Marilyn (19 page)

He was still laughing.

She pressed both of her hands firmly over the top of R.J.'s, keeping pressure on, trying to reduce the flow of blood.

'Sheriff, talk to me.'

Marilyn tapped at the side of his face with her palm.

     'Rupert John Russell, you answer me right now, God-damn you!' she demanded.

R.J. opened one eye and looked at Marilyn. He gargled, choking on his own drool, before spitting it from his mouth onto his chin. His voice was faint.

'I hear you, jeez! Give it a rest,’ he joked weakly, the stomach acid and bile poisoning his system.

Marilyn spurted out a nervous crying chuckle, her eyes filling up as she wiped the spittle from his chin.

'You're going to be OK, we just need to keep pressure on to stop the bleeding.'

R.J. closed his eye.

'Where... Where's O'Sullivan?'

'I don't know, I think he's still where he was. Don't worry about him.'

O'Sullivan fired off another shot.

The bullet sliced through Marilyn's coat, ripping the skin from her left arm, sending her rolling backwards in a heap. She cried out as her vision of the sky spun and twirled around her. She scrambled forward, seeing fresh blood splattered over R.J.’s face, the tip of his ear was missing. Blood poured from the wound, matting his hair and painting his face. So much red.

'Jesus Christ, Sheriff? Sheriff?' she called, forgetting about her own wound.

R.J. attempted to speak but he howled, his whole body tensing up.

'Don't talk, save your strength.'

**

With only three shots left, O'Sullivan thought it was high time he made a run for it. The woman wasn't all that important. It was the boy he wanted, to stand over him and watch him die.

It was just the monster now, finally all alone, unstoppable. Walter was gone, even the niggling in his head had come to end. He was free, no restrictions, no boundaries. He got to his feet and ran.

**

Marilyn wiped her tears away, smearing a concoction of her own blood and R.J.'s over her ghostly-looking face.

R.J. shivered, his hands falling from around his stomach into the dirt. His colour was washing away rapidly. Death swept over him.

'Marilyn?' he gasped.

She sniffed at the salty phlegm until it reached the back of her throat.

'Yeah, I'm here, I'm here.'

R.J. coughed, clearing the clotting blood from his oesophagus.

'The bastard shot my ear off, who the fuck shoots someone in the ear, who does he think he is, Mike Tyson?'

Marilyn covered her mouth with both hands, choosing not to laugh at a dying man's joke.

'Has he gone, Marilyn?’

'I think so. I heard him run off.'

R.J. reeled forward, a short-lived coughing fit taking over.

'Shhh. Relax, try and keep quiet.' She rubbed at his forehead, lovingly.

'Sheriff, I'm going to need your gun.'

'I'm afraid I can't do that, Marilyn.' He coughed. 'The law is still the law, no matter what.' R.J. winced, writhing against the cold tree trunk. 'Let's wait and call for backup. My radio...'

'You and the fucking law,' she joked softly, with a fading smile and a serious frown. 'Sheriff. Listen to me. I need to get Jack. I'm going to need your gun to do that. Please, help me, Rupert.'

'Marilyn. I wish... I'm sorry.'

'Please, Sheriff. Please do this for me. Please, for me and Jack.'

R.J. thought about it the best he could. He picked up his gun and handed it to her, begrudgingly.

'You be careful. Only use it if you really need to.' He shivered.

'I promise,' Marilyn agreed, with a white and red hand held over her heart. 'If you keep your promise to take me and Jack out for a ride in the police car?'

They smiled together.

''I promise. Now go. You're wasting time. Go and find Jack, he needs you. You need him. Go on, go.'

'But you're…..'

'Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'

Marilyn stood, unzipping her coat, slipping her wounded arm out first. She covered R.J.'s shaking body with it, wrapping it around him and tucking it behind against the tree trunk.

'Here, this will keep you warm. Thank you for everything. I'm. I'm so sorry,' she cried.

'Hey, hey. You have nothing to be sorry for.'

Marilyn kissed him on his cheek, wiped a little more blood from his face to stop it running into his eyes and mouth, and picked up the revolver, watching the last of his life slip away, and left him alone to die.

SIXTY-TWO

Elwood had dozed, intermittently, giving in to the aches and pains that tormented him, the twinge was still there, just as sharp and persistent as ever, but he was on the move again. Molly was aimed out in front of him as a precautionary measure as he rushed towards the sound of the shots. He left his thoughts at the tree where he rested, running in neutral into the unknown.

Elwood traced two sets of prints, one set going up, one set going around. He took the most suitable option and went around. It wasn't just a banking to an old man, it was Everest. He never would have made it up, his heart would have stopped before he reached the top, and his life was cruising by on the tops of eggshells as it was.

There were shoeprints going all over the place, leading every which way. Up, down, left, right and straight on.

A perfect time for a breather. That's when he saw it. So much blood. He went cold.

'Holy shit, what the hell happened here? My God.'

Elwood relaxed his guard, lowering Molly so she hung at his feet, and called out as he walked over.

'Marilyn? Sheriff Russell?'

No reply.

He moved off the path, parting the branches down and across, following the puddles of blood until he saw something that his eyes would never forget.

He dropped Molly and ran.

'Oh my God, no. Sheriff,' he cried.

Elwood fell to his knees next to R.J., lifting the sheriff's head so it sat straight on his shoulders.

'Sheriff, can you hear me?'

He felt for a pulse. It was there, unsteady and faint.

***

R.J's was slouched, sheet-white, acutely balanced between the slow swing of life and the irresistible pull of death. Blood still trickled from the bullet hole in his stomach. It had soaked into his trousers, drying on the skin of his legs.

'The mother-fucker shot my ear off, can you believe that?' The sheriff shuddered.

     'Jesus, Sheriff. What happened? Where's Marilyn and Jack, are they hurt?’

'She's got my gun… She went after him.' Blood bubbled and crackled in his throat as he tried to swallow. 'Tell her..' he struggled. 'Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't make it to help her, and I'm sorry that I won't be able to take her and Jack for a ride like I promised. But..' he coughed. 'but I think she knew that already.'

     'Come on now, don't talk like that,' said Elwood, painfully, the suffering clear in his words. 'You're gonna make it, we're gonna get you outta here. Where's your radio? What's happening with this damn back-up? Christ.'

Crackle. Bubble.

'It's too late now, they can't come any quicker.' He paused, allowing a little part of death to escape. 'Elwood?'

'Yeah, Sheriff. I'm here.'

'Can I ask you something?'

Elwood picked up R.J.'s hand and held it, covering his whole palm.

'Yeah, sure. Anything. What is it?'

'Will you wait with me until I die. I... I don't want to go by myself. I don't want to die alone.'

Elwood cleaned the blood off Rupert's face, wiping the sides of his mouth then around his nose and ear.

'Of course, I will. Would you like me to talk to you, Sheriff?'

R.J. quivered, even under the warmth of Marilyn's coat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the police cruiser.

'Take these.'

Elwood accepted the gift from a dying man.

'Promise me something, Elwood.'

'Sure, Sheriff.'

'Make sure you take Jack out for a ride in the cruiser, he'd like that.' He smiled his final smile.

'I promise, Sheriff.'

Sheriff Rupert John Russell crackled his last crackle and bubbled his last bubble before gulping down his final bloody mouthful of air.

'Now go get them, old timer.'

Elwood stayed with the sheriff for a minute, holding R.J's dead hands in his. He looked at the body of his fallen compadre in arms, before he picked up Molly and carried on down the path, towards Jack, towards Marilyn, towards The Monster.

SIXTY-THREE

The first thing he thought when he heard the opening of the gun shot ceremony was, he was being fired at, but it was too far away, so he kept on running. It was the second shot that stopped him.

O'Sullivan was shooting at someone and it wasn't him.

Then he remembered the headlights.

That was when he turned and ran back.

He was heading straight for them, and he wasn't slowing down. He kept at the same steady pace that had served him well, piloting himself agilely over knolls and holes from where he had just come. His lungs and chest were like a knife fight in a phone box, messy with no place to go. Every breath just made it worse, and there were plenty more to go.

Jack's sprightly demeanour diminished as the real fear set in about what could be waiting for him, he could feel his mother in his heart, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get back to her.

He headed straight for the hornets' nest, searching for tender open arms and the safety that came with them that only a mother could provide.

SIXTY-FOUR

The gun was heavier than she had imagined. It felt alien to her hand, but it made her feel powerful, in control, safe.

The mist was thickening around her feet, coating her shoes, rising just above her ankles.

She could hear the squelching of her feet, the sound of her stunted breath, coming and going, in and out, in and out, and the pounding of her aching heart in her shivery chest, they were not great company, but they were the only things she had, they kept her alert.

Marilyn called out for Jack as she skipped through the damp, foggy undergrowth, turning her head side to side to the trees that imprisoned her, uttering his name every thirty feet or so. She caught a flash of light as more and more power was distributed to the neighbouring towns over the horizon, a dreary tincture of saffron, it didn't make her feel any better. She still felt a million miles away from anyone who could help, or even cared.

Marilyn clenched the revolver tighter as she burrowed deeper into the woods, slipping her finger over the trigger, remembering her promise.

SIXTY-FIVE

O'Sullivan stalked his way down the path. He searched his pockets for the spare bullet he had taken from the Dunn farmhouse, but he was shit out of luck, he guessed he had dropped it a while back when he fell.

A misstep that had cost him.

He went off course and took a path that led away from the beaten track, high into the tree line, it was no picnic, but it was the smokescreen he needed.

The monster zigzagged his way around the thickets high above the path, stopping, fixed. O'Sullivan's luck was rolling in, jogging past on a pair of burned out legs.

O'Sullivan quickly studied from where he would have the best shot and moved behind a downed log, resting both of his knees on the mossy surface, and his shoulder against a canopy of red and green leaves.

Perfect.

He watched as she came fully into view, her flowing hair masking her face as she ran down the track a good hundred metres away.

'Come on, bitch, look at me, just once. I want to see your eyes before you die.'

He waited. Their eyes did not meet.

O'Sullivan fired, not aiming up his sights. He hit a tree just feet from the path.

He fired off another shot in quick succession.

The bullet hit the left hand side of the same tree, chipping away at the bark until it was thrown off course like a misguided missile. It sunk into the mud behind Marilyn's feet.

She never stopped running.

She didn't slow down to bring her hands up to protect herself, she didn't even flinch. She wasn't getting shot today.

***

Marilyn turned on her heels and fired a shot off. She spun around, keeping her gun level with her shoulder and continued moving.

Her arm hurt like hell.

SIXTY-FIVE

Jack skidded with both feet, throwing his arms up and around to remain upright. The gunfire had returned, but this time there was something else accompanying it.

The first time he tried to speak it was just a croak in his throat, an itch on the roof of his mouth. The second was no better, lost by the time it reached his lips.

There it was again, his name. It was far away, faint, just a whirl in the wind, but it was Marilyn. It was his mother. It was the best thing he had ever heard.

The biggest smile of his life split the corners of his dry and chapped lips, breaking the chill in his cheeks, even being happy hurt Jack. He took in the longest, deepest breath he could gather, puffing out his chest and throwing down his arms. He whispered it to himself, shouted it to no one, everyone, and screamed it for God himself to take note. He never wanted to stop.

With a last ditch effort, he made his ultimate descent into the woods, washing down the contaminated soil with tears of hope and happiness.

He screamed at the sky until there was nothing left. It was just one word.

'mom!'

SIXTY-SIX

O'Sullivan hunted Marilyn from his perfectly perched path, missing countless opportunities to expel the last bullet from the chamber and end her life. Now that Walter had seemingly left for good, the thrill of the chase took over.

***

Marilyn could hear O'Sullivan above and behind her, the sound of his murderous feet pitter-patting across rows of twigs and leaves.

They were getting closer and coming from the left.

She snatched a stare to her left, seeing the shadows of the monster combing through the splits of nettles and bushes. She checked the path ahead for a clear run and turned back to find the shadows. She aimed high and fired through the trees, waiting for the verification of a kill shot.

It never came.

***

O'Sullivan returned fire, squandering his last bullet in a retaliatory fit of rage, missing wildly, his aggression getting the better of him. The monster pulled the trigger over and over, firing at nothing. He heard the same repetitive, empty, false-promising clicking sound each time, not stopping until he realised that he was out of bullets, five shots ago. He discarded the gun, not caring where it landed. It was of no use any longer. He continued his pursuit, unarmed.

O'Sullivan ducked down out of view, slithering through the slim gaps, making his way back down to the path, behind Marilyn.

***

She listened and watched closely for the slightest rustle amongst the bushes, the faintest crack of twigs, and dead leaves. The more she listened, the more she heard. Sounds came from every direction all around her, birds in nests high above, insects crawling around on the ground. The woods seemed alive for the first time.

'Where are you, fucker?'

She aimed high and low, left and right, in front and behind her.

***

O'Sullivan saw everything that she did, just waiting for the perfect chance to strike. He was standing, leaning behind the cover of a rotting tree, his back pressed against the wet bark, he could feel the beating in his chest. It was exhilarating. The thrill of the kill, it was coming again, and he couldn't wait.

***

She heard the bounding, forceful footsteps through the mud, the snarl of death behind her. Marilyn tried to turn as fast as she could but her feet were sticking to the spot she was standing in. Her torso followed her arms as she spun around to greet the monster

He hit her like a ten-tonne truck, crushing the air from her chest as she moved. Her feet were off the ground, dangling helplessly.

She struggled with the gun, trying to catch it as it whizzed past her head, behind her. She didn't hear it land.

Marilyn hit the floor, gasping, begging for a slurp of air that would never come, the weight on her chest denied it. It was like lead, unforgiving, refusing to let her up. Pins and needles toyed with her legs before they went wet, heavy, and dead. She fought like hell, punching out at nothing and everything, swinging to and fro, finding only pockets of air until those too, vanished. She let her head hit the mud, giving up, beaten. She saw his face clearly, for the first time. He didn't look like a monster. It was red, flustered. The scar was clear, unlike before. She saw the pain and emotional struggle in his eyes.

O'Sullivan straddled her, his legs around her waist, his knees deep in the mud.

'I've been waiting for this,' he smouldered. 'You don't know how happy this makes me. Oh, no. You have no idea.'

She spat in his face, her eyes burning with contempt and disrespect.

'Fuck you, O'Sullivan. Fuck you,' she screamed.

The monster didn't speak, just smiled, robotically wiping the phlegm from his eye before it dribbled onto his cheeks.

He ever so calmly lashed out with almost everything he had, drilling Marilyn in the face with his fist, shattering her nose. He sang out with zest, harmonising deliciously with her squeals of pain and mercy.

'This is better than I thought.' He laughed, staring at his blood-soaked knuckles. 'I'm really going to enjoy this.'

Marilyn cleared out the tears and blood that had run into her mouth, with small, consistent spittles, and wiped the tears from her eyes with her back of her mud-drenched knuckles.

She convulsed her body, twisting and contorting, squirming, trying to loosen the lower half of herself from under O'Sullivan's weight. She lunged forward, arching her back, escaping O'Sullivan's flying fist, her fingers like the talons of a swooping hawk. She scraped at his face maniacally, snapping two of her nails on his cheekbones. They drew blood, dark red monstrous blood, she felt it seep under the cracks of her broken nails and run down the sides of her fingers. She plunged her thumbs into O'Sullivan's eye sockets, rotating them, pushing forward with all of her might, hearing him screech.

Warm sensations gushed through her legs as she wriggled them, reviving them, bringing them back to life. She brought up both of her knees, smashing them against O'Sullivan's back.

Smash.

Smash.

Her stomach strained and shook as she tilted herself upwards. She gripped O'Sullivan's shoulders, digging the remainder of her nails into his skin, giving it everything she had. She screamed with the last surge of energy she could find and threw the monster off from on top of her, and peered at him through painfully swollen, watery slits, before she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She couldn't stand. Every centimetre of her body stung and ached. She felt broken.

She combed the soil with crying eyes, flat palms and spread fingers, searching for the gun, plucking and pulling at lumps in the soil. She couldn't feel it.

O'Sullivan sat up, keeping his back straight, turning to look at Marilyn fumbling around pathetically, a blood-soaked mess. He got up on rocky legs, a little worse for wear and walked past her.

'Is this what you're looking for?' he simmered. 'Thinking of shooting me, huh? Thought you could put a fucking bullet in me when I was on the floor. Well, I've got news for you, bitch.'

The monster booted Marilyn in her ribs, cracking them with a sharp splitting sound that rang out through the woods. She rolled onto her back clutching her side, howling, gurgling in agony.

'Get up. Come on. Get up. You're making this too easy for me,' he seethed. 'Is this how you want to go out, crying and bleeding on the floor like a coward, huh? Don't you want to know what I did with your son?'

     'What have you done with my son, you bastard?' she screamed, clambering out of the foetal position, attempting to get to her feet. 'What have you done to Jack? Where the fuck is he? Tell me!'

     'That's the spirit. I knew you had more fight left in you. Come on... You can do better than that.'

'Where the fuck is he? Tell me…'

She ran at O'Sullivan.

He let her get all the way, until she was almost at his chest before he grabbed her.

'You're a feisty bitch, aren't you?' he said, slugging her with a right hook. He caught her by the neck as she fell, throttling her with both hands.

He pressed the gun against her cheekbone and temple, playfully. She could smell the fresh gun powder.

     He let go, dropping her like a sack of spuds.

There was no beauty left.