Marilyn (17 page)

FIFTY-FOUR

Driving in the inky black forest had become somewhat tranquillising for O'Sullivan. His eyes were not quiet tired, but they were cumbersome. His gun was residing amongst the clutter of the Dunns' belongings in the side of the door.

The Jeep was a mess, it reminded him of his own car, it felt like home and put him at ease. Jack was a blurry smudge in his peripheral, unnoticeable, not thought about.

O'Sullivan whipped out the finest Cuban cigar that he had prised from Andrew Dunn's still warm corpse. He didn't have a lighter or a match, so there was no need to pat himself down. He had to settle for the in-car cigarette lighter. He bit off the end of the cigar and spat it onto the floor, adding to the mess. He put it in his mouth, between his teeth, held it there and glared at himself in the rear view mirror, he looked magnificent.

The lighter popped out with a startling click, barely hanging in its hole. He snatched it up and puffed in and out until it was lit. Thick plumes of smoke swirled and filled the car. He didn't unwind the window. Andrew Dunn told no lies, it was indeed a fine cigar, the finest he had ever had the pleasure of smoking. It was heavy on his lungs, but the taste it left behind in his mouth was majestic, a rich cancerous orgy of sweet and sour vapour tingled his gums.

'How much fucking further, Jesus,' O'Sullivan aimed at himself.

He steered the Jeep around a series of cramped corners, flicking ash onto the floor as he did so. The road became narrower and tighter with each bend he took, the feeble light burning out the deeper they travelled down the track, like someone pulling the sun out from the sky inch by inch.

**

A daytime night fell over them, with still no sign of the puzzling headlights.

Jack started to believe he had imagined the whole thing. He reached for his chain, the only comfort available to him, but it wasn't there, it was buried in the dirt outside the Dunn house. He stroked the bare patch around his neck where it usually hung. He thought of his mother, then his father, and his friends back home, his room, his shows and the dog he had always wanted.

'Where are you, mom? I love you.'

Did he just say that out loud? He didn't know, he couldn't tell.

FIFTY-FIVE

The breadcrumbs led them deeper and deeper, submerging them right in the heart of the witch’s forest. A steady brook filled with scattered dying green and brown leaves ran adjacent to the road.

Their top speed was no more than fifty-two miles an hour. It was impossible to drive any faster. Nerves and tensions were riding high, they were close now.

     Marilyn still held Jack's chain in her hand, rubbing across it lightly with her thumb, never wanting to let go. She cried for Jack, for what he was going through and what he had seen, and she didn't care anymore who saw, or who heard her. She curled the chain around her fingers, trying to concentrate on the road up ahead, what she could see of it, anyway.

'Are you going to arrest O'Sullivan when we catch him, Sheriff?' she asked through her tears.

He knew it was coming, he had been waiting for it, but it still put him on the spot.

'I know this isn't going to do me any favours here.' He frowned, 'I'm still an officer of the law, Marilyn. It's my duty to uphold the law and keep the peace. I can't let my emotions or connections get in the way of doing my job.'

The brief conversation snipped at the jittery backdrop, each word like the blunt blade of stiff scissors. Sometimes, silence was not the answer.

Elwood ruffled his coat, and slapped at his cheeks with his mouth open, leaning forward to be heard.

'When I was a boy living with my mother and father, there was a man,' he started, as he nibbled at his fingernails. 'He was a local fellow, but very, very odd. Always snooping around and getting involved in everyone's business. No one really cared for him, but they didn't dislike him, he was one of those people every small town has. I remember always feeling sorry for him. One day, I was climbing in the woods not too far from my house. I heard this awful screaming coming from a few hundred yards behind me. It was piercing, it made my ears feel like they were bleeding. I rushed down from the tree and ran as fast as I could through the woods. When I saw the man, he was nearly dead on the floor, blood was coming from his stomach. It was like someone had dropped a bucket of red paint all over him, it was awful. He had been stabbed and left there to die. I remember, I couldn't call for help, I tried my hardest but nothing came out. All my thoughts seemed to just get lodged between my brain and my mouth. It was petrifying. I took off my jacket and put it over him, it was the only thing I could think of doing. I ran all the way home to get my father, but he wasn't there, so I went to my neighbour’s house, Mr Carter, he was a nice old guy, kept himself to himself.' Elwood took a steady breath and gaped out of the passenger window, seeing only the blur of the passing butchery. 'By the time we got back there, the man was dead. Anyway, a few weeks went by and the police ended up finding the guy who did it. He was a vagrant, a nobody, just passing through our town. Nobody recognised him, or knew where he came from. So, the police arrested him and there was supposed to be some sort of trial, it was huge news, but he escaped custody, if you could even call it that. And that was that, they never saw him again. He got off scot-free, probably going back to killing.' Elwood paused, rubbing at his chest and taking a deep breath and holding it. 'I've never forgotten that day, it's something that will stay with me forever. Sometimes, I still see the dead man's face at night when I shut my eyes.' Elwood coughed, and stroked his fingers around the sides of his neck. 'Basically, Sheriff, what I'm saying is, don't take that chance, don't make that mistake. You kill that bastard on sight, do you hear? Or I will.' He dropped his hand, covering the butt of Molly. 'There are consequences for your actions, but for mine, I don't care. I don't have all that much longer, anyways. O'Sullivan doesn't deserve to live after what he's done here today.'

R.J. listened to every word, catching glimpses of Elwood's busy hands in the rear view mirror, as he told his story.

'Don't forget who's in charge here, Mr Bailey,' he professed calmly. 'There will be no unwarranted shooting,
do you hear me
? I know you're only trying to help, but the law is the law, Elwood. You got it? It's my duty, I took an oath as a police officer to uphold the law. That is my job.'

Elwood smashed his fist against the cruiser door ' Look, I don't give a fuck about the law or your job right now, you saw first-hand what that motherfucker did in that house. You of all people, Sheriff, should do the right thing.'

'And what is the right thing, Elwood, tell me?' R.J. yelled, losing his temper. He slammed on the brakes to make a tight corner. 'Let me tell you something, and you listen real good, you hear? When I was a rookie on the force, and I didn't know my dick from my elbow. I was trigger-happy, thought I was fuckin' John Wayne or something. When I wasn't working, I was either at church with my parents, or at the range, shooting any gun I could get my hands on. I just couldn't wait for the day to come so I could try out my new shiny weapon that some overpaid asshole trusted me with, couldn't wait to fire it at some punk who deserved it. It was my tenth week on the job and we got some call from a worried neighbour who heard gunshots coming from a house across the street. There had been a string of burglaries in the area and we were closest to the scene, so me and my partner took the call. We rushed there, pulled into the street, switched our lights off and made the rest of the way on foot. When we got to the house, the front door had been kicked in, everything inside was broken and thrown everywhere, the place was a fucking holy mess. We announced ourselves and entered the house. I had never felt anything like it, the rush, the thrill, it was like sex on the edge of a cliff, dangerous and exhilarating, probably not another feeling like it in the world. We cleared the living room and made our way through the hallway when we heard footsteps, light but fast, someone running towards us. I froze, I can remember my finger just shaking over the trigger, I didn't know what to do. The steps, they got louder, closer. I saw a gun just pop out from around the corner, I saw the light hit the barrel like a reflected sunset, so I shut my eyes and just fired, I pulled that trigger without thinking. I heard the bang, and then the body fell straight after, but I couldn't open my eyes. I don't know how I didn't faint. I heard my partner shouting,
Oh my God, what the fuck have you done.' 
R.J. hesitated, taking a breath and a gulp of coffee from the flask. 'I.. I shot a ten-year-old boy who had picked up his dead father's gun, he was running to us, the police, because we were supposed to protect him, to make him feel safe even if it wasn't.' His throat clogged but he coughed it away. 'It was a clean shot, he didn't suffer or feel any pain. I thank whatever God there is for that much. It changes a person, you know, killing someone. I promised myself after that day that I'd never fire my gun again, I just couldn't bear taking another life, no matter how much they deserved it. When we find this guy, we are taking him in, no ifs no buts. Do you get that?'

'Yeah.' Elwood swallowed. 'Yeah, Sheriff. Whatever you say.'

R.J. Russell slowed the cruiser as they hit the streak of corners, heading for the final stretch, the Three Musketeers still searching for their fourth. The soggy tracks were beginning to get washed away in powerful miniature mudslides as the last of the rainfall fell through the trees. The storm was nearly over.

FIFTY-SIX

Trouble appeared in the shape of a colossal downed tree blocking the only viable route through the woodland to the freeway. It had fallen directly across the path in front of them, nature's blockade ripped from the earth by the hands of God. The bark was peeling from the trunk in long asymmetrical strips, and wild mushrooms grew in patchy clumps all the way along the base. Dead before its time, it had to be at least a century old. O'Sullivan was no tree expert but he knew there was no way that he was going to be able to move it, not a chance in Hell. He turned to look behind him, heading back the way they came was not an option, and moving forward was out of the question.

O'Sullivan acknowledged Jack for the first time since fleeing the Dunn house, but he didn't speak a word. Instead, he stuck the Jeep in reverse and backed up ten yards. He sped forward, desperately, aiming for the centre of the fallen barrier until he smashed into it. Chunks of dead bark and moss flew off in every direction, some sticking in the gaps of the grill, but the tree remained undamaged, unyielding.

O'Sullivan repeated the process, but it issued the same results. None. They were enclosed on both sides with no way to get the Jeep around the trunk or through the condensed forest. The remainder of the journey had to be made on foot. Something neither of them found appealing.

O'Sullivan discharged his annoyance upon the steering wheel, pummelling it with the bottom of his fists like an inexperienced boxer hitting a heavy bag, but it didn't make him feel any better, and it didn't solve the problem.

**

O'Sullivan's fiery eruption didn't frighten Jack, he didn't shy away like he thought he would have. He brushed it off, casually, choosing to ignore it. Instead he weighed up his own options, the headlights still shining at the back of his mind.

**

In two nimble movements, O'Sullivan pulled the gun from the door and pointed it straight at Jack's face, trying to squeeze the trigger all the way. Jack didn't blink.

O'Sullivan crumpled his face with exasperation, beads of sweat forming on his brow, agitation raping his mind and body. He raised his arm, preparing to back-hand Jack with the barrel of his gun, but lowered it.

'Fuck. Fuck you, you little shit. Get out of the car, now,' he snarled.

O'Sullivan leaned over Jack and opened the Jeep door.

'Come on, get out, boy.'

Jack adhered to O'Sullivan's demand, he unclipped his seatbelt and climbed out with his jelly legs.

O'Sullivan removed his own and stepped out, walking around to Jack's side. There was no hiding the car this time, no covering their tracks.

'Get in front. Move. This way.'

O'Sullivan pointed to the right, towards a small opening through a grouping of small trees. Jack didn't have to duck as he entered the cut, he walked straight on through, unmarred. He walked torpidly, using all of his weight to press his feet into the slushy ground. His shoes slopped and slurped as he pushed and pulled them in and out of the saturated mud. There was woodland as far as his eyes could see, thousands of species of trees that he probably couldn't even pronounce, but he was leaving a trail. They both were.

O'Sullivan dug the gun into Jack's back, pushing him forward, taking away the cold shivering that was setting in.

'Faster, boy, faster!'

FIFTY-SEVEN

The air had cleared and opinions had been forgotten, the three were chatting as freely as could be allowed. Jack had been the focal point of the conversation for the last few minutes.

'He's small for his age, which meant that he always got picked last for sports in school,' said Marilyn, her spirits raised slightly. 'Children can be so mean sometimes. He came home crying once because the kids at school didn't want him on their team. Howard practised with him hours a day for weeks. I just made the food and drinks and encouraged him. He kept showing me what he had learned and I would clap, he was so thrilled, he got really good, too,' she expelled fondly, and with affection.

Elwood listened and when the conversation broke, he spoke.

'Robert was never any good at soccer,' he added, emotionally, with a tickle at the back of his throat. 'He was more into his comic books. He would stay in all day and read them front to back, over and over again. I don't know how he didn't get fed up of them, reading the same stories I mean. June thought he would be an artist, he was always drawing the front covers and putting them up on his wall. She was really proud of them, she kept them all. I, I haven't looked at them for years.'

R.J. listened to them both, intently, smiling.

'Well, guys, maybe when we get back, Elwood, you can dig out all those old comic covers, I think it's about time, old buddy, don't you, huh? And, Marilyn, you can play soccer with Jack, see if he's as good as you say he is.'

'I've lived so long,' started Elwood, honestly, 'with a chip on my shoulder and a hole in my heart, that I've forgotten what love sounds like. I think I need a better outlook on life.' He smiled. 'So I think I will, Sheriff. It's never too late to change, or so I've heard.'

'I'm glad to hear that, Elwood. Can't be a grumpy son-of-a-bitch all your life,' the sheriff joked. He pointed ahead, his finger touching the glass.

'You see that up ahead?'

Marilyn wiped the windscreen with her fingers, scrubbing at it, but not seeing any clearer. Elwood once again positioned himself between the seats, leaning forward, straining for a better view.

'What is it?'

'It's the Dunn's Jeep, at least I think it is.'

Everyone moved closer to the glass, holding their breath. Instead of speeding up, R.J. slowed down, the way you would driving past an accident on the side of a road, inquisitively, eager for a worthier shot of the scene before it was just a dot in the mirror.

There it was, the monster's chariot waiting in the wings. Empty and abandoned. R.J. parked just behind it, the bumpers almost touching.

'I want you to wait here while I check it out, no questions. Elwood, if anything happens, I…’

'I know what I've gotta do, Sheriff. Don't worry, nothing's going to happen.'

R.J. exited his cruiser, hunched and with his gun drawn. He aimed around himself, a full three hundred and sixty degrees, surveying his seemingly desolate battle ground as the rain pummelled him from above. Nothing. Nobody.

**

Marilyn watched with her hand over her mouth, her chest tense and tight, waiting for the next overdue breath.

**

Elwood held onto his ladies, one hand on Marilyn's shoulder and the other on Molly, who was now standing upright resting against the back of the passenger seat, still waiting to be a part of the action.

**

Sheriff Russell pulled the driver’s side door open, leaning backward in a half-squatting position, his gun aimed inside. No one, as he had suspected. He rummaged around checking the floor and back seats briefly, like a raccoon in rubbish, evidence was his food. He found nothing before signalling Marilyn and Elwood over to join him.

'It's empty. There's nothing here,' he admitted, defeated. 'No blood, no sign of a struggle, they've got to be on foot, it's the only way, and they couldn't have gotten far.'

Marilyn and Elwood inspected the Jeep themselves, each claiming a section to investigate, shifting the mess from one side to the other, lifting compartments, shoving hands down the sides of seats, and wiggling fingers through the torn flooring. R.J. searched around the Jeep, even bending down for a look underneath.

After they had all finished, they huddled together behind the Jeep, using it as a wind breaker.

'They must have gone through the woods. They—look, over there, I think they're footprints.'

Marilyn and Elwood turned, spying the imprints. Two sets, one adult, one child.

'Elwood?'

'Yeah, Sheriff.'

'Go grab your gun, you might need it. I'll grab the torches, we may need those as well, the light is going to get worse before it gets any better.'

The three of them sprang into action, getting everything they needed from the cruiser, equipping themselves, a three man S.W.A.T team.

'Elwood, you stay behind me,' ordered R.J. 'and keep your finger off that trigger, I don't fancy getting shot today.'

'Got it, Sheriff.'

'Good. Marilyn, you're to stay behind Elwood at all times. I'm sure I don't have to explain this, but, our main priority here is getting Jack back safely. O'Sullivan is a bonus, OK? I don't want either of you doing anything unless I give the order. Understood?' He paused. 'I'm here to make sure the four of us make it out of here, and that's what I'm going to do. Are we clear?'

Marilyn answered first, and then Elwood.

'Clear.'

'Understood.'

R.J. Russell led, his team following close behind, treading in each other's footsteps. Marilyn stayed a step behind Elwood, displeased about being at the back. She had to stop herself from calling out to Jack, from screaming his name. They saw the deep shoe marks in the mud as they passed through the small opening, they were Jack's tiny impressions, his innocence stamped in the muck, so fresh, so pure.