by N. M. Brown
“Don’t fret. I realise you wouldn’t save me, even if you could.” Echo felt her body go cold. He was right, Echo hadn’t saved a life ever. She’d killed, maimed and destroyed lives before, but never had she wanted or needed to save one.
“I-… I’m…” But words became locked in her throat.
“It’s okay Echo.” Jacob squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. I know better than anyone it’s not in your nature to put anything before yourself.” He smiled and coughed again, “But you cannot stay here. You understand this?” He asked and Echo’s throat closed, not because of Jacobs words, but because of Camila’s. She told herself as Jacob spoke, he had to be wrong and so was Camila. “It’s not safe anymore, Echo. You have to go.” He ordered again but Echo shook her head.
“No. I can’t. I can’t.” She said. “They’re… they’re my-…”
“They are nothing.” Jacob squeezed her hand one last time. “They are nothing to you, as you are to them, but don't worry Echo. You and I, we…” But even as Jacob spoke, the air left his body and whatever he’d been about to say dissipated.
“It can’t be true… it can’t be…” But even as Echo said it, her eyes trailed over to the other two dead bodies lying prone on the floor.
She could feel the coldness creeping into her bones and the silence in the apartment was deafening. Nevertheless, it only took one last fleeting look at Jacob, before she darted to the ugly carpet bag that had been in the attic longer than she had.
It was just a bag: one bag, one night… that’s what she told herself. One night to recover and she’d be back, wanting answers. Jacob had to be wrong and Camila, she had to have been lying... She knew it. All she needed was one night to prove it.
◆◆◆
Echo’s feet moved faster than she did, the carpet of the stairs barely touching her feet. She pushed past customers with haste, knocking into anyone and everyone as she went. She paid no heed to faces or voices, keeping her head down and her bag tucked so tightly under her arm, it hurt.
She hit the entrance hall at a run, voices calling out in annoyance as she spilt drinks and drugs alike. She could smell the outside air just feet away from her, when she collided into a hard frame. Body impacting on body, she spun away to keep moving, but a strong grip stopped her in her tracks. Flashes of Vadim’s hands on her tore through her memory and she thrashed, determined he wouldn’t get her again.
“…cho!” A voice yelled at her, but still she thrashed, pulling harder and harder. “Echo!” The male voice snapped again, and suddenly she was wide awake, her body shaking as she looked up to see who held her.
“Q-Queenie?” She gasped. She tried to stand, to make her body strong but she couldn’t stop shaking and even seeing him there, she still tried to move for the door.
“Echo, what happened…?” But Queenie took in her attire and froze. “Echo, you're bleeding?” He asked, turning her hands over in his before swiping her hair away from her neck and swore. Echo would have teased him, relished in the fact he’d cursed in the sight of God, but she was still trying to get to the door.
“I’m just-… I’m-,” She stammered but Queenie wasn’t having any of it.
“Don’t you dare say you’re ‘fine’ Echo.” He snarled and quickly had his head on a pivot. “Who did this? Where are they?” He demanded.
“Nothing. I just-… I need to leave.” Echo said though a chattering jaw. She was cold. Too cold. But no matter how she felt, she’d never show fear, so shrugging from his grasp, she looked at him with a frown. “What are you doing here anyway? Here to pick up your whoring wife?”
Weak. Echo’s voice was weak, and she hated herself for it, but every time she tried to stand tall, pain flared across her entire body and she crumpled. She must have looked pathetic enough that McQueen didn’t even question her remark.
Instead, like the damn hero he was, he pulled her close again and walked towards the door. “Let’s go.” He steered her around some guests and Echo was content with their pace, until a screeching voice cut through them both and they ground to a halt.
“Canice?” Anna slurred confused, staggering towards them both like a drunk dog.
“Anna?” McQueen asked, equally surprised and Echo wondered if McQueen had come for his wife, or not. His slacked jaw and wode eyes, suggested he hadn't been expecting her, let alone the state she was in.
Anna started to smile at her husband, elated to see him, but her face dropped, and fear filled her eyes when another set of heavy, drunk footsteps thunder up behind her.
“Annn-nnn-aaaaa!” A masculine voice sang out. “Where did you run off too?” Not a second later a tall, dark haired man stumbled into view and threw a drunk arm around Anna, squeezing her breast from behind while kissing her neck. “Why’d you run off? I thought you wanted a go at round four?” He asked, oblivious to the situation.
Anna didn’t answer and instead just stood petrified on the spot. Echo felt tremors that matched her own run across McQueen's skin and watched how his grey eyes darkened into a raging storm. Maybe she had been wrong; maybe it wasn’t a loveless marriage. Perhaps it was in fact, a broken, one-sided love that onc e flourished with hope. Now, it perished.
“What-… what are you doing here?” Anna breathed; her eyes trained on McQueen.
“Am I not allowed here, Anna?” He asked in a cold voic, one Echo had never heard before; full of an anger that didn’t just simmer below the surface but shook with volcanic potential.
“No, I mean-…” Anna quickly detached herself from her squeeze. “I mean of course you can come to see me.” She smiled, doing that thing again when she tucked a piece of imaginary hair behind her ear.
“I’m not here to see you.” Was all McQueen said and Anna’s face dropped. Where once was hope, was now pure vengeance. Her eye zipped to Echo and burned.
“Her? You’re here to see her? You never have time for me, but you come a see this whore?” Anna screamed, drawing displeased looks from the rest of the crowd. She didn’t care though and kept going. “You know this bicth kicked me out. I have no place to go. I’ve had to stay down here in the sinful place, waiting until I could go back up.” Anna tried to sell, but Echo nor McQueen were buying it.
Neither was the guy, stood drunk behind her. “Sinful? You weren’t saying that earlier. In fact, you made it sound almost heavenly the way you were screaming God’s name.” The guy snorted at his own joke, and Anna paled so much, she rivalled Echo.
“No. No, Canice honey, he’s lying, I’d never cheat on you.” She begged, but she mis-stepping trying to approach and wobbled. McQueen didn’t even flinch to catch her.
“What?” The guy cried out in anguish. “Girl why are you lying? I was amazing. You said I was.” Snorting he gave McQueen a once over and puffed out his chest ready to stake his claim. “Who are you anyway?”
“You should leave.” McQueen said in a low tone.
“Says who?” The guy answered, and even made to roll up her sleeves.
Echo, already feeling woozy, gripped McQueen tighter. He was the only thing holding her up at that moment and all the sins she coudl feel swarming around didn’t help. McQueen sizzled with rage while Anna’s fuck-buddy pulsed pride to the point it made Echo feel sick. All the while Anna just oozed lustful leftovers so there was no doubt in Echo’s mind who had and hadn’t cheated.
“Says the husband.” McQueen answered and the guy, for all his bolster, took a step back.
Anna, unaware of her lovers fear, launched herself forward, trying to catch McQueen's attention. She might have gotten close, but much to Echo’s dismay, she flinched at Anna’s movement and that was all McQueen needed. “Let’s go Echo.” He said and steered her back to the door.
“I’m sorry Canice. I didn’t-… It’s not what it looks like.” Anna sobbed. Her hand fluttered on her chest while she tried to keep up, struggling like a new-born lamb. “Canice, please? I love you. Please don’t go.” But her cries fell on deaf ears. “He didn’t mean anything. He doesn’
t.”
They were by McQueen's car now and he helped Echo into the passenger seat, before going around to his side. Anna still followed and getting no response, grabbed his arm. With violence Echo had never seen before, McQueen threw her off.
“Don’t touch me.” He spat with venom in his eyes. It sent shivers down Echo’s spine and, for a blink if an eye, she saw what McQueen could truly become. It thrilled her to see, but as fast as Anna’s eyes could flutter in shock, his face softened, but instead of confronting her, he back up and entered the car.
“Canice! Please!" Anna stood on the sidewalk, crying her heart out. Sadly, Anna’s voice assault Echo's ears at full force and as she sneered in annoyance, Anna turned an ugly shade of red. “Don’t judge at me, whore!”
But Echo just regarded her coolly, running her eyes up and down, while McQueen shifted the car into gear. “I don’t think you’re one call me a whore at this present time darling.” Eyes flicking down to her short skirt, Echo raised one painful eyebrow, but it was enough. “Next time you try to protest your innocence to your husband, best not to have warm bodily fluids running down the inside of your legs. It’s a dead giveaway.”
Blood disappeared off Anna’s face and as McQueen pulled away, her paranoia and fear warmed Echo’s little heart as she dipped her head down. But as McQueen spun around the turning circle, her eyes were drawn up to the windows of the House and her blood ran cold.
In every frame, be it a room or a hall, she saw her family looking down upon her. Seven windows for seven sins, each as still as a statue, their silhouettes backlit with an orange glow of fire. There, like omnipotent beasts, they watched her run away.
She was a coward.
She was weak.
She was everything she despised in others and most of all, she was utterly alone.
XVIII
McQueen drummed in finger on the searing wheel and focused on his breathing. In through his nose… and out. His fingers drummed again… in … and out.
“I knew….” He breathed, shaking his head. “I mean… I didn’t know…. But,”
McQueen had breath again. He could still see her, falling through into the hall, her drunk stepps filling the room, laughing with tha tman. He remembered that laugh, the playful way they would relax in bed after sex and she would laugh like that; full of joy... He remembered the shock on her face when she saw him, how her feet stayed rooted to the floor and the guy - that sleazy guy - fondled her from behind and she’d done nothing. Nothing!
“I should have known.” He answered himself as he wondered how it all could have ended up here.
Nothing but the sound of the car’s engine met McQueen’s exasperation, and as he glanced over, he had to double take. Echo sat quietly, her feet on the seat and her chin tucked behind her knees. She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t even listening to him. He knew because she would have fired a quick, quip at him by now, so instead he watched her from the corner of her eye.
She had a coat thrown on, its long sleeves hanging down over her wrists, but it couldn’t quite hide the cuts on her hands, or the blood splattered. Her feet were bare and covered in blood, with large bruises around her ankles. McQueen had seen bruises like that before as an officer, helping drunk ladies in strappy heels get home. He was surprised Echo was still walking. What caught his eye though, was the rough, red band around her neck. The white of her skin was a stark contract: blood splattered on snow, raspberries crushed on fresh whipped cream, there were a few analogies he could think of.
“Echo… What happened?” He tried to ask again.
“Nothing.” A single word, two syllables and McQueen didn’t believe it for a second.
As he turned a corner, he ran his lip through his teeth, feeling the tension rise in his shoulders. “Echo,” McQueen said softly, “You look… What ever happened was not nothing?”
“I’m fine.” Echo repeated and McQueen was transported back to his Nana’s table when she would ask how everyones day was and ‘I’m fine,’ was not an answer she ever excepted. 'Fine is not an emotion.' She would say, pottering round in her apron an beating the pie crust with her rolling-pin. 'First, it’s: ecstatic, then trilled. Then it goes down: happy, okay, all right, bummed, saddened, disappointed, distraught, hysterical and then, last be not least, fine.'
“Fine is not you Echo.” McQueen slowed the car right down, feeling the rough bumps of the cobbled streets. “You’re hurt. You’re covered in blood. You’re scared and I want to help-,”
“I’m not scared. This is perfectly normal.” She snapped, but continued to look only out the window, and McQueen didn’t miss her pull her coat tighter. “It’s a misunderstanding. They’re just-… angry.” Echo said the last word as if she were in morning.
“This isn’t anger Echo. This is abuse. They’re sitting by while you’re attacked. How can you not see that?” He exclaimed.
“Your one to talk!” Echo suddenly spat and he was almost glad to see some fire in her again. “Your wife is a cheating leech and still you cling to some damn hope things will get better. How can you not see that?!” Her words resonated loudly in McQueen’s small car, not only in volume, but in truth. Silence enveloped them both after as McQueen considered her words.
“I have no hope. Not anymore.”
“Well, isn’t that nice for you.” Echo sneered, but she was far from done. “You know it’s your fault, she's cheating on you, right? I wouldn't be like this if you had just staied screwing you wife in the green hills of Ireland!” McQueen’s jaw dropped and for a second too long he took his eyes from the road. Horns blared and headlights flashed, but luckilythey didn’t crash. “Becuase of you coming here, everything has changed. Because of you-,”
“Because of me, you’re alive. And as for me being here or not, doesn't change the fact that your family are allowing to to be beaten for-... for who knows what reason? That’s not right!” McQueen threw back as the car screeched to a halt outside his apartment. With the engine off, the silence enveloped them. “You need help Echo.” He said but wasn’t at all surprised when the only response he got was the car door slamming.
Breathing deep, McQueen reminded himself Echo wasn’t a lost cause he needed to fix. He had a case, and she had information, that was it. Releasing said breath, he followed Echo up to his apartment, but despite his empty fingers, McQueen felt the ghostly weight of his wedding ring like a tether to the burning brimstone below.
◆◆◆
Stood by the breakfast island, McQueen had spread out his case files on the coffee table, while he waited for the kettle to pop. Echo sat as far away on the couch as she could, knees drawn up again and a distant look in her eyes. After her screaming match in the car, some of her bolster had returned which McQueen decided to take as a positive. For now.
“What’s she doing here?” Reese growled, appearing from his room as McQueen poured out the boiling water.
“I need her.” McQueen answered, keeping his voice low.
“For what? You like collecting stray pets? Is that it?” Reese continued to glare over his shoulder, throwing daggers into the back of Echo’s head. “She was only here the other day. And how the Hell did she get in more than a state than what she was?”
Allowing his eyes to drift to Echo, McQueen wondered the same. She had yet to say a word on what happened, but he wouldn’t put it down to PTSD. Echo didn’t seem the type to lay down and fear the world around her. He would put money on the fact she was plotting; scheming, organising someone’s demise. “I don’t know.” McQueen answered, passing Reese two cups of tea, one for himself and the other his brother. “Just… give me some time. I think she can help with this case and I just-…”
McQueen felt the rest of his words stick in his throat. He just wanted to attack one problem at a time. Not his wife, not Echo’s attacker, not Reese’s surly attitude. Wendell, she came first; she couldn’t fight for herself, argue for herself or scream in his face until he gave her all his attention. Only the living had that preference.<
br />
“Whatever.” Reese said shaking his head and passed Echo one last fleeting look. “You can go and attempt to gain her help, but I’m telling you now; she’s a box of crazy cats on catnip.”
Watching his roommate leave, McQueen grab the last two cuppas and sat next to Echo. He didn’t look at her as he sat, placing each cup on a coaster and moved some files into new piles, before fluffing the pillow behind him. He took his time and repeated his actions as if each job wasn’t quite right, until his fussing had the desired effect.