BACKWOODS RIPPER: a gripping action suspense thriller (9 page)

“Don’t touch. Don’t touch,” Soona repeated over and over in a monotone voice.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I just want to look. I’ll put it back.” Paige wasn’t sure why she wanted to see the trap. Maybe because, like everything else here, it was hidden and she was tired of not knowing what was going on under the surface.

The trap felt surprisingly weighty, she bent her knees and pulled one arm over the other.
You’ll feel that later
, she warned herself, but she couldn’t seem to stop. The edge of the cage broke the surface about four metres away and then disappeared back under the water. Paige heaved the rope through her arms and could feel the cage bobbing along the sandy bottom.

Still standing in the water, she gave the rope a final yank and the bars of the cage wavered into view under the clear, yellowy water. She spotted the crayfish at once. There were at least four of them, large and black as night. They were clustered around something at the bottom of the cage. Paige wondered if it was some sort of bait and leaned over to get a better look.

“Don’t touch. Don’t touch,” Soona’s voice shrilled from the jetty.

“I’m not going to touch it,” Paige said and took a step deeper into the dam.

Feeling the movement of the water, the marron skittered around the cage, the bait now abandoned as they tried to escape. Paige blinked and leaned over the water. The shape at the bottom of the cage was irregular and white. She squinted and shifted to the left a little to get a better angle on what she was looking at.

The shape coalesced into clarity. Paige’s stomach clenched and an ugly shriek flew out of her mouth. A foot. A human foot with a large metal hook running through it. Paige jammed the heel of her hand in her mouth and bit down. She could see thin, white ribbons of flesh streaming from the severed limb.

She dropped the rope and staggered backwards, her feet scrambling for purchase on the sandy bottom. She screamed, hearing herself make the noise but unaware of doing it. Water thumped around her as she turned and scampered onto the bank. Her heart hammered in her ears, and her limbs shook.

She made it as far as the grassy incline and dropped to one knee. All the excitement at finding the car, the sense of hope she’d felt, vanished. She closed her eyes. All she could see were those ribbons of flesh waving in the yellow water. Her stomach contracted and a jet of hot fluid sprayed out of her mouth, puddling on the grass.

For a few minutes, she stared at the pool of partially digested food, her vision obscured by watery eyes. When the foul slick came back into view, Paige stood and dragged her arm across her mouth.
We’re going to die here.
Another sob burst through her lips.

Any illusions she’d had about Lizzy and what she might be capable of were gone. The woman was sick. An evil creature. And now, Paige couldn’t pretend she had things under control. Things were so far out of control that the world spun.

Keep it together, keep it together
, she repeated the words in her mind like some sort of self-help mantra. She needed to stay calm and find the keys. If she could do that, then maybe they had a chance of getting out of Mable House. She had to play the game a little longer. Could she do it after what she’d just seen? She didn’t know, but she’d soon find out.

Paige’s bare feet slid on the cool grass. She realised she’d left her shoes at the dam. If she had any hope of escaping, she’d need them. It would mean going back to the dam. Seeing the cages again. Even if she couldn’t see the severed foot with the undulating ribbons of flesh, she’d know it was there, just below the surface. She paused near the opening in the grevillea bush and looked back towards the rolling incline. Soona made her way over the rise clutching Paige’s shoes.

She watched the woman amble towards her holding out the sneakers and another wave of affection washed over her. This time it came wrapped up with gratitude. For the moment, the dark voice remained silent. She suspected Soona knew and understood a great deal more about what was going on here than Paige had given her credit for.

“Thank you, Soona. It’s very kind of you to bring me my shoes,” she said and reached out a shaky hand.

The baby, possibly upset by Paige’s fierce rush of emotions at the dam, shifted and kicked. Paige took the shoes and put her free hand on her belly, gently patting the stirring baby. She wondered what all this was doing to her unborn child. She’d read somewhere, possibly in one of the dozens of pregnancy books she’d read, that mothers can communicate stress to their babies.

Noticing Soona’s eyes on her abdomen, Paige reached out her hand. “Do you want to feel my baby?” She asked.

Soona’s eyes flicked between Paige’s hand and her belly. Then, maybe deciding that feeling the baby was worth enduring being touched, Soona reached out her hand. Paige guided it to her belly, carefully, not wanting to overwhelm the woman with her contact. Paige put the woman’s hand on her stomach and within a second, the baby shifted.

Soona chuckled, a hearty infectious sound. In spite of all the horror, Paige found herself chuckling along with her.

“Paige’s baby,” she said.

“Lizzy’s baby,” Soona said, still pressing her hand against Paige’s belly.

Paige gave a nervous laugh. “No, sweetheart. This is Paige’s baby.”
Not everything here belongs to Lizzy
.

“Lizzy’s baby,” Soona said again.

Paige wanted to explain to her that the baby was in her tummy, so it was hers, when the words died in her mouth. Like being hit by lightning, realisation dawned on her. The reason they were here; why Hal was immobilised upstairs. None of this had ever been about him
or
her. They were just a means to an end.
It’s the baby.
The moment Lizzy saw her in the road, their fate had been sealed.

Chapter Eleven

Hal had come to recognise Lizzy’s footsteps – a dull thump as the woman hammered down her heels with every step. Even the sound of her set his nerves jangling and his heart thumping. Each time she approached the room, his heart raced and his mind screamed at the possibility that she’d come to do him more harm
.

“How are you feeling today?” Lizzy asked from the doorway.

She asked the same question every day, most times not waiting for an answer. How he felt or didn’t feel was of no real interest to Lizzy Hatcher. She’d made her indifference clear enough when she tied him down and sawed off his leg. But more than the cruelty, the flat disinterested look in her ghostly eyes told him all he needed to know. He was no more present in her world than a feeder fish to a shark.

“I’m doing just fine,” Hal said and turned his head towards the small window.

He couldn’t see much of the outside world, just a rectangle of blue and a long slash of sunlight on the worn floorboards. He thought of turning his face up to the sun and closing his eyes and tried to imagine the golden light against his eyelids.

“Your stump
is
healing nicely. Good thing I got to it in time.” She pushed her ever-present trolley over to the bed, pulled back the sheet and leaned over his legs.

He watched the crown of her head, hovering just over his knees. Her scalp, shiny and pink with flecks of dandruff. He could smell lemons and something like spoiled milk.

“You know, Hal, when Mable House was first built in 1928, it was a workhouse for young women who found themselves in trouble.” She pulled the dressing off the wound on his broken leg. While he’d been unconscious, she taken the liberty of stitching up the gash made by the Ford’s rim.

Hal fought back a groan and clenched his teeth. He could feel sweat running down his cheeks. Changing his bandages and dressings was the most painful part of each agonising day.

“That’s what they called it back then.” She straightened up and made her fingers into quotation marks. “‘In trouble.’ A funny way of saying pregnant, but that’s what they called it.”

Hal wasn’t sure where her story was going or if he should say something, so he just nodded.

“A lot of desperate young woman had their babies in this house. A lot of frightened girls …” her voice trailed off and for a moment she just stared at him.

She lapsed into silence for a while, the only sounds her breathing and the sharp rip of surgical tape.

“After the war, Mable House became a hospital for returning soldiers. Men who didn’t have anyone to care for them. Men like you.”

Hal was taken aback. “What do you mean like me?” The words were out before he could stop himself. He’d promised Paige he wouldn’t do anything to provoke the woman. He thought of the way she’d fought him, twisted his broken leg, tied him down and quickly added, “I mean, like me in what way?”

“Amputees. Or,” she nodded to his leg. “Men with infections that ended up losing limbs.” She finished replacing the dressing and moved around to the other side of the bed. “Do you want something for the pain before I start on your stump?” She asked almost kindly.

Yes, he did want something for the pain. He wanted it very badly. Bellow his knees lay a road map of searing agony, and when she changed the bandage on his stump, he felt like his flesh and bone were being shredded by meat hooks.

“A couple of paracetamol would help,” he said and tried for a grateful smile.

Lizzy shrugged and went to the cupboard and got the tablets. She put them in the palm of his hand and then handed him a glass of water.

“That’s when my father came to Mable House,” she continued with her story. “He was a doctor and he came to help the wounded servicemen. A great man.” Hal noticed that the tone of her voice changed when she talked about the house; and when she mentioned her father, her face flushed with pleasure. He didn’t know if the improvement in her mood was good or bad so he said nothing.

Lizzy re-dressed his severed leg. When she touched the bulky bandages, sheets of pain washed over him. Lizzy seemed oblivious to his gritted teeth and sweat-soaked face.

“My father helped hundreds of people over the years,” Lizzy continued. “After the soldiers, the girls came again.” She shrugged. “In the sixties, there were no shortage of girls in a jam. My father helped the girls too.” Her tone changed. The faraway wistful look, that softened her features, vanished and something darker clouded her face. “Girls like your wife, about to drop and running all over the countryside in a mini skirt.” She gave him a pointed look, heavy with disapproval.

“My wife,” Hal said, around shallow breaths, “isn’t in a jam. We’re married and looking forward to having a child.” He tried to keep his tone mild, but the smug look on her face was almost more than he could bare.

Lizzy’s protruding grey eyes looked shiny, glassy like they’d been polished in a shop and pushed into her sockets by a giant doll maker. “Maybe once, but now she’s saddled with a cripple and has a baby on the way; that sounds like a jam, don’t you think?”

Hal swallowed and clenched the edges of the bed. His stump screamed as though shards of glass swam below the skin. Lizzy’s change of mood was terrifying in its swiftness. But the word
cripple
really hit home. His stomach felt hollow and the strength left his arms. He wanted her to finish and leave him in peace so he could stare at the window and image a time when Paige and he would spend whole afternoons in bed. A time when his world wasn’t full of pain.

“Alright,” Lizzy said. “All done.” She flipped the sheet back up and walked briskly out of the room.

Hal let out his breath and his whole body shuddered. He could hear her somewhere close by running water and clanking instruments.
The worst of it is over
, he told himself and tried to catch his breath. With a tremendous effort, he focused his mind on something other than his legs. The things Lizzy had said; he wondered what it was all about. His thinking felt so scattered, concentrating and following a thought seemed almost impossible. But his instincts told him it was important. Some of it seemed to be desultory rambling, some downright cruel, but he was beginning to understand Lizzy well enough to know that nothing she did or said was truly random.
So what was she trying to tell him?

She bustled back into the room and snatched up the jug from the locker. A few moments later she returned with it freshly filled. “Having you here is a lot of work for me,” she said and set the jug down hard enough to rattle the locker and make the water slosh noisily over the rim.

Hal tried to think of something to say that would calm her mood. “I’m grateful to you for taking such good care of me.” He hoped he sounded more sincere than he felt.

For a moment, she stared at the water and didn’t reply. Hal eyed the jug and wondered if he could reach it in time to smash it over her head. He could see himself driving the jug into her scalp, smashing bone and shredding skin. He’d never hit a woman in his life. Hell, a week ago he would’ve said he never would, but the thought of hurting Lizzy became more and more appealing.

“I bet you think that pretty-boy face of yours is really charming.” She pulled her attention away from the jug. “But it doesn’t matter.”

The finality in her words that chilled him.
She’s never going to let us go.
“I mean it,” he added quickly and then before he could stop himself, “When we leave, I’ll be sure to tell people how much you’ve done for us.”

“Hal, I may be a country girl, but I’m not stupid and neither are you.” She seemed to be about to say more, but stopped. Her eyes narrowed and flitted to the window.

Hal followed her gaze, he could see nothing of interest on the grimy glass. Then he heard it, the sound that grabbed her attention. At first he thought there was a fly in the room, buzzing around the pane, but then it grew louder, deeper. He watched her rush to the window, rubber soles thumping on the boards. The casual confidence of her usual movements replaced by a hurried urgency.

“Is that a …”

“Shut-up,” she snapped, and flew from the room, the door crashing shut behind her.

The buzzing turned into a rumble that stuttered and coughed. There was no mistaking the sound of a motorbike. Hal pushed himself up in the bed, in a moment of madness, he almost swung his legs over the side before they protested with shrieks of pain.

He pushed out a fevered breath and looked around the room, searching for what, he didn’t know. He had to get out of bed, if he could make it to the window, he might be able to call for help. The sound of gravel spraying and tyres crunching sprang up from the front of the house. Hal slid his butt to the left side of the bed and flipped back the sheets. Lizzy had flown from the room in such a hurry, she’d left her trolley behind. If he could put some weight on his broken leg, he might be able to lean his body over the trolley and wheel over to the window.

He used his arms to lift himself closer to the edge of the bed. Balancing like a gymnast on the vaulting horse, he focused on keeping his legs straight out in front of him. Outside, the motorbike hiccupped then abruptly stopped. Someone had arrived at Mable House and judging by the way Lizzy pegged out of the room, the visitor was unexpected.

Hal reached out and for one breath-taking second, he almost hit the trolley away from the bed. He snapped his wrist up and latched onto the edge before it could spin out of reach. When he had it firmly in his grasp, he bent his elbow and pulled it alongside the bed.

A door banged open and then slammed shut somewhere below.
Is someone in the house?
He didn’t think so. His money was on Lizzy rushing outside. As if to confirm his suspicions, voices echoed below the window. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the deep quality of some of the sounds, told him that one was male.

He lifted the remnants of left of his left leg to the side of the bed and began lowering it. The pain flared, but not unbearably. Salty sweat ran down his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He used his forearm to wipe it away and then picked up his broken leg, holding it just above the ankle, he moved it to the side of the bed.

A shaft of agony ran the length of his leg. His foot, the size of a small melon and roughly the colour of the grape jelly his mother used to make, twitched. He swore and froze with his leg grasped in both hands, suspended in mid-air. He panted like a dog on a hot day and lowered the leg back onto the bed. His heart beat so fast he could hear the blood whooshing in his ears. He allowed himself five seconds to gather courage and lifted his leg again.

When he swung his broken leg over the side of the bed, the world shifted and his vision clouded until the room swam in soupy fog. The swarming razor blades attacked in full force under his skin.

“I’m coming you saw-happy bitch. Get ready for the cripple,” he spat the words out through clenched teeth and took hold of the trolley with both hands.

When he had it in position, he used his forearm to sweep the tape, scissors and various other paraphernalia from the top. An assortment of items clattered and rolled across the floor. This was it, time to find out if his foot could take some weight long enough to bend his body over the ancient trolley.

He could still hear voices, faint but clearly coming from below the window. It might have been a change in the wind, but Hal was sure whoever the voice belonged to, was getting agitated. Then an unmistakable shout. The words
Jesus
and
what
rang out in a deep male voice, clear as day.

If Lizzy was out there, she’d be trying to get rid of her visitor. The faceless man might be getting back on his bike right now. If Hal didn’t make himself move, the man might be gone before he got half way across the room. He put his foot to the floor, and felt the roughness of warn boards under his toes. He leaned forward and pressed down slightly. The pain, so sudden and fierce jolted him back, his ass nearly slipping off the bed.

Tears sprang into his eyes. He hung his head and watched his chest heaving up and down. He couldn’t make himself stand. His mind wanted to, he could even see himself rolling across the floor on the trolley like a child body-surfing through the shallows, but he couldn’t make that final move. He shook his head and droplets of sweat splattered the trolley. He let go of the metal sides and rubbed his sweaty palms on his pyjama shirt.

Okay
.
You’ve been laying in that bed blubbering and dreaming about times gone by for days, time to act or time to die.
He gripped the side of the trolley and pushed down on his toes. His leg, still throbbing from his last attempt, exploded into a million bursts of agony. He pushed forward and felt his butt leave the bed.

Tendons sprung out on his neck, and the room echoed with his own hoarse gasping. With a final push, he lunged forward, eyes that only a few days ago twinkled over the top of his sunglasses were now wide and red rimmed. For a moment he remained balanced on the trolley, slumped over on his stomach with one foot barely grazing the floor. He would have to use his foot like he was riding a scooter if he had any hope of reaching the window. He put the ball of his foot on the floor, it felt numb from the swelling.
Numb is good
, he thought.
The less I can feel, the better
.