Phoenix (14 page)

My hair is loose and wavy and all of a sudden a massive gust of wind
lifts it up into the air dramatically, alongside the skirt of my dress.

 I hear the clear sound of running, thumping feet, hundreds of pairs of
feet, and the ground rumbles and vibrates beneath me. Then right in front of
where I stand, two crowds of men charge at each other. It suddenly dawns on me
that I am in the middle of a battle scene.

The hoplites wear metal helmets on their heads, breast plates and shin
greaves. They carry large round shields and some wield tall six foot long
spears, while others bear swords. About three feet away from me a hoplite whips
out his sword and quick as a flash chops off the arm of the soldier who had
been running towards him. A thick spray of deep red blood, the reddest red I
have ever seen, splashes onto me in techni-colour, across my face, my dress and
my hair, drowning me in a thick copper smelling sheet.

I can taste it in my mouth, and I see myself wretch. Salty and metallic.
Nobody seems to have noticed that there is a woman standing in the middle of
their battle. All I can hear is the sound of war-cries, and all I can feel is
the thick desire of blood lust. Men cut into each other with all manner of
implements. They push, shove, hit and even bite.

A rainbow of arrows shoots overhead and some soldiers from the other side
go down. They fall to the ground, dying. Then a second rainbow comes, but this
time it’s not arrows, it’s big grey rocks. Suddenly, as I stare into the fray
one warrior stands out, as he slashes his opponent’s chest to ribbons. I would
recognise that warrior anywhere, even though he is wearing a helmet. Only he isn’t
meant to be here. It is Phoenix. He is brutal. His sword, his face, his hands,
all of him is covered in blood. Then horrifically a soldier charges into my
body and I fall to the ground.

When I wake up it is morning, and although I’m clean and safe in my bed,
I can still feel the blood on me. How can a dream feel so...so
real
? And
the horror of seeing Phoenix, seeing him kill people, well, it is almost more
than I can take. It is one thing to accept the words, but accepting seeing the
man you are falling for kill in front of your very own eyes is another
entirely.

As I am cycling
home from work the next day towards my beautiful, warm and peaceful new home, I
recognise a familiar grey Ford Fiesta parked in the driveway. I practically
fall off my bike, dropping it to the ground in horror.

I blink and rub my eyes, because I simply don’t believe that I’m seeing
my mother’s car. My mother’s horrible, old, dusty, cigarette smoke smelling Ford
Fiesta. It must be a hallucination. After all, I did have that weird dream
about Phoenix last night. But no, it is not a hallucination or a dream, because
I stand on the spot for a good five minutes, hoping, praying, and pleading for
it to disappear in a puff of smoke.

But it doesn’t, and as I stand there I sense somebody approaching me from
behind. I turn around quickly to find it’s only Phoenix. My breathing has
gotten fast and erratic.

“Eve, are you okay?” he asks, concerned.

“No, Phoenix I’m not okay. Really and truly, I’m not okay.”

A second later he is right in front of me, our noses almost touching and
his arms are around me.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He caresses my lower back with his hand.

“Do you see that car in my driveway?”

“Yes, I see it.”

“It belongs to my mother. She has found out where I am somehow. I don’t
know why she’s here, but I don’t want to see her.” My voice is breaking and my
hands shake. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to gain some calm but it’s no use.

“Darling, Eve, shush now. I am here. You don’t have to do anything you
don’t want to.”

He guides my head to his chest and I lean against his strong frame,
slowly feeling less and less panicked.

“Can I just go and stay in your house until she leaves?” I ask,
desperate.

“Maybe you should deal with her,” says Phoenix with a frown. “Or you
could let me do it for you.” He pauses, considering. “She knew about your
brother, didn’t she? She knew about how he treated you.”

I stare at him in awe. He is so intuitive sometimes. All I can do is nod
and his jaw tightens.

“Do you think he might have come with her?”

“No doubt he has. That’s why I’m so panicked. My mother I can just about
face, but not him.”

“Right,” says Phoenix in a dark voice, his eyes turning steely.

He slips his hand into mine and leads me toward the cottage. Facing Mum
and Maxwell is awful, but it is less so now that I have Phoenix at my side. I
take strength from his determination.

He picks up my bicycle on the way and rolls it along with us. The second
we get to the driveway my mother jumps out of her car and marches toward us. Maxwell
slinks behind her, scoping out Phoenix with his snake-like eyes.

Having not seen him for a while, I realise what an odd looking man
Maxwell is. He’s got one of those fat faces that should be accompanied by a fat
body, but is instead accompanied by a thin one. He’s all cheeks and chin, dull
blue eyes and a mousy brown receding hairline.

“Hello, honey,” says Mum, eyeing Phoenix speculatively, a smoke dangling
from her fingers.

She’s wearing tight faded denim jeans with a thick faux leather belt and
an orange blouse. Her bleached hair is tied up tightly in a matching orange
scrunchy. As usual, she has on way too much make-up. It makes the wrinkles on
her face appear even more pronounced and almost cartoonish.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a steady voice as I let my hand drop
from Phoenix’s and take my bicycle. I wheel it to the side of the house and
rest it against the wall. I look back at her and the contrast between my mother
and Phoenix, who is standing just shy of her, is striking. His abundant beauty is
in contest with her definite lack.

“We came to pay you a visit, Evie,” she says, with a desperately false
smile pasted onto her face. Translation: they want money.

“I’m sure,” I quietly seethe. “How did you find me?”

“Don’t talk to Ma that way,” Maxwell puts in, finally deciding to open
his mouth.

I don’t think he expected me to have anyone like Phoenix around. I have
always had very few friends and he was betting on the fact that I’d be alone.
That way I’d be easy pickings like I was as a child.

I just raise my eyebrows at him and say nothing. He is not even worthy of
my attention. I turn to my mother, waiting for an answer.

“I found out from the solicitor’s secretary again,” Maxwell replies for
her. “She’s real chatty, that one.”

That bloody secretary. I hadn’t realised the same solicitor would know
where I had moved. Perhaps they somehow traced me through Harriet’s money since
I used it to buy the cottage.

“Look, whatever you want just spit it out, because I’m not inviting you
in,” I say, exasperated.

Phoenix comes to stand beside me and places his hand to the small of my
back. His movements are different now – smooth, dangerous. Maxwell looks him up
and down with an irritated expression on his face. Phoenix stares right back at
him; it feels like he’s monitoring my brother’s every move.

Hatred seeps from Phoenix; hatred for the monster who almost ruined me.
On the outside he is calm, but I get the feeling he’s on a knife’s edge and
could tear Maxwell limb from limb with just a small push.

“Who’s this?” Maxwell hisses petulantly. I was wondering how long it
would take my brother to snap.

“This is my friend, Phoenix,” I tell him. “And now, if you don’t mind, we’re
going to go inside. I hope that by the time I come back out the two of you will
be gone.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” says Maxwell. “So you had better invite us
in.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Eve!” says my mother with a vaguely scolding tone. It’s ridiculous that
she thinks she can parent me now after twenty-four years of nothing. “We need
to speak with you, and I don’t want to have to do it out here in the driveway.
So please, will you let us come inside just for a few minutes? You can tell
your friend here to leave. We’re not going to cause any trouble.”

Phoenix raises his brow at her cynically. “I’m not leaving.”

“This has nothing to do with you, dickhead,” Maxwell spits, squaring his
shoulders and stepping in front of Phoenix. Phoenix moves away from me and
turns to Maxwell. With one firm shove of his hands my brother is on the ground.

“Call me that again,” says Phoenix with deadly calm, pacing towards him
like a panther. “Go on. I want you to.”

If Maxwell had a brain he’d wise up and keep his mouth shut.
Unfortunately, Maxwell’s head is about as empty as a bird’s nest in December.
He also has zero self-control.

Maxwell eyes Phoenix with a slit gaze. “Fucking. Dickhead.”

Phoenix bends down on one knee and grabs Maxwell’s wrist, twisting it to
an unbearable point. My brother yelps in pain and grits his teeth.

“Let go of me you psycho!”

I almost laugh at the irony of Maxwell calling somebody else a psycho,
but this situation is too awful even for joyless laughter. Phoenix’s eyes have
turned black and he’s wearing an expression I’ve never seen on him before. It
is the expression of a cold blooded killer. In this moment I have no doubt that
he could murder my brother between one second and the next. Even more
disturbing is the fact that I feel not an ounce of pain at the thought of
Maxwell’s death.

I hesitate, not knowing how to resolve the situation.

“Apologise,” says Phoenix, twisting Maxwell’s arm even further.

My brother yowls and Mum squeals in terror.

“Get off him!” she shouts, coming at Phoenix. I grab her by the shoulder
and pull her back.

“Phoenix, leave him,” I whisper.

At my quiet words he whips his head to me, something lighting in his
eyes. He immediately drops Maxwell’s arm.

“What kind of people are you hanging around these days?” Maxwell whines,
rubbing at his sore arm.

“Get up,” says Mum coldly.

He glares at her and gets to his feet. I know that they aren’t going to
leave until they get what they want. They said they want to talk and if that’s
what it takes to get them to go then we can talk.

I look between the two of them for a moment. “Alright, you’ve got ten
minutes,” I say, before unlocking my front door and walking into the cottage.

They follow me to the kitchen and Phoenix comes to stand by me again.

Mum whistles. “Fancy little pad you’ve got yourself here, Evie.”

She’s back to pretending to be nice again. Wait until she hears she’s not
getting a penny out of me and the claws will be straight back out.

Maxwell goes and sits by the dining table, effecting a casual demeanour,
as though Phoenix didn’t have him simpering like a baby only moments ago. His
calculating eyes shift between me and the man at my side. I don’t say anything.
I’m not going to make this easy for either of them.

“Can I smoke?” asks Mum, pulling another cigarette from her purse.

“No.”

She gives me a snide look and slips it back into the box. I’m inwardly
proud of how I’m staying strong. How I’m not allowing them to cow me. Being
independent since Harriet’s death has done my confidence the world of good and
I hadn’t even realised it.

Mum bites on her non-existent lips and Maxwell openly glares at me. If
their plan was to come here and sweet talk me out of my money then they’re
failing miserably.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get to the point,” says Mum sighing. “We came
here because your father’s in trouble. He’s developed a habit for those
methamphetamines. Nasty business. He re-mortgaged the house to fund the
addiction and now he’s up to his eyeballs in debt to a dangerous drug dealer.”

I stare at her, trying to figure out if this is a lie. If it is then it’s
a believable one. My mum was always the alcoholic of the family, but my dad was
fond of getting high. Up until now he’d never done anything stronger than
cannabis though. It was a relatively benign habit when you compare it to the
likes of heroin and other hard drugs.

“How much does he owe?” I ask.

“Forty-thousand.”

“Forty-thousand? Is he bathing in the stuff?”

“It’s the build-up of interest,” Mum explains blandly.

 “And how am I supposed to believe you?”

“It’s true!” Maxwell shouts through gritted teeth. “You’ve got plenty of
money after that old biddy popped her clogs. Why do you have to be such a
selfish bitch? This is your own father we’re talking about. These drug dealers
don’t care if he can’t pay up. They’ll kill him if they don’t get their money.”

At this Phoenix takes a step forward, his brows furrowed.

“Do not speak to Eve like that,” he threatens calmly.

Maxwell’s eyes bug out and he gets a little frazzled. After what happened
outside he knows that Phoenix is not to be messed with.

“Look, no need to go all psycho on me again,” says Maxwell with a sneer, holding
his hands up. “I was just sayin’ that Eve is hardly going to miss the money and
it’s a matter of life and death for our dad.”

“I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning,” I say, just
wanting them gone.

I know how to find out whether or not they’re lying. All I have to do is
call up my sister, Charlotte. She’s got a big mouth and even less of a brain
than Maxwell. It won’t be too difficult to get her talking about Dad. If he
really is in debt she’ll blab it out at the first mention of him.

“What? Do you expect us to just hang around waiting for you to make up
your mind? We’re driving back to Cardiff this evening,” says Mum, hands on
hips.

I let out a small laugh. “Okay. What did you think would happen? You’d be
driving away with forty grand after a quick chat? I’ll just go grab my piggy
bank.”

“Don’t be cheeky, Eve.”

“Yeah,
Eve
. Don’t be cheeky,” Maxwell adds, driving his fist into
his palm like he used to do when I was a kid. It was the indicator that he was
getting ready to hit me. Seeing him do it causes my strength to falter and I
take a step back. I swallow hard as too many painful memories flit through my
head. My hands are shaking now and it feels like the walls are closing in on
me. Phoenix glances at me with concern and moves to stand in front of me.

Now he turns to face Maxwell and my mum. “You heard her. She will let you
know her answer tomorrow. Until then, I suggest you swiftly leave the property
or I will make you leave and it won’t be pleasant.”

Maxwell must have the memory of a goldfish because he stands and steps up
to Phoenix. “You think you’re something, don’t ya?” he sneers and then turns to
me. “Tell this foreign cunt that if he touches me again I’ll cut his fucking
hands off.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” I whisper.

Maxwell cocks an eyebrow and laughs. “Look at you, still the same whispery
little mouse.” He laughs some more and folds his arms smugly.

Before he gets the chance to say another word Phoenix has driven a swift
punch into his jaw, sending his face flying sideways. I actually hear the bone
crack. Then he grips him by the neck, lifts him off the floor and slams him
back down. Maxwell is screaming. My mother is wailing like a banshee and I am
standing with my hands to my mouth in shock.

“Get. Out. Now,” Phoenix seethes.

Neither of them argues. Mum quickly helps Maxwell to his feet and they
scurry from the house. I slump back against the kitchen counter while Phoenix
stands there, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. He continually
flexes his fists, his expression dark.

A moment later I hear my mother’s car start up and tear out of the drive.