Marilyn (15 page)

FORTY-SEVEN

Andrew held up his arms as if surrendering himself to O'Sullivan, the gun pointing at the ceiling. He moved forward two steps, just enough to enter the dining room, both feet across the threshold.

'Whatever you want, O'Sullivan. Just let them go, please,' he pleaded, his eyes red and watery.

    'I'm losing my patience here, Andrew. Now, where are the fucking keys? I won't ask you again,' threatened O'Sullivan through gritted teeth.

     'Sure thing, no problem,' Andrew spoke, delicately.

He dug deep into his pockets with his spare hand, taking longer than he should, stalling, still aiming the gun at the ceiling. He rummaged around before removing them with his thumb and index finger.

O'Sullivan wore his menacing grin.

'You're learning. Well done,' he congratulated with a filthy smirk. 'What a wonderful husband and father you are, it's such a shame you couldn't save them.'

O'Sullivan raised his arm, taking the gun away from Lizzy's temple. He aimed it directly at Andrew. The excitement on his face was poisoning, like Christmas had come early.

     The muzzle flash came and went in slow motion, only once, brightening the room with its hideous flare of certain death. The sound came later.

The bullet penetrated Andrew’s rib cage, chipping away and splintering bone as it passed through, burying itself deep. He gargled his own blood at the depths of his throat like an unpleasant mouthwash. It dribbled down his bottom lip in thick, red globules. The gun slipped from his grip and cascaded to the floor with a clunk. Andrew looked at his family with bloodshot eyes, filled with the stare of a dying man with so much left to say. He coughed and spluttered until he dropped to his knees, tumbling over onto his side, hugging the weeping chest wound with both startled hands.

     Lizzy screamed as soon as her father hit the floor, a terrifying shriek of dismay and unbelievable horror.

'DADDY, NO! DAD!'

She struggled against the restrictive arm that O'Sullivan had placed around her, stamping and kicking with her feet, attempting to free herself, using her small hands, trying to rip away at O'Sullivan's grip.

     Julie Dunn knelt, colourless, yelling with everything she had. She plunged for the dropped weapon as quickly as she could, scrambling her fingers across the floor. O'Sullivan raised his gun again. He fired twice, catching Julie once in the shoulder blade, sending her sprawling against the floor. She clambered across the carpet, dragging herself with her good arm. The second silenced her cries, the bullet forcing itself through back muscle tissue and fat, piercing her lung. She stopped in her tracks, her hands still spread like spider's legs gripping at strands of carpet. A death rattle made its way through her oesophagus, taking away her final breath before her head could hit the floor, only a foot away from her husband.

That's when it hit him, he didn't see it coming, tearing through his flesh without mercy. He deserved none. The bullet was a through and through, but painful as hell. O'Sullivan's shoulder was thrown backwards from the force of the shot, releasing Lizzy from her subjugator, she stood soundlessly still. O'Sullivan's blood tattooed her face.

Andrew had rolled over onto his large stomach, blood still oozing from his open mouth. He wasn't dead just yet. There was still fight left in him, but his eyes were heavy, practically closed.

'Lizzy, Run, RUN. Lizzy go, get out of here. Go. Now!' roared Andrew, using almost everything he had left.

Lizzy lurched forward, free from the clasp of the monster.

'Go on, Elizabeth, get out of here now, run, don't worry about me. Run.'

Seeing the bodies of her dying father and dead mother, Lizzy took a huge stride, and made a break for it, picking up speed as she ran for her life through the corridor.

O'Sullivan watched her sprint further from his reach as the blood dripped from his shoulder onto the floor, splashing and spreading around him.

He lifted the gun up, closing one eye and squinting with the other, staring down the sight until he had it all lined up. His finger squeezed down against the trigger until another bullet left the chamber.

There was no pain, just a bang, just death. The force from the shot sent Lizzy flying, her arms spreading outwards like wings and her knees buckling, forcing her to the ground. She slid chest first across the hall, what was left of her once beautiful face bumped and scraped along the way as her dead body came to a blood-splattered halt.

FORTY-EIGHT

Marilyn sat forward in her seat, her seatbelt pulling against her chest, a strange look of loathing and pity engulfed her face. She ran both hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

'Sheriff, why do you think he took Jack?'

     'If I'm honest, Marilyn. I can't be sure. I don't know,’ he said, deliberating with himself. 'I wish I knew, I really do.'

'There has to be something, Sheriff,' she pushed. 'There must be something. Have you seen anything like this before, or even heard about anything like this happening anywhere?'

R.J. Russell racked his brain, scanning through all of his cases and others that he had heard or read about.

'Unfortunately, this happens more than you would think. There are around two thousand, three hundred reported cases each day, adults and children.'

A heart-breaking chill swept over Marilyn.

Elwood took his glasses off to rub under his eyes, and then caressed his temples. A headache was kicking in.

'Do you mind? I may have something to offer, it's not much, but just from something that I read a long time ago.'

R.J. slowed down, making the cruiser easier to control as they meandered through windy, snake-like lanes, keeping his eyes front and centre. Marilyn wriggled in her seat, turning the best she could to face Elwood. Any opinions were more than welcome.

'Well, after hearing your deputy talk about all those meds and problems, it sounds like to me that he could be suffering from some kind of repressed issues. The anti-psychotics sound like he could have a split personality or something along those lines,' he guessed. 'I don't know, it seems entirely possible. You see it all the time at the flicks. I don't know how it works exactly, I ain't a doctor, but that's what I think, anyway.'

The car jolted, sending them all bouncing around in their seats like rag dolls. Marilyn grabbed at the hand rest above the passenger door to steady herself.

'Sorry about that, guys. I must have hit a pot hole, or a rock or something.'

R.J. corrected his course, inching his way back into the middle of the confining road. He flicked a passing glance at Elwood in his rear view mirror, and then returned his eyes back to the road.

'That sounds reasonable, Elwood. As good as anything that I was thinking of. I think it's the best theory that we have.' He coughed. 'It's the only theory we have.

R.J. Russell accelerated, speeding down the dirty and mangled hill.

FORTY-NINE

Jack wept alone, to a merciless god, in an oblivious world, his head still throbbing from the thrashing he had endured minutes before. He asked himself all sorts of questions as he searched for his silver chain, tapping at his chest like a doctor examining a patient. It was still there, hanging over his heart, absorbing the agony. Blood had dried on his hands, face, and on his jumper… on David's jumper. He wanted to rip it from his body,              it seemed to have a hold of him, like the restraint of unwanted shackles. Jack's eyes were dry and sore, he couldn't tear them away from the bodies of Andrew, Julie and little Lizzy Dunn, they were transfixed, wrapped up in the aftermath of the most loathsome deed. He couldn't recall the last time he blinked, he didn't want to, who knew what would come when the light disappeared and the darkness rolled in?

He wasn't ready to find out, not just yet, first of all he had to deal with the sickness. It came out in chunks, scratching at his throat as it left his body, leaving the taste of cowardliness in its wake. Then the dark came and went, but it wasn't the horror show that he was expecting.

**

It was an exquisite sight to behold, like star-gazing for the criminally insane. But this was not from the limited view of a telescope, O'Sullivan had front row seats to the dazzling and dramatic event of a lifetime. He revelled in the glory of his accomplishments, taking one last puff of death's delicious fragrance, tasting sweet success, leaving no room to notice Jack behind him.

**

Jack was standing, his elbow propping him up against the dinner table, twitching like a puppet having its strings plucked. His eyes were torrid flares of scorn, confused and lost in a sea of carelessness, caught off guard in the heat of the moment. His innocence torn away by corrupt hands.

'What are you waiting for, huh?' he yelled, fiercely, passionately, with tearful eyes. 'I'm right here. Shoot me, you bastard, shoot me like you did to the Dunns. They did nothing to you, they tried to help you.'

     'With pleasure.'

O'Sullivan raised his gun, stone-faced.

Jack's eyes denied the natural reaction of closing, only stubbornness keeping them open. He wanted to see O'Sullivan's eyes. He wanted the monster to see his.

O'Sullivan took small steps towards Jack, muttering incoherently, but he was unable to shoot. His gaze fell upon the jumper.

O'Sullivan lowered his weapon.

'Fine. I guess I'm just going to have to take you with me. Count yourself lucky. Come on, boy. Get fucking moving.'

     Jack, weak and wobbly, defiantly stood his ground.

'I'm not asking you again, boy. You'll do as you're fucking told.'

O'Sullivan caught hold of Jack's collar and wrapped it around his clenched fist, stretching his dead son's jumper out of proportion. He dragged him.

Jack watched as O'Sullivan picked up the dropped car keys, pondered, and then reached down in Andrew's blood-stained pocket and plucked out the cigar. He removed the two bullets that were left in his gun, picked up Mr Dunn's weapon and dropped the leftovers into his pocket.

Jack closed his eyes as he was masqueraded blindly through the Dunn residence. He felt his feet clip Lizzy, dragging over her body, disrespectfully, as they made their way to the door.

As the door opened, the wind smashed at their faces, carefree, shocking them both, and bringing Jack back down to earth.

Jack didn't resist O'Sullivan's pull as they climbed down the steps. His legs were limp, they didn't feel like they belonged to his body. He snatched at his silver chain, freeing it from his neck with a muffled snap. He took one last look at it before he threw it on to ground. A lifetime of memories buried in the dirt. He watched it until it wasn't even a glimmer in the haze.

FIFTY

Glenn Bennett was missing a shoe, lost, never to be seen again, swallowed up by the hungry and dominating woodland. His hands were numb and his face was red raw, sore to the touch, and speckled with splashes of dirt and gunk. With a few wrong turns here and there, and some slips and falls, it had taken him a lot longer than expected to make it to the boundaries of the Dunn farmhouse. Bennett crouched, dipping his knees into the soggy ground to keep his balance, his shoulder resting against the thick stump of an old tree. He detached the radio from his hip and spoke loudly, clearly, over the howl of the gusting wind.

'Sheriff, it's Bennett.'

He waited, holding his breath, watching for any signs of life at the farmhouse. Radio static was broken and replaced with the reply of the sheriff.

'Yeah, Bennett, What took you so long? What have you got?'

Bennett leant in, moving flat onto his stomach, peering over a grassy mound.

‘Sorry, Sheriff, got myself lost, it all looks the same here with this weather. But I've got nothing. It's all quiet here at the Dunns'. Too quiet. Doesn't seem to have been any sign of a disturbance. There are a few lights on, though. I'm going to get a closer look and check it out.'

Glenn pushed himself to his feet, his fist sinking into the swampy bed of dead, wild flowers.

'Negative, I repeat. Negative. Wait until we get there, Bennett. Just keep an eye out for any activity, anything suspicious. Do you read me?'

Bennett shook his head and rolled his eyes in disbelief.

'Sheriff, not to seem argumentative or disrespectful, but what good is it going to do with me waiting around here in the woods? I…'

There was no time for Bennett to conclude his disapproving radio transmission. The barn door was obliterated, breaking to the sounds of an over-revved, fleeing truck. Chunks of wood came flying off at all angles with an almighty boom, carried away in the savage swirl of the wind.

'What the…'

The red and white truck effortlessly barged its way through the feeble wooden holding cell, skidding and sliding around in the muck controlled by the likes of a novice rally driver. It stalled, before once again gaining traction. Bennett couldn't move, his voice was panicked and hurried.

'Sheriff, someone is on the move, and they're not wasting any time, either.'

The truck circled out of control, its wheels whipping around in the mud before finally straightening up.

'Bennett, can you see who it is?'

'That's a negative, Sheriff. I can't see inside.'

'I want you to wait where you are, Glenn. We're close. ETA just over five minutes.'

'Sorry, boss. But I can't do that.'

The truck sped through the flowering, decimating any and all plant life in its creation of a passage to freedom. The engine screamed and yammered, harmonising with the wail of the wind in a symphony of wreckage.

Bennett leapt into action, cleared the grassy mound with difficulty, landing with a squelch, his shoeless foot sinking deep into the sludge. He sprinted towards the farm house with all the grace of a one-legged ballerina.