Always For You (Books 1-3) (16 page)

I quickly inspected the glass. It was
single framed, weak, easy to break. I pushed my fist against it,
seeing if it might crack. It wouldn't. I put more force behind it,
jabbing at the pane until suddenly, a large crack appeared up the
middle. I held my breath for a second as I listened for footsteps,
for movement in my direction. There was nothing.

I quickly put my jacket back on and
gripped a large section of the cracked glass with my fingers. I
wiggled it, only small pieces dropping to the floor with a light
crack. A moment later the entire shard was ripped from the pane,
leaving a hole big enough for my arm. I threw the shard to the dirt
at my feet and reached in, unlocking the rudimentary lock and pushing
the window open. It creaked lightly as I climbed through, setting
foot in the sinister study.

I stepped quickly but quietly to the
door and turned the handle as slowly as I could, creeping into the
hallway and across to the other side, across to the room Grace had
entered. The door was left slightly ajar, enough for me to see down
one side of the room.

I stopped outside and listened
intently. I could hear Grace breathing heavily over the other side of
the room. The man seemed to be placating her, offering her a drink. I
heard footsteps walking towards me, towards the wall near the door.
Through the crack I saw the man appear, a mischievous smile on his
face. He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of champagne
from an inbuilt refrigerator, popping off the cork and pouring a
glass.

As he poured the second I saw him slide
his hand into his pocket and draw out a small white packet. He tipped
the white powder into the glass as he poured, mixing it with the
liquid. He walked back over to the other side of the room and out of
my sight.

I heard him give the glass to Grace.
“Good girl, drink it down.” His words were as poisonous as the
drink. My breath began to quicken. I felt my anger grow. Then,
suddenly, I heard a thud and crack as a glass smashed on the floor.

“
Such
I shame. It was such a fine glass,” I heard the man say. “Now
Grace, what shall we do with you.”

September
10
^th
2013

Cain

My blood was boiling as I stepped round
the door, pushing it open. I saw the man looking down at Grace, her
body collapsed to the floor, broken glass scattered near her hand.

I stared at him, my fists closing
together. He didn't notice me, still looking down at Grace, at my
sister, lying helpless on the floor. Then, suddenly, he turned his
head, seeing me standing there in the doorway, a look of fury on my
face. He stumbled backwards as soon as he saw me, falling back onto a
chair. “Who – who the fuck are you?” he shouted, his words
trembling. He looked upon me, tall and strong, my eyes flaming
bright, my muscles like coiled springs, ready to strike.

I walked towards him slowly, seeing the
fear in his eyes. He fell off the chair and scrambled on the floor to
a dresser along the far wall, hurriedly opening the drawers and
frantically feeling around inside with his hands. I rushed at him and
struck him in the back with my fist. He slumped down, lying prostrate
below me.

He reached for the dresser and clutched
at the open drawers, quickly dragging himself back to his feet. Then,
suddenly, he twisted his body towards me, his hand coming at me low,
aiming for my stomach. I saw a glint of light as the steel blade cut
into my flesh, pushing the breath out of my lungs.

I staggered back, reaching for my
abdomen, blood already beginning to trickle from the wound. He stood
there, panting, a six inch bloodied knife in his hand. He came at me
again, rushing with the knife. I backed away, one hand to my wound,
blood pouring through my fingers, the other out in front. He swung
the knife once more, a manic look in his eye, going for my throat. I
leaned back, the blade missing, and grabbed his wrist with my hand,
pulling him to the floor.

I fell on top of him, releasing my hand
from my abdomen and pulling at his fingers. He screamed out, a primal
roar, as I prized his fingers apart one my one. The knife slid from
his grip as we grappled, writhing on the floor like a couple of
snakes.

My wound was weakening me, every lost
drop of blood sapping my energy. He struggled violently under my
weight, shifting and shaking, his elbows and knees, striking at my
body. He caught me in the stomach, a knee to my cut flesh, and I
screamed out in pain, rolling onto my back, both of my hands pressed
to my stomach.

He reached for the knife once more,
blood now staining the wooden floors, soaking my clothes. “Who are
you?” he shouted again as he knelt on top of me, the knife in his
hand, poised to strike.

“
Grace.
She's my sister,” I cried back, blood spurting from my mouth.
“Please, I'm just here for her.”

He looked down at me, his eyes wide.
“You shouldn't have come here. You have no idea what this is.
You've forced me to do this.”

“
Please,”
I gurgled through the blood accumulating in my mouth, “you don't
have to do this.”

He looked at me, his expression now
emotionless. “Yes I do,” he said, as the knife came down towards
my chest.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the
searing pain as the razor sharp knife shot towards my heart. This was
it, I was going to die.

Grace

I could hear muffled screams in my
head. Heavy thuds on the floor. My mind was blurred, everything hazy,
everything a dream. I slowly opened my eyes but couldn't see clearly.
It was like I was looking through a sheet of wet paper, nothing clear
behind it.

Gradually my mind and my vision came
back into focus. The shouting and fumbling in the background grew
more clear. I tried to move my arms, tried to get to my feet, but
everything was spinning. I managed to sit up, to turn my head. I saw
two figures wrestling, red all over the floor.

The fog began to lift as I looked on,
the two figures becoming more clear. There was a knife, blood all
over the blade, lying nearby, hands desperately reaching for it. Amid
the tangle of limbs I made out a man, shaved head and square jaw. I
knew the face. It was Cain. He was bleeding, blood soaking his top,
gushing to the floor.

I
saw him slowly give out, relenting under John's frantic movements. He
climbed on him, picking up the knife and locking Cain's arms to the
floor with his knees. I heard him speak, asking who he was, and then
the answer.
My
sister.

My
mind was still spinning. I was delirious.
Sister?
I could see Cain pleading, his voice now desperate, but John's words
came out cold, dropping like stones into water.
I
had to do something.

I pushed myself to my feet, the world
still shaking around me. I saw an ornament on the coffee table, and
lifted to pick it up. It was heavy. I stumbled over towards them,
lifting the ornament to my head. I saw John raise the knife, Cain
closing his eyes, as blood dribbled from his mouth. I mustered as
much strength as I could and shot the ornament down onto John's head,
hearing his skull crack, his body slumping to the floor.

The world went blurry once more, my
mind closing back in on itself, and blackness hit me again.

Cain

The searing pain never came, the knife
never hit. I heard a heavy crack and felt the man fall to the side,
his weight giving way on my body. I opened my eyes and looked up to
see Grace lying closer than she had been, passed out on the floor.

I
wriggled my body free of the man and saw his head, a crack down his
skull, spewing blood. I checked for a pulse: it was growing faint.
Good.
Fuck you.

I dragged myself to Grace and shook her
on the shoulder. “Grace. Grace.” She didn't wake up. I stood up
gingerly and took off my jacket, then my top, wrapping it tight
around my body to try to slow my blood loss. I was feeling light
headed, the world beginning to go blurry around me.

We need to get out. Now.

I
turned and moved back towards the hall, my thoughts running at a
hundred miles per hour.
Gasoline.
I need gasoline
.
I walked round the hall, looking though doors, searching for some
sort of utility area. I progressed through the house, quickly
checking each door off. It was massive, a maze of rooms. I moved
through the kitchen and saw a metal door to the back. I walked
towards it and pushed it open.
Yes.
A garage.

The
garage was adjoined to the house, with several custom cars lined up
inside. I scanned the room quickly, searching for a canister of fuel.
There
.
I paced towards it and picked it up. It was full. I quickly opened
drawers, searching for matches.
Great,
a small box.

I retraced my steps through the house,
pouring the gas as I went, covering as much of it as I could. I went
back through the garage, into the kitchen, and through the adjoining
rooms to the hall. I doused the place, splashing the gas everywhere
I'd stepped, everywhere I'd dripped blood. Eventually, I made it back
to the living room.

I stepped in and saw Grace still lying
there, still passed out on the floor. The pool of blood around the
man's head had grown, his pulse now faded to nothing. He was dead.

“
Grace,
Grace,” I shook her forcefully. “We have to get out of here,
now!”

She stirred slightly, groaning. “Come
on Grace, get up, we need to go!”

I was keeping it together despite my
wound, despite my loss of blood. I had to, for me, for her. I managed
to stem my loss of blood, my makeshift bandage doing it's short term
job. I put my jacket back on, moving around the room, pouring gas
everywhere. “Grace, come on, wake up.” I shook at her again. She
continued to stir, slowly coming back around.

The
gate. I need to open the gate.
I
stumbled over towards the man, reaching into his pockets, searching
for his keys. Not in his jacket. I went for his trousers. Yes
!
I pulled them out.

I dragged Grace to her feet. She was
light, all I could manage. I propped her up as I walked her towards
the door. She was coming round now, moaning slightly, able to walk,
stumble along. We walked out into the hall, the gasoline in my spare
hand, and towards the front door. I kicked it open with my foot,
walking slowly down the stairs away from house, the outside lights
coming back on suddenly, causing me to squint. I went slowly, pouring
more gasoline to the ground as we walked, all the way down the path
to the front gate. I clicked the button on the keys and it opened up
slowly, whirring gently as the motor turned.

I led Grace to my bike, propping her
onto it. “Cain,” she whispered, “what did I do?” She sounded
delirious, half drunk, as if she didn't remember what had happened,
didn't know what was happening.

“
Sit
there, and hold on tight,” I said as I climbed on the front. “Wrap
your arms around me, right around here.” I position her arms around
my upper chest, away from my wound. “Good, now don't let go.”

I pulled the matches from my pocket and
opened up the box, pulling out a match and scratching it across the
sandpaper. The end burst into life, the flame burning bright. I
looked down at the trail of gas and flicked the match onto it,
immediately triggering a blaze. The fire worked its way up the trail,
snaking it's way towards the house, up the steps, and in through the
door. I waited and watched as the fire entered the house, spreading
immediately around the core of the mansion. It's old wooden walls
sparked up quickly, its luxurious carpets, rugs, and tapestries
quickly fueling the fire.

I still waited, watching as the blaze
grew, spreading quickly to the extremities of the mansion, the fire
becoming unstoppable as the flames continued to venture further. I
stared on, the burning mansion strangely hypnotic under the night
sky, the crackling and roaring of the flames like a beast awoken from
its slumber.

Once satisfied the fire would not
abate, I kicked the engine to life, turned the front wheel, and shot
off down the road into the dark night.

September
10
^th
2013

Grace

The
world shot by in a blur as the motorbike zipped along down the
country roads. My head was beginning to come back around, everything
coming back into focus. My arms were fixed around Cain's chest, his
body exposed under his jacket.
What
was he doing here?

I
was trying to remember what had happened. The house, John, the
champagne. Then...nothing, blackness. It was all hazy, all shrouded.
I'd seen John on top of Cain.
Cain,
why was here there?
He
said...he said I was his sister.
How
could that be?
And
then – then I saw John with the knife, about to strike. Cain was
pleading. I picked up something, something heavy. I hit John on the
head with it, to make him stop, to save Cain. Then, blackness again.