Cruel Minds (26 page)

T
he first thing to hit Emily as she plunged sideways into the water was the cold. It was paralysing, as if her body had immediately turned to ice on impact. She went under, face slapping against the surface before sinking into darkness.

Above her, the boat capsized, creating an umbrella of inky blackness that blotted out the moon and the stars. As she’d been tumbling towards the water, Emily’s lungs had had the good sense to suck in a deep breath. Now, pressure began to build in the centre of her chest.

As she sank deeper, she had the impression of falling in slow motion through a dream. None of this was real. She would wake up at any moment and realise she’d been in the grip of yet another nightmare. But as her senses kicked in, as the icy water bit into her limbs, Emily instantly became aware of where she was and what was happening to her.

Her first instinct was to kick her legs, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her second instinct was to scream, but screaming beneath a lake would result in lungsful of water. The pressure in her chest grew. She could feel the weight of the entire lake pressing down on her sternum. She tried to move her arms, to bend her knees, but the darkness had taken hold of her limbs and would not let go.

Emily sank further. She could hear pounding in her ears like a timpani; an ominous, deep rumble that began slowly at first but was now increasing in speed and intensity. The pressure on her chest grew unbearable, threatening to fracture her breastplate. She just needed to breathe. To open her mouth and suck in lifesaving air.

The darkness around her began to change colour, from black to yellow to red. From it, a familiar face appeared. Young, haunted eyes watched her. Phillip Gerard. Why was she seeing him now? She tried to reach out a hand, to stroke his face, to wish him peace. But his face had already disappeared into the murk.

Her lungs were going to explode. Her body usurped control from her mind. Her mouth opened. The lake flooded in.

She could feel life releasing its hold on her. Or was she relenting, giving up? Months ago, she would have happily allowed the water to take her, for her body to rot away on the lakebed until it was nothing more than algae-covered bones. But things had changed. The thrashing of her heart reminded her so. She had made peace with Phillip Gerard’s ghost. She had said a final goodbye to her mother. She had let the past die inside of her so that the present could live. Was she really going to throw it all away now just to be fish food at the bottom of a lake?

Regaining control of her body, Emily brought her knees up to her chest. She flapped her arms and kicked with all of her strength, propelling herself upwards. She repeated the movement, flapping like an underwater bird, legs bucking like a dolphin’s tail. Up she went, the last of her breath shooting from her nostrils in tiny bubbles. Her clothes and shoes acted against her, trying to drag her back down. But Emily kicked and she flapped and she wriggled.

She erupted on the surface in a froth of water, limbs, and painful gasps. She went under again. She thrust her arms, broke the surface and spun around. The upturned boat was inches from her. With a cry, she lunged towards it. Her palms slapped against fibreglass. Her fingers scrabbled against the round, slippery hull. There was nothing to hold onto.

“No!” She went under again.

Her strength gone, she sank like a stone. Her arms flailed above her head for a moment longer. Then they were still, trailing behind her like streamers. She was going to die down here after all. Water filled her insides until she became liquid, until she and the lake were one. The pressure in her chest floated away. Then there was darkness. Darkness everywhere.

A
nd then there was light. And stars. Hundreds of thousands of them, glinting and shimmering, filling her vision. Voices echoed around her like memories. She floated through time and space, blissful and at peace. But then she felt hands on her chest, and a cloying, tightening pressure in her lungs. All around her, stars crumbled and fell. Voices came together and spoke in unison. The hands on her chest pressed down, over and over, crushing her. She wanted them to stop. She tried to bat them away but her body was cold and still. She wasn’t breathing.
She couldn’t breathe!

“Come on!” she heard the voices say. The words echoed over her head.

The pain in her chest became excruciating. Her lungs began to spasm uncontrollably. Her back arched. Emily’s eyes flew open. She wrenched open her mouth and vomited dirty water, leaves and twigs. She drew in long, painful breaths that burned the inside of her throat. But the air was fresh and unadulterated and bursting with life.

She was lying by the edge of the lake, clothes swamped with water, lungs filled with fire. Jerome’s stricken face appeared over her, raining droplets of water onto her skin.

“It’s all right,” he breathed, his teeth chattering. “You’re okay. I got here just in time.”

Emily tried to move.

“Just rest for a minute.”

“But Marcia...” No more words would come. Emily rested her head on the ground, feeling wet earth and rock, grateful she could feel anything at all.

Jerome shuffled down to her feet and tugged at the rope that still bound her legs. “I saw the boat go over. You both went into the water. I swam as fast as I could. It’s a miracle I found you at all. Damn it, the rope’s too wet.”

He snatched up the storm lantern and pointed it at the ground. The knife glinted in the darkness.

“Stay still,” he said, setting to work on the rope.

Emily did as she was told. Her dalliance with death had left her groggy and sore and disoriented. She lay there, focusing on her breath—
in for four, hold for seven, out for eight
—until she heard a faint snap. Her ankles sprang away from each other.

“Thank you.” She pulled herself up. The world rocked from side to side as if she were still on the boat. The fog in her mind persisted.

“Where’s Marcia?” she said, floundering as she grabbed the lantern and pointed it across the lake. The capsized boat floated halfway across like the back of a whale.

Jerome shook his head. “I saw her fall in but I didn’t see her get out. I can’t believe it was her and Pamela. That crazy woman locked me in Melody’s room. I had to jump out of the damn window!”

Suddenly remembering Melody, Emily swung the lantern towards the jetty. Melody was gone.

“They were going to kill us both,” she said.

“What the hell? I didn’t even do anything!”

Emily quickly filled him in on the reasons why, starting with the murder of Franklyn Hobbes and ending with Pamela’s plan to frame Melody. When she was done, Jerome sat back and let out an exasperated breath.

“What a total nut job!” He sat up again, worried eyes staring at Emily in the dark. “Helen’s still in there.”

“They won’t hurt her. Not when her story will vindicate them of all responsibility.”

“But that was before I escaped, before you didn’t die. There’s a good chance Marcia saw me pulling you from the lake. She’ll be on her way back to the house right now to tell Pamela.”

Emily pulled herself to her feet. Although her legs were shaky, she managed to stay upright. “There’s no way they’re getting out of this. But that doesn’t mean any of us are safe.”

She tugged on Jerome’s arm. He looked at her in horror.

“We’re going back to the house, aren’t we?” Jerome handed her the knife. “Fine, but I get to hold the lantern.”

T
hey stumbled through the forest, almost losing their way, then hurried across the meadow. Emily clutched the knife in her hand, wondering if she would be able to use it if she had to.

The front door of the house was open. Light spilled out.

Emily pushed her legs forwards. Twice, she almost fell, but Jerome was there to hold her up. Passing through the garden, she saw two sets of muddy footprints trailing along the corridor towards the Hardys’ living quarters.

Chest rising and falling in quick succession, Emily nodded at Jerome. Together, they stepped into the foyer.

“Wait!”

Jerome tugged her back outside. In the northwest corner of the forest, a haze of blue and red lights flashed above the treetops.

“They’re here,” Jerome said. “The police are here!”

The lights were mesmerising, like the afterglow of fireworks. Emily blinked them away. Minutes would pass before the police would walk through the front door. Terrible things could happen in a matter of seconds. She stood, her senses pulling towards rescue and her conscience pulling towards the house.

No one else was going to die.

“Emily, no! What are you doing?”

Jerome pulled her back. She tried to shake him off but his grip was firm.

“We have to go in there, Jerome.”

He stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, then jabbed a finger towards the lights. “Are you out of your mind? The police are right there! They’ll be here any minute!”

“Melody doesn’t have a minute!” she said. “They’re going to kill her, Jerome. Don’t you see? They’ve played her all along. Used her loneliness to manipulate her into making a stupid, stupid mistake.”

She moved forwards. Jerome held her back.

“Even so, she should have known. There’s this thing called right and wrong.”

“So we just let her die? You really think she deserves that?”

Their eyes burned into each other. Far behind them, the police lights inched closer. Jerome released his grip. His shoulders sagged.

“Fine. But this time, I’m coming with you.”

They entered the foyer together, heading in silence along the corridor and towards the Hardys’ living quarters. The door was ajar.

Knife wavering in front of her, Emily peered inside. Helen was alone, slumped on the sofa. They hurried towards her. Jerome pressed two fingers into Helen’s jugular.

“She’s alive. Looks like the bleeding has stopped too.”

Emily glanced out of the window. In the distance, she saw beams of torchlight emerge from the forest. She turned and faced the door that led towards the bedrooms. A smear of blood stained the jamb. A muffled cry came through the wood. Trembling, Emily reached for the handle.

She looked back at Jerome, who was propping Helen’s head up with more pillows. Their eyes met. Jerome shook his head wildly.

Emily opened the door.

Pamela stood in the centre of the corridor, hands pressed up against the bathroom door. She turned towards Emily. She looked old and weak, all the vitality sucked from her bones.

“Please, help me!” she sobbed. She turned back towards the door, curled her hands into fists, and pounded the wood.

Emily held out the knife in front of her. She looked uncertainly at Pamela, then to the door. Jerome came up behind.

“Please!” Pamela screamed. “Stop her!”

Frightened now, Emily looked at Jerome. He ran forwards, pushing Pamela out of the way. Then, bracing himself against the wall, he charged at the door. The lock broke on his second attack, tearing away from the jamb. The door flew inwards.

Knife still in her hand, Emily entered the bathroom.

They were sat in the bath, toe to toe. Melody’s hands were still tied. Her knees were pulled up to her chest. Her back pressed into the taps. She turned to face Emily, her face smeared with tears and dirt and splashes of blood. She sobbed into the gag.

Marcia sat across from her, unmoving, her skin draining to a horrible shade of grey. She had made two deep cuts that ran the length of her inner arms. Blood poured and spurted from the wounds, effervescent against white porcelain.

Emily was paralysed. She watched scarlet rivulets run along the bottom of the tub to soak Melody’s sweatpants. A bloody razorblade rested on the floor. It took just a second to drink it all in but that second lasted for an hour. Behind her, Pamela fell to her knees and wailed.

Springing into action, Emily pulled towels from the rail and moved towards the bathtub. Marcia’s eyes opened. She watched Emily as she wrapped a towel around one of her forearms, then started work on the other.

“I need more!” she cried.

Behind her, Jerome darted from the room.

Emily tightened the towels but they were already dark with Marcia’s blood.

“I’m sorry.”

Emily looked up. Marcia stared at her, the light draining from her irises.

“Why?” Emily choked. “Why didn’t you just say no? Why didn’t you just tell her to stop?”

Marcia swallowed. An exhausted smile found its way to her lips. Pamela was crawling towards the tub on her hands and knees, spit hanging from her mouth.

“Mother knows best,” Marcia whispered.

Then she was dead, her eyes fixed on Pamela for an eternity.

Melody began to howl. She squirmed against her bindings and thrashed against the bathtub. Jerome returned with a large pile of towels. He saw Marcia’s lifeless eyes, then hugged the towels to his chest.

Pamela pulled Marcia towards her, wrapping arms around her back. In the bathtub, Melody continued to wail through her gag. Voices and footsteps filled the air, followed by the crackle of police radios.

W
ith Melody and Pamela now in handcuffs and being watched over by Constables Evans and Taylor in the bedrooms, Sergeant Wells stepped out into the corridor to radio in what he’d found. Emily heard him mention something about CID as she wandered out into the garden, where Jerome stood with Daniel and Janelle. They all shared the same shell-shocked expression.

“Ben and Sylvia were gone before we could catch up with them,” Janelle said to her. “We had to walk all the way.”

“Look at what you missed,” Emily said. Her eye throbbed. She felt sick to the stomach. And for some ungodly reason, she felt hungry.

It wasn’t long before the drone of a helicopter could be heard. Minutes later, they all covered their ears as an air ambulance landed and paramedics jumped out. Helen was brought out on a stretcher. Her eyes were open, her body halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness. As she was carried past Emily, she lifted a finger. Emily leant down until her ear was by Helen’s lips.