by Tom Becker
“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” said Darla. “You don’t know anything.”
“I almost killed you on a point of principle. I had the chance in the gallery – do you really think I couldn’t see you hiding in the dollhouse? But I realized that you and your father could help me take Sasha, my final angel.”
Darla glanced over at her wounded friend.
“Isn’t she perfect?” breathed Annie. “A beautiful fallen angel. I’ve been following her for days. I was watching outside Shooters when you made your dramatic exit – I waited a while and called Hopper, telling him you’d had an accident at Tall Pines. He couldn’t drive here fast enough, he even brought Sasha with him. The concern on their faces was truly touching to see, Darla. Hopper was so worried he didn’t see it coming – I hit him over the head with a tyre iron, right there in the driveway.”
Darla’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Don’t worry, he’s still alive,” Annie told her. “I wouldn’t kill Hopper, he’s far too important for that. He’s locked in the trunk of his car, out cold. Sasha put up more of a fight, but she soon calmed down once I brought her down here and went to work with my knife. And then you called me! It seemed too good to be true. When I’m finished with you and Sasha I’ll make sure that the police find Hopper somewhere nice and close by – unconscious, stinking of alcohol and holding my knife. My artwork will be complete.”
“Artwork?” Darla’s incredulous voice echoed around the basement. “You’re not an artist, you’re just a sick maniac.”
Annie smiled thinly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. What would you know about art and beauty?” She slid a serrated hunting knife out from her belt. “Ready for your close-up?”
Darla ducked just in time, as a blade sliced through the air where her neck had been a second earlier. She twisted out of Annie’s grip, stumbling into the desk where she had discovered the photo of her mom. As the artist lunged snarling towards her, Darla picked up a camera off the desk and set it off in Annie’s face, the dazzling flash stopping her in her tracks. Darla rolled away from the desk, the knife biting into the wooden surface a moment later. Annie was after her in seconds, a thin smile spreading across her lips as her silver blade darted through the air. In the centre of the studio Sasha didn’t stir, her head lolling forwards on to her chest.
Looking frantically around for a weapon, Darla scrambled over to the wall, where a heavy tripod was leaning against the brickwork. She picked it up and swung it at Annie, missing her head but knocking the knife from her hands. Annie screeched with rage and dived at Darla, her nails outstretched. Moving on instinct, Darla grabbed the developing tray from the desk and flung the contents in Annie’s face. The woman shrieked as the caustic fluid stung her eyes.
“You’re no West,” she spat, wiping her face on her sleeve. Her eyes were bloodshot. “You’re nothing, a cheap piece of trailer trash.”
She strode over to Darla and wrenched the tripod from her hands, pushing her backwards. Before Darla could raise her hands to protect herself, a heavy blow caught her on the side of the head and she went reeling to the hard basement floor. She felt the cold kiss of the flagstones against her skin, and wondered whether she was about to die.
Click. Click. Click.
Darla felt the camera’s merciless gaze upon her as Annie photographed her. The artist wasn’t hurrying now. Groggily Darla pushed herself up on to her hands and knees and starting crawling away, trying to ignore the mocking laughter that greeted her attempts to escape. On the floor beneath the desk, something metal was shining in the red light. It was the hunting knife. Darla reached out desperately, and felt her hand close around the knife hilt. As Annie saw what was happening, she let out a scream and charged, the camera still in her hand. Darla rolled to her feet.
“Smile!” she cried.
Raising the knife into the air, she buried it in Annie’s chest.
A jet of hot blood squirted out over her, splattering her face and hair. Annie dropped her camera, blinking with surprise at the sight of the knife jutting out of her chest. She took a faltering step backwards and coughed, blood spilling down her chin.
“You—!”
Darla stared at her defiantly. Annie collapsed to the floor, her limbs twitching violently before falling still.
Darla took a deep, steadying breath. Her head was still swimming, and there were black spots exploding before her eyes. She stumbled over to where Sasha was seated and untied her, catching Sasha as she slumped forwards into her arms. Pressing her ear to her friend’s mouth, Darla thought she could detect a faint wisp of breath.
“You stay with me now, OK?” Darla pleaded, brushing Sasha’s fringe out of her face with bloodstained fingers. “Don’t you go anywhere, you hear me?”
Chapter Thirty
Summer’s last heartbeats had stilled, the warmth faded from its breath. Crickets fell silent; birds lifted from the trees and headed south in formation. The drowsy, muggy heat that had hung over Saffron Hills from the cemetery to the creek had melted. The sky turned grey. Leaves tumbled from the trees, covering the town in a crackling carpet.
Darla watched from the passenger seat of the Buick as small children played in the street, squealing as they dumped handfuls of leaves over one another’s heads. In a few weeks it would be Halloween, and Saffron Hills would be filled with young people in costumes running around trying to scare each other. Darla guessed that there would be at least one person who would run around with a camera pretending to be the Angel Taker, trying to frighten their friends by taking photographs of them. It was amazing how quickly people moved on. Darla only wished she could too.
Three weeks had passed since the night in the basement beneath Tall Pines. But it some ways it felt like Darla was still there, trapped in those terrible minutes as she held Sasha’s bloodied body, staring at the knife that she had plunged into Annie’s body jutting out of the artist’s chest. It had taken Darla a long time to pluck up the courage to take Annie’s cell phone from her pocket and dial for an ambulance. Eventually – she had no idea after how long – Darla heard footsteps and began screaming for help. Soon the basement was f looded with paramedics.
In the driver’s seat, Hopper twiddled impatiently with the Buick’s radio. They had spent a lot of time in silence these last few weeks – Darla sensed Hopper was still searching for the right words to say. She knew that he felt guilty that he had been out cold in the trunk of his car while Darla had been fighting for her life. Even if he had tried to talk to her, she wasn’t sure what she could say back. So much was a blur – especially afterwards. She barely remembered the interviews with the police. They were gentle with her, could see what she had been through. Darla had killed someone. The weight of that horrible truth sat in her chest like a cold lump of iron. It didn’t matter that Annie was a psychotic murderer who would have killed Sasha and Darla and more if she hadn’t been stopped. Darla had taken a life.
Hopper switched off the radio, seemingly sensing Darla’s darkening mood. He cleared his throat.
“Listen, darlin’,” he said. “I know we haven’t talked properly since the night you girls got attacked, and … well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I wanted to say I’m sorry, Darla, truly I am. I really let you down – drinking again, taking Sasha to that bar. You know nothing happened between us, right? I sure as hell ain’t perfect, but I would never do anything like that.”
“I know,” Darla said quietly.
“I was upset because of gettin’ arrested, but there ain’t no excusing my behaviour. That night you needed your daddy more than ever and I wasn’t there to protect you. And I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. You’re the most important thing in my world, Darla, and I need to start acting like it.” He coughed. “That’s why I went to a meeting last night.”
“Meeting?”
Hopper shifted uncomfortably. “You know, AA.”
Darla couldn’t believe her ears. Anytime anyone had mentioned A
lcoholics Anonymous in the past, her father had laughed them off. “Really?”
“I gotta admit, it was awkward as hell at first – all these strangers staring at me, waiting for me to tell them all my problems. I kept checking out the exits, wondering if I could make a run for it. But I stayed. And I’m gonna keep going back, too.”
“That’s great, Daddy,” said Darla. “I’m proud of you.”
“I ain’t done nothing yet,” Hopper said firmly. “And I’m making no promises this time, you’ve heard them all before – too many times. I just can’t believe I was so stupid about Annie. I shoulda known she was too good to be true.”
“It wasn’t just you,” Darla said. “I wanted to believe she was for real too.”
“I used to think there wasn’t a lie or a scam I couldn’t spot from twenty paces. Now it turns out I can’t even see a serial killer when they’re standing right in front of me. Seems like nothing’s what I thought it was. Annie used to be Walter, Sidney used to be Amy. What is it about us and that damned West family?”
“Mom wasn’t Amy with us,” said Darla. “She was Sidney O’Neill. She was one of us, not the other way around.”
“Maybe you’re right, darlin’. You’re wiser than I am, at any rate.” Hopper glanced over at her. “How are you doing?”
“I’m OK.”
“Because it’s fine if you’re not, you hear me?” he said quickly. “I know that ever since Mom died you’ve had a rough ol’ time of it, and I didn’t want to know because I was being so goddamn selfish. But you can talk to me.”
“I know, Daddy. I’m OK, honestly.”
Hopper didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. He took the next turning off the highway, following the signs for the Madeline West Memorial Hospital. Annie might be dead but as long as they stayed in this town there were always going to be reminders of the West family – their family, as strange as it felt to think it.
The hospital was the size of a mall, built from pinkish stone and with a grand portico entrance. In front of it a fountain sat in the middle of a picturesque lake, sending water cascading into the air. Anywhere else, Darla would have expected to see a throng of reporters pressing around the entrance, a hailstorm of questions and microphones, but the parking lot was quiet. The unmasking of the Angel Taker had barely made the papers, and even the police weren’t hurrying to announce that a killer had been stopped. Saffron Hills would always be a town that knew how to look after its secrets.
Darla and Hopper walked through the automatic doors and went past the waiting room to the reception desk.
“Good afternoon, darlin’,” said Hopper, treating the pretty nurse behind the desk to a dazzling smile. “My daughter’s here to visit a friend of hers, Sasha Haas?”
“I’m afraid Sasha’s visitors are limited to family at the moment,” the nurse told him.
“Then it’s a good job they’re cousins, isn’t it?” Hopper replied.
The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Cousins.”
“Distant cousins,” Hopper clarified. “But very much family. Shared blood, if you will.”
Hesitating, the nurse looked over at Darla, who adopted an innocent expression.
“Third f loor,” the nurse said eventually. “Room 305.”
Hopper grinned. “Thank you, darlin’. You’re a ray of sunshine on a dark and cold day.”
The nurse quickly turned back to her monitor, trying to hide the fact she was blushing. Rolling her eyes, Darla turned towards the elevators.
“Are you going to come up too?” she asked Hopper.
“Maybe later,” he said. “You go see your friend. Tell her get well soon from me.”
As Darla waited for the elevator to open, she looked back and saw Hopper leaning against the counter, still chatting to the pretty nurse. The nurse burst out laughing, and Hopper gave Darla a helpless look across the reception. Darla shook her head, but she was smiling. Her daddy was never going to change entirely – but for the first time in her life, she thought that maybe he could change just enough to make things OK.
Darla rode the elevator up to the third f loor, and wandered the gleaming corridors in search of room 305. Sasha had a corner room to herself, looking out over the rolling landscape of Saffron Hills. She was sitting up in bed, gazing out of the window. Her face was pale and her dark roots were showing through her dyed blond hair. She glanced up nervously at the sound of someone entering the room, her eyes widening with surprise at the sight of Darla.
“Hey, you!” she said weakly. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think? Coming to see you.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to see my face again. Couldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, considering. But then I am on an insane amount of morphine.”
Darla pulled a chair up to Sasha’s bedside and took a seat. There was an awkward silence.
“Listen,” Sasha said eventually, “about what happened in Shooters…”
“It don’t matter.”
“No, Darla, it does. I can’t believe I was such a bitch. You were right all along, you know? I use people and it isn’t fair. I owe you my life, for Chrissakes!” She paused. “Why are you smiling?”
“Everyone’s saying sorry to me today,” Darla told her. “It’s kinda fun.”
“You sure earned it. If it weren’t for you I’d be another photograph in the Angel Taker’s album.” Sasha’s face brightened. “Hey, you know who else came to visit me? Miss Saffron herself, Gabrielle Jones! Said she wanted to see how I was doing. I think her brush with death might have done her some good. She seemed … I don’t know … human.”
“I heard that Leeroy is gonna be charged with kidnapping,” said Darla.
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” Sasha replied. She fidgeted with her hospital gown. “You’re here to say goodbye, aren’t you?” she said gloomily. “I knew you wouldn’t stay after what happened. Frank is gone, and now you’re leaving me too.”
“Actually, I think we might be sticking around.”
Sasha pushed herself up on her elbows. “Really?”
Darla nodded.
“This is exceptional news, Darla! We can hang out together, it’ll be so much fun. I could take you to the band night at Shooters again – Jaime and Evan might be playing!”
“I don’t know, Sasha,” Darla said reluctantly, “I’m not sure Hopper’s going to let me—”
“It’s music, Darla! We don’t have to drink!”
“Just do me a favour, OK? Lose the blond look.”
Sasha gave her a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain O’Neill.” She winced, holding her side. “Ow! I think I just opened a stitch.”
“Should I get a nurse?”
“No, I’ll be all right.” Sasha reached out and took Darla’s hand. “I’m really glad you came to see me.”
Darla smiled. “Me too.”
They talked for an hour or so, as the sky darkened in the windows. As hard as Sasha tried to put a brave face on things, Darla could see how much pain she was in. There was no telling how long it would take her scar tissue to heal. But if anyone could come back fighting, Darla thought to herself, it was the irrepressible Sasha Haas. She was a force of nature.
When a doctor came into the room to examine Sasha, Darla said goodbye to her friend. She walked along a deserted corridor, absorbed her own thoughts, and called up the elevator. It arrived with a loud ping, the doors opening to reveal an empty life. She walked inside and pressed the button for the ground f loor.
The doors closed, and as Darla stared into the polished silver surface she saw her faint ref lection staring back at her. The elevator seemed to shiver, and the lights above her head flickered. Darla stepped back with a cry of dread. The Angel Taker was dead, there couldn’t be any more visions. It was over!
The lights steadied. As Darla’s heart beat against her ribs, she realized she was looking at nothing more than her ow
n face – imperfect and plain, but nothing to be frightened of. There were no horrors lurking in this mirror.
The elevator continued smoothly down to the ground f loor, the doors pinging open. Darla smiled.
An extract from Frozen Charlotte
by Alex Bell
When Jay said he’d downloaded a Ouija-board app on to his phone, I wasn’t surprised. It sounded like the kind of daft thing he’d do. It was Thursday night and we were sitting in our favourite greasy spoon café, eating baskets of curly fries, like always.
“Do we have to do this?” I asked.
“Yes. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Jay said.
He put his phone on the table and loaded the app. A Ouija board filled the screen. The words YES and NO were written in flowing script in the top two corners, and beneath them were the letters of the alphabet in that same curling text, in two arches. Beneath that was a straight row of numbers from zero to nine, and underneath was printed GOODBYE.
“Isn’t there some kind of law against Ouija boards or something? I thought they were supposed to be dangerous.”
“Dangerous how? It’s only a board with some letters and numbers written on it.”
“I heard they were banned in England.”
“Couldn’t be, or they wouldn’t have made the app. You’re not scared, are you? It’s only a bit of fun.”
“I am definitely not scared,” I said.
“Hold your hand over the screen then.”
So I held out my hand, and Jay did the same, our fingertips just touching.
“The planchette thing is supposed to spell out the answers to our questions,” Jay said, indicating the little pointed disc hovering at one corner of the screen.
“Without us even touching it?”