Just go to my house. Get the records out of the roof. The paintings in my kids room. All of it that you think will work. Take it and hold onto it so that it can’t be destroyed. Then when you’ve got it all I need you to search a name for me. But you’re not gonna like it.
Why?
Charlie juggled the phone into his other hand. Changed gears and prepared for a corner. Sarah was now in the back. Because the killer has been dead for twenty years.
You’re kidding Charlie.
I’m not. But they’re not dead. The record’s are incorrect.
Well who’s this name I’m meant to search? Ralph said, intrigue in his voice.
Charlie was about to answer, when he came round the corner too fast. Sarah was standing on the road, he pulled hard to avoid her and drifted across the line into the opposite lane. He was speeding into a four-way intersection. A car was crossing. Just as he ploughed into the car it lit up it’s passengers. A woman and two children.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Holding his searing hand against his body Charlie turned from the door. He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to let Ethan do this. He’d just admitted to leaving his sister to die. There was no way he could die now.
He crouched low and moved slowly. The bed was gone and all that lay there was the frame and burning corpse. He remembered the small kitchen window he’d looked in from outside. He moved to the wall and began feeling along it, above in the smoke. Near the corner he found it, hoped it would be bigger enough.
Charlie took a deep breath and stood up. He began coughing immediately. His burning throat only worsened it. But he got the window latch into his hands, ignored the burning heat of it and opened it. He swung the window inwards and ducked, expecting the oxygen burst again. But the fire was already burning, it did nothing. He stood again and pulled himself into the window. Wriggling himself sideways, pulling at the frame with all his strength until the weight of his own body pulled him out and down.
He crashed into the cold soil. His skin burning in the fresh air. He pulled himself along the ground. Paying no mind to the dirt scratching at his brittle skin, peeling away his flesh. After a lifetime his head bumped into the brick perimeter fence. He turned over and looked back.
The fire in the rear kitchenette room had spread up onto its roof. From there it spread to the roof of the orphanage. By the sound of the screaming he assumed the children were escaping already. The building was burning fiercely. By the time any help arrived it would be too far gone.
As he sat there watching it burn, he realised he couldn’t see Ethan. He’d fled, leaving him to die. It was too much. Ethan was too dangerous. He had to end it. If he could get to his feet, then he could get out of here. Get help. He couldn’t risk letting Ethan get a headstart. If he managed to get away, then there might never be any retribution.
The air burned his throat and lungs. Everything felt raw. Pushing himself upright against the wall, he then used the cool brick to get to his feet. There was no way he could vault the wall in his state, but he remembered the gate down in the far corner. Charlie stumbled for it. Thinking, thinking.
He would go to the police. They would be able to search quickly. But before that, he would go to the one person that Ethan feared more than anyone else. His father. Constable Michael Stephens. Only he would be able to strike fear enough into Ethan. Only he would be able to strike him down.
Charlie made it to the gate, collapsing against it. He opened the turn handle with his left hand. His right was deformed, the flesh having melted all into one mass on his right. He got onto the side trail around the wall and began a limping jog. It was about twenty minutes to Constable Stephens’s house at a good jog, he was only half that. He had to hurry.
Charlie made it to the house in an hour. He didn’t regret his choice. He’d be able to call for help with the house phone. Everything would work out. It’d be okay.
Constable Michael Stephens lived in a small group of homes just outside Silversgrove. It was him and a few other police officers. Ones rumoured to be just like him. All together they made a grim little view of houses. All dirty and rotting. Charlie didn’t think any of the officer’s were married, choosing their work and benefits instead. He went to the one Ethan had told him about. The one with the red door. He limped up the path, empty bottles of whiskey lay about the yard and in the weeds. He climbed onto the verandah and steadied himself with a column. His lungs were screaming, his brain light and eyes blinking white stars. He got to the door and knocked.
Mr Stephens, he called with a hoarse voice. It’s Ethan. Mr Stephens—Charlie began coughing. He could’ve sworn his lungs were tearing apart with each cough. He was trying to regain himself. He needed to tell the constable everything. He needed to know about his son.
He heard someone walking down the hallway. It creaked and the door opened. There was a fly screen that Charlie couldn’t see through. Charlie was still coughing though. Trying to talk. All he could manage was to say Ethan’s name. Over and over again.
Thought I told you not to come back mutt, said the voice behind the screen.
Charlie took a deep breath. No, Constable Stephens. I’m not—
I thought I fuck’n said don’t come back!
The door burst open into Charlie and pushed him backwards. He fell from the verandah and back into the weeds and bottles. The glass jammed into his back and cut him. He screamed.
Thought you were pretty fuck’n smart last time didn’t ya? Constable Stephens emerged from the darkness of the house into the night. His face leering down at Charlie. He was drunk, his eyes lidded and searching. But you want your medecine, don’t ya boy? Jus’ like I did to that bitch and her fuck’n dog. Stephens spat. Took a swig from his bottle. Here’s your medicine boy! He hurled the bottle down at Charlie.
It hit Charlie in the face and he screamed into the night. Stephens came down the steps and grabbed Charlie by the foot, draggin him towards the house.
Won’t be running this time boy. I ain’t gonna be embarrassed again.
Charlie’s screams went unanswered as he was dragged into the house of Constable Michael Stephens. Each step peeled a layer of skin from Charlie. As he was dragged over the door jam the loose nails caught at him and dug in. He screamed again. Grabbed for the door frame. His right hand pulled apart and he began crying. He let go and held it. Lying there crying. Stephens stood over him smiling down at him.
Shouldna come back boy. A mutt like you won’t be missed.
Constable Michael Stephens dragged the boy he believed to be his estranged son to the kitchen, where he began to whip him with his belt. In his wrath he missed the boy passing out from the pain, and because of his wrath, he continued whipping until he couldn’t raise his arm anymore. The pain of his arm had made him thirsty. And seeing as the boy looked to be in no state to be escaping, he left him be in the middle of the kitchen. It was only in the morning, when he stumbled from his bedroom to piss off his verandah into the weeds and bottles, that upon returning he saw the foot in the kitchen. Curious, he wandered down to the kitchen.
When he entered he saw the boy curled up in the middle of the floor. Blood clung to him and his clothes, the faint smell of burned skin hung around. He couldn’t remember any of it. But it scared the shit out of him. This was a big’un. He stumbled to his room and pulled on pants and shirt. Then ran back out onto his verandah, limped across the way to the house across from his. Constable Derrick Reyner, his partner.
Derrick, he called. Derrick you fuckwit wake up. He was banging on the doors. Wake the fuck up.
Reyner stumbled to the door. The fuck Stephens?
Put on a shirt. We got some digging to do.
Minutes later the men were standing again in Stephens’s kitchen, looking down at the boy. Reyner was curious, but unsurprised. He dead? he asked.
Dunno, Stephens said. Didn’t check. But don’t even remember it. Who the fuck is this kid? Why the fuck is he burned to all shit? He’s fuck’n dying in me kitch
en.
Reyner squatted down, put a finger on the neck. The boy in his sleep moved slightly. There’s a pulse, he said.
Fuck, Stephens said.
Should we start digging? Reyner asked.
Stephens scrunched his face. I dunno. Kids feel a bit weird now.
Pussy, Reyner replied.
Oh fuck you. Even you know that new fella we met is weird.
Reyner nodded. So you wanna take him to him then? Take him to the Doctor? He’ll have a better use for him than us.
Stephens was nodding. Done. Fuck him off outta my mind. Solve the problem.
Right then, Reyner said. Get that rug outta your living room. Been looking for an excuse to get rid of that.
Remember I outrank you dickhead, Stephens said. I brought you into this life.
Settle arsehole. We need a way to transport him is all, Reyner said.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Light exploded and metal wrended. Charlie felt the car crush and plough through the other car. His head snapped forward into the windscreen, his body folding forward into the steering wheel. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt. The car’s speed decreased quickly and all he could hear was the screaming of metal on metal. As he passed out, all he could see in his mind were the faces of his wife and kids as he drove into them.
Charlie heard beeping. Saw a red light becoming brighter. Then there was a loud whoosh of an air brake stopping. He tried to stay awake, to see what was happening, but he couldn’t. As he passed out, he felt his world tipping.
Charlie woke, someone was dragging him along. He could feel the cold air on his face. He couldn’t feel his feet draggin on the ground. The person brought him to the verge of the road, hefted him higher up, into a better position to carry.
They were looking down on a car that had been crushed side on. The car he’d hit. It was laying on it’s roof down in a small ditch.
The person juggled Charlie down onto the ground. Walked around him and started dragging him again. In the light Charlie could barely make out a face. It seemed slightly familiar. But he couldn’t see through the years, through the pain. He passed out again.
Charlie woke. He’d been forced back into a car. He was strapped upside down. He was aware of others around him. His wife. His kids. Except, no, there was only one kid. Harper was strapped in at the back. But where was—he felt the blood rushing to his head. He couldn’t swallow.
A torch flicked on. A man was squatting besides him. Upside down to Charile. He had the torch pointing towards the ground, but Charlie could see his face. His horribly disfigured hand. He was watching him.
Now we’re even, he said. You’ll die now Ethan. You’ll take the Charlie Gardner name with you, and no one will ever know about you ever again. It’ll let my sister’s memory go. My memory. And you’ll die. And I’ll be happy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Charlie, actually Ethan, finished talking. The real Charlie looking at him, a small amount of spittle dribbled from his chin and he took a handerkerchief out and wiped it away. The girl dropped a plate in surprise at the truth. It smashed on the floor and pieces went everywhere.
Dumb bitch, Charlie screamed. He swiped at her and she ducked. She began sobbing and cleaning up the pieces, pushing them around.
Charlie watched Ethan, kicking out at the girl as she cleaned. He sat there weak with exhaustion. Telling his tale, listening. His gaze drifted. He watched the girl as Charlie watched him. She was pushing the pieces around, gaze darting up at her captor. She pushed a long sliver of plate under the rug, then swept the rest further away. She stood and said she’d get the pan. Charlie didn’t even look at her.
So your old man took me to this Doctor. He was a doctor alright. Worse than your father, he savoured what he did. He wasn’t a brute that loved violence. He was smart. He was a disgraced doctor that had lost his license over drug addiction. He used to operate on patients whilst high, just sliced whatever he wanted out of them. Did the same with me for a while. Charlie pulled his sleeve up, revealing more of his scarred hand. I think your father had expected him to kill me. He’d probably meant to as well. But I don’t think he expected me to survive the way I did.
Ethan barely acknowledged him. He couldn’t keep focus. The lucidity he’d had was fading. He was beginning to feel blank. A shadow.
He operated on me for hours without anesthetic. But never did I scream. Never did I flinch, Charlie said. Pride was showing on his face. A demented accomplishment of supremacy. Eventually he asked me why I didn’t give in. An’ I told him. Told him everything. What I knew. What I thought. Course he knew Stephens. Had known him for years. Expected no less. It was him killing your parents in how they met. Originally Stephens had contacted him in regards to some out of hours work. Wounds to be stitched up, bodies to be dealt with, but when he lost his license, well his tastes changed. Now he had no restrictions. He set up shop with Stephens. And with me he believed he found his apprentice, Charlie was smiling. He sounded as if he was talking about treasured memories with his father.
Kept me up to date on all things after that. How the Gardner boy had died in the mysterious fire that killed Pastor Philips. Nothing ever came out about him. But everyone mourned the Gardner family. Gardner this, Gardner that. My parents didn’t even come looking for me. Didn’t even see if I’d actually died. Just my teeth were recovered. Enough for them. That was that.
As you’d disappeared off the face of the earth, I couldn’t exactly get my revenge. So I did become his apprentice. He fixed my hand, healed all my wounds, ones he’d inflicted and sustained from the fire. Then went about educating me in all things. I’d operate on bodies, people and animals. We were a very successful duo. Plenty of people went missing that were never found. In all that time, unbeknownst to me, I was doing my training for this. My opus. My revenge. My faith.
The girl had returned with a pan, she was sweeping up the plate. Again gaze flickering to the men. To Charlie to see if he was looking. Ethan could still see the sliver of plate under the rug. Only noticeable to them that knew. Charlie was too wrapped up in his story. Too happy in his revenge.
So imagine my delight when Ethan Burke returned. Of course he wasn’t called Ethan Burke. He was Charlie Gardner. The psychologist that had messed up big time. I soon saw your face all over the tv, the papers. I knew it was you because I knew your face. No one was alive to say that Charlie Gardner was meant to be dead. I’d dealt with my pathetic excuse of parents long ago. But there you were, Ethan Burke as I’d seen him run from that little room and leave me to die. Course I didn’t know how deranged you were. You really believed you were me. Or wanted to. I suppose if you could be Charlie Gardner, you couldn’t be responsible for my sister’s death. Watching her die at the window like that.
Charlie had stood now, he was inching towards Ethan. His hands raising, slowly out stretching. The gleam in his unblinking eyes becoming bright with tears of anticipation.
Deep down I knew you still knew. Pretending like you were. But you still knew. I knew it. As I sat and watched it. I knew. But it would take some digging. Charlie smiled. But now it’s dug, and you know, so now you die.
Charlie lurched at Ethan, wrapping his hands around his throat. He throttled as hard as he could, the little life that was left in Ethan slipping away. Drool ran freely from Charlie’s mouth as he exacted his revenge.
The girl returned to the room and screamed. She lunged to the carpet, took the shard of plate from its hiding place, and jammed it into the side of Charlie’s neck. Charlie screamed and let go of Ethan. The force of which brought Ethan out from his chair and onto the ground. From his new vantage point he watched as the girl plunged the piece of plate again into the neck of Charlie. Charlie turned and swiped at the girl but she was too quick. She dodged him and stabbed out again, catching the main artery of Charlie. He collapsed into her and held on, falling to his knees. She stared down out him as he bled out, clutching his neck feebly. Until he fell sideways, dying. Bleeding out. Dead. She stood
for minutes staring down at this man. Her captor. Dead by her hands. Finally.
Then she looked to Ethan and saw him still breathing. She came to him. It’s okay, she said. It’ll be okay. I can get help.
Ethan with his final strengths shook his head slightly. Smiled. He finally recognised her, looking down at him like this. He finally realised why there’d only been him, Eve and Harper in the car. Rachel had been too much even for Charlie. Her likeness to Sarah was uncanny. As if born again. He felt like he was looking back in time. All those horrid memories he’d covered up. Sarah being dragged out of the kitchen by his father. Sarah in her room, damaged and depressed. Sarah dying in the bathtub and him leaving her. Here she was. Saved. All grown up. Alive.
Sarah, he whispered. You look like her.
Do you know who I am? she asked.
Ethan nodded. Do you?
She nodded as well.
Ethan smiled. Good, he thought. That was good. He allowed himself to go then. He let go of everything. The shadows that had been dogging him were gone. The bad luck that had been attracted to him lifted. His spirit felt lively, his soul light. Even if he was imaging, knowing how the brain protected itself, it felt right. To him, seeing his daughter for the last time, was the perfect way to die.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Rachel stood over her dead father for a time. Watching him. Remembering his features. So much had happened over the years, her memories of childhood dimmed. For a long time she didn’t know who she was, but a small token had remained. The memory of her father smiling down at her. That was what she held onto. It was that, that would explain everything in the end. And when after all those years of them watching him, they’d brought him home, she’d known it. Known that the token was alive and well. That it would bring her back. As the men spoke and she listened, more and more came back. She remembered she had a sister, a mother, that there’d been a time outside of this house and this man. His rules. She remembered she could do things of her own freewill. She could break a plate deliberately. She could hide a piece deliberately. She could do all this and much more.
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