Should Have Killed The Kid (26 page)

Probably can't believe something good's happening for a change,
Dave thought.

'Good boy.' Marge patted him on the head. 'Go on, now, that's the way.' Will obediently bounded across the floor and disappeared into the kitchen.

Marge turned back to the soldier.

She whistled softly under her breath.

'That arm looks bad. Could probably fix that up for you.'

'Stay away from me,' Sally hissed and reached toward her hip. Dave thought it looked like a reflex. Like she was reaching for her gun that she'd lost back when they'd fled from the skyscraper. Marge's eyes narrowed at the gesture and a very bad feeling buzzed in Dave's stomach.

For a moment he felt certain Marge would attack the soldier. The fire in her eyes was that strong. But the moment passed and Marge smiled, her stony gaze abruptly lighting up.

'Feisty fucker, aren't you?' She laughed but the soldier didn't share her mirth.

'Why are ther–' she started to ask.

'Oh that's my son and Mary, his daughter, my granddaughter.'

The off hand way that the old lady reeled off the information chilled Dave to the core. As did the casual manner in which she sipped at her drink afterward. Even Sally faltered for a response in the wake of the revelation.

A beat passed during which time Dave buried his head in his hands and rubbed at his face, a part of him hoping it was all just some sort of bizarre hallucination.

Marge snorted.

'Oh don't look at me like that.' Dave assumed she spoke to the soldier. 'They all knew it might come down to something like this eventually... and well, even if they didn't, they probably should have. I needed their blood for the warding spell. What the fuck else was I meant to do? Protecting the portal is the only thing that matters. One breech is far more than enough... And I must say that I have done a fucking masterful job too. If it wasn't for that spell you're turning your nose up at, we wouldn't be fucking sitting around here all civilised like. The portal would probably be drawing those things like a moth to a flame. Like a fucking beacon.'

Marge paused for another sip and Dave risked a look up. It was a mistake. She grinned and winked at him just as he raised his eyes, and he felt something clench in the pit of his stomach.

'Bunch of whining cunts anyway,' Marge added under her breath and the thing in his guts clenched even tighter.

It suddenly fully clicked for him.

She's a nutcase. A complete fucking psychopath.

'And before you think to go and take it on yourself to do more exploring to uncover further horrors. There's two more down that way.' Marge pointed to the hall. 'Grandson and that whore my boy took up with. And if you're about to get up on your high horse over that then I better tell you not to bother. If it wasn't for sacrifices like this then none of this shit you take for granted would be here. Would've been fucking overrun years ago. These cunts had been trying to bust through for decades. Fucking centuries now. These fucking portals have almost doubled in the last decade alone. And the only thing holding them back has been us. And what you see around you. So you can fucking wipe that look right off your face.'

Dave wasn't certain what look she was referring to. His face felt completely numb and paralysed. Marge didn't pause to explain.

'You have no idea what it's like. Don't get me wrong, Monty fucked up bad. But it was only a matter of time before something was going to happen. Too many cooks. That's what the problem is. Though I must say I always thought it was going to be a fucking newbie who dropped the ball. Necessity forced us to lower the standards. Never thought old Monty would be the one to bring it all unstuck. Shit, the gatekeeper's been in his family since the days of fucking yore. Hent was one of the first portals to appear in Australia.' Marge shook her head and snorted. 'Ha, just goes to show what I've always said. Don't fall in love. Fucks you up every time. Ain't that right, Dave?'

Caught off guard by the abrupt question Dave found himself nodding as he thought about how Naomi's voice still lingered despite all the other bad shit that had occurred since the break up. As soon as he realised what he was doing he stopped though, feeling a little shocked that the old lady had got him to so readily agree with her.

'What the
hell
are you talking about?' the soldier hissed through clenched teeth. 'What the fuck do you mean by portals?'

Marge's eyes flicked to Dave. 'You haven't told her?'

Dave felt his eyes widen. 'Well... Um... It's... I don't...'

Marge sighed and rubbed her wrinkled forehead a few of times.

'Monty didn't tell you either, did he? Oh sweet holy fuck. What a fucking balls up. I fucking told that cunt when he came floating on through whining about how this was the end for him and all. I told him – and you can fucking quote me on this, "You need to make sure he knows what to do in case I don't make it in time".' Marge shook her head. 'Just out of curiousity what the fuck were you planning on doing when I showed up? What, were you just going to drive and hope for the best? Did Monty even explain the ritual to you?'

'Ah, he said that I should drive and that I'd know–'

'And you didn't fucking think to clarify? Do you even realise how precious a resource that child is? Have you even stopped to think how many others there are around at the moment? Especially in these parts? I'll fucking tell you, Dave, alright? A big fat, fucking zilch and you just want to throw away the last shot we have.'

'He's going to kill it, isn't he?' the soldier interjected quietly when Marge finally paused for breath and Dave felt his own cut off in a hitching hiccup.

'Of course he's going to fucking kill it,' Marge scoffed. 'Obviously you've missed the major gist of what's going on at the moment but to put it to you short and fucking sweet, that boy is our
only
fucking hope of salvation. Without him there's no hope of salvaging anything from this motherfucking shit fight of a balls up–'

'You can't do that,' the soldier said, once more in the quiet tone though it still managed to cut across Marge's ranting.

'Excuse me?' Marge remedied that by raising her volume substantially.

'What, are you deaf as well as psychotic?' Sally abandoned her softer tones and snapped instead. 'I said you can't fucking do this. It's not right.'

'Not right? NOT FUCKING RIGHT? WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW, HUH? What the fuck have you done that would make you think you can sit there and–'

'WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE? I CAN FUCKING TELL YOU WHAT I
HAVEN'T
DONE. CAN YOU GUESS WHAT THAT–'

'OH, FUCKING LOOK AROUND YOU. LEAVE YOUR FUCKING PREACHY SHITE AT THE DOOR. THINGS HAVE CHANGED, IF YOU'RE NOT AWARE OF IT–

'YEAH JUST TRY AND–'

'WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, HUH? I COULD FUCKING TURN YOU INSIDE OUT, JUST LIKE FUCKING THAT?'

The old lady clicked her fingers and silence blossomed. Despite her bluster the soldier paled somewhat. Dave used the moment to interject.

'What do you mean
some
hope?' His voice came out all croaky and he had to repeat himself a second time to be heard. But he persevered. Something about the old lady's phrasing had struck a bad chord with him.

'Ha!' Marge scoffed turning to shake her head at him. 'What you thought you'd go and kill the kid and that would be that, instant cure? Poof, everything's fine again?'

Marge's words sent panic rocketing through Dave.

'What do you mean?'

'What, you thought it would be that simple?'

'What do you mean?'

'Don't know what the fuck Monty ever saw in you.'

'WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!' Dave's voice rose in volume with each mocking sentence.

'Fucking no wonder that you dropped the fucking ball on–'

'WHAT DID YOU ME–'

'SILENCE!!!' Marge roared and Dave's jaw shut with a click mid sentence. The menace in her voice was impossible to miss and the image of the dead man strapped to the rocking chair flooded Dave's mind, leaving him lost for words.

'How'd you go?' As Dave gaped, Marge abruptly underwent another transformation. The screaming nutter vanished, replaced by the saccharine sweet grandma once more as she called to the kid who stood uncertainly in the kitchen doorway.

The chocolate smears that ringed the kid's mouth as he stared around cautiously indicated it'd been a pretty successful mission.

'What the hell–' the soldier started to protest.

'Shut it.' Marge hissed out of the corner of her mouth before returning her attention to the kid.

'Come here. It's okay.' She held out her hands.

After another look around, the kid walked forward and let her envelop him in a hug. Dave felt sick to the stomach watching the display. He wondered:
how can she be so nice when she's going to have a hand in killing him?
Until he realised that it pretty much mirrored his behaviour up until that point and the sick feeling grew worse.

'Now,' Marge patted the kid on the head, having released him from her hug. Dave focused on that, grateful for any distraction as the unanswerable question floated through his mind.
Could I do it? Could I really do it?
'I think everyone's getting a little tired, what do you think?' Marge continued to stroke Will's hair though the quick glance she shot out of the corner of her eye let Dave know who the true audience for her words was meant to be. 'How about we have a little quiet, hey? At least until maybe you can get some sleep. What do you say, Will? Would you like a little quiet?'.

'You can't fucking–' the soldier chirped up in protest once more.

'No. I said silence.' Marge held a finger against her lips. 'I'm sure we can all work out the concept, can't we, Will?' The old lady cooed to the kid who couldn't quite stop a grin from creeping across his face.

The soldier, despite her injured arm was up off the couch in a second, her cheeks flaming red with anger.

Oh fuck, here we go,
Dave thought but the soldier didn't attack the old lady like he expected. Instead after a tense, drawn out moment, she turned and stalked from the room.

Marge watched her go, a faint grin playing across her wrinkled face.

'Don't go outside,' she called out in a faux helpful tone and then turned to wink at Dave again as though it was some hilarious joke.

He didn't know what reaction she expected but clearly it wasn't the one he gave. The smile dropped from her face and, just as quickly, Dave dropped his eyes to the floor to avoid her glare.

Dave gently returned his glass to the coffee table when his shaking hands threatened to spill the remaining contents.

Marge barked a short burst of laughter at his discomfort and Dave could just imagine her ruffling the kid's hair again.

'Come on, let's get you some rest, huh? Get you off to bed.'

22.

Dave tried his best to sleep but couldn't quite relax enough to get there. Too many difficulties stood in his path. First was the rapidly discovered fact that although the couch appeared comfortable on first inspection, that couldn't have been further from the truth. The cushions that covered it were threadbare at best and after a half hour, it felt as though he was sprawled directly on the slats underneath. Adding to his discomfort was the fact that he couldn't turn his brain off. Couldn't stop running over his current situation. Running over how badly things had gone off the rails.

He lay on his side, facing away from where Marge had settled back in her armchair, studying the red fabric of the couch. The spiked coffee had done nothing to perk him up; if anything the high alcohol content had left him feeling more wiped out. He almost felt like asking for another to finish the job and maybe help him get some sleep but talking to the psychotic old lady who'd come to their rescue just seemed like too much effort.

The soldier hadn't returned. Dave had no idea whether or not she would. At the least he knew where the kid was. That if he ever summoned up the energy to roll over, he'd see the boy snoring away on the trundle bed Dave had set up prior to assuming his current position. He knew because he'd had to retrieve the bed at Marge's request. And of course it had been stored in the room with the dead teenage girl.

It had not been pleasant.

Probably why the third thing that currently kept him awake had kicked in with such a vengeance.

He was gagging for a cigarette though he knew it was a no go. He’d tried earlier but before he'd even fully fished the pack from his pocket, Marge had been on him.

'Don't fucking think you're lighting up that filth in here,' she'd crowed in the supercilious tone that Dave recognised only too well. The one belonging to a long term reformed smoker. A tone that Naomi had used a lot. 'You have a choice: go without or go outside,' had been her stance back in their flat. It was a similarly phrased choice Marge presented him with.

Though there were a few more extenuating circumstances that needed to be factored into his decision now.