A Window Breaks

by C. M. Ewan

  As I stood there, thinking of Michael, every dark vision of his death I’d ever had seemed to slam in at me at once. My car hurtling through the woods. The tree towering ahead of him. The fear he must have experienced. The pain I was afraid he’d felt.

  Then other memories. Brighter flashes.

  The first few seconds after Michael was born. That first night cradling him in my arms as a baby. The first time he crawled. First time he walked. Leading him by the hand to primary school. Playing cricket in the back garden. His laughter. His smile.

  All of them moments Rachel and I had shared in one way or another.

  I looked at her and felt my heart shatter. It just broke.

  ‘He must have been so scared, don’t you think? Michael must have been so scared.’

  I shook my head again, feeling groggy. There was a pulsing ache deep inside of me, spreading out towards my fingers and toes. All my grief. All my anger. Closure was a false promise. I knew that. I knew it because I also knew that my grief over Michael would never end. Oh, it might ebb over the years. Perhaps it’s true what people say and the pain would start to fade with time, though I was yet to experience that myself. But I knew it would always be there – a bottomless source – ready to engulf me at a moment’s notice. And that would still be the case even if the truth of what had really happened to Michael and Fiona came out and was made public. It would be the case even if we killed Kate Ryan in cold blood and never told a soul.

  I looked at her now, pressing her palms against the glass, the angst and the horror on her face so clear to see. That pulsing ache. It seemed to throb around me like a force field as I moved down the steps towards her.

  Lionel moved aside. I reached out my hand towards Ryan’s, searching her eyes for something. I don’t know what exactly. Guilt? Regret? She looked back at me – through me, really. She didn’t know I was there.

  You killed my son.

  The thought was too big. Too absurd.

  ‘I know it’s a shock, Tom.’ Lionel actually touched my shoulder. ‘And yes, Brodie was hasty. He rushed things. He reacted to the mugging on an emotional level. I think you know why. He shouldn’t have done that. But we are where we are. And if you think about it – really think about it – I think you’ll see this makes sense.’

  I didn’t speak. I just stared.

  ‘You’ve trusted my judgement in the past, Tom. Why not now?’

  Again, I didn’t reply.

  ‘You’ll feel so much better afterwards, Tom. I did. You can’t imagine how healing it is.’

  My hand shot out before I was fully aware of it. I shoved Lionel against the glass. The panel barely moved. My hand was round his throat.

  ‘Hey!’ Brodie yelled. ‘Hey. Stop that.’

  I didn’t stop. I squeezed.

  ‘It’s OK.’ Lionel wheezed. He scrabbled at my hands. I didn’t know if he was talking to me or to Brodie. ‘Think of it as justice, Tom. For Michael.’

  I cried out then. Couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to hear my son’s name on Lionel’s lips right now, but somehow his words sneaked inside my head. And as I found myself thinking about what he’d said about Michael, another memory crashed over me.

  On one of the last days we’d spent together, a fortnight before Michael’s death, I’d taken him into the office with me for the day. Michael was supposed to have organized a week’s work experience for school but, like so often in the past, my slacker son hadn’t got around to setting anything up. I’d stepped in at the last minute and told him he could spend the week at Webster Ventures. He could shadow me and some of my colleagues.

  Michael didn’t like it. I knew and understood that he’d be bored. But there was one moment during his first morning in my office when we’d seemed suddenly close and Michael had asked me why I’d become a lawyer and, for just a second, I’d thought about telling him the truth. That I’d had a good degree, that I was in love with his mother, that I’d wanted to marry her and spend the rest of my life with her and I’d thought a well-paying career would help us to build a future together. But instead I’d lied. I’d told him that old chestnut about being drawn into the law by a burning sense of justice. By wanting to help defend and define the difference between right and wrong. It was nonsense, of course. I think Michael knew that. I was a corporate commercial lawyer. My job, in its purest sense, was about making Lionel – who was already incredibly rich – even richer. But still I spun Michael that line and, even though I saw a flash of what might have been disappointment cross his face, he didn’t challenge me on it.

  And now here I was, my arm quivering as I crushed Lionel’s throat, thinking about justice and vengeance, about what was right and what was wrong. Michael was dead. Our sixteen-year-old son had been ripped from us. His future had been stolen away from him by a woman who was just inches away from me and who Lionel was inviting me to kill.

  And you know what? I can’t deny the lure of it. Because based on the evidence I’d been shown and the explanations I’d been given, I believed Kate Ryan was responsible for my son’s death. She’d destroyed my family, and for what? Career ambition? Her own desperation to hide a major mistake? A ruthless streak? I didn’t know.

  So, yes, part of me was tempted. A sanitized killing room in a lonely place, the opportunity to avenge my son without fear of being caught. Who wouldn’t be tempted by that?

  ‘How else were you going to get justice for Michael, Tom?’ Lionel’s voice was a choked whisper. ‘Look at her. Think of what she’s already done to cover this up and what more she could do. Michael was sixteen. She’s a decorated police officer with the backing of senior officers. A media darling. And look at the men from her team who came here tonight. Look at what they were prepared to do to keep their secret.’

  I did look at her then and, as she stared back at me, my own reflection in the tinted glass seemed to hover behind her, as if I too was confined in that room.

  ‘They wouldn’t have come here if Brodie hadn’t kidnapped her.’ My voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else.

  ‘You may be right, Tom. But do you really believe you’d have been safe? You saw what happened to Holly in that alley. You must know by now that Rachel was fortunate to escape with her life.’

  My mind flashed again on seeing Lionel talking with Rachel in the hospital afterwards. Had he made this argument to her then? It might have been Brodie who’d forced matters to a conclusion, but it was clear to me that Lionel believed this was the right conclusion to reach.

  ‘Tom?’

  It was Rachel. I could hear the shattered urgency in her voice, but I didn’t turn to look at her. I didn’t think I had the strength to face her just now.

  ‘Tom, please. It’s Holly.’

  I released Lionel – he staggered backwards, gasping – and spun around, a huge weight of dread pressing down on my chest. I couldn’t see Holly. Not at first. I bounded up the stairs towards where Rachel was leaning over her, feeling like I was running the wrong way up an escalator. Then I saw her. She was slumped and very pale, her eyes blank and roving.

  ‘It really hurts now, Dad.’

  ‘She’s crashing,’ Rachel told me. ‘Her blood pressure’s right down. Her pulse is thready.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I think she’s bleeding internally. Maybe she ripped something out there when—’

  She didn’t have to say it. I closed my eyes, thinking of how Holly had grabbed the heavy branch and swung it at Adams. She’d saved us, but at what cost?

  That weight in my chest again. My heart felt saturated. Every heartbeat hurt.

  ‘We have to get her to a hospital,’ Rachel said. ‘We have to do it now.’

  I lunged forwards to lift Holly in my arms. But before I could slip my hands under her, Brodie yelled at me to stop again.

  My body went cold. I lifted my head slowly. He was pointing his gun at me.

  ‘Nobody leaves. Not yet.’ His hand didn’t shake. His grip was rock solid. B
ut his eyes flicked towards Lionel. ‘You know I’m right. Don’t pretend that you don’t.’

  The gun Brodie was holding on me seemed to get bigger with every passing second. You’ve heard that line about a gun muzzle opening up like a tunnel. Well, this was like staring down the deepest, darkest tunnel to the worst destination imaginable. And Lionel’s voice, when he spoke, was like the shrill whistle of an oncoming train.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but Brodie has a point.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘This has to happen now. We don’t have a choice. You can see that, can’t you? You can understand what I’m saying. It’s already gone too far.’

  Lionel’s words hit me like a series of body blows. Again, I felt myself teeter towards that black void. How many bodies were buried in these woods? How many people had been killed in this room?

  Lionel had wanted me to recognize what the men who’d come here had been prepared to do to protect their secret. But I didn’t doubt that Lionel and Brodie would be equally ruthless in protecting theirs.

  ‘It’s simple, Tom. Kill her and you can go.’

  With blood on our hands. With secrets to keep.

  As I stared some more at Brodie’s gun, his gaze wandered towards Rachel.

  ‘You wanted this.’ His face scrunched up, though this time I didn’t believe it was from the pain in his leg. ‘We talked about it. You know we did.’

  I reached out slowly and squeezed Holly’s hand. She cried. There wasn’t enough air in the room. All I wanted was to lift her in my arms, get her to a hospital. I looked around me, searching for choices. I saw Brodie, blocking the door with the pistol in his hand. I saw Lionel, rubbing his throat and trying to act like any of this was reasonable. Then I saw Kate Ryan, pinned and very scared behind the glass.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Rachel whispered, and the tremors in her voice spread like dark ripples in my heart. ‘I got us into this. It should be me who gets us out of it.’

  61

  The room was cold, like the wine cellar. Or maybe that was just me.

  I edged in behind Rachel. Every step seemed to jar me. When I lifted my legs it felt like sandbags were tied to my ankles.

  The air inside was stale with a back note of bleach and adrenalized sweat. The bright halogen lighting bounced off the cement floor and the mirrored glazing with a blazing shimmer. I squinted until my eyes adjusted. There were faint russet stains on the walls.

  Oh God.

  Ryan recognized us immediately. She took two fast steps forwards, then stopped and rocked back as Rachel straightened her arm. The gun Rachel was holding jumped in her hand like a fish. It was Brodie’s pistol. He’d hobbled down the steps and passed it to her at the threshold of the room. The door to the room had been concealed behind another hidden panel. It was metal with an electronic keypad in the middle, like the cellar door.

  Brodie was now halfway up the tiered steps again, watching over Holly, slumped on the ground with his back against the wall and his hand cradling his ribs. He was canted to one side and sweating like he had a fever. His face was torn and bruised, his beard greased and bloodied. I was sure he was in agony from his leg, not to mention his other injuries. He needed a hospital too.

  Lionel watched us from the doorway. Brodie had tossed him the shotgun before he’d started down the steps. Any hope I might have had that Lionel would change his mind and let us go had evaporated when he’d trained the shotgun on us with an apologetic shrug as Brodie handed over his gun.

  ‘This might be happening sooner than we planned, Tom, but I really believe it’s for the best. We’re all on the same side here.’

  Except we weren’t.

  ‘Please,’ Ryan begged. She crossed her arms in front of her and bowed at the waist. Her short hair was scuffed and kicked up on one side. Her tracksuit hung limply off her body. Her eyes were two sunken discs. ‘I know who you are. And I understand now why I’m here. I do. And I’m sorry. Truly. But it was an accident. I promise you. We never meant for your son or his girlfriend to die. We just wanted to talk to them. They got scared. That was all. It was an accident.’

  ‘That you covered up.’

  The shakes in Rachel’s voice were nothing compared to the shakes in her hand. Ryan took another step back towards the corner of the room. Her breath hitched when she bumped up against the wall and the mirrored glass.

  ‘Please. I’ll do anything. Say anything. I’ll confess. I’ll—’

  She stopped talking as Rachel whined and jabbed at her with the gun.

  I felt the air still in my lungs.

  Rachel’s elbow was locked now but, in the long, aching seconds that followed, the end of the pistol began to waver, like an invisible wire was tethered to it, tugging it down.

  Ryan hunched up. Rachel clenched her teeth and groaned. She used her free hand to help support the pistol. It didn’t seem to make much difference. The circles the muzzle were sketching in the air got bigger, wonkier, more out of control.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Ryan pleaded. ‘You know who I am. You know there’ll be people looking for me.’

  It was the wrong thing to say. I think Ryan sensed that. Rachel’s feet scuffed as she took a small step forwards. She angled the gun down. It wavered again, worse than before.

  I caught our reflection in the mirrored glass. All I could see was the cold room we were in. The helpless woman cringing before us. Rachel, holding a gun. And me. I almost didn’t recognize myself. Red-eyed. Crazed hair. An egg-shaped bruise on my brow. And a look of absolute dread on my face.

  All the things I’d allowed to happen to my family. All the damage I’d allowed to be done. I hadn’t protected them. I’d abandoned them. And now this. If Rachel pulled that trigger she’d have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life. I wasn’t sure she was strong enough to handle them. So should I step up? Take the gun out of her hand? Was I brave enough to make that move, even as I knew it was the wrong thing to do?

  And yes, Rachel had killed a man already tonight. But that man had been attacking me in the pantry. He would have suffocated me. Rachel had acted in the moment, in a hurry. This was different. Ryan was scared and helpless.

  And Holly was watching.

  ‘Mum!’ Her croaky voice was like a siren in my head. ‘Don’t do this. Michael wouldn’t want you to do this. You know he wouldn’t.’

  Rachel sobbed once and covered her mouth with her free hand. We had to protect Holly. We had to get her to a hospital. But, if Rachel pulled that trigger, I think we both knew that our daughter would never look at either of us the same way again.

  Ryan glanced up, like she’d sensed the smallest chance. ‘Listen to what she’s telling you,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m a police detective, for God’s sake. Don’t you know what will happen to you?’

  ‘Mum, please. I can’t stand this. I can’t.’

  ‘Go ahead, Rachel,’ Lionel said. His voice was soothing, calm. ‘We’ll handle everything once this is over. We know what to do.’

  Rachel bared her teeth and hunched her shoulders against the quakes that were threatening to overwhelm her. When she glanced back at me quickly, she seemed to shrink.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ Holly was repeating, over and over. ‘Please, Mum. Please, Mum. Please . . .’

  My whole body ached. When I swallowed, it was like swallowing glass.

  ‘It’s OK, Rachel,’ I said. ‘I promise you, everything is going to be OK.’

  Her face collapsed then. She tried so hard to hold her aim. She whined loudly and I saw her finger curl around the trigger. She closed her eyes.

  I waited for time to slow down again. For everything to stop. But that didn’t happen. Everything sped up instead. The pounding of my heart. The breath in my lungs. The rushing of the air in the room. All of it building and building, getting faster and faster, the room spinning and swirling, my head swirling with it until . . .

  ‘I’m so sorry, Tom.’

  Rachel’s knees went from under her and I reached out just in ti
me to catch her before she crashed to the ground.

  62

  Ryan began to rise. I snatched the gun from Rachel and swung it towards her. My finger found the trigger. My heart flipped over in my chest. Ryan showed me her glistening palms and a desperate, begging expression.

  Rachel cried. I pulled her close.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I told her. ‘Everything is going to be OK.’

  ‘We have to get Holly to the hospital,’ she whispered.

  ‘We will.’

  My finger ached. I was terrified of pulling the trigger by mistake. One little flinch would be all it took. I wanted so badly to fix this. I didn’t know how.

  Lionel edged into the room behind us, the shotgun at his hip.

  ‘Tom?’

  My hearing swirled. My blood pumped thick and sluggish through my veins. I glanced back at him over my shoulder. My boss. My friend. For such a long time I’d thought I could trust Lionel with anything. But I couldn’t trust him with this.

  Think. Find a way out of this room. Any way out of this room.

  In my peripheral vision, Ryan crouched slightly forwards on her front leg, her hands curled into loose fists, like she wanted to rush me. Rush Lionel.

  I looked between them both as Lionel’s gaze darted to the pistol in my hand. His eyes darkened. I don’t think he was afraid I would shoot him. Not yet. I think he knew me well enough to see that I didn’t want to shoot anyone. Not Lionel or Brodie. And not Kate Ryan.

  Oh, I hated what she’d done. But killing her wouldn’t bring Michael back. It wouldn’t ease my grief, or Rachel’s, or Holly’s. An eye for an eye. There was a reason civilized societies had moved on from that idea. I thought about Michael and everything I’d learned about him during the night. My heart unfurled like a flower. He’d tried to help Fiona. He’d rescued her. So, no, there was no way I would allow this grubby killing room to be my son’s legacy. He was worth so much more than that.

  ‘Why don’t you pass the gun to me, Tom?’ Lionel said.

  Very slowly, I lowered the pistol towards my lap. Ryan tracked my move, snatching a breath. She took a nervy half-step forwards into the room, then stopped and went dead still when Lionel swung the shotgun towards her.