Love Lies Dying
Page 60
John looked up at her. She was smiling down at him.
He looked past her, trying to see Sherrie. But he couldn’t find her anywhere.
The tractor was in the way. Still moving.
Slowly rolling straight towards them.
He looked back to the steering wheel, thinking maybe Sherrie was back on the tractor, but the driver’s cabin was empty.
The tractor rolled closer. Its front scoop sitting low now, parallel to the ground. Its teeth pointing directly at them.
He sat up quickly.
Pain bit at his hip.
His hand moved to his back pocket.
And he remembered…
Yes!
He smiled.
Of course!
My game.
My rules.
And one last chance…
Quickly, John got to his feet, picking himself out of the wet clay. He was holding his arm, trying to stop the blood flow.
He took a step towards her.
She put her hands on her hips and stood there, different emotions flooding across her face.
Work quickly!
The noise of the tractor’s motor was getting louder as it rolled towards them.
“Zoe, please,” he said in a calm voice.
Her head tilted.
He held out his hands to her.
She didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Zoe’s face fell. Her bottom lip quivered and her forehead creased.
She looked away from him, to the ground.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“You know, that’s all I ever really wanted, Johnny.”
This is it!
He leaped forward and punched her square in the face.
He felt her nose crack under his fist and the blood began to gush immediately.
She crumpled in front of him, hitting the ground heavily. Her back slammed into the water and clay, her head bounced hard.
John looked up at the tractor.
Almost here!
His hands fumbled in his back pocket.
Come on, come on! Quickly!
He pulled out the handcuffs and slapped one around her wrist. The teeth clattered and locked tight.
She was on the ground, shaking her head. Her other hand was trying to stop the flow of blood pouring from her nose.
Dazed and confused, she didn’t fight back.
Using the cuffs, he dragged her a few feet across the court. She slid through the puddles and the clay.
He attached the other cuff to the nearest tennis net pole.
The teeth clattered and locked into place.
She was cuffed to the pole.
The tractor edged closer.
She was right in its path.
He bent down to her ear. “The game stops here,” he whispered.
She looked at him, blood streaming from her nose, a look of fear on her face. It all dawned on her then.
“No!” she yelled as the sat up and pulled on the handcuffs.
Lightning flashed.
John saw a glint of gold around Zoe’s neck.
He reached down her shirt and grabbed the half-heart gold pendant. With one swift movement, he pulled it from her neck.
She screamed at the top of her voice. She turned around and placed one foot on the pole for leverage and pulled harder at the cuffs, but they wouldn’t let go.
She pulled at them, her free hand tearing at the skin on her cuffed wrist, trying desperately to escape, fighting to get her wrist to slip from the cuff’s grip.
But it was no use.
The tractor was almost upon them now. The teeth on the scoop looked sharp, wet and hungry.
John turned his back and walked away.
The game stops here.
He headed up the court, where he could now see Sherrie.
She was sitting to one side of the court, leaning against one of the perimeter trees. Her left hand was holding the wound in her right shoulder. It was bleeding badly, John could see.
He smiled at her.
She smiled back.
“No!” Zoe screamed into the night. “Help me, please!”
John resisted the urge to turn around and watch. He kept his eyes on Sherrie.
And Sherrie kept her eyes fastened on his.
The tractor continued behind him.
The motor slowly turning in the night.
Can’t be long now.
“I did it for us!” Zoe yelled. “For both of us!”
John walked on, not looking back.
“I love yooooouuuuu!”
There was the sound of metal on metal, a long grinding metallic crunch. And then a sickening squelch that was drowned out by one single short scream.
Then there was silence for a few seconds, followed by the sound of crushing wood and metal echoing in the air.
By the time John reached Sherrie and bent down to look at her wound, only the low chug of the tractor motor and the occasional rumble of thunder broke the silence.
“You okay?” he whispered to her.
She nodded.
Sherrie’s shoulder wound wasn’t too bad. The bullet had passed right through. There was just a lot of blood soaking into her wet shirt.
He took off his shirt and split it in two, wrapping one half around Sherrie’s shoulder and the other half around his arm to stop the bleeding where the stitches had burst open.
His wound looked deep and ugly. But he didn’t care.
In the rain, he bent forward and kissed Sherrie.
They sat there for quite a while.
Holding each other.
When they were ready, they stood up and turned back to the gazebo.
The tractor had rolled over the tennis pole and had come to rest embedded in the wreckage of the gazebo. Its motor still turned, but the piles of broken timber and metal from the gazebo had stopped it from continuing any further. Its wheels churned over and over in the clay.
The tennis net pole was bent to one side, completely flattened by the tractor, and the cuff was still attached. The chain had broken and the other cuff couldn’t be seen. There was a massive amount of blood pooling in the clay puddles around the pole, and a solitary sneaker off to one side.
John could see the deep red drag marks that stretched from the pole to under the tractor. Somewhere at the front of the tractor was Zoe’s body.
John sighed.
The game was at an end.
They stepped closer to the carnage.
“Stay here,” John said.
Sherrie shook her head, “No, I won’t.”
He turned and stared into her eyes. He kissed her lips.
“Please, honey. I’ll only be a minute.”
She looked deep into his eyes as if searching for something. After a few seconds she nodded. “Okay.”
John turned from her and walked slowly across the court to the tractor.
The motor continued to run.
He thought about turning it off, but changed his mind. Let it run out of fuel in its own time.
Let it die too.
Wearily, he walked past the front of the tractor. He didn’t want to look, but he knew he had to. He had to make sure.
He couldn’t see much through all the broken timber and twisted metal. The front scoop was embedded deep into the wrecked remains of the gazebo.
But he could see her ponytail.
It was laying just to the right of the tractor on a pile of metal and timber. The rain was soaking through it, rinsing the blood away. Her roots were there too, and a part of her scalp was hooked onto a sharp piece of split metal.
Blood ran down the front of the tractor’s scoop and its grill was splattered with blood and other dark wet debris too. It dripped down and was pooling on the broken wood caught underneath it.
He’d seen enough.
Game over, Zoe.
Turning from her final resting-place, he crawled across the slippery wet metal
and planks and made his way over to where Helen’s hand reached out from the rubble.
He knelt by her hand and tried to think of something to say.
But words wouldn’t help now.
Thunder rolled around him and the rain began to ease slightly.
He reached out with the half-heart pendant in his hand and dropped it into hers. He tried to close her cold fingers around the pendant, but they were stiff and wouldn’t bend. He noticed her index finger was missing. The wound was a jagged mess and there were marks around the skin. It looked as if it had been bitten off.
Oh Jesus…
“Goodbye, Helen,” he whispered.
He turned away and hurriedly clambered from the wreckage that was once the gazebo. A place where I couldn’t even save myself.
Or Helen…
His feet sloshed down onto the clay of the court once more and he walked back past the tractor.
Lightning flashed and a reflection in the clay caught his eye.
He stopped, turned and bent down to it.
Sitting in a small puddle was Zoe’s belly button ring and diamond.
A small piece of bloodied stomach flesh was still attached to it.
Must have come out when we fought…
He reached out to pick it up.
Stopped.
Then changed his mind.
He stood once more and smiled at Sherrie.
She smiled weakly back.
John stepped forward, crushing the diamond under his foot, pushing it deeper and deeper into the wet clay.
It all ends here.
He walked back to Sherrie as thunder rolled in the distance.
The rain had eased more, coming down now as a fine mist.
He put his arm around her and hugged her tight.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She looked up at him with a worried expression on her face.
He smiled, bent forward and kissed her.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s all over now.”
They walked from the tennis court with their arms around each other. The silence around them was almost unnatural. With no rain and no thunder, it was as if the whole world had suddenly stopped.
And in that silence, John heard the jangle of his key ring on his right hip.
They stopped on the path while they still had the lights shining around them.
He reached down and unhooked the key ring from his belt. He smiled at her as she watched him. He pried the keys apart and took one from the ring. Then he hooked the key ring onto his left hip.
He reached around her with his left arm and hugged her once more, ignoring the pain in his arm.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” she replied as she rested her head on his shoulder.
It hurt his shoulder wound to have her lean on him like that, but he didn’t care.
Not any more.
In his right hand he held the red key.
The red key to freedom.
John smiled into the night as the security lights from the tennis court turned themselves off, throwing the area back into darkness. Only the chugging of the tractor engine was left.
He gripped the red key between his fingers and then flicked it into the forest.
Freedom.
Finally, they were free…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steve Gerlach is one of Australia's few thriller writers. Born and bred in Australia, Gerlach's fast-paced, cut-to-the-bone style is a refreshing voice in the dry, barren Australian literary scene.
Steve's background includes many varied roles. He has worked as an editor for a book publisher; as the editor-in-chief of an Australian motorcycle magazine; editor and publisher of an international crime magazine, Probable Cause; a researcher and columnist for a major Australian daily newspaper; a Technical Publications Officer in the security industry; marketing executive for an international telecommunications software company; a writer for Australian Defence training and software producers; and currently works in the field of major infrastructure procurement and delivery.
He was also the Historical Advisor on the Australian film, Let's Get Skase.
Steve Gerlach lives in Melbourne, where he is currently working on a new novel or two, and a podcast or three.
For the latest news:www.stevegerlach.com
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Contents
Title page
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PART I
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
PART II
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
PART III
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
Sixty-two
Sixty-three
Sixty-four
Sixty-five
Sixty-six
Sixty-seven
Sixty-eight
Sixty-nine
Seventy
Seventy-one
Seventy-two
Seventy-three
Seventy-four
Seventy-five
Seventy-six
Seventy-seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Table of Contents
Title page
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PART I
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
PART II
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
&n
bsp; Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
PART III
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
Sixty-two
Sixty-three
Sixty-four
Sixty-five
Sixty-six
Sixty-seven
Sixty-eight
Sixty-nine
Seventy
Seventy-one
Seventy-two
Seventy-three
Seventy-four
Seventy-five
Seventy-six
Seventy-seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR