She tried to imagine lifting her weapon over her aunt, looking into Marie’s eyes as she brought it down again and again. She retched and threw the door open just in time to be sick over the grass.
Dorran moved around her silently. She slumped back in the chair, shaking, and a moment later, she felt a cup being pressed into her hands.
“Drink,” Dorran whispered. “I will take care of it. Is there a back entry into the house?”
“Yes.” Bile smarted on Clare’s tongue, and she tried to wash it down. Her hands shook, spilling water across her lap. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. “In the kitchen. It’s a straight line from the front entry to the back door.”
“Stay here. Don’t try to follow. I will be back within five minutes.”
He pressed her hand gently then stepped towards the house. Tremors ran through Clare, and she couldn’t stop them. Dorran paused at the front door to retrieve the weapons they had dropped there, then he disappeared around the side of the house.
Marnie. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve any of this.
The cup tipped in her hands, and cold water ran across the seat and into the still-damp carpet. Clare barely noticed.
What she’d asked of Dorran was more than should be expected of anyone. But she couldn’t leave Marnie there, trapped, in pain, and not understanding why, imprisoned until she starved or died from her injuries.
A muffled thwack echoed from the house. Clare dropped the cup and pressed her hands over her face as she moaned. The thwack was followed by more. Quick and harsh. Metal hitting flesh. Clare moved her hands to her ears. It wasn’t enough to block out the noise.
Marnie. Marnie. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.
Five more sharp, short beats were followed by silence.
I’m sorry, Marnie. I’m so sorry.
The house stayed still. Its windows were dark. Clare’s stomach ached, but there was nothing left to bring up. She kept her eyes fixed on the farmhouse door.
A minute passed… then another. Dorran didn’t reappear.
Clare tried to count the seconds, but time felt distorted. How far past midday are we now? Is it close to night? Have we been here five minutes or an hour?
Perfect silence reigned over Marnie’s farm. Fear squeezed at Clare’s insides. She needed to look for Dorran. She didn’t think her legs would carry her. Her ears were ringing again, blending in with the radio’s static in a bleak, frightening song.
Then Dorran stepped into view, coming around the house’s side. He carried his jacket over his arm. His hair was wet and slicked back.
He washed up, Clare realised with a sickening jolt.
Dorran’s expression stayed impassive as he neared the car. He opened the door and slid inside, throwing his jacket into the back seat. It was wet, too, Clare saw.
“Everything is all right now.” His face might have been expressionless, but his voice was raw. “She is gone.”
Clare nodded, and Dorran turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled. He eased the car around to face the driveway.
Neither of them spoke or made any move to turn on the music. Dorran kept his eyes on the road. Clare glanced at him once, then leaned against the window, breathing deeply as she tried not to be sick again.
Dorran had washed after killing Marnie so that Clare wouldn’t see her aunt’s blood. But he’d missed a spot. On the back of his shirt’s collar, tucked almost out of view, was a little drop of red.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Fields passed her window. They gradually transformed into bare, bleak hills, and the ground was taken over by shrubs and struggling trees as their car moved into the valley. In another hour, the ground would start rising again, leading into the mountains that separated Marnie’s house from Beth’s.
Clare huddled in the car’s corner, forehead pressed against the window. Every time she thought about Marnie, her insides ached. It felt like being punched repeatedly. The bruises had no chance to heal before they took another hit.
Dorran didn’t try to disturb her, except for once, a few minutes after leaving the farm. He stopped the car to get the blanket out of the back seat and drape it across Clare and refilled the mug with water. The drink sat in the cupholder, ignored, but Clare held on to the blanket. She felt cold again. The car’s dampness continued to soak into her. The air conditioner didn’t work, and she thought the outside might be cooling as the clouds thickened.
The clock on the dashboard slowly clicked onwards. Past four, approaching five. The later it grew, the less the thought of Marnie hurt. The memories weren’t becoming less painful, but Clare thought she was losing her ability to feel. She was glad for that. Feelings had no place in this new world. She simply had to do what was required to survive.
The road began to snake as it led towards the river. Long before they could see the water, Clare heard it. Rushing, almost screaming. Dorran turned to her, seemingly about to say something, but changed his mind and remained silent. He slowed the car, though, as they navigated through a copse of birch to approach the stone bridge. What should have been a bridge, at least. Their passage was gone.
No, Clare corrected herself. Not gone. It’s still there, just underwater.
She shuffled up in her chair. He back muscles burned, but she barely felt them. She barely felt anything. She stared at the scene, understanding what it meant but not caring.
The path sloped downwards. In the space between them and the opposite bank rushed a torrent of water. The snow that had blanketed the region was flooding towards lower ground, and a large part of it had taken the Burbank River as its path of choice.
The water turned white as it surged over things that would normally be clear. Rocks. Signposts. The bridge. Even the Flood Water sign had disappeared. The river’s edge lapped
