I Know Who You Are(85)
“In every way. Now that we’ve come back home, nobody needs to know who we are or what we do. We can start again. We can both have what we wanted.”
He frowns. “You still want to have a child, even though you know who I am?”
“Yes. That’s what I always wished for—a child. It would be a second chance. For both of us.”
He sits up a little. “I’m sorry about the Fincher movie.”
This catches me off guard and I struggle to keep my face neutral. “How do you know about that?”
“Because I know all your passwords, and I read all your emails, and I told Alicia White where he would be. It would have been too much for you. You would have been away too long again.”
I swallow the hate down. “You’re right. You’ve always known what was best for me.”
He seems surprised by my answer, concentration scratching itself onto his face.
“I did have a passport made for you, in your real name, just in case there were any complications with the van on the ferry. We could change the way you look a little, and you could have a life here. A real life. You hate all the attention acting brings anyway—”
I seize on this. The most believable lies always contain fragments of truth.
“Yes! I do hate it, you know I do. I get so scared all the time. A new life, a simpler life here with you, that’s all I want now. Kiss me how you used to. Please.”
He does, still watching me, as though this is a test he is expecting me to fail. He undoes the white blouse slowly, one button at a time, examining my face for any sign of betrayal. Then he reaches up to untie my hands, but I already know he has no intention of doing so. I know him just as well as he knows me.
“No, don’t, leave them tied. I want you to know you can trust me. I’m never going to run away again. I need you. I fall apart without you and I’ve been so lonely since you left.”
He looks confused, then he kisses my breasts, still checking for a reaction. I arch my back and feel him harden against me. He never needs a blue pill when I play my part. His head moves lower and I moan the way I know he wants to hear. He unties the rope around my feet, removes my white tights, and I smile while he unfastens his belt.
When it is over, he unties just one of my hands and holds it, then lays his head on my chest. When I think enough time has passed, I ease my fingers out of his, and when he starts to snore, I reach for the Jesus statue, stretching my arm as far as I can without moving the rest of my body. My fingers make contact with the cold metal. I grip it with all of the strength I have left, then smash it hard against his skull. He whimpers like a wounded animal, blood running down his face and over his eyes, as they stare at me in disbelief. I hit him again.
I know I don’t have any time to waste. I untie my other hand and crawl out from underneath him, fleeing from the room, wearing nothing except the white blouse. I run through the house, trying to remember the layout in the darkness, bumping into things I don’t remember, trying to find the nearest way out. I can already hear him coming after me before I reach the back door. The flaking wood has swollen over time, and I have to yank it hard to force it open.
It’s freezing outside and the howling wind takes my breath away. The tarmac driveway bites my bare feet, and I wrap the open blouse around myself, not that anyone lives close enough to see me in the darkness. Or hear me, if I were brave enough to scream. In my terror I can’t remember the geography of the place, and as I stumble towards what I think is the main road, I realize too late that I am running towards the back of the property and the sea. I hear the door slam behind me.
“Where you going, Baby Girl? I thought you wanted to be together. I thought you weren’t going to run away anymore?” He sounds like the version of himself that attacked me in our bedroom the night before he disappeared; the version of him that I believed might kill me.
I trip and fall, knowing he isn’t far behind.
I’m lost in the darkness. I’ve turned in the wrong direction again, and this time it will mean the end of me, not the beginning.
I hear the whiny sound of wood fighting elderly hinges, and make out the shadowy shape of a shed door banging in the wind. I run for it, choosing to hide from whatever comes next. I can’t see what I’m walking over in the shed, it feels like straw. The metal hooks that my daddy used to hang the chickens on are swinging up above me, disturbed by the storm. Screeching and scraping against one another to produce an animal-like warning. When I look up, I see their silver smiles lit by moonlight.
“Big brother will always find you.” I hear him close the shed door, trapping me inside with him. The gale outside is picking up, and the door doesn’t want to stay shut. It continues to bang against its hinges, as though wanting to set me free. I fall to the floor and crawl away from the sound of my brother’s voice. Knowing there is nowhere left for me to run away to now, nowhere left to hide.
That’s when my fingers find it.
I don’t know what it is at first. My hand slides along the length of the wood until it meets the cold metal end, still sharp enough to cut my finger.
I pick it up and turn around, crouching and facing the sound of his footsteps coming closer and closer. The shed door flies open, and the moonlight illuminates the face of my brother right above me. He’s distracted by the sound of the door, and I swing the ax with every last bit of strength that I have. It lodges itself in the side of his neck, blood spurting out of him as he falls to the floor.