving!” I say firmly, using the gun to gesture toward the far door. “Now!”

  She hesitates, and then she turns.

  I glance down briefly at Malone. He looks so badly hurt, but I have to believe that he's still alive and that he can be saved. Sure, I didn't find a pulse, but it might be there somewhere.

  Focusing my attention on Esmee, I follow her slowly across the room, until finally she stops next to one of the tables.

  “Keep moving!” I say firmly. “I'm not playing games, Esmee!”

  “Neither am I,” she replies calmly, not turning to me. And then, slowly, she reaches out toward the crowbar that's resting on the table.

  “I'll shoot you if you try anything!” I tell her. “Don't think I'll wimp out! Frankly, right now I'd rather shoot you, so don't give me an excuse!”

  “I believe every word,” she replies. “It's just... I'm not an idiot. I might have missed the gun at first, but I recognize the model from a book I read once. Believe me, during my time here I've read a lot of books, and I remember so much of it all. I'm smart like that.”

  She takes hold of the crowbar and starts dragging it slowly, loudly across the table.

  I tighten my grip on the gun.

  “When the last bullet is fired and it's empty, the gun makes a very slight clinking sound,” she continues, as she lifts the crowbar up and stands with her back to me. “It made that sound just now, which means it's out of ammunition. Silly man, isn't he? Coming out here with only one bullet in his gun. That's a real oversight that's going to turn out to have big consequences.”

  Slowly, she turns to look at me.

  “And really,” she adds, “if you were as tough as you pretend, you should have shot me already.”

  “No, I -”

  Before I can finish, she rushes at me. I step back and hesitate for a moment, but then I fire the gun just as she slams straight into my chest. A gunshot rings out, then another, and then two more as Esmee drops the crowbar and focuses on slamming my right hand into the concrete wall. I cry out in pain, and then I scream as she presses her knee against my wrist and twists my hand, breaking the bones and causing the gun to fire one last time as it falls helplessly to the ground.

  “Gullible bitch,” she sneers, before elbowing me in the face and shoving me to the ground.

  I stumble, but I manage to stay upright. The pain in my broken wrist is searing, but I force myself to turn and rush at Esmee just as she reaches back down for the crowbar. I slam into her and send us both crashing to the ground, and then I use my left hand to punch her hard in the face.

  She lets out a loud roar as she shoves me back into the wall, and then she starts punching me over and over again in the chest. I struggle for a moment to fight back, but then she stops for a few seconds and reaches for the crowbar. I throw myself at her and pull her back, and finally I get an arm around her throat and start pulling tight.

  She struggles wildly, kicking helplessly with her legs, and then she reaches up and starts digging her considerable fingernails into my arm as I pull even tighter.

  Resisting the urge to try saying something snappy, I focus on holding her tight, and I'm pretty sure she can't breathe right now.

  If I let go, she'll kill me.

  Her legs continue to kick for a few more seconds, and then I feel her slump slightly against my chest. She's still struggling, but with not nearly as much ferocity as before, and even her fingernails are barely managed to cut into my arm right now. I can hear a faint gasping sound coming from her lips, along with a series of pained gurgles, but I refuse to believe just yet that I've managed to get this slippery bitch into submission.

  “Please,” she stammers finally, as her hands fall down to her sides.

  Clenching my teeth, I pull tighter against her throat.

  “Please,” she groans again, as if she's about to pass out. “I don't want to die... Don't kill me...”

  I pull even tighter. She lets out a long, guttural sigh, and then she falls completely limp. I don't let go, not just yet, but finally I loosen my hold just a little and I wait in case she tries to surprise me. I'm still furious at myself for falling for her little trick with the gun, and I'm not going to let her get a jump on me again.

  I wait, and then finally I realize that she's unconscious.

  Letting go of her, I wait a moment longer with her slumped against my chest, and then I check her neck for a pulse. Sure enough, the bitch is still alive. I pause for a few seconds, considering whether or not I should just finish her off, but deep down I know I could never do that. Instead, I clamber out from behind her and then I look around for a moment before spotting a length of rope on one of the tables.

  I grab the rope and pull it down, and then I start wrapping it around Esmee's left wrist. Pretty soon, I've managed to secure her to one of the many pipes on the wall, and I give the rope one final tug to make sure that it's firm. As I do so, I feel another burst of pain in my right wrist, and when I look down I see that my fingers are starting to turn just a little purple. I try to clench a fist, but I have no luck.

  “You're going to have to wait right here,” I tell Esmee, before getting to my feet. “Sorry if that's inconvenient.”

  I make my way over to Malone and crouch down, and then I try to lift him up. My damaged wrist stops me, however, no matter how many different ways I try to support him. Finally, realizing that this won't work, I figure that I'm going to need another approach.

  I have to call for help, and get them here fast.

  “I'm going to the main house,” I say finally, leaning down toward Malone in the hope that he can hear me. I press two fingers against the side of his neck and start searching for a pulse.

  Finally, after a few attempts, I feel something.

  “Thank you,” I say with a relieved sigh. “Malone, I'm coming back. I just have to get to the house, that's all. I can call for back-up from there, and then I'll get you to the hospital. I promise. You just have to trust me.”

  I wait, just in case he miraculously wakes up and murmurs something, but then I get to my feet and start limping out of the room. As I go, I look down at Esmee and see that she's still tied to the pipe. I reach down and tug on the rope again, to make doubly sure that it's secure, and then I shuffle out of the room and along the corridor.

  My heart is racing.

  Wincing as I feel the pain in my wrist, I finally get to the entrance hall and approach the ladder. I reach out with both hands, only to suddenly realize that I'll have to climb with just one. I take a moment to get my breath back, and then I start to climb, and then I stop suddenly as I hear a sound coming from the far end of the bunker.

  I freeze, telling myself that I was wrong, but then I hear it again.

  Someone's moving in the main room.

  There's a
shuffling, bumping sound, almost as if...

  Almost as if someone's working to get free of some ropes.

  “No way,” I whisper. “No f-”

  I stop for a moment, but I already know that I can't leave Malone here with that psychotic bitch. I tied her up properly, but I was effectively working one-handed and now I'm starting to worry that she might have a chance of getting loose. I need to get to the farmhouse and call for help, but I have no doubt that a free Esmee Waters would not be a good thing. If she's even conscious, that's bad enough, so I step off the ladder and look around for something I can finally use to knock Esmee Waters out properly.

  Meanwhile, the shuffling sound in the far room continues for a few more seconds before falling suddenly, ominously silent.

  Finding a plank of wood resting against the wall, I realize that this is the best I'm going to be able to get. I raise the plank and start making my way back along the corridor, poised to fight back if Esmee suddenly comes at me. The single electric light in the corridor flickers slightly, buzzing in the process, but finally I get to the doorway and I look through.

  My heart skips a beat as I see that while Malone is where I left him, Esmee is gone and has left behind nothing but some untied ropes.

  This bitch is unbelievable.

  “Esmee,” I say finally, figuring that there's no point hiding, “it's time to stop now.”

  I step into the room, while keeping my back to the wall so that she can't come up behind me. I look all around, figuring that she has to be hiding somewhere, but I don't see any hint of movement.

  “I'll help you, Esmee,” I continue, as I adjust my grip on the plank. “I mean that. I'll see what I can do to get you all the help that you so clearly need. But if you want help, you need to... get a grip.”

  Get a grip?

  Did I really say that?

  She needs to get a lobotomy. That's what she needs.

  Stopping, I realize that I can't get too far from the doorway, otherwise she might escape. Then she could seal the door and leave Malone and me trapped down here, and then maybe she'd be able to go and get that gasoline she mentioned. I'm starting to worry that the only way out of this mess is for me to smear her brains across a wall.

  “Esmee,” I continue, “you're not a bad person. I know that. You just made some bad choices.”

  That's a lie.

  Still, it's a lie that might save my life.

  “Let's just resolve this without any more trouble, okay?” I continue. “And then maybe one day you can even live a normal life again. You still have a future if you just -”

  Suddenly I spot movement in the corner of my eye, and I spin around to see Esmee standing on the other side of the room. She's holding the crowbar in her right hand, and after a moment I notice that her left wrist is misshapen and twisted. I guess it's pretty clear how she got herself out of the ropes.

  “Hey, Esmee,” I say, as I try to figure out how I'm going to defend myself. “I don't suppose you want to -”

  Suddenly she screams and runs at me. Startled, I take a step back and raise the plank, but at that moment she lifts the metal crowbar high above her head.

  “You don't have to do this!” I shout.

  I wave the plank in her general direction, missing her completely, and then I watch helplessly as – still screaming – she pulls the crowbar back and then brings it crashing down toward my face.

  And then, at the last moment, the crowbar's tip slices straight into one of the power cables running across the ceiling, and a loud bang is accompanied by a blinding flash.

  I stumble back again, raising my left hand in a desperate attempt to protect my face, but then I see that the crowbar is dug deep into the cable, and Esmee is still screaming as she shakes violently. I don't know how much power is running through those cables, but there's smoke rising from Esmee's body now as her hands continue to grip the crowbar's metal handle, and after a few more seconds I see flames starting to ripple through her dress.

  The lights flicker all around us.

  Esmee's scream is still ringing out.

  And then suddenly, as I stare straight ahead in horror, the lights go out and the whole bunker is plunged into darkness, and in that moment her scream stops. For a moment, I can still see ripples of flame running all over Esmee's body, but then even those disappear and I'm left standing in complete darkness.

  I stare straight into the black void.

  All I hear is silence, but I swear I can feel my heart thumping hard in my chest. Then, finally, I begin to hear a very faint gasping sound coming from the darkness straight ahead. The gasp keeps cutting out, but it's persistent and finally I realize that I need to see what's happening.

  I reach into my pocket and, with my remaining good hand, I manage to take out my cellphone. My hand is trembling violently, but I'm able to bring up the flashlight. I hesitate for a few seconds, not really daring to turn the phone around and see the truth, and then finally I force myself.

  I turn the phone.

  And then I see her.

  Esmee is horrifically burned, with most of her skin having been consumed by the flames. Her hair is gone, but she's still gripping the crowbar and her eyes are wide open and fixed on me. The gasping sound is coming from her throat, but she seems completely frozen in place until finally, slowly, she pulls the crowbar back and slips it out from the overhead cable.

  With the flashlight still aimed at her, I watch with growing horror as she slowly steps forward and raises the crowbar again, and her expression twists until she's once again sneering at me. I don't know how she's still alive after all of this, but through some superhuman effort she manages to remain upright, and she starts to lift the crowbar above her head.

  And then, finally, she falls backward and slams down hard on the concrete floor, with her arms still held out in front of her, still gripping the crowbar.

  Epilogue

  “So eventually the coroner told me to stop calling,” I say the next day as I limp back into the hospital room, carrying a cup of coffee. “I guess he had a point. Even Esmee Waters couldn't come back from being fried to death.”

  I pause for a moment, as I feel a few flickers of concern starting to reach into the edges of my mind.

  “Then again,” I whisper, “maybe I should call him one more time. Just to be sure.”

  Hearing a gasp of pain, I turn to my left.

  Malone starts to sit up in his bed, but he winces almost immediately and it's clear that he's still in a lot of pain. He's hooked up to all sorts of drips, so I can't even begin to imagine how bad he'd be feeling without sedatives. He tries to sit up again, then again, until finally he sighs and gives up. He's been doing this on and off all morning and, to be honest, it's become something of a sad sight. Why can't he just accept that he needs to rest?

  I set the coffee cup down, and then I check my watch.

  Where is Daryl?

  “I swear,” I continue, as I take a seat next to the bed, “that girl seemed unstoppable for a few minutes. It was as if nothing could kill her. She must have had so much anger and hatred running through her veins. All she cared about was making her own life easier.” Now it's my turn to wince, as I start to sit up and then inadvertently put some pressure on my damaged wrist.

  I manage to wriggle into a more comfortable position.

  “When I think about Roper,” I continue, “I still don't quite understand. Was he really so completely under Esmee's spell? I mean, he had plenty of chances to tell me, to ask for help. There was that night I was with him at the farmhouse, and he just let me go without saying a word. He could have told me what was happening when he dropped me off at the motel, but he didn't say a word. She must have been so deep in his head, I guess he didn't think escape was possible. That's pretty messed-up, right?”

  I turn to Malone and see that he's still trying to get himself comfortable in his hospital bed.

  “Are you sure you don't want a coffee?” I ask.

  “I'm fine,” he
replies. “Thanks, but...”

  His voice trails off. That's another thing he's been doing all morning, and it's starting to drive me crazy. He keeps starting sentences and then letting them drift off into the ether, as if he can't be bothered to finish them. I guess I understand. He's still trying to make sense of all the madness.

  “There are journalists crawling all over the place,” I tell him, “but they don't seem to have got the memo yet about Esmee. They know she's dead, but they haven't figured out that she was the psycho all along. I guess that's going to go against the narrative they're preparing. Then again, I'm sure some people will get a vicarious thrill out of the whole thing. Someone should really tell the story properly, without all the sensationalist parts. Someone should get the truth out there.”

  I smile at Malone, hoping to cheer him up, but he's simply staring into space.

  I check my watch again.

  Come on, Daryl.

  “You didn't fail anyone, you know,” I say finally, figuring that I need to confront the real problem here. “Esmee Waters was a lying, manipulative monster straight out of a horror story. No-one could be expected to figure out what she was doing, not until it was too late. We all like to think that we can understand a monster. But if we can understand them, maybe they were never really a monster to begin with. When it comes to true monsters, we can glimpse parts of their reasoning, but they're too insane for us to ever truly understand. You're a good guy, Malone. How could you ever be expected to guess what Esmee Waters had done?”

  “I should have figured it out,” he murmurs. “I tried, but I failed.”

  “You can't protect everyone,” I point out. “You have to pick yourself up and get back to work. And that's gonna take time, with those chunks she hacked out of you. Focus on your recovery, and...”

  I hesitate, as I realize that I'm the worst person in the world at giving pep talks. Malone's a good guy, and I know he's going to get through this madness and come out stronger on the other side. The people of Ridge Falls don't realize how lucky they are to have him keeping them safe, and I can already tell that – worries aside – he's not about to quit. He's going to keep moving forward.