Marilyn

  'Ahh, a man after my own heart,' R.J. complimented. 'He sounds like a smart kid, I'm looking forward to meeting him,' he disclosed with courtesy and kindness.

  Marilyn rubbed her hands together, not really warming them, but keeping them busy, all the same.

  'Do you have any children, Sheriff?' she enquired.

  'No, I don't,' he replied, willingly. 'Me and the wife, I mean ex-wife talked about it, but it wouldn't have worked between us. We were going through a rough patch and we thought that it might have helped to bring us closer, or something like that, but it was a stupid idea, and we knew it.' He laughed at the memory. 'But I'd like to someday, I suppose. When I meet the right person.'

  Sheriff Russell forced the cruiser up the hill and around the bend, pushing against the brunt of the wind, rain and the wet terrain, finally hitting a smooth enough road where he could belt it. 'But I have a little brother. He's sixteen years younger than me. That's like having a child, I suppose.' He laughed, observing Elwood in the mirror. 'Just what do you intend on doing with that shotgun you've got there, Elwood?' R.J. asked, half-jokingly, half serious. 'I hope you've got a licence for that.'

  Elwood held his gaze upon the reflection of the sheriff and then looked across at Molly. He slicked his hair back and pushed his glasses up his nose.

  'I don't intend to do anything with Molly, Sheriff. She's just here for protection. For self-defence, you know?' he remarked with a chestnut smirk.

  The sheriff grinned, dubiously. 'Right you are, just keep that thing on a leash, I don't want any accidents, got it?'

  'Yeah, got it, Sheriff.'

  'Now, guys, I just want to clear a few things, so listen up. OK?' the sheriff ordered. 'Marilyn, I want you to stay in the car with Elwood, until myself and Officer Bennett have cleared the scene, OK?'

  Marilyn agreed quietly.

  'Now, I'm not saying it will, but if anything were to happen to the two of us, I want you two to drive back to town, back to the station. Notify Davies, Brewer and Langston, and get them to get in touch with nearby police stations, any way they can, even walk there if they have to. I don't want you taking matters into your own hands. Got it?' he finished. 'Marilyn, Jack needs you alive, not dead.'

  FORTY-FIVE

  Andrew's gun was aimed at O'Sullivan's head, right between the eyes. The bullet only had to travel fifteen feet to hit its target, but it was still risky. He kept his gun in place, his finger hovering over the trigger.

  'Baby, are you OK, has he hurt you?' pleaded Andrew, keeping the stern tone to match his eyes.

  Lizzy brought her stare from the floor, tracing the sounds of her father's voice until she found his face, the tears still running down her cheeks and into the crinkles of worry that lined her complexion. Her voice was firm, almost aged in the turbulent terror, in which she was an unwilling participant.

  'He hasn't hurt me, Daddy. But he hurt mom. I'm scared, Dad. I'm scared.'

  The sobbing returned, her salty tears dribbling into her open mouth as she winced in fright, feeling the gun once again pushing against her temple.

  Andrew's finger slid in anger across the trigger.

  'Honey, it's OK. Everything's going to be fine,' he promised. 'OK? Don't cry, baby, please don't cry. Can you be strong for Daddy, can you do that for me, huh?'

  O'Sullivan wrapped his filthy arm around her chest and pressed the barrel harder against her temple, making her flinch. Sweet, yellow innocence trickled down the inside of her thigh, warming her shivering body. She closed her eyes, shamefully.

  'How wonderful is this? Me, you, and your family. What a lovely fucking get-together,' O'Sullivan snarled, his sarcastic words sounding like a rabid dog, relishing in his own putrid evil. 'Where are the fucking keys to your car, Andrew?' he barked.

  'Don't you fucking talk to me, I haven't finished,' Andrew demanded, stone-faced, giving as good as he got, but feeling the irregular twinges pulling in his chest, just like last time.

  'Julie, darling, are you hurt, what did he do to you?' he quizzed lightly.

  Mrs Dunn let her arms swing loose at her sides, relinquishing her own grip. Giving in, she arched forward, rocking, losing it.

  'Andrew, shoot him, just fucking shoot him. What are you waiting for?' she yelled.

  'Honey, calm down, everything's going to fine, OK, just don't do anything stupid. Please,' he begged.

  Andrew's eyes searched the room, finding Jack next.

  'Jack, how are you doing, little buddy?' he investigated, tenderly. 'You hanging in there, little man?'

  The blood had dried, marking him, leaving a streaky trail of pain down his face, a young man's war paint. He was cold, on the edge of going into shock, his hand covered the wound from his savage attack. His eyesight flickered, like the flame of a dying candle. Jack pushed his back up hard against the leg of the table, balancing himself with his spare hand. His weary voice crackled and spluttered its way through the clogging blood that he had swallowed at the back of his throat.

  'Mr Dunn. I'm sorry,' he uttered, almost gargling. 'I'm so sorry.'

  'Don't be silly, Jack. You've got nothing to be sorry about. This isn't your fault,' he proclaimed, flicking his eyes back to O'Sullivan and then across to Julie. 'Julie, Lizzy. I love you both, very much. More than anything in the world. Whatever happens I just want you to know that, OK?' he vowed. Andrew turned to look at their captor, back to bargaining with the beast.

  'Let them go, O'Sullivan. You've got me. You don't need them. I'll lower my gun, just let them go,' he promised.

  Julie sat up, flinging her falling torso rigid, her eyes wide with disapproval.

  'Andrew, just shoot him. Just fucking shoot him,' she screamed.

  'Julie,' snapped Andrew. 'Calm down, baby, I'm dealing with this. OK? Don't give him a reason to pull that trigger.'

  'I'd listen to your husband, Julie, and keep that fucking mouth of yours shut,' laughed O'Sullivan, silencing them with his expletive interruption. 'The thing is, Andrew, you see, I don't need any of you, that's the fucking point here. All I want are the keys to your car,' he haggled. 'Now. Give me the fucking keys, or I'll pull this trigger.'

  FORTY-SIX

  The drive was not as bad as expected, it was a calm and almost soothing journey, down back country dirt roads barely wide enough for the Jeep to travel through. Together, all three rode in a mist of thoughtful secrecy, choosing not share anything aloud.

  A lot of the rainfall was unable to infiltrate the dense overhanging branches and the clusters of leaves that coated them. They could barely hear the drops hitting the roof. The cruiser tore through the sodden road, churning up stones and grit, spitting them out like disregarded toys, its bulky wheels managing to travel with little resistance from nature.

  'How much further, Sheriff?' asked Elwood, startling the other passengers, stealing them from their unuttered thoughts.

  'Well, we're making great time, better than I could have imagined, actually,' explained R.J. 'I thought the road would have been much worse than this. I can't be sure, but ten, maybe fifteen minutes.' He paused. 'Speaking of fifteen minutes, I should check in on Glenn, he should be there by now.'

  He flicked the windscreen wipers on.

  'Marilyn, can you get the radio out of the glove box, please?' he requested with an open hand.

  Marilyn unlocked the glove box and picked out the radio that was resting on top of several books of parking tickets. She held it out.

  Static.

  'Sheriff, you there? It's Davies.'

  The voice was deadpan, urgent, crackling through the static.

  'Jesus Christ, talk about timing,' laughed R.J. 'Do you mind holding it, Marilyn, my hands are tied?'

  'Yeah, of course,' she complied.

  Elwood leaned in through the gap of the seats, wanting to hear what was being said.

  'Yeah, Davies, it's me. Talk to me, what's going on?'

  Davies spoke proficiently, with consideration.

  'Boss, I've got the power up and running, the com
puters are back online.'

  'Good work, Davies. I'm damn proud of you!' R.J. clapped, taking both hands off the wheel. 'Maybe we'll talk about that raise, huh?'

  'Thanks, boss. Anyway, I looked up David O'Sullivan, turns out that he's someone else completely.'

  'Well, spit it out, Davies,' R.J. bawled, his eyes fixed on the radio.

  'David O'Sullivan is dead,' the voice trailed through the static.

  'Dead?'

  The three exchanged worried, breath-held glances.

  'Then who in the hell are we chasing, Davies? Tell me you've got something.'

  'Yeah, I've got something, boss.' Davies cleared his throat, his finger still on the radio for everyone to hear. 'David O'Sullivan was eight when he died. It was a hit and run. Nothing fishy about the case as far as I can see. Standard protocol was followed by the looks of things. They never found who did it. I don't think the case is even active anymore.'

  'Where are you going with this, Davies?' snapped R.J., his patience wearing thin.

  'I'm getting there.'

  Static.

  'I dug a little deeper. David O'Sullivan's father is a guy named Walter O'Sullivan. I looked into his life. Boss, he fits the physical description.'

  'What did you find, Davies?'

  Elwood leaned in closer.

  Marilyn shuffled in her seat.

  'He was a family man, married, a lawyer, quite successful as well. He had his little own firm once upon a time, but it's in liquidation now. So I checked out the financials, it was going broke, unpaid bills, and rent. He turned up to one AA meeting, but I can't find anything else on that. All of this was before his son was killed. After David died, he had a couple of hospital visits with two separate psychiatrists, and a psychologist, but stopped turning up. He's got prescriptions for everything, boss, and I mean everything. Sleep disorders, mental disorders, anti-psychotics, mood swings, depression, the works. Looks like he took the death of his son pretty hard, boss.'

  The three sat in a doleful hush, until R.J. Russell spoke.

  'Yeah, I'd say so.'

  Static

  'That's not all, Sheriff.'

  Static.

  'Says here that he applied for a gun licence and got rejected. After that he went off the grid. I can't find anything. Credit cards, bank cards, cheques, property. Nothing. Not a fucking thing. He's a ghost.'

  'Jesus. Thanks, Davies. Does it say anything about his wife?'

  'I got a few things, nothing much. Her name is Katie O'Sullivan, although she's now using her maiden name, Harris. She lives at the house they bought together, bills paid on time, no debts, works part time as a school teacher.'

  'Good work, Davies. I want you to try and contact her, any way you can. Let’s see if we can find out some more about O'Sullivan.'

  R.J. gestured for the radio from Marilyn and took it, holding it close to his face. 'Check up on the guys at the roadblock, Davies. See how they're doing, and try and get hold of the stations the other side of town, we may need them. Get his description out, this fucker isn't getting away,' he rushed, with uneasiness and fear clouding his voice.

  'Gotcha, boss. Will do. And, boss?'

  Static.

  'Guys, good luck.'

  'Thanks, Davies. Out.'

  Static.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Andrew held up his arms as if surrendering himself to O'Sullivan, the gun pointing at the ceiling. He moved forward two steps, just enough to enter the dining room, both feet across the threshold.

  'Whatever you want, O'Sullivan. Just let them go, please,' he pleaded, his eyes red and watery.

  'I'm losing my patience here, Andrew. Now, where are the fucking keys? I won't ask you again,' threatened O'Sullivan through gritted teeth.

  'Sure thing, no problem,' Andrew spoke, delicately.

  He dug deep into his pockets with his spare hand, taking longer than he should, stalling, still aiming the gun at the ceiling. He rummaged around before removing them with his thumb and index finger.

  O'Sullivan wore his menacing grin.

  'You're learning. Well done,' he congratulated with a filthy smirk. 'What a wonderful husband and father you are, it's such a shame you couldn't save them.'

  O'Sullivan raised his arm, taking the gun away from Lizzy's temple. He aimed it directly at Andrew. The excitement on his face was poisoning, like Christmas had come early.

  The muzzle flash came and went in slow motion, only once, brightening the room with its hideous flare of certain death. The sound came later.

  The bullet penetrated Andrew’s rib cage, chipping away and splintering bone as it passed through, burying itself deep. He gargled his own blood at the depths of his throat like an unpleasant mouthwash. It dribbled down his bottom lip in thick, red globules. The gun slipped from his grip and cascaded to the floor with a clunk. Andrew looked at his family with bloodshot eyes, filled with the stare of a dying man with so much left to say. He coughed and spluttered until he dropped to his knees, tumbling over onto his side, hugging the weeping chest wound with both startled hands.

  Lizzy screamed as soon as her father hit the floor, a terrifying shriek of dismay and unbelievable horror.

  'DADDY, NO! DAD!'

  She struggled against the restrictive arm that O'Sullivan had placed around her, stamping and kicking with her feet, attempting to free herself, using her small hands, trying to rip away at O'Sullivan's grip.

  Julie Dunn knelt, colourless, yelling with everything she had. She plunged for the dropped weapon as quickly as she could, scrambling her fingers across the floor. O'Sullivan raised his gun again. He fired twice, catching Julie once in the shoulder blade, sending her sprawling against the floor. She clambered across the carpet, dragging herself with her good arm. The second silenced her cries, the bullet forcing itself through back muscle tissue and fat, piercing her lung. She stopped in her tracks, her hands still spread like spider's legs gripping at strands of carpet. A death rattle made its way through her oesophagus, taking away her final breath before her head could hit the floor, only a foot away from her husband.

  That's when it hit him, he didn't see it coming, tearing through his flesh without mercy. He deserved none. The bullet was a through and through, but painful as hell. O'Sullivan's shoulder was thrown backwards from the force of the shot, releasing Lizzy from her subjugator, she stood soundlessly still. O'Sullivan's blood tattooed her face.

  Andrew had rolled over onto his large stomach, blood still oozing from his open mouth. He wasn't dead just yet. There was still fight left in him, but his eyes were heavy, practically closed.

  'Lizzy, Run, RUN. Lizzy go, get out of here. Go. Now!' roared Andrew, using almost everything he had left.

  Lizzy lurched forward, free from the clasp of the monster.

  'Go on, Elizabeth, get out of here now, run, don't worry about me. Run.'

  Seeing the bodies of her dying father and dead mother, Lizzy took a huge stride, and made a break for it, picking up speed as she ran for her life through the corridor.

  O'Sullivan watched her sprint further from his reach as the blood dripped from his shoulder onto the floor, splashing and spreading around him.

  He lifted the gun up, closing one eye and squinting with the other, staring down the sight until he had it all lined up. His finger squeezed down against the trigger until another bullet left the chamber.

  There was no pain, just a bang, just death. The force from the shot sent Lizzy flying, her arms spreading outwards like wings and her knees buckling, forcing her to the ground. She slid chest first across the hall, what was left of her once beautiful face bumped and scraped along the way as her dead body came to a blood-splattered halt.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Marilyn sat forward in her seat, her seatbelt pulling against her chest, a strange look of loathing and pity engulfed her face. She ran both hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

  'Sheriff, why do you think he took Jack?'

  'If I'm honest, Marilyn. I can't be sure.
I don't know,’ he said, deliberating with himself. 'I wish I knew, I really do.'

  'There has to be something, Sheriff,' she pushed. 'There must be something. Have you seen anything like this before, or even heard about anything like this happening anywhere?'

  R.J. Russell racked his brain, scanning through all of his cases and others that he had heard or read about.

  'Unfortunately, this happens more than you would think. There are around two thousand, three hundred reported cases each day, adults and children.'

  A heart-breaking chill swept over Marilyn.

  Elwood took his glasses off to rub under his eyes, and then caressed his temples. A headache was kicking in.

  'Do you mind? I may have something to offer, it's not much, but just from something that I read a long time ago.'

  R.J. slowed down, making the cruiser easier to control as they meandered through windy, snake-like lanes, keeping his eyes front and centre. Marilyn wriggled in her seat, turning the best she could to face Elwood. Any opinions were more than welcome.

  'Well, after hearing your deputy talk about all those meds and problems, it sounds like to me that he could be suffering from some kind of repressed issues. The anti-psychotics sound like he could have a split personality or something along those lines,' he guessed. 'I don't know, it seems entirely possible. You see it all the time at the flicks. I don't know how it works exactly, I ain't a doctor, but that's what I think, anyway.'

  The car jolted, sending them all bouncing around in their seats like rag dolls. Marilyn grabbed at the hand rest above the passenger door to steady herself.

  'Sorry about that, guys. I must have hit a pot hole, or a rock or something.'

  R.J. corrected his course, inching his way back into the middle of the confining road. He flicked a passing glance at Elwood in his rear view mirror, and then returned his eyes back to the road.

  'That sounds reasonable, Elwood. As good as anything that I was thinking of. I think it's the best theory that we have.' He coughed. 'It's the only theory we have.