Mercy (22 page)

He shakes me. ‘Sing!’ he hisses, the Devil in his voice.

‘Sing or suffer.’

‘Please,’ gasps Lauren.

‘Do it,’ Jennifer begs.

I have no sense of up or down, so dizzy that the world has telescoped.
I
am the world, or the world is in me, and in me so much rage and fear and loathing I can feel plates moving, floes breaking, separation, reconfiguration, an unlinking.

And the pain in my hand, my forearm, burns so fiercely that I let out a shattering scream that has Paul staggering to his knees, clutching at his ears. The two girls on either side of the room rock backwards on 254

their cots, holding their heads at the sonic after-bite.

I fall to the floor at the end of my taut chain.

Cradling my burning hand against my chest, leaning on my right, on my knees, panting like a dying animal.

As a thin trickle of blood seeps from between Paul’s fingers, I feel something inside me splitting in two, hear gasps from the others, dim shapes above me to the left and right. In that instant, I catch Carmen’s slight figure fall away, forwards onto the floor. Her body lies there, lifelessly, at my feet as I rise and bellow:
Si dextra manus tua scandalizat te,
abscide eam!

Quod si oculus tuus dexter scandalizat te, erue
eum!

I have no sense of my physical self, but I know that I am very tall. Six, maybe seven, feet.

My perspective has changed. The room that once reeked of the cavernous dark to myself inside Carmen’s skin can almost no longer hold me. Its dimensions feel doll-like, unreal.

And I know this too, because I watch their eyes follow me upwards, huge in their white faces, until I am 255

standing over Paul Stenborg and I am his horizon, I am his world, and the fear in him is as a detectable odour, a familiar on his shoulder, gnawing at his flesh, and it is
good
.

‘Who are you?’ he shrieks, blood still trickling from each shattered eardrum.

‘I am
pain
, Paul,’ I whisper, a whisper to rend steel, to rend stone, a whisper to wake even the dead. ‘The living sword. And I shall gather all things that offend, all those that do iniquity, and I shall cast them into a furnace of fire.’

The words come from me freely, as if they have waited all these lifetimes to emerge.

I am dimly aware of Jennifer’s cries, Lauren’s terrified whimpering.

And I raise Paul Stenborg by the collar of his shirt, high, high above the ground, with a fist like bloody mail, and shake him as he shook Carmen’s frail, small frame, and I say again:

‘
Si dextra manus tua scandalizat te, abscide eam.

If your hand causes you to sin, Paul, cut it off.
Quod
si oculus tuus dexter scandalizat te, erue eum.
And if your eye causes you to sin, Paul, pluck it out.’

And with my burning left hand, I put out his eyes, 256

first one and then the other, so that he may never see again, may never covet another living being for the rest of his days. See not music nor colour, joy, rage or fear.

His no longer. Willingly given, willingly taken away. I to do it. And it is done.

For I am the living sword and a creature of my word. The words come to me and I know them to be the truth. Whatever I did to set the sorry course of my life in tremulous motion all those years ago, these things I know now to be immutable.

‘And there shall be a wailing,’ I say quietly, setting the man gently upon his feet, ‘a gnashing of teeth.’

As Paul Stenborg staggers around his basement fortress screaming and roaring, blood streaming from his ears, from the wounds his eyes once were, I move towards first Lauren, then Jennifer, and rip their bonds out of the wall with my bare hands.

Lastly, I do the same for my poor Carmen, and carry her lifeless body up the stairs, through a stinking warren of underground rooms and shield doors the monster has built beneath the floor of his home. And on into the clean darkness beyond Paul Stenborg’s back door, Lauren and Jennifer following behind me as swiftly as 257

their chains and their injuries will allow.

And the starlight in my eyes, the infinite sky, the cold wind that lifts the hair of my head, each strand straight, even and exactly the same … That is all I remember, for a time.

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I am facedown against the cold, sweet-smelling grass.

It is night. There is soil beneath Carmen’s curled hands, her curling black hair. And Lauren’s urgent voice is in our ears before I can think to rise.

It is no dream
, I think, momentarily disappointed.

I am not asleep. Luc will not appear this time, either to praise or to damn me depending upon his mood.

I am so tired. So strangely tired I can barely open my eyes, but her words make me stiffen.

‘Jennifer’s gone to get help,’ she says urgently. ‘The story is that Carmen distracted Paul long enough to enable us all to get away. Carmen’s going to be a hero, Mercy. Because you can’t be. Can you hear me?’

‘His eyes?’ I mumble, getting to my knees slowly, the 259

world righting itself once more along its proper axes.

The night is kinder to Lauren. She seems almost her own self in the moonlight; the girl from the photos, dispensing hugs to a thousand friends. And I wonder if she could be that girl again. In this moment, it seems almost possible.

‘It all happened so fast that we can’t be sure,’ she says confidently, as if she is reciting the truth.

We hear sirens in the distance, voices approaching, a crowd, lights bearing down on where Lauren sits with one arm fast around Carmen’s thin shoulders.

‘Carmen woke from some kind of drugged sleep,’

she says, ‘went crazy, hit out, threw bleach around …’

My senses are sharpening all the time. It could work. If you were stupid enough, and willing to believe anything you heard.

‘And the monster?’ I ask.

‘Still locked in his own cellar,’ Lauren says with grim celebration as the first of our torch-bearing rescue party spies us and lets out a shout. ‘Be brave and stick to the story,’ she adds as she stands up unsteadily and waves one thin arm in the air. ‘Over here!’ she cries.

She looks down at me and grins, and for a second I have to look away from her shattered mouth. ‘But I 260

don’t need to tell you that. You’ve done a great job of protecting yourself so far.’

‘Oh my God!’ cries someone in the distance. Voices grow in volume as many people begin to run towards us.

‘
Who
is that?’

‘Can you see who it is?’

‘I think it’s Lauren! Lauren Daley! She’s alive!’

And we are suddenly engulfed by a wave of people, a tidal wave of human emotion.

‘We’re free!’ Lauren whispers with elation as she is borne away from me. ‘Free at last!’

But not you
, beats my borrowed heart, my traitor heart.
Not you
.
For you, a different fate
.

Now there are arms lifting me. Lights both red and blue, a stretcher waiting, sheets taut, crisp and white.

‘You’re safe,’ murmurs someone kindly as I am passed from hand to hand. ‘You’re safe.’

I am covered with a blanket, shielded from the advancing media, separated from the others so that our stories may be crosschecked and verified. But we will hold true, we will hold fast. And I think wearily,
Let
them come
.
Let them break against us as a wave.

So tired. I close my eyes, content to sleep the sleep of the untroubled for a while. For this time, I have earned 261

it.

‘Mercy?’ His voice is familiar, pleading, and I frown.

There’s that weight upon my eyelids, snaking along my limbs. I have never felt so earthbound, so heavy.

‘Luc?’ I mutter. ‘Why can’t I see you?’

I feel him take one of my hands in his and the corners of my mouth lift involuntarily at his touch. I’d know it anywhere. The bass note of my messed-up existence.

‘So good to have you back,’ I murmur leadenly. ‘So good to be back.’

His grip tightens and I frown, beginning to feel a flowering of contact. Luc has
never
been an open book to me. It has always been part of his allure. What has changed?

‘They told me I had to let you rest, but I couldn’t wait,’ he says urgently. ‘I slipped past the security guards, the night nurse — they’ll kill me if they find me here.

But Lauren told me the most incredible story. Is it true?

Who’s Luke?’ His voice is both eager and sullen.

I withdraw my hands as if burnt and the feeling of something being laid open is abruptly cut off. The words are incomprehensible to me, as if they have been spoken out of order, or in Old English. Or French.

262

‘Why can’t I open my eyes?’ I say, struggling to sit up. ‘Who are you?’

But I am tethered to a bed by a battery of tubes and pipes, and the feeling of being chained again makes me roar and flail until the electronic beeping that stands for my heart becomes a wailing alarm.

‘Shit!’ he says. ‘It’s just
me
, Carmen, Mercy. Jesus!’

A door slams quickly. Another opens.

‘Code Blue!’ exclaims a voice. ‘She’s flatlining!’

There is a rush of fevered activity around me. The sound of hurrying feet in soft-soled shoes.

‘I am
not
flatlining,’ I say angrily. ‘There’s something wrong with your machine.’ And as I say the words, my heart rate falls and falls and falls until a steady, even beeping resumes. ‘You see?’ I say calmly, palms lying outward and open on the bed.

I cannot open my eyes, but I know the room is full of people standing over me. Their consternation is obvious to me, even without my sight. I feel it, like warm crosscurrents mingling in the air above my head.

‘Are you in pain, child?’ a woman asks worriedly, checking my pulse.

I have trouble moving my head from side to side, but I still do it. ‘No, but I can’t open my eyes,’ I growl.

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The woman lets go of my wrist and the pain in my left hand subsides, the building pressure behind my eyes fading away before her inner life can be exposed to me.

Someone else laughs gently. ‘That would be because we gave you enough midazolam to knock out a horse. I can’t understand why she’s still awake and able to string a sentence together, Doris. It’s unprecedented.’

‘Well, she’s a tough one,’ a different man suggests gruffly. ‘So give her a little more. She needs to sleep.

She’s already done four hours of police interviews and they’ve got a press conference lined up for tomorrow morning. And replace that EKG! It has to be faulty. A heart rate like that couldn’t have been possible. I mean, look at her.’

Electrodes are swiftly disconnected then the machine is wheeled away, another connected in its place. The same even beeping resumes.

‘You see?’ says a new voice with satisfaction.

There is a small sting in my arm. From a change in the air, I know that several people have left the room.

‘Rest now,’ another woman says gently as she shuts the door behind her.

After several minutes, the other door opens.

‘Just don’t upset me,’ I warn raggedly.

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‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Ryan whispers, and it
is
Ryan, I realise it now. His hand seeks mine again on the bed covers, our fingers interlacing. ‘But I needed to hear it for myself, from you.’

In his touch, I discern a faint riot of feeling, of colour. Different this time; not burning, but soft, like the afterglow before nightfall. There’s curiosity, affection, relief. Love? It has a little of that nature to it. But love for whom? For Lauren? For me?

So tired. So tired, I don’t even react when he holds my small hand up to his cheekbone, runs it along his jawline, before placing it down again, gently. Our fingers still entwined. Every girl’s dream and I can’t lift my eyelids to focus on his heartbreaking face.

‘We don’t know how to thank you,’ he breathes reverently. ‘For giving her back to us. When you never came home, I knew I’d done that to you, placed you in
his
way somehow. That I’d got it all horribly wrong.

And when I thought you could be dead, too …’

For a moment he doesn’t speak, and on my hand I feel a warm, salt tear. And in it, all the horror.

‘For me?’ I sigh gustily, making little sense. For I am sinking like a stone, a cut anchor.

‘Is it true?’ he says, wonder in his voice. ‘What 265

Lauren told me?’

I want to nod, but I can’t seem to move my head. It doesn’t feel as if it belongs to me any more, or is even on temporary loan. The bonds between Carmen and me are dissolving, and this time, for the first time, I can feel it.

The two of us no longer a unit, becoming two separate beings, even as Ryan watches over us, oblivious to the seismic shift.

‘The midazolam,’ I say with difficulty, though it is not only that. ‘No time.’

And I know he must bend close to hear my voice for I smell the faint, salt sweat of him for an instant, feel his sweet breath on her forehead.

He clasps my hand harder. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says brightly, ‘we’ll talk tomorrow. They’ll have to throw me out to get me to leave. I want to hear all of it. Everything.

It’s been torture, not knowing. My parents, they don’t know what to say, what to do. Neither do I. There aren’t any words, enough words.’

When I don’t answer, he murmurs, ‘We were right, you know, it was the place, the church. Only heard from the perspective of Stenborg’s place, not Barry’s.

Stenborg’s house
backs
onto part of the church grounds.’ His grip tightens on mine. ‘He had a prior 266

conviction for stalking,’ he says darkly. ‘Something he conveniently whited out when he applied for the job at Port Marie. No one bothered to run a background police check because his CV was so extraordinary.