UNWELCOME GUESTS: An atmospheric, suspenseful thriller

by Anna Willett

  The gun wavered up and then down. Instinctively Micky ducked. A bullet zinged past his shoulder and clipped the cabinets on the left of the archway. The wood splintered and cracked like a walnut.

  “Let go!” he tried one more time to get Caitlin’s attention before giving up and tossing the shotgun back into the sitting room. If he was going to disarm Felix, he’d have to use his hands.

  No sooner had Micky dropped his weapon than Felix spun Caitlin to the right, sending her sailing through the air and crashing into the cellar door. Before Felix could turn and raise the gun, Micky charged. He rammed his shoulder into Felix’s chest and drove him back across the island bench. As his back hit the marble, an oomph of shocked air burst out of Felix’s mouth.

  Micky grabbed for the gun, tipping Felix backwards until he was laying on the benchtop with Micky on top of him. Felix was smaller and injured, but he held fast to the gun, squirming and shifting under Micky’s weight.

  “Give it up.” Their faces were close enough for Micky to feel Felix’s breath on his cheek. He could see the man’s eyes shifting with a mixture of viciousness and panic, the whites rolling into view like a shark about to strike.

  Micky jammed his left forearm into Felix’s throat and pressed. A foam of spittle hit Micky, landing just above his mouth. With his right hand, he grappled for the gun, Felix holding it over the edge of the counter, just beyond Micky’s reach. He could see Felix’s finger on the trigger. Everything else seemed to narrow until all Micky could see was the muzzle, black and gaping as it turned towards him.

  He tried to throw himself forward so his hand would jar Felix’s grip and knock the muzzle away from its trajectory. Even as he shoved off the floor, Micky knew he would be too late. The muzzle, cocked at an awkward angle in Felix’s hand, trained on Micky’s face.

  In a fraction of a second, fifteen years of grief and anger seemed to shrivel and die under the pointlessness of what was about to happen. There was no rage left in Micky, only regret. He felt a cool wind brush his face. There was time to wonder if it were some kind of backdraft signalling a bullet to the brain. Then a slingshot of blurred movement. A thud, then a blast of sound turned the world into a chamber of echoes.

  Micky let out a cough of breath and blinked. He let go of Felix and pushed back, unsure if he were hit or not. The gun slid out of Felix’s hand. If it made a noise when it hit the floor, Micky couldn’t tell. It felt like his ears were filled with gum. Felix’s body, now free of Micky’s weight slid off the bench and slumped to the floor almost knocking Micky’s legs out from under him.

  Micky shook his head, trying to dislodge the ringing from inside his ears. It was only then he saw Jace and the last few seconds snapped together. Standing on the other side of the bench, Jace held the candlestick.

  Micky looked from Jace down to Felix. The right side of his forehead, just above the temple, was dented; his skull had collapsed in on itself. A trickle of dark, oily blood ran out of his ear.

  “You stopped him from shooting me?” Micky’s mouth worked and a garbled series of noises bubbled in his ears. He hoped his words sounded a bit clearer to the other man.

  Jace’s mouth moved. Micky pointed to his ear and shook his head. Nodding his understanding, Jace set the candlestick down on the bench amidst a network of bloody swirls. Micky spotted the gun on the floor and stepped forward kicking it away from Felix’s hand. The gun was empty and Felix was in no condition to try anything, still Micky felt relieved when the weapon was out of reach.

  Micky turned, searching for Caitlin. The last time he’d seen her she was airborne, hitting the cellar door and crumpling to the floor. To his relief, she was already struggling into a sitting position.

  Crossing the room, he felt a whooshing pop in his ears, similar to the sensation he’d experienced in an aeroplane. Sound came crashing back: Jace’s voice, frogs in the distance, and Caitlin saying his name.

  “Micky. I thought he shot you.” She sounded sleepy as if ready for a long overdue nap.

  “So did I.” He crouched down in front of her. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  Her hand was bleeding heavily, she held it cradled against her chest. “What about him?” She jerked her chin towards Felix. Her head bobbed as if keeping it from sinking onto her chest was taking a great effort.

  “We’ve wasted enough time on him.”

  He thought he saw the ghost of a smile touch the edges of her mouth. It appeared and vanished so quickly it might have been a trick of the light.

  “He’s alive,” Jace spoke from the other side of the room. “He’s got a pulse. I’m going to tie him up before we go.”

  Micky reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Caitlin’s cheek. Her fingers brushed his and for a second, he couldn’t speak. “Sit tight.” Her head moved again, almost a nod. There were still a few things to take care of before they left.

  Micky wrapped a towel around Caitlin’s hand while Jace stowed the shotgun under the false shelf. He wanted to ask about her finger, but judging by the look in her eyes when he wrapped her wound, he decided to let it go for now. It was clear Felix had tortured her, cutting off her finger for God knows what reason. Pushing her for answers now would only make things worse.

  Jace handed him the gun. “What about this? We can’t hide this from the cops—Not with Eli…”

  Micky flicked the release and ejected the clip. He bent over Felix’s unconscious form. His chest rose and fell in a steady motion. It occurred to Micky that he could finish all this in less than a minute. Felix was unconscious, maybe even dying, there’d be no resistance. He went as far as resting his hand on Felix’s chest. Would it make any of their lives easier? He’d wasted so many years of his life brooding about Felix Holly and what he’d done to Micky and his family, he wouldn’t give him this too. Not a moment’s guilt, better to let the cops deal with him. Micky thought of Jace whispering to his dead brother. Micky had enough regrets without adding Felix’s life to the list.

  There would be prints on the clip, Micky used his shirt to wipe them away and then rolled Felix onto his stomach so he could reach the man’s hands, bound behind his back. Micky pressed Felix’s limp fingers to the empty magazine. Then using his shirt to hold the clip, he inserted it back into the gun.

  “It’ll be light soon.” Jace stood by the back door. He sounded older than he had a few hours ago. Outside, the darkness thinned to a watery grey.

  Micky dropped the gun on the counter. He walked over to Caitlin. For an instant, he thought she might have stopped breathing. His heat jumped, pounding against his ribs. Her eyelids opened, a glimpse of green.

  “I’m holding tight.” The strength in her voice surprised him.

  Micky slipped his arm around her back. “Time to go.” He helped her to stand.

  As they left the kitchen, he noticed her eyes never wavered towards Felix. It was as if, for her, he no longer existed. If she can do it, so can I.

  The three of them walked through the sitting room. Jace reached the front door first and stopped. He turned to Micky, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

  Micky saved Jace from having to ask. “I think he’s in the study.”

  Jace opened his mouth to speak, cleared his throat and tried again. “He moved him?” There was pain in his voice, fresh and raw. Micky had seen the same look he’d seen in the mirror countless times over the years. When the pain became familiar, it morphed into bitterness and soured every moment—if you let it.

  Jace turned towards the study, but Caitlin reached out her hand to him. She touched his arm as she’d done earlier in the evening. “Don’t look, Jace. Please don’t.”

  His cheeks coloured and Micky could see the muscles in his jaw bunching as if he wanted to shake her hand off. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he patted Caitlin’s hand.

  “Okay.” He turned and led them out of the house.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  For a while, no one spoke. Caitlin watched the trees go by, cloaked in a sof
t pearly mist. Magpies warbled, their calls mournful and jarring. Her head rested on the back of the seat as the car crackled over uneven bitumen. She’d never felt so tired, yet her eyes refused to close. The horror of the night was over but it was as if her body sensed there was still a long way to go.

  “What do we tell the police?”

  Micky was the first to answer. “I’m the only one that’s broken the law. I’m ready to admit that I held Felix at the house and tried to make him talk. I’ll tell them I gave Jace a key, but didn’t know you were coming this weekend.”

  “You don’t have to cover for me.” Jace slowed the car and made the turn onto Forest Highway. “It’s my fault Eli and Caitlin ended up at your house. I’m not going to try and weasel my way out of it.” When he was angry, Jace sounded a lot like his brother. Caitlin wondered why she’d never noticed it before.

  “I’m not covering for you.” Micky turned in the front seat, she watched his face in profile. He looked tired, maybe as tired as she felt. “I’m trying to keep things simple. Uncomplicated. None of you were doing anything wrong. You just showed up at the wrong time.” He turned to face her. “I’ll tell them I invited Felix to the house, offered him money to tell me where he left Am—my sister.” He turned away so she couldn’t see his face. “I’ll say Felix brought the handgun with him. As long as we don’t mention the shotgun…” He trailed off.

  “You mean if they don’t know you had the guns, you’ll get a lighter sentence?” The reality of the situation sunk in. Eli was dead and Micky would be going to prison. Caitlin finally managed to close her eyes.

  When she opened them again, the sun was shining. The even hiss of tyres over a new, tarmacked road told her they were getting close to Mandurah. She caught Jace’s stare in the rear-view mirror. His eyes were red-rimmed, unreadable. It occurred to her that without Eli, there was nothing left to connect them. The thought left her numb, as if her body had somehow purged itself of all emotion.

  * * *

  They waited on green plastic chairs, bolted to the floor. Micky stared blankly at the small television screen fastened to the wall in the corner of the room. An elderly couple sat to his left, the man pressed a blood-soaked dressing to his forearm. Occasionally, the door to the treatment area would swing open, spilling a tumult of voices and movement into the sparsely populated waiting room. The police would be arriving shortly, there’d be questions to answer, explanations to give.

  It had been twenty minutes since Caitlin was taken away for treatment. Micky thought of getting up and going outside, breathing in the fresh morning air but the need to know how she was doing kept him glued to the chair. Besides, Jace was in no condition to take in information. He’d barely spoken in the car and now seemed intent on staring at the palms of his hands. It was shock, Micky had seen it before. Once the battle was over, it was the quiet moments that hurt the most. Too much time to think.

  “How am I going to tell Mum and Dad?” Jace sounded confused as if the thought had just occurred to him.

  The doors to the treatment area flapped open. A woman wearing dark blue scrubs strode out. “Mr Frost?” She looked around the small group of anxious faces. “Frost?” She whittled the name down as if running out of time and patience.

  Micky elbowed Jace in the bicep, noticing how the man jumped at his touch. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  Jace looked up, eyes wide, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. He stood and walked towards the woman, head down as if he were in high school and had been summoned to the principal’s office. Micky followed and they were both led through the swinging doors to a small room furnished with a coffee table and four chairs.

  “I’m Dr Ashbourne.” She looked from Jace to Micky. You’re Caitlin’s… um, is it husband?” She had grey eyebrows, thin and drawn together as if perpetually disapproving.

  Micky noticed Jace’s wince, but he made no move to correct her mistake.

  “This is Caitlin’s brother-in-law.” Micky jerked his thumb in Jace’s direction. “I’m a friend. How’s she doing?”

  She gave a curt nod and focused her attention on Jace. “Your sister-in-law will need surgery on her finger. The bone is splintered, she’ll most likely need to be fitted with a partial cast. She’s lost quite a bit of blood but not enough to require a transfusion. We’ve stitched the laceration on her ear.” She paused waiting for Jace to respond. When he remained silent, she looked to Micky. “There’s a bite on her calf. Caitlin believes it’s from a spider. Do you know what sort of spider might have bitten her?”

  It was the first Micky had heard of a spider bite. The surprise must have shown on his face. “Dr…um?”

  “Dr Ashbourne.” The woman’s eyes were brown, dark and under the querulous browns seemed razor sharp. Caitlin had been attacked, they’d told the desk clerk as much when they arrived. It was clear the doctor found her injuries suspicious to say the least.

  “You know Caitlin was attacked.” Ashbourne’s face was unreadable so he continued, “She was spending the weekend at my holiday house with her husband and brother-in-law. I know she spent some time hiding in the attic. That could have been when she was bitten. There’s no shortage of spiders up there. Mostly huntsman and redbacks.”

  “I see.” Ashbourne let out a long sigh. It was a tired sound. “We’ll keep her in for observation. Monitor the bite. All going well, she’ll most likely be released tomorrow or Monday.”

  “Can I see her?” It was the first time Jace had spoken since the doctor appeared. “Can I see Caitlin?”

  Ashbourne regarded him with a stringent stare. “She’s going down to theatre soon, but a short visit won’t hurt.” She nodded to Micky. “I’ll take you both through.”

  “No.” It came out too fast—abrupt. If he saw her now, he wouldn’t be able to leave her. Micky gave the doctor what he hoped was an apologetic look. “Jace should go on his own. I’ll hang around in the waiting room.” He wanted to see Caitlin, make sure she was okay. Part of him almost needed to see her again. That was the problem. It would be better, he decided, if he backed off. What she needed now was family, not him.

  Outside Accident and Emergency, the morning sun filtered through the carefully landscaped edges of a dull bitumen parking lot. Micky could feel the heat building in the cloudless sky. His mother would be awake, he glanced west towards the oncology wing. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d visited her. Leaving Felix alone in the cellar had been a risk. As it turned out, a costly one. He wished he could give her the news she’d been waiting fifteen years to hear—we found Amy.

  Micky walked towards a small garden area with a set of concrete benches. He felt weary, like his bones were filled with lead. There wasn’t much shade but it was nice to breathe clean air. The sharp smell of cleaning products that filled the hospital conjured up images of his mother, skin sallow and arms like sticks.

  He noticed a police car pull into the parking lot. Two uniformed officers stepped out, their pale blue uniformed shirts reminded him of his years in the military. Micky watched them walk towards Accident and Emergency. They were younger than he’d expected. The older of the two couldn’t be more than thirty. The sliding doors opened and the two men disappeared inside.

  They were here for him, of that he had no doubt. Before the day was out, he’d be charged with a string of serious crimes. Rather than dread, he felt relieved. Not to be losing his freedom, but because it was finally over. He’d been at war with the world for so long, it would be nice to surrender. Peaceful.

  There was a no smoking sign on one of the benches. Micky took the packet out of his pocket and lit up. The rich tobacco taste filled his mouth and slipped downwards into his lungs. This is the last one, promise. He spoke to Amy as he sometimes did. Only, for the first time, his thoughts were light, conversational as if she were sitting next to him smiling in that cheeky carefree way she had the last time he saw her.

  He finished the cigarette, smoking it down to the filter. When he was done, Micky dropped i
t, crushing it under his boot. Before walking away, he picked up the flattened butt and dropped it in the rubbish bin at the edge of the small garden. The weariness had lifted. He crossed the parking lot and entered the Accident and Emergency Department.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Caitlin pushed open the front door. Over the past five months, she had become accustomed to the hush of an empty house. Far from finding it lonely or depressing, she’d come to look forward to the serenity, the lack of noise or tension. She walked through the narrow entrance balancing a bag of groceries and her oversized tote, one in either arm, topped off with a few pieces of mail wedged under her chin.

  Her wet shoes left a sloppy trail of prints through the house. She thought about getting the mop out and wiping up the mess, but decided there was no rush. She dumped everything on the kitchen table and struggled out of her damp coat. The rain hadn’t stopped since lunchtime, coming down in urgent sheets, sharp and chilled. Her fingers were numb, almost blue with the cold.

  As always, the sight of her missing digit took her by surprise. It was as if she expected it to reappear one day and couldn’t help being disappointed when the oddly shaped nub remained. She rubbed her hands together and started unloading the groceries. A small tub of salad and a quarter of cooked chicken—dinner for one. Now all I need is a cat. Make that ten cats. Chuckling to herself, Caitlin hurried upstairs to run a bath.

  She lay back enjoying the feel of hot water against her skin and the scent of the honey and jasmine bath bomb as it wafted in the air. It had been a brutal day. One she’d been dreading for months, but now it was over, there was light at the end of the tunnel. There was loneliness, but not without hope. Even the deep gouge on her calf ached less than usual.

  She poured liquid soap onto a sponge and massage the scar. They never did work out what sort of spider bit her, but the infection that followed ate away at the surrounding flesh forcing the doctors to cut away the infected area. The puckered dip in her leg was ugly, like so much of what happened that night. That’s how she’d come to think of the horrific events that made her a widow and left her scarred for life. That night. It was easier to have a name for it, at least it made discussing it easier. Yes, I remember that night. No, I don’t want to talk about that night. She closed her eyes.