Marilyn

  R.J. Russell accelerated, speeding down the dirty and mangled hill.

  FORTY-NINE

  Jack wept alone, to a merciless god, in an oblivious world, his head still throbbing from the thrashing he had endured minutes before. He asked himself all sorts of questions as he searched for his silver chain, tapping at his chest like a doctor examining a patient. It was still there, hanging over his heart, absorbing the agony. Blood had dried on his hands, face, and on his jumper… on David's jumper. He wanted to rip it from his body, it seemed to have a hold of him, like the restraint of unwanted shackles. Jack's eyes were dry and sore, he couldn't tear them away from the bodies of Andrew, Julie and little Lizzy Dunn, they were transfixed, wrapped up in the aftermath of the most loathsome deed. He couldn't recall the last time he blinked, he didn't want to, who knew what would come when the light disappeared and the darkness rolled in?

  He wasn't ready to find out, not just yet, first of all he had to deal with the sickness. It came out in chunks, scratching at his throat as it left his body, leaving the taste of cowardliness in its wake. Then the dark came and went, but it wasn't the horror show that he was expecting.

  **

  It was an exquisite sight to behold, like star-gazing for the criminally insane. But this was not from the limited view of a telescope, O'Sullivan had front row seats to the dazzling and dramatic event of a lifetime. He revelled in the glory of his accomplishments, taking one last puff of death's delicious fragrance, tasting sweet success, leaving no room to notice Jack behind him.

  **

  Jack was standing, his elbow propping him up against the dinner table, twitching like a puppet having its strings plucked. His eyes were torrid flares of scorn, confused and lost in a sea of carelessness, caught off guard in the heat of the moment. His innocence torn away by corrupt hands.

  'What are you waiting for, huh?' he yelled, fiercely, passionately, with tearful eyes. 'I'm right here. Shoot me, you bastard, shoot me like you did to the Dunns. They did nothing to you, they tried to help you.'

  'With pleasure.'

  O'Sullivan raised his gun, stone-faced.

  Jack's eyes denied the natural reaction of closing, only stubbornness keeping them open. He wanted to see O'Sullivan's eyes. He wanted the monster to see his.

  O'Sullivan took small steps towards Jack, muttering incoherently, but he was unable to shoot. His gaze fell upon the jumper.

  O'Sullivan lowered his weapon.

  'Fine. I guess I'm just going to have to take you with me. Count yourself lucky. Come on, boy. Get fucking moving.'

  Jack, weak and wobbly, defiantly stood his ground.

  'I'm not asking you again, boy. You'll do as you're fucking told.'

  O'Sullivan caught hold of Jack's collar and wrapped it around his clenched fist, stretching his dead son's jumper out of proportion. He dragged him.

  Jack watched as O'Sullivan picked up the dropped car keys, pondered, and then reached down in Andrew's blood-stained pocket and plucked out the cigar. He removed the two bullets that were left in his gun, picked up Mr Dunn's weapon and dropped the leftovers into his pocket.

  Jack closed his eyes as he was masqueraded blindly through the Dunn residence. He felt his feet clip Lizzy, dragging over her body, disrespectfully, as they made their way to the door.

  As the door opened, the wind smashed at their faces, carefree, shocking them both, and bringing Jack back down to earth.

  Jack didn't resist O'Sullivan's pull as they climbed down the steps. His legs were limp, they didn't feel like they belonged to his body. He snatched at his silver chain, freeing it from his neck with a muffled snap. He took one last look at it before he threw it on to ground. A lifetime of memories buried in the dirt. He watched it until it wasn't even a glimmer in the haze.

  FIFTY

  Glenn Bennett was missing a shoe, lost, never to be seen again, swallowed up by the hungry and dominating woodland. His hands were numb and his face was red raw, sore to the touch, and speckled with splashes of dirt and gunk. With a few wrong turns here and there, and some slips and falls, it had taken him a lot longer than expected to make it to the boundaries of the Dunn farmhouse. Bennett crouched, dipping his knees into the soggy ground to keep his balance, his shoulder resting against the thick stump of an old tree. He detached the radio from his hip and spoke loudly, clearly, over the howl of the gusting wind.

  'Sheriff, it's Bennett.'

  He waited, holding his breath, watching for any signs of life at the farmhouse. Radio static was broken and replaced with the reply of the sheriff.

  'Yeah, Bennett, What took you so long? What have you got?'

  Bennett leant in, moving flat onto his stomach, peering over a grassy mound.

  ‘Sorry, Sheriff, got myself lost, it all looks the same here with this weather. But I've got nothing. It's all quiet here at the Dunns'. Too quiet. Doesn't seem to have been any sign of a disturbance. There are a few lights on, though. I'm going to get a closer look and check it out.'

  Glenn pushed himself to his feet, his fist sinking into the swampy bed of dead, wild flowers.

  'Negative, I repeat. Negative. Wait until we get there, Bennett. Just keep an eye out for any activity, anything suspicious. Do you read me?'

  Bennett shook his head and rolled his eyes in disbelief.

  'Sheriff, not to seem argumentative or disrespectful, but what good is it going to do with me waiting around here in the woods? I…'

  There was no time for Bennett to conclude his disapproving radio transmission. The barn door was obliterated, breaking to the sounds of an over-revved, fleeing truck. Chunks of wood came flying off at all angles with an almighty boom, carried away in the savage swirl of the wind.

  'What the…'

  The red and white truck effortlessly barged its way through the feeble wooden holding cell, skidding and sliding around in the muck controlled by the likes of a novice rally driver. It stalled, before once again gaining traction. Bennett couldn't move, his voice was panicked and hurried.

  'Sheriff, someone is on the move, and they're not wasting any time, either.'

  The truck circled out of control, its wheels whipping around in the mud before finally straightening up.

  'Bennett, can you see who it is?'

  'That's a negative, Sheriff. I can't see inside.'

  'I want you to wait where you are, Glenn. We're close. ETA just over five minutes.'

  'Sorry, boss. But I can't do that.'

  The truck sped through the flowering, decimating any and all plant life in its creation of a passage to freedom. The engine screamed and yammered, harmonising with the wail of the wind in a symphony of wreckage.

  Bennett leapt into action, cleared the grassy mound with difficulty, landing with a squelch, his shoeless foot sinking deep into the sludge. He sprinted towards the farm house with all the grace of a one-legged ballerina.

  FIFTY-ONE

  The road was a blur. They were narrowly avoiding overturned slabs of rocks and uprooted stumps as they chased the monster's trail. Taking the ghost train to the haunted mansion.

  A mixture of markings, interrupted light, and jumping shadows were the only guide they had. They were thrown this way and that in a funless bouncy castle of metal. No one asked him to slow down, no one even thought about it.

  Marilyn's hair was saturated, dripping with emotional strain. A cold sweat covered her body, masked behind the privacy of the cumbersome coat. She cried noiselessly, freely, letting the tears fall, her face unreliable, giving away her secret, unable to tell if it was fear or hope that was driving her anymore, they had become one defining force, the pedestal on which she sat.

  'Oh, dear God, Jack, he must be so scared. Bless him. That bastard, how can he do this to an innocent eight-year-old boy? I'm so sorry, Jack. Don't worry. mommy's coming.'

  Marilyn shut her eyes as they closed in on a dirt jump, they had gone off road without her noticing. She prayed under her breath.

  The car jerked as they took off, lopsided, the w
heels still spinning in mid-air. She held her breath until it was crushed from her by the remorseless seatbelt pinning her back to her seat as they struck the ground, landing on two wheels, then all four.

  The wild ride had sent Elwood's hair splaying thinly across his forehead and behind the lenses of his glasses. He blew upwards, removing it from his eyes. He held Molly on his lap, the butt of the gun relaxing in the palm of his hand.

  'Don't worry, Marilyn. We're on to them, we're close. Nothing is going to happen to Jack. There's no way they're making it to the freeway.'

  Elwood stretched his free arm around the seat and took Marilyn's hand.

  'We're gonna get him, we're gonna get them both.'

  The mud path gave way to a gravel track, velvety in comparison, like gliding along silk. It was a private path, blocked in by red, foot-high walls either side. It was not signposted and without a gate. They saw the barn first, then the house. They saw the turmoil left by O'Sullivan's escape, and a rueful man sitting amongst it.

  'That's Bennett,' stated the Sheriff, angrily. 'The bastard didn't wait for us. I want you two to stay in the car like we talked about. OK?' I'm going to see what's going on with Glenn.'

  'There's no way, Sheriff. I'm not waiting in the car,' screeched Marilyn. 'I'm not waiting around anymore. Jack is my son and I want to know what's going on. I don't need you keeping things from me, Sheriff.' She swallowed. 'I can handle it. I want to know everything, and there's nothing you're going to do to stop me.'

  R.J. just nodded before he slowed his cruiser, skidding to a stop, the brakes crying their disappointment that the chase was over, for now. He kept the engine ticking over.

  Bennett didn't look up, keeping his gaze focused on the step below him, his clothes and uniform splattered with fresh but drying blood. He held his chin in his hands, his fingers spread wide across his face, shading his eyes. His feet were perched up on the toes, bouncing up and down, riding on nerves.

  The three clambered from the vehicle together, almost taking a tumble after losing their footing in the mud. Paying no attention to the pelt of the rain and the shriek of the wind.

  'Jesus Christ, Bennett, what the hell happened here? Are you hurt? Is anyone else hurt?' the sheriff asked, his words draped in worry.

  R.J. moved lightly through the mud and grass, paying attention to where he was treading.

  'Bennett, talk to me. Are you hurt?'

  **

  Elwood put his arms around Marilyn, keeping her where she stood, accompanying her in another whispered prayer.

  'Let them talk, Marilyn,' he requested, softly.

  'There's so much blood,' she stammered, ignoring Elwood. 'Please don't let it be Jack's, please God, don't let it be Jack's.'

  Elwood tightened his grip, taking care not to hurt her.

  **

  'Bennett, answer me. What in God's name has happened here? Is Jack inside? Talk to me, dammit!'

  Glenn Bennett dragged his hands from his face, lingering on his chin and then down, wrapping them around his neck. He didn't look at R.J..

  'Jack wasn't inside, he's not here. They… They're all dead, Sheriff.'

  Marilyn's body went lax, her dead weight pulling Elwood over until he regained his footing.

  Sheriff Russell knelt down to Bennett's level, placing his heavy but soft hand on Glenn's shoulder and spoke warily, tactfully.

  'Hey, Glenn. Look at me. What's gone on here, are you hurt?’ He examined Glenn's body, trying to locate any signs of injury.

  'They're all dead.'

  'Who's dead, Glenn? The Dunns?'

  'He killed the three of them, Sheriff. Shot them. Elizabeth almost got away, too. But he shot her in the back of the head, Rupert. He shot Lizzy in the back of the fucking head when she was trying to escape.'

  'Jesus… Jesus fucking Christ.'

  R.J. clenched his fist at waist height, bringing it to his lips. He bit down on his fingers, pushing the anger and tears away, swapping them for pain and fury.

  'Wait here, you too, Glenn. All of you. This is a crime scene.'

  'I… I had to cover them up, Sheriff,' mumbled Glenn. 'I couldn't leave them like that... I'm sorry. Their eyes... It was like they were still alive. I could see it. I… I can still see it. He killed them all.'

  'It’s OK, Glenn, it's OK. Wait here. I'm just going to, to go inside.'

  R.J. got to his feet, with a shake to his step. He swallowed, looked at the sky, whispered something, and walked up the steps into the farm house. Glenn stayed where he was, dropping his head back into his hands.

  'Oh my God, Elwood. Did you hear that? That poor girl, that poor family. I think I'm going to be sick.'

  Her stomach was wrenching, closing in on itself and squeezing as hard as it could, like a vice, it hurt all the way up to her heart.

  'I need to go and speak to that officer, can you let me go,' she asked. 'I'm not going to go inside, I promise.'

  Elwood let her go, holding on to her lower back until she was steady in the sinking soil. She squelched her way across to Glenn Bennett and took a seat on the step beside him. Elwood watched from the cruiser.

  'Hi, Glenn? I'm Marilyn.'

  Bennett looked up. His stare was hateful, loving and resentful all at once, the look of a man in pain, they sympathised with one another in their shared affliction.

  'Marilyn?' he quizzed with saddened eyes. 'You must be Jack's mother.' He paused, collecting his words, not waiting for an answer. 'He's not inside. I guess he was in the car that drove off. I couldn't catch them. I'm sorry, Marilyn. I let him get away. I want to catch that fuck as much as you.'

  Marilyn nodded, her eyes fixed on Bennett's shoeless foot, and blood-spattered shirt.

  'Did you see Jack at all, or O'Sullivan?' asked Marilyn, faintly, dropping and resting her clammy hand on his knee.

  'It was just the car, I couldn't see anyone inside,' he said, dipping his stare to her hand. 'I'm sorry about your son, Marilyn. I mean that. I'm sorry O'Sullivan has him.' He looked her in the eyes. 'But the sheriff is a good man, and he'll get Jack back.'

  Bennett's head dropped into his hands once again. He pulled firmly at his hair, clenching at the roots and closing his eyes.

  Marilyn looked over to Elwood, who was still watching her from the cruiser.

  'I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry about this family.' She removed her hand. 'There was no need for them to get hurt. They shouldn't have been a part of this.'

  She wiped a small tear away with a flick of her little finger. 'Did you, did you know them?'

  'Yeah, my girls grew up with Elizabeth.' He broke off, allowing himself the comfort of momentary grief. 'Little Lizzy. I... I can't...'

  'It's OK, it's OK to feel angry.' Marilyn shuffled closer.

  'Andrew is, was a police officer. Julie was friendly with my wife. They were a wonderful family. They didn't deserve this. No one does.'

  Sheriff Russell inched out of the farmhouse, white as a ghost, one hand over his head, pulling at the back of his hair. His jaw tensed and bulging.

  'Glenn.'

  He raised his voice.

  'Officer Bennett,' he ordered.

  Glenn got to his feet, standing with shaky feet and jellylike knees.

  'I need you to wait here until the ambulances arrives, can you do that?’

  Glenn was an officer again, standing tall through adversity, pushing his personal attachment aside.

  'Yes, Sheriff. I'll call them right away. But I don't think they'll be able to make it all the way up here.' Bennett held out his hand, waiting for R.J. to accept. He did. 'You go get this lady's son back and catch that O'Sullivan fuck. Get him, boss, get him good and proper.'

  'I read you loud and clear, Deputy,' he answered with a nod, releasing the grip of his handshake. 'Oh, and Glenn, I'm sorry about the Dunns. We all are.'

  'Yeah me, too. They were... They were my friends.'

  Sheriff Russell patted Officer Bennett on the shoulder and brought him in close. 'I know. We're gonna get him. Don't worry.'<
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  R.J. signalled for everybody to get back into the cruiser with a pointed finger, and he followed behind, the colour on his face returning.

  'Is there anything I can do, Sheriff?' asked Marilyn.

  'I'm afraid not. We're too late.' His foot crunched something into the ground, burying it in under a thin layer of soil. He kicked the tip of his shoes, scuffing at the mud, revealing a silver ingot on a broken chain. R.J. bent down and picked it up, cleaning the dirt from the grooves with his cold fingers. He put it in his pocket.

  FIFTY-TWO

  The road ahead was straight for as far as the eye could see.

  Jack watched the speedometer with blink-less eyes as they hit forty miles an hour.

  Clumps of dirt and pebbles scribbled their swift signatures into the red and white paintwork as the Jeep stampeded down the woodland path. Leaves blew across the windscreen in cyclonic style, catching in the tight metal corner of the hood, where they stayed.

  Jack fought the urge to turn around and look through the back window, but his eyes wouldn't budge from the illuminated dashboard, the deceitful lighthouse in the belly of the storm leading the doomed. They passed fifty, closing in on fifty-five.

  'Fuck.'

  O'Sullivan slammed his feet onto the brake, spinning the wheel wildly. The back end of the Jeep veered, drifting out of control as he tried to manoeuvre around an unexpected bend. The tyres skated through the pudgy mud, postponing the impact. The rear end clipped the root of an overblown tree, smashing the right hand brake light to smithereens and crushing the bumper.

  'FUCK.'

  The engine stalled, sputtering and spitting as O'Sullivan tried to get it started. He glanced through the back window while twisting the key, and grinding his teeth.

  'Come on...Come on.'

  The engine thundered, slobbering and spattering what was possibly its last life.

  O'Sullivan straightened up, cursing under his breath, finding another stretch of good fortune in the form of a precipitous lane.