by Terry Tyler
Jax clutches the door frame; this is a test, if ever there was one. But Dex just smiles at us, sadly, gives Jax a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, and goes downstairs.
Jax turns to me. "I know I can't do it now, but one day I'm going to kill him, too."
He walks over the landing into his room, and slams the door.
I do Mum's shift at the hotel to take my mind off it. Not that anything can. Rowan tries to talk to me about Heath, but I don't encourage her; she gets on to the subject of who might have done it, so I offer to go upstairs and do the laundry, on my own.
It's harder still, tonight. Dex and Mum are up at the castle, thank God. Kara and Phil are with us; Kara makes dinner, and afterwards we sit around the fire and talk about Heath, and Flora talks about Adam. It's proper morbid. Are we ever going to have a normal life again, without someone we love being murdered every five minutes? It's a wonder we're not all going off our heads. Jax doesn't talk at all, but no one questions that. He has a couple of glasses of brandy, but I whisper to him not to have any more because he's got to keep his head straight.
I go out to the kitchen to help Kara wash up.
"Mum said you knew about her and Heath."
"Mm-mm. I guessed; it wasn't hard." She smiles. "I know them both so well."
"They were really in love. Like, planning to be together. Heath wanted them to go away from here, start afresh somewhere."
"I know. I didn't want them to, but I was glad she was so happy." She looks at me, and sighs. "Shit, Lottie."
I nod. "Do you think Dex guessed?"
"I asked her that. She's sure he didn't know." She stops, hands still in the water. "She says he's so wrapped up in this book that he never noticed much of what she thought or felt."
"I was just thinking—"
"What?"
Do I say this or not? Sod it, I will. I've got to. "Oh, you know. If Dex knew about her and Heath. It could have been, you know, Dex who did it."
She touches me on the shoulder. "No way, pet. Dex is an egotistical so-and-so at the best of times, but he's not capable of that. And he's being a huge support to your mum at the moment, even though he knew that if anyone was his rival, Heath was. I'm seeing a side to him I didn't know about. I don't know if Vicky could get through this without him, I really don't."
And that's what makes up my mind.
I've either got to tell Mum now, and get it over with, and risk her having a total nervous breakdown, or I keep it from her until she’s stronger, and risk her going apeshit at me.
I’m going for later rather than sooner.
I think. Shit.
If it comes out now, with feelings so raw, somebody will kill him—maybe even Mum—and this island will become somewhere murder is the order of the day. It's like Phil said; if we always fight fire with fire, we become part of the problem. And whenever it happens, Phoenix is going to grow up knowing his dad was a psycho.
Having Naomi as a mum is bad enough. He'll be a total headcase. Poor kid.
So I’ve got to deal with this all alone for now.
I can do it.
I can do it.
My chest goes all tight and panicky just thinking about it.
In the Monk's Head Hotel, Wedge drinks his large glass of JD, and reflects on the past few days. It's all good; as Dex predicted, the dumb shit villagers are running around muttering about that Travis bloke.
He's surprised at Dex, didn't know he had it in him. Might be worth keeping him alive after all. He'll be moving out of that castle, though, whatever happens. Wedge wants it for himself.
Only room for one Jarl on Lindisfarne!
He laughs to himself, and yawns.
His eyes feel heavy.
Bette's staring at him. Intently. She looks more alert than he's seen her look in months.
"Shall we have an early night, babe?" She rubs his crotch, and he feels a stirring. "Come on. You can tie me up, if y'like. I'll get the fishnets and crotchless on. How d'you fancy that?"
He lurches to his feet. She's his again; didn't take her long to forget Hodgson.
As he follows her tight little arse up the stairs, though, he wonders if he's got the energy for a session. Can't work out why he's so tired. Must be getting old.
In the bedroom, he's asleep even before Bette has pulled his boots off.
Kara and Phil go back next door at about ten, and Flora goes to bed. I listen to music in Mum's room, and stare out of the window at the distant shape of the castle against the moonlit sky. The clouds have cleared; it looks cold.
At twelve-forty, Jax comes to find me. He's got his hair tied back under a hat, and we're both in black clothes. We don't speak, but pad downstairs as quietly as we can, and out into the street. I was right; it's bloody freezing. There's no one around as we walk up Markyate Road and turn into Fendle Street, no candlelight in windows. Good; no one must see us. There's already frost on the little green. We push open the big gates at the back of the Monk's Head; they creak, but I think we're safe. And yes, the back door is open.
This is it.
I'm about to go in, when Jax pulls me back.
"No." He puts his arms around me, I hug him back, and we just stand there like that for a moment. "You don't need to see this."
I don't want him to be alone, but I can't help being glad.
He shuts the door behind him, and I wait.
My name is Lottie Keating, I am seventeen years and ten months old, and I am waiting outside a hotel while my friend Jax goes in to kill a man.
This is a mad, mad world. I want to go away, far away. I don't care about Mac, or Nicole, or Flora, or anyone. I just want to get my mum and Jax, and go.
Oh, Christ. If I'd said yes when Mum first mentioned it, would we already be gone? Safely away from here? Would none of this have happened?
Is this all my fault?
I double over, clutching my stomach. No. I can't think that.
I can't help it.
Now I understand. This burden I must carry, it's my punishment for being such a fucking child, so fucking selfish.
I start to cry, then stop myself, because what Jax is going through is much, much worse.
Bette has lit two lanterns, one as he goes in, another up the stairs. Jax puts his foot on the bottom step and stops, shuts his eyes—no, he can't stop, can't think.
Mustn't think.
On the landing he hears snores from other rooms, but sees nothing apart from a sliver of dull yellow light from the end door. Closer, closer; he is aware of Cleary nearby, feels the heat from his body, smells that vaguely pissy odour that trails him around.
Bette's eyes flash in the dark as she touches him on the shoulder, propels him through the door, and she and Cleary melt back into the shadows.
Two small candles illuminate the beast on the bed, sleeping so silently that Jax wonders if Cleary gave him a fatal dose by mistake, but no; Wedge moves his head, just a fraction, a tiny snore spluttering from his throat.
That's the last fucking noise you'll ever make, Jax thinks, and he is glad he heard it, because it proved him alive when Heath is dead, and that knowledge fills Jax's heart with a rage so intense that it is all he can do not to lunge at him, beat those black eyes into pulp with his fists, scream battle cries from deep within his soul, a primeval call for death, destruction, vengeance.
But he must be quiet.
His heart thuds as he leans over the face of the man who murdered his father.
His knife is poised, ready, and all at once it is easy, he feels no fear, because what he is doing is right, and he knows the truth of this as he plunges the knife into the thick, ugly, tattooed neck. Bone, gristle, muscle, sinew, and the blood, the warm blood, the smell of life, the last fucking squirt of life this fucking shithead will ever know—
—and it's good, he can't stop, he's plunging it in, over and over, and with every squelch, every crack of bone that meets the beautiful blade in its path, the pain of losing his father is released. His head screams, but his mouth doesn't; h
e grunts, gasps for breath, and then it's over.
Fucking big ape shithead never even moved; Jax is surprised, disappointed, because he wanted him to look into his eyes, know him, but like Bette said, he doesn't get to have that.
He falls back, soaked in gore, drops the knife and stares at the black, dead shape on the bed.
He's not Jackson Brookes, son of Heath and Sarah, any more. Nor is he Jax the silly-arse metalhead. He's someone else now. He's the man who killed the man who killed his dad.
Right now, that is all he is.
He turns; in the shadows beyond the door he can see Bette, but he doesn't want to talk to her, doesn't look at her as he moves past and down the stairs. At the bottom he stops, just as he did on the way up, although now he is not terrified.
He has never felt so unafraid.
He avenged his father's murder. He took the knife, and he did what had to be done.
For you, Dad.
It feels like Jax is only gone about five minutes. When he comes out, he walks straight past me, without saying a word.
I catch him up, over the green. "Is he dead?"
He's covered in blood.
His eyes are glassy; he looks like a zombie. Then he stops and leans over, and pukes up all over the grass.
"You need to wash. Get rid of those clothes."
He nods. We don't speak, and he walks so fast I have to run to keep up with him. I relax once we're home; Flora won't wake, and even if she does, she's so daft that we can make up a story. I help him wash down in the kitchen. He's in a daze; I don't think he could do it himself. I even have to take his clothes off. I put them in a rubbish sack because I get the feeling he won't want to see them again, and I don't rate my chances of getting them clean. He just stands there in his boxers, shivering, while I sponge all the blood off. I put my arms around him and still he doesn't speak, but I think I'm doing some good, because he hugs me back, dead tight.
"I'll go to bed now," he says. "And we won't talk about it. Ever."
I have so many questions, but I can't ask any of them.
Morning comes, bright and frosty, and I wake early. I'm in a weird limbo; so much needs to be sorted out, but I don't know how. I make coffee and take it up to Jax and Flora; Jax is lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He smiles at me, then looks away again, so I leave.
I go up to the hotel, for want of something better to do.
"Oh good, you're here," Rowan says, and shoves more coffee at me. "I don't know if they're going to start doing runs again today; I hope so." She looks at the shelves, which are a bit depleted. "Just a couple of days with nothing coming in; it's amazing how quickly it goes. Still, fifty of us, two or three meals a day; it's a lot of food."
"Is that all there are of us now? Fifty?"
She picks up one of her many clipboards. "Something like that. Well, people have died and left. Come on, let's do a stock check. I need to make a shopping list for Kara."
Tins of tomatoes and kidney beans. Better than the hell in my head. Half an hour later, though, Clay pops his head around the door.
"Meeting in the Hudson in one hour! Attendance compulsory, okay?"
Oh, crap. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.
I dash home, and throw open Jax's bedroom door.
He's not there.
Flora calls up to me from the bottom of the stairs. "He's gone out. Over the dunes. Says he's not going to this meeting." She frowns. "I said he should, but he just pushed past me. Is everything all right? Well, no, of course it's not, but—"
"He's okay." I look back into his room. "He needs his space right now, don't hassle him."
Everyone is crammed into the pub, and Dex is sitting on the stool by the bar in his usual place. The wave of hatred that floods over me when I look at him makes me dizzy.
I look around. Aria is not here. In all that's gone on, I've forgotten about her.
Mum's sitting at the table nearest to the bar, and I push through to join her. It's dead quiet. Eventually, Dex stands up.
"I've got some disturbing news, I'm afraid. I'm asking you to hear me out, so please don't jump in with any questions or opinions until I've finished." He pauses, looking around. Even Avery's dad is silent. "Okay." He puts his hands on his hips, and stares down at the floor. It seems so fucking rehearsed.
He looks up, fake emotion all over his face.
"We've all been affected by losing our friends in recent weeks, not least of all Marcus, and now we have to dig deep and find a way to deal with the loss of Heath, too." He breaths out, and looks at the floor again before continuing. "What I have to tell you now will leave some of you saying that I'm to blame, and I will have to deal with that, too."
"Come on, spit it out," calls out Paul.
Dex puts up a hand. "Okay." Deep breath. "This morning, I found out who killed Marcus and Heath. It was Alan Wedgebrow. Wedge. He killed both of them."
There's a massive gasp, all round the room, and Dex rests his evil, lying eyes on Audrey. "I have apologised to Audrey in private, but I need to do so in front of all of you, too."
He does the hands on hips staring at the floor thing, again. He's good, I’ll give him that; if I didn't know what a lying piece of shit he is, I'd think he was so gutted that he was struggling to find the words to say. As, no doubt, does everyone else.
When he looks up, his face is stricken with false emotion. "I had no idea; I thought I could read people, but I was so, so wrong. Jez and Parks came to see me this morning. They found Wedge stabbed to death on his bed, and a note, which they presume is from Bette and Cleary. I have it here." He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his jeans pocket. "It says, 'This piece of shit killed Heath and Marcus, as well as Kai. I know for sure. He's got what he deserves'. Then, in another hand, it says, 'This is true, 100%'."
He reads it in a flat, monotone voice, like he’s taking the piss out of Bette and Cleary for not being as articulate as him.
Nicole shouts out, “Yeah? And? Is that it?”
Dex takes a breath. “Parks and Jez said it was Bette’s knife by the body.”
“She always seemed so nice,” says Davina, with a shudder. “When she wasn’t drunk.”
“I imagine it was Cleary who actually did the deed,” says Dex.
Paul puts his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Does it matter who killed that scumbag?”
“Who gives a shit?” calls out Nicole. “What I meant was, do we take their word for it that Wedge murdered the other two?”
Ozzy nods. "Yeah, is this is totally kosher? He definitely did it? I'm just thinking of Jax, I don't want him to get false info, you know?"
Dex nods, and waves the note around. "I agree, it’s a shame it's not more detailed, but I've discussed it with Jez and Parks at some length, and we don't see any reason for Bette and Cleary to lie; some of you know them quite well, as I do, and neither are the type to go around accusing others of such heinous crimes. Anyone can look at it if they want to, it's here." He places it on the bar, behind him.
"Yeah, so we know about Kai nicking his woman, and he had some run-in with Marcus," Nicole calls out, "but why would he kill Heath?"
"Who knows with a psycho like that?" grunts Paul. "Heath probably looked at him the wrong way, or summat."
Dex nods, with a big stupid sad expression. He's overdoing it, but nobody but me would know. "Paul's hit the nail on the head, I'm afraid. Jez told me that, some years back, Wedge killed his own brother. Then there's the member of a rival bike gang who cast aspersions on Wedge’s manhood, because he couldn't grow a thick beard." Pause for effect. "The gang member 'fell' from the window of his own flat. At the top of a tower block. Wedge hinted at others, too."
Collective gasps and dismay.
"Bloody hell, could've been any of us," says Gareth.
Nods and murmurs of agreement. Not even Nicole has anything more to say.
It's going to be accepted, then. I'm bloody sure Dex breathes a sigh of relief.
“Or maybe someone else killed
Bette and Cleary, hid their bodies, then wrote the note in their handwriting,” says Gareth. “And that’s the person what really killed Heath. And Wedge.”
He’s actually grinning.
“Gareth.” Kara’s voice is like a foghorn from the bar. “Shut the fuck up.”
Dex ignores him. "Look. I take responsibility for what happened, and know I’m guilty of a terrible lack of judgement; if I'd investigated Audrey's claims—well, that's something I have to live with. If you want me to step down as leader, I will. If you want me to leave the island, as I should have insisted Wedge did, last year, then I will go. Immediately." He lifts his hands. "I will bear any punishment you think fitting. I fucked up, and people we love died."
I think about the other seven, who died because he evicted Jonas. Most people don't know about that, either.
Paul hasn’t finished yet, and for once I don't mind.
"Okay, nice speech, so what happens now? Do we kill the killer? Is murder the order of the fucking day now, eh?"
Dex bites his lip and shakes his head.
I want to rush at him, screaming. I can see him up in his bedroom in the castle, rehearsing every move.
With Mum asleep in his four-poster, knowing nothing.
"Bette and Cleary have cleared out. Left. Jez said that yes, in normal times justice would have been meted out by the members of the Hadrian, because they killed the President, but I don't know that this will be pursued. To quote Jez: 'It's a bit different when the President is a fucking psychopath'. These are exceptional times, they could be anywhere, and it's highly unlikely that they'll be seen around these parts again."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This gets worse and worse. Bette and Cleary were going to be my lifeline. The only two people, besides Jax, that I could talk to.
"But you admit it's your fault Marcus and Heath are dead," says Paul.
Paul, you fucking star.
Kara stands up. "That's not fair, Paul, and you know it. Any one of us could have pressed Dex to investigate Audrey's accusations; we all looked away, because it was easier. If Dex is to blame for that, then we all are."