Deep Water

by Mark Ayre

  “It was far worse. Sickening.”

  “Gray would do anything for Ana.” Tony closed his eyes. His face crumpling. He didn’t want to consider what might have happened but couldn’t help it. “They were going to rape him?”

  Abbie said nothing. This time she could not keep her expression blank. When Tony looked into her eyes, he immediately bowed his head and lay trembling palms on the table. He was fighting to prevent fury overtaking him. Fighting not to throw the table. Abbie wouldn’t have blamed him, though she would hope to grab her coffee first.

  “You’re not surprised?” asked Abbie.

  Tony snorted. “Only by one aspect of the whole scenario.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That she got Jacob, rather than his brother, Kyle.”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  He met her eye. She could almost see his skin crawl.

  “Because Kyle’s younger.”

  Six

  Tony declared he needed food. Abbie agreed this sounded a fine idea and let him insist he be the one to order.

  This time, she did not watch so closely. While Tony ordered, Abbie finished her coffee and topped it up. This one she could drink straight away. She took big gulps as though doing so could prevent her from thinking of Ana. Stop her regretting her decision not to ensure the foul woman died.

  She was almost halfway through her second mug when Tony returned.

  "She'll bring it over," he said, jerking his head back to the lone worker.

  Abbie nodded, drank a little more of her drink. Taking her lead, Tony finished his own and made another half and half abomination. This time he seemed to dump even more sugar into the top. By the time he was done, Abbie's veins were hurting.

  "Ana and Jacob at the beach," said Abbie as Tony began his second awful drink. "You with a gun at Jacob's house. Don't tell me that's a coincidence."

  "Okay," said Tony. "I won't."

  They drank their coffees. Abbie let him have a minute, then placed her hands around her mug and leaned forward.

  "Did you know Jacob was out tonight?"

  "You haven't answered my question," he responded.

  "You fell into a bush when he pushed through the gate," Abbie pressed. "But I wonder if you knew he was coming home. Had you planned to face him in the garden, only to realise you weren't as ready as you thought when he showed? Did you rush to the door to rectify your mistake?"

  Now Tony leaned forward too, clasping his own mug. Their faces were inches apart.

  "I believe," he said, "my question was—"

  "What were you planning to do with this—" Abbie tapped her jacket where she had concealed the gun, "—once you got inside?"

  “—what are you doing here?"

  "Were you going to kill Jacob?"

  They held position for ten seconds, eyes locked, playing chicken. Who would blink first?

  Tony.

  He fell back in his chair and let out a long breath. Shook his head. From behind the counter came the sizzle of frying bacon. Abbie was sure she should be hungry. But her stomach didn't grumble; she felt no desire for sustenance.

  "Tony," she prompted.

  "I knew he was out but assumed he'd be gone the whole night and well into today. His arrival surprised me." Tony shook his head. "I'd never kill a minor."

  "Under no circumstances?"

  "None. Would you?"

  "Never rule anything out," said Abbie. "I was out shopping once, and this toddler smashed my shin with his toy pram. Came pretty close that day."

  "More jokes?"

  "You hope," said Abbie. "But if you weren't going to kill Jacob—"

  "Now who doesn't trust who?"

  "—who were you planning to kill?"

  "I—"

  The waitress appeared around the counter, a plate in each hand. Abbie moved the now empty coffee jug to one side as she crossed to them and pulled back her mug. Tony did the same; the plates landed in the cleared space.

  "Thank you," said Abbie, smiling. Tony repeated the sentiment, but his face was contorted, miserable, his attempt to smile reminiscent of a Halloween mask. The waitress hurried away.

  "So," said Abbie, taking the ketchup, "where were we?"

  Tony was watching the waitress return to the kitchen. Removing the ketchup lid, Abbie twisted the glass bottle and shook it towards the plate. Nothing happened.

  "For a minute," Tony said, "why don't you just—"

  "Ah yes, murder. You were about to tell me for whom you intended the bullets in your gun—oops."

  When shaking the ketchup hadn't worked, Abbie had resorted to bashing the bottle's bottom. Four failed attempts were enough to draw from Abbie a vicious whack.

  A tremendous red spurt shot across her plate, covering beans, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, and toast—a line dashed across the table, stopping a centimetre from the wall. Several drops formed a breadcrumb trail from Abbie's plate to Tony's mug.

  "I think that's probably enough," Abbie said. She offered the bottle to Tony. "Want some?"

  With the tip of one finger, Tony twisted his mug to see the red stain on the white ceramic. His nose wrinkled.

  "No. Thank you. I hate ketchup."

  "Hate ketchup? You must be mad. But in that case…"

  Leaning across the table, Abbie ran one finger up the side of Tony's mug before retracting it, popping the digit in her mouth, and sucking clean the sauce.

  Tony could not have looked more disgusted if she had dropped her trousers and began to urinate on the table.

  Abbie smiled. "You know, plenty of guys would find that sexy."

  "You know some strange guys."

  Tilting her head in a so-so gesture, Abbie said, "Granted, not many of them are like you. Ordinary, upstanding murderers of the community."

  Tony flinched. Glanced over his shoulder to the empty counter. Abbie rolled her eyes.

  "No one's listening. We can have an open and frank discussion without fear of imprisonment. Damn, this is crispy bacon. Don't you just love crispy bacon?"

  Tony ate some but said nothing. When he shook his head, Abbie understood it was not her bacon comment he disagreed with.

  "I don't know you," he said. "There's no evidence, other than your word, I was at that house today. Gun's got your prints on it too, so my thinking is I could walk away, and there'd be nothing you could do."

  "What do you think I want to do?"

  "I've no idea. That's what concerns me."

  "I thought men liked mysterious women?"

  "Mysterious in an alluring, seductive way, maybe."

  "Wait," Abbie leaned forward. "Are you saying I've not been alluring and seductive? Damnit, all that practice for nothing."

  Tony refused to smile. Abbie didn't mind teasing, even flirting with him, if it distracted from thoughts of Harry and Ana. Even Bobby. More important was to move closer to her goal.

  "You said you arrived at five am," said Tony.

  "Well remembered."

  "People don't arrive for a long weekend break that early. People don’t come for weekend breaks at all in February. Too cold. So why did you come?"

  Abbie considered. This was a question she was more than used to fielding, given her arrival times to the various towns she visited and how she almost always immediately got herself into trouble. She had a raft of excuses she had crafted over the years. Her favourite had to do with insomnia and nightmares.

  Instinct discouraged the insomnia line. Having caught Tony in a compromising position and with his gun in her coat, could Abbie not afford to take a few risks?

  Deciding she could, she said, "I have reason to believe someone in town is in mortal danger. That their life might have less than forty-eight hours to run. Less than forty-two hours, in fact."

  "So they're dying some time tomorrow?" Tony said.

  "Good maths. That's right. Probably after sunset, but I can't be sure. I've come to help."

  This was all honest and yet sounded less realistic than the inso
mnia line. It would only get worse, too, when Tony started to probe.

  "Jacob?" he asked.

  "No," said Abbie. "Saving him was a happy accident."

  “Then who?"

  "I've only a physical description. No name."

  As expected, this earned a raised eyebrow. The problem with honesty was the truth of Abbie's situation was stranger than fiction.

  "Go on then," said Tony. "What does this person look like?"

  Calculated risk. Pros and cons. When it came to what Abbie did, every decision involved a cost-benefit analysis. Tony had visited Jacob's house planning a break-in, carrying a gun. There was every chance he was planning to kill someone. What if that someone was Jacob's mother? And what if Jacob's mother was the woman Abbie was supposed to save?

  Her mind whirring, Abbie ate some more breakfast. After a sizeable scoop of beans, she placed her cutlery on her plate.

  "There's a lot I can't explain about what I do and why," Abbie said. "This person I need to save, I don't know who they are. You might want to know why I'm so keen to save a stranger, but I can't tell you. You need only know I'll do everything in my power to protect them until such time as they prove themselves to be scum on the level of Ana."

  Abbie collected her cutlery, ate more ketchup soaked breakfast. Tony considered her comments. It took him a little while to dig beneath the words and unravel the subtext.

  "You're worried I was going after this person you're aiming to save?”

  Abbie kept eating. Didn't speak. Didn't even nod.

  "It's a possibility," said Tony. "So, how do you want to proceed? I'm not telling you anything else about what I was doing tonight. Not yet. Maybe we should go our separate—"

  "No," said Abbie. "I'm going to tell you who brought me here.”

  Abbie registered Tony's surprise. Replaced her cutlery on the plate.

  "I was only explaining my position, so you know what happens if it does turn out you want to kill who I want to save. Remember, I'll move mountains keep them alive."

  Abbie had almost finished her breakfast. Tony had barely touched his. Abbie drained her third coffee while Tony had hardly laid a finger on this latest cup of slop.

  "Okay," he said after a while. "Go ahead. We'll see what happens."

  Without hesitation, Abbie described the woman she had seen in her dream. Fifties or sixties, shoulder-length white hair, piercing blue eyes, lightly wrinkled tanned white skin.

  Tony listened. When Abbie completed her description, she returned to her breakfast while Tony watched her. Using her peripheral, she watched him too as he glanced at the counter, ensuring the waitress was out of earshot. From his pocket, he withdrew his phone, unlocked it, searched for something. While he searched, he spoke.

  "If I’d broken into Jacob's house, my plan was to head upstairs to the master bedroom. Jacob's mother left years ago. Jacob's father leads an active sex life but rarely brings women to his marital bed. I expected to find him alone. So long as I did, I planned to put my gun to his head and pull the trigger. Before the sun rose this morning, I wanted to kill Louis Gravenbach."

  Tony's tale had been a weight on his shoulders. He felt better for having removed it and passed it to Abbie, for whom it was weightless. Even with the weight gone, Tony was restless. Abbie resisted asking the burning questions. Did you really intend to put the gun straight to his head and pull the trigger? Might you not have put a bullet through his knee or his crotch first? How much did Louis hurt you? How much suffering do you feel he deserves?

  Tony wanted Abbie to say something, but she waited, searching for signs of dishonesty. If nothing else, she believed he had planned to kill Louis—eventually.

  At last, Abbie asked the most obvious question, and Tony didn’t hesitate to answer.

  "He murdered my sister. For that alone, he deserves to die, but that was only the latest shot in his campaign against my family, and it won't be the last. The rest of my sisters are in danger, as is our family's head. My mother."

  Finishing her breakfast, Abbie lay her cutlery on her plate as Tony placed his phone on the table and pointed at the picture he had located.

  "My mother," he repeated, tapping the screen. "Given the description you gave me, I'm guessing you recognise her."

  Seven

  “Are you going to finish your breakfast?” said Abbie, gesturing to his two thirds full plate.

  Tony’s finger was still on his phone. He stared at Abbie.

  “What?”

  “You heard. Are you done eating?”

  Tony’s finger remained on the phone. He looked dumbfounded.

  “I think you’re done,” said Abbie. “I hope you’ve paid.”

  Standing, she did up her jacket and looked outside. Not long until sunrise now, and the sky was black. Already, it felt as though she’d been in town a week. How had the sun not yet risen?

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Abbie was out the door before Tony had got himself together enough to put away his phone and chase her down. Ten paces from the greasy spoon, he grabbed her arm; yanked her back. She resisted the urge to break free of his grip and knock him to the floor.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  “Fresh air is good for you,” said Abbie. “Please release my arm.”

  Tony didn’t. He shoved his phone in Abbie’s face. “Is this the woman you claimed you wanted to save?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” said Abbie, leaning back. “Hard to tell when you’ve got the damn screen an inch from my nose. Move it back.”

  “Were you lying?” Tony said, his voice twisted with agitation. “Did Louis send you to taunt me? If this is some game, you can find that bastard and tell him—”

  Abbie was not big on slapping. It was so rare to nail the strike and produce the satisfying crack of palm meeting cheek. Beyond that glorious sound, what was the point? Abbie’s tongue was plenty cutting, and fists, feet and elbows had always done the job if a physical altercation was required. She had considered slapping purely a troupe of TV soaps. Until Tony’s voice started rising towards hysteria, and the slap came naturally. He reeled at the contact and stared bug-eyed at Abbie.

  “Tony,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “let go of my arm right now, before I put you on the ground.”

  Tony’s eyes flicked from Abbie’s face to her arm, encircled by his hand. His features warped with surprise, as though he had not realised he was still holding her. There was a beat, then he let go and stepped back.

  “Thank you,” said Abbie, smoothing the sleeve of her jumper, which had crumpled and slid up where Tony had grabbed her. “And to answer your questions, if I heard them correctly through your whiney babbling: no, I wasn’t lying, and no Louis did not send me to taunt you. He didn’t send me at all. As previously discussed, I’ve never met him. Only Jacob.” She paused, looked around. “Where’s the nicest walk around here? Through these quaint little streets or along the beach? God, this place is like a postcard. Must be a real tourist trap in the summer.”

  “A walk?” said Tony. “Why are you talking about walks?”

  “You’re agitated. A walk will do you good; clear your head. Do me good, too; I’ve got plenty to think about. So how about you take me to your mother’s house, but take me the long route. We can talk more on the way.” She pointed down a long, winding street. “We can start here. Looks nice.”

  As she took her first step, Tony again grabbed her arm. This time Abbie twisted, snatched his hand and yanked. With a yell, Tony retreated.

  “Sorry,” said Abbie. “Don’t grab me.”

  “Whatever,” said Tony threw gritted teeth. “How about this: I give you my mum’s address, and you take whatever route you want to get there. In return, you give me my gun, and I finish what I started before you interfered.”

  “No.”

  Tony’s face whitened with frustration. His eyes dropped to Abbie’s coat, and she smiled.

  “You can try take it,” said Abbie
. “Can’t promise I won’t break your arm.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Tony said in a superb imitation of a petulant child. “You said you wanted to protect my mother? Well, the danger to her comes from Louis. You give me my gun, I’ll do your job for you.”

  “No,” Abbie said again. Before Tony could meltdown, she continued. “If after meeting your mother, I deem her worthy of saving, save her is what I’ll do. If I must kill Louis to protect her, I will. You have my word. But I can’t shoot someone based on your word, even if I suspect you’re telling the truth. And I can’t let you go it alone because I need you to introduce me to your mother, and even if I didn’t, you couldn’t kill him, so I’d be wasting my time.”

  “I’ll kill him.”

  “No,” said Abbie. “I’m sorry, but you couldn’t.”

  Having had enough of the conversation, Abbie started down the winding street. Stunned, Tony at first remained still. After regaining his senses, and his righteous fury, he gave chase.

  “What makes you so sure I’d fail?” As he reached her, his hand came to grab her a third time. At the last second, realising what he was doing, he dragged away his fingers. Smart move. “You’ve only known me five minutes. How can you say I won’t kill him?”

  Abbie was of a mind not to answer, but here he was, by her side, and growing more agitated by the second. Getting into a fight with the son of the victim her dream had sent her to protect was never bright, but Abbie saw no way to reduce his ire. She certainly wouldn’t lie.

  Rather than ignoring the problem, she decided to give him exactly what he wanted. See how he liked that.

  “You knew Louis was home last night, correct?”

  “Of course. This wasn’t some half-baked spontaneous—”

  “Right,’ said Abbie. “This was planned. Like you said, Louis has an active sex life but doesn’t bring women home, so you must have been waiting for a day where he was in, but his children were out. Correct?”

  Tony wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but she had his attention. He nodded.

  “Okay, so you find out when the kids are going to be away for the night. That evening, yesterday evening as it turned out, you hide in the garden and ascertain Louis is in, but with no sign of a woman.”