Last Wrong Turn

by Amy Cross

  Penny

  “Stop!” I shout, dragging myself through into the nearest room and then kicking the door shut as hard as I can manage.

  Wincing, I turn and throw myself against the door, desperate to keep it shut. The pain on the left side of my face is getting worse by the second, and I can feel blood dribbling down my cheek. Still leaning against the door, I close my right eye, and I immediately realize that the other eye is damaged. Reaching up, I place a hand on my cheek and feel the blood, and then I run my fingers up until they brush against the torn flaps that were once my left eyelid.

  “Oh God,” I stammer, forcing myself to reach a little further. As soon as I feel the damaged eyeball, however, I pull my hand away. I try to blink, but my left eye refuses to respond and instead I feel a sharp, rough pain.

  Letting out a slow groan, I take slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Blood has already run all the way down to my lips, and I can taste the iron richness leaking into my mouth. I wipe it away against the back of my hand. At the same time, my heart is pounding so fast, the pain seems almost removed from the rest of my body, as if pure adrenalin is keeping me going.

  And in my mind's eye, all I can see is the face of the boy who attacked me.

  He looked to be five, maybe six years old, but I refuse to believe that my own son could have been raised to become such a monster.

  “It wasn't him,” I whisper, even though deep down I've already realized that he had the same thick, dark brown hair as Pete. Tears run down from my remaining good eye, and my bottom lip starts trembling. “It wasn't him,” I say again. “It can't have been. It can't -”

  I let out a sudden shriek as something slams into the door from the other side, rattling the wood.

  Holding my breath, I realize I can hear a faint but frantic sniffing sound, and a moment later there's another, duller impact against the door.

  “It's not him,” I stammer, “it's -”

  Suddenly I feel a flash of pain as a blade slices against my left hand. Pulling away from the door, I see to my horror that the blade of a large, bloodied kitchen knife is being jabbed through the gap at the bottom of the door.

  “Stop!” I scream, keeping my right hand pressed against the door while making sure to remain out of the knife's range. “Where's Enda?” I ask breathlessly. “I want to talk to Enda!”

  The knife slips back out of view, but I can still hear the sniffing sound. A moment later, the door handle turns, but I throw my weight against the wood in an effort to keep it closed. Again the knife slides under the door, but this time I'm able to keep far enough back. Whoever's out there, they just tried to trick me.

  “My name is Penny Latimer,” I stammer, hoping that maybe those words will mean something to my attacker. “I want to speak to Enda. Is she here? Please, just let me speak to -”

  Before I can finish, there's a loud, angry grunt from the other side of the door, almost as if some kind of wild beast is out there. A moment later, something slams into the wood again, and then I hear the sound of someone scurrying away along the landing. A few seconds after that, there's a bumping sound racing down the stairs, and then the house falls silent again.

  “Hugh?” I whisper, even though I still can't bring myself to believe that such a monster could be my son. “It can't be you. Please, it can't -”

  Suddenly I hear a loud, animalistic howl from downstairs. I flinch, but the howl soon fades and the house falls back to silence.

  Holding my breath in the darkness, I realize after a moment that I can feel rain falling harder outside.

  “This can't be happening,” I gasp, checking my left hand and seeing that the blade sliced through the base of my thumb.

  A moment later, I realize I can hear someone scrambling once again through the gaps between the walls, rising through the house.

  “It's not him,” I whimper, as the sound starts to move under the floorboards. “It's not -”

  Suddenly the knife's blade flashes up between two of the boards, just a few meters away. I let out a brief scream and pull away, just as the blade retracts. A moment later it slices up again, this time a little further away.

  Trembling, I pull back into the corner and listen as the scrambling sound continues beneath me. The boy is clearly in a gap, trying to locate me, and after a few seconds the blade appears for a third time, this time a little closer.

  Getting to my feet, I open the door and hurry out into the dark corridor. I can barely see a thing, but I race to the stairs, almost tripping several times, and then I run down to the hallway even as I hear the scrambling sound getting closer, as if the boy is trying to follow through the walls. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I race to the front door, only to find that the latch is still in place. I run through to the back door and find the same, which means the boy must have been inside the house all this time. Watching, waiting, plotting...

  I freeze, and a moment later I hear a faint bump, as if the boy just clambered back out into one of the rooms. Looking down at the knife in my trembling right hand, I realize there's no way I can use it against him, not if there's even the slightest chance that he's my little Hugh.

  Then again, maybe he doesn't answer to the name Hugh. I remember Enda calling him something else all those years ago.

  Hearing footsteps, I turn and see the silhouette of a boy at the far end of the hallway, standing in the doorway that leads through to the dining room.

  “Hugh?” I whisper, waiting for him to make his move. “Hugh, no -”

  Letting out a sudden cry of rage, he rushes toward me with the knife raised.

  “Alistair, stop!” I yell, ducking out of the way just as he lunges forward. He slams into the wall and I immediately grab him from behind, pulling him close while taking hold of his right wrist so he can't use the knife against me. “That's your name, isn't it?” I gasp, shocked by how strongly he's fighting back. “She calls you Alistair. It's not your name, though, your name is Hugh. Please, you -”

  Suddenly he bites my arm. I almost let go, but instead I manage to pull the knife from his hand and toss it aside. A moment later, he slips free and stumbles forward, bumping against the bottom of the stairs. Turning to me, he snarls with pure anger in his eyes, and then he tries to grab the knife again.

  Instinctively, I block his way. He pulls back, retreating into the darkness of the kitchen until I can no longer see him. I can still hear his snarls, though, and I'm sure he's getting ready to attack again.

  “Hugh!” I shout, my voice trembling with shock. “Alistair, whatever she calls you now! It's me, I'm your mother!”

  I wait, but after a moment I hear him going through the drawers, as if he's trying to find another weapon to use against me. He won't find any knives, of course, but there are some forks and pairs of scissors in there. Still, deep down, I feel certain that before he can really hurt me, he'll realize who I am. He has to.

  Grabbing the knife, I get to my feet.

  “Has she told you about me?” I ask, hoping I might be able to get through to him. I can't see him right now, but I can hear him still frantically rooting through the drawers in the dark kitchen. He thinks he's defending his home. “Has she told you anything at all?” I continue. “I'm your mother. My name's Penny, and your father... Is your father here? His name's Pete. Have you...”

  My voice trails off, and a moment later he falls silent in the kitchen.

  “Do you even understand what I'm saying to you?” I ask.

  Silence.

  “Do you recognize my voice? Do you understand?”

  Again, silence.

  “I'm your mother,” I continue, convinced that he has to recognize me on some deeper level. We have a bond that no-one can break. “I gave birth to you, in this very house. Then you were torn away from me, you were stolen, but I never stopped looking for you. I never gave up.”

  I wait, but there's no hint of movement in the kitchen at all.

  Finally, convinced that there's no way he'd truly try to hurt
me, I take a couple of steps forward toward the dark doorway.

  “It's been six years,” I tell him. “I swear to you, I never stopped searching, I never took even one day off. I dropped everything and moved here, I worked in a pub so I could spend every spare second out on the road, trying to get back to you. I scoured the land, trying to find my way here, and finally I did it! And now I'm going to take you away from all of this.”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  Stepping closer to the doorway, I look through and see Lindsay's legs on the floor in a patch of moonlight. Over on the far side of the kitchen, the window has an ethereally blue tint as rain continues to fall. There's no sign of Hugh at all, but I know that he's somewhere in the darkness, and I'm convinced he must be able to hear me. I'm also sure that he's starting to understand who I am.

  “I'm your mother,” I say firmly. “Do you understand? Enda isn't your mother.” I glance over my shoulder, just to make sure she hasn't snuck up behind me, and then I look across the dark kitchen again. “I'm your mother,” I say again. “Do you know what that means? It means -”

  Suddenly I hear a loud cry of anger. Bracing myself, I take a step back, but a moment later I spot the silhouette of a figure climbing up onto the kitchen counter. Before I can say another word, he throws himself through the window, shattering the glass and letting out a pained shriek as he tumbles outside and disappears from view.

  “Hugh!” I scream, racing toward the window. Unable to see out properly past the rain-soaked shards of glass, I run back through to the hallway and hurriedly unlatch the door, before making my way out into the dark yard.

  I wait, but the only sound comes from the crashing rain and the grunting pigs. If anything, the pigs seem louder than ever.

  “Hugh?” I call out, limping through the mud. I know he could rush at me from any direction, but deep down I'm convinced he must be able to sense who I am. The rain has already soaked through to my skin. “Hugh, I'm your mother, I just -”

  Hearing a sudden bumping sound nearby, I turn and look toward the pig pen. Stepping over, I'm shocked to see Hugh curled up in the mud, snuggling next to one of the smaller, deformed pigs. Even though the yard is dark, there's just enough light for me to make out the little boy's left eye as he stares at me. I thought he was starting to understand who I am, but instead he's watching me as if I'm some kind of intruder.

  “Hugh,” I whisper, “please...”

  “You shouldn't have come back,” a familiar voice says suddenly.

  Turning, I'm shocked to see Enda standing by the front door, watching me intently.

  “You shouldn't have been able to come,” she continues, stepping toward me with a knife in each hand, “but there's no going back now. I promise you one thing, though. You won't take my son from me.”

  Penny

  “He's not your son,” I tell her firmly, as she steps closer. “You know that, Enda. He's mine, and I'm going to take him home with me.”

  “He lives here,” she replies, with her eyes fixed on me. “I raised him. I fed him. I taught him and trained him. I made him who he is. You can't tear him away from his home. What kind of a monster are you?”

  “Me?” I stammer, taking a step back. “I'm not the one who kills and kidnaps innocent people!”

  “I never -”

  “You killed Lindsay!” I shout, trying not to panic. “She's dead because of you!”

  “I didn't kill her,” she replies, turning and looking toward the pen. “Alistair did that. She was his first kill, too.” She smiles. “I'm proud of him. He defended his home.”

  “That's my son,” I continue, holding my ground this time as she approaches. “I won't let you turn him into a murderer.”

  “You don't have a choice. Anyway, Lindsay angered him. She killed one of the pigs, and the pigs are his best friends. Why did she do that? Such a senseless waste of a good animal. He always -”

  “Your name is Victoria Williams,” I say suddenly, interrupting her.

  She stops, and after a moment she frowns. Rain is crashing down all around us, and strands of wet, matted hair are clinging to Enda's scarred face.

  “Did you already know who you really are?” I ask. “Or did they never bother to tell you. Lindsay did some research and figured it out. Your parents were Donald and Alice Williams, and you're their little Victoria. Not Enda. That was the name these freaks gave you, and they raised you with it, but you real name is -”

  “My name is Enda Clare!” she snaps, stepping closer and raising the knife. “You don't know anything!”

  “I know you were kidnapped,” I continue, “the same way my little Hugh was kidnapped.”

  “His name is Alistair.”

  “His name is Hugh!” I shout.

  She shakes her head, but I can see fear in her eyes.

  “He doesn't belong here,” I tell her as she edges closer. “No-one does. This place shouldn't even exist. You don't belong here either.”

  “It's my home,” she says firmly, looking over toward the pig pen. “It's Alistair's home too. He's been here six years now. He's grown up here. He's formed a real bond with the pigs, too. They're his favorite chore. You don't really think you can change him, do you?”

  Turning, I see that Hugh is still in the pen, still hunched in the corner but watching us intently. I want to rush over and grab him, to get him away from the pigs and out of this hellhole, but I'm not sure I dare. First, I need to find some way to make him understand who I am and why he has to come with me.

  “He's resting,” Enda continues, with a hint of pride in her voice. “He gets very excitable sometimes, very energetic, but only in small bursts. Then he has to rest a while.” She turns back to me. “Don't worry, though. Any minute now he'll be up and about. He won't let you come bursting into our home like this.”

  “My son is not spending his life in a fucking pig pen,” I reply, heading over to the edge of the pen and looking down at Hugh, just as he scrambles to his feet and edges away. It's almost as if he's scared of me, even as I reach a hand out toward him. “You have to come with me,” I tell him, although I flinch as I see that he still has a knife in his right hand. “I'm your mother. Do you understand?” I pause, with my trembling hand still outstretched. “You can tell it's true, can't you?” I ask. “It's not her, it's not Enda. She's not your mother. I am. Please, you must be able to feel something and -”

  Suddenly hearing a noise over my shoulder, I spin around and see that Enda is stepping closer. My eyes are immediately drawn to the knives in her hands.

  “You're out of place,” she tells me. “It was a mistake for you to make it back here.”

  Before I can reply, I hear a scrambling sound, and I turn just in time to see Hugh climbing over the pig pen's far wall and dropping out of view.

  “Wait!” I call out, making my way around the side of the pen, only to find that he's already gone. There's so much junk in this yard, he has a thousand places he could be hiding, and the crashing rain makes it harder to hear anyone moving about. “Hugh, come back!” I shout, looking all around. “Hugh, I'm your mother!”

  “He's never going to believe that,” Enda says, following me as I back away across the yard. “Do you think some kind of bond will kick in now you're here? It doesn't work like that, I'm his -”

  “You're nothing!” I shout, holding my knife up as I step toward her. Filled with anger, I'm starting to think that I need to bring her down before I can deal with my son. I never thought I could do something like that, but if it means saving my son, I'll do anything. “You're a child,” I continue, hoping to give her one final chance. “You're, what, sixteen years old? You have a choice, Enda. You can come with me and Hugh, come back to the real world and start a new life, a proper life. Or you can put up a fight, but I promise you'll lose.”

  “It's two-against-one,” she replies.

  “There's no -”

  I stop, suddenly realizing that she's smiling.

  Before I can get another
word out, something slams into me from behind. Letting out a pained cry, I fall to the ground, and I can already feel a weight trying to push me down. I turn just as the blade of a knife flashes past my face, missing me by inches, and I instinctively push the figure away, only to see that it's Hugh. He scrambles in the mud for a moment, trying to find the knife he dropped, and then he sneers as he lunges at me again. Hammering his fists against my face, he lets out a loud, inhuman howl of anger, and all I can manage is to hold my arms in front of my face and try to push him away.

  A moment later, he tries to snatch my knife away, but I manage to keep hold of the handle. His fists rain down against my face and neck, and his furious anger seems to be boiling over.

  “It's me!” I splutter, already tasting blood in my mouth and feeling a couple of broken teeth. “Hugh, I'm your -”

  One of his fists slams into my jaw, causing me to cry out.

  “I came to save you!” I gasp, trying to push him away but also trying not to hurt him. “I'm getting you away from this place!”

  All I hear in return, however, is a series of breathless gasps as he hits me again and again, until finally – suddenly – he lets out one more gasp and then pulls away.

  Spitting out a mouthful of blood, along with a few broken teeth, I turn and see Hugh scrambling over to the far side of the yard, where he drops onto his knees and sits watching me.

  “He's taking another rest,” Enda says calmly. “Like I told you, he's very strong in short bursts but he can't keep it up for too long. Give him a minute or two, though, and he'll be all over you again.”

  “What have you done to him?” I stammer, gripping the knife in my trembling right hand as I stumble to my feet. Swaying slightly on unsteady feet, I feel as if the rain is almost strong enough to batter me back down into the mud. “What have you turned him into?”

  “I raised him,” she replies, stepping closer as the pigs continue to cry out in their pen. The knives in her hands glisten as rain runs down the blades. “He knows you're an intruder here. He knows you and that other girl were going to hurt us, so he's defending the farm. It's a perfectly natural instinct, when you look at it that way.”