by Carys Jones
Isla stood against the side of the crib and realized how large Meegan was within it. At first she’d been a tiny ball with too much hair who would curl up in the far corner. Now Meegan took up almost all of the space between the wooden bars. Soon she would need a bed of her own.
The thought of buying Meegan a bed saddened Isla. Time was passing by so quickly. Creeping away from the crib, Isla headed to her own bedroom just across the hall. She still found it strange to climb into an empty bed. Each night she’d glance across at the other side and her heart would sink in her chest. If Aiden was there, she’d have commented to him about how Meegan now needed a bed. He’d share her concern for how fast time was racing by and perhaps they’d even reminisce about how tiny their daughter had once been.
But the bed was empty. Isla turned away from the vacant sheets and lifted her hand to her lips which continued to tingle. A shy smile pulled on them as she recalled Guy’s passionate kiss. Thinking of him made the emptiness of the bedroom appear less vast. A warm glow colored her cheeks as Isla picked up her cell phone to see if she’d heard from him.
When she was dating Aiden, he would always send her a message after a date to make sure she got home okay. He’d usually gush about what a great time he’d had. Isla used to find those messages clingy, especially since they both lived on the college campus so it wasn’t like she had far to go to get home. But now Isla felt the sweetness in the sentiment behind them.
Still smiling, she unlocked her phone, expecting to see a new message waiting for her from Guy. But there was nothing. She had no messages.
Isla frowned and checked her emails. He hadn’t contacted her there either. With an exasperated breath she told herself that it didn’t mean anything. He’d probably get in touch the following day. After all, he’d given her his credit card to allow her to buy a new dress. Why bother if he wasn’t going to message her straight after their date?
Biting her lip, Isla concocted a multitude of reasons for why Guy might not have contacted her. Her favorite was that he was conscious of appearing too keen. He wasn’t like Aiden. Guy was confident and self-assured whilst Aiden was too honest to care what people thought of him. If he wanted to message Isla then he would, because he’d rather make sure she got home safe than try to play it cool.
As Isla thought about Guy and Aiden, she absently searched for Avalon on her phone. The small device told her that the town was currently experiencing severe storms. Isla called up Aiden’s details, her finger hovering over the call icon. She didn’t like to think of him home alone while a storm raged outside. She remembered how loud storms had seemed back in Avalon, they used to sound like they were going to tear through the walls of their thin house.
Glancing around her room, Isla wondered if she’d even notice if there was a storm in Chicago. She was twelve storys up in an apartment with only a few windows. She doubted that the walls would tremble against the roar of thunder. All she had to do was apply pressure from one finger to be connected with him. And what then? Would her call wake him from sleeping? Would he be pleased to hear from her or annoyed? And what if he asked her about her evening, would Isla come clean and tell Aiden about Guy?
Locking her cell phone, Isla placed it on her nightstand and turned out the light. She rolled onto her side and stared sadly at the empty bed beside her. Her cheeks were now red from shame. She didn’t want Aiden to know about Guy because she didn’t want Aiden to think less of her. She wanted him to still care about her. She still wanted to be the girl he messaged at the end of the night to make sure she got home alright.
As Isla eventually drifted off to sleep, her thoughts were of Avalon, of the home she’d been so eager to leave which she now found herself missing from time to time. A light rain covered the streets of Chicago but it made only a whisper against Isla’s bedroom window.
*
Aiden was suddenly jolted awake. His heart was hammering in his chest as he looked around the bedroom, getting his bearings as the last remnants of the nightmare he’d just been in floated away.
Rain lashed against the window having lost none of its previous intensity. Sitting up, Aiden pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and groaned. His shoulders felt tight and uncomfortable from having slept poorly.
“Are you okay?” He turned slightly to look at Brandy. Only she wasn’t there. There were only the crumpled sheets where she’d previously been.
“Brandy?” Aiden lowered his hand and glanced around the darkness of the room. A sharp sound downstairs made him jump. It sounded like a door being slammed shut.
Aiden thought of the noose swinging outside his kitchen window and something within him tightened uneasily. He reached for his bedside table, switching on the light and then opening the top drawer. The black case which housed his new gun gleamed in the lamp light. Aiden reached to open it and then froze.
“Brandy!” He shouted out her name, loud enough for his voice to carry all the way downstairs where he presumed she was. After a slight delay Brandy responded but there was an odd stiffness to her voice.
“Aid, I’m down here.”
Aiden’s hand continued to hover over the gun case. He told himself that he was just jumpy because of the previous threat, that there was nothing to be afraid of.
“Did the storm scare you, sweetheart?” Aiden shouted, his question followed by a deep boom of thunder which resonated out above the house, shaking the walls.
There was a slight pause and then Brandy responded in that same tight tone.
“No, I’m not bothered by the storm, I’m just getting a glass of water.”
That did it. Aiden opened the black box and slid his new pistol into his hands. It still felt frighteningly heavy but he ignored his own apprehension about holding it and pressed it against his chest and crept towards the bedroom door.
A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the lounge beneath him as Aiden tentatively crept down the stairs. As his foot connected with the bottom step, he flicked on a nearby light switch, instantly bathing the entire room in white light. The sight which greeted him made his heart freeze in his chest.
“Aid,” Brandy was standing by her piano just a few feet in front of him. Her cheeks were smeared with tears and a dark blush crept up the one side of her face, hinting at the sharp strike she’d previously received from the man standing behind her.
The man was tall in stature, at least six foot four, which made him tower over Brandy’s tiny frame. He held her one shoulder with his large hand, the other pressed a gun against the side of her head. His skin was like cracked leather and the streaks of grey within his black hair were so bright they looked like they’d been painted on.
“I just went down to get a drink and he was…he was in the kitchen,” Brandy explained, physically trembling in the gunman’s grip.
“Shut up,” the man snarled, pressing the gun tighter against her head. Brandy squeezed her eyes shut as if bracing herself for the shot which would plunge her into eternal darkness.
Adrenalin poured into Aiden’s veins, his heart flapping faster than a hummingbird. He needed to do something and fast.
“What do you want?” he demanded, hoping he sounded menacing. He kept looking at his precious, beloved Brandy, held so crudely in this stranger’s grip. If the gunman squeezed on the trigger of his gun, the bullet would blow through her brains and land in her beloved piano which was beside her.
Aiden couldn’t lose her. He’d forsake his own life before he’d let her come to any harm. But what he could do? The gunman had the barrel of his gun connected to Brandy’s head, he could kill her in less than a second.
The only weapon Aiden really had in his arsenal was his ability to fight with words. He was going to have to try and reason with this invader in his home.
“Drop the gun,” the man demanded sharply, his gaze focusing on Aiden’s pistol. Aiden had forgotten he was even carrying it. Slowly, making large, obvious movements he began to raise his hands, including the one which was holding
his pistol.
“I’m going to put the gun on the floor,” Aiden told the gunman, maintaining constant eye contact with him as he spoke. “Just please, let her go.”
Aiden was lowering himself to the ground, preparing to put down his own gun.
He froze when he heard a sound like a heavy book falling to the floor with a deep thud. The sound was immediately followed by Brandy’s fearful screams. The gunman’s gaze had become glassy and his body was sagging forward, his knees buckling beneath him. Brandy was still screaming, covered in his fresh red blood.
Aiden straightened and saw that the top of the gunman’s head had been ripped away by the sharp trajectory of a bullet. The delicate-looking flesh of his brain was visible as blood poured out from the wound, gushing like water from a pump.
“What the fuck?” A new voice shouted angrily. Aiden barely had time to register what was happening.
A man with dark hair and cruel eyes was advancing towards them from the direction of the front door. His cheeks were still wet from the rain and he brandished a gun as he walked in fast, purposeful steps towards the couple.
Aiden felt the weight of his own gun still in his hand. Suddenly he was operating on autopilot. He saw the stranger aim his weapon with the intention of firing it but he was too late. Aiden squeezed multiple times on the trigger of his pistol. His aim had marginally improved since his day at the shooting range.
Three shots connected with the man’s chest, one shot missed and blew a hole in the wall of Aiden’s home, sending a framed picture of a bouquet of flowers clattering to the ground.
The man stopped advancing. He reeled back, the wind knocked out of him. Dropping his own gun, he stared wide-eyed at Aiden, his hands reaching for his chest. His clothes were quickly becoming soaked in his blood.
Falling to his knees he took desperate, labored breaths as blood trickled out of his mouth.
“Oh God,” Brandy uttered fearfully.
The man continued to gasp and splutter for air as blood collected in his lungs. His face became red and his eyes started to bulge. Then he fell forwards onto the carpeted floor. He trembled for a moment and then stilled.
Aiden released a long, uneasy breath. He glanced at the pistol he had dropped, feeling betrayed by his own reflexes. Then he looked back towards Brandy, her face and hair still mottled with crimson blood. Behind her stood the soaked figure of Buck Fern, his wet Stetson glistening in the light.
“Well, Connelly, I didn’t know you had it in ya,” he declared, raising a thin eyebrow and shoving his own gun back into its holster. Aiden looked down at the man who had been shot through the head and made the connection.
“You…you killed him,” Aiden struggled to find his voice.
“And you killed him,” Buck glanced past him at the other figure lying face down on the floor.
“Aid…” Brandy’s lower limp was trembling, her whole body shook as if she were standing, scantily clad, in Antarctica rather than her living room. Aiden embraced her, wrapping his arms protectively around her and kissing her head.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered reassuringly. “It’s okay.”
“He just…he came out of nowhere. I turned on the light and he was there…” Brandy continued to shake as she spoke, her words tumbling out through chattering teeth.
“She’s in shock,” Buck noted calmly as he maneuvered himself around the living room, closing up any doors that had been burst open.
“Brandy, it’s okay.” Aiden did his best to suppress his own feelings of shock so that he could support her.
“Aid, I’m scared.”
“They’re gone now.” Aiden glanced at the fresh corpses in his home and suddenly felt sick. He swallowed hard to prevent himself from retching. The silver of his pistol shone from where it had landed on the ground, reminding him how moments ago he had become a killer.
“They jimmied open your front and back doors,” Buck reported as he sauntered back into the living room. His steps were calm and his lips were held in a stoic line. He briefly removed his rain-slicked Stetson to run a hand through his thin hair.
“Who the hell were they?” Aiden blurted, grateful to be able to look at the old sheriff rather than at the dead bodies.
Lightning flashed ominously overhead, though the deep sounds were becoming less frequent; the storm was slowly moving away from Avalon.
Buck drew his eyebrows together and looked at Brandy.
“I think she needs to go and have a lie down.” His tone implied that it was more than just a suggestion.
“Aid, don’t leave me,” Brandy pleaded, still shaking uncontrollably.
“He has to,” Buck told her curtly. “We’ve got work to do.”
*
Meegan woke up screaming. The piercing sound tore through Isla’s dreams, instantly waking her. Frantically she ran to her daughter’s room and found Meegan sat up in her crib, her little face awash with tears.
“Oh, Meegs, it’s okay, Mommy’s here,” Isla whispered soothingly, reaching down to lift the toddler into her arms.
Meegan pressed her damp cheeks against Isla’s cheek and heaved out a number of sobs.
“Shh, what’s wrong?” Isla gently rubbed her daughter’s back whilst rocking her up and down. After just a few minutes her arms were beginning to ache from the strain of it. Meegan was almost at the point of being too heavy to hold.
Isla gently placed Meegan back in her crib.
“There, all better?”
“Mommy there was monster!” Meegan rubbed her bunched-up hands over her eyes and her lips were downturned in despair.
“A monster?” Isla frowned.
“There!” Meegan pointed a stubby finger towards one of the shadow-filled corners of the room. Her plug-in night-light bathed her bedroom in a gentle glow but it wasn’t strong enough to eliminate all the shadows which came out at night.
“There’s nothing there.” Isla gestured to the corner. “You were just having a nightmare.”
“Monster!” Meegan insisted, her fear giving way to indignation at her mother’s disbelief.
“Meegan, sweetheart, there are no such things as monsters,” Isla reassured her softly, drawing Meegan’s favorite soft toy close so that the little girl could embrace it.
“There are too!” Meegan argued.
“Trust me, there are no monsters. Now go back to sleep.” Isla leaned down to place a kiss upon Meegan’s forehead. The little girl yawned and then reluctantly lay back down, pressing her cuddly toy tightly against her like a protective shield.
Sighing wearily, Isla waited a moment to check Meegan was sleeping. Once she was satisfied that she wouldn’t wake again, she backed out of the room. As she did, she glanced briefly at the shadowed corner where Meegan feared a monster dwelled. A sharp sliver of cold ran down Isla’s spine making her entire body shiver. She froze, glancing into the darkness. Then she shook her head and berated herself for being so foolish.
Monsters weren’t real. They existed only in the wild realms of a child’s imagination. But when Isla lay back down in bed she was unable to go back to sleep. Her stomach knotted fearfully though she didn’t know why. Turning on her side Isla listened to the soft patter of the rain upon the window and thought again of Avalon and of the storm which was currently raging there.
*
Reluctantly, Brandy headed upstairs, her legs still shaking precariously beneath her.
Aiden pushed his hands up through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay.” He glanced towards the old sheriff for direction. “What happens now?”
Buck’s pewter gaze drifted between the two bodies lying lifelessly on the floor of Aiden’s home.
“You got a shovel?” he asked casually, tilting his head to the left as he surveyed the body closest to him. “If not, don’t worry,” Buck added with a shrug. “I always keep one in my truck.”
The old man bent his knees as he approached one of the bodies. He scooped his hands beneath their shoulders and began a
wkwardly tugging them across the floor, towards the front door.
“Jeez, he weighs a ton,” Buck muttered angrily under his breath. He paused, his cheeks already blooming red with effort. “Give me a hand, will ya?” he ordered Aiden briskly.
Numbly, Aiden stepped towards Buck and the body and then he froze and shook his head, pressing a hand to his temple.
“Stop!” he cried. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t move the bodies! This is a crime scene!”
With an exasperated sigh, Buck released the body he was carrying and straightened.
“I’m the law in Avalon,” he told Aiden, his voice level. “And I’m dealing with this situation. Now, help me drag him out to my car. Then we’ll come back for the other one.”
“How is putting them in your car dealing with the situation?” Aiden demanded, refusing to assist. “We need to call an ambulance, follow protocol.”
“I dictate the protocol in this town.” Buck pointed at his own chest with a bony finger. “What would you have me do, Connelly? Would you have me call an ambulance, cart these two bodies off the hospital? Then tomorrow it would be all over the papers that you and I killed two intruders who entered your home. What do you think would happen then?”
Aiden blinked with uncertainty.
“Do you think they don’t read newspapers in Mexico?” Buck asked with a sneer. “They’d figure out what we’ve done and the next time they hung a noose outside your home it wouldn’t be empty.”
Swallowing hard, Aiden realized that the old man was right. But the sickening reality of what they were about to do was starting to creep up his throat, tainting every word he uttered with bitter regret.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Aiden admitted, his voice small. He looked between the two bodies lying in his home. Moments earlier they had been breathing, their eyes bright with life. Now they were just empty vessels and it was partly his doing; his own hand had fired the deadly shots from the pistol he had bought. Aiden wasn’t a killer. It wasn’t in his nature. But a gut reaction had changed all that.
“I’d wipe that guilty look of your face,” Buck advised as he knelt back down and continued tugging one of the bodies towards the front door. “If you hadn’t defended your home those men would have raped the little blonde, made you watch and then stuck a bullet in your head.”