by Paul Kane
“This isn’t the way to the house,” she’d said then.
“Thought we’d go the scenic route,” Robert had replied, but his voice had sounded strange. Preoccupied.
It was then that she’d started to berate herself, realised she should never have gotten into that car with him. But how could she have known what would happen? She was on a break from Uni, so Robert had picked her up, the same as always – parked down that quiet side street near campus – and she’d be delivered back home where no doubt she’d be virtually held captive, just like she had been growing up. “To keep you safe,” Ruth had always maintained, “out of the public eye.” To keep an eye on her, more like. “It’s what your father would have wanted,” she’d conclude with.
The hell it was. Her father would have wanted her to be happy, that’s all. And she’d been anything but, longing to see the outside world. But then they’d never know what her dad would have wanted, given that they couldn’t ask him – he’d passed away not long after marrying Ruth. There’d been rumours, naturally, but nothing proven, and Angela hadn’t heard any of them until she’d started at college, such had been her sheltered childhood. Then she’d heard – in fact she’d sought them out, dug even deeper into the story… A little too deep; and the truth really hurt. Angela was studying English, but she was also working on the Uni newspaper in her spare time, only small scale and under a pseudonym. It was something she’d signed up for as soon as she’d arrived.
She’d always been inquisitive, and this just fuelled her passions. It wasn’t long before Angela found herself looking into her own family history, though, having been denied it for so long living with Ruth; spotting things that simply didn’t add up, didn’t tally with what her stepmother had told her – although the woman had been equally good at covering her own tracks. Ruth’s background, for example, hadn’t been the privileged one she’d been led to believe. Oh, her family had started out with money, but they’d lost it when Ruth’s own father had been caught trying to screw the tax man out of hundreds of thousands. He’d committed suicide in jail and the family had been left destitute. Ruth and Robert (that always sounded like some kind of sitcom to Angela; not so funny now, though, was it?) had ended up living in a one bedroom flea-bitten flat, their mother turning tricks to get by and eventually getting stabbed by a client. That left Ruth to look after her little brother – although the older they grew, the more it became the other way around. Even now, he was both bodyguard as well as chauffeur.
Ruth had always been the brains of the outfit, however, anyone could see that. She was the one who’d taken charge, taken up where her mother had left off according to Angela’s research – and when she’d made enough to get them out of that hole, Ruth had manoeuvred herself into the beds of some quite influential people, probably blackmailing a few along the way. She had made a bit of a name for herself in the business world and looked set for great things until there had been a hostile takeover of her company by a rival – something that had seen her lose most of her money yet again.
Enter Angela’s father. Angela’s rich father.
Lonely and vulnerable after being on his own for seven long years – on his own apart from his daughter, that was. He hadn’t stood a chance once Ruth had set her sights on him, used those same tactics she had with the men who’d paid her for sex; not that he’d known about her origins back then – he couldn’t have done. Angela remembered when she’d first been introduced to Ruth, how nice she’d been even to her, how sweet. Getting her onside, knowing that without Angela’s approval she would never drag that man up the aisle. Even though she was jealous, Angela could see how happy Ruth made her father – and that’s all she wanted for him, too.
“How would you feel about Ruth being your new mummy?” he’d asked her one day, after dating the woman for several months.
Angela had thought about it for a few moments, thought about how Ruth always made time for her, played with her, took her to see movies and bought her ice cream. Thought that if she had to have a new mum, had to share her father with anyone, then it was probably better it be someone like Ruth than somebody really horrible.
“I’d like that,” she’d told him, and he’d smiled so much, hugged her to him and said she’d just made him the happiest person in the world. That in turn had made Angela happy as well.
If only she’d known.
They’d married, with Angela as the proud bridesmaid – she’d even been able to pick the pretty maroon dress she would wear – and they’d lived together as a family for a short time. A very short time. It wasn’t long after that Angela’s father had collapsed in his study: just dropped stone dead; not even an autopsy had been able to uncover the cause. He’d only had a medical the month before that had picked up nothing, for goodness sakes! Angela had cried non-stop for a week when she’d been told, but she hadn’t seen Ruth cry once – not even at the funeral. It wasn’t long after that Robert moved in, and Angela was palmed off onto various nannies, though never allowed to set foot outside of the grounds of the house. She hardly saw Ruth then, too busy overseeing things at her father’s company, not to mention its various subsidiaries. If that had been her endgame though, the money, the businesses, then why look after Angela at all? It wasn’t until she started checking into things that the girl realised it had been a stipulation of her late father’s will, as was letting her attend university when she was old enough (up until that time, tutors had been hired to school her from home).
There were other things Angela discovered as well, like how one of Ruth’s business rivals had ended up the same way as her dad eventually; collapsing in mysterious circumstances in his hotel room on holiday. Just a coincidence, or something more? Definitely more, thought Angela, when she read about a handful of other cases just like it: those who had stood in Ruth’s way. One, a member of the board of directors of her father’s company who’d been opposed to the massive job cuts her stepmother had demanded. Died while driving, running his car off the road. The cause of his slumping over the wheel: unknown. Ruth? Ruthless, more like…
Stuff was going on with the company behind the scenes too, shady deals that were not even remotely legal, cash shifted around and invested in businesses that were fronts for other things; culminating in a grand plan she’d only learned of recently to float shares on the open market. That would make Ruth one of the richest women in the world – and see her father turning in his grave. But it was all hearsay; there was no evidence to substantiate any of the wrongdoing. Angela’s hands were tied, so she’d resigned herself to playing nice until something concrete cropped up she could use.
Only Ruth wasn’t as patient as her, it seemed. In hindsight, she should have seen it coming, but Angela assumed not even her cold-hearted cow of a stepmother was capable of something like this. Giving her brother orders to take her out into the wilderness and put a bullet into her brain. Her mistake. Her stupid mistake! Shouldn’t have got into the car… but then that would have aroused suspicion in itself, wouldn’t it? Better that than what was about to happen; what she was beginning to suspect would happen.
“Look, what’s all this about?” Angela had asked feebly, as they’d parked up on the outskirts of what appeared to be a wood. Already the snow was beginning to fall, but it would be coming down hard very soon.
Robert had turned around in the driver’s seat, leaning an arm across, and stared at her. “Oh, I think you know full well what this is about, young lady.” He didn’t say it in that disapproving way some adults do; when Robert said the words, he sounded creepy as all hell. She took him in now, the disgusting fleshiness of him; his jowly face, fat from years of living off her father’s hard work. The tiny, darting eyes, and that receding hairline – one of those men who was going bald in spite of the fact he was only in his thirties. “Your little… investigation.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d replied, but her voice had cracked halfway through the sentence. “Let me just speak to Ruth because–”
“Ruth has fucking had it up to here with you,” Robert had said, raising his hand to his forehead as if giving a weird salute. “What? Did you think that we weren’t keeping tabs on you at your little school? Do you really think we’re that stupid?”
Angela was tempted to say, “Well, you maybe,” but it didn’t seem the time nor the place to be facetious.
“And did you really think she was about to share all that money she’s about to come into with you?”
“With me?” Angela had asked, genuinely confused. “I don’t want the–”
“It’s in the fucking will, brat!” Robert had snarled. “Just like the rest of it… You get half of any profits from the company when you turn twenty-one.”
That was only a few weeks away; she was planning on spending it alone in her dorm room, watching her favourite movies (it was preferable to hanging out in those sleazy clubs her freeloading “mates” loved so much – what a disappointment the outside world had turned out to be). Angela had had no idea… But yes, that would explain it. That would explain everything. It would definitely explain this.
“Ah,” snarled Robert. “The penny drops. Lots of pennies, in fact!” Angela took out her phone, turned it on, ready to ring the authorities. Robert didn’t look in the least bit concerned. “Go ahead. You won’t get any signal out here.” She checked the bars at the top of the screen – nothing. She switched it off and slowly slid it back into her jeans pocket.
“So…” Angela said, her usual bravado deserting her, “what’s the plan? Just murder me and leave me out here?”
It had been said as a joke, but now she could see in his eyes that yes, that actually was the plan. “People go missing around here all the time and are never found,” said Robert. “You know, when it’s better weather and there are actually people around. Old mining country, you see. Lots of places for a person to get lost, to be hidden. But hey,” his gaze lowered then, to her chest, “what’s the rush? We have some time.” So that was it – now there was no possibility of getting caught, of being reported, he was dropping all pretence and was about to do what he’d wanted to do for so long. Angela shuddered as he licked his lips – and she made a lunge for the door. Anything was better than what was about to happen, even freezing to death out there in this godforsaken place.
It was locked… from the inside. Probably had been since they’d set off, as if she was going to jump from it like they do in the movies. Maybe if she’d thought that–
Christ, was this really happening?
She tried the other one, but it was the same result. While she’d been fumbling with the handle, Robert had turned back around and clambered out – his door, at least, was unlocked. He moved up the car and undid the back door on his side, the one she’d just tried, then loomed inside. Angela backed away from him, but already his hands were clawing at her jeans. She kicked out, managed to shove him backwards with one booted foot – enough to buy her some time.
Angela scrambled through the gap between the front two seats, dropping heavily into the passenger side diagonally across from Robert. She reached out for the handle of this one, and almost let out a wail of joy when she found out that was unlocked, too. Shoving it open, she hauled the rest of her body across the seat and flopped out onto the white ground below. Robert was quick for a man of his size, though, and already he was making his way around the back of the car to meet her.
She was up and barrelling into him before he could take hold. It was only then that Angela saw what he had in his hand; the gun already half-raised. That was what caused her to flee more than anything, not that the thought of what Robert had attempted to do wasn’t bad enough – but the idea that he might just shoot her and do that anyway, afterwards, was infinitely worse.
Angela skidded and almost fell over with her first few steps, but she righted herself and then really got going. Sprinting as the snow globe was shaken, the world turning upside down – her world.
Then the bang. The red-hot feeling in her shoulder. The pain. Losing her coat. And the knee… the rather satisfying knee to parts Robert definitely wouldn’t be using for a while on her.
More running, pressing her hand to the bullet-hole – not easy to do when your body is swaying from side to side. Indeed, she wasn’t doing a very good job of either: the running or the stemming of the blood.
So here she was. Dead whatever happened. From her injury or from the cold, especially now that her coat was gone. How long could you last out here in the snow without that? Which would kill her first? Blood-loss or the elements?
Or Robert? Don’t forget Robert!
Hardly likely, since he was the architect of all this, the reason she was “dead”. No, not him: Ruth! The brains of the outfit, remember? The brains behind all this… Angela could imagine the conversation, perhaps over breakfast that morning: “Don’t forget to pick up some milk when you’re out and about. Oh, and if you have a mo, would you mind just offing your niece and leaving her body out in the frozen wastelands? Thanks ever so!”
Complete and utter bitch! She wished now she’d told her dad to get as far away from her as possible. To run…
Run, like she was attempting to do now, getting more and more lost out here. Going deeper and deeper into the woods, the branches of the trees no longer bare – heavy not with leaves, but with whiteness. Her head was spinning; was that down to the blood she’d shed? Probably. Keep going, just keep going – try not to think about that. You need to get away and–
Angela rounded one of the trees and suddenly he was there, right in front of her, as if he’d teleported ahead and simply been waiting for her to catch up. Or perhaps he just knew the area much better? Had he done this kind of thing before at Ruth’s behest? He was red-faced – a mixture of anger and exertion – and puffing, however, so she had at least made the chase difficult for him. But he still had the gun in his hand, which was for the moment by his side.
“You… you little…” He seemed to be struggling to find the right word to describe her, so in the end just gave up. “Where do you think you’re going to go? There’s nowhere to go!” Robert was waving the gun around, using it to illustrate his point. Then he stepped towards Angela and levelled the firearm at her. There was no chance of postponing things now, he wasn’t interested anymore apparently – and for that small mercy she was grateful (maybe it was the fact she was covered in blood, damaged goods; maybe it was because it was freezing out here; or maybe she’d done him more damage down there than even she’d imagined, and that thought gave her some comfort). No, he just wanted to get this over and done with.
But Angela still wasn’t ready to give up. She began backing away; for each step he took, she took two – as if she might be able to outrun a bullet. It had already been proven that she couldn’t. “Look, just stop,” said Robert wearily. “Stand still.”
She shook her head, wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being a sitting duck. No, as with the chase, she was going to make it as difficult as possible for him. Robert scrunched up his face, stretched out his gun arm and held it steady with his other hand.
Then he fired.
Just as Angela ducked sideways behind the nearest tree. There was no heat, no pain, so he must have missed. Wood splintered next to her ear as Robert let off another shot at the tree this time, but it was doing a decent job of shielding her – for now. She heard footsteps, the crunching of snow; he was on the move again.
Angela threw herself sideways once more, away from the sound, but then Robert came round the tree and she bumped right into him. It wasn’t enough to knock her over, but it pushed her back a few steps. The backhander that he then delivered did the rest, and suddenly she was on the ground, blood pouring from her shoulder after she’d let it go, and from a split lip. It did little to help with her mounting wooziness.
Raising her head, she spat out redness onto the ground and stared at the pattern it made for a moment. Then Robert was towering over her, gun pointed at her again.
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nbsp; No! Angela said to herself. Not yet. And she began to crawl backwards, shuffling away as quickly as she could – which admittedly wasn’t very fast at all – while Robert just watched.
“You’re a fighter, I’ll give you that. But do me a favour, would you?” Angela didn’t stop crawling – in fact, she flipped over onto her stomach; she certainly didn’t answer him. “Just fucking die already!” Robert finished, and even though she had her back to him she knew he was aiming, was about to pull the trigger one final time.
Then the world turned upside down again, the snowglobe was being shaken. Actually, the world turned upside down a number of times – though not before there was a loud cracking sound and Angela felt the ground underneath her give way. She had no idea whether Robert had fired, didn’t really care, because all that was so far away from her now and getting further by the second. She was aware of the sensation of falling but felt detached from it – from herself even. The thought crossed her mind that maybe she was dead, maybe he had killed her, and this was what it felt like. But weren’t you supposed to float upwards, float over your body and then ascend to whatever afterlife you believed in? If she was falling then it didn’t bode well; it meant she was going in the opposite direction, going down. Ah well, she thought deliriously, at least it’ll be warmer. Yet Angela couldn’t think what she’d done that had been so wrong in her life; she’d made mistakes, sure, but nothing wicked, nothing evil. Wasn’t that kind of place usually reserved for people like Ruth and Robert?
Even as she rolled his name around in her head, she saw him above her – leaning over the hole she must have dropped through. Old mining territory, he’d said back in the car – that must be it. She’d dropped through ground that had been destabilised by years of being eaten away. And now she was falling fast, falling so far she felt as if she was being eaten by the earth, rolling over and over, banging against this side and that. She plummeted for what seemed like forever, until she could no longer see Robert’s face at the opening she’d created.