In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  I think about pretending I’m not armed but it’s too late. He saw me with it back at the hospital. I take it out from my bag.

  ‘Is this registered to you?’ he asks, taking it and checking the clip and safety.

  I don’t answer. He sighs. ‘Do you even know how to shoot this thing?’

  I raise my eyebrows. I should think Jonathan is proof I know how to pull a trigger.

  ‘Listen to me, you stay in the car, you do not get out, do you hear me?’

  When I don’t answer, he glowers at me. ‘I don’t want you following me and shooting me by accident.’

  I nod reluctantly. He hands me back my gun.

  ‘Stay here,’ he tells me before slamming the door behind him.

  He walks around to the trunk. I crane my neck to see what he’s doing. He pulls a flak jacket on over his sweater, and then draws his own gun.

  ‘Lock the doors,’ he tells me. ‘If you hear gunshots I want you to get in the driver’s seat and get the hell out of here, OK? I’ve left the keys in the ignition. When the SWAT team arrive tell them I’ve gone in.’

  ‘OK,’ I say.

  Nate darts across the road, keeping to the shadows, and in seconds he’s gone, blurring into the woods that surround the house. I wait a handful of seconds before I take the keys out of the ignition and ease open the car door.

  Chapter 52

  It’s cold, the temperature dropping fast, and I’m only wearing a light sweater. In the trunk I find a Sheriff’s department duffel bag and, inside that, another flak jacket – probably Jonathan’s. For a brief second I wonder what’s happened to him – is he dead? I feel totally numb about it but I suspect that when the numbness fades I still won’t feel anything.

  The jacket’s too big for me but I put it on anyway, pulling the Velcro straps tight until it’s as snug as I can make it. I throw Nate’s Sheriff department rain jacket on over the top. My sweater is white and I want to do my best to make myself blend into the shadows.

  I’m about to close the trunk when I spot a flare gun in the bag and as an afterthought I take that too, slipping it into the jacket pocket.

  I close the trunk as quietly as I can, but still the noise echoes through the silence, bouncing off the canyon wall to my right and startling an owl, which hurtles into flight, hooting above me. I run around to the front of the car, ducking low. I don’t know what I’m doing – only that I’m not about to let Nate go in there alone. I can’t sit there waiting for the sound of gunshots, not when my daughter might be in there, just feet away from me.

  I take a breath, and am about to run towards the house, when I catch sight of the mailbox on the other side of the road.

  Williams.

  It hits me with the force of a boot to the chest. Like stepping from pitch darkness into full, bright light. Margot Williams. The girl Nate was sleeping with while he was dating me. Her brother was called Calvin Williams. He was on the high school football team with Nate, that’s what Samantha said. They were new to the school – they transferred from a small town in Texas. He had a southern twang and used to get teased about it. She played it up and was thought cute.

  The trees sway and for a moment it feels as if the sky is collapsing down on top of me. I have to lean against the car to steady myself.

  Nate.

  A gunshot ricochets off the trees, like a clap of thunder. I jump and then adrenaline flashes through me. Hannah . . .

  I sprint towards the house, slipping into the trees. My feet crunch through the leaves, each step loud as the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire, but I can’t stop running, driven on by the thought of Hannah. What if I’m too late?

  I’m close to the house now – can make out the wooden porch running the front length of it, a decrepit lean-to at the side and a mosquito-battered screen door.

  A dog barks – a mean, low-throated growl – and I drop to my knees behind a bush, breathing hard, shaking harder. What am I doing? This is insane. I should wait for back-up.

  As soon as I think it, another realization dawns on me. No one knows we’re out here. There’s no SWAT team on the way. Nate never made the call. I assumed he had, too caught up in what was happening, but when? I didn’t see him use the radio or his phone.

  He’s involved. And I let him go into the house.

  Fumbling, nerves teetering on a knife-edge as my ears strain to hear what’s going on, I dial 911. Nothing happens. I hold the phone up to my face. Zero bars. There’s no reception so deep in the canyon.

  The dog starts up again but it’s cut off mid-bark by a loud blast, another gunshot. Another follows a second later, and now I’m on my feet, zigzagging blindly through the trees towards the house, thinking only of Hannah.

  I spring up the wooden steps to the front-porch door and yank it open. Gun held out in front of me, I swing wide into the front room, barely registering anything – except that the room is empty. There’s a door to the right, partly ajar, and I edge towards it, gun still clenched in my hands, eyes darting around wildly, scanning the room, jumping at every shadow, ears pricked for any sound but there’s only a creeping stillness.

  ‘Hannah?’ I whisper.

  There’s no answer. I nudge the door open gently. The light’s off and all I can make out through the gloom are an unmade bed and a dresser.

  My feet creaking on the uneven wood floor, I keep heading down the hallway. My heart is hammering so loudly that I can’t hear myself think.

  At the end of the hallway is a kitchen. A candle in a glass jar sits on the windowsill and a plate of food is on the table. The back screen door is propped open with a brick and a dim light shines over the back verandah, dousing the area a foot from the door, but leaving the area beyond that as black as outer space. Nate could be standing ten feet away and I wouldn’t be able to see him.

  I blow out the candle on the windowsill and start retracing my steps towards the hall but as I go I hear a sound – a muffled cry. Looking behind the kitchen door I spot another door, this one locked with a rusty bolt.

  One hand isn’t enough to wrestle the bolt free and I have to put the gun down on the table so I can use both. The lock flies back with a crash, and I jump and grab for the gun, spinning around with it, aiming it at the door.

  I wait a few seconds, and then, unable to wait any longer, I open the door. A quick glance over my shoulder and I see that it’s the way into a cellar or crawl space. There’s a narrow, wooden staircase down – about six steps, but it’s dark as a grave.

  Cobwebs stroke my face as I move to the narrow entrance. I inch my way down the stairs, fear digging its talons around my chest, my breathing coming fast and shallow.

  I reach the bottom step and have to feel my way, hand groping for the wall until I find a light switch. I flick it.

  ‘Hannah!’

  She’s tied to a chair, her hands and legs bound, a gag in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes. I run towards her and yank the blindfold down. She blinks at me, squinting, tears rolling down her face.

  I rip the gag out of her mouth and she starts choking, sucking in air. ‘Mom,’ she sobs. Her eyes are alive with terror, dirt streaks her face and there’s blood on her lip.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, dropping to my knees. ‘Shhh.’

  I drop my gun and start pulling frantically at the knots tying her to the chair. I manage to get her hands free and get to work on her feet.

  ‘Quick,’ she sobs at me.

  ‘Shhh,’ I say, glancing, terrified, over my shoulder. What’s happening up there? Where are they? What’s Nate doing? Does he plan to kill Calvin and frame him, to keep his own involvement secret?

  ‘Hurry!’ Hannah cries.

  I dig my nails into the final knot and loosen it, and the two of us wrestle together to undo it. Finally it gives, and I help Hannah get stiffly to her feet.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, putting my arm around her as we move towards the stairs.

  We creep into the kitchen and I come to a halt, blocking Hannah who is still on th
e stairs behind me, pushing to get past. The back screen door is now shut. The porch light is off. My eyes dart to the window. Is Nate out there watching us? Or is he in the house with us? And what about Calvin? Are there two of them or just one? Where did they go?

  I pull Hannah towards the hallway. She clings to me, whimpering. In the hallway I pause. The noise of Hannah and the noise of my own breathing almost cancel out the sound of a floorboard creaking. He’s in here. I can’t isolate the sound though. There are two doors – one to the bedroom and another leading I don’t know where. Do we hide? No. My instinct tells me to get outside, into the woods where we won’t be trapped, where we’ll have more of a chance.

  I keep heading towards the front room. Hannah stops me with a hand on my shoulder. She points. There’s a shadow moving behind the door, visible in a thin band of light. I turn, pushing Hannah back towards the kitchen again, urging her on, panic clawing at my insides, but the kitchen door flies open just before we reach it. There’s a blur of movement and a man appears in the doorway pointing a gun. Calvin.

  I shove Hannah hard against the wall and aim at him a split second before he fires at us.

  My gun doesn’t fire and his bullet goes wide and hits the doorjamb, splintering the wood. I shoot again. Nothing happens. And now he’s walking towards me, his finger on the trigger. Desperately I keep pulling the trigger. Nate must have done something to it – disabled it in some way.

  I hurl the useless gun at him. He ducks and I charge him. He doesn’t expect it and stumbles backwards as I launch myself on top of him. I grab hold of his gun and we crash onto the kitchen table, which collapses beneath our weight. The gun goes off again – a deafening blast. I don’t know if I’ve been hit. Calvin is still fighting, kicking and punching and trying to wrench the gun from my grip. But I can’t let go. I know this. So I don’t. I hold on for dear life and we struggle, breathless, me on top, locking my legs around him and trying to pin him with my weight. He’s much bigger than me but suddenly he grunts in pain and buckles in on himself and I realize I’ve managed to get my knee into his groin. I grind it even harder into the soft space between his legs and his grip on the gun loosens and he grunts and curses some more. I yank the gun towards me, twist it and, my hands clenched over his, desperately press the trigger.

  Calvin falls back with a gasp, blood spilling out of his chest, and I scramble off him in horror. A pair of hands grips my shoulders. I panic and lurch around, but it’s only Hannah, crying hysterically, pulling me to my feet. We stumble together towards the back door, Hannah’s eyes fixed on Calvin, sprawled across the tabletop, dead, still holding the gun in his hand. I hesitate a moment then dart back and grab the gun, trying to ignore the ocean of blood spreading around him and the fact I just killed a man.

  The kitchen door flies open as Nate appears. He takes in Calvin’s body, then his eyes flash to the gun I’m pointing at him.

  ‘I told you to stay in the car,’ he says.

  I swallow, trying to subtly push Hannah behind me, to shelter her. I eye Nate’s gun. Will he shoot us?

  ‘He tried to kill us,’ Hannah sobs, gesturing at the body. She doesn’t know what I know. She thinks we’re safe now.

  Nate takes a step towards us. ‘It’s OK,’ he says gently. ‘It’s over. You’re safe.’ He nods at the gun I’m holding in my shaking hand. ‘Put the gun down, Ava.’ He takes another step towards me.

  ‘Stay back!’ I yell, surprising myself.

  He startles, pausing mid-step. ‘Ava,’ he says, frowning. ‘It’s me. What are you doing? Put the gun down.’

  ‘Mom,’ Hannah cries, tugging on my shoulder. ‘Don’t shoot. It’s Nate.’

  I stare at Nate. He’s poised like an animal about to pounce, his eyes flicking to the gun and then to my face. I waver, not knowing what to do. I could lower the gun, pretend I don’t know the truth about his connection to Calvin, laugh at my paranoia and try to get Hannah and me safely out of here with him, but who’s to say if I do that he won’t just shoot me. The grip on his own weapon is tightening. I catch the movement out the corner of my eye.

  ‘Ava,’ Nate says again, beseeching me, but he must see something in my expression – fear, horror. He knows I know the truth. He moves, lunging towards us and I fire, but Hannah is pulling on my arm and it goes wide. Nate ducks and his foot slips on the blood-slicked floor. As he fights to regain his balance I use the opportunity to push Hannah out the back door.

  ‘Run!’ I yell as we dive down the steps.

  A bullet smashes into the wooden railing by my hand.

  ‘Run!’ I scream again and Hannah needs no encouragement, sprinting towards the trees.

  I follow her, firing the gun blindly over my shoulder. Another gunshot cracks the night air and Hannah yelps but keeps running. We swerve through the trees, blinded by the dark. I’ve lost my sense of direction – which way is the car?

  I don’t see the blur of movement to my right until it’s too late. Nate lunges out of the shadows, throwing all his weight onto me, and I trip, falling to the ground, my chin smashing a rock buried in the dirt, Calvin’s gun flying from my hand. I hear Hannah scream somewhere off in the distance and I try to lift my head, try to shout at her to keep running, but Nate grabs my head and slams it hard into the ground. Stars burst on the back of my eyelids. Leaves and dirt fill my mouth and I start choking. The next thing I know, he’s lifting me up, tossing me onto my back. The air slams out of me and, winded and stunned, I stare up at him, struggling to focus.

  He’s hovering over me, pointing his gun at me.

  The moon has slipped from behind its cloud cover and I can make out the glimmer in his eyes, and just like that I’m blasted back into June’s bedroom, to that night. And memories that have been hidden, buried miles deep, break through into the light.

  I see June on her knees. I see myself in the doorway, holding the gun I took from the man downstairs in the kitchen. I see myself raise it and fire.

  I didn’t shoot the man in the skull mask – Calvin. I missed.

  Oh my God. It was me. I shot June. Someone came up behind me and hit me around the head just as I pulled the trigger, causing my shot to go wide, hitting June by accident.

  I see myself lying on the floor in June’s bedroom, fighting against the darkness, eyelids flickering. A shadow falls over me. The man who hit me steps over me. A third man.

  The images start to strobe. Past and present merging, memories dancing out of the fog, offering me patchy glimpses of things I don’t want to see. The man bends down beside June. His face . . . it’s a clown mask. Leering. Grotesque. He shakes June hard by the shoulders. I’m paralyzed to help, to make him stop. The scream chokes in my throat.

  He shouts something at her.

  Where is it?

  Her eyes are wide.

  He tears off his mask. Where is it?

  I remember. It all comes back to me.

  June’s head lolls back on her neck like a narrow stem has snapped under the weight of a bloom. Blood darkens her T-shirt.

  I open my eyes.

  Nate stands in front of me, gun pointed at my chest, silhouetted against the moon. There were three men, not two. I look at Nate. He was the third man. But where was he? Why didn’t I remember him until now? Perhaps he was ransacking Gene’s apartment while the others searched the main house.

  ‘It was you,’ I say.

  ‘Guilty,’ he says.

  ‘Why?’ I whisper in shock. ‘How . . .?’

  I don’t get an answer. He shoots me.

  The bullet slams into my chest with the force of a freight train, spearing me to the ground. Pain explodes through my body, every nerve ending screaming and writhing with it. Lungs on fire, I stare up at Nate, trying to breathe but it’s impossible. ‘Hannah . . .’ I croak with the breath I’ve got left.

  Nate stands over me. He laughs and opens his mouth to say something.

  Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by a loud crack. A gunshot. Nate’s arm jerks. He stagg
ers forwards, stumbles, but somehow manages to stay standing. Behind him I catch sight of Hannah. She’s holding the gun I dropped on the ground when Nate tackled me.

  Nate turns around to face her. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest. Shoot him again, I want to shout at Hannah, but my own chest is on fire. I can’t breathe. I realize that Hannah is shooting, her finger pressing the trigger, over and over, but the gun must be out of bullets.

  Nate grimaces, then brings up his weapon with a wavering arm and takes aim. Hannah stares at him in horror and starts to stagger away from him. He shuffles forwards.

  ‘Nate!’ I try to yell, though it comes out as a gasp.

  He turns. Somehow, I don’t know how, I’ve managed to get to my knees, then to my feet, lungs still on fire, vision clouding.

  Nate frowns, obviously confused to see me standing. But it’s too late for him to react. I’ve already pulled the trigger.

  The flare bursts so bright I stumble, throwing up my arm to shield my eyes from the phosphorescent glare.

  A high-pitched scream pierces the night. I can see Nate, dancing like a drunken marionette – the space where his head should be is a fizzing pinwheel, spraying firefly sparks into the dark sky. He collapses to the ground, writhing.

  Hannah runs towards me, tripping over the uneven ground, and throws herself at me. I wince, still bruised from where the bullet smacked into my vest, but my arms come up automatically and I hold her and rock her just like I did when she was a baby, covering her eyes.

  ‘It’s OK. It’s OK,’ I whisper, over and over, watching the flare fizz and burn. I can’t look away – can’t drag my gaze from the horror – not even after the last spark dies.

  Chapter 53

  22 YEARS AGO

  I count down the days, flipping back through the calendar repeatedly as though if I keep doing it I can find a way to miraculously bend time and alter history, and, more importantly, change the future.

  ‘Ava, you coming?’ my roommate Rosie asks.

  ‘Um, in a minute,’ I reply in a daze, shoving the desktop calendar in the drawer alongside my hopes and dreams.