by Susan Lewis
‘Oh Jane, Jane . . .’ Kirsten groaned, putting a hand to her head.
‘Just once, please!’ Jane whispered.
When Kirsten didn’t answer Jane turned to the sofa and sat down hugging her spindly knees to her chest. ‘I just had that doll,’ she said softly. ‘That was all I ever had. I pretended it was a baby, a real, live baby that loved me. I could even hear him crying sometimes. I mean I know he didn’t cry really, but I could hear it. I used to talk to him because I had no one else to talk to. You always said you would talk to me, but you never did. I used to call you up so I could hear your voice, but then I was too afraid to speak. Sometimes I said your name, but whenever I did you hung up on me.’ Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, her tiny body was shaking. ‘I just wanted you to love me, Kirsten,’ she sobbed. ‘I wanted you to be a part of our family, just me, you, Laurence and Tom. I even killed Anna so that she wouldn’t come between us all.’
Kirsten watched her, feeling so impotent and so torn apart with shock that she just didn’t know what to say.
‘Mummy,’ Jane whispered, holding a hand out towards Kirsten.
Kirsten looked at it, not knowing whether or not she should take it, in the end she left it.
Jane continued to cry. Kirsten stared down at her hardly able to think. It wasn’t credible, Jane could never have done something like that, yet Kowski’s voice was ringing in her ears. ‘It would take a physicist to work something like that out . . .’ Kowski had said, and Jane’s father was a physicist, had tried to encourage Jane to become one too, had taught her chemical formulas . . . Kirsten’s head fell forward as she thought of Anna, saw her body being carried from the set – the innocent victim of a madness that had been festered by an unimaginable loneliness and need to be loved. A madness that was at last surfacing through the layers of buried emotion and destroying the poor, tortured mind that harboured it.
‘What about Jake?’ she whispered.
For a moment or two Jane didn’t answer, then her voice came, almost as an echo, from the depths of a bottomless pain. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ she croaked. ‘I liked Jake, I didn’t want him to die.’ She raised her head, blinked as though clearing her vision. Her pale skin was mottled, huge tears still rolled down her cheeks. ‘It was supposed to be you,’ she said staring absently into the fire.
Kirsten looked at her.
‘You were going to shut me out,’ Jane said.
Still Kirsten could only look at her.
‘You were going to take Laurence away from me. I tried everything I could to get close to you, to show you that I loved you, but Laurence was the only one who cared. You never cared. You were nice enough to me when it suited you, but you laughed at me, Kirsten, and mocked me, just like all the others. Then you told Laurence you wanted me to go.’
‘Oh Jane, why did you never speak to one of us about the way you were feeling?’ Kirsten groaned.
But Jane wasn’t listening. ‘I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay. I’d never had a family before, the people you gave me to, they didn’t want me. They hated me. You didn’t want me either, but Laurence did. He wanted me to stay, but you were going to make him push me out. I loved you, Kirsten. I loved you so much, why didn’t you want me?’
‘Oh Jane, I did,’ Kirsten said, going to kneel in front of her. ‘I was trying to think of what was best for you.’
‘No. You didn’t care about me. You just wanted me to go. No one ever wants me. No one’s ever cared about me . . .’
‘I care about you, Jane.’
Jane’s desperate eyes searched Kirsten’s face. ‘Do you?’ she said.
Kirsten smiled and nodded, but though her heart was churning with pity all she wanted was to get Jane out of the house. It made no sense to be so afraid of a tiny scrap of a girl, but she was.
Jane looked down at their joined hands. ‘They’ll be coming for me soon, won’t they?’ she said brokenly. ‘They’ll take me away and lock me up and I’ll never see any of you again.’ She lifted her head and gazed at Kirsten with wide, desolate eyes. ‘I don’t want to go to prison,’ she said. ‘But I’ll have to, won’t I?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kirsten answered.
‘Do they have the electric chair in New Orleans?’ Jane whispered.
‘Oh God,’ Kirsten groaned. ‘I don’t know, Jane. I . . .’
Suddenly Jane started to giggle, then jamming her hands and legs out in front of her she started to vibrate as though being electrocuted.
‘Jane stop it! Please!’ Kirsten cried, gripping her shoulders and holding her steady, but suddenly Jane was on her feet. She moved so fast that Kirsten didn’t even know what was happening until the blinding pain exploded in her head. She staggered back against the chair.
‘Jane, stop, please,’ she cried, holding out her hands to defend herself.
‘Liar! Liar! Liar!’ Jane screamed, slamming the poker relentlessly down on Kirsten’s hands, cracking her fingers, bruising her arms. ‘You don’t care about me! No one cares about me!’
‘Jane! Jane!’ Kirsten cried.
Jane backed towards the fire, her eyes fixed on Kirsten. She picked up the shovel, stuffed it into the hot coals then brought it out again, overflowing.
Kirsten watched, dumbfounded. It was as though it was all happening in slow motion as Jane’s arm started to glide through an endless arc and the shimmering red and black coals flew through the air.
It was the pain of the fire searing into her flesh that brought Kirsten to her senses. Leaping to her feet she made a dive for Jane and brought her to the floor. Jane made no attempt to struggle, she simply lay there, panting for breath and staring up at the ceiling.
After a while Kirsten pulled herself up, lifting Jane with her and leaned her back against the fireside chair. ‘I want to help you,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not going to desert you, but please, Jane . . .’
‘Why didn’t you love me?’ Jane mumbled. ‘Why didn’t you want me?’
‘Jane, please listen to me –’
‘They hated me, the people you gave me to. They never loved me like Laurence did. He is my father, isn’t he?’ he said, turning pleading eyes to Kirsten.
Kirsten didn’t answer. She knew that somehow she had to get Tom away from here or at the very least get help, but using the phone while Jane was there was out of the question. She wondered if she could contrive a reason for going upstairs, she could use the phone in the bedroom.
She looked down at Jane’s colourless face. For the moment she seemed calm. Carefully Kirsten edged herself out of their embrace and got to her feet.
‘Don’t leave me,’ Jane whispered as Kirsten reached the door. ‘Please, don’t leave me.’
Kirsten turned back to see Jane’s crumpled, forlorn little body huddled on the floor. She was a stranger, yet that peculiar little face was so familiar. And seeing the helplessness and bewilderment in Jane’s eyes Kirsten was almost tempted to go back. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said gently.
Jane’s gaze returned to the fire. Kirsten walked to the bottom of the stairs. She was on the point of going up when she heard Jane move. She turned round, saw Jane coming and put out her arms. Suddenly Jane’s hand whipped out from behind her back and the poker crashed brutally down on Kirsten’s wrists.
Kirsten cried out, snatched her hands back, gasping at the excruciating pain. Jane lifted the poker again. Kirsten ducked, the poker slammed against her skull and she staggered to her knees.
‘He’s my father!’ Jane cried. ‘You’re trying to take him away, but I won’t let you.’
‘Jane, please,’ Kirsten choked, clutching the stair rail and trying to pull herself up. It was strange how, despite the reality of the pain, she still couldn’t make herself believe this was happening.
‘He loves me! He cares for me! Why don’t you? You’re my mother! Why don’t you love me?’
Kirsten started to speak, but suddenly her head snapped back as the poker crashed into her face. Blood spurted from her li
ps and nose. She choked, spluttered and groaned in agony. Somehow she managed to push past Jane and stagger into the kitchen where she fell against the sink, turned on the tap and almost screamed as she brought the cold water to her injuries. But the pain was nothing compared to the fear.
‘Laurence won’t want you if you’re not beautiful,’ Jane said, coming in after her, and to Kirsten’s horror she snatched a knife from the wall.
‘Jane, for God’s sake, please stop this,’ Kirsten choked, backing up against the sink, but there was an inhuman energy in Jane’s eyes and Kirsten could see there was no reaching her. As Jane lunged Kirsten twisted herself away, but Jane grabbed her hair and dragged her head back so far that Kirsten clutched the sink to keep herself up.
As the knife plunged towards her face Kirsten let go of the sink and dropped to the floor. The knife cut through the air, but already Jane was lifting it again. Kirsten rolled away, throwing herself under the table, so panicked and shaking so hard it was as though every part of her was bound in paralyzing knots of terror.
She watched helplessly as Jane flung the chairs across the kitchen. Then everything went silent. She could see Jane’s legs, standing at one end of the table, unmoving. Briefly she turned her head to see if the way was clear to the door, but when she turned back she saw Jane start across the kitchen as though sensing her intention. It was then that Kirsten saw the canister of dry-ice leaking tendrils of smoke in the corner.
‘Oh God help me,’ she mumbled.
Jane was standing at the door now. With an energy that defied her injuries Kirsten pulled herself up at the other end of the table. Jane was watching her, her grey eyes glittering with fear, sobs of terrified laughter spluttering through her lips.
‘Jane, please, put the knife down,’ Kirsten implored. ‘Put it down and then we can talk.’
‘But there’s nothing to talk about any more. It’s too late. I know you don’t want me, I know you’re never going to love me . . .’
Kirsten was about to speak when a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her and she clutched the table to hold herself up.
‘Kirstie, why is your face bleeding?’
At the sound of Tom’s voice Kirsten’s head came up. ‘Oh my God,’ she muttered, starting across the room. ‘Tom! Go! Go back upstairs!’ but Jane already had hold of him.
‘Jane, he’s just a baby, for God’s sake let him go!’ Kirsten cried, her heart freezing with terror.
‘It’s all right, Tom,’ Jane was saying, as she dragged him into the sitting room. ‘No one’s going to hurt you. You just be a good boy now.’
‘Kirstie!’ Tom wailed, trying to look back over his shoulder.
‘Jane! Let him go!’ Kirsten shouted, but as she came up behind her Jane spun round, lashing out with the knife.
Kirsten gasped as it sliced into her hand. Tom struggled to break free, screaming Kirsten’s name, but Jane wrenched his arms behind him and held the blade to his throat.
‘This is the baby you want!’ she sobbed. ‘But he’s not yours. You can’t have him. He’s mine and Laurence’s. He’s not yours!’
‘Jane, don’t do this to him,’ Kirsten begged. ‘You love him, you can’t . . . Jane!’ she screamed as the point of the blade sunk into Tom’s tender flesh.
The whole of Tom’s body was shuddering with sobs as he gulped Kirsten’s name.
Jane’s tormented eyes held Kirsten’s. ‘You’re all going to be together,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have everything you’ve ever wanted and I’ll be alone. No one will care about me. But why should you have everything? Why should Tom have so much love when I never had any?’
‘Jane,’ Kirsten pleaded, her voice shrill with panic, ‘can’t you see that if you do anything to Tom you’ll break Laurence’s heart. If you love him, Jane . . .’
‘Daddy!’ Tom whimpered.
Jane looked down. Kirsten seized her chance and slammed bunched fists into the side of Jane’s head. The knife flew across the room as Jane crashed against the back of the sofa and grabbing Tom’s hand Kirsten fled to the front door.
‘I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy!’ Tom gulped.
The front door was locked. There were no keys. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ Kirsten panted and hitching Tom under her arm she ran as fast as she could up to her bedroom.
She slammed the door behind her and heaving Tom on to her hip dashed to the phone. The line was dead.
‘Oh no,’ she muttered under her breath, realizing that Jane must have disconnected it.
‘I don’t want Jane to be frightening any more,’ Tom sobbed.
‘No, sweetheart, neither do I,’ Kirsten mumbled looking frantically around the room and wondering what to do next. Then realizing there was no lock on the door she ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
Still holding Tom she turned on the tap and put a facecloth under the running water. Then putting his head back she dabbed at the cut on Tom’s neck. To her relief it was no more than a scratch. Not so the one on her hand and as she stared down at the gaping flesh she felt a terrible, nauseating fear rush through her. What the hell was she going to do now?
She lowered the lid of the lavatory seat and sat down, holding Tom tight. She must make herself think. There was a way out of this, there had to be, but dear God how much easier it would be if Tom weren’t there.
Suddenly she stiffened. The creak of a floorboard, the soft tread of footsteps. Jane was coming up the stairs.
Kirsten’s head was pounding. Even after all that had happened she still couldn’t accept that it was Jane, the Jane they had known – at least thought they’d known – and loved who was doing this.
‘Kirsten! Kirsten!’ Jane called.
Tom buried his face in Kirsten’s neck and clutched her tightly.
‘Tom? Where are you, Tom?’ Jane’s voice was as normal as if they were playing hide-and-seek.
‘I think you must be in here,’ Jane said and Kirsten knew she was at the bedroom door.
She listened, every nerve in her body clenching with fear as Jane’s footsteps drew closer.
‘Yes, I think you’re in here,’ Jane said, and both Kirsten and Tom jumped as Jane rattled the door.
Kirsten tried to look down at Tom, but his face was still pressed against her neck. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ she whispered, smoothing his hair. ‘It’s going to be all right.’
She could hear Jane moving about in the bedroom and closed her eyes tightly. How in God’s name had this happened? How could a person have changed so much, or hidden so much for so long? Never in a million years would she have thought Jane capable of anything like this. What the hell had her parents done to her to have forced her into imagining herself the daughter of someone else? What kind of cruelty had they inflicted? Just what had happened to her to have devastated her so completely?
‘You see, you’re shutting me out again, Kirsten,’ Jane said. ‘But it doesn’t matter any more. I know Laurence loves you and Tom, but he loves me too. He’ll still have me.’
Tom’s fingers tightened on Kirsten’s dressing-gown and Kirsten, her eyes glued to the door, nervously kissed the top of his head.
‘Bye bye, Tom,’ Jane said. ‘You stay there with Mummy.’
‘I want my Daddy,’ Tom whispered, pulling his head back to look up at Kirsten.
‘I know, darling. He’ll be here soon,’ Kirsten answered, wishing to God it were true. She didn’t even want to think about how Laurence was going to take it, knowing that he had trusted his precious son to the care of someone so profoundly disturbed. But nothing had happened to him, at least not yet.
She listened as Jane’s footsteps retreated across the bedroom. The bedroom door closed and dimly she heard Jane walking down the stairs. For a while she heard nothing, then it was as though furniture was being dragged across the hall. Oh please God, Kirsten prayed, don’t let her be barricading us in . . . Suddenly she froze. The dry-ice! And at the very instant the thought occurred to her she saw the smok
e curling its way in under the bathroom door.
‘Jesus Christ!’ she gasped springing to her feet. Fear was battering her mind so hard she couldn’t remember what Kowski had said. ‘Can’t shout . . . Can’t move . . . Kills within seconds . . .’ Nearing hysteria she glanced about the bathroom. Jesus, of all the rooms to have chosen, there was no window!
She looked down, the smoke was already getting thicker, she could smell it now . . . It was entering their bodies!
Hardly knowing what she was doing she pushed Tom’s face inside her dressing gown, snatched up a towel and tore open the door. A cloud of lethal gas billowed in her face. She pressed the towel to her mouth and nose and started across the bedroom, already feeling her limbs beginning to drag. As she reached the window Tom’s weight was starting to pull her down. She dropped the towel, reached out for the catch, fumbling and holding tightly to her breath. She staggered, tears blinded her. Her head hit the window as she started to fall. She pressed a hand to the sill, trying to hold herself up. She lifted a hand again, clung on to the catch and as she sank to her knees she pulled it down with her. A gust of wind caught the window and flung it open. Kirsten leaned towards the fresh air, gulped at it, then feeling a small strength returning to her limbs she turned back, grabbed the smoking cannister and hurled it into the garden below.
Shuddering and panting she let her head fall against the window-frame, closing her eyes and thanking God for their escape. She jumped as suddenly the front door slammed.
‘It’s Daddy!’ Tom cried wriggling to get down.
‘No!’ Kirsten said, snatching him back. ‘No, you can’t go down. Not until we know for sure if it’s Daddy.’
She walked unsteadily to the door, opened it a fraction and listened. The house, the street outside, the whole world, it seemed, had been plunged into sudden and total silence. Her ears were straining for any kind of noise that might tell her Jane was still in the house, but as the minutes ticked by there was still only silence. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to run the risk of taking Tom down with her, so returning to the bathroom she set him down on the lavatory and crouching in front of him said, ‘I want you to be a brave boy now, darling. I want you to stay here while I go downstairs and I want you to promise me you’ll bolt the door behind me. OK?’