The Devil's Wire
Page 22
"Get away from me!"
McKenzie swings out blindly and Jennifer goes down, falling backward, the softest part of her skull smashing against the corner of the hearth. The world goes quiet and grey. Then Jennifer opens her eyes and McKenzie is gone and so is the knife.
62
By the time Jennifer gets to the front door, McKenzie is on her bike disappearing up the road. She's heading east, out of the neighborhood and into town. Jennifer stands there in a daze listening to the bike tires hiss curses at the bitumen. It's an effort to focus. The bang to the head was fierce. Her skull feels like it's submerged in a pressure cooker and black dots fly like arrows in front of her eyes.
She wills one foot in front of the other, gets in the car and tries to catch up to the winking pedals. They suddenly veer left and disappear down a cycle way. Jennifer circles the block and finds the exit, but by the time she gets there McKenzie is gone.
"Hon, please don't do this."
She starts to cry and her vision blurs as she scans the roads, pavements and driveways. It is all so incredibly bleak, too many dark and dangerous places. She pictures McKenzie, pedaling face first into the biting wind, tears turning to ice on her cheeks, knife clutched in her hand. Think. Where could she be?
Jennifer checks all the obvious places. The school. The library. The skate park. The tennis courts. No sign of her anywhere. She glides past dark alleyways, the off limits back lots, the badlands sites and under the bridge places.
The streets are mostly empty apart from an old lady in an anorak walking a terrier and, over by the substation, a shifty guy in a grey hoodie who glances briefly into her headlights revealing a face of finger-picked lesions.
She turns left and sees the Walmart parking lot and a group of older Korean kids hanging out by a pimped up maroon Concord, playing around with subwoofer settings, knocking back dollar beers.
"Have you seen a girl come through here on a bike?"
"No one like that."
"You sure?"
Abruptly, Tupak blasts from the Concord, drowning out her voice, and she moves on.
For over two hours, she drives up and down every side, back, and main street she can think of. It gets close to 4am and Jennifer grows frantic.
She spots an empty drive-through and a kid around nineteen grimly trying to wrangle burger wrappers into a black sack with a trash-picker. She winds down her window.
"Did you see a girl come through here on a bike?"
"Say again."
"Twelve, wearing pajamas, purple with white daisies, have you seen her?"
He reaches up and scratches a flaky patch of eczema under his ear. "No ma'am, just some dude on a three wheeler."
"You sure? Maybe she used the bathroom or something?"
He stares at her. "You don't look so good."
"Is there anybody else inside who might have seen her?"
He shakes his head. "Just me here from 2 to 6. You sure you're okay?"
"Please, this is important."
"I'm sorry. I haven't seen her."
He walks closer to Jennifer's window, dragging his near full sack behind him. "Here," he says, removing what she thinks is a condom from his pocket. Using his teeth, he tears open the foil and hands her the moist towelette inside. "For your face."
She glances in the mirror at her dirty, tear-streaked reflection and takes the towelette and presses it to her skin.
"It's got Aloe in it," he says.
"It's nice."
"Yeah."
She stares numbly through the windscreen. The street sweeper appears around the corner, brushes whirring in the gutters.
"I don't know where she is."
"Who?"
She buries her face in her hands and cries.
"Ma'am, please let me call someone for you."
She lifts her head. "I'll be alright."
"It's no trouble."
"I've got to go."
She pulls out of the lot. Glancing in her rearview, she can see the kid standing there, staring after her, trash-picker in his hand like a bullwhip.
Taking a right, she retraces the route she'd driven earlier, past the tennis courts, skate park, library, school. Nothing. The pressure in her head is unbearable. A searing pain strikes her temple, blinding her completely. She's forced to pull over and throw up in the gutter. Bile spills from her lips. Her insides cramp violently and she throws up again.
She rests her palm on the side door to catch her breath, legs quivering wildly beneath her. She pauses there for a moment, trying to get it together, to dial things back. All around her the sky is brightening, the color of honey, lights are flicking on inside buildings, a new day is coming.
She calls Ethan North. "I can't find McKenzie."
He pauses then says, "I'll meet you at the house."
*
When Jennifer turns the corner into Pine Ridge Road his car is already there. She hurries from the Nissan and crosses the grass toward the house. A flicker to her left stops her. McKenzie's bike, discarded on top of the holly bush, rear light flashing.
"McKenzie!"
Jennifer runs inside. The living room is empty, fire dead, rags gone.
"In here," the low intonation of a man, coming from the kitchen.
She bursts through the door. Relief washes over her. Ethan North and McKenzie look up from the table, the bundle of bloody rags and knife in front of them.
"Oh thank God," she embraces McKenzie. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it."
And it feels so good, just to hold her, to know she's okay, and Jennifer doesn't want to let her go, then she hears the voice and is gripped by a sudden awful terror.
"Jenny."
She cannot swallow. She cannot see. She cannot breathe.
"Turn around, Jenny."
McKenzie is trembling. "She's got a gun," she whispers.
Jennifer turns round. Lenise is in the corner, leg bloody and raw, eyes darting, Jennifer's gun wavering in her hand, the one she'd so foolishly left behind at the plant.
"I thought we were done," says Jennifer.
Lenise brushes hair from her eyes with her wrist. "I can't do it." Her voice is low and sad.
"Can't do what?"
Lenise begins to cry. She looks at McKenzie. "Let her go."
Time falls flat and heavy. Lenise cries hard, and they watch her, and that wobbling gun.
"You can't just expect everything to be fine, Jenny. My heart isn't made of stone." Her voice is thin, like she's talking in a tunnel, and Jennifer's never seen her look so bad.
"Give me the gun," says Ethan.
Lenise blinks at him dully. "No," she says.
"You're injured, you need help," he presses.
Lenise snaps. "This has got nothing to do with you."
"You're only making things worse," he says.
"Shut up."
"Do what he says," says Jennifer.
Lenise looks at McKenzie. "What about you, girl? Nobody ever asks what you want."
"I'm scared," says McKenzie.
Lenise's face softens. "Come here."
Jennifer steps in front of McKenzie. "Leave her alone."
"Come on, girl." Lenise lifts an arm and gestures McKenzie over.
But McKenzie shrinks further behind Jennifer. "I don't want to."
"There's no need to be frightened," says Lenise.
McKenzie doesn't move so Lenise hobbles forward, energy clearly flagging, and holds out her hand. "Girl, do as I say."
"Mom, don't let her take me."
But Lenise sidesteps Jennifer and pulls McKenzie to her side.
"Leave her alone!" cries Jennifer.
"Good girl," Lenise kisses the top of McKenzie's head. "Everything's going to be fine, just fine, you'll see."
Ethan North stands up. "Enough."
Lenise points the gun at him. "Be quiet."
He raises his hands. "Think about it. This isn't the way to go."
"What would you know?" Lenise takes a phial from her pocket.
"What's that?" says McKenzie, recoiling.
"It helps people sleep," says Lenise.
The sedative they'd used on Hank. Every bad thing flashes through Jennifer's mind. "Lenise, please."
Lenise ignores her and retrieves a jug from the cupboard, gets some juice from the fridge and mixes the sedative.
"Think about what you're doing," pleads Jennifer.
Lenise pours two glasses. She holds one out to Jennifer.
"Drink it."
Lenise nods toward Detective North. "You too. Pick up the glass."
"No," cries McKenzie.
"Don't fret, girl."
"I won't do it," says Jennifer. "I won't leave McKenzie."
"Drink it."
"No!"
Jennifer slaps the glass from Lenise's hand and it goes flying across the kitchen floor. Ethan lunges for Lenise but she's too quick and she swings around and smashes him with the butt of the gun and he goes down, out cold. Lenise pivots to face Jennifer.
"For God's sake," she cries. "Can't you see you're upsetting the girl?"
Jennifer stares at Ethan lying there, unconscious on the kitchen floor, and feels hope slip away.
"Is this what you want?" Lenise thrusts the gun at Jennifer. "A bullet? In front of McKenzie? Because that's where this whole thing is heading. Now pick up that bloody glass."
"No."
"For Christ's Sake."
Lenise stomps over to Ethan's inert body, dragging McKenzie behind her, and presses the gun to his temple.
"You don't want me to do this," she says.
Jennifer looks at McKenzie, poor McKenzie who is caught in the middle, poor McKenzie who deserves none of this, the fear coming off her in waves, eyes pleading with Jennifer.
"Go on," says Lenise. "Drink it."
"No, Mom, don't."
Jennifer picks up the glass. "It's alright," she says.
"Please, Mom, don't leave me."
Jennifer lifts the rim to her lips and drinks and returns the glass to its place.
Lenise nods. "You did the right thing."
McKenzie is crying hard now.
"Sorry, Jenny, truly I am," says Lenise.
Jennifer can feel it take hold. Her head circling, growing heavy, her limbs filling with cement, her heart booming way too slowly inside her ribcage. McKenzie's cries begin to weaken and fade and Jennifer watches their hazy bodies turn to leave. That's when she reaches for the knife and lurches across the room and plunges it into Lenise, right between the wings of her shoulder blades. A shot rings out and Jennifer falls down and she is on her back, breathing hard, seeing the world in cubes – the ceiling, the underside of the countertop, a window segment, the chunk of sky beyond it. McKenzie is stroking and kissing her face.
"I'm alright," says Jennifer. "I'm alright."
Outside it has begun to snow.
63
When Jennifer opens her eyes all she can see is a shard of ice. But when she looks again, it's not ice at all but a tiny window of obscured glass. She shifts her head. She's in a hospital room, in bed, tethered to a drip. There's a trail of charcoal saliva on her pillow.
Taking it slowly, she sits up on her elbows. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recalls multiple quick hands upon her, tearing at her clothes, probing her throat, pinching her wrists, pricking her arms, slapping her face. A jug of water sits on the nightstand and she forgoes the plastic tumbler and grabs the jug with both hands and gulps it back until her stomach swells and she's finally rid of the taste of salt and blood.
She braces herself on the mattress and hauls herself to her feet. Her head swoons and for a second there she thinks she might collapse but she doesn't, rocking back and forth on her heels instead, water dripping from her chin, riding the ground until it steadies under her feet.
The machine of her mind shudders to life, beginning with Ethan North out cold on the floor, the knife in her hand, a bicycle in a holly bush. Did she actually stab someone? She has no memory of who exactly but deduces it must have been Lenise, but she can't know for certain because all the facts are out of sequence and jumbled together. She could have stabbed Ethan North or even McKenzie.
That awful thought seizes her and she's suddenly desperate to find McKenzie. Clutching the spine of the IV stand, she shuffles towards the door, getting only as far as the end of the bed before her legs begin to buckle.
"Whoa," says Ethan North, catching her.
She looks up at his face.
"You're alive," she says.
"Of course."
If he's alive, McKenzie might not be, so she pushes him off and keeps moving. "I have to find McKenzie."
"You need to rest."
She bats away his hands and heads for the door and shouts at the empty corridor. "McKenzie!"
But there's no sign of her anywhere.
"Hey," says Ethan. "She's fine. I made her take a break. She's in the cafeteria getting food."
Jennifer looks at him.
"You're lying," she says.
"I'm not. God's honest."
She calms down. "I thought I'd lost her," she says.
"The opposite's true – you saved her. You saved me too, for that matter. Now get back into bed."
And she does, slowly.
"Is Lenise dead?" she says.
He pauses. "A few inches to her left and she would have been toast. She has a perforated lung but she's going to be alright."
"It all happened so fast," she says.
"You did the right thing."
"It was an accident, what she did to Hank. She was trying to help me," says Jennifer.
"I know."
Outside two birds fight on the ledge and it's dawning on her, the fact that the secret is finally out and now there are consequences to face.
She looks at him. "So you know the truth."
He nods. "Yes."
"And I'm a bad person, for lying, for trying to cover things up."
"You got in over your head," he says, frown deepening.
"Will I go to jail?"
And he licks his lips and looks at his feet and she thinks it must be bad news.
"They're going to offer you a plea deal, accessory after that fact, improper disposal of a body, three years suspended sentence. You'll be on probation which means you'll need to report."
"I'm not going to jail?"
"Not if you take the deal, "he says.
"What about Lenise?"
"They try her here or send her back to South Africa – they haven't decided," he says.
Outside one of the birds gives up and flies away.
"I know it sounds strange, but she's probably the best friend I ever had."
The door opens. It's McKenzie, that hair so savagely cut returning thicker and darker than before. Ethan excuses himself and leaves them to talk.
"How are you doing, hon?"
"They put a tube down your throat," says McKenzie, hovering in the doorway.
Jennifer pats the space beside her. "Why don't you come sit."
McKenzie positions herself at the end of the bed.
"I thought you were going to die," says McKenzie.
"That was some night."
"Yeah."
"You must have questions," says Jennifer.
"I bought you something from the hospital gift shop."
McKenzie digs inside her bag and takes out an object. At first Jennifer thinks it's one of those Christmas snow globes, but when she looks closer instead of Santa there's a tiny island girl in a grass skirt and a purple lei holding a sign that says Hawaii. McKenzie shakes it and the girl's hips sway and glitter sand cascades around her.
"They didn't have one for Florida," says McKenzie.
"I love it," says Jennifer.
McKenzie shakes the globe again and the sand flutters and the island girl dances.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deborah Rogers is a fan of all good suspense, mystery and true crime books. She has a Graduate Diploma in Scriptwriting, and graduated cum laude from the Hagley Writers' Institute. When she's not writing American psychological thrillers, she likes to take her chocolate Labrador for walks on the beach and make decadent desserts.
Copyright Information
ISBN 978-0-473-33864-0
TITLE: The Devil's Wire
First worldwide publication 2015
Copyright © 2015 Deborah Rogers
All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The moral right of Deborah Rogers as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
Published by Lawson Publishing (NZ).
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