Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Debbie stared through the window for the entire time it took for Mandy to devour two syrup filled waffles and two cups of coffee. Mandy presumed she’d taken comfort in her determination to sort her brother out. There was certainly no point in persuading her things would get better. She’d leave her in peace and actually make it happen.

  Marching up the stairs topped up her resolve, but she had to put it on hold as too much coffee demanded its release from her bladder. It was surprisingly quiet upstairs. Abi and Charlotte not making their usual ruckus. Pulling up her knickers and trousers she puckered her lips askew, pondering if she should check on them before speaking to Matthew.

  Unwilling to delay the inevitable, she assumed they were sleeping—exhausted after the excitement of Matthew’s return (albeit well hidden excitement.) If she woke them, she’d be on breakfast duty, or at the very least, she’d be drawn into their exuberant plans. No. She needed to stay focussed. It wouldn’t take long.

  Knocking firmly so that he knew she meant business, when no answer came she knocked again. Silence from beyond the sturdy oak door disconcerted her. Electing instantly to risk his annoyance and open it, she was surprised at her relief that it did open, appreciating the significance of a locked or barricaded door.

  Matthew mirrored his wife’s stance, staring aimlessly through the glass. She was certain he was aware of her, but he ignored her until she stood next to him.

  “I don’t understand why he’s doing this,” he sighed.

  It was then Mandy noticed the bulging leather holdall at his feet and his hand gripping the handles ready to run at a moment’s notice.

  Ignoring his comment because it didn’t make sense, and his apparently imminent departure being a more urgent priority, she spoke in a calm, slow manner. “You’re not thinking of leaving us again, are you, Matthew?”

  Tightening his hold on the handles, bloodshot eyes turned and met hers, the pain behind them a shock. Mandy reached a comforting hand to his but stopped half-way as he stiffened in dislike of the prospect.

  “I can’t stay. Why would I?” he shook his head, the question swirling, unanswerable.

  Mandy drew out the chair beside him. Unsure what to say, she joined him in staring through the glass. Fingering the seam of her trousers, pinching the fabric between thumb and forefinger, she eventually broke the silence. “I don’t understand, Matthew. I don’t know what you’ve been through or why you’re acting like this, and I won’t pretend I do.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve been through? That’s doubtful.”

  He was upset. One of those ‘If you don’t know what’s wrong, I’m not going to tell you’ stand-offs. Suspecting getting it wrong would be a bad idea, she kept her platitudes generic but tried to be comforting.

  “I know it’s been hard. I know we should have realised you weren’t coping; spotted it sooner. Not Debbie so much. She had enough to cope with, but Mum and Dad…”

  The suddenness of Matthew’s bolt from the chair sent a flood of adrenaline through Mandy. Heart racing, her brain stalled at the change of pace and she welded to her chair.

  Matthew stood, the bag banging against his legs as he propelled it away with flexed thighs every time it came to rest. The angry pendulum slowed in Mandy’s silence.

  “Sorry,” she said. And she was. She’d wanted to make things better, but she could see now. He was more unwell than she’d ever seen him. This was so much more than his exam breakdown, and she should have realised.

  He’d built a future, far greater than anyone else ever had in their family. Maybe it was the GCSE’s that had spurred him on. You hear it a lot. He hadn’t given in to the pressure his good results had mapped out for him. He followed his dream He didn’t go into accountancy or law, despite plenty of pushing from Mum and Dad. He did his own thing.

  So with a determination, he embraced the tangent of his dreams, put himself through college and learned everything there was to learn about building boats. He met and fell for the love of his life, and together they’d produced the apple of their eye in Abigail.

  When Abi got sick, Matthew hadn’t had Debbie’s luxury of being with Abi all the time they believed they might lose her because he was building their business (and hers, truth be told. Her interior design company wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for his generosity.)

  She could see it now: he’d never grieved. He hadn’t had time. So expecting him to cope just because it all turned out okay was naïve and lazy of them. How they hadn’t seen what that had done to him would be a source of shame to her forever more. But she’d make it better, and she’d never let him down again.

  “Sorry,” she said again. “I’ve let you down.”

  “Let me down?” Matthew sputtered. “Let me down! You are a cruel, manipulative bastard. You must get what this is doing to me. You must have some clue. He must have told you!”

  Breathless from the agony crushing him inside, Matthew collapsed back onto the chair, the bag drooping to the floor escaped his grip. He didn’t have the energy to go anywhere.

  Watching the result of her comforting words upsetting him more, Mandy didn’t know what to say, but she was relieved his departure seemed less imminent at least. “I get it, Matthew,” she lied. “You’re angry. But you’re safe now.”

  His legs twitched, testing their ability to speed Matthew from this torture before flopping, knowing they could not be relied upon. The grief overwhelmed him and he allowed his limbs to melt. “I thought I’d got over all this… well as much as anyone can. He must have gone to a lot of trouble to set all this up. To find you, and that ‘Mary’ woman.”

  “Mum, you mean?”

  “Oh stop it! For fuck sake, just stop it, will you?”

  Mandy’s lips moved up and down, her eyes taut crescents of confusion. “I don’t understand, Matthew, I honestly don’t. But as your sister…”

  “Sister? But you’re not my sister, are you!”

  Mandy’s mind whirred. Had Matthew discovered some family secret? Was he adopted or something? Of course! Having gone through all he had, something must have been said on Christmas Day that rocked him to his core. And he was angry with Dad; denying Mum, and her as his sister.

  “Matthew, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. What did Dad say to you then?”

  Matthew’s eyes squinted. “Say to me? He hasn’t said anything to me. Which makes this even more preposterously cruel.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to explain. Why am I not your sister, ‘cos it’s news to me.” She hoped her own ignorance of the family secret would bond them. Surely it had to help?

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” he raged.

  “I’m not. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  A coldness clouded Matthew’s eyes. The pain pushed down into their deep pools. “So, despite what I’ve been saying: how upset it’s made me, you are going to sit there and insist you are my sister? Amanda?”

  Knowing it would aggravate him, but with no other option, she stammered, “But I am.”

  His limp limbs found a sudden ferocious velocity as his hand slammed down on the table in the window in front of them. “No! You’re NOT!”

  Mandy shuddered in the sheer kinetic explosion of his utter fury. Finding herself matching his angry scream, she yelled back. “What are you talking about? How do you know I’m not your sister?”

  Matthew slowed his breathing, leaned forward in his seat so their knees were almost touching and forced the intensity of his hate-filled stare into her eyes. Boring into her, he opened his mouth, ready to destroy her.

  In a deep, slow breathy baritone, Matthew unleashed his closing argument. “I know you’re not my sister… because my sister is dead!”

  Mandy gasped. She hadn’t expected that. But what he said next stopped her heart cold.

  “And I know my sister is dead…” he paused, eyes falling to the floor, the effort in saying the words creasing him. Puffing out his chest, he forced his gaze to meet hers once more. “… I know s
he’s dead, because I killed her!”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Matthew had stood in Wexford road for at least half an hour. Watching. Waiting. Confident as he could be that he had been unseen, his heart pounded as he stepped towards the front door. This was it. This was the last chance to find out what was going on. If he came away with no answers, he had nothing else to try. He’d be finished.

  The heady mix of optimism and despair edged him closer and closer to the home of his childhood. Reaching the gate, he pushed it open with an eerie creak but couldn’t bring himself to step onto the path.

  “If this is the end, there’s nothing to gain by delaying it,” he muttered, shuffling on. Throwing back his shoulders, he strode to the front door. With his finger poised ready to ring the bell, he paused again a hair’s breadth from the button. A final clench of tenacity drove it forward, the shrill reverberation from beyond the door thrust him to the point of no return.

  There was no answer, but Matthew felt sure the place wasn’t empty. Pressing hard on the button again, an unreasonable anger surfaced and he carried on pushing even though the jarring noise already echoed in the hallway beyond.

  Shadows moved behind the stippled glass, and a figure made slow progress toward him. Leaving his finger on the bell, he waited until he was sure he’d get an answer.

  The door pulled open. Memories of the weird doorstep encounter with Tom King all those months ago robbed him of relief even though inches from him stood his father. Matthew opened his arms ready to hold him; the only friend, the only familiar person he’d seen for half a year. “Dad,” he cried, “You’re here! Oh, thank heavens.” Tears flooding down his face, he flung himself at Alan and drew him close.

  The embrace was cold; one-sided, but Matthew clung on for his life. It would be over now. He had finally returned to reality. It might be bewildering but he’d understand at last. The discomfort of the unreciprocated hug confused him and he pulled away.

  A palm on each of his dad’s shoulders kept him square as Matthew stared into his cold gaze. “What’s happened, Dad? I know it’s bad, but I’m here now. Tell me. I can fix it!”

  Alan sighed a heavy sigh. “You’d best come in.” Turning, he left Matthew to follow him as he opened the door to the lounge. Matthew flinched in surprise at the mess. It was never usually untidy, but the room was littered with dirty cups and food wrappers and an ashtray so full it threatened to dislodge in a heap of ashy scree onto the crowded coffee table where it took pride of place.

  Alan hefted a stack of newspapers from the sofa so his son could have somewhere to sit. “Crosswords,” he said, nodding to the pile in his arms. “I keep them for the crosswords.”

  “Oh,” Matthew replied. There was nothing else he could say.

  Balancing the stack of papers on their new temporary home on the kitchen worktop, Alan paused to fill the kettle. Ambling back to the lounge, the sighs escaped his mouth with every breath. Slumping as softly as he could on a chair at the fold-down dining table, he crossed his ankle over his knee and waited.

  Matthew drummed his fingers on his thigh. He had a million questions, but gawping at the chaos, one snaked its way to his lips before any other. “Where’s Mum?”

  Alan squirmed in his seat but didn’t answer. Well, that can wait, Matthew supposed. “I am so pleased to see you, Dad. Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on? My life has been blown apart. I’ve got my theories, but I need to hear it from you.”

  Alan sighed again. “They said you might come.”

  “They? Who? What do you mean?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Alan shrugged it off. “What do you want?”

  This was weird. Just when he thought sense had returned to his life, his Dad was being as bizarre as everyone else. “Dad! I want to know what’s going on. Where’s Debbie and Abi? What’s happened to the apartment and where’s Mandy? And Mum?”

  Alan shook his head. “They said you were being like this again.”

  “Who, Dad? Tell me.”

  “The bloody hospital, who’d you sodding think?”

  Matthew stiffened. They’d got to him too. Had they convinced his whole family he was mad. Is that why Debbie had gone? Taken Abi to keep away from mad Matthew? “What did they say… exactly?”

  Matthew could see the cogs crunch into life as Alan considered his response. “They said you were confused… In denial. And of course, they told me you had escaped again.”

  “Great. Now how about you tell me what the fuck has been going on since Christmas Day? You’re pissing me off. Obviously you and Mum are having issues,” he said pointedly glaring round the room. “And I don’t doubt my disappearance has had a lot to do with it and you’re angry. But I haven’t been gone on purpose. And I didn’t need to be in hospital. They were keeping me against my will and I had to get out. I had to save my family.”

  “Bit late for that, boy.”

  “Why?” Matthew screeched. “You have to tell me. This isn’t fair.”

  Alan perched on his seat regarding his son. “Are you crazy? Are you seriously asking me these questions?” Slapping an open palm to his forehead, he sat back in his chair. “What am I saying? Of course you are. You need to go back. Get help.”

  “I need you to tell me where the fuck I can find my wife and child.”

  “What wife and child? Who are you talking about?”

  “Dad, you’re scaring me. Stop it!”

  “No, you stop it! Do you think yours was the only life destroyed by what happened? By what you did? I lost everything too. But I manned up and got on with my life as best I could. Didn’t scrounge off the state, and I certainly didn’t try and kill myself! Maybe I should have killed you, you stupid little bastard!”

  Matthew lunged for him. Grabbing his collar, he hauled him up, the chair falling backwards catapulted horded crap in a shower of debris. “I don’t understand, Dad. I don’t have any idea what you’re saying.” Tightening his grip, he moved his face within an inch of his father’s. “So I’ll make it crystal clear. You are going to tell me exactly what happened when I left on Christmas Day. Now!” he shook him fiercely.

  “Left where?”

  “My god, Dad! I can’t believe this. What happened on Christmas Day, after I left you and Mum and Mandy and Charlotte, and of course Debbie and Abi, to go and get batteries?”

  Alan flopped in Matthew’s grip. His weight too much to hold, Matthew bent to right the fallen chair and lowered his dad back onto it.

  “You’re crazy,” he wailed.

  “Just tell me.”

  “You’re making stuff up. You have to be. You can’t actually believe this bollocks.”

  “Where are they, Dad? Where’s Mum? Mandy? Abi? Where, Dad?” Matthew’s shaking fist brushed against his dad’s lips. “Where? Tell me, or so bloody help me…”

  “Dead, you stupid shit. They’re dead, aren’t they!”

  Matthew released his grip and fell back. Catching himself on the edge of the sofa. It took an age for his mouth to form the words ricocheting round his head, but at last he squeezed one word through the lump in his throat, “How?”

  “Oh. For Christ’s sake, Matthew. I don’t have the time or the inclination to go through it all again! I’ve got on with my life. Coped the best way I knew how. You haven’t. I get it. But I won’t let you drag me down with you.”

  Matthew’s mind whirled but any other questions he thought to ask were interrupted by a sturdy knock on the door and the bell shrilling into life again. Alan stiffened.

  “Who’s that?” Matthew demanded.

  “Look, son. You need help.”

  “For fuck sake, Dad. You phoned the police! That’s why you took so long answering the door!” Matthew bolted from the room to the back door. He’d seen the unmistakable silhouette of two police helmets and wasn’t prepared to stick around to find out what they wanted. Scarpering along the path, he vaulted the fence at the bottom of the garden and sprinted to the next street.

  He was
sure they’d be in pursuit, but he knew these streets like only someone who’d lived here as a chopper-riding nine-year-old could. Weaving this way and that, he effected his escape easily, but what was the point. Unless his dad had gone completely mad, what was the point in anything?

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Mandy stood and backed into the window. “What do you mean? ‘You killed her?’ I’m not dead! I’m here.” She gestured fiercely up and down her body. “Whatever it is you think you’ve done, you haven’t. Do you see?”

  She could see the strain in his eyes as he tried to compute the situation. Jabbing on, she knew she’d reach her mark. “I’m here. I’m fine. You haven’t killed anyone, Matthew.”

  “Not you! Mandy. My sister. When she was a little girl.”

  Mandy’s legs buckled and she staggered into the table. “Oh my god, Matthew. What have you done? What have you done!”

  “I told you,” he cried as Mandy fled from the room. Charlotte, Abigail. She should have known that quiet was too quiet. Bursting through Abi’s bedroom door, she could see both girls lying completely still in Abi’s huge double bed. The covers were pulled up to their noses.

  “What did you do, Matthew, what did you do?”

  Edging towards the pair in the bed, she reached out a trembling hand to her little girl. “Charlotte, Charlotte, sweetie.” Nothing. No movement.

  Her arms shook so much, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch her daughter and confirm her worst nightmare. She could almost feel the cold, clammy flesh of death kneaded between her fingers. With a resolute shake of her head, she thrust her fingers forward.

  Before her hand even reached Charlotte’s skin, the two girls leapt from the bed throwing the duvet into the air.

  “Mummy!”

  “Auntie Mandy!” they cried, bouncing around on top of the covers. “Did we scare you?” they giggled.

  As Mandy’s heart thudded against her chest, she nodded. “Oh yes. You got me good.” And she scooped them into her arms. As they faced behind her, she allowed the tears of relief to fall. Batting them away, she brought the cousins around to face her again. “Come on. We’ll go and get some breakfast, shall we?”