The Savages (25 page)

It was for this reason that he played dead before Ivan hit the light switch. He then held his breath as the boy circled him. Whatever happened next, Vernon hoped this young psychopath would continue his hapless streak. With his head just above the ground, Vernon dared to glance up to see that Ivan, wearing his dressing gown, was clutching a short blade in one hand. He stifled a gasp. This wasn't looking good, but what option did he have?

‘Oh yeah,' said Ivan, as if he'd suddenly remembered something, and turned for the cabinet behind him. ‘A bucket for the bleed out.'

On hearing this, Vernon's heart began to hammer so forcefully he could almost hear it with his own ears. He let his eyes go glassy as Ivan came back and slid a rubber trough underneath him. On feeling the cold edge of the blade against his jugular, however, the man could take no more.

‘No!' yelled Vernon angrily, and blinked back into focus. ‘Get away from me!'

This time it was Ivan's turn to cry out. He scrambled backwards, knife in hand, but not before scratching Vernon's throat with the tip. It was enough to produce a bead of blood that swelled and dropped into the trough.

‘Ouch!' said Vernon with a grimace. ‘Will you leave me alone?'

Ivan looked aghast.

‘But I killed you,' he said. ‘You're dead.'

‘And so are you when I'm free,' growled Vernon, the foil crinkling wildly as he writhed and bucked against his bindings. ‘Help!' He cried out, filling his lungs. ‘
Help me!
'

Panic-stricken, Ivan looked to the open hatch and back again at his captive.

‘Shut up,' he said. ‘Shut your mouth or I'll fetch my dad!'

‘
Help! Someone, please help!
'

It was all too much for the boy. Dropping the knife, he raced for the rungs as Vernon continued to raise the alarm. Even with the hatch back in place, and the pit returned to darkness, the stricken private investigator continued to bellow while the trough below him collected his blood drip by little drip.

Titus Savage sat in grave silence. Across the kitchen table, his wife and eldest daughter looked on uncomfortably. Only Katya remained her sunny self. At that moment, however, nobody paid her any attention.

‘Who is responsible for this?' asked Titus eventually, his voice on the verge of cracking.

Angelica and Sasha exchanged a glance.

‘The boy I was seeing,' said Sasha. ‘But it's over now.'

‘I see.' Titus furrowed his brow. ‘Couldn't he have left you with something more traditional like a broken heart, maybe, or herpes?'

‘Titus!' Angelica shot him a look. ‘Be civil. This isn't easy for Sasha.'

‘It's OK,' Sasha cut in, and held her hands out to calm them both. ‘It was my decision to go vegetarian. Jack just introduced me to the idea, but this isn't a question of who is to blame. It's about understanding.' She paused there and looked away for a moment. ‘Understanding and respect.'

‘What about respect for the family?' Titus asked, and slammed his palm on the table. ‘You're turning your back on a tradition that unites us in a shared secret. It grounds every one of us, so we can each make the most of our lives!'

‘And I'd still willingly take my place each time you sit down to feast,' said Sasha. ‘I'll just stick to the vegetables,' she added quietly.

Titus scoffed dismissively.

‘My daughter, the grazer.'

‘There you go again,' said Angelica with a sigh.

‘Belittling me won't change my mind,' said Sasha, in such a way that commanded her father's attention. ‘This is who I am now, and I just feel better for it.'

Titus sat back in his chair, considering her.

‘What about the feast we had before Christmas two years ago?' he asked. ‘You begged me to do the honours, and a very clean kill it was, too, but how does that sit with you, Sasha? Now that you're better than us?'

‘Dad, I'm just trying to be true to myself. Isn't that what you want for all your children?'

Just then, the back door crashed open. Nobody at the table looked around.

‘Help me out, Sasha,' said Titus, sounding a little calmer. ‘I'm struggling here.'

It was Angelica who was first to look around as her son appeared before them. He looked wild-eyed and a little breathless.

‘Dad, I need your help.'

‘Not now.' Titus kept his gaze locked on his eldest daughter.

‘But, Dad—'

‘I
said
not
now
!'

It was a sudden outburst, delivered with such force that everyone present shrank into themselves. The silence that followed was only broken when Katya started bawling.

‘Now look what you've done,' muttered Titus, and rose to collect her from the floor. ‘Go to your room, Ivan. And just stay out of trouble!'

‘I just really think you need to—' Ivan stopped short as his father turned and glowered at him. ‘Fine, then!' he grumbled before heading for the stairs. ‘Don't blame me if dinner is ruined!'

Soothing Katya in his arms, Titus stood by the French windows, overlooking the garden and the shed at the back.

‘It's not too late to change your mind,' he told Sasha. ‘You need to think long and hard about what this means for your family.'

Sasha waited for her father to face her before she replied.

‘Would you say the same thing if I had just come out as gay?'

‘Is that your next bombshell?' asked Titus, and turned to Angelica.

‘Just answer the question,' she said, folding her arms.

With Katya calm, Titus set her back down on the floor. He crouched there for a moment, offering one of her plastic bricks to play with. Finally, when he was sure of his composure, and that his voice wouldn't crack, he rose up once again.

‘Of course I wouldn't say the same thing. That would be different.'

‘So, would you rather I'd stayed quiet about going veggie?' said Sasha. ‘This last month has been really tough. If it wasn't for Mum's support, I'd never be here now, being open about who I am.'

‘A month?' Titus looked in astonishment at his wife.

‘Sasha needed time to work things out.'

‘I'm still a Savage, Dad,' she said. ‘The only difference now is that I'm really happy being me.'

By now, there was nothing Titus could do to stop a tear from tracking down his cheek.

‘Then I'm happy for you,' said Titus, and wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. From across the table, Angelica mouthed the words ‘thank you' at him. ‘It seems I have a lot to learn from this,' he added. ‘Perhaps I should follow your example.'

‘By giving up meat?' asked Sasha, her mouth falling open.

‘Don't push it,' said Titus, and recovered with a grin. ‘I mean by being honest with myself.'

Angelica was still watching her husband closely.

‘Is there something you want to tell us?'

‘Oh, it's nothing,' said Titus, batting away the question. ‘I'm just feeling a little restless at work lately. Maybe I've been in the business for too long, but I'm starting to wonder if I should move on to new horizons. A challenge, perhaps.'

‘Like what?' asked Angelica. ‘You're a natural at what you do.'

‘I'll think of something,' said Titus, who turned just then to inspect the dishes on the counter behind him. ‘For now, whatever anyone chooses to pile on their plates, let's focus on making this feast one of the best we've ever had!'

Without blinking, Ivan hammered at the trigger button on his handset. On the videogame in front of him, he was an effective killer. It helped him to block out what a mess he'd made of things in real life.

‘I'll finish you,' he muttered to himself, and not just to the women and children fleeing from the crosshairs of his gun. ‘You'll see.'

A knock at the door drew his attention from the screen.

‘Are you looking for the bathroom again?' he asked his grandfather.

‘I don't need directions,' said Oleg, and showed him the box of cutlery he'd finished polishing. ‘Look at that. All ready for the feast.'

‘Whatever.' Ivan returned his attention to the screen.

Oleg watched him turn his sights on a fleeing crowd for a moment.

‘So, your father let you do the honours last night. Congratulations.'

Ivan unleashed a storm of bullets, cutting down dozens at a time.

‘The kill is still alive,' he said simply. ‘And he won't shut up.'

Oleg's expression changed from concern to surprise.

‘But a kill is supposed to hang for twenty-four hours after death to improve the flavour.' He checked his wristwatch. ‘We'll be cooking shortly.'

‘I thought I'd finished him,' complained Ivan. ‘Somehow he survived and now he's making a big fuss.'

‘Does your father know?'

Ivan shrugged and shook his head.

‘He's busy with Sasha. I think she's finally come out to him.'

Oleg considered this for a moment.

‘I'm sure we won't let her share go to waste,' he said, only for his shoulders to sag as he sighed. ‘That's if there's meat to eat.'

On the screen, Ivan appeared to run out of bullets. He pressed the trigger button a couple of times, but by then it was game over. Tossing the controller to one side, he faced his grandfather directly.

‘Will you help me?' he asked. ‘Please?'

Even as the words came out, Ivan doubted his grandfather would agree. At his age, what could he do? Sure enough, Oleg looked to the floor with a sigh. When he glanced back again, however, Ivan saw a gleam in his eye that for a moment made him look like a younger man.

‘It'll be just like old times,' he said, and stepped aside so his grandson could lead the way.

Titus could still be heard in the kitchen as they crept downstairs. His conversation with Sasha and Angelica sounded just as intense, but with some laughter now. Even so, Ivan had no intention of interrupting him again. With his grandfather's assistance, he figured his dad need never know there had been a problem with the kill. Only Angelica noted him creeping towards the back door with Oleg shuffling close behind. Ivan pressed his finger to his lips, glancing warily at Titus at the same time. She frowned, but returned her attention to her husband as he talked about how proud he had been at Sasha's first feast. Ivan clicked open the door, before turning to check on his grandfather.

‘Can you make it quick and clean?' he asked as they stepped out into the yard.

Oleg squinted in the light, even though it was beginning to fade. His skin looked strikingly waxy to Ivan, who was reminded that this was the first time he had seen his grandfather outside since he moved in with the family.

‘I'm not quick any more, my boy,' he said, and used his cane to walk, ‘but I'm always clean. It's a skill. Something you'll pick up over time.'

The garden path was carefully concealed by overhanging branches and foliage from the borders. This was down to Titus, who liked to make sure that it couldn't be overseen by the neighbours. As Ivan approached the shed, it struck him that the rungs into the pit might present a problem. He quickened his pace, anxious to work out a way to assist his grandfather so that he could get the job done. The plastic chair, he thought to himself, would give him something to stand on to help the old man descend. Lifting away the hatch, the boy turned and scrambled down to the concrete floor. He looked up, just as Oleg's face appeared.

‘You can do this, Grandpa,' said Ivan, and slid the chair into place. Oleg looked down into the pit. He seemed confused to the boy, which wasn't unusual. Ivan reached up with his hand, ready to steer the old man's foot onto the top rung. ‘Come on. Let's finish this!'

‘But it looks like we're too late,' said Oleg.

Ivan glanced over his shoulder. With a gasp, he then turned round so quickly that the chair tipped underneath him. The boy crashed to the floor, but he barely seemed to notice. He picked himself up and reached for the stub of rope that dangled from the beam. The rubber trough on the floor contained a couple of inches of blood at most, but the captive from which it had come was nowhere to be seen.

Vernon English was in a sorry state. He had lost just enough blood to bring him close to fainting, while his body, shaved and lightly tenderised by Ivan, made him look like a badly plucked chicken in a silver foil nappy. On top of everything, his escape bid had almost knocked him senseless.

It was his junior captor who was also responsible for this bid for freedom. As soon as Ivan had dropped the knife and fled, the private investigator had made every effort to work his wrists free from the rope bindings. Desperation drove him, fuelled by a fear that failure would see him meet a gruesome end. It had taken a while, and left him with a badly skinned right hand, but eventually he had done it. Vernon's next challenge had been to swing and stretch until his fingertips brushed the knife handle ever closer across the floor. Laughing deliriously to himself once he had grabbed it, he reached up with all his might and attempted to cut the rope. Success sent him crashing head first to the floor. He had narrowly missed the trough, hitting the concrete instead. As a result, he went on to haul himself from the pit in a traumatised daze. Too weak to speak, Vernon had blinked in the late light and tottered towards the house. He had heard the back door opening, but that wasn't what persuaded him to stumble sideways in the direction of the French windows.

It was the sight of the little angel watching him from behind the glass.

This blue-eyed girl with blonde ringlets had beamed at Vernon, entrancing him. Having been through hell, it was a glimpse of heaven that drew him closer. At the window he sank to his knees, and pressed his palms to the glass where she had pressed hers.

‘Save me,' he croaked, and mustered a smile as she giggled and chattered at him. Just then, the vision before Vernon represented everything that was good with the world, and all that he had missed. If he survived this ordeal, he thought to himself, he would change. Work had already cost him one marriage and the chance to start a family. That couldn't be allowed to happen again. Life was too precious, as this sweet baby kept saying in his head, over and over again. Dimly, Vernon was aware of some people at the table behind her, but in his mindset this apparition was all that mattered. She practically glowed, which was mostly down to the fact that Vernon's blood pressure was all over the place and it had left him with tunnel vision. ‘Take me home,' he added, and promptly began to weep. ‘Show me the way.
I'm ready!
'