Good Girl, Bad Girl(116)

* * *





ANGEL FACE




* * *



I squeeze between boxes in the turret room, half-blind and navigating by touch. I slide my hand beneath a pillow until my fingers close around the oily rag. The pistol. I rack the slide, putting a bullet in the chamber, pointing it towards the door. There are no footsteps on the stairs. No blurry shadow in the doorway.

I put down the handgun and pick up the knife. Jamming the handle inside a closed drawer, I lean my hip against the front panel to keep the blade steady. I run my wrists back and forth against the sharpest edge, cutting the masking tape before ripping it with my teeth, spitting out bits of torn plastic.

I can hear Cyrus yelling my name, telling me to get out, until another voice drowns him out. Coming from outside.

Feeling my way between boxes, I stand on tiptoes at the window. Through watery eyes, I see two figures standing near the front gate.

I recognize Aiden’s voice. “Mum? It’s me.”

Mrs. Whitaker answers, repeating his name, as though wanting to be sure.

“What are you doing, Mum?” yells Aiden.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean . . . I need to explain.”

“OK. Are you coming out?”

“Listen, baby.” Her voice seems to break. “You’re going to hear some things about me, but you have to believe that everything I did was for you.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to protect you. I wanted you to be happy.”

“I was happy.”

“You and Jodie . . . it was wrong. You couldn’t be with her—not like you were.”

“Why?”

The question brings silence. Aiden asks again. “Mum? Why couldn’t I be with Jodie?”

Felicity answers in a wheedling, sorrowful voice. “She was your half sister.”

“You mean my cousin,” says Aiden, less certain now.

“No.”

“How can she be my half sister?”

“I couldn’t get pregnant . . . not with your dad.”

“So, who is my father?” asks Aiden.

Felicity answers hoarsely. “Your uncle Dougal.”

Aiden doesn’t respond.

“Are you there, baby? I know it’s a shock. I know I should have told you.”

Aiden’s voice changes. “Did you hurt Jodie?”

Another pause, followed by a defeated moan. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it. You have to forgive me.”

He says nothing.

“Aiden?”

Without a word, he turns and brushes past the shoulder of the detective, walking past the police cars and the barricades and the watching crowd. Mrs. Whitaker is calling after him. Begging him. He doesn’t stop.





68




* * *





CYRUS




* * *



“It’s over, Felicity. Put down the lighter.”

She’s kneeling on the hallway rug, hunched over, breathing raggedly. Words get caught in her throat. She tries again.

“What have I done? What have I done?”

“Listen to me. You have to open the windows. The house is full of gas.”

Rocking on her knees, she holds her stomach, moaning.

“You can get Aiden back. Explain things to him. It’s not too late. Right now, we have to get out of here.”

She’s not listening to me.

I hear Lenny on the loud-hailer: “Mrs. Whitaker, can you hear me? You talked to your son. I want you to come outside.”

She doesn’t respond.

I can picture the SWAT team outside ready to break down the doors. The smallest spark will light this place up.

“Give us a minute,” I yell to Lenny.

I concentrate on Felicity, who can’t see beyond her misery.

“It was an accident,” I say. “I don’t think you meant to hurt Jodie. But what you’re doing now is making things worse. Open the windows. Let’s walk out of here together.”

“I’ve ruined everything,” she sobs. “He’ll never forgive me.”

“You made some bad decisions. Don’t make another one. Open the windows. Let’s walk out of here together.”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s only too late if you give up,” I say. “If something happens to you, it won’t end the pain. You’ll be passing it on to Aiden and Tasmin.”

“They’ll be better off if I’m dead.”

“You’ll stain their lives. You’ll be betraying them. Rejecting them.”

She is staring at the cigarette lighter, which is cupped in her hands like an offering. An answer. A key.

“I lost my parents and my sisters. You know the story. Not a day goes by when I don’t wonder if I could have saved them. If I’d come straight home from football practice; if I hadn’t stopped for chips; if I hadn’t ridden my bike past Ailsa Piper’s house. What if? Maybe? If only. Don’t let the same thing happen to Aiden. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

I yell up the stairs. “Evie, it’s time to go!”