Split (26 page)
Authors: Tara Moss
Roy watched his brother as he raised his wristwatch to his face.
“Okay. Ready?”
Through his green-lensed night-vision goggles, Roy saw the lips move, saw the smile that followed, but somehow it was not his brother.
Roy grabbed him by the arm. “No.”
Daniel shook his arm away. “We’re in this together now. Trust me, you’ll like it.”
“You don’t understand. You can’t do this—”
“Stop wasting time. She’s had her sixty seconds. It’s time.”
Roy held the rifle firmly in one hand, and raised his other, palm up, just as he had done in so many of their confrontations. “You’ve gone too far, Danny. Let her go,” he said softly, trying to placate his brother. “I’ll get you some help. It’ll be okay.”
Makedde prayed that she had her bearings right, and kept running.
You can do it. Don’t give up
…
Seventy-five paces, now turn. She made a sharp left and tried to run in a straight line again. If she lost her way, if she miscalculated her direction she’d be deep in the woods with no hope of rescue. Even if she hid from them she’d probably die from the elements. Even if she lasted overnight, she would not know her way back.
Then she heard shouting.
BANG!
A gunshot in the distance.
Then another.
They echoed through the darkness, corrupting the stillness. One of them had fired. Had they seen her? They were nowhere near her. Were they? Perhaps it was their way of letting her know that the hunt was on?
Just run…
She ran on and on, never slowing, never turning back, and when the time was right, she turned again and headed back to where she thought the road must be.
And then like a miracle the forest gave way to a clearing, and she could see gravel…the gravel road that led to the cabin. Her heart lifted, her breath so hard in her chest, and she was running down the road, which way? There…to the right…she hadn’t quite run far enough.
She could see the cabin.
My God, yes! I can do it
…
Makedde ran up the cabin steps and inside. When she had been trapped in there, she wouldn’t have believed she would have voluntarily returned. But it was the only strategy that might work.
Find any weapon, anything…and a phone.
She went to the kitchen first, hoping there’d be a knife. Who knew how long it would take for them to come back? Perhaps they had already seen her turn back this way with their night-vision goggles. She saw unopened cases of beer on the kitchen counter, some leftover bottles, an empty bag of potato chips. She opened the first drawer where she found cutlery, spoons, forks, table knives. Useless.
She looked the other way.
Bingo.
Makedde grabbed a butcher’s knife off a magnetic holder on the opposite wall.
Now guns…Do they have any more guns and ammunition? Go to the trophy room and find that door…Find out what they have in there
…
Thump.
Movement.
The front door burst open.
She looked frantically around her, knife in her grasp.
Damn!
There was nowhere to hide.
There were footsteps approaching, someone was around the corner, coming. It was one of the twins. Only one of them.
When he saw her he stopped in his tracks. “Oh God, Makedde. Are you okay?”
What?
He walked towards the kitchen doorway, one palm up in a gesture of surrender, and the other holding the rifle point down.
He had blood on his hands.
“Stop there,” she warned, standing steadily and gripping the knife tight. Her heart was pounding.
“Don’t worry. It’s me…Roy. I was only playing along until I could help you.” He shook his head sadly. “Oh, my God…” he wailed. “I killed him. I killed my own brother! I had to. I had no choice. He was going to kill you!”
He took another step forward.
“Stop there. Don’t come any closer. What happened? Where is your brother?”
“You don’t understand. It wasn’t me who killed Ann. It wasn’t me who brought you here. It was Daniel. He went crazy.”
“Roy…”
He moved towards her again, the night-vision goggles hanging clumsily around his neck, the rifle still in his hand. “Thank God you’re okay,” he said.
“Roy, put the gun down,” Makedde said.
Roy was coming through the doorway of the kitchen now. “It’s okay, Makedde, I won’t hurt you.”
“Roy, put the gun down,
now
.”
Roy looked at her with wide, sympathetic eyes. “Okay…Sorry, I’ll put it down. I’m so sorry.” He bent slowly at the knees, motioning to put the gun down. His eyes never left her, never left the butcher’s knife in her hand.
And then she saw it.
The scratch on his right hand.
This is the man who killed Ann, the one I fought with, the one I scratched.
He must have seen her staring, because he looked down at his hand, and realising the scratch gave him away, brought the gun up…
Quick!
Makedde lunged straight at him with all her might, knife extended. She dived across the few feet that had separated them, crashing into him hard. Daniel flew backwards from her impact, knocked off balance, and they hit the linoleum floor of the kitchen,
Daniel underneath, the rifle knocked from his grasp. Makedde landed right on top of him, her full weight pushing the knife straight down through his black jumpsuit and into his chest. She screamed as she plunged the knife in, and he let out a loud groan, pinned beneath her. His body convulsed as she held the handle of the knife. It was buried in his chest right up to the hilt.
He grabbed her feebly, clawing at her back with hands that were dirty with his own brother’s blood, but it was already too late.
She rolled off him and leapt to her feet, shaking uncontrollably.
Ohhhh Jesus…
“Fuck!” the man at her feet yelled out with rage, blood spluttering from his mouth.
And then with horror Makedde watched him grab the butt of the knife and start to pull it out with both hands.
Do something!
She saw the rifle.
She went for the gun, and his eyes followed her. “No…” he groaned, reaching for it, but he was too slow.
She had it.
Makedde brought the 270 Winchester up to her shoulder. She looked down the sights, aimed it at Daniel’s head. She cocked it.
In the small room the blast was deafening.
One month later…
It was Makedde Vanderwall’s favourite day of the year—the day of night, the day when ghouls and witches mixed amicably with mere mortals. On this Halloween night, the sky was illuminated by a bright orange full moon that hung low over Vancouver Island. A full moon on Halloween was a volatile combination. The local cops thought they would be in for a big night, and they were right.
At 7.30 pm Makedde woke from the two-hour nap that had been part of her routine on this day every year for as far back as she could recall. She still liked to sleep away the sunset and wake in the dark, just as her mother had her do as a child.
She woke alone in her old bedroom, still in her T-shirt and jeans, and yawned and stretched, arching her back. She looked around the moonlit room, making out
the shape of her bookshelf, still stacked with stories her mother had read to her—
Where the Wild Things Are
by Maurice Sendak,
The Gashlycrumb Tinies
by Edward Gorey and the whole gamut of Dr Seuss, from
Green Eggs and Ham
to
The Cat in the Hat
. Her eyes slowly adjusted and she saw her sweater slung over the chair nearby, and her mother’s small diamond stud earrings, which she always wore, on the bedside table.
She felt a stab of loneliness.
I miss you, Mom.
When she was a child Mak was rarely alone, least of all on this day of the year.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Mak was doing her best to find the upside to what had happened in September. She was a survivor, and most importantly, she had ended Daniel Blake’s bizarre reign of terror. But she could not forget Daniel’s face—the look of homicidal rage and agony as he lay on the floor with the knife protruding from his body, and his final cry as the bullet tore into him, sending him swiftly into death to join his twin—a violent end to a tortured and violent life.
Makedde felt sad for Roy. He had been naïve and made some very poor decisions, but he seemed to have a good heart. In order to protect his brother he had taken him out of the hands of the people who might have helped him. He didn’t understand what his brother, in his illness, was capable of. Not even Ann could have guessed, until it was too late.
Ann believed that their father had abused Daniel, mentally and most probably sexually as well. For whatever reason, he decided to pick on the one child. Their mother had found out. That was why she left. No one had been able to track her down since, and probably no one ever would. And their father, the prize hunter, whether he abused them or not, was now a senile old man in an institution.
It seemed unlikely that anyone would ever know the whole truth.
Mak slipped her sweater on and her mother’s earrings, and walked in her thick winter socks from the bedroom into the family living room. From the big front window she could see up and down the whole block. The window was adorned with the Halloween decorations her father still pasted there every year; they were at least fifteen years old, depicting a smiling green witch riding her broom across a big orange moon. There would be Santa Claus and his reindeer in that spot at Christmastime and the Easter Bunny in April. Mak smiled at the sight of the old decorations, and wandered over to the side wall to plug in a plastic pumpkin. It glowed brightly as it hung in the window nearest the front entrance, smiling with its single tooth, complementing the Halloween ensemble. Finally she flipped the light switch on for the front porch—a signal that this house had candy to offer the Trick or Treaters.
Happy Halloween.
As she reached the base of the stairs, the phone rang. She turned and leapt up the steps two by two and skidded across the linoleum in the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine,” came the familiar voice.
“Dad!” Her heart lifted.
“How’s my girl?”
“I’m fine, Dad. How are you? How is Ann doing?”
Her father had spent much of the past month with Ann Morgan, who was recovering well. They clearly had something good there, and Mak was pretty comfortable with it. She wanted her father to be happy and she liked Ann a lot, but that didn’t stop it from feeling a little weird at times. After all, Ann Morgan was turning out to be her father’s first real “girlfriend” since he was widowed. As if that dynamic needed to be more awkward, Ann knew all about Makedde’s darkest fears and worst experiences and Mak had witnessed Ann fighting for her life with a fireplace poker. Not exactly a conventional start to their relationship.
“Hang on…”
“Hi, Makedde,” came a woman’s voice. “Happy Halloween.” It was Ann.
“Oh,” Makedde exclaimed, taken off guard. “Happy Halloween to you, too. How are you?”
“I’m very well. I’m hoping we can catch up again
next weekend. I’ll be much better company soon, and much more mobile.”
“You take it easy, okay? Promise me.”
“Deal.”
Her father got back on the line. “By the way, the press haven’t laid off yet. They don’t know where you are, so I’m copping all the flak.”
“That’s what fathers are for.”
“Yup. They’re offering five figures just for a photo of you.”
“Mmm. My agent would like that,” she said. “If they do anything like that behind my back I’ll slaughter them.”
“And Professor Gosper has been skulking around again. He wants to talk to you.”
Makedde let out an irritated sigh. “I know, I know, so he can write my story. How thoughtful of him. Tell him to get stuffed, Dad. If I want my story written, I’ll write it myself.”
A pause. “Oh dear. I didn’t tell him to get
stuffed
.”
Oh no.
“You didn’t? What did you do? You didn’t promise I would speak to him, did you?”
How could he do that?
“No. I told him to get
fucked
.”
“Dad!” she squealed. “You said that? Such language.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had heard her father swear.
“You alone?” he asked.
“Presently, yes.”
She knew what he meant.
“Call him.”
“Yes, Dad, well, have a good night,” she blurted, changing the subject.
“You too.”
“And thanks for calling,” she said. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.”
Smiling to herself, she settled into the couch behind the witch and her broom. She laid her arms along the back of the seat and rested her chin, looking out the window at the children dressed up in their costumes and wandering around under the streetlights. There was an alien here, a Dracula there, one of them was a fairy, a Frankenstein, a Dalmatian.
I will give him a call,
she thought.
Andy had come across from Vancouver to visit her now that Dr Harris was back at Quantico. They both agreed that it was a little too intimate to have him staying in the Vanderwall guestroom, so Andy had splurged on a nearby B&B—the cheapest accommodation possible. For the past two days he had been renting an undersized bed in the maid suite in the house of a rather frightening old woman with some strange opinions and too many cats.
He planned to leave for Australia in about a week, but she figured he wouldn’t last another day in that place. She’d have to save him. If he was good, that is.
He had dropped a few not-so-subtle hints about
getting back together, but she wasn’t so sure.
You are not over the shock yet,
she told herself.
Don’t go running into his arms hoping he’ll save you from the memories of what has happened here.
But she did want to see him, and she didn’t want to be alone on her favourite night of the year.
Perhaps she could make him wear face paint and answer the door in a big cape or something? That’d be amusing.