Lie For Me Page 22

  I never heard from the biological mother.

  CHAPTER 58

  Present day

  Suzy is staring at me with daggers in her eyes. “You’re lying!” she shouts.

  “No,” I shout back, and grit my teeth. “She is my daughter.”

  “And what about the woman who gave birth to her?” Suzy seethes.

  “How do you…?” I stop, staring at her. At the rage in her eyes. I feel dizzy, and breath leaves my chest like it’s been hit by a hammer.

  It can’t be. Can it?

  We stare at each other, Clive and Molly forgotten for a while. I see anger in her eyes but also something else. I can’t read it. Regret perhaps. Or maybe even gratitude. I don’t know. It flits across her face then vanishes.

  “Yes,” Suzy whispers. “She’s mine. I gave birth to her.”

  The words are like a slap to my face. “You’re lying.”

  She says, “That’s why I tracked you down. Got Clive to get back on you. Luckily, your husband started making some money, and we could kill two birds with one stone. I get my daughter back, and we take your money, for the second time.”

  I frown at her. “You have no proof. Even if you did, are you serious? You can’t just waltz back into Molly’s life now, after all these years.” I glance at Clive who’s standing rock still, gun trained on me.

  “Besides, what sort of a life are you two going to give her? She’s going to end up in social care when you two get arrested after this.”

  Clive says, “After this we are off. Once we have Jeremy’s money, you won’t even hear from us again.”

  “Or from Molly,” Suzy whispers.

  “Mummy, what’s going on?” Molly cries out from behind them.

  “Nothing, darling, just hold on.” My voice trembles as I speak.

  “Enough talk,” Clive says. “Either you make the phone call now or else…” Holding the gun at me with one hand, he pulls out a knife from his trousers. He walked behind Molly, and puts the knife beside her right ear.

  “Are you ready?” Clive says.

  I stare at him, panic suffocating me. “She’s your own daughter!” I scream.

  “How do I know that?” Clive scoffs. I note the frown that spreads across Suzy’s face when he says the words.

  I advance towards him, but he thrusts the gun towards me, and I stop. I have made some ground, however. I calculate my chances, breathing heavily. Clive is holding a rifle that’s heavy. Although he’s strong, his aim will be awry. I could shuffle to the side and launch myself at him. I can see the gun barrel shaking in his hand.

  Suzy says to Clive, “We weren’t going to do this.” They hold each other’s eyes and a scowl deepens on Clive’s face.

  He says, “It’s the only way. You know it.”

  “No,” says Suzy, stepping towards him. “This was always going to be a threat. We can’t harm the girl.” She points a finger at me. “Kill her if you have to. But don’t harm the girl.”

  Suzy looks at Molly, who’s terrified, and her fear-filled eyes are moving from me to Suzy.

  “Don’t be scared, darling,” I call out. “It’s alright.”

  To Clive I say, “Move the knife away.” He doesn’t. It’s a stand-off. Suzy and I on one side, and Clive on the other.

  “Make the call,” Clive says. “Then I don’t have to do this.” He rests the sharp edge of the knife above the corner of Molly’s right ear. My heart is my mouth, beating so loud I can’t breathe.

  “No,” I whisper. Clive increases pressure and from Molly’s eyes I can see she feels the pain.

  Suzy has seen it, too, and she moves forward. “Stop it, Clive,” she snarls.

  He moves the gun towards Suzy. “You’re going to get it as well, you bitch,” he shouts.

  In that instant, when the gun has moved away from me, I launch myself towards Clive. I grab the gun, and manage to kick the chair to one side. Molly screams and she falls over. The gun goes off with a blast.

  Then Clive and I are wrestling on the floor, grappling for the gun. It goes off again, and I hear a grunt. I can’t look up, because the knife flashes in the light and I feel a sharp sting of pain as it pierces the skin on my shoulder.

  I feel the warm trickle of blood down my arm. I shout, and bite on the hand that holds the knife. I pierce flesh and taste blood before he shouts and lets go. I kick him below the belt as I pull on the gun. It comes off in my hand. Clive is scrambling up and I shoot as best I can, semi-prone on the floor. The bullets take a chunk off the ceiling, then Clive has opened the door and crashed outside. I hear him running down the steps, and into the night.

  Beside me, Molly is still tied to the chair. She’s awake, thank goodness. I pull and strain at the ropes, reaching for the knife that Clive has left. Blood pours in a steady trickle down my left arm, dampening the hand, flowing onto the rope. After a while the final knot gives way. I unwind the rope from around her body and she hugs me so hard I almost topple over. We’re both crying, talking, babbling in relief at the same time.

  My eyes fall on the gun at my feet, and then at the puddle of blood that is creeping towards it. I let go of Molly and tell her to sit down in the corner with the chair in front of her. Holding the gun, I crawl towards Suzy.

  She is lying on her back, not moving. There are two gunshot wounds on her body. One in the belly, and the other in the chest. Blood is seeping out freely from both. She opens her mouth, but only a froth bubble of blood comes out. Suzy is dying. I put the gun down, and unzip her jacket. Her chest is a mess. White fragments of fractured ribs are sticking up through her vest. The abdomen wound is deep and blood is welling out of it, unstoppable. Her face is deathly white. Her eyes flutter, and lips move again.

  She’s trying to tell me something. I keep a wary look at her hands, but kneel down closer to her lips.

  “Th…thank you.” She pauses for a while, then speaks again. “For looking after my daughter.”

  I ask her the question that has been on my mind for eight years. “Why did you leave her?”

  Her lips move in silence for a while. I only hear one word. “Drugs….”

  Then the words stop, and her jaw slacks. Her eyes become wide, staring, pupils dilated. Her chest stops rising and falling. Suzy’s gone.

  I close her eyes, and stare at her face in silence for a few seconds. I will never know what went on in that troubled, twisted heart of hers, but tonight, for a few seconds, she was on my side. Those few seconds might yet make all the difference.

  Might, not will.

  I pick up the gun and rack the slide. I can feel Molly get up and come to my side. The magazine of this rifle is small, and I count four more rounds in it. It’s an old weapon. I kneel by Molly.

  “Darling, can you stay here till I get back?”

  “I want to come with you.”

  I give her my phone and show her Rockford’s number. “Call this man and tell him my name, and that you are in trouble. Tell him you are near our farm, about fifteen miles north-west.”

  I moved Molly to one corner, and turn off the light before I open the door. Lightning flashes outside, and I see the car. Further up, it’s the hills, with a path snaking up into the woods covering them.

  I open the back door of the car. My rifle is gone. That means Clive has it. My blood turns to ice. He could be around anywhere.

  I slam the door shut, and a bullet whistles in, shattering the glass of the window next to my face.

  CHAPTER 59

  I fall, and scramble under the car as more bullets hit it. I come out on the other side, and crouch over the bonnet. I can’t see anything in the pitch black dark. He makes the mistake of firing again, and I see where the flash came from. He’s closer than I thought. But this bullet hits the front tyre, and it explodes. He’s hitting them deliberately, to make sure I can’t escape.

  I fire back, once only, as I have three rounds left now. Then I see him, a shadow that rises out of the wet darkness. My eyes are now more used to the dark, and I fire
without hesitation. He screams, and falls over. I hear a slithering sound as he tries to move down the grass.

  I have to follow. I cannot let him live. He will kill Molly if I don’t get him first. I stay low and run. I go past a sign, and a flash of memory jolts me. This used to be the Netherton farm. He had two sons who went to the same school as me, and both of them left the Dales with jobs in the cities. The old man died here, in similar fashion to Mr Johnson up the road.

  I came to this farm as a child. I know it well. I move forward, straining my eyes and ears. I feel, more than see, some bushes move to my right. Then Clive appears, running, dragging his left leg. I fire and miss. He’s vanished again, but I know the direction in which he’s headed. Further up the hill.

  I set off in pursuit. My left arm feels weak from the loss of blood and the pain is intensifying. Clive moves quickly for a man with a leg wound. The trees become denser as the slope gets steeper. There’s a sudden bang, and bark spits and breaks a few inches away from my face. I turn and slide down to the ground.

  I give him five seconds, then I move again. I can’t let him get too close, and whatever I do, I can’t let him go downhill, back towards the cabin and Molly.

  I climb, slipping on the rain-slickened ground. My fingers dig into the mud and I haul myself back up. The cold is worse now, too, and I am only wearing my cardigan, having left my coat wrapped around Molly. I can feel the cold seeping into my bones, making me shiver.

  A rumble sounds overhead, and a loud bolt of thunder cracks across the sky. The boom is deafening and the lightning couldn’t have been far away. In that flash, I see him again, a shadow slipping between the trees. Slipping and sliding, I climb up, chasing.

  I get closer to where he was, and go flat on the ground, waiting. He stands up, and I fire. He’s about ten feet away, and I hope I don’t miss. The trigger catches, and the round doesn’t come out. I press the trigger again, but the magazine is soaked in the rain. The gun is useless.

  I can see Clive looking around. I freeze. But his eyes move downward, and fall on me. I’m not moving, hoping he will miss me, my shadow congealed with the darkness. Then I hear leaves move, and steps coming towards me.

  I hold my breath.

  The steps come closer. Desperately trying to move as little as possible, I turn the gun around, holding it like a club by the barrel.

  The steps are slower, more assured. Like he’s crouching because he’s seen something.

  “Cupcake, I can see you. Just stand up like a good girl.”

  I clench my teeth. He’s bluffing. I’ve barely moved, and it’s too dark. The steps get closer and now he’s within touching distance. I can feel the heat of his body, hear the heavy breathing.

  I can smell the bastard.

  He rakes the ground with the barrel of the gun. It’s a clever move. The gun will still fire, and he’ll catch me as well. I need to do something or it’s all over.

  I roll over to my left and leap to my feet in a crouch. He sees me, but he’s too late. He was bluffing, and I take him by surprise. I’m holding the gun barrel and I swing it like a tennis racquet, hitting his lower leg. He lets out a howl of anguish; I must’ve hit the injured one. I move forward to hit him again but I see the gun coming up. He presses the trigger, and a blast of lead fires past my back, ripping into a tree.

  I hurl myself into the undergrowth, pulling on twigs, branches to pull myself up the slope. I can hear him cursing. I keep moving up, knowing he’s coming after me. Suddenly, I stop.

  I can hear the rain all around me, and Clive below. But there is another sound rising above all else.

  The sound of running water.

  CHAPTER 60

  I move towards the sound. It gets louder as I get closer. But you won’t hear it unless you stop and listen. Even then, you might not distinguish it from the steady patter of rain, and other sounds of the night.

  I can because when we were young and played in the hills, we were wary of the potholes and deep caves that could suddenly open up under our feet. The Yorkshire Dales are infamous for their hidden caves, and a deep one is as good as a death trap.

  I know the Netherton farm is close to the Inglesby hill, and the River Gimble runs through it. But there is also a network of underground caves in these limestone hills. The river stops suddenly, and literally falls into the hole.

  With some effort, I need to find that hole. The sound is louder ahead of me now. I can’t hear Clive anymore, which worries me. The moon plays hide-and-seek with clouds, and I see it shine on the water briefly. I slide down towards it, and start moving along the bank.

  There’s a boom behind me, and bark comes off a tree next to me. He’s found me. I move forward, and now the sound of the rushing water dims, becomes a different sound wave. Suddenly, it sounds like water dripping down a long tunnel. Again, it’s a sound that only a trained ear can hear.

  I protect myself behind a tree and shout to him. “Are you afraid to face me, Clive? What sort of a man are you?”

  I don’t hear his reply. I step off the ground into the freezing water. The current tugs at me and I have to be strong. If I get pulled under here, then I’ll fall hundreds of feet into the steep drop below us.

  The river isn’t wide. The water comes up to almost my waist, and panic hits me as a wave of rain-swollen water hits me on the chest. The spray spatters into my face and I stumble and almost fall over. I grit my teeth and straighten myself. Struggling, heaving, somehow I pull myself to the other side. I slump on the muddy bank, falling on my chest. I don’t care that I’m soaked to the bone. Every strand of hair is sticking to my skull. I hear feet splashing on water behind me.

  I turn, and see Clive stepping out into the water. He’s taller, and the water comes up to his knees. He is walking across far quicker than me.

  There’s no strength left in my limbs. Somehow, I plant my palms flat on the ground and heave myself up. I run to my right, then stop. I wave my hands like a windmill, making myself visible.

  “Hey, Clive. I’m here!” I holler at him. He is a shadow in the darkness, but I see him turn. He sees me and lifts the gun to his shoulder. I dive for the ground and the bullet passes over my head. I move to the right again, staying low this time. Branches scratch my face, pull at my hair. After ten yards, the sound of the river is almost gone. All I can hear is a gurgle, and the distant sound of it going underground like falling off a subterranean cliff.

  “Clive, you’re shit,” I scream at him. I stand up again. He’s swivelling around, jerking the gun from side to side.

  “Over here,” I say. He sees me. I count his steps. One, two…

  He lifts the gun to his shoulders. I stand still, caught between the fear of death, and witnessing the death of my tormentor.

  …three steps, and the barrel is now facing me, ten yards away. Then suddenly he lurches forward, like his foot’s caught in a trap. The riverbed is like a sieve where Clive is standing. A latticework of holes big enough to swallow up a man.

  I hear him scream one last time, then the sound is a long, drawn-out sound, like he’s vanishing down a hole. Which he is. There’s nothing where Clive was once standing. I get closer to the water, and I can now see the rifle floating towards the bank.

  Relief floods over me. Clive is gone, thank God. I can now get my daughter, and get the hell out of here. I fall to my knees, panting. The rifle is close to me now, and I reach out for it. It’s just out of reach, and I have to stretch. My fingers close around the middle section of the gun.

  With a blood-curdling scream, Clive rears out of the water, his right hand grabbing my throat.

  CHAPTER 61

  Water is running off his face, and his eyes are wild, alive. His claw-like fingers scratch the skin of my throat but his hands slip. But he grips the front of my vest. With a cry, I fall down. My chest hits the ground, smashing air out of my lungs. I see stars before my eyes and the pain makes my vision dim. He’s pulling me into the water, keeping steady pressure on me.

  I
bring my leg around, and kick him in the chest with all my might. I’m wearing heavy walking shoes, and the kick hurts him, weakening his grip. But he doesn’t let go. How did he come back up? He must’ve got lucky, and stepped between the holes, which is a miracle. The scream might have been to fool me.

  My right hand is on the rifle, and I pull it out of the water, even as I feel the brackish river water hit my face. I kick and scream, thrashing my legs against him. I know what will happen if we go into the river here. Clive might have survived once, but he won’t do it a second time. Both of us will fall to a dark and rocky death.

  The ferocity of my kicking takes him by surprise. His grip is loosened enough in the muddy slime for me to bring the rifle to bear. I have him at point-blank range, barrel pressing against his ribs.

  I’m up to waist-level in the water, but close to the bank. I’m not going in any further. Clive feels the barrel against his ribs and as if he know what’s coming next, he stops pulling me.

  No goodbyes. No swearing. I press the trigger and the waterproof magazine of my father’s Remington fires the round. The boom resonates deep inside Clive’s chest and he is pushed back like he’s falling off a cliff. I scramble up to the bank, and point the gun at him again.

  I want to fire but I don’t have to. I see Clive trying to stand but he falls. He slips back down further into the water, and I watch him disappear as he’s sucked underneath. Only bubbles break the surface where he vanished.

  Then they, too, are gone.

  CHAPTER 62

  My teeth are chattering as I stumble down the hill, rifle in hand. My left arm feels useless, I can’t even lift it up. I have left the river behind, and the gun is strapped to my back now. It feels like a dead weight. I lurch from tree to tree. Every drop of cold rain seems to cut through my skin, freezing my blood further. In the dim distance, the cabin finally comes into view as an outline. I fall to my knees. Nausea lurches in my intestines and I vomit up the river water I swallowed. Mucus trailing from my mouth, I stand up. Somehow, I put one foot in front of the other. I fall again, and slide down in the mud. Sliding is easier, and I move a long way down. Near the bottom of the slope, I move. But I don’t have the strength to stand up. I crawl the last hundred yards.