CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.
It was now half past seven in the morning. Traffic had been dense, jam packed with cranky parents and loud-mouthed kids. The sky was aglow: blaringly bright, glowing yellow and happy blue. The heat seemed unnatural after weeks of biting cold wind and days of depressing downpour. I had a mental checklist: food, shower, sleep. Hours of unconsciousness would be a blessing.
I faltered, sluggish, shoulders almost limp, knees struggling to keep upright as I remembered with a tired old groan: college was at eight o' clock. "Mother of God." I should probably go, I thought hard about what I might miss: Introduction to new topics. Coffee chugging teachers. Trying to figure out whether so-and-so was pregnant or just fat. Stares. Questions. Gross toilets. Pencils that would be borrowed and returned chewed.
My phone beeped:
im @ college. R u coming?
Finally deciding, I texted back:
No, see you later?
He said he'd be back at the flat around four in the afternoon and to watch out for Cole's call. In the kitchen, snacking on crackers and cheese, my phone rang, and I rolled my eyes, answering. "What?"
I had set the phone down on the counter, on loud speaker thankfully as Cole bellowed, his tone coal-hot mad, answering his own questions, "Do you realised what the fúck you two have done? No, you fúcking don't, do you!? I figured you'd have more brain cells than Irvin. Burnham's a fúcking prick. I don't doubt he's got a tracker on you right now. If you could stop for a fúcking second and find out where you dropped your brain-"
"Oh, piss off, you wanker." I cut the call. He rang again and I let it go straight to voicemail. My mood had worsened, darkened, spitting hot furious, a flame wild and irritated, flickering glimmering sparks.
No longer hungry but needing a drink to baby me to sleep, I checked the cabinet under the sink. Daniel often hid alcohol amongst the cleaning sprays and bleach bottles so that when Cole would do his sweep, he'd have a backup supply. We were budding alcoholics, Daniel miles ahead of me in the race to ruin our lives.
I should probably talk to him about his substance abuse but not right now: I found a six pack of cobwebbed beer, a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey and a blue bottle of alcopop. Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I hadn't realised something was wrong until I took my first mouthful.
Someone stood behind me: their breathing quiet, but not silent. My neck prickled, my senses alert, feeling like I had just took a shot of fear and adrenaline, energy level increasing, similar to the state after chugging down Monster can after Monster can, my fingers buzzed, my breathing slowed, shoulders hunched, and then-I smelt the pungent stench of onions which was a surprise but there were more pressing concerns: such as trying to avoid getting hit, for one.
I ducked at the last minute, twisting away from harm's reach. The bat swung, missed, glided through air. I followed the hand to the body to the face. I couldn't contain my shock: "You!" I exclaimed, and he swung again, face shiny with sweat, eyes hard, teeth gritted, nervous. The reporter was determine and grunting as he swung the bat but there was also nervousness and anxiety. His first rodeo in ...in what exactly? What the hell was going on!?
The whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the slippery tiles. Andrew, in his haste to follow after me and whack me around the head, failed to realise the spilt drink. He slipped, and for a second it almost seemed like he wouldn't fall, but his face drastically changed to an oh-shit! expression and down he went.
I couldn't believe the unexpected change in luck; and Andrew couldn't either. He stared, flabbergasted, horror-struck, ashamed. I picked up the bat, slightly unsure, like we were in a game and I had, somehow, gotten ahead of him, all of his poker chips in my hands. "What...the...fúck!?"
"I...I'm... don't hit me!" he held his hands over his head, wincing.
"Oh, like you were going to do to me?" I stood over him, glowering, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't bash your god damn head in right now."
"Because-because I know where your father is!" he babbled desperately, eyes wide, holding his breath, and then continued in a slightly calmer voice yet still rushed. "Yeah, yeah, I know where he is! I can take you to him. That's what I was going to do, actually. It was going to be a surprise. You thought I was going to beat you but really, I was helping you."
Jesus Christ. Maybe I drank more than I realised. I glanced over at the whisky bottle and then back at him with an intense stare. "What, you were planning a daddy and daughter reunion? Isn't that just...sweet?"
"Richard is my friend, you see. Well, not exactly a friend. But we know each other. And I like you, I bet you're missing your dad, aren't you? I was trying to help. I mean, I know you've been miserable lately..." He didn't even realise: the more he spoke, the more furious and intolerable I turned, bristling with hate, grinding my teeth together. He spoke to me condescendingly, as if I was a stupid child who didn't know any better, and he continued: "With Seth away, you must be crying yourself to sleep every night. I bet you're jealous, right, Seth with your Dad, and you here, all by yourself-"
"What are you talking about?" I raised the bat in intimidation, afraid, never taking my eyes off him. How did he know about Seth? I felt myself slowly spinning out of control, crazy with questions, scared to know the truth, despairing and desperate, an ache building in my chest. I missed Seth.
He tried hiding his smirk, gleeful, malicious, "You don't need to play dumb. Seth's a cool kid-"
"Get the fúck out."
"What?"
"I SAID, GET OUT!" I screamed and twisted around, my back to him, knowing he'd take the bait and with absolute pleasure, I'd take the snatch. I shut my eyes, intently listening to the vibrations, the sounds: the ruffle of clothing, the whispering footsteps, the raised arm and fist. I pivoted, boots squeaking from the harsh turn, face twisted, bared teeth, bat swinging into his face.
There was a loud, satisfying crack.
He cried out but all I could hear was a dead woman's scream echoing in my head, on repeat, shrill and sharp, shrieking as Dad raised the axe and...
***
He had blacked out. I don't know exactly when I realised he had, maybe moments after I finally stopped, breathing hard, confused, angry, in a mist of feelings that didn't make sense. I felt like I had flitted in and out of consciousness, blocks of blanks in my memory, looking down at him, feeling numb.
Someone else did this.
Not me.
Someone...
I jerked, short periods of time of breathlessness, staring down at myself, in the past, younger, smaller, in my home, hallway, and then back to the flat, unsure, dizzyingly unsure. Confused. I stepped in one direction, and then fell into another, a wonky square of steps, and then back in the same spot I was in before.
"Maybe he's dead?" I wondered aloud, gradually coming back to my senses, and then worry streaked through me, a hard burst of reality, a smack to the cheek, wake up! I stared down at him in horror. An oh-shit realisation.
My gaze flitted to my phone, I ran to it, fingers shaking, and then: "You need to come over."
"I'm already on the way." He sounded distant. Robotic.
Did he know? Of course he didn't know. "What?" I didn't let him reply, cutting the call, throwing my phone away as if it knew, grew fingers and was pointing them at me in blame.
I don't know what I did next. But once the doorbell rang, and I allowed Cole inside, I finally dropped the bat, gazing down at my blood-splattered arms. "I can explain..."
***
"He attacked me when I walked into the kitchen. He yelled something about Dad and I'm trying to fight him off and then he trips and falls, and knocks himself unconscious."
Cole made a face, squinting at me, and said. "That doesn't explain the blood."
"I thought he was dead so I checked up on him. I must've got his blood on me, somehow."
"Right." He scratched the back of his head. "OK. Well, let's wake this wanker up and get some answers."
*
Andrew groaned, whimpered, clutching his chest. His breathing was loud and ragged, a struggle. His hands were tied up behind the kitchen chair. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." Cole slapped his cheek playfully, sitting down opposite him while I stood by the doorway, carefully watching. I felt immensely guilty for beating him up but also, enraged. This was his own fault.
His breathing worsened, he sounded like he couldn't breathe, dragging each breath, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. "You broke my rib!" he wheezed, tears leaking, face hot and sweaty.
Cole turned around to throw me a suspicious look. Broken ribs didn't fit into my story. I refused to answer his curiosity, mouth clamped shut, expression blank.
"A broken rib will be the least of your worries by the time I'm done with you. Cooperate with me and I'll take you to a hospital. Refuse and I'll hang you up by your feet and slice your neck open. You got it?"
"Yes, Cole-I understand."
Cole paused. "How do you know my name?"
"You just told me." Andrew panicked.
"I don't like liars, Andrew. Let me ask you again: How do you know my name?"
"You told me, I swear!"
"You're pissing me off, Andrew, and you don't-"
"Oh, for Christ sake, Cole!" I snapped. "Get to the point." I was agitated, antsy, needing answers, and pissed off at the back and forth game Cole was playing. I didn't have the patience to listen to this crap.
He turned around again, only this time to shoot me a glare. "This is your mess I'm cleaning up here. If you want to have a go at cleaning your own shit, go ahead. Otherwise-"
"Fine. I will." I stormed over to the kitchen sink, rummaged in the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of bleach. I shot Andrew an ugly, dark stare. "I really fúcking hate you, I would give you another chance to speak but you don't deserve it." I uncapped the bottle, it hadn't been opened before and the odour was strong, powerful. I squeezed his nostrils tightly, aggressively yanking his head back and he begged, ("No, no, no, please!") and then pressed his lips tightly together, trying to hold out for as long as possible, crying, failing, gasping.
Cole leaned back in his chair, his gaze intense, challenging, and taunting: you won't really do it.
I tilted the bottle.
Andrew choked messily, spluttering and spitting, dribbling down the front of his shirt. "I think I swallowed some! I need water-"
"You're not getting shit, bitch. This isn't a negotiation. I'm gonna ask you some questions. If I feel like you're lying, you're going to drink this entire bottle. And in case you don't get it yet, this is undiluted bleach, poisonous, you will die. There's going to be no trip to the hospital. Only a one way ticket down under." It felt great to finally be in control. I felt like I was on a power trip, a high, a thrill. And I thought I knew when to reign myself back in, thought I knew the limit, I was confident I wouldn't let things go too far, not knowing I had already crossed the bridge to hell. "You're not really a reporter, are you?"
"No, I'm a ...messenger."
"For who?"
"The Imperial High Mage. The mayor. You wouldn't understand, you're an Ordinary."
Cole and I exchanged uncertain glances. "Was that an insult?" I threatened. "What is an 'Ordinary' and an 'Imperial High-whatever?'"
"I'm sworn to secrecy."
"You've got ten seconds before you start drinking."
"I need some water first."
I struck him across the face. "Five seconds."
"It's a club, OK! An organisation, there's members of different ranks, the mayor is the Imperial High Mage, then comes Richard-"
"My father?" he nodded, and I sighed in disbelief and irritation, "I asked for the truth, not some fantasy online world."
"Let him speak."
"You believe him?"
Cole shrugged. "There's been rumours about a cult before."
"It's not a cult," Andrew shot defensively, "it's an elite club."
"Wait a minute. Weren't you the one who told me Dad was in a cult?"
"That was to gauge your reaction. You really are clueless. Guess Richard isn't the perfect man he makes out to be considering he failed in your up-bringing. He can finally get off his high horse, the prick."
"Jealous?"
"Jealous?" he parroted, tone shrill, "he doesn't deserve his position. Anyway. No one even likes him. He does what he wants without any regard for the rules. I can't wait for the Imperial High Mage to realise his incompetency and kill-"
"Alright. Dick head. Shut up. Did Dad tell you to follow me?"
Andrew half rolled his eyes. "Obviously. He thinks he can boss me about, but karma always comes back around, and he's going to meet an unfortunate end."
I looked at Cole and he nodded: I whacked Andrew's ear sharply. "Answer the fúcking question and only the question."
Cole took out his phone, calling someone over and to bring Trevor along. He stared down Andrew. "A friend is coming over, he's slightly nuts, nuttier than her, and creative. You'll enjoy his company."
I caught Cole at the doorway, lowering my voice. "What are we going to do with him?"
"He's a messenger. We're going to send a message." He said grimly.
***
I could hear the muffled screams of Andrew. He was going to be dead by the end of the day and I know I should care but I didn't. Whatever hurt Dad was a victory in my book. The TV was on, some boring daytime talk show, high volume but I wasn't really paying attention. I was knackered. And soon enough, I fell asleep on the sofa, curled up, uncaring.
I woke up around half past five. Refreshed but sweaty and grimy. I yawned, and wiped the sleep from my eyes, looking over at James who wore his signature look: exhaustion. He was tapping away on his laptop and he glanced over when I finally pushed my feet out from under the blanket (someone must've thrown one over me) and onto the floor. "You've been busy lately."
"What do you mean?"
"Charlie. Last night at the station. This morning with the boy, Andrew."
"Oh. What happened to Andrew?"
He refused to answer. "Cole told me what you did. This isn't you. Go back home to your aunt and live out your life."
"Thanks for the advice," I stood up, "but I'll pass."
"I love Cole, he's like a brother to me, but he's not a good man. You're a kid. Go to college. Find a job and settle down. You don't need to be hanging around Irvin and getting into fights or digging up bodies. You're making things worse for yourself. The two detectives are hounds: they will never leave you alone."
"Well, it doesn't look like they're here right now, does it?" I sighed then, forcing myself to be respectable, "sorry. I get what you're saying, James. But I can look out for myself. Do you know if Andrew said anything else?"
"I'm sure Cole will tell you." He remarked stiffly.
I left to go grab a shower. Returning downstairs, I caught Irvin just as he was headed out of the door. He had a cigarette in his mouth, standing in the doorway, flickering his lighter on, off, and on, and off. Repeatedly. An unconscious habit. "Hey, I saw Seth at college. He came over to our canteen to ask about you."
"What did he say?"
Irvin shrugged, "Not much. Just wondering where you were. He seemed happy. I saw he made a couple of friends, too."
"Yeah? That's good." Relieved and grateful, I touched his arm. "Thanks for telling me. How're you doing?" We hadn't spoken about his grandma much. Either the opportunity never came up or I was too afraid of the answers he'd give me. But since he told me about Seth, the least I could do was be there for him.
He moved away, walking out of the flat, lighting up his cigarette. "I'm fine."
"You can talk to me, Irvin. I'm your friend. Not some nosy stranger."
"Well, right now you're acting like a therapist. I need you to back off. Give me some space to breathe. You're mollycoddling me and it's frankly, suffocating."
"Fine. When's the funeral?"
"Wednesday."
"Do you want me to come? Before you snap at me, I can be there in case any long-lost cousins try and pick on you."
He grimaced, not in the mood for even a forced smile, "Areas are segregated. Males on one side of the mosque. Females on the other. You won't know anyone. There's going to be old women wailing dramatically, throwing themselves on the coffin. It's all an act. A competition to see who can grieve loudest. A fucking absolute joke." His tone turned bitter. "This is making me depressed, talking about this shit. I've got to go, I'll see you later."
"Where are you going?" As I asked, I realised how overbearing and mother-like I had become. He was right: I wasn't his parent, I needed to relax, let him do whatever he wants.
He frowned, tossing his cigarette away. "To see my family." He patted his pockets, gave a lazy wave, and strode off.
I headed to the living room. James had disappeared. His laptop was there. I sat on the sofa, glancing over to see a headline on the screen: POLICE UNCOVER BODIES AT TERRORIST'S HOUSE. I closed the window just as Cole walked in, beer bottle in hand. He seemed to be chewing something, swallowed, and said. "You seen it? That's your brilliant work."
"It was a mistake."
"No," he sat down next to me, pulling the laptop on his knees, setting the beer bottle down on the floor, next to his feet. "A mistake is forgetting something. What you did is a shit-catastrophe. How did you even guess that there were bodies there? Your dad is pissed, I bet."
"Well, I don't give a damn about him. We didn't expect there to be bodies in the goddamn back garden. We didn't actually find the bodies. The police did. And then we spent the night in interview rooms."
He snorted. "Yeah. Great job there. Walker and Burnham will make your life miserable. They'll be checking everything you do. What time you brush your teeth. What subjects you take. When you use your bank account. You're pretty much fucked."
"Can't be that bad," I stole his bottle, taking a swig, and he swiped it back. "If they're as great as you make them out to be, they would've knocked down the front door. Andrew wasn't exactly quiet."
"As much as you fūcked up last night, I've got to admit: beating up Andrew was the greatest thing you've done. He was a gold mine."
"So you believe him? About the whole cult thing?"
"Seems reasonable."
"No, it doesn't. It's insane. Dad and the mayor and who knows who else, in a cult."
"It's a male exclusive cult. It's pretty pathetic. Think a bunch of adults who were bullied in high school and were virgins until their late twenties. They still hold a petty grudge and resentment over those who bullied or rejected them. That's why I'm guessing the bodies were all women from your dad's school."
"Still sounds ridiculous. Although I'm not too surprised Dad is second in command or whatever the 'messenger' said. What happened to him? Andrew?"
"He's dead. They'll find his body in town centre. He'll be riding that marble horse statue. And the names of everyone involved will be painted on the horse. The whole shitty cult will be exposed."
"That's a pretty genius idea." I took his beer bottle back from him.
"It was Irvin's idea. I was going to toss him on the mayor's front steps. But this way there's no way they can hide the body from the news." Cole prised the bottle from my hand, jostling me away from him. "You're going to make me spill the goddamn drink. Careful."
"You know when you called me this morning?"
"How can I forget?" He side eyed me. "I was already on the way, ready to break your damn neck. What you did was stupid."
"Yeah, well, I was pissed. You were screaming your damn head off and I was planning on stabbing you if you came through the door."
"You've got a sharp tongue. You're lucky I don't rip it out."
"Oh, please. You've got a school crush on me. The only thing you want to do to my tongue is...actually I won't finish that sentence."
He set down the laptop, smiling mockingly, taunting. "You're delusional. Don't think I don't notice you drooling whenever I glance your way. Look, you're doing it now," he flicked my chin quite hard.
"Ow, dickhead. That hurts." I shove his shoulder. "You're abusing me to hide your true feelings. Sorry if this offends you but I don't like you. You suck ass." I stood up but he yanked me down on to his lap, pulling one leg over, hands firmly on my waist, his gaze intense.
"Is that so?" He leaned in close to intimidate, "if I do this, you won't..." He nuzzled my neck and I stiffened. "Or, if I..." He squeezed my hips rather painfully, pulling me into him, and I fidgeted uncomfortably.
"I don't know what you're trying to do but it's not working." That was a little white lie.
"Really?" He remarked dryly, too close for comfort, "you still sure you don't like me?"
"No, Cole."
"What if I kiss you?" He didn't let me respond, cupping my face, kissing me.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.
.