UNWELCOME GUESTS: An atmospheric, suspenseful thriller

by Anna Willett

  “I just want to say it. What he did, and go home.”

  The police woman nodded and turned on a tape recorder. Caitlin thought it looked old-fashioned. It was a stupid thing to be thinking about when she had just left her best friend to be murdered.

  “Oh Caitlin.” His voice snapped her out of the memory. “And you so young.” There it was, that gentle tone. To an outsider, someone who hadn’t seen Felix shoot Eli in cold blood and then rampage through the house like a lunatic, he would sound genuinely moved.

  He closed his eyes, frowning as if thinking about what she’d said caused him pain. She couldn’t hesitate, it might be her only chance. Her arms felt wooden and her throat tight. She reached out, fingers splayed. The knife only centimetres from her grasp when Felix’s hand snatched the weapon up.

  He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I did warn you.” He waved the blade back and forth in front of his face. “It’s like you’re stupid.” His voice rose, “What do I have to do to make you understand?”

  “I’m sorry, I–”

  “No. I don’t know what it is about you, Kitty Cat.” He waved the knife in a circle. “I should just get rid of you now, but instead I’m going to do you a favour.” He flashed a sad smile. “I told you, I’m not a bad person, just… different.”

  She glanced over her shoulder wishing she’d made a run for it when she was near the back door. All she’d done was make things worse. Now he had the gun and the knife.

  “Give me your hand.” He reached out to her.

  “What?” They were on opposite sides of the bench. “Why?”

  Felix reached across and grabbed her wrist. She tried to pull away but his fingers clamped on like a manacle. He squeezed and she felt the bones in her wrist grinding.

  “Stop, or I’ll break it.” He gave her wrist a sharp twist.

  It felt like her hand wrenched free of her arm: tendon, muscle and bone stretching. The pain flared upwards making her cry out. She had no choice but to stop fighting his grip. Caitlin let her hand go limp in his grasp and in return, he stopped twisting.

  “That’s it.” He turned her hand over and placed it on the bench, palm down. “Here’s the part where I do something nice for you.”

  His fingers held her hand against the benchtop. The pain in her wrist lessened but still burned. He was saying something. She tried to force her mind to focus, but the pain made it hard to concentrate.

  “I’m going to let you save one of them.”

  That got her attention. She looked up. Her hair had fallen across her face, stringy and damp with sweat and blood. It obscured her vision, but she could make out his eyes. They were muddy, flat and alert at the same time. It made her think of the way wild animals watch their prey.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. The breeze must have dropped because there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room.

  “When they get back, I’m going to shoot them, take the keys and go.” He held the knife up in front of his face. “Now this is the interesting part. Because you’ve sort of grown on me, I’ll shoot one of them in the leg. The other… Well, he’ll be the unlucky one.”

  She couldn’t believe what he was saying. He wanted her to choose who lived and who died. It was unthinkable. “I don’t believe you.” She tried to jerk her wrist away, but his grip was too strong. “This is just another game. A way of torturing me.”

  “I like games, Kitty Cat.” His swollen eye twinkled under the kitchen lights. “It’s all a game, haven’t you realised that by now?” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “You’re too old for my usual games, but I think this could be fun.”

  She was crying now. The tears ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. The can slid out of her free hand and hit the stone with a wet thud. Beer hissed across the floor coating her feet.

  Felix shook his head. “Make a choice. We both know they’ll be back soon. Isn’t that why you tried to distract me with the grisly details of your molestation?” His voice was reprimanding, but calm. “I’ll count to three. One.”

  He used his thumb to spread her fingers so that her pinkie was splayed. Holding the knife at a sharp angle, he put the point between her pinkie and ring finger.

  Caitlin’s heart thudded in her throat. “Please. Felix, don’t.” Even as she begged, part of her could see it was useless.

  “Two.” His grip was on the handle of the knife, poised to cleave downwards.

  Tiny details registered with magnified clarity. The twin spots of white foam at the corners of his mouth. The open pores on her tormentor’s nose.

  “Who’s going to be the lucky man?”

  She tried curling her fingers back but the pressure of his hand on hers allowed for no movement. The blade pressed on the flesh just below the knuckle.

  “No. Please,” she heard the terrified pleading and barely recognised it as her own voice.

  “Three.”

  He raised his shoulder as if doing some sort of half-shrug. When the blade came down, she heard a crack, felt a pop. There was no pain and then her nerves reacted. Caitlin’s head snapped back hard enough to clang her teeth together. A scream started in her chest and built until it released like a storm siren. Her legs buckled but didn’t quite give out.

  He must have put the knife down because his hand closed around her right forearm lending support and balance. She could hear him speaking, but not the actual words. Her body shuddered.

  “Caitlin.” He pulled her closer, their faces only centimetres apart. “Micky or Jace? Who lives?”

  Her hand felt warm, wet. She didn’t want to look at the benchtop. Couldn’t bear to see what she knew would be lying there amidst the blood. And all the while, Felix kept talking. Even through blurred vision, she could see the knife. It gleamed under the kitchen light.

  Something touched her finger. A jolt of agony took her breath away. Cold steel against her ring finger.

  “I’m going to count to three. Make a choice, because I can do this nine more times.” Somehow, his words broke through the pain and shock.

  “Stop.” She batted the hand gripping her wrist. “Don’t. Felix, stop.” The pain was unbearable, but the prospect of going through another assault on her hand was worse than the way the air felt against her exposed bone. “You don’t have to be a monster.” Her voice was a hiccupping whisper. “You can stop… stop hurting people.”

  His blinked as if a series of flashes were exploding in front of his eyes. When he focused on her again, there were tears, shiny and unshed on his lower lids. “I do have to be a monster, at least to people like Blyte and your brother-in-law.”

  “No, you–”

  “One.” There had been a glimpse of something, maybe regret. For an instant, she’d thought she’d reached him; heard real emotion in his voice, but whatever ugly compulsion controlled him was too strong.

  “I’m begging you, don’t.”

  “Two… Who lives, Caitlin?”

  She could see his shoulder rising in that same half-shrug. Her mouth opened trying to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “Thr–”

  “Micky.” It came out around a sob. “Micky. Micky.”

  He released her wrist and withdrew the knife. “It didn’t have to be that difficult.”

  The room tilted. She tried to stop herself from falling by grabbing the bench with her uninjured hand. A few seconds of dimness and blessed silence and then the kitchen came back into focus. Felix had his back to her. He tossed something aside. The hush was fractured with a metallic clang as the knife landed on the stone floor. Caitlin moved her left hand slowly, cradling it to her chest.

  “Caitlin?” Someone called her name.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Following the erratic jumping arc of the torch, Micky ran through the bush towards the house. The upstairs lights made the building look more like a ghost ship sailing through the night than a house. Around him, dense bush tore at his clothes, barring his path. He was moving too
fast, not taking time to watch his footing. Something whipped the side of his face, almost catching the corner of his eye.

  How could he have been so stupid? Why didn’t he think to search the house before leaving her alone? The answer was simple. His obsession with Felix overrode his judgement. It clouded every aspect of his life, had done for years. Even the house itself was nothing more than a stage, constructed so he could play out his desire for revenge. Built to his specifications, designed to be impenetrable and unescapable. But it all backfired on him. One man was dead and Caitlin… He couldn’t bear to think what might be happening to her.

  The light landed on a crop of trees, tightly packed and surrounded by a thick tangle of vines. Micky cursed and slowed down. He dropped his hands onto his knees and sucked in a few breaths. Going around would add precious minutes to his journey, but he had no choice.

  Cutting right, he skirted a solid mass of trees and foliage until the area opened up enough for him to slip through the shrubs and pick up the pace. He was getting closer. The outside lights came into view. He could hear his own breathing, sharp and rapid, competing with the sound of his boots thumping the ground.

  Micky felt the trees thinning and stepped up his speed. His left foot came down on something hard that rolled under the sole of his boot. A sudden view of the sky and he was on his back, shotgun biting into his shoulder. The torch bounced away under a lacy-looking bush. He lay motionless hoping to give his heart time to return to somewhere near normal before pushing on.

  A scream cut through the darkness, sudden and jagged with pain. Micky felt cold sweat break out on his body, chilling him to the bone. He rolled sideways and snatched the torch from its hiding place under the bush. In a fluid forward motion, he was on his feet and running. This time, his feet skimmed the ground. He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his footing only that somehow, in the tangle of grass and shrubs, he found his way.

  It wasn’t until Micky crunched down on the driveway that he almost lost his footing a second time. His boots skidded, a shower of stones sprayed the side of Eli’s car. Micky’s palm slapped the bonnet of the dark-coloured compact vehicle, a fraction of a second before his hip made contact with it. Momentum carried him forward, almost spilling him over the bonnet. The lightweight aluminium groaned under his weight, then dipped.

  Not bothering to stop and check the damage to the car or his hip, Micky bolted for the front door. He pulled up just short of the entrance only to find it closed. It was open when they left, that was clear in his mind. He tried the door, relieved to find it unlocked. Not sure what might be waiting on the other side, he opened the heavy slab as silently as possible.

  The house reeked of death. It occurred to him how quickly a human being went from a vital presence to something offensive to the senses. An affront to the living.

  In spite of the smell, there was no sign of Eli’s body. The area just beyond the Blackwood sideboard was bare save a pool of blood and the yellow blanket. Micky scanned the sitting room but could see no sign of a struggle.

  “Caitlin?” Announcing his presence was risky, but if she was hiding, he wanted her to know he was there. Besides, Felix knew Micky would be back, why else would he have hung around?

  Micky slid the shotgun off his shoulder and edged his way along the wall leading to the study. He scanned the room a second time and noticed a tea towel on the coffee table sitting in a puddle of water. The dark wool blanket Caitlin had wrapped around her shoulders lay in a pile on the sofa.

  He was starting to get a picture of what must have happened while he was gone. Caitlin on the sofa, maybe asleep. Felix hiding somewhere, waiting like a cunning little shithouse rat. When the coast is clear he ambushes her. It wasn’t a pretty picture. Less than ten minutes had passed since he heard her scream, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

  The study door stood open. He stopped and listened. A sound came from the direction of the kitchen—an echoing sob. A desperate noise that made his skin prickle. It had to be Caitlin. Torn between checking the study and heading straight for the kitchen, Micky hesitated. The smart move would be checking all the rooms on the ground floor. I should have checked before leaving her alone.

  Another sound, this one weaker: a whisper. Micky made up his mind and moved past the study. He brought the shotgun up and clicked off the trigger guard. Felix was armed, with two bullets left in the clip. Entering the kitchen would make Micky an easy target. He weighed his options but could see no alternative. Going around to the back door would waste time and he didn’t know if Felix had locked it. His only chance was distracting Felix and hoping he’d be slow to react.

  * * *

  Caitlin heard Micky’s voice. He called her name and then silence. She was still on the far side of the bench opposite Felix. He faced the archway, his back to her. He said he wouldn’t kill him. But Felix was a psychopath, capable of anything.

  His arm was moving, even from behind she knew he was pulling the gun out of his waistband. A feeling of mistiness clouded her mind making it difficult to think. Colours played around the edges of her vision.

  “Don’t hurt him. You said you wouldn’t kill him,” she whispered or maybe the words were in her head. I should be screaming, warning him. “Felix, you promised you wouldn’t kill him.”

  If Felix heard her, he gave no indication. His arm was raised now, pointing the gun at the archway. She looked down at the benchtop. Through tangled hair and blurred vision, she saw blood. The marble top was awash in her blood, bright and fresh. So red it seemed unreal. Her finger, the nail painted with clear polish, lay amidst the mess. She gagged and slumped against the counter still clutching her left arm.

  She opened her mouth to call out, warn Micky but his name was a croak, barely audible. Something moved behind her, scraping. She was losing focus. The mistiness clouding her thoughts, pulled at her like ghostly hands trying to drag her underwater.

  Resisting the pull, Caitlin used her uninjured hand to grasp the benchtop. Holding something solid helped bring her vision into focus. She lifted her left leg and slid her knee onto the marble top. She felt her leg slide through liquid. An image tried to manifest in her mind but she pushed it away and climbed sideways like a crab, flopping her stomach onto the bench.

  Something flew through the archway. A blur of grey. She was on the island bench now, kneeling behind Felix. From her vantage spot, she could see his arm, rigid and locked at the elbow. Fleetingly, it occurred to her that after everything he’d done, his hand wasn’t even shaking. Felix’s head moved along with his arm, tracking whatever flew through the door.

  Caitlin dipped her head and spoke into his ear, “Felix.”

  As he turned, she wrapped her left arm around his neck, hardly feeling the drilling pain in her hand. With her uninjured hand, she grabbed the arm holding the gun. The moment she touched him, Felix leapt forward, taking Caitlin with him. Her bloody hand slipped, almost losing traction on his neck. Her fingers found his shoulder wound, the one she’d inflicted, and grasp the fleshy depression.

  The gun blasted, something split with a wooden crack. Felix clawed at her hand, gouging her severed finger. Caitlin howled like an injured dog and felt herself sliding downwards.

  “Let go! Let go!” Shouts, barely audible over the ringing in her ears. Blinded by pain to the point of losing all sense of understanding, Caitlin hung on.

  Felix swung right and Caitlin felt a second of lightness then impact, hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs. Another shot rang out, the burst of sound impossibly loud in the confines of the kitchen. She opened her mouth, desperate for air and sucked in the sickening odour of chemicals and wet sawdust.

  Turmoil raged around her. Shouts, crashing, and all the while a ringing in her ears. She tried to open her eyes and lift her head, but bile filled her mouth. Caitlin managed to turn her face to the side and let the foul-tasting liquid spill out. Her eyelids closed and the cacophony fell into silence.

  * * *

  Micky spotted the candles
tick. For some reason, it had been placed on a kitchen stool just below one of the front windows. He crossed the room and took hold of the heavy ornament. He needed something, anything to distract Felix long enough for him to enter the kitchen and get the man in his sights. The sitting room offered slim pickings. The emptiness of the house hadn’t struck him until now. It was never meant to be a home.

  With no time to waste, he skirted the walls and made his way towards the archway leading to the kitchen. More whispering, too faint to make out words, but clearly Caitlin’s voice. He moved towards the sound, grateful for the noise that was blocking out the sound of his boots on the stone.

  At the edge of the kitchen entrance, he paused. The whispering ceased. The only sound came from his own heartbeat racing in his ears. He stepped away from the wall and positioned himself on an angle. A wedge of floor and cabinet became visible, but no sign of Felix. He’ll be at the bench. It was the obvious place to wait. Centre of the room, good view of the archway. In Felix’s place, Micky would have gone with the wall on the other side of the entrance, but Felix was a civilian, untrained in combat. He knew how to stalk a victim, but only a helpless one.

  With the candlestick raised, ready to toss, he hesitated. For an instant, he thought he heard his name, but the sound was covered by another noise, wood on stone. The back door opening. Either Jace was coming in or Felix was trying to get out. Either way, there was no more time for hesitation.

  Micky tossed the candlestick at an angle which would see it hit the kitchen floor just to the left of the archway. The ornament crashed into the stone with a metallic twang. Micky burst into the kitchen, shotgun raised.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. His mind had blanked out the possibilities—the things Felix might have done to Caitlin. What he wasn’t prepared for was Felix turning madly, covered in blood with Caitlin clinging to his back.

  He brought the shotgun to his shoulder. “Let go!” He couldn’t get a clear shot at Felix for fear of hitting Caitlin.