“No,” Ethan said quietly.
Surprise flared in Isla. She’d assumed otherwise. But then Ethan continued.
“I don’t think, I know. Briony told me. The dates, she said...they didn’t add up. There was no way the baby could have been yours, Anthony.”
Anthony moved quickly, and Isla didn’t understand what had happened until she heard the sickening crack and saw Ethan slump to the floor, bleeding.
Oh god, no. Isla whimpered, but then her brain caught up. He hadn’t been shot. He’d been hit. Anthony had pistol-whipped Ethan, and he stood over him, still holding the shotgun, breathing hard.
“You’re a fucking liar.”
Ethan spat blood, thick droplets of crimson spraying against the grey stone floor. “Tell yourself what you want, but why would I lie?”
“Just shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Anthony backed away from Ethan and raised the gun once more. “Is that why you did it? Why you ran the car off the road? To hide the evidence?”
“It was an accident!” Ethan roared. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he looked wild, inhuman almost diabolical, as he staggered to his feet. He swayed once, but gripped onto one of the thick beams running up into the rafters, and stayed upright.
“Sit down,” Anthony growled. “I’m warning you, Ethan. One more move, one more word-”
But Ethan acted like he hadn’t even heard him. He took one faltering step forward and raised his head. His eyes skimmed the room but came to a standstill when Anthony adjusted his grip on the gun.
“It. Was. An. Accident.” He spoke in staccato, pausing to wipe blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “And I wasnae even driving.”
What?
“More fucking lies.” Anthony thundered.
Ethan shook his head. “It was Briony behind the wheel.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if the memory caused him pain. “We were arguing, about what to do...she lost control.” Ethan took one deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”
An almighty crack rang out, reverberating around the enclosed space. Ethan slumped to the floor, a red stain spreading rapidly across his thigh, and Isla screamed.
Forty Six
Fuck.
Ethan’s vision speckled, black dots dancing across the edges of his vision. That hurt even more than he’d been expecting. His ears rang with the sound of the shot, and Isla’s scream. He tried to focus his mind on her...on what he needed to do...on anything other than the searing agony in his leg.
Anthony must have misaimed, either that, or he’d deliberately shot off to the side. If he hadn’t, Ethan would be dead within minutes. As it was, he was barely clinging to consciousness.
“Sorry?” Anthony was breathing almost as heavily as Ethan was. “You’re sorry? Did you honestly think that would make a difference?”
Of course he hadn’t. Ethan had known all too well what reaction it would provoke. In fact, he’d been counting on it.
One down…
Ethan gritted his teeth and threw his weight against the beam at his back. He masked the creak of the wood with a genuine groan of pain. Fuck, that hurt. He grimaced.
“Serves you right. You’re lucky I didn’t blow your fucking leg off,” Anthony said. “I’m only sorry you’ll be too distracted by your own pain to fully appreciate hers.”
One to go…
The pain was unbearable, but he was running out of time fast. Ethan shouldered the beam once more, the movement jarring his wounded leg, and he swore, fighting back the bile rising in his throat. He was going to throw-up, and probably pass out, and possibly even bleed to death up here...but it didn’t matter, because his plan had worked.
The eaves erupted into a swirling storm of noise, and movement. Through his pain, Ethan heard Isla gasp, and he prayed that she understood. He felt the air around him come alive with beating wings, heard Anthony swear in confusion, and horror, as the disturbed bats swooped down towards him, and then finally, Ethan got what he’d been waiting for.
Anthony fired into the rafters. Something soft brushed Ethan’s shoulder and hit the floor beside him. A shower of splintered wood rained down on Ethan’s head, and he felt himself slipping towards oblivion. But it was done. Two cartridges, both spent, and Isla still alive.
With a colossal effort, Ethan managed to garble out something he hoped came close to “Run!” and then the darkness took him.
*
Isla careered around the twisting staircase, her feet slipping on the uneven stone, her hands thrown out either side of her for balance. Every instinct in her screamed to turn around, to go back.
How could she leave him there? But how could she not?
It had been obvious, the minute the bats descended, what Ethan’s plan had been. He’d intended to get himself shot. He’d deliberately provoked Anthony into using one cartridge on him, and the other on the bats, who were now swooping over Isla’s head as she fled the tower.
Anthony wouldn’t be far behind her, she knew. Her chances of getting away were slim, but it was the only chance she had, a chance she’d been given thanks to Ethan’s sacrifice. A sob escaped her.
Would he survive the gunshot? Or was his life slipping away even now, as she fled?
Footsteps thundered down the staircase after her, and Isla leapt down the remaining steps, crashing against the door, and yanking it open. She raced down the corridors of Rosehill, her lungs screaming, and her mind whirling.
She needed to get back to the study, to the phone...but then what? It would take time for help to arrive, and she could hardly sit and twiddle her thumbs with Anthony so close behind, and Ethan bleeding to death up in the tower. No, she had to call for help and get back to him, somehow.
She took the stairs three at a time, flying past the gallery of portraits, clinging to the rickety old bannister for dear life. The last thing she needed was to end up sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, injured and helpless. She was the only one who could save them now. Their lives depended on it.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs behind her.
“You can’t outrun me, Isla.” Anthony’s voice rang out.
He was right. Over a distance, he would easily catch her, with his long, easy strides, but she’d had a head start, and besides, she didn’t need to run forever. She had a plan.
Isla skidded across the parquet floor in the entrance hall, retracing her steps from earlier, flying towards the dim glow of the study door, her breathing ragged. She swung around the doorframe and snatched up the telephone receiver. She dialled ‘999’ with shaking fingers, and prayed it would connect before Anthony realised what she’d done.
“So predictable, so stupid,” Anthony drawled. He was walking now. Confident that he had her cornered. She heard his lazy strides closing in, and her heart hammered against her chest. Please God let this work.
Isla ran to the bookcase. Dumas, Dumas...where was it?
There. The gold spine leapt out at her, and she pushed it. The mechanism creaked to life, and she willed it to hurry. The passageway revealed itself with unbearable slowness, and Isla whimpered, hearing Anthony’s footsteps come to a stop outside the study door.
Finally, the gap was big enough for her to squeeze through, and she did, pulling the door gently closed behind her. There was no way for Isla to lock herself in. She would just have to hope Anthony wouldn’t figure it out. It was hardly a fool-proof plan, but it was the only plan she had, and she didn’t have time to cower in fear, waiting to see whether or not it would work.
Isla tiptoed through the narrow, musty passageway as quickly as she dared. In the distance, behind her, Isla heard a furious crashing, and she could only guess that Anthony was taking his frustrations at her escape out on the furniture...or trying to force his way through the bookcase. Isla ducked her head to avoid the sloping stone ceiling and kept climbing.
It took her some time to wrestle the bolt on the trapdoor loose, and drag herself up into the narrow bedroom. When she emerged the smell of petrol hit her instantly. Is
la’s eyes watered in protest, and she swallowed down a cough, not knowing where Anthony might be, and not wanting to lead him back to finish what he had started.
Isla crept along the corridor, with her back pressed to the wall, heading straight for the tower entrance, but she stopped dead, a few feet away from it. A bloodied trail led away from the tower door.
Either Ethan had made it down from the tower...or Anthony had been wounded somehow. There was no way for her to know which it was.
She followed the dark red smears, bracing herself for the sight of Ethan collapsed on the stairs, or Anthony lurking around the next bend. Isla didn’t know which would be worse.
The trail stopped outside the nursery door. Oh god. Was Ethan in there? Isla braced one hand on the door, her pulse thrumming in her neck, and then she smelled it- the unmistakable waft of smoke curling up the stairwell. Rosehill was on fire.
Isla pushed the door open.
Slumped against the window, covered in blood, stood Ethan.
Oh, thank god. He was alive. Relief flooded Isla, and her legs jellied beneath her
The curtain beside him was torn, and he’d used it to tie a makeshift tourniquet around his wounded leg. There was no part of his skin or clothing that wasn’t streaked with blood. Isla didn’t know how so much of his blood could be outside of his body, and he still be alive.
He raised a small, bloodied pen knife, in one shaking hand.
“Ethan, it’s me.” Isla rushed forward.
At the sound of her voice, he sagged a little lower against the window and moaned.
“No, no, no. You shouldnae’ve come back, Isla. You were supposed to get out of here. Get as far away as possible.” His voice was filled with despair.
Isla burst into tears. She’d held off as long as she could, but the sight of him covered in blood, and shaking was too much.
“I couldn’t,” Isla sobbed. “I couldn’t leave you. I’m sorry.” She hooked one arm under Ethan’s. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”
Ethan grunted. “Yes, but I’ll slow you down. You should go. Run. Before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late, Ethan. The castle is on fire. We have to move, and I’m not leaving you, so don’t waste time arguing with me.”
She tugged gently on his arm, and Ethan limped after her.
They made it down to the first-floor landing, with Ethan leaning heavily on Isla. Thick smoke billowed up from the ground floor, stinging Isla’s eyes, and clogging her throat.
Ethan tugged at her arm, shaking his head. “We willnae make it that way. Servants’ staircase.”
Isla led the way. She could feel Ethan slowing, hear the effort in his breath. His arm was cold beneath hers, but sweat beaded his brow.
Finally, they burst through the door at the bottom of the staircase. The servant’s corridor was rapidly filling with smoke, and Isla had to feel her way along the wall towards the kitchen, pulling Ethan behind her. They were almost at the kitchen door when an almighty crash reverberated through the castle.
Ethan came to a standstill. Isla could barely make out his features through the plumes of smoke, but she heard the conflict in his voice. “Anthony.”
Isla tightened her grip on his hand. “I know, Ethan but we have to get out of here!”
“I can’t leave him.”
Isla tugged on his arm.“You have to.”
But Ethan remained frozen in place.
Isla’s eyes stung from the smoke and she closed them. “Ethan, please-”
“You go.”
Isla’s eyes flew open. “No! No way.” She squeezed Ethan’s hand, but he slid it deftly from hers.
“I’m sorry, Isla. I have to.” Ethan disappeared into the smoke.
Isla’s eyes streamed, and her throat burned. She wanted to follow Ethan towards the flames, but she couldn’t. Not when escape, help, and survival were within reach. She stumbled through the kitchen and wrenched open the back door. Gravel sliced into her knees as she fell to the ground coughing, and retching, as smoke billowed through the open door around her.
“Oh my god, Isla. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Connor was suddenly in front of her, trying to help her to her feet. “Where’s Ethan?”
Isla opened her mouth to answer, but her throat constricted, and she broke into another coughing fit.
Connor stared past her, at the burning castle in horror. “Oh god, no. Please, no…” he moaned.
In the distance, sirens sounded, and Isla collapsed in Connor’s arms.
*
Ethan staggered along the corridor, coughing and wheezing. He could no longer feel the pain in his leg, could no longer feel anything other than the sheer effort of breathing. He stumbled, reaching out for the wall, but instead shoved heavily against a door. The study? The door gave way but didn’t swing fully open. The flames were louder now, spitting and crackling, and Ethan felt the rush of smoke billowing overhead as he fell to his knees. This must have been where it started.
He tried to get to his feet but slipped, his hand grasping onto something just inside the doorway. Something soft, something human.
“Ant?” Ethan shouted, but his throat was shredded, and it came out as a whisper and was carried away in the smoke. He pulled on Anthony’s arm, dragging him through the narrow gap in the door, and along the corridor, slipping, swearing, and stumbling.
Ethan was no longer sweating. His skin felt tight, and hot all over, and his chest seemed to be caving in on itself, and he’d lost all sense of direction in this hellscape. He crumpled to the floor and lay panting in the darkness, fighting for breath.
Beside him, Anthony shifted and groaned. “Why the fuck did you come back? You should have left me.”
Ethan tried to speak, to tell him he had no choice, that even after everything, he couldn’t have left his best friend to burn in a hell of his own making, but there was no air left in his lungs for speaking, or for breathing, and there among the flames, Ethan slipped into oblivion.
Forty Seven
Something tickled Isla’s nose. She reached to swipe it away and felt a sharp tug in the back of her hand.
“Ouch. What-”
“Shhh. It’s okay. Don’t move.”
Ethan?
Isla prised her eyelids open with tremendous effort. Her eyes felt gritty and sore. The world swam into focus, but it wasn’t one she recognised. A tiled ceiling with harsh lighting, plain white walls, the smell of disinfectant, and from somewhere nearby a slow, steady beeping. The only familiar thing was Ethan’s face hovering above hers, and even that looked strange, pale and drawn. Isla turned her attention to him, tuning out the harsh, alien surroundings.
“Where are we?” She tried to sit up but felt like she was held in place by a million invisible threads. “Ethan?” She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice.
“Shhh.” Ethan rubbed his thumb across the knuckles of her hand. “We’re in hospital, Isla. You don’t remember?”
Anthony. The gun. The tower. The fire.
The beeping noise sped up and grew louder.
“Isla?” Ethan looked alarmed.
“I remember.”
Ethan squeezed Isla’s hand in his.
“Anthony...did he?...” Isla croaked.
A shadow flitted across Ethan’s face. Fury. Agony. Regret. He shook his head, once.
“Oh, Ethan-” Isla reached for him but found herself tethered. Looking down she saw why- wires and tubes snaked out from under the bedsheets, trailing off in different directions.
“Don’t move,” Ethan said. He ran a hand up her arm. “You’re hooked up everywhere. You have a needle in your other hand, that they’re pumping fluid through, and you have a blood pressure cuff here-” He squeezed Isla’s arm gently. “You have oxygen tubing in your nose.” Ah, the tickling. “And you’re attached to a machine that’s monitoring your vital signs. I’ve been sitting here listening to your heartbeat. It’s the most beautiful sound. You have no idea...”
It hurt
to talk, but Isla had to ask. She needed to know. “The baby?” It came out as a whisper.
Understanding dawned on Ethan’s face, and something else too, something like panic. Oh god, no. He knew something, and he didn’t want to tell her. Tears stung her eyes.
“It’s okay, Isla. They scanned you. I wasnae there, but apparently there’s a picture somewhere.” Ethan shrugged with obvious frustration.
Isla craned her neck. Sure enough, there on her bedside locker, beside a host of things she didn’t recognise, was something she did. A grainy picture of a white shape, tiny but unmistakably human, surrounded by black. Tears rolled down Isla’s cheeks, but she let them, as relief coursed through her veins.
“Oh my god, Ethan. I can’t believe we made it out of there alive, I didn’t think…”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand.
“I’m so glad you were here when I woke up. How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough for someone to notice I’m missing,” Ethan said cryptically.
“Missing? What do you mean?”
Then Isla noticed what she hadn’t before- she wasn’t the only one hooked up to something. Both Ethan’s hands were bandaged, and behind him, a bag of fluid dangled from a metal pole on wheels. He was perched on the edge of her mattress, but a pair of crutches leaned against the bed frame beside him.
“Your leg?” A vision flashed behind Isla’s eyes of Anthony firing the gun, and Ethan collapsing to the floor of the tower. Her chest constricted.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Ethan said hurriedly, his head tilting towards the monitor beside Isla’s bed. “The shot is all out, it missed my major arteries, and it’s been cleaned up. Good as new, I promise.” Ethan’s voice cracked, and he gave a short, harsh cough.
“You should be in bed,” Isla said.
“No, I should be here, with you.”
A nurse with grey dreadlocks, and an expression like thunder, burst into the room.
“There you are! Why am I not surprised?” She quirked one eyebrow at Ethan, then turned to Isla. “So you’re the reason my patient cannae stay in his bed and do as he’s told?”
Out of Sight Page 36