Only the Strongest Survive

by Ian Fox

  “I …”

  “Your car is all damaged. Were you in an accident?”

  John put his hands on his throbbing head, confused, trying to think what to say. He was not sure that Emely really was lying in the room. The whole thing seemed like a terrible nightmare. He looked at his watch. It was 6:00 p.m. Then he glanced downstairs, making sure that Ronald had not brought his wife with him. He felt so dazed that he nearly fell.

  “When I couldn’t get to sleep, I set off for home. But I was unlucky and hit a large tree root and my car turned onto its side.”

  He looked toward the room where Emely lay. The door was closed. He backed away, hoping Ronald would follow. “I spent over an hour getting the vehicle back on the wheels, by which time I was so dirty and tired that I just came back here again.”

  “I can see, you left mud everywhere.” He pointed to the bits of soil that trailed all the way to Emely’s room.

  “And why have you come back?” John asked Ronald, keeping the reproach out of his voice.

  “I left my briefcase. Damn it, I don’t know where I put it.” He looked around. “Have you seen it?”

  “No!” John said sharply.

  Ronald, deep in thought, walked to one of the rooms and opened the door. He went in and looked around, then wanted to go to the next room, frowning. “Where could I have left it?”

  John looked helplessly on as his brother was getting closer and closer to Emely’s room. He’s sure to go in there too. I’ve got to do something. This time he won’t spoil my plans.

  “I wouldn’t have come back,” Ronald said while examining the interior of the fourth room, “if I didn’t urgently need some papers that are in my briefcase.” He stopped for a moment and scratched his chin, thinking, and looked at John.

  “Oh, I know,” he said with a nasty smile, “I probably left it in the room where I watched Emely while she slept.”

  “I don’t think you did,” John said, clenching his fist.

  Ronald grabbed the door handle and turned it.

  John shouted, “Stop!”

  “What!”

  “I've just remembered. You left it in the guest lounge when we drank coffee yesterday.” John approached his brother, almost shouting, “You do remember, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, I think you’re right.” He stood motionless for a few moments, thinking, his hand still holding the door handle. Then he smiled.

  He pointed at the old wooden banister. “The paint’s peeling off. It needs repainting.” He looked up. “The walls are dirty too. Everything’s falling apart. What do you think? Should we try and sell this place?” He looked at John, who was trembling. Ronald stepped closer. “You seem a bit pale.” He came even closer. “Are you feeling alright? Do you want me to take you home?”

  “No, no,” John said, taking an angry step back. He felt like a pressure cooker about to explode. He was so angry and afraid, he could barely breathe. Drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. He wanted to say something else, but changed his mind as he knew it would come out as a stutter.

  “OK, but I’m telling you, you really don’t look too good.” Ronald spent a few more moments looking at him before he set off downstairs to the lounge.

  He was not even aware that only a few moments ago he had been in serious danger. Not even John knew what would have happened if he had opened that door.

  When Ronald found his briefcase next to the couch, he smiled. “Thank God. I’ll make us some coffee. You certainly need it.” He went to the kitchen.

  John irritably watched his brother rummage through the kitchen cupboards. “I don’t want any coffee,” he shouted angrily.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said I didn’t want any coffee.” He adjusted his belt, which was annoying him, and then followed his brother into the kitchen. “I’ve got a stomachache and don’t want anything.”

  “I see. … You do look a bit edgy.” Ronald looked down for a few moments, then up again into John’s eyes as he came closer. He put his arm around John’s shoulders and squeezed lightly. “You know, John, what we did last night was a just act. Every deception must be punished. I’m in shock, too, but I hide it well.”

  All the hair on John’s hands stood upright while his brother stroked his neck.

  Ronald had never felt better and didn’t know where all his energy was coming from. He bet himself he could run all day up and down hills and swim across lakes. Instead of eight hours’ sleep he needed only four and still felt unnaturally good. Something definitely changed since they had finished off that woman.

  He said, “I know you’re in shock and that’s perfectly normal. But believe me, it’ll all be over in a few days. Don’t think about it too much.” He patted John’s right shoulder.

  Suddenly a creak could be heard from upstairs.

  Ronald tilted his head and listened. “I think I heard something.” He took a few steps toward the stairs and listened for a few moments.

  Meanwhile, John started rummaging in drawers looking for the meat tenderizer.

  “Quiet, John, damn it. Stop making all that noise.” Ronald turned his head in different directions in order to find the origin of the noise.

  John wiped the sweat running down his face.

  “Oh well,” Ronald said with a wave of his hand. “This damn place really has had it. A few more years and the rats will have eaten it. I’m gonna have to take some time to come here and deal with that vermin.”

  John breathed a sigh of relief. He slowly put the old wooden tenderizer in its place, pushed the drawer closed, but not completely. He knew those sounds were not made by rats. Emely was regaining consciousness. I’ve got to get rid of this idiot before something really does go wrong.

  He looked around nervously, trying to think of something to say that would make him leave. If Emely made another noise, Ronald would recognize it and then John would have no choice but to kill his brother. This thought made him grimace.

  “As I said, I’m in a hurry. Call me when you get home,” Ronald said, and left immediately.

  John followed him out in a daze, unable to believe that he was really going. Feeling stiff, he watched Ronald’s vehicle announcing its departure by blowing clouds of smoke out of its tailpipe.

  When the car was completely gone and only a remote noise made by the diesel engine could still be heard, John ran upstairs. Emely is awake, I must go to her.

  He opened the door swiftly and saw that she was sweating and shivering with fever. Her head kept moving left and right, her eyes were closed, and her forehead was damp with perspiration. She was making incoherent noises through slightly parted lips.

  John spent some time staring at her, surprised and helpless. He had never in his life had to take care of anyone. He watched her for a few more seconds, then went to get a bowl of warm water and a cloth. Slowly and carefully he wiped her face and since she still did not wake up, he continued by mopping her hands and legs.

  Gradually she calmed down and fell into a deep sleep. He covered her and went to the room next door to pick up another duvet. He sat on her bed and watched her for over half an hour, afraid that what was now regular breathing would once more turn into wheezing and crying. He didn’t want her to suffer any more, saying a silent prayer: Let the poor thing sleep and rest.

  Then he left the room and went to the kitchen for some food.

  He opened a large can of baked beans and tipped it into a pan. Only when the intoxicating smell of food arose did he become truly hungry. He quickly opened another can to double the portion. He had not felt this hungry for a long time and his stomach was protesting noisily. Normally he would never eat anything from a can, being a real gourmet and focused on healthy eating. But he had no choice now. When he had run down the stairs earlier, he’d thought about fresh vegetables and a nice piece of meat. As he entered the kitchen and looked in the cupboards he realized that he would not be able to wait any longer. His body demanded food, healthy or not; the only thing that mattered was
that it would satisfy his hunger.

  When the beans were ready, he ate them out of the pan, paying no attention to the sauce running down his chin. Baked beans had never before tasted so good. Even in a Mexican restaurant. What a relief! When he had finished he wiped his face on a paper towel and sat on a kitchen stool. He looked at the shabby cupboards until his eyes stopped on a drawer in which the meat tenderizer was kept. This thought made him jump up. Ronald could come back again. Where can I hide Emely?

  He went to the attic first. With difficulty he pulled open the old, heavy door on which a rusty metal ring hung in place of a doorknob. Zillions of tiny particles of wood from the door had scattered onto the floor, telling him termites had been at work.

  He went in slowly. Thick cobwebs at least a decade old clung to his head. He kept blowing and waving them away in disgust. To his surprise the old yellowed light bulb still worked and he was able to have a good look around the room, which was full of old junk.

  He spotted an old-fashioned record player with a collection of records, which reminded him of his father, who used to listen to these same records every night. Next to the record player, an ancient black bicycle rested on completely decayed tires. John had used this bike to ride along the forest paths when he was six years old. He glanced at the familiar gardening tools and cans of green and brown paint which could barely be seen under all the cobwebs. Old cupboards on legs and a few other pieces of kitchen furniture took up one corner. His attention was also attracted by huge metal pots, their edges completely rusty, in which his mother used to make delicious jams.

  No, this place isn’t suitable for Emely. He closed the door and brushed the dust and cobwebs off his T-shirt and pants. Then he went down to the basement. As soon as he inhaled the cold air that smelled of damp rot, his body shuddered. Even as a child he had never liked the cold basement. He could spend no more than ten minutes in there when his father occasionally sent him down to get a bottle of wine.

  If monsters and ghosts do exist, they must live in this basement, he had often thought. That dark place was the source of all his nightmares. He could never understand why such a large place should have only one light bulb. There were other lights in there, but only one of them ever worked. His father had never replaced the others. John had always hated it.

  But now he went down the narrow steps, waving his hands in front of him to remove the cobwebs. The visibility was low, as the only working light was covered with sticky dust. The dirty steps led to the wine cellar that was stocked with empty bottles and huge wooden barrels. He noticed a few brown bottles that were still full of wine and he wondered about their value. He sniffed the air that was suffused with the sour smell of wine mixed with dust, which irritated the mucous membrane of his sensitive nose.

  He set off down a narrow corridor measuring at least five yards, and noticed on his right the doors leading to smaller rooms. They were also filled with all sorts of junk. There was the wooden dog kennel made by his granddad. His heart ached as he remembered a cocker spaniel that used to follow him around when he was a child. They were best friends. How come he had never got a dog later in his life? I don’t have the time anyway, he thought. A toy merry-go-round also attracted his attention.

  He came to the end of the corridor and opened a heavy, creaking wooden door. Before him lay a room that he had completely forgotten about. He had only been in there maybe three times when he was young, always accompanied by his father. When he was a child he was always afraid of this room and it never entered his head to visit his dad when he had withdrawn from his family in there.

  John examined the old bookcases along the walls that were still full of books. He opened a few drawers and saw all sorts of tools. The room was a combination reading room and workshop. This will be suitable for Emely.

  Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen and made some coffee. He took a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote a shopping list. Then he lit a cigarette and thought about his plan.

  *

  John Langdon was speeding down a narrow tarred road, singing to himself. He was aware that he was driving too fast; the road was wet and slippery due to the rain that had started falling. It had been a long time since he was in such a good mood. He leaned forward and looked at the sky. Although it was darkening, the sun was still shining with a soft and warm light. On his right, the sky was becoming leaden-gray and the horizon black. It looked as if the still scarce raindrops would soon turn into a downpour. But this didn’t bother him. He was humming a tune that had been going through his head since the morning, when he heard it on the radio. In order to reach the town sooner, he pressed even harder on the gas pedal. There were so many things he had to buy. Thinking about his plan, he felt proud of himself for having had such a good idea.

  In a store selling electronic equipment, a man with a mustache asked John, “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to buy a computer.”

  “Yes, of course. What type?”

  “It’ll be used mainly for displaying graphics, so I need a good processor and a fair amount of memory. And at least a twenty-one-inch monitor.”

  In half an hour, he had all the necessary equipment in his car. He made a phone call next.

  “Hello,” said Meier.

  “Hi, it’s John.”

  “Is something wrong, John?”

  Meier was the owner and director of the company where John had worked for the last seven years. He thought it strange that John was calling him at home.

  “I’d like to start my vacation tomorrow.”

  “That’s impossible, you know how much work we have right now.”

  There was a deadly silence.

  “I really need this. There are some things I need to sort out.”

  “No way, no vacation,” Meier said coldly.

  “In that case I’m forced to resign.”

  “What? How dare you! What about your notice?”

  “I don’t give a damn about my notice.”

  “What? How? No …”

  John calmly cut the line and went to a home store and, later, the nearest supermarket. He left with a shopping cart full of groceries, enough for at least a week. He sang as he drove back.

  The rain had nearly stopped and it seemed to be brightening up. The horizon was blue again and the first orange rays of the setting sun were already peeping out from behind the dark clouds.

  As soon as he reached the house, he ran upstairs to Emely’s room. He went in expecting her to be asleep. But to his surprise she was awake, and she stared calmly at him.

  “Emely?”

  She said nothing. Not a muscle on her face moved. It was as if she wore a rubber mask.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Still nothing. He looked at her thin, pale hands lying at her side and for a moment he doubted she was still alive. Not a finger moved. The only sign of life were her shining eyes, boring into him.

  He had to look away because he couldn’t stand it. He was beginning to feel embarrassed. There was something in those eyes. He could sense immense hatred, as if she could kill him with a look. He sat on her bed and shook her slightly.

  “Emely?”

  She looked away, barely able to contain the tears that had gathered in her eyes. A fierce pain at the front of her head had been throbbing since she had woken up. But there was a much worse pain in her heart. Every time this vital organ pushed the blood around her veins, she felt a chill in her limbs. Her hairs stood on end and her every movement was accompanied by pain. She wanted to die. Her brain was spinning with questions: Why didn’t they leave me in that grave? Why didn’t they allow my heart to stop forever? She couldn’t believe they would do something like that.

  “My God, Emely, are you alright?”

  She looked at him like a snake would and spit in his face. “How can you mention God after what you’ve done?”

  It came as such a surprise that John screamed and jumped off her bed. He looked at her with astonishment and reached into his p
ocket. “Damn it, I knew you were up to something.”

  Then he laughed, pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped off her saliva. He folded the handkerchief twice and put it back in his pocket. He grabbed her by the neck. “Listen, you bitch. If it weren’t for me, you’d have been dead long ago. Which doesn’t mean you won’t be.”

  “What do you want?” she asked dryly.

  “Let’s do everything in the right order.”

  He let go of her neck and stroked her face. Then he got up and pulled some chewing gum out of his pants pocket, put it in his mouth, and began chewing noisily. He didn’t know where to begin. “You mentioned two million dollars in a Swiss account.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “I hope it wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. Because if it was ….”

  “I’ve told you. No one knows about it but me.”

  He nodded in satisfaction. If it transpired that she didn’t have the money, he would simply have to get rid of her again. “And how would you transfer the money to my account? I’m not so stupid as to think that the police aren’t monitoring everything.”

  “I can arrange the transfer in five minutes over the phone, with a password that only I know. It’s not a normal bank account, so don’t worry about the police. I’ve kept this money for a real emergency, like a war or something.”

  “Good.”

  He went and opened the shutters on the windows so that daylight joined the light cast by the bulb. Then he adjusted the heavy drapes. Dirty dark patches appeared on the walls that had not been visible earlier. It was clear that the room had not been painted for at least twenty years.

  “You’ll do that tomorrow. Now I’ll go make you some dinner.”

  After he had closed the door and she heard the lock, she felt relief. Calm and completely without any feelings she stared at the yellowed wall. She felt no fear, only hatred. She could not care less about that money; she just wanted to live. She wanted revenge.

  Then she remembered when they had buried her. After she had regained consciousness in the coffin and became aware of where she was, she had begun banging on the wood that was constraining her. In the hope of opening the coffin she pushed against it with her legs. She tried with all the energy she had, but nothing gave. Just a bit more, she told herself, I’ll get it.