Caim

by T. S. Simons

  'If nothing else, I am grateful for the people this pandemic brought into my life.' Illy drew my attention back to the table. 'You, Cam, Luca. The kids, all of them. You mean the world to me.'

  'Come on.' I stood, ignoring the dishes. 'Stay with me tonight. Neither of us will sleep well, anyway.'

  Edinburgh as a city is not that large, and the harbour at Leith was walking distance to Dean Village, a picturesque and formerly wealthy part of town. Angus' home was a stunning three-storey heritage sandstone home with leadlight windows and a black slate roof with multiple chimneys. The front door was still a glossy black in the early pre-dawn light, although a thick layer of dust betrayed its lack of use.

  Illy and I stood at the far end of the street and surveyed our target.

  'Front door?'

  'Back. They will be expecting us, but there is no value in marching up to the front door. They will have heard from Clava that we are on our way, but there is no point in making a grand entrance.'

  We found the laneway behind and counted houses until we located Angus' home. Like most of the others, a modern glass conservatory had been built at the back, this one extending almost to the rear property boundary. Entering the fenced yard of the neighbouring house, we found a ladder in the crumbling garage and climbed onto the roof of the adjoining conservatory, then made the leap to Angus's house. I made it easily, blessed with long legs. Illy was a good deal shorter, but determination spurred her. Nothing was stopping her from completing this mission.

  A skylight in the roof popped up from the slate roof. Using the new Swiss army knives we had procured the day before to replace those we had lost with our clothing at Clava, we levered it up, snapping the lock mechanism. Truthfully, I didn't care what damage we did. He hadn't cared about Luca and Cam. But I didn't want to scare Louis by smashing in the glass.

  We could see the kitchen below filled with boxes of food, all clearly marked with the Scottish Government seal. They had been here a while then, and they had sourced food from the government warehouses. I thought it looked like someone had been there recently when we visited yesterday, fresh marks on the dusty floors. But not having been there myself for years, it was hard to tell. Cracking my neck and rotating my shoulders to loosen them, I set my jaw firmly. Game on.

  As we crept through the house, Illy slightly ahead of me, she looked highly capable and decidedly intense with Luca's handgun, loaded and aimed. I often forgot she had been an Army officer and completed weapons training. She was quite comfortable with firearms, but I just saw her as my friend. I had never seen her as combative. Shame he didn't have it that day. But on his last day, he, Cam and Louis had been loading barrels of whisky onto the Eurydice to take to Newgrange. He never thought it would be the last day he would hold his children.

  Something was off. Rubbish strewn everywhere, empty liquor bottles left on every surface. And the smell — like something died in here. Illy had noticed it too. The slight shift in her posture indicated that she also recognised the current state of the expensively furnished home was at odds with its former condition. It looked like teenage kids had held a weekend-long party with their parents away, I mused, with memories of mad cleaning up after many such parties in my own teen years. On one memorable occasion, I frantically tried to re-colour grass when one of my friends, wildly drunk, had vomited on my parents beautifully manicured lawn after binging on blue curacao, staining a rather conspicuous patch bright blue. A patch, most unfortunately, blisteringly obvious from both the kitchen window and from the pool.

  We found Nate reclining with a book in the living room. His lanky frame stretched out, feet on an antique footstool, a shock of salt and pepper hair just visible over the top of the chair. Several empty bottles lay around this room too, and the air thick with the scent of stale alcohol. A glass of unfinished whisky balanced on his knee—the uncapped half-empty bottle was resting beside him on a small lamp table.

  'Where is the cockroach?' Illy boomed in such a voice that even my heart skipped a beat. I remembered Cam calling her military budgie after she ran their briefings in Melbourne. I had heard her speak firmly to her recalcitrant children, but never quite like that. Even I had recoiled, and I was expecting it. She was undoubtedly impressive. Even more than Luca, and he had taught me tone and voice projection for when I needed to be intimidating.

  Nate snapped awake, dropped the book, and spilled the amber liquid all over his leg.

  'Fuck!' he seethed as he mopped at his leg with the dusty lap blanket resting on the nearby couch. 'I wondered when you would show up,' he snarled. 'Took you long enough.'

  Picking up the nearest solid object, a lamp, I swung and cracked him squarely across the forehead.

  He bellowed and toppled sideways, half-sprawling across the black leather armchair, and grinned up at me.

  'Nice to see you too, Freyja. How is your gardener doing? Or are you shagging the plumber now as a replacement?'

  Illy held the gun to his temple and asked again, this time in a low but far more threatening tone, 'Where are Angus and Louis?'

  'Not here,' Nate responded flippantly. 'Nice colours,' he smirked in reference to my face.

  Illy continued to hold the gun on Nate, gesturing with her chin that I should search. I did. Every room, cupboard, under beds. Looking for trapdoors under rugs, hidden cupboards and rooms. The attic and cellar. After a thorough search of the property, I returned, catching her eye and shaking my head. Illy was tense, ready to fire, Nate grinning at her. Leering.

  Seeing his face reminded me of the look Derek had given me as they had gassed us. Something snapped within me. I'd had enough. I did not want to play. I wanted my son back. I had travelled a very long way, with a grieving woman who needed to be home with her children. May as well move this along. Picking up a thick volume from the bookcase, I slammed it against his ear with a resounding thwack. As he recovered, Illy pulled the rope from her pack and tied his hands and feet, forcing him into a wooden chair, much to Nate's bewilderment.

  'Aren't you just going to kill me? We killed your husbands!'

  Illy looked up, hearing the incredulous tone.

  'Not anytime soon,' she replied in such a sweet tone that even I turned to look at her.

  Nate's expression changed then.

  'I.. I…' he stammered.

  'You thought we would find you here, alone, and would kill you and be on our way?' Illy spoke leisurely, menace dripping from each word. 'Oh no. We are in no rush, Nathaniel. I plan to take my time. Enjoy myself. I can't wait to hurt you slowly for your role in killing my husband. Tearing him away from his children. Kidnapping a child. Oh, I plan to have some fun. I'd lay bets you will be begging me to end it before nightfall.'

  Even I flinched at the word fun, the precise word the two filthy men had used when they had molested me several years before. But it was the tone Illy used that skittered down my spine. 'I waited so long to meet him,' she continued in the same slow chilling tone, 'I loved him with every breath. He was my world. Then you took him, from me, and my children, for no reason. I can't forgive that.'

  Nate's face blanched. Illy continued her nasty smile as she bound his hands and feet.

  'No need to gag him,' she told me amiably over his head. 'No one can hear him scream. At least he will let us know we are doing it right.'

  Nate's face reflected the look of increasing concern, and he fought against his restraints.

  'So, you want to die?' Illy soothed. 'I can help you there. But it won't be quick. I can promise you that. I learned lots of interesting skills in my postings. What hurts the most without passing out. How long someone can survive the most brutal of torture. Luca, too, of course. You spent many years with him before you cut him down. He called you friend. There is a special kind of treatment we reserve for those who turn on their mates. Do you know how long a person can survive without food and water? Days. Weeks, even. Let's see how long I can make this last for you. Now… where should I start? How attached ar
e you to your toes?'

  Illy sauntered into the kitchen, leaving Nate gaping at me. She returned a few moments later with the block of expensive kitchen knives. Placing the block beside the bottle of whisky, she pulled one from the wooden block and toyed with it. It was an expensive, beautifully made knife, perfectly balanced. I watched her looking at it, assessing it. She tested the edges. Razor-sharp.

  'Nice,' she said to herself.

  Removing Nate's shoes and socks, she drew the blade delicately across the soles of his feet, making him roar.

  'Oh, don't waste your breath on a scratch. I'm just warming up.'

  Illy's tone was soft yet menacing. She had been my best friend for years, but I had never seen her like this. Standing in the doorway, I was petrified of this stranger. The tone, the movements. It wasn't her.

  Nate closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, but held out far longer than I would have thought. Illy had made quite a mess of him and the room by the time he yelled, 'I'll tell you!

  'Of course you will. That was never an option.'

  'He… never… left…'

  'What?' I exclaimed from across the room.

  Illy maintained her poise, the bland expression on her face.

  'Angus… The boy… They walked… Harris,' he gasped.

  Illy and I looked at each other, realising that he spoke the truth. Harris. Angus' childhood home. All this time, and we had been led on a wild goose chase. Illy placed the tip of the blade against Nate's eyeball. His shaking made me nervous. If he kept moving, she would puncture his eye.

  'We saw you leave the harbour at Stornoway.'

  'Saw… camera. Dropped… up… coast.'

  'What did he plan to do with the boy? Why take him?'

  'Family,' was all Nate could sob, dissolving into a drunken puddle of blood and tears.

  Things moved rather quickly after that. Illy dispatched Nate with a single flick of the blade, spattering the bookcase containing Angus' leather-bound volumes. She dropped the knife, wiped her hands on Nate's discarded shirt, and we left via the front door, closing it behind us.

  'Where on Harris did Angus live?' Illy asked gently as we walked down the street.

  'Between Finsbay and Rodel on the south coast,' I answered, my voice shaking as I replayed the grisly scene. 'I have never been there. But he spoke of the area often enough. Reminisced about his childhood. His parents married in Rodel. It can't be hard to find.'

  Silence rose between us as we re-boarded the Eurydice ahead of our return voyage. Was it the taking of a life? I wondered. Surely she had killed before. But… perhaps not, as a psychologist. She was hardly front line.

  'Are you okay?' I asked as we watched the coastline drift by as we headed north.

  Her head slumped, but she didn't answer. I gathered her tiny form against mine as she let go. I knew what this felt like. Knowing that you had to do it, but regretting it all the same.

  'If you hadn't, I would have. You should have let me.'

  She looked up at me. 'Why do you think I did it? You told me a hundred times how you tortured yourself after Mousa, even killing those monsters at the farm. Do you think I could let you go through that again?'

  'Oh, Illy. I didn't mean…'

  'I had to.' The thin, light voice wasn't hers. It was soulless, removed. 'For Luca. For the girls. But mostly for me. He wanted to die. That was plain from the moment we first entered the house. But he could have done a lot of damage. Alerting Angus to our arrival so he could leave and we would forever be chasing him. Warning the community on Clava. They could intercept us, detain us. So no. I couldn't let him live, but…'

  'You feel horribly guilty that it was you?'

  'I know this sounds stupid, but I let my emotions control me. I support people through this. One of my roles was counselling returned servicemen and women after what they had seen and done, both in the line of duty, but also in their personal lives. I know I needed to do it, but I am so conflicted. I feel such a mix of relief that he is gone, guilt that I did it, and absolute disgust that I took a life. I feel… I feel like an egg, floating in a cloudy swirl of negative dark emotions, threatening to break the shell and consume me.'

  'I think that is the best description I have ever heard,' I admitted. 'After Mousa, I struggled terribly. I couldn't convince myself I had done the right thing. Those men were every shade of evil. They killed Laetitia and several others, wounded Angus and kidnapped ten women from two communities. But what gave me the right to take their lives? It was Luca in the end who saved me. Pulled me from the swirling cloud as you put it. He understood. Now I feel guilty that I didn't do it this time. Maybe this time, it would have been easier. They killed my friend, kidnapped my son and tried to murder my husband.'

  'It isn't as straightforward as I would have thought. I thought I would feel closure, a sense of justice. But it wasn't justice. This was revenge.'

  We stood and watched the rugged shoreline for a long time in silence. Finally, I went into the galley and brought up a bottle of whisky.

  'The strong stuff?' Illy joked feebly.

  'You need it. We both do.'

  We sat on the weathered white deckchairs and stewed over our actions.

  'How did you know he wanted to die?'

  'He didn't want to be involved. I knew that from the surveillance video. He was there, waiting for us. As soon as we walked into the house, it was plain. He wanted to go. He was tired of this life. He had done his job. He was exhausted, sick of travelling. Couldn't even be bothered cleaning up or eating properly. He thought we would be in a rush to kill him in retribution for killing Luca and move on to find Louis.'

  'He didn't count on you. You were… scary.'

  'I scared myself,' she admitted. 'There is a Jungian theory that we all have a light and a shadow side of ourselves. The shadow is the unconscious side. We don't let people see the shadow much as it is the side of ourselves that we hide, the part of ourselves that even we fear.'

  I thought about that for a moment. Light and shadow. I certainly had one. Well hidden, but it was there.

  'Refill?' I asked as I poured myself a second glass, still jittery from the day's events.

  'No, I am queasy again. Emotions, no doubt. When I was a child, and the kids used to tease me, I suffered from terrible stomach cramps. Mum took me to doctors, paediatricians, even a gastroenterologist. Eventually, they diagnosed me with migraine of the stomach. Ridiculous.' She flicked the remnants of her whisky out to sea. 'Anxiety is what it was. Fearful of attending school, being taunted every day.'

  'There is no shame in being emotional about what has happened.'

  'I know. Come on, let's go to bed. Frey?'

  'Hmm?'

  'Will you stay with me again tonight?'

  'You know I will.'

  The ocean was perfectly still. We stood side by side, gazing over the glossy surface, the light reflected in the gentle waves. Layers of dead rotting sea-grasses piled up on the beach, unspoiled by footprints other than our own, no tracks of sea birds. For the first time, I realised how much I missed the smell of the ocean, the salt on the breeze, the sand, and that slight odour of rotting seaweed. As I watched the twinkle of the sun reflecting on the water, memories of home came flooding back for the first time in many years. My first life, in Melbourne. My heart hurt as I longed for my life there. Maybe it was being away from Cam and the children, but in this moment, I desperately wanted my old life back. That simpler life when money paved the way, and people didn't kidnap you to steal your unborn children. Admittedly, I had left a decadent life. When I had accepted the place, I had genuinely thought we were saving humanity.

  Closing my eyes, the wind blowing my hair, I could hear the sounds of home. Children laughing, traffic noise constantly humming in the background, people splashing on paddleboards and kayaks, chatter as people walked their dogs along the beach. The picture of domestic bliss. But now it was still. Deathly quiet aside from the rustle of the wind. Ope
ning my eyes, I took in the view. The ocean was the same. An overwhelming longing to go swimming in that familiar ocean gripped me. As Illy and I ambled along the beach, surrounded by drifts of dead seaweed and vegetation, the stench became overwhelming.

  'Ok, now I am sick too!' I joked.

  Illy dashed for the water's edge as she dry-retched once again.

  Watching her, a thought occurred to me.

  'Ils…' I asked slowly, unsure of her reaction, 'you don't think you could be pregnant?'

  Her head, hung low with the vomiting, turned to look up at me in slow motion. The stunned look of amazement in her eyes showed she hadn't contemplated such a possibility.

  'When was the last time… you… you and Luca…'

  'The morning he was killed,' she whispered. 'We had wanted another child for years but had given up hope. He never said so, but I knew he wanted a son. Time was getting away from us. I'm forty next month.'

  'That was what, eight… nearly nine weeks ago? The first trimester was when I was dreadfully sick with my pregnancies.'

  'Do you think?' she said, tears pouring down her cheeks. 'I just thought it was stress. Being held captive. The injections. Why I wasn't regular, I mean. I've never been regular, especially when my body was under stress. I genuinely thought they didn't want me because I was too old.'

  Ignoring the stench that wafted up around us, I held her in my arms as she cried.

  'Is this want you want?'

  Illy paused, unable to put the conflict into words. But I knew. To have a child of her dead husband would be wonderful, but to raise the child alone?

  'You won't be alone,' I said staunchly, reading her hesitance. 'I remember every minute of being pregnant with Katrin. The overwhelming sense of isolation, of loneliness. I will be there. Everyone will support you. You will never do this alone. There is nothing certain in this world, but while I still have breath, you will never be alone.'