by Mark Ayre
"He did," confirmed Max. "Younger than him. Maybe thirty."
"Thirty today, in fact," confirmed Abbie.
This brought it home to Angel. The knowledge that the girlfriend was her sister, Alex, knocked her. The cruel woman might not care about Ariana's demise. Still, it was clear she’d hate to learn that Alex had been slaughtered during the assault Angel had ordered on Louis' place.
"Is she alive?" she asked Max.
There was a drawn-out, horrible silence.
Then Max said, "Yes."
"Oh, thank God," said Alice, clutching her heart, tears running down her cheeks. Tony was taking long, relieved breaths.
Growing more incensed by the second, Angel looked from one to the other.
"Thank God?" she questioned. Then pointed at Tony. "You with this Abbie bitch, Alexandria with Louis. Oh, mum, how you've corrupted our family. How you've torn us apart. This cannot go on."
Angel's eyes flicked to Abbie, and Abbie saw what was coming next.
"It's time to heal," said Angel. "Pedro wants to buy our entire stock of guns. Once I’ve made the sale, mum, you can retire, just like you wanted. You'll leave, jet off and live out the remainder of your days in one of your holiday homes. I wish it didn't have to be that way—I know you'll miss your children—but if you stay, I might kill you, and I could never forgive myself for that. No, it's better for everyone if you go."
Abbie could see Angel's knuckles whitening as her fingers grew tighter on the gun. Unlike Ariana, however, Abbie was convinced Angel had previously committed first-hand murder. There would be no emotional struggle before pulling the trigger.
"Louis,” said Angel. “You want to save your son, so here's the deal. Tell Alexandria she shouldn't have betrayed her family and put a bullet in your head in front of her, and I'll let Kyle live. How does that sound?"
"You can't be serious," said Tony when Louis remained in zombie mode.
"I'll take your silence as a yes, Louis, and you," she lifted her gun and pointed it at Tony. "With you, there's no need to wait. The woman that's corrupted your mind and turned you against your family can die now."
Angel span with the gun. Gasping in horror and fear, Abbie mimicked Gray and took a step back. And with the same result.
She screamed as the ground disappeared from beneath her, and with her eyes fixed on Angel's victorious smile, she dropped towards the ocean.
Twenty-Eight
Abbie fell.
The sea was only thirty feet below. Abbie had only a couple of seconds to get this right.
Back on the balcony, when Angel had met Abbie's eye, Abbie had formed her plan. She could see rage in Alice's eldest daughter. She knew Angel believed Alex and Tony had betrayed her and could see, for a twisted individual such as Angel, only one outcome would suffice as punishment.
Angel had pointed the gun at Tony but was always going to shoot Abbie. Getting shot was never fun. When the force of the bullet would throw you from a cliff into an ocean that wanted to smash you against the rocks, it became even less appealing. There had to be another way.
Abbie could have turned, jumped from the cliff, and almost guaranteed her safety from the initial fall. But Angel would know she was probably alive. Pedro wasn't far away. A team could be sent to retrieve her.
The alternative was far riskier. Pretending to be caught unawares by the shot and collapsing down the cliff face would deter Angel from sending a search party.
Why? Because it was dangerous. Toppling this close to the rocks meant almost certain death for anyone caught unawares by the fall.
Abbie had not been caught unawares. Her chances still weren't fantastic.
Abbie fell. She was on her back. Instantly, she pulled her legs in, kicked them out, and angled her head down.
Her feet hit the cliff.
Then her head hit the water.
She'd managed to angle her body so she didn't smack the water as a plank, which would have been hideously painful. But neither had she nailed the pencil dive.
A spasm of pain shot through her neck, and her cheeks burned as though someone had landed an almighty slap across both sides of her face.
Down she sunk, but the tide was already dragging her towards the rocks. She kicked out, hoping to swim. Her foot must have slipped into a gap between the rocks because something smashed her ankle, and pain raced up her leg.
The tide came again. Abbie kicked with her other foot, but the water was like a hand. It grabbed her body and spun her, hurled her towards the cliff. Turning, Abbie lifted her hands. Her palms hit the rocks. She released a silent scream as her right hand came into contact with something jagged, unrelenting.
Her chest came to the cliff. One ankle still throbbing, Abbie raised her legs and kicked away. She needed all the strength she could muster to keep beneath the water but swim along the rocks. With the pain in her face, her lower leg, her hand, it was tough to keep going. She looked on the bright side. With a bullet in her intestines, she would have stood no chance.
She thought about Gray and Ariana but pushed them from her mind. Even at full strength, she wouldn't have dived to the ocean floor to see if she could find them. Several minutes had passed since they had fallen. Gray would never have survived. If Ariana hadn't escaped the water's clutches by now, she would have drowned. Alice would want her daughter retrieved, even if there was only a lifeless corpse to return. Abbie wouldn't risk her life for the dead.
On she went. Keeping close to the rocks but fighting the tide. It was draining. The exertion was made more difficult by the lack of air in her lungs and her injuries.
Abbie's chest was pounding, her head beginning to swim. Some subconscious force was begging her to take a breath, though there was no oxygen to inhale.
The water pulled Abbie into the rocks again. This time it was her shoulder that took the brunt of the blow and the pain.
It was agony, but it woke Abbie up. She'd been drifting but forced herself to focus. To carry on.
Her lungs were going to explode. No way would she allow herself to drown.
Using what felt like the last of her strength, she angled up. The tide bashed her leg into the rocks, and she screamed. Water flooded her throat; panic sensed its opportunity to set in, to take dominion of her body.
This would have been a pyrrhic victory for panic, seeing as Abbie would have died shortly after. Luckily, she fought it. Choking on water, dying of suffocation, Abbie forced herself towards the surface, kicking, kicking, kicking. She was never going to make it.
The world began to fade. The pain started to dim... it was all over.
She broke the surface. Opening her mouth, she stole a massive dose of air and immediately collapsed back beneath the water.
The tide attempted to drag her down. It wanted her to see the ocean floor. But the oxygen boost had revived Abbie's mental faculties and added to her strength. This time, she wasn't going close to giving up.
Ignoring the pain and exhaustion, she kicked and kicked and broke free of the water.
The tide still wanted her. She turned as it dragged and shoved her against the cliffs.
Above the water's surface, this was easier to handle. Abbie's knees bashed the rocks, and more pain shot through her legs, but Abbie ignored it. Still weak, she clung to the cliff, holding herself up. Taking in deep breath after deep breath, Abbie waited for her head to clear.
Looking up, Abbie could make out the balcony and the point from which she'd fallen. Angel would no doubt have looked over to see if Abbie broke the surface after hitting the water. Before Abbie had done so, Angel had been satisfied and had disappeared.
Knowing Angel might take another look, Abbie lowered herself, so only her head appeared above the water. It was a dark night. There was every chance Angel would fail to see Abbie from this distance, with so little of her on display, even if she tried to look. And the further from the balcony Abbie moved, the harder she would become to spot.
The temptation was to get going straight away, but Abb
ie fought it. For over a minute, she remained where she was, clinging to the rocks and taking slow, deliberate breaths. Only once she was sure she had the strength to keep the tide from taking her under did she get going.
The journey onwards was nowhere near as troublesome as had been the journey so far. Keeping close to the rocks, Abbie half swam, half dragged herself around the edge of the cliff until she reached the turn. Once around the corner, she could see the beach. Reaching it would not make her safe but would at least mean she had thwarted one enemy—the tide.
After twenty more seconds of her half-swim, half-drag, Abbie found the tips of her toes could touch the sand beneath the sea. Ten seconds after that, it no longer made sense to swim. Abbie placed her feet on the ground, kept hold of the rock, and pulled herself on.
A minute later, only her ankles were covered by the water. Finally, she removed her hand from the cliff and staggered on until she was past the tide's reach and dropped to the beach.
As had the water before, exhaustion tried to drag her down. Her eyes fluttered; a black screen tried to fold in from the edges of her vision.
There was plenty of pain. Abbie tried to focus on that—knowing it had more chance than anything of keeping her awake—and forced herself to sit up, though she wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep in the sand. She forced herself to stand even as her consciousness continued to try to slip away.
Once standing, she stumbled into the cliff. With her back to it, she stared along the beach.
No parties tonight. No doubt, a few young couples would sneak down here for a few hours of privacy away from the homes of their parents. But if there were any nearby, they were concealed by darkness. Fine by Abbie. In any case, they would have no interest in her.
Her clothes were sodden and felt like weights on her back. Lifting her hands, Abbie inspected her palms. The left was fine; the right sliced from her altercation with the jagged rock. The cut wasn't deep, but it was bleeding, and its edges were smudged with dirt. Moving from the rock, Abbie stumbled to the water's edge. She swiped her hand through the saltwater and grimaced at the pain. Forcing herself to keep her hand submerged, she cleared away as much dirt as possible.
There was every chance the wound would become infected. Now was not the time to concern herself with such trivial matters.
Once the wound was as clean as the saltwater could get it, and with tears of pain in her eyes, Abbie dragged herself back up the beach. As she reached the cliff segment against which she had previously stood, she grabbed the hem of her tee and dragged it over her head.
Her torso disagreed with her decision to force it into so much movement as she stretched her spine and hauled her arms above her head. It was as tricky ignoring the pain pulses as it was to tug her tee's tight neck over her head.
At last, it came free. If not for the cliff, Abbie would have crashed to the sand. Instead, she pressed her back against the cool stone and found it acted as an ice pack.
The tee, she used as a makeshift bandage, wrapping it around her right hand and tying a knot that was uncomfortable but would hopefully keep enough pressure on the wound to prevent her bleeding to death. For the time being, at least, she would have to be a lefty.
Hand handled, Abbie went to her jeans, unbuttoned them, and shoved them down. More pain as she kicked them off, but they had to go. Her body was covered in fast emerging bruises which darkened by the minute. Her right ankle, both knees, and left shoulder were significantly affected. Still, the bashes and bumps were the least of her worries. It had been a cold February day, and the water was freezing. Shock and adrenaline had protected her mind from noticing the chill so far, but she was beginning to shiver. It was mentally manageable, but Abbie knew it didn't matter how cold she felt. Hyperthermia was a genuine possibility if she did not get dry and warm, and soon.
Moving away from the cliff, Abbie left her jeans in the sand. They were drenched; she couldn't dry them. In her fight against the cold, they would do more harm than good. At least the T-shirt served a purpose.
Keeping the cliff to her left, Abbie moved to the rock wall, which marked the divide between beach and road.
From here, she made for the nearest set of stone steps and started up.
In a perfect world—given Abbie was both undressed and unarmed while Angel had a gun and at least one henchman—Abbie would take some time at this juncture to form a suitable plan of attack.
The world was beautiful. It probably would be perfect if not for the infestation it had suffered, otherwise known as humanity. Time and again, people reminded Abbie how far from perfect they were. Forcing her to dive off a balcony into the ocean was only the latest example.
The cold which had claimed her body and threatened to damage her beyond repair precluded any time for reflection or planning. Abbie could only plough on and hope things went her way.
Reaching the top of the stone steps, Abbie looked towards Alice's house. The night was dark, the moon nothing more than a wisp in the sky, but lamps on the front of Alice's home lit a section of driveway. Abbie could see a couple of cars and someone pacing. Gender undetermined.
The person almost certainly worked for Pedro. There was a chance Angel had shown her new friends Abbie's picture before they set off on their little adventure, but Abbie doubted it. After all, Angel had always planned to kill Abbie in the house, and she didn't strike Abbie as the kind of woman who often anticipated failure and planned accordingly.
Hoping the person in the driveway was A) a straight man or gay woman, B) into women who looked like Abbie, and C) had not been warned by Angel that a wet woman in little to no clothing might come along the driveway seeking entry to the house, Abbie came along the driveway seeking entry to the house. She was wearing nothing but her underwear unless you counted her T-shirt bandage. She wrapped her arms around herself and aimed for a look that could be described as 'sexy but pathetic'. The type of people who assorted with criminals like Pedro tended to go for that.
The pacer was male. Abbie noticed this seconds before he saw her coming. Even in the dark, Abbie could see his eyes move up and down her body in a way that did not indicate anything as simple or innocent as curiosity. That was a good sign.
As she approached, he stepped towards her. The light from the beams on the front of the house fell over his shoulders and revealed a Mediterranean complexion.
They neared each other. Pedro's man was wearing a thick, comfortable-looking jacket and a woollen round neck jumper, both of which would be perfect for Abagail, even if his trousers would almost certainly not be a great fit.
"Stop," he called when a few feet separated them.
"Oh, thank God," she said, throwing open her arms and rushing towards him. This would have been the ideal time for a professional to draw his gun and aim it at her head while demanding she halt.
He did try to do this. Unfortunately, as Abbie's arms spread, his eyes first went to her chest. It was only a second, then he went for his gun, but by that point, Abbie was with him.
"Thank you," she said as she took his shoulders and kneed him in the groin.
"So much," she continued as she stepped back and smashed her knee into his stomach.
The rocks had attacked her knees; both were bruised. His groin and stomach were soft. Each hit still sent waves of pain up and down her leg.
There was no time to recover. Abbie's victim was falling, and Abbie lowered simultaneously. When he hit the concrete, Abbie punched him in the face and snatched his gun.
Although there was almost no chance he had the strength to strike, she still stood and took two steps back, pointing the gun at his head.
"Nice weapon," she said. "Silenced, too. That's handy. Obviously, it'll still make a sound but outside, with the wind coming across the sea, no chance anyone's going to hear me put a bullet in your face.”
The man had folded in two, his hands on his groin. Though he was groaning, Abbie was sure he was also listening.
"Are Angel and Max still inside?"
Still groaning, he said nothing. Abbie kicked him in his back, and he released a low, pitiable howl.
"Are Angel and Max still inside?"
"No English. No English."
Abbie rolled her eyes. Muppet. He'd already spoken English to her. Then again, what other lie could he try?
"That's a shame," said Abbie. "You won't understand what I'm saying, but your lack of English isn't good for you. Means I'll have to kill you and see what I can find inside."
She stepped forward.
"No, no, no. I speak a bit; I speak a bit."
"A bit," Abbie smirked. "Enough to understand everything I just said and what it meant for you. Enough, I think, to answer my question. Are Angel and Max still inside?"
"Max, yes," said the guy. "Angel, she went."
"Where?"
"Don't know. Angel didn't say. She never speak before she went."
"She was on her own?"
The guy hesitated. Abbie stepped forward, used her foot to roll him onto his back, then pointed the gun into his face.
"Was Angel alone?"
The guy shook his head. "No. A boy. Teenager."
Ollie. Shit. Abbie tried not to let her frustration show.
"Is there anyone else inside, except for Max and Angel's family? Any of your people?"
"No. No more. No more."
"Good," said Abbie, looking up at the house. "Good, that's all sorted. Means, from you, I only need one more thing."
"Please don't kill, please."
"Not that," said Abbie, stepping forward. "The only thing I need... is your clothes."
Twenty-Nine
Abbie donned her victim's jumper and jacket but left him his jeans. There were very few things she considered likely to derail her attempts to take out Max. Her trousers falling around her ankles was definitely one.
Leaving the English speaking liar unconscious, Abbie took her bare legs and now snug torso to Alice's front door. Crouching on the step, she had the lock sorted in thirty seconds.
Soundlessly, she opened the door and slipped into the hall. To her right were the entrance to the office and the stairs, but Abbie disregarded these at once. It was possible Angel had led her family from the balcony to the living room before leaving, but Abbie found this to be an unlikely scenario.