Desperation Point

by Malcolm Richards

You should tear her heart out and feed it to her.

  How long would it be before they decided to have another baby and the office was turned into a nursery?

  Spit on her grave and piss on her bones.

  How long would it be before Cal was forgotten forever?

  I can’t. I love her. And she loves me!

  Cal stole another glance through the window. He saw Dylan pull his mother into a tight embrace. He saw his mother bring her lips to Dylan’s, saw her look lovingly into his eyes.

  If she loves you why is she in there acting like a dirty whore? Why is her runt daughter upstairs while you’re locked outside?

  Cal squeezed his eyes together, pushed his fists into his temples again. He wanted to call out to her. To run inside and throw his arms around her.

  She’s never loved you, boy. She doesn’t care if you live or die. She has her family with her now and you’re not part of it. You’re nothing to her. She wishes you were never born.

  His fists struck the wall. He felt the skin break, the sting of cold air on open wounds.

  We’ll punish them. We’ll make them suffer together. And when we’re done, she’ll know exactly how it feels to be left all alone in this stinking world.

  Shaking with rage, Cal sprang to his feet. Hot tears stung his eyes as he turned the corner and followed the path along the side of the house. He entered the backyard, almost tripping over Melissa’s little blue bike with its plastic stabilisers and front basket. He caught it before it hit the ground and a memory shot into his mind.

  He wished he’d been around to see the looks of horror on those little girls’ faces. To hear their terrified screams when they’d found what he’d put inside the basket.

  That’s what you get for being such a happy stinking family.

  He hoped those girls had cried for days.

  Cal cut through the shadows, heading for the back door. He didn’t know what he was going to do once he got inside. All he knew was that they needed to feel his pain.

  He stepped up to the door and tried the handle. The door was unlocked. It swung open a few centimetres.

  Cal slipped a hand inside his pocket and pulled out a blade. It was the one Grady Spencer had given him. The one he carried with him always. The one that cut through animal flesh like it was cutting through water.

  He pushed the door open further. He lifted his foot to cross the threshold and kicked something over.

  Cal looked down. A familiar shape was lying on the doorstep. He crouched down for a closer look. It was his dinosaur. Rex. The one he’d had since he was a child. What was it doing out here?

  In an instant he knew.

  It was my favourite.

  She had brought it to him at the hospital in those early days following his return. She had brought it to remind him of the child he had once been: a happy child, who was always smiling, who loved ice cream and pirates, and who wanted nothing more than to go sailing the seven seas in search of buried treasure.

  Had she left the toy out here for him? A sign to tell him that she was still here waiting for her happy little pirate to come home?

  No, it’s a lie! If it were true she wouldn’t be in the living room right now, letting that man put his dirty hands all over her.

  Picking up the dinosaur, Cal drew back his hand and threw it as hard as he could. The toy sailed off into the darkness.

  Then he was crossing the threshold and entering the kitchen. The house was quiet, his ragged breaths the only sound.

  The downstairs hall light was off. Cal moved forward, the blade pointed in front of him, until he stood outside the closed living room door. His heart hammered in his chest as he pressed his ear to the wood.

  It was quiet in there. He heard soft rustles of skin and clothes that made him feel nauseous. Then he heard his mother’s voice, so close that the hairs on the back of his neck sprang up.

  “Dylan, maybe we should stop. Melissa’s probably not even asleep. And my mother. . .”

  Cal hovered in the dark, barely breathing.

  Then he spoke. “Sure, of course. Whatever you want. Besides, we don’t have to rush anything. There’s still so much to talk about.”

  Bile climbed Cal’s throat. He wanted nothing more than to throw open the door and plunge his blade deep into Dylan’s eye.

  Oh yes, boy—cut it out and swallow it whole! But not yet.

  Cal turned his head until he was looking at the stairs.

  First, we must take her most precious jewel. First, she must feel unimaginable pain.

  Silently, he stole past the living room door and climbed the steps. Reaching the landing, he pressed himself up against the wall. Melissa’s door was open a crack. He looked along to his old room. Light was spilling out from under the door.

  At first, he was confused. Then he remembered Sally was here.

  One big, happy family.

  Gripping the knife, Cal darted forward until he was by Melissa’s door.

  Then he stepped inside.

  She was asleep in her bed, blonde hair spilling over her angelic face. A projector sat in the corner, sending animal shapes and patterns of light dancing across the walls.

  Cal stepped noiselessly into the centre of the room.

  Why does she get to have such a happy life full of love? Why does she get to have everything she wants when I have nothing?

  They could have been a family. He could have lived with that. But now he didn’t even exist.

  Yes, boy. Oh, yes! I’m the only one who cares about you now. The only one who can show you your true path. Do it, boy. Make Father proud.

  Cal stepped closer. White hot tears spilled down his face. The blade trembled in his hand.

  If he didn’t exist, then what he was about to do didn’t even matter. But it would make him feel better.

  35

  THE SCREAM SHATTERED the air, making the hairs on Carrie’s arms prickle. She and Dylan pulled away from each other, their eyes growing wide and dilated, their mouths hanging open in shock.

  They both jumped to their feet, hearts hammering in their chests. With Carrie in front, they raced out of the room and toward the stairs.

  The screams came again, terrified, high-pitched. Carrie and Dylan flew up the stairs. They reached the landing, slamming into each other as they turned the corner.

  Melissa’s bedroom door was open.

  The screams were coming from inside.

  Dylan pushed past, thundering into the room. Carrie dashed after him. The first thing she saw was Melissa sitting upright in bed, her eyes bulging from their sockets, her mouth hanging open in a terrible scream. Then she saw Dylan drop to his knees in the corner of the room.

  Something was slumped there. With horror, Carrie realised it was her mother. Her back was against the wall, her legs splayed out. A deep, dark wet patch was blooming at the centre of her chest. Animals and patterns from the projector danced across her skin.

  Carrie was paralysed, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Her ears hurt with Melissa’s high-pitched shrieks. The room spun, faster and faster. Then she was spinning too, her eyes cycling back, over and over, to her mother’s crumpled shape.

  Dylan was shouting something. Shouting and looking at her, pointing to the door. It was as if his voice was coming through the walls. Carrie turned and stared at her daughter, who’d never looked so terrified. And then Melissa was pointing to a space behind Carrie. She was pointing and screaming hysterically.

  Slowly, Carrie turned. And she saw him.

  Her son. Cal.

  He was standing behind the open door. Knife in his hand. Murder in his eyes. There was nothing human about him. It was like a wild animal had broken into their home.

  The air fled her lungs. Her heart smashed against her chest. She looked her son in the eye and saw nothing there. She opened her mouth and screamed his name. “Cal! Cal, what have you done!”

  Cal’s lips curled back and he bore his teeth like a wild dog.

  And then Dylan was on
his feet, a look of pure rage on his face. Cal turned, his eyes meeting Dylan’s. Like lightning, he shot out of the room. Before Carrie could stop him, Dylan leaped forward, chasing after him.

  Melissa continued to scream. Sally gasped and reached out a hand. Carrie came to her senses. She darted forward, grabbing one of Melissa’s T-shirts from the floor and falling to her knees in front of Sally. She pressed the T-shirt against the wound. But the blood was coming thick and fast, spreading across Sally’s nightdress.

  Sally tried to say something. Carrie leaned in closer. Tears splashed down her face. Her heart was going to smash right through her rib cage.

  “I just came to check on Melissa,” Sally croaked. “He was standing over her. . .”

  Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets.

  Carrie’s head shot toward the door. She opened her mouth and screamed. “Dylan! Call an ambulance!”

  Somewhere downstairs she heard a door slam. Then feet were hammering up the stairs. Dylan appeared in the doorway, his shoulders heaving up and down.

  “He’s gone!” he cried. “He got away!”

  Carrie stared at him incredulously.

  “Call a fucking ambulance!” she shrieked.

  Behind her on the bed, Melissa’s wails swelled to an unbearable crescendo. Dylan stared at Carrie. He flashed her a glare, one that was all too easy to read: this is your fault, it said. If your mother dies, it’s on you.

  Dylan ran from the room.

  Carrie turned back to her mother.

  “Stay with me!” she breathed, putting more pressure on the wound. “Please, Mum, stay with me!”

  Blood spilled over her hands.

  36

  THE COUNTRYSIDE AT night was pure darkness. In the city, light pollution painted the night a muddy green, sometimes a murky orange. But never black. Not like this. This was a primal darkness that manifested all kinds of horrors in Aaron’s mind as he drove along the winding ribbon of road, the car’s headlights struggling to light the way.

  His grip on the wheel was too tight, his throat too dry, his nerves too shredded. He found himself longing to be back in London, amid the noxious smog and the millions of people and the never-ending cycle of light and noise. But it was too late for that.

  The turning for Burnt House Farm was coming up on his left. Easing his foot off the accelerator, Aaron pulled over onto a grassy verge and killed the engine. He was immediately plunged into darkness.

  Aware of the terror that was climbing his throat, he reached up and flicked the overhead light switch. Dull yellow light illuminated the car’s interior. He stared out into the night.

  Was he really going to do this?

  People had died doing far less dangerous things than what he was about to do. But he was never going to get his proof during daylight; not without getting caught.

  Grabbing a torch and his camera bag, he pushed open the car door. The cold attacked him. Shivering, he switched on the torch and breathed a sigh of relief as the beam sliced through the darkness. He swung the torch from side to side, checking the road, then the hedgerows.

  He was alone out here. He couldn’t even hear a distant hum of traffic, or the low of cattle.

  Except he wasn’t alone at all, was he? Somewhere not too far from here, Cal was hiding in the shadows. And so were the people who were keeping him safe.

  Aaron walked forward until he came to the turning. He pointed the torch beam into the mouth of the dirt road. Suddenly, it seemed like a wise idea to switch the torch off. He wasn’t here to draw attention to himself. He was here to take pictures, that was all. Not to confront. Not to act like an idiot and get himself killed.

  With trembling fingers, Aaron flicked the torch button and was plunged into darkness again. Letting out an unsteady breath, he turned and headed in the direction of Burnt House Farm.

  His boots sounded like thunder as he walked, his chattering teeth like machine gunfire. The dirt track coiled and twisted like a serpent, leading him further away from the road and the safety of his car. Shadows moved all around him. Somewhere in the near distance, an owl cried out into the night.

  It wasn’t long before he reached the gate. His hand found the bolt and tried to draw it back. It wouldn’t budge. Feeling around in the dark, he found a padlock that hadn’t been there before.

  They knew about him. They were onto him.

  A rush of fear twisted his stomach. What the hell was he doing out here? He was going to get himself killed.

  He shut his eyes and pushed the thoughts from his mind because once he started down that road, it would turn him around and lead him straight back to the car, empty-handed. Aaron had come too far to let that happen.

  Grabbing the top of the gate, he began to climb the rungs. The gate rattled and clanked underneath his weight. He reached the top and swung his leg over.

  He froze. Someone was coming.

  He heard footfalls, the swish of grass. Someone was running through the field on the other side of the hedgerow.

  Panicking, Aaron swung his other leg over and started to climb down. Whoever was in the field was getting closer.

  Somewhere behind him, just around the bend, the hedgerow exploded with noise. Then he heard something land on the track with a heavy thud.

  Aaron launched himself to the side, leaping into a ditch. He landed heavily, knocking the breath from his lungs. The ditch was cold and wet, but Aaron barely noticed. He lay rigid on his back, hands clamped to his sides like a dead man in a coffin.

  He heard the person running up the track, then the clang of metal as they vaulted over the gate in one fluid movement.

  Feet landed heavily on the ground just centimetres from his face. Aaron caught his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to be caught. But whoever it was kept on moving, their footfalls growing quieter as they ran away.

  Aaron waited another minute, until his lungs were about to burst. Then he sat bolt upright in the ditch, gasping for air.

  Still reeling from the realisation that he had not been seen, Aaron searched the darkness for the runner.

  He already knew who it was. He’d smelled the same animal-like odour that had choked his senses that night up at Desperation Point.

  It was Cal.

  He had come to the right place. He should have felt excitement, elation that he was so close to turning his life around. But all he felt now as he climbed to his feet and hoisted himself out of the ditch was blind terror.

  Taking a series of deep, calming breaths, Aaron fought off the urge to turn around and run back to the car.

  He was so close now. All he had to do was get to the end of the dirt track, keep to the shadows, and wait for the proof that he needed to come walking into shot. Then he would take pictures and video footage. Then he would go to Carrie with a contract and a ballpoint pen, and that would be it: his life back on track at last.

  Except, he’d forgotten about Grady Spencer’s child.

  What did he do about that? The sensible thing to do would be to go to the police—once he’d taken his proof to Carrie, of course—but then what would happen to Cal?

  Get Carrie’s signature on that contract first then worry about the rest later.

  Maybe they could work something out together. After all, despite some of his more recent behaviour, Aaron was no monster. Carrie deserved a chance to reach out to her son before the shit truly hit the fan. Besides, it would provide a powerful and emotional ending to his book.

  Wet and shivering, Aaron checked the contents of his bag. The camera was still working, the phone still switched on; although this far out in the countryside there was no signal. At least he now knew the extra money he’d shelled out for the waterproof bag had been worth it. But the torch, which had been tucked inside his jacket pocket, was lost.

  Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Aaron brushed himself down. Then, fear making his heart skip and jump, he continued his journey toward Burnt House Farm.

  37

  BY THE
TIME CAL REACHED the farm, his skin was slick with sweat. His muscles screamed, his blood roared in his ears. He’d run all the way from the house, through the streets of the town, not caring if he was seen, all the way past Grady Spencer’s house, through Briar Wood, and into the fields beyond. He’d run as if the devil was chasing him, head down, arms pumping, feet tearing up the ground. Fire burned in his heart; white hot anger that spat out molten metal, burning him alive from the inside. It felt good and it felt terrible, like he was going to die.

  The knife was still in his hand, his grip like iron, as if the blade was melded into his flesh and he could never let go. He had plunged it into his grandmother’s chest, right up to the hilt. He hadn’t meant to. She’d startled him, stopped him from hitting his true target. And then the world had turned to fire.

  He’d come face-to-face with his mother. He’d wanted to throw himself at her, to take the knife and drive it through her heart, over and over. And yet he’d wanted to run into her arms and never let go.

  He wondered if he should feel guilty for doing what he’d done to his grandmother. But he felt nothing. Not a flicker of emotion.

  Now, he was outside the farmhouse, willing his heart to slow down and his breaths to become calm and even. He didn’t know how long he’d been gone. He’d lost track of time. It had slipped away when he’d seen his mother and Dylan on the couch. Now he would be in trouble with Jacob. But he wasn’t sure he even cared.

  Cal walked up to the kitchen door and tried the handle. As he’d expected, it was locked.

  He circled the house, cutting through the yard, past the barn and the outbuildings, until he came to the laundry room window. He knew the board that covered the window could be loosened. He knew the window lock was broken.

  His chest still heaving up and down, he made quick work of the board, then spent a minute fiddling with the handle of the window until it swung open.

  The laundry room was dark. Everyone would be in the meeting room for Jacob’s lesson. Cal hoisted himself up to the window ledge, then like water, poured into the room. Reaching back down he grabbed the board, slotted it back in as best he could, then shut the window.