BACKWOODS RIPPER: a gripping action suspense thriller

by Anna Willett

  For the first time since opening her eyes, Paige noticed the bald man standing behind the woman. He nodded to her, but didn’t speak. Tilda raised her hand to dab at Paige’s forehead. With strength she didn’t know she had, Paige grabbed the woman’s hand. Tilda let out a gasp of surprise but didn’t pull away.

  “Is my baby okay?” Paige squeezed Tilda’s wrist. “It’s not too late is it? They’ll save the baby, won’t they?” The words came out around sobs and her eyes blurred with tears. Her rational mind told her the kindly woman next to her couldn’t answer those questions, but she wanted, no, needed Tilda to tell her the baby was okay.

  Tilda patted Paige’s hand, the one wrapped around the woman’s small wrist. “I promise they’ll do everything they can to save your baby. But you have to help by staying calm and keeping still. Okay?”

  Paige worked her mouth trying to answer but a deafening roar pierced the night and blocked out her thoughts. From the back of the car came a now familiar chant. “Don’t touch. Don’t touch.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Paige whispered. Don’t be afraid. It’s the ambulance.” Paige squeezed her eyes shut and let darkness swallow her.

  * * *

  She became aware of movement. Her body seemed to be vibrating. Paige opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Not all at once but in snatches of images. Grey metal above her head. A man leaning over her. Hal lying on a stretcher, his eyes closed, straps encircling his body.

  “Hal?” Her voice sounded weak, swamped by the noise overhead.

  “He’s hanging in there.” The man above her looked young. A teenager. No, Paige told herself he’s not a teenager, he’s a medic.

  “Paige,” he spoke again. “I’m Brandon. I’m a medic. Can you tell me how many weeks you are?”

  “Its … I’m…almost thirty weeks.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Good. Have you had any contractions?”

  Paige nodded. “Is my baby okay?”

  Brandon’s face flushed with colour. “We’re going to do everything we can. We’re taking you to Bunbury hospital where you’ll most likely be taken down to theatre.” He paused and she felt him touch her shoulder. “Just hang on, Paige. We’ll do everything we can.

  Yes, Tilda promised. Brandon’s voice drifted over her. He was asking her something, but his words made no sense. She looked over at Hal and then let her eyes close, grateful for the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Paige lifted a slat on the blinds and leaned her head closer to the window. The angle allowed her a clear view of the mail box and driveway where Hal was making his way towards the house. He leaned to the right and wedged the crutch under his arm. Then, in a practiced movement, he pulled a bundle of envelopes out of his teeth and stuffed them down the front of his shorts. He leaned his considerably thinner frame on the left crutch and lifted his prosthetic leg. With his head down, he limped his way to the front door. His determination never ceased to amaze her.

  Paige pulled back from the window and walked into the kitchen. She returned to the table and the blank computer screen in time to hear Hal clomp into the house. In the four months since what Paige now thought of as the incident – she refused to use the woman’s name and would only discuss the four days they spent at Mable House when pushed by Hal or the police – Hal had been through three surgeries. The first took place on the night they escaped.

  Her recollection remained clear. Too clear. She remembered everything in almost minute detail: The look on Hatcher’s face as she was sucked under the car; the agonising tearing in her swollen belly when the gun fired. The images in her head so vivid, she could even see the little specks of dust on the windshield and hear the cracking sound that came when the body rolled beneath the wheels. Sometimes, mostly at night, but even when she was thinking about other things like what to cook for dinner, that cracking sound would pop into her head. Other times, she’d think she felt the baby kick, and her hand would go to her now flat stomach.

  “Some mail.” Hal put the envelopes on the table. “How’s the resume going?”

  Paige scratched her forehead and picked up the envelopes. “Not very well.”

  She felt Hal’s fingers brush the back of her neck. “There’s no rush.”

  “Hal,” she hesitated. “I don’t think I can go back to teaching.”

  Hal manoeuvred himself into the chair directly across from her and leaned his crutches against the table. There were greys sprinkled throughout his messy brown hair and a network of fine lines beneath his eyes. When did that happen? Paige wondered. She’d noticed similar changes in the mirror; only the tight lines around her mouth made her look hard in a way Hal’s face never could.

  He waited for her to continue, but how could she explain when she didn’t really understand herself? All she knew was that she couldn’t stand up in front of all those innocent young faces and pretend the world was a safe and happy place. She couldn’t be the one with all the answers. Not anymore. Not after what she’d done.

  “I just don’t want to do it anymore.” She couldn’t bare the look of sadness in his eyes. Eyes that had lost some of their sparkle. “I’m thinking I could go back to retail. I used to work in a boutique when I was at uni. I was good at it.” She clenched her hands in her lap to keep from touching her stomach. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re good at helping people. You’d be wasted in a dress shop, but if it’s what you want then give it a try.” He rubbed his left thigh and frowned.

  When the medics had rushed Hal into surgery, his left leg was badly infected. The stump contained fragments of splintered bone and the infection had spread from the wound to the tissue surrounding his knee. Doctors made the decision to amputate at mid-thigh, a decision that if delayed would have most likely cost him his life.

  His right leg also needed surgery. The bone was displaced and had been left untreated and incorrectly splinted for four days, making it impossible for surgeons to set the leg without inserting a rod and several bolts to hold the bones in place. Since that night, he’d undergone two more surgeries. One to remove the temporary rod and replace it with smaller plates and screws, and another revision surgery on his stump to extend its length using a skin graft.

  “How’s the pain?”

  “Not bad.” He reached for his crutches. “Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

  “Um.” Paige felt caught off balance by the suggestion. The thought of getting dressed up and going out in public was by equal measures exhausting and terrifying. Not that she could articulate what frightened her about going to a restaurant with her husband.

  Hal waited for her response. She could see worry building in his eyes. “Yes, okay. That sounds good.”

  His face brightened. “One of the perks of having one leg is the disabled parking, which means no driving around looking for a spot.”

  Paige let out a gasp that turned into a laugh. Her first genuine laugh in four months. She was so surprised by Hal’s comment and her response, that she slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Hal responded with a devilish smile. “Paige, I can’t believe you’re laughing at the disabled,” he said in mock disapproval.

  She felt another fit of laughter bubble up in her throat. This time she didn’t try to hide it. She dropped her hand into her lap and really let lose. And just like that, the two of them were chuckling away like school children. They were Paige and Hal again. In love with their whole lives ahead of them. The moment was wonderful, but tantalisingly short.

  Paige found herself remembering the day in the car when Hal put his hand on her belly and felt their son kick. The way he’d looked at her over his sunglasses. The blissful feeling of contentment she’d felt. She’d expected that feeling to last forever. Was this how life would be now? Snatches of happiness that were nothing more than cruel reminders of how things could have been.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Paige realised she’d stopped laughing, and Hal stared at her with all to
o familiar concern.

  “Nothing. I … Nothing.” Paige stood up and moved over to the sink so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “You were thinking about the baby. About Jacob, weren’t you?” His voice soft, almost a whisper.

  At the mention of her son’s name, Paige felt her body sag. She didn’t want to ruin the brief moment they’d just shared. Hal was trying so hard to put everything back together. He’d never shown anger or resentment over what had been done to him. Even the pain didn’t slow him down. Compared to him, Paige felt weak and selfish.

  “I’m sorry, Hal. I’m trying.” She bit her lip and tried to keep her shoulders from curling in like a crumpled leaf.

  She heard Hal stand and take up his crutches. He would come to her now and give her comfort. She would take it and sob in his arms, all the while hating herself for not being strong enough to ease his grief. Jacob was his son too.

  * * *

  Paige woke with a start. Her hair clung to her face and neck in sweaty strings. The room was dark and for a moment she thought she was back in Mable House. Hal stirred next to her and mumbled something. It sounded like monster eyes, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She sat up and put her hand on Hal’s shoulder. Her touch always seemed to calm him, as if it grounded him somehow. His breathing evened out and soon his shoulders relaxed. Paige waited another minute to make sure he was sleeping peacefully and slipped out of bed. The chill of the night air leaked into her bones, she shivered and grabbed her cardigan from the end of the bed. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she left the room as silently as possible.

  The clock on the microwave showed 4:00 am. Paige padded across the kitchen and slid the back door open. Sitting on the back porch watching the stars had become her nightly ritual. Under the vastness of the sky her problems seemed smaller and the world clearer. Maybe it was the stars and the way they gleamed that turned her thoughts to Jacob. Whatever the reason, she found herself imagining the chubby-cheeked infant he would have been at four months.

  It occurred to her that her body woke every night because this is what she would have been doing if her child had lived. She’d be holding him, feeding him. Paige slipped her arms through the sleeves of her cardigan and hugged herself. The night they’d escaped from Mable House, medics rushed her to the women’s hospital where she underwent an emergency caesarean section. Amidst all the craziness, her memories of the moments leading up to the surgery were burned into her mind.

  Flown by helicopter to the city, she remembered a young man, he said his name was Brandon, leaning over her. There was kindness in his tanned, young face. He asked her questions. His voice gentle and difficult to hear over the sound of the helicopter’s whirring blades. Paige remembered asking if the baby was going to be okay. A silly question really. How could the young man know what was happening inside her?

  In the end, all her questions were answered by the doctor that delivered her little boy. Dr Carson explained that she’d gone into early labour and then, most likely due to trauma, the labour had stopped.

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Loche but your baby didn’t survive.” Paige flinched as if the words spoken that night were just whispered in her ear.

  She stood. A crescent moon offered little in the way of light. Summer nights were usually much warmer. She should go back to bed where she could fold herself against Hal and soak in his warmth. But instead of going inside she stayed on the back porch watching the moon. The grief that held her, woke her each night and brought her outside was almost addictive. Some nights she wanted to give in to it and let herself drown in its depths. Nights like this were gardens where despair flourished.

  “Paige?” Hal’s voice startled her. Her face felt damp. She realised she’d been crying.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No,” he said, and used his crutches to manoeuvre himself out onto the porch. Without his prosthetic leg, it was difficult for him to balance. Paige immediately felt guilty for bringing him out in the cold.

  “It’s okay. I’m just coming in. Let’s go back to bed.” She knew he couldn’t see her tears in the dark, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

  Hal didn’t move. “Let’s go inside and have some hot chocolate. I think we should talk.” There was worry in his voice, and something else. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  * * *

  Paige curled her hands around the steaming cup and let the heat soak into her arms. She noticed the clock over the table – nearly 4:30 am. Hal sat across from her staring at his hot chocolate. He seemed to be in a strangely un-talkative mood for a man who wanted to talk. The silence made Paige nervous. She felt the need to fill it with noise.

  “What did you want to show me?” She took a sip from her mug. “I’m starting to get a weird feeling sitting here in silence.” She laughed, it was a nervous sound.

  Hal let out a long sigh and rubbed his hand across his chin. “I know you get up every night and sit outside. I also know you’re thinking about what happened and …” he paused, still staring at his drink. “I know you’re thinking about Jacob.”

  “I’m just trying to …”

  Hal held up his hand. “I’m not attacking you, honey. It’s natural to be grieving, but it’s more than that. It’s like you’re slipping away. I feel like I’m losing you in small pieces.” He looked up and what Paige saw in his eyes stabbed at her heart. “I can’t lose anything else, Paige.”

  She wanted to give him assurances, make promises, but couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. “I’m trying, Hal.” It didn’t sound like much.

  He nodded and took her hand. “What happened to us was …”

  Paige stood. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. I’m tired, Hal.” She tried to walk away, but he held her hand in both of his, refusing to let go. “Hal, please. We can do this another time.”

  “No.” The anger in his voice surprised her and she sat back down. “We’re doing it now. If we don’t talk about it, it’ll eat up everything we’ve got until we’re strangers.”

  Paige dropped her free hand in her lap and nodded. Exhaustion washed over her. “Okay.”

  Hal’s grip softened, but he didn’t release her. “I know you’re trying to come to terms with ...” he swallowed. “With losing Jacob. So am I.” The last three words were a whisper that brought tears to Paige’s eyes. “It’s going to take us both time to find a way back.”

  Paige nodded, eyes fixed on her lap. She hated the pain in his voice when he spoke of Jacob. The old Paige would’ve put her arms around him, tried to ease that pain. But there was a hard nugget of ice in the pit of her stomach. It began to form when she drove the car over that witch. Maybe the crack she’d heard that night came from inside her as much as it did from the woman’s body.

  “I know you’re struggling with what you did.”

  Paige’s head shot up. It was in his eyes, he knew. How could he know? He was unconscious. Paige told the police that Lizzy ran out in front of the car and she didn’t have time to stop. No one knew what she’d done, except Soona. I told her to close her eyes while I killed her mother. Paige tried to work her mouth, not sure what she wanted to say. She couldn’t lie to him. She’d done so much already, but couldn’t bring herself to deny what they both knew.

  “How … how do you …?” Unsure how to finish the question, she let the words hang.

  Hal turned her hand over and opened her palm. Then lifted it to his mouth and kissed the soft pad below her thumb. “I heard you tell Soona to close her eyes. I knew what you were doing. I’ve known all along.” His tone carried no accusation or anger.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Part of her felt ugly and exposed, but also relieved. He knew. He wasn’t turning away from her in disgust. Why had she ever thought he would?

  “You didn’t want to talk about what happened at Mable House. And I … I’m not as strong as you.” He paused and deep creases gathered on his forehead. “You did what I couldn’t. You saved me.
You saved us. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I wish I could believe that, Hal. But I could have driven around her. She couldn’t have stopped me. I killed her because I wanted to.” The words were out and with them came a rush of relief. She felt as though she’d been underwater holding her breath, and after months of struggling to find the surface, she broke free. “I wanted her dead for what she did to you. I knew … knew the baby was dead. I tried to pretend I didn’t, but … I could feel it.” A gasp that came from deep in her chest burst out.

  She pulled her hand free from Hal’s grip and wrapped her arms around herself. “I knew. She killed our baby. She butchered you.” Tears ran down her cheeks and her voice trembled and cracked with each word. “Oh God, Hal, I enjoyed killing her.” She swiped her arm across her face, smearing tears on the sleeve of her cardigan.

  Hal stood awkwardly, leaning on the table. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up into his arms. “Paige, you need to listen to me and really hear what I’m saying.” His voice was steady and unwavering. He pushed her back and held her away from him. “Please?”

  The gravity in his tone broke through the tidal wave of guilt. She managed to gather herself enough to nod.

  “Okay. Now sit. I’m going to get us something stronger to drink.”

  Paige did as he instructed and watched her husband clomp around the kitchen. He took two glasses out of the cupboard above the sink, then a bottle of whisky from the top shelf of the pantry. He poured a couple of fingers of the amber liquid into each glass, before bringing the drinks to the table one at a time. Paige didn’t get up or offer any help. It had become their unspoken agreement, she only helped him when he asked.

  She took a sip of the whiskey and grimaced. “Urgh. This stuff’s awful.”

  A smile drifted across his face and then disappeared. “That place, Mable House. There was something very wrong about it.” He took a swig of his drink. “I could feel it working on me. I wanted to kill her, and not just to make her stop, but because I knew I’d enjoy it.”