Small Spaces

by Sarah Epstein

Crouching and shivering, I watch him from behind the popcorn stand. He hovers just outside the toilet block like a shiny black crow. He’s waiting for me to come out, but I’m not in there; I’m hiding.

  I won’t play his games any more.

  It feels like I’ve won.

  He ignores the tilt and whirl of the mechanical octopus, the bouncy organ music from the carousel. A group of noisy teenagers swerve around him and one spills popcorn on the ground at his feet. He doesn’t move, though, still as a statue. Waiting for me.

  But I’m waiting for Morgan. His parents will take me home. The Fisher family will look after me.

  Morgan’s little sister appears in the doorway of the toilet block, her blonde hair bright in the sunshine. Two balloons are tied to her wrist – one pink and one yellow – bobbing and bumping behind her and making her giggle. She looks around for her brother and her eyes find me peeking out from behind the popcorn stand.

  I almost raise my hand to wave.

  Then Sparrow swoops in, dark hood low over his face, and swallows her up with his shadow.

  Mallory Fisher? What does Sparrow want with her?

  She looks up at him.

  Mallory can see him too!

  He bends in front of her, his lips moving quickly, pointing towards the path leading down the hill to the car park. Mallory nods, letting him take her hand. He yanks the balloons from her wrist and sets them free, like a magic trick.

  He told me he can make things disappear.

  Sparrow glances over his shoulder at the popcorn stand, at my hiding spot that isn’t a hiding spot at all.

  He knows I’m here.

  He knows I’m letting him take another girl instead of me.

  Grinning at me with his black and yellow teeth, I know he’s daring me to stop him. He wants me to come out and take Mallory’s place.

  But it’s just another trick.

  I keep hiding as my Sparrow flies away.

  43

  NOW

  Hide!

  Mallory mouths it again, more urgently this time. I follow her line of sight to the high windows across the room. His footsteps are close by again, his shadow looming just outside. He places two more jerry cans beside the others and then he’s crouching on his knees.

  My eyes scour every wall and piece of furniture. I don’t want to leave Mallory exposed and alone. It’s too late to duck past into the cellar; Sparrow’s already manoeuvring his legs through the window.

  Mallory forces her arm through a gap in the wire cage and whacks my thigh for my attention. She points at the wardrobe, the brass key nestled in the lock. I slide across the floor as Sparrow clambers on the bookcase. I’m hidden from view here but reach for the key delicately, easing it clockwise till it clicks. The varnished door releases beneath my hand and I coax it open just wide enough to fit through. I’m met with the cool mustiness of hungry shadows.

  My skin ripples with goosebumps as I crush my hands into fists. I try to convince my brain to go against every instinct it’s ever had.

  I can’t do it.

  I can’t willingly climb into that small space inside.

  Around the other side of the wardrobe is the thump and slosh of jerry cans being dragged through the window. Behind me, Mallory’s resumed a sleeping position on the floor of her cage. She watches me hesitate too long at the wardrobe’s door, and something in her face changes: a slight parting of the lips, a slackening of the muscles around her eyes.

  A silent exchange passes between us, of inevitability.

  Of giving up.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouth at her, shaking my head. It’s like she senses how much I despise myself at this moment, my frustration that I can’t control my fear enough to give us a fighting chance. She blinks once slowly, graciously, as if to assure me: It’s okay, Tash. It’s not your fault.

  No, it’s not my fault we’re down here, or that we were targeted as kids. It’s not my fault we were stalked and drugged, insignificant pawns in a much larger game. But I’ve let myself become all-consumed by Sparrow and the cruel things he did to me. I’m letting Sparrow define who I am.

  The bookcase creaks under his weight as he lowers himself to the floor. I snatch up the pillar candlestick and slide Mallory a look of reassurance.

  We’re doing this. We’re getting out of here, together.

  Sucking in a breath, I squeeze through the narrow door gap, pinching the lock casing on the inside to pull it closed. The door won’t seal properly unless it’s locked from the outside. For this I’m grateful – the half-inch slit of light from the storage room is a lifeline. While it’s a space large enough to accommodate extravagant dresses and tail coats, it might as well be a coffin. My breath and pulse are already galloping away from me. My whole body flushes hot as though even my blood is desperate to find its way out.

  As I strain to pinpoint Sparrow’s position, every tiny movement I make is amplified, bouncing back at me from the cupboard’s panels. I peer through the crack. All I can see from here is the wall pipe Ally was tethered to.

  I think I must have revealed my position when Sparrow spews a string of expletives on the other side of the door. Maybe it’s the sound of his voice, or the fear he’ll lock me in here, that makes my bladder weaken. I press my legs together so hard my thigh muscles burn.

  He appears right in front of me – a sliver of Sparrow – a glimpse of his gaunt profile as he crouches near the pipe. After so many years of being told differently, it’s almost inconceivable he actually exists in the real world and not just inside my head.

  He retrieves a piece of plastic cord from the floor and growls another swearword. I flinch as he tosses it aside and stalks out of my line of sight. I hear him kick Mallory’s cage and have to bite my lip, count to five, to hold it together. He prowls the room. The cage rattles again and I pray Mallory’s still faking unconsciousness.

  Clutching the candlestick in one hand, I place the other flat against the door.

  I have the element of surprise on my side. As long as I don’t blow it.

  My whole body pulsates. I wait for my moment. His shadow moves across the gap and I throw my full weight against the door. It connects with some part of his body and he’s knocked off balance as I tumble out of the wardrobe on top of him. I swing the candlestick as he’s turning to face me, missing his head and finding his shoulder. In a blink, he’s clutching my throat with one hand and yanking the candlestick away with the other.

  He steers me to the wall and slams me into the stonework. Things go black for a second. I blink to clear my vision and find Sparrow’s face within inches of mine.

  His skin is waxy and pockmarked. Deep crow’s feet fan out beneath his eyes. Absurd thoughts zip in and out: He’s getting old. He’s not the ageless pixie creature I thought he was.

  “Somebody’s awake,” he says, a nerve in his eyelid twitching. His pupils are inky and dilated. “Did we help aunty get away?”

  His forearm is zigzagged with ropy veins, his hand a metal bar across my windpipe. I try to prize his fingers from my throat but they’re locked onto me like a bear trap. I wriggle my body against the wall – it only makes him apply more pressure. White dots dance in front of my eyes.

  As his lips peel back, mouth open wide, he releases a guttural roar into my face.

  Flinching against his hot breath and rage, my body stiffens. I hear Mallory’s terrified thumping and kicking at her cage.

  “This time you’re mine, you little bitch.” He flicks and spins the heavy candlestick in his hand like a tennis player getting ready to serve. “We play things my way.”

  He drives the end of the candlestick into my stomach. Air shoots from my lungs and I double over, gagging. He lets me collapse onto all fours. From the corner of my eye I see his leg swing up and there’s no way of preparing. The crack of his boot is like an axe splitting my ribs.

  I collapse onto my side. I can’t even catch my breath to cry out. Sparrow’s fist jerks towards my head and I shrink away from the bl
ow. It’s my hair he wants. He grabs a handful and uses it to drag me to the water pipe.

  Dumping me against the wall, he snatches up one limp arm to loop plastic cord around my wrist. I rally some strength and attempt to shove him away. He responds with an elbow to my face. The blow releases a warm river from my nose and a keening wail through my eardrums. I’m so out of it for a moment I almost think I hear someone calling my name.

  I turn to look at Mallory. She’s staring back at me, wide-eyed and ashen.

  Mallory can speak now?

  I hear my name again and Mallory’s lips aren’t moving.

  “Where are you?” the voice calls from upstairs. “Front door was open. Tash?”

  Sadie.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  “Don’t,” I gargle, gagging on blood at the back of my throat. “Sadie, run.”

  My ribs ache with every word. Sparrow rams me into the wall again and takes off across the room. He grabs two jerry cans and runs flat out for the cellar stairs.

  “Sadie, run!” I yell again, hauling myself upright. “Get out of the house! Get to your van!” I unravel the cord on my wrist and stagger over to Mallory’s cage. Somewhere underneath the pain, my adrenaline is surging. “Mal, you’ve got to kick the hinges, okay? Do it now. Hurry.”

  She nods, then bunches up her leg and kicks the wire door until the top hinge buckles. She keeps it up until the metal casing splits and falls away.

  “Nearly there!” I pull the wire, skewing the door on its axis. This new gap is almost large enough for her to squeeze through. She tries, but her head gets caught halfway.

  She kicks it some more and attempts it a second time. I bounce the door on its remaining hinges and it bends further. Another tug or two and Mallory can–

  I’m yanked backwards by my hair.

  Mallory gasps a silent scream and scuttles into the corner of her cage. Sparrow swings me into a headlock and forces me to my knees. His sleeve is wet and reeks of petrol. Upstairs, a smoke alarm comes to life.

  Sparrow drags me to the water pipe, loosens the headlock, clamps a hand around the back of my neck. He forces me to lean forwards on my hands as he scrounges for orange cord on the ground.

  Suddenly, I’m eight years old again, my face thrust into the creek, at Sparrow’s mercy. I fought him off that day.

  I just have to do it again.

  Mallory reaches an arm through the wire bars, and for a second I think it’s to comfort me. Then I spot what she’s straining for: the pillar candlestick is half a metre from the cage tucked up against the wall. I hold my breath as her fingertips brush the round base, almost pushing it further out of her reach. Her fingernails catch the edge and she flicks it towards her. It’s barely in her hand before she sends it skidding across the concrete towards me.

  If Sparrow sees it coming, he has no time to react. The candlestick is in my hand and swinging up to his face in one fluid motion. I feel it crack against his jawbone, his face flying sideways. He drops to his knees and I crash-tackle him to the ground.

  “Now, Mallory!” I scream, climbing on top of Sparrow’s back. “Get out of there!”

  It’s like a starter gun at a swimming carnival – Mallory is moving. She pushes at the cage door with every ounce of her strength.

  I smell smoke. I picture flames licking up the walls and eating Ally’s furniture. I don’t know how much longer we can safely get out. Sparrow groans beneath me and I know he’ll only stay down for a short time. He has too much at stake, too much capacity to bounce back and keep fighting.

  Throwing my whole weight against Sparrow’s upper back, I hook my arm around his neck. Mallory tries to squeeze her head out again but the gap is still too small. She spins around, bracing her upper body against one end of the cage to kick the door with both feet. Sparrow buckles underneath me, trying to throw me off.

  It’s like a switch flips inside my brain. Don’t you dare! White-hot fury shoots through my veins.

  After all of this, he can’t have us.

  After everything he’s put us through, he can’t win.

  Mallory tries to squeeze her head through the gap so violently, the wire cuts into her temple. She sobs as she strains for freedom. It’s so painful to watch, I start crying too.

  I tighten my arm around Sparrow’s throat. He flails his arms, slapping at my thighs.

  “You’re not playing it right,” I hiss into his ear. “Stop struggling.”

  I should know by now – I should know – that Sparrow’s wiry frame disguises his strength. He rolls like a crocodile, flipping me over with him. I crash into the wardrobe so hard the door flies open, knocking the remaining wind out of me.

  Sparrow scrambles to his feet. I curl up in anticipation of his boot or a fist. Instead, he moves with a singular mission: the red jerry cans on the opposite side of the room. He has the lid off one in seconds. I wait for him to kick it on its side, letting it glug and pool on the floor at my ankles. Instead, he lifts it by the handle. He’s taking it somewhere. Maybe back upstairs. Maybe we have another chance to climb up the bookcase and get away.

  It’s like slow motion when he tips it over the dog cage.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO!”

  Mallory squawks and crushes into a ball as liquid splatters through the bars to soak her. I lunge towards the cage and slam my body on top of it, my ribs shrieking out in pain. The remaining petrol splashes all over my back, into my hair, trickling down my neck and into my mouth.

  How is this happening?

  We’re supposed to get out.

  Jerking upright, I’m ready to run at him, pummel him, with whatever I have left. He’s holding a silver Zippo lighter in his hand.

  “Uh, uh, u–uh,” he singsongs, carefully stepping out of the puddle of petrol spreading from beneath the cage.

  The fumes burn my eyes. My breath is wheezy. I’m so exhausted I can barely think of what I should do next.

  I shove my hand through the bars of the cage and clutch Mallory’s wrist. She slides her hand into mine and our fingers intertwine.

  We are tethered, Mallory. Like sisters holding hands.

  “You don’t look at him,” I tell her, as I sense Sparrow backing away from us towards the cellar. She nods, her ice-blue eyes locked on my face. “You just look at me, Mal. Only me.”

  Sparrow says nothing, no poignant parting words. No justifications or empty apologies.

  We mean nothing to him. We are pawn pieces.

  Inconvenient loose ends.

  Still my mind scours for possible weapons and escape routes, how I can get us out of this cellar. Even if we’re burning. Even if the whole house collapses on top of us, I’ll find a way.

  The lighter clinks open. I keep my eyes locked with Mallory’s.

  “I’m right here,” I assure her.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I haven’t given up but I don’t know – I don’t know! – how to help us.

  Do I have the energy to rush him? Trick him? Drag Mallory’s cage across the room? One flick of the lighter and our clothes will be up in flames.

  Mallory’s sobbing now. A lock of hair falls across her eyes and sticks to a tear track on her cheek. I almost reach into the cage to brush it away. Instead, it encourages an idea.

  A tiny spark of hope.

  “Wait!” I tell Sparrow, spinning to face him. I squeeze Mallory’s hand and straighten to a stand, lining myself up with the open wardrobe. “You’ve won fair and square. It’s only right you should have a memento.”

  Whether it’s his drug-eaten brain or twisted enjoyment at prolonging our torture, something makes him pause. I dig in my pocket for the Ziploc bag. I tip out Mallory’s hair and hold it up in the palm of my hand.

  He edges closer. Still, it’s not close enough. I wrap a finger around a lock of my own hair and yank it roughly from my head. That draws him nearer, reeled in by his sick sense of pleasure. I drape my brown strands across Mallory’s blonde ones and hold them up like a sacrificial
offering.

  Sparrow advances slowly, brandishing his lighter like a pistol. My muscles tighten as I ready myself to launch. He moves in front of the wardrobe and I spring forwards, growling a desperate battle cry. I sink my shoulder into his chest. His boots skid backwards across the concrete until they hit the foot of the wardrobe.

  I slap him, punch him, kick and scratch him, until he loses balance and topples inside.

  “It’s a magic trick,” I scream. “I know how to make you disappear.”

  I swing the door closed but one of his ankles hangs out onto the floor. I crunch the door against it over and over again until he cries out and retracts it inside.

  The door slams shut and I throw my weight against it as I fumble with the key, almost collapsing with relief when it clunks securely into place.

  Sparrow thrashes inside the wardrobe. His voice is a shriek. “I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna rip you apart!”

  He launches himself at the door with such force the wardrobe rocks. He does it again, even harder. He must be breaking bones in there.

  “It’s game over, you sick bastard!” I say, thumping my fist against the door. “And I won.” I almost laugh at the absurdity of my words. I think I must be in shock.

  The wardrobe is robust and he won’t have much room for leverage, but that doesn’t mean he won’t find a way out. I dash to the corner and clumsily drag the walnut dresser into the middle of the room. I line it up an arm’s length from the wardrobe and tip it backwards on an angle to brace the door.

  Sparrow roars again but his thuds are not as effective now the door is braced. “You’re gonna burn. You bitches are all gonna burn!”

  The smoke is getting thicker. The storage room has taken on a bluish haze. I don’t want to imagine flames tearing along the hallway and advancing down the cellar steps. My skin is hot and itchy from the petrol and Mallory is covered in angry red patches too.

  “Right,” I tell her. “It’s time to kick your way out of here. Pretend this cage door is that arsehole’s face.”

  This elicits a wisp of a smile, and then she’s all business. Our small victory has renewed Mallory’s energy stores. She attacks the cage door with a vengeance, and in five kicks the bottom hinge splits. I wrench the door towards me, and Mallory scrambles through the gap and into my arms. She hugs me so tightly, I can barely breathe, but I don’t tell her to let go.