I did one last hack, then spat on the floor. My head continued to swim, maybe my brain had soaked up most of the water, saving my lungs. I licked my lips, trying to think what to say. I didn’t remember telling them.
What did it matter now? There was no use in lying.
“I didn’t murder him,” I started, my eyes meeting his, “It was Richard.”
I paused to cough, then painfully pushed myself up into a seated position. “He didn’t mean to though. Ivan was knocking me around and…”
“Because you were stealing from them?” he interrupted.
“I wasn’t stealing from them – I don’t know why you’re saying that. He thought something was going on with me and Richard.”
“Was there?”
“No.”
“Was there?” he asked again, gripping my face hard with both hands.
“No,” I said, pulling away.
He craned back up and began to pace the room.
“But we know you stole the goods from Richard. The fuckin’ bag is over there. Everything else is bullshit and I don’t give a toss who killed Ivan anyway.”
He stopped and glared at me. Pain was everywhere and waves of it shook me until I was struggling to stay conscious.
“We know you stole from them before Vicky. I just want what I paid for. This doesn’t have to get even worse for you. Now stop fucking around.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Was this going to be it? The end of my life? What a shitty excuse for one – I had accomplished nothing. I hadn’t married, had kids. I’d never even get that recording done. Even if no one had listened to it – at least I would have finished something. Tried something.
I stared at him, empty, only hoping – maybe even praying – for some mercy. In that moment his face defined every bad guy, in every horror film I’d ever seen. I felt like a scared child again. That real terror, like a child needing to be calmed when having a night terror. I remember my mum coming in to comfort me one time. It was unusual because it was usually my Dad who came in if I cried. She must have been real high because I remember the state she was in scared me more than the nightmare. Then my Dad came in behind and calmly led her away, before kissing my head and saying goodnight. I hadn’t made another noise, but I didn’t sleep either.
“Give her another wash,” Sammy spat, nodding to Carlos.
When I came to again, my senses were even more in a blur. I had never felt pain like it and unfortunately there was much worse to come. I was disorientated further by the sensation and noise of a car climbing upwards and bumping over rough terrain. Pain swamped me further back from unconsciousness. I tried to stretch out my legs. Opening my eyes, I was overcome by two facts. Yes, I was travelling in a car. And secondly, I was bound at the wrists and legs, bundled up on the back seat beside a stoic looking Carlos.
Fuck.
I closed my eyes again. The haze of pain shot all over my body and it was impossible to tell what hurt the most. Well that’s probably not true. It was my lungs. They felt like they had been ripped out, barbequed and placed back inside me again. I tried to think straight, but my head was too cloudy. As the car lurched from side to side, still climbing, I had time to really taste the fear of death. I didn’t want to die. Nobody wants to die, but certainly not like this.
I remembered how a few months before, I had found a lump on my breast. At first I had thought little of it. Then Amy made me go and see about it. When the doctor took it seriously and sent me for tests, I properly started to worry. Not just worry, but have a sense of dread. I felt a heaviness that I couldn’t shift. Only when all the results came back negative and they told me it was just a cist, did it ease. But I didn’t feel elation afterwards. It hadn’t equalled the fear I had been feeling. It didn’t even out for some reason. I don’t know why – maybe I just went on to worry about the next thing. I can be like that. I suppose that getting really sick is one of my biggest fears. Isn’t it everyone’s? Particularly getting sick like my Auntie Grace – with no chance of recovery. My only other big fear was ending up like my Mother. A different type of sickness – a sickness because you can’t stop something, an addiction. I knew that’s what it was, but it’s never helped me to forgive her for what happened. As far as I’m concerned, she chose drugs over me and my dad. That’s the bottom line.
I opened my eyes again to find Carlos still staring straight ahead. My throat felt like it had been stung inside by a swarm of bees. The rest of my body was faring much better. The car rattled along at speed. We were in a small car – it was old too. Up in front by himself was Danny. They were both in coats and Danny was also wearing an anxious and pale expression as he gripped the wheel. We slowed and as the car turned, I could hear loose gravel spraying under the tyres. I tried to see out the window, but I was wedged at a weird angle I couldn’t see much. Outside was pitch black now, an oppressive and endless darkness. I could only make out small glimpses of what the headlights picked out; the edge of the steep path or the base of a sheer mountain, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Then they shone on a signpost, we braked, then took a sharp left. ‘Fire Mountain’ it read, alongside the little devil logo that was always used for it.
What the fuck
