by Paul Kane
That child had always been a nuisance. If it hadn’t been for that stipulation in the blasted will about looking after her, Ruth might well have simply strangled her a long time ago. The girl had to live to attend the same university where her parents had met and fallen in love – though if he was hoping for that to happen again, he was sadly mistaken because times had definitely moved on. The daughter had to live and so Ruth had kept her shut away, hidden and guarded until it was time. Even when Angela had headed off to Uni, she’d been monitored by Ruth’s network of spies – it was how they’d discovered what she’d been up to, digging into the past (she was good, Ruth had to give her that – even uncovered some things she’d paid a lot of money to make “go away”).
She’d also been monitored by that outside world Angela was so desperate to get out into, though, hadn’t she? Time was, it used to be Ruth’s photo in the tabloids, scattered all over the internet with pundits declaring how stunning she was – pictured getting out of limos, attending premieres and galas; stepping out through the doors of the most high-profile hotels and restaurants. Then they’d started snapping Angela: “Reclusive daughter of millionaire businessman all grown up! And so beautiful!” Started to forget about Ruth, focussing on that runt instead – in spite of the fact she didn’t even like the attention. It had begun to die down a little the more time the girl spent at university, the novelty wearing off, but it had soon ramped up again when news broke about her being missing – wiping Ruth’s face off the net once more.
She’d been questioned by the authorities, of course, but nothing had come of it; that power again, in action. Besides, she had plausible deniability this time. And an alibi – in residence at her place in the South of France while it was all going down. Had only been back a few days, actually. Worried, obviously, but it was nothing to do with her… Ruth had been the one who’d kept her safe all these years, after all; hadn’t even wanted to let her go away; had warned her about the perils of college and those boys there. Maybe one of them had done something? Go look into that!
With no more news, it had started to go away again – been replaced by something else. Nobody was going to mourn Angela and she’d eventually be totally forgotten about. Leaving Ruth to wallow in her luxury, living her days out in peace, being serviced by nubile young studs – a far cry from the sweaty old men she’d been forced to screw on her way to the top. So much better than that drip, Angela’s father. God, by the end of it she hadn’t even been able to look at the man, he was so wet. And as for the way he was with his child… pathetic. Every now and again she’d get a twinge, though, watching them; maybe wonder what her life would have been like with such a devoted dad. Didn’t matter; hadn’t happened. You can’t change the past, only the future – and Ruth had done that so spectacularly well she’d even surprised herself.
She sipped at the 50-year-old Royal Salute Scotch, relishing its warmth as it trickled down her throat. Glad she was inside on such a night – the whiteness having covered everything for the last few weeks. Stepping back a little, she caught her reflection in the glass of the window. Those perfect cheekbones, the red lipstick (not natural – not like hers), eyes accentuated by eye shadow and sheltered by pencil-thin ’brows; the whole thing framed by her dark hair, pulled back tightly on the top but flowing around her face like a cowl. The designer purple-blue dress she wore clung to her in all the right places, showing off her still-perfect body – power and money could even fix the advance of the years. There was no way she’d ever end up an old crone with white hair and a hooked nose. No, she was going to live forever!
Her grin widened. “Who’s the fairest of them all now?” Ruth said to herself and let out a chuckle.
Suddenly, another face appeared at the window – replacing hers and causing Ruth to drop the crystal whiskey glass she had in her hand. It was a face she recognised. A face she never thought she’d see again outside of an obituary column.
“Angela,” she whispered, hand going to her mouth. “It can’t be.” Just your imagination because you were thinking about her, just–
The girl was wearing another coat, a much bigger one to protect her from the elements. She looked a little the worse for wear, hair slightly out of place (typical student really), a healed-up cut on her lip, but nothing drastic. Certainly not dead, as Ruth had been promised. Pale, yes, but then she always was. Pale as–
Angela knocked on the glass and again Ruth started. Almost stepped sideways onto the smashed whiskey tumbler.
“Let me in, Ruth,” she mouthed, pointing across to the handle on the French doors not too far away.
Ruth’s mind was reeling. Robert, the incompetent moron – this was his fault somehow! Had assumed he’d left Angela for dead, lied about it to her and thought presenting Ruth with the bloodied coat would be enough. And she’d believed him, fallen for it, when quite clearly the girl was still alive. Ruth didn’t believe in zombies… well, not really, not the kind that could walk around and bite you at any rate.
But why hadn’t she gone to the authorities? Told them about the whole thing, demanded they arrest Robert and her – not that it would do any good, the amount of police, lawyers and judges she had in her back pocket. Maybe that was it; was Angela thinking that there was no point? Perhaps she was here to get her own back, personally. It was probably what Ruth would do herself, and for a fleeting moment she actually felt a hint of pride at her erstwhile charge.
Angela rapped on the window again. “Ruth!”
“All right, all right,” she said, irritated, and went over to the door. As she did so, unlocking it, another thought – another question – occurred to her. How did Angela get past the security in this place, which Robert alone oversaw (she didn’t trust anyone else but him)? It took a key card and code to even get through the gate… Then the door was open and Angela was inside; it was time to play the caring stepmother. “Angela, darling – where have you been? There have been people out looking for you.”
Angela grinned, a little like the one that had broken across Ruth’s face just a few moments ago. “They wouldn’t have found me. Not in a million years.”
“Well, come in, come in. You must be freezing.”
“I’m okay,” said the girl.
“Let me get you something to drink. I was just…” She nodded at the floor, at the remains of the ten-grand a bottle alcohol.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Angela replied with absolutely no remorse in her voice.
“Not to worry.” Ruth wandered over to the drinks cabinet. “You want one of these?”
Angela shook her head, slowly.
“Oh, that’s right, silly me. You still don’t drink, do you? Imagine that, a student who doesn’t drink. That’s like a vampire who doesn’t suck your blood.” She laughed at her own joke. “Apple juice, then? Looks the same at any rate.”
Ruth turned her back on Angela, fixing the drink. Her hands were shaking a little, so she told herself to calm down – to get a grip. To take charge of the situation. Get. It. Under. Control. Jesus, when she got hold of Robert she’d–
Letting out a breath, she turned around again and walked back over to her stepdaughter. “Here we go, that should do the trick.”
“I think there have been quite enough tricks, Ruth – don’t you?”
Ruth frowned. “I… I’m not sure what–”
“You can drop the act. There’s only you and me here. I know what you did, Ruth.”
“I don’t know what it is you think you know, but I can assure you–”
“Your assurances don’t really mean a great deal, do they? About the same as your wedding vows, I’d say.” Angela pursed her lips at that, and for a moment Ruth thought the girl was going to cry.
“This is getting us nowhere. I’ve not been back in the country long, I was as shocked as anyone to hear you’d gone missing. But, well, I’m delighted you’re back.”
That grin again. “I couldn’t miss my own birthday, now, could I?”
“Your…”
Ruth had forgotten about that; the little bitch would be entitled to half of everything once that clock hit twelve.
“What’s the matter? You don’t look very delighted now, Ruth. Thinking about your money? Our money? Is that it? You want to know something, I was never that interested in it before – would’ve let you keep the lot. Would give it all to have him back, my daddy.”
Ruth couldn’t help it, her lip began to curl. “Daddy? I could tell you a thing or two about your daddy.”
Angela held up her hand and it seemed to pain her to do so, as if her arm was hurt. Of course, the blood on the coat – she’d been shot in the shoulder. Ruth mentally filed the information, as she did with everything, for future use; if it came to a fight, say, but she was hoping Robert would intervene long before then. Where exactly was he when she needed him?
“I know all I need to know,” stated Angela. “I know he was a good man who was fooled by an evil woman.”
Ruth raised an eyebrow. “Evil? Don’t be so melodramatic, child!”
“I am not a child!” spat Angela. She let the words settle before continuing. “I also know he would have been ashamed of what you did with his company in his name.”
“I did what I had to,” growled Ruth. “That’s what I always do!”
“As did I,” Angela replied coolly.
Ruth looked at her sideways. “What? What did you do?”
“I bought all the shares, Ruth. The company’s mine. All its subsidiaries, everything. Lock, stock and barrel.”
“I don’t believe you! How could you have…”
Angela reached into her pocket, pulled out a handful of something that glistened in the light. Sparkled like–
“I stumbled upon them, quite literally. Down in the place where Robert left me. Where I hid out, until it was time to even the score. Remember the one that was sold for about 50 million a little while ago, some billionaire gave it… gave it to his daughter.” She paused, composed herself and continued. “Each one of these is worth a lot more than that, and I found shit-loads of them. You know, I think I quite like having all that money – with more to come. Buys you anonymity. Gives you–”
“Power,” Ruth finished for her, then bit her lip.
“Of course, when people find out what you’ve done – all the things you’ve done, it won’t just be half the profits I’ll get back. Will it?” Angela smirked again.
“Look,” said Ruth, taking another step. “Let’s talk about this. Here, have your drink.” She proffered the juice.
“Oh, I’m really not that thirsty. Tell you what, why don’t you have it?”
Ruth still held it out. “I don’t really like… You drink it.”
“No,” Angela said, reaching into her other pocket and producing the gun. “You drink it. I insist.”
It was Robert’s gun, she recognised it. “What have you done to him?”
“Me? I haven’t done anything. Drink.”
“No, I–”
“Drink it Ruth, or I’ll put a bullet in your head. And you know what else? I’ll get away with it, as well.” It wasn’t a bluff. Ruth reluctantly took a sip of the apple juice. “All of it!” Angela insisted, prodding the air in front of her with the weapon.
Ruth knocked back the drink.
“You know, being the boss and everything entitles you to all kinds of perks,” Angela said. “Things like access to certain… classified information. Operations and divisions the outside world – the one you were so careful to shield me from – don’t even know exist. Like the covert R&D going on in various facilities we… I own? Ring any bells? Oh, you probably can’t nod or shake your head by now, can you? Just like dad couldn’t. Just like those other poor bastards you poisoned with the shit they came up with. Batch 20865.” There were tears in Angela’s eyes now, and a couple escaped, tracked down her cheeks. She came over, placing the gun down on a nearby table, reaching for Ruth’s wrist. “No pulse. But you can still hear me, right? You’re still in there?”
She was. Just held captive by the drops of liquid she’d tipped in from one of her rings; something Ruth always kept about her in case of emergencies.
“‘A living death’. Isn’t that how they described it in the encrypted files? Undetectable…untraceable. Those people, my father – they were still fucking alive when the autopsies were carried out, weren’t they? Maybe even when they were buried!” Angela was crying freely now, eyes red. Red on white. “But I know something that’s even worse than that, Ruth. I want you to come with me.” It was Angela’s turn to show Ruth her back, taking a few steps then pausing, glancing over her shoulder. “Ah, that’s right. You can’t, can you?”
You monstrous little harpy, thought Ruth to herself – when I get out of this I’m going to…
Angela pushed her over and she fell, onto her back – hard. It hurt; it really hurt. Ruth hadn’t expected it to; thought that her victims hadn’t felt anything afterwards. But now she knew different. Now she knew they must have felt it when–
Ow! Ruth was being pulled along by her hair, dragged out through the patio doors.
“I’m going to introduce you now to some friends of mine. It’s a little bright in there for them, but perfect out here.”
What the hell was the awful brat talking about now? What friends?
“Actually, they kind of think I’m their Queen… or a Goddess, or something. Either way, works for me. I found them where Robert left me as well.”
Then Ruth saw what Angela was talking about, emerging from the shadows. Weird, alabaster things crawling over the snow, almost camouflaged by it, leaving a trail of redness behind them. A trail from…
“They’re probably not that hungry at the moment, given that they’ve just had a big meal.” Angela continued to drag Ruth into position on the lawn, through the snow – then stopped and nodded towards the remains of Robert. She could only tell because of his suit; it looked like wild animals had been at him, had been eating him. These bastard creatures, and it was her turn next! “They’ll probably take their time with you, I guess. Make it last. I hope so anyway.”
If she could have done, Ruth would have also cried at that point. For Robert, for herself. But more than any of that, because she’d been outsmarted. Because this wretched girl would now have everything. The company, the money.
Because, in the end, she had all the power.
***
Red on white.
Angela sat and watched as the last of Ruth was devoured; the blood smearing their pale mouths. She’d grown used to it now, their habits – it no longer repulsed her that they were sucking out eyeballs, tearing into thighs, chewing on breasts. And hadn’t it been Eugene Sue who’d first said in Memoirs of Matilda that revenge is a dish best served cold?
It was only their nature. They were only doing what they had to in order to survive.
Like she herself had survived. Thrived, even.
And it comforted her that Ruth had been alive right up to the last, in that living death… a living statue, actually. Just like the one on her phone – the phone she’d finally used when she’d emerged from her hole and gone in search of a signal. They hadn’t minded her taking the gems from the mine, selling them on and then using the proceeds to fund her little project. They didn’t even know the fortune they were sitting on, or surrounded by – embedded in the walls – and what’s more, they didn’t care. All those seven creatures, each with their own odd foibles – distinct personalities if you knew what you were looking for; one who slept a lot, one who sounded for all the world like he had allergies – all that interested them was their next meal, and to be able to please her. Her beauty captivating the things, and she hadn’t minded that kind of attention.
She’d make a place for them, here in her own home: in the cellar maybe? Somewhere underground… The home that had belonged to her father, and now to her. The remains of Ruth and Robert, she’d put where nobody would ever find them. Where they’d put Angela.
Red on white. So much blood to
clear up, although the snow would help with that when it began to eventually melt. It had been a long day, a long few weeks in fact – and while she’d been occupied with all this, it had turned midnight. It was now her birthday… and what a way to celebrate!
Angela lay back on the snow and looked up. The globe had been shaken again, the world upside down – the stars mingling with the flakes that were now coming down, making it look like they were falling from the sky. A gift from Heaven.
But everything would soon settle again, and she would get on with her life. Here, shut away. Who needed the outside world anyway? The hurt, the truths, and heartache it brought?
Not her, that was for sure.
Not Snow.
The End
Sleeper(s)
Prologue
Suzie had a recurring dream.
In it she was a little girl, no more than about eight. Her parents had taken her to a country park somewhere: all trees, rolling hills and looking-glass lakes. They were having a picnic by one of those lakes, the chequered blanket spread out on the grass, and Suzie was basking in the warmth of the late August sun.
Her mum and dad were smiling, laughing. It was a good time, a good dream. Suzie ate and ate until she thought she might burst: sandwiches, sausage rolls (her absolute favourite), crisps; and then ice cream, chocolates, fancy buns with icing on them her mother had made. There were birds singing, and Suzie looked up at the sky to see some of them flapping overhead – a V-like formation, like the Red Arrows had flown in at that air display her folks had taken her to.
Closer to the ground, a butterfly flew past, the oranges and blacks so rich it looked like it had just been painted into the scene. Suzie got up and chased it, her summer dress flapping in the breeze, vaguely hearing her parents’ calls from behind about not going too far. Suzie giggled as she ran after the butterfly, reaching out for it but never really coming close: it would dodge her grasp, zipping sideways or rising up just above her head, forcing her to jump – then it would dive-bomb, and she’d miss it again.