Fry (27 page)

A thick fog weighs me down. I try to make sense of what’s happening but my brain can’t seem to process it and my body refuses to help.

I try to lick my lips, but my mouth feels heavy and my lips taste slightly sugary, like when you lick an envelope. Or when someone sticks a strip of parcel tape over your mouth.

As the fog lifts, I look down and see that my arms and legs are also bound with tape, making it impossible to move from the cold, hard surface I’m lying on. To my left, I can see an old oak dresser, stacked with willow-patterned cups and plates.

I’m still in Tumbledown Cottage. Tied to the kitchen table.

Panic grips me. I don’t understand what’s happened. One minute we were talking, the next we were dropping like flies.

“Deacon?”

But my words are muffled.

“Deacon!”

There is no reply. Desperately, I look around.

Where are you?

Finally, I spot him – tied to a chair, his head slumped forward in his lap.

“Deacon!” 

There is no response, but I can tell by the rise and fall of his stomach that he is breathing.

High heels clack on the wooden floorboards. I close my eyes and try to pretend that I’m still unconscious. The footsteps stop. Hair tickles my neck. She is standing right over me, her breath like fire.

“I know you’re awake, Isabel. You might as well open your eyes.”

I shiver uncontrollably as her slim fingers trace my neck.

“Are you cold? Maybe I should light a fire?”

My eyes snap open and she nods with satisfaction.

“What did you do to us? Poison our coffee?”

But my words are stifled by the tape.

“We’ll just wait for Deacon before we begin,” she says, as though we’re about to conduct a seminar.

“Begin what?” 

Deacon’s eyes flicker open and shut.

Oh god. I’m so sorry I got you into this.

I watch his face go from confusion, to alarm, to anger, all in the space of about thirty seconds. He looks at me and I look at him, desperate to communicate. Desperate to escape.

“This conversation is getting a bit one-sided.” 

Alicia leans over and rips the tape from my face. It stings, but I refuse to show any emotion.

“Are you at least going to tell me why?” I say, stalling for time. I’m very aware of Deacon, straining to get free.

“Why? You know why!”

“But why now, after so many years?”

She looks at me cautiously, as if deciding whether I deserve to hear the truth.

“I found you by chance,” she finally says. “I had a job to do in Queensbeach and I popped into Robertson’s for some supplies. That was where I saw you. I recognised you straight away.” Her voice drops slightly. “I remembered you, as if it was yesterday, but you didn’t even give me a second glance.”

“Maybe I didn’t see you…”

“You served me at the till! We had a conversation. I even asked you about places to stay and you told me about the caravan park.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. I meet a lot of people at Robertson’s.”

“My life was hell when I met you at camp, but clearly, my pain meant nothing to you. I told you my deepest, darkest secret and instead of helping me, you made it a thousand times worse. So yeah, when I saw you again, I saw my chance to get my own back. I wasn’t that innocent, little ten-year-old anymore. I knew I could destroy you. So I watched you for a while, found out where you lived, who your friends were. And then, when I was ready, I arranged for us to meet.”

She looks around for something, I’m not sure what. I glance at Deacon, who is struggling for all he’s worth but his binds hold tight.

“What does FRY stand for?” I ask, desperately. Anything to keep her talking.

“You still don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Fire Releases You. My dad was right about that. It
does
release you.”

Her wicked eyes sparkle. “There’s something incredibly wild about starting a fire from scratch. It’s like giving birth to a brand new life. I can make fire from the most basic ingredients. I don’t even need matches.”

“I know. I saw you at Deacon’s barbecue. You made a fire out of practically nothing – just a couple of flints rubbed together.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I? It’s such a beautiful thing, fire.” She smiles thoughtfully, before snapping back to attention. “And now, you’re going to burn, bitch!”

She storms over to the stove and there is a click as she ignites the flame. Then she picks something up and places it on the hob. The resulting smell reminds me of the soldering iron we had in the tech lab at school.

“What are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer.

“What
is
that?”

I’m not even sure she hears me. She is too enchanted by the flickering blue flame, the crazy witch.

I glance at Deacon, but he is squirming too intently to catch my eye.

Shit! How do I get her talking again?

“How did you start that fire, that day at Deacon’s?” I ask.

But the conversation is over. After a couple of minutes, she picks up whatever it is by the handle and brings it over to the table. It looks hot. Really hot. The bottom is smouldering.

It’s a branding iron.

“Nooo!”

She brings it down on my stomach and I scream as I have never screamed before.

The branding iron burns straight through my shirt, onto the tender flesh of my tummy.

“Get it off! Get it off!”

The pain! I wiggle and writhe with all my might, but I can’t shift it. Can’t shift her.

“Somebody! Help!”

And just like that it stops. I watch in amazement as Deacon rips through his bonds with the aid of a penknife he must have had in his pocket. He flings her across the room, the branding iron clattering down to the floor beside her.

“You OK?”

I nod, but Alicia is as quick and agile as a cat. She hits the ground running and takes off at quite a speed.

“Quick, catch her!” I shriek, as she bolts for the door. Deacon runs after her. He has to, because as long as Alicia is free, we will never be safe.

My eyes stream as I look down at the scorched skin on my stomach. A freezer full of ice stands just a metre away, but I am still bound to the table and can’t move an inch towards it. It feels like eternity until Deacon returns, but it is probably only a couple of minutes. He drags Alicia with him, kicking and yowling like an animal, tearing at his flesh with her teeth.

“Quick, tie her up!”

I ache to be set free, but I know he must deal with her first. I’m still in agony, as he shoves her into the very chair he himself was tied to and binds her tightly with her own tape, which she left conveniently by the sink.

Finally, he rushes over to me and places a bag of frozen peas on my stomach, before slashing the tape from my arms and legs.

“Are you sure she’s secure?” I ask, glancing nervously in Alicia’s direction.

“For the time being. Now, let me see that wound.”

“It hurts!” I whimper.

“I know,” he says. “Let me help you over to the sofa. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“How did she find us?” I ask, once I’m settled.

“She must have followed me up here. I’m so sorry, Isabel. I just had to see you.”

“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m so glad you did.”

My voice drops to a whisper. “But what are we going to do with her?”

His eyes meet mine, and I’m not sure I like what either of us is thinking.

Fate has twisted the knife once again, leaving us with a cruel dilemma
.

“We have to let her go sometime.”

“If we do, she’ll kill us both.”

“Then what are we going to do – go to the police?”

“But what if the police let her go again?” I bite my lip. “We don’t have to decide right now, do we?”

“I suppose not.”

I get up and walk over to Alicia. It feels strange to finally have all the power.

“Don’t get too close,” Deacon warns.

“I need to ask her something.”

I pull the tape from her mouth and hope it stings her as much as it stung me.

“What did you do with Fluffy?”

“You’ll never know.”

She spits in my face.

I seal the tape back over her mouth and walk away. Any sympathy I ever felt for her has gone. She doesn’t have a human bone in her body.

* * *

The evening passes almost pleasantly. Deacon cooks sausages and mash for supper and it tastes bloody good - the best meal I’ve had all week. He offers some to Alicia but she refuses to eat or drink anything, even water.

See? You’re killing me.

She thinks by doing this, we’ll have to let her go, but she’s wrong.

We don’t have to do anything.

Her little girl voice is soft and pitiful but it has no effect on me anymore.

“I need to go to the toilet!”

“Then I’ll take you.”

Deacon looks up sharply. “We’ll both take you.”

“How can I sleep?” she whines as the day becomes darker. “Tied to a chair like this?  It’s not right.”

“You’ll live.”

There can be no opportunity to escape.

“If you don’t let me go, my sister will go after Rhett.”

“She’s bluffing.”

“And Kate.”

Neither of us even look up.

“And the baby.”

“How does she know about the baby?” Deacon whispers. “They haven’t even gone public yet.”

“I don’t know.”

It’s like she has hidden knowledge.

“Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying on you? I could still be living in the Beach House for all you know! It’s so ridiculously big, you’d never notice!”

I shudder at the thought. 

“Did you really start all those fires?” I can’t help asking. “At the caravan park? And Bernie’s car and the gym? Oh and Rose Cottage?”

“Rose Cottage?” she laughs. “That one was Jody!”

So Rose Cottage was Julio’s fault – in a way.

* * *

I never thought I’d be able to sleep with Alicia so close to me, but somehow, curled up in Deacon’s arms, I do. There are perfectly good beds upstairs but we choose to sleep on the threadbare sofa. It’s vital we all stay together, in the one room. That way we know where everybody is. There’s no chance Alicia can escape.

In the morning, Deacon examines my stomach again.

“It’s looking much better,” he says with satisfaction. “Maybe it won’t scar after all.”

It will scar. I know it will.

In fact, I’ll probably be scarred for life, but at least now my outside will reflect my inside.

“Do you think she meant it about Jody going after Kate and Rhett?” I whisper, as we eat our breakfast.

“I don’t think she’ll have much chance as long as she’s locked up in prison, being someone else’s bitch.”

My cheeks burn, as I remember what it was like, being locked up with criminals, not knowing if I would ever get out. But I won’t allow myself to feel pity for Jody. She might not be as bad as Alicia, but she’s guilty nonetheless.

We try to ignore Alicia, snarling and moaning in the corner all day while we play cards and watch TV.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

“Shit, who’s that?”

As fast as lightning, Deacon flies over to Alicia and plants his hands over her mouth, warning her to be quiet. Then she starts shouting and screaming as loud as she can. I grab a strip of tape and plaster it over her mouth, but her cries are still faintly audible.

I go to the peephole.

“It’s Marjorie! What does she want? The rent isn’t due till the end of the week.”

“She probably wants her umbrella back. I was supposed to return it this morning.”

“What shall we do, pretend we’re not in?”

“No, she’ll only come back. Quick, let’s hide Alicia in the bathroom. She won’t be able to hear her there.”

We pick her up in the chair she’s tied to and carry her through the utility room to the back of the house.

Even with tape over her mouth, it is impossible to make her completely quiet.

“Shut up!” I hiss, terrified that Marjorie will hear.

But the harder I try to silence her, the more she yells.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to knock you out!” I threaten, looking around for a heavy object. My eye rests on the big, red fire extinguisher in the corner.