Vicious Rumer

by Joshua Winning

  Not my mother. The Red Widow. Celene. When has she ever done anything remotely motherly?

  Celene doesn’t acknowledge me. Her misty grey eyes are trained on the road. Her hair’s ash white and her bony hands throttle the steering wheel.

  A thousand questions cram into my mouth and I can’t chew them into any order. I’m light headed and my vision swims. Must’ve hit my head when the SUV rolled. I stare at the car ceiling, marvelling at the flickering stars, then not marvelling, because I remember I’m screwed.

  My mouth fills with saliva and I vomit all over the backseat.

  ‘Try to relax, Rumer.’

  If she means to be comforting, she’s failing spectacularly.

  ‘Sure, why not?’ I slur. My tongue’s too big and my throat’s on fire. ‘Never heard of an unrelaxed murder victim.’

  Her eyes flicker at me in the mirror, eyebrows pinching together. Is that surprise? Confusion? Her expressions are alien to me.

  ‘What you going to use? A knife? A gun? Bit of rope?’

  ‘Quiet,’ she says. ‘Save your strength.’

  ‘Yeah, gotta struggle when you kill me or it’s no fun, right?’

  ‘Nobody’s going to kill you.’

  I hurl a laugh at her. Then my mouth floods with saliva again and I swallow hard, crushing the seat in my grip, desperate not to throw up again. I come close. I feel like a kid in one of those stupid TV shows. A sixteen-year-old who’s drunk too much cider in the park and now Mum’s driving me home, so cross that she can’t speak. I should feel something more than this maddening sense of unreality, but I’m trapped in the bad dream.

  A thrumming ache ticks in the back of my skull, like somebody’s tapping against it.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  I try to focus on the road, counting the white strips as they disappear beneath us. It helps. I get to fifty before I realise we’re not on the motorway any more. At some point, we slipped off onto a side road and we’re the only car around. It’s so dark all I can see in the window is my reflection.

  I’m not going to lie, I’ve looked better.

  ‘You’re dead,’ I murmur. ‘Why are you here?’

  My thoughts tumble the way the SUV did. Is Mara still alive? He was unconscious in the SUV, or I assumed he was. The crash could have broken his neck. The others came back to get him, and Bolt must’ve been with them. He was in the first SUV. Have they taken him somewhere? The pit? Or is he strapped to a chair like Ellis was? Something tells me Mara’s dogs will make me look restrained when it comes to interrogation.

  And I’m in the car with my mother.

  I’m with her.

  In her car.

  Hysteria buzzes, static in my brain, and I try to shake it off, but it gets louder with every second. If I give in to it, I’ll start thinking about how I’m trapped in here, and how the most dangerous woman who ever lived is taking me somewhere remote so she can pop a cap in my head. Or maybe she’ll do it slowly. Tease out every strip of pain. Savour the sight of the life trickling out of me.

  And there’s part of me that always knew it would end like this.

  I had it coming.

  It feels right that it’s Celene who’s going to end me.

  She’s the one who started me.

  The hysteria latches on with steel claws.

  ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ I slur. My voice sounds wrong. Un-me.

  Maybe I can take her down with me. Make my death count for something. She could be the first person I kill on purpose, and it’d mean something. It’d mean nobody else ends up a victim.

  Now. I need to do it now, while she’s distracted by the road.

  I brace myself, deepen my breathing.

  As I prepare to lunge forward, she catches me in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Rumer. I know you don’t believe me, but you’re safe.’

  For the first time, she sounds convincing, even if what she’s saying is ridiculous. Safe with her? Was I born yesterday?

  Weariness sucks the strength from my limbs. Weighs them down. The buzzing in my skull has spread, cramping my neck and shoulders so that I hunch in a ball on the back seat. Is this what concussion feels like? I curl up like a woodlouse and listen to the rain.

  What feels like moments later, the jeep turns and the road feels different. Stones tic against the chassis and we’re on a dirt track. Trees muscle in around the car and the darkness is complete.

  Then, ahead, glimmers of light appear. Orange flames.

  We creak to a standstill. A chain-link gate rests in front of us and Celene opens her window as a stony-faced woman approaches. They exchange a few words I can’t hear, then the woman heaves the gate open and we drive into some kind of compound.

  Wooden huts stand on stilts. Gas lamps flicker on porch steps raised off the ground. We drive by a guy who’s clutching a shovel, which isn’t creepy at all. He’s dressed like a janitor in a pressed white shirt. He blinks and raises a hand as he’s caught in the SUV’s headlights, and I catch a strange look between him and Celene.

  Then we’re past him and I’m not comforted by the fact that there’s nobody else around. The place almost looks cosy, until I realise what it is. This is why my mother hasn’t been seen for over twenty years. Her cult upped sticks, relocated here.

  I’m in the middle of nowhere with a load of devil worshippers, and that’s why Celene didn’t kill me on the spot, because what’s the one thing devil worshippers do?

  They offer up human sacrifices.

  Celene parks by two other grey jeeps and gets out. She pops my door and insects churn in my belly. I try to resist her, but she snaps at me and something about her tone turns me to jelly.

  She drags me out of the car and I lean against her. I can’t help it. The ground’s spinning and I smell the rain in her hair.

  ‘Just do it,’ I murmur. ‘Just do it already. I don’t care any more.’

  I’m not even sure what I mean.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I must have passed out. I don’t remember closing my eyes. When I open them, it’s dark and I’m lying down. Wood beams criss-cross the ceiling and my stomach turns at the smell of coffee coming in under the door.

  I sit up with a start and regret it. My head feels like it’s split open and I’m so sore it’s like somebody’s been playing piñata with my unconscious body. Which isn’t too far from the truth, considering the car crash.

  The room’s small. Just a bed, a sink and a cracked mirror. There are orange flickers outside the window. A fire spits in my belly. The window. I’m alone and there’s a window. I need to get out of here. Now.

  I have no idea what sort of life Celene’s been living in this place, but I don’t want to find out. She’s trying to trick me. She’s been tracking me for God knows how long and now she has me.

  I don’t particularly want to be a human sacrifice – tonight or any other night.

  Screwing up my face, I ease myself off the bed. My muscles are solid rock and I’m sweating, but I can’t let that stop me. I count.

  One. Two. Three.

  And I’m up. Steadying myself against the bed, I shamble over to the window. I’m just about to push it open when the door clicks behind me.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  I spin around, almost toppling over. The room splits into four, then two. Finally I’m able to refocus.

  ‘What did you do to me?’ I demand, clutching the windowsill.

  Celene’s face is expressionless but I know she’s drugged me. Why else would I feel this groggy?

  ‘You were in pain.’

  We stare at each other and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She looks so different in the flesh. Not the phantom I feared and not the skull-faced assassin from the newspapers. Something else. Harder and softer. Older.

  ‘Where are we?’ I ask.

  ‘My home. Come, I made you supper. You’ll feel better.’

  ‘I’m not eating anything.’

  ‘You want
to starve?’

  ‘Better than being poisoned.’

  ‘Nobody’s going to poison you.’

  ‘Says the mass murderer.’

  Nothing. No reaction. She’s like a robot and her laser eyes burn into me.

  ‘You’re dead,’ I say.

  ‘We’ll talk about that when you’ve rested.’

  ‘There’s a grave. They found your body.’

  Her gaze flickers. Is that anger or am I making her uncomfortable? ‘I’ll be outside. Let me know when you change your mind.’

  ‘So I’m your prisoner now?’

  She starts to leave. Casually, she says, ‘There’s no lock on the door. Oh, and the window’s a thirty-foot drop to the ground.’ The door shuts behind her and I want to scream at it, blast it into splinters, but I don’t have the energy. I turn and throw the window open, freezing air snarling in my hair, shocking me awake.

  Celene wasn’t lying.

  The ground looks impossibly far away. Compacted dirt. If I jump, I’ll break both legs and a hundred other bones besides. This isn’t the way out. I dig my nails into the windowsill, wanting to tear strips out of it. I’ll have to wait for my moment again. Play along until I spot my chance, then grab it with both hands.

  For now, I need to rest. To get strong. Find out where Bolt was taken and make Mara pay for all the shit he’s brought into my life. I won’t be able to rest until I’ve avenged George. Except… is that what George would want? Me going up against a dangerous criminal, which’ll either end with my death or somebody else’s?

  My bones weigh me down and I don’t know what the right thing to do is. There is no right thing.

  I glance at the bed, but it seems almost as far away as the ground. I slide to the floor, resting my back against the wall.

  It’s still dark when I wake up and a shadow’s watching me.

  For a second I imagine it’s Mara but, as my sight adjusts to the dark, I see it’s a grey-haired man. The click of the door closing woke me up and his eyes glint like ten pence pieces. He looks about sixty. There’s barely any flesh on his bones.

  I push my hands under me, but they barely move. Whatever Celene gave me worked. I’m as useless as a person can be, and knowing that makes me afraid. Whoever the old man is, he can do whatever he wants.

  ‘Rumer? Is that you?’

  His voice is a whisper like dead leaves and he’s hunched by the door. He can’t possibly be afraid of me. That doesn’t make any sense. I’m paralysed on the floor, my back against the wall.

  ‘Rumer?’

  I don’t answer. We stare at each other.

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it? She finally found you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ My voice is a croak.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re really here. After all this time.’

  I’m starting to think this guy isn’t playing with a full deck and that thought only increases my anxiety. What if he has a knife on him? Or some kind of sacrificial doohickey? What if he’s come to carve out the first bit of flesh?

  ‘Get out.’ I try to sound stronger than I feel.

  He doesn’t move, which gives me the impression of a coiled snake. He’s stick-thin but that doesn’t mean he’s not strong. The state I’m in, he could probably overpower me easily.

  ‘How do you like Camp Virtus?’ he asks.

  I hesitate before answering. Talking to him won’t make him leave any quicker. Unless it will. Eventually I push my chin out and stare into his face, swallowing the anxiety like a stone.

  ‘It’s heaven,’ I say.

  ‘And your mother? She’s what you expected?’

  ‘How do you know–’

  ‘You’re the image of her.’

  My patience is wearing thin. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A friend of Celene’s.’ He shakes with sudden laughter. ‘Friend! Never imagined I’d call her that. If you’d told me thirty years ago that’s something I’d say, I’d call you a liar.’

  ‘You’ve known her that long?’ The uneasiness floods back. Is this one of Celene’s old mob buddies? He looks so frail I can’t imagine him ever wielding that sort of power, but he was young once. Maybe life as a mobster took its toll.

  He ponders me and the curiosity in his face makes me want to shrivel into a husk.

  ‘Been around her, yes,’ he says. ‘Known her? As well as anybody could know a shadow.’

  Shadow. Paranoia bristles through me, but he can’t possibly know what I do for a living. Did for a living. No way Julian’s keeping me on the payroll after I got Bolt to use him as a crash dummy.

  ‘Just get out of here,’ I say, but I sound less determined than before. He’s got me curious and I need answers about this place. He might just be crackers enough to give them up.

  He must notice my curiosity because he chuckles softly, then grows serious. His eyebrows are bushy, deep lines carved into his leathery skin. I’m reminded of George and my chest aches.

  ‘She’s made a good life for herself here. We both have. She’s private, keeps to herself. Sometimes she goes off for days. Weeks, even. When she gets back, she’s always exhausted. I worried what she was doing, but now I know. She was looking for you.’

  I hold his gaze and wonder what he’s trying to tell me. I feel like he’s leading up to something. Does he know what Celene’s really up to? Or is he just a sweet old man who wants to see a mother have her happily-ever-after with her daughter?

  I remind myself I’m in a camp of devil worshippers.

  He stares over my head, out the window. ‘Everybody here knows about her past. Perhaps not the dirtiest details, but enough. They were shocked at first, but shock has a habit of dulling and being forgotten.’ His brow darkens. ‘I remember.’

  ‘What do you remember?’ My heart’s jack-rabbiting and I stiffen against the floorboards, trying to wake up my body. Queasily, I manage to push myself up off the floor and lean against the window ledge.

  ‘Did you ever wonder who named you?’

  ‘What?’

  That twinkly half smile’s back and I swear if I wasn’t using all my energy on just standing, I’d help him remove it.

  ‘Rumer… it’s an odd name.’ His knowing look infuriates me. ‘I think I chose well.’

  I want to throw him out face first. Slam the door on his rambling. There’s nothing I can do, though. I’m stuck to the spot, waiting for him to speak.

  Questions smash at the inside of my skull. He named me? I’ve never seen this guy before, but if he gave me my name, does that make him my–

  ‘I saw her do things I’ll never forget,’ the man says. He swings an arm and I notice he’s clutching a bottle. Caramel-coloured liquid sloshes around inside and I eye him with sudden scepticism. He already sounded like a loon before I noticed the bottle.

  ‘Terrible, terrible…’ the guy goes on. ‘She claims she’s changed, but I see it sometimes. In a look or the way her shoulders creep up. She’s keeping it in check, but sometimes I wonder…’

  ‘You were in the cult with her.’

  It’s obvious. No other way he’d have known her this long.

  He massages his hip absent-mindedly. ‘When she fell pregnant, she tried to get rid of you. When she couldn’t, she sank into despair.’

  This all sounds weirdly familiar but I can’t think why. Whatever Celene gave me, it’s making me slower. My thoughts bleed together.

  ‘Despair,’ I say. ‘Because she couldn’t get rid of me.’

  ‘She said she wanted to change.’ The guy takes a swig from the bottle and wipes his lips on his arm. ‘I gave her a fresh start. Found a way. Wiped it clean.’

  I’m hugging myself so hard I think I’ll crack a rib.

  ‘Fresh start?’

  He turns to me and his eyes are bloodshot and glistening, his lips still wet.

  ‘I was different then, too. I didn’t think… But then you were born, and she ran, and I didn’t know what to do with you. I should have ended it there, but you didn’t look like a monster. S
o I gave you a gift – a name – and I left you with a friend… and then I ran, too.’

  I’m shaking. Every bit of me is trembling, as if the temperature’s plummeted, but I can’t feel the cold. I try to make sense of what the stranger’s telling me. That he was the one responsible for the curse. It all goes back to him.

  ‘How do you know all this? Who are you?’

  ‘They call me Domhnall here. Before that, I was Kieran. And at one point I went under Dominic Waters, but that was years ago.’

  Dominic Waters.

  THE CURSE OF CELENE CROSS.

  The wind’s knocked out of me. There’s roaring in my ears. Dominic’s the one who sold his story to Crystal Visions, the spiritual magazine. The one about how Celene fell pregnant, and they cursed her newborn so that it would bear the weight of all Celene’s crimes. That’s why it sounds so familiar. I’m face to face with my maker.

  My ears are ringing and my head’s heavy with confusion. And somewhere in there is grim relief, because somebody’s finally confirmed what I’ve always feared.

  My voice is a rasp. ‘You did this to me?’

  He nods and then his eyes are bulging out of their sockets because I’ve clamped a hand around his throat. I’ve thrown myself at him without realising it, without even knowing I had the strength, and I spin him around, forcing him back into the windowsill.

  The bottle smashes on the floor, but even the sweet scent of liquor can’t mask the reek of alcohol ingrained in his skin and clothes.

  ‘You did this!’ The growl vibrates up from my gut and I don’t care if Celene hears. Let her see what she created. Just because I don’t look like a monster doesn’t mean I’m not one.

  ‘Please, it was so long ago.’ He gulps for air, his breath foul with booze. ‘I didn’t…’

  His eyes are practically on stalks and the fear shining there is intoxicating. I wonder if he looked at my mother this way when she was pregnant and threatened to kill him if he told anybody. He’s staring at me like I’m mad, and he’s terrified because, even through his drunkenness, he knows mad people are impossible to predict.

  I see George and Frances and Troll and I want to tip this sack of bones over the edge of the windowsill. Watch his body fall and hit the hard ground. He’s so frail he’ll smash into a hundred pieces.