Matt glared at her. At those narrowing eyes and the push of her lips: that low scuttle of a voice that made him half-expect a lizard’s tongue to come darting out. As if he wasn’t hearing the voice of a thirty-year-old woman but some ancient, striding thing that had made its home down here long ago, giddy at the hope of new blood.
But he noticed Rachel was silent, not encouraging Kassy, but not stopping her either.
‘Do it for Holly, and I promise we will never ever ask you to do it again.’ Kassy smiled at him. ‘Listen, Rabbit … jailer’s coming.’
Jerry was now swaying on his huge feet, like he’d heard those words a million times in his life, but perhaps now they made sense. When he finally did speak it was one tiny word that felt small and obedient, as if he was nine years old. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay.’
‘Wait,’ Matt called out. ‘Jerry.’
But he was already pulling the rabbit mask back on and he rushed for the door. Then just like that, he was gone, and it was just the three of them in a horrible, red cave.
Matt looked at Kassy and for a dangerous second he considered leaving her down here for ever. But the malice that was in her just a moment ago had gone completely. Now she wept bitterly, sobbing onto her chest like a little girl. A different person entirely.
‘Why?’ Matt said to her. ‘Why did you say all that?’
And all she could say was, ‘I don’t know … I don’t know.’
Rachel wasn’t crying, she was staring at the ceiling, unable to speak or look in Kassy’s direction. Then she turned her head to him and noticed the look in his eye. She shook her head.
He turned for the door.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Rachel called out. ‘Just leave him.’
Kassy wept.
‘Leave him,’ she shouted. Pleaded. ‘Let him.’
But Matt ran.
CHAPTER SIXTY
He raced out of the room, refusing to look at Lee’s open carcass lying in the dirt. Then, with ankle-stabbing footsteps he pounded and hobbled back up the rubbish-strewn corridor. He was shocked at the amount of insects he could now see swarming across the floors. He was also suddenly aware that the vaults were probably not as big as he’d imagined. They were just packed in with tunnels turning back onto themselves so that it was like those hedge mazes where you feel like you’re stumbling for ages until you see it from higher up and it looks embarrassingly small. But right now he was in it, not above it, and he was starting to lose his bearings. He couldn’t quite work out where he crawled into this pit in the first place.
When he got to the end he slammed his good shoulder into the door where he’d found Joyce, calling out through the pain. He tried to holler out to Keech and the rest to brace themselves while the now lockless door swung open and cracked against the wall.
But Jerry Phillip Marlowe hadn’t rushed through the other door to where the others were. He was still in his little room that stank of rubber, on his bed, mask still on. He was curled in the corner, clutching the sheets of newspaper to his chest. Matt stepped forward to speak but felt a spasm of shock.
The papers were already rapidly turning wet with blood. All those girls’ names and Jerry’s too, now in the stream of what was flowing out of him. And somewhere in those papers was that strange little book of his poems, and Holly smiling on the swing. Her darkening smile joining with his blood and becoming a part of him. Fluids joining. Souls entwining. Becoming one.
Effluvia, Matt thought, and shivered.
Jerry’s arm lolled out to the side and the sodden Stanley knife clattered out of his hand. Matt leapt down to grab the newspapers. He started stuffing them back around Jerry’s throat to force the slit back together.
Blood gushed hot against his hand and Matt could feel the rhythmic pulse of the flow. All the while Matt kept wondering what he was doing here and why his own heart was cracking. If he shouldn’t just throw himself back and let this murdering child molester die. Maybe it was because Jerry was wearing that damn rabbit mask so that all Matt could visualise was somebody else inside it. Not Jerry the man, but a terrified, lonely little boy. As if that was who really lived under there, even after all these years, and not the monstrosity he would become.
He heard a new sudden sound. The metal door from the adjoining dog room must have been heaving open, and a flurry of frantic voices filled the space, echoing everywhere. And Jerry said something, just as the pulse of blood was starting to slow. He said, ‘They’ll leave me alone now. Won’t they, sir?’
Sir, like Matt was his teacher. Like he was staff.
‘Won’t they? They’ll keep their promise?’
He went to reply but the door behind him burst inwards and two officers scrambled towards the bed. ‘Step aside,’ they shouted.
Matt let go of the papers and fell hard against the desk, though he felt no pain as his shoulder cracked into the wooden frame. And he saw Larry hurry into the room, heaving breath and holding his back. Mouth dropping open in shock. ‘Jesus Christ.’
Matt could barely speak. He just pointed his wet, trembling hand toward the other door and said, ‘Rachel … Kassy …’
Larry looked at the door and shouted for the others to come running. The room filled with the buzz of radio static, the scramble of echoed feet.
Matt couldn’t remember the exact point when Jerry Marlowe died. He just heard a long, bubbling groan come
