With This Man, Page 39

  ‘Yes, in your car.’ Lauren wedges the gun painfully in my rib. ‘Go.’

  I’m forced to turn before I get the opportunity to check for any recollection on Ava’s face. I fear she’s too lost in the new memories to realise what I’m trying to tell her.

  As I’m guided to my car by the gun held at my back, I tussle with the temptation to turn and wrestle it from her hands. I’m big enough to easily overpower her. But that gun. One twitch of her finger, no matter how fast I am, and I’ll be gone. And then Ava and the kids will be helpless. No way am I risking their lives. Fuck mine. Fuck this. I deserve it all. Had I enlightened Ava, grown some balls and told her everything, she would have been aware of Lauren. Would have maybe seen some signs. Instead, I was the coward I was years ago, and I’ve put the most precious people in my life at danger’s door. My feet are heavy, my heart slowing with each step I take. She won’t need to kill me. I’m dying little bit by little bit the further I walk away from my family.

  Chapter 54

  My attention is divided between the road and Lauren’s lap, where the gun is resting lightly, her finger curled around the trigger. I know fuck all about guns. I wouldn’t be able to tell you if it was loaded, or even ready to fire. This could be just a show. I’m unwilling to test could be. All I know for sure is this woman wants to make me suffer. I don’t know where we’re headed. I’m taking instructions as she gives them, following the road out of the city.

  I don’t know whether to talk to her. Attempt to make her feel at ease. I have not one fucking clue how to handle this.

  I’m just so thankful Ava and the kids are out of harm’s way. And yet Ava must be terrified – by what’s happening now, and by the flood of memories. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel, my heart pulsing with pain. I could go on a rampage. Destroy everything in sight, starting with Lauren. But I have to stay calm and sensible if I’m going to get through this.

  As my phone persistently vibrates in my pocket, I mentally talk to Ava, telling her over and over to think about what I said as I left. I beg for the penny to drop through her despair and fear.

  ‘Right at the roundabout.’ Lauren breaks into my thoughts with her curt order, and I follow her instructions, taking the country road further out of the city. Every time I catch sight of her, I feel sick.

  ‘You like?’ she asks, scrunching her hair when she catches me looking. ‘You’re into brunettes, right?’

  ‘I’m into my wife and my wife alone.’ The venom in my tone is savage but unstoppable.

  She ignores my scathing retort and proceeds to pat down her black lace dress. ‘She picked this for me.’ One foot comes up and rests on the dashboard. ‘And these are hers. You must like what you see.’

  What I see makes me want to vomit. ‘You look very nice, Lauren,’ I say carefully, silently running through my options. There are three, as I see it: fight or flee being two of the obvious, though that gun she’s holding like it could be a vital part of her outfit is rendering those options redundant. Then there’s the third option, the one I’m going to take. Pacify her. Draw her into a false sense of security. ‘How did you find us?’

  ‘Well, there I am enjoying my morning coffee reading the paper and suddenly I’m staring at her. She lost her memory, they said. Such a shame. They kindly mentioned that Ava and her husband ran a health club. It wasn’t hard to find you.’ She sighs, pointing the gun to the signpost up ahead as I bristle and curse the fucking journalists to hell and back. ‘Left there.’

  It’s the area where we grew up. ‘Why are we here?’ I take the turn and keep my speed at thirty as we drive down the narrow country road towards the village.

  ‘A trip down memory lane.’ She turns in her seat. ‘Remember the barn where we first kissed?’

  ‘Yes.’ I remember the barn, but I have no recollection of the kiss. She could be making it up. Or not. Over the years, I’ve successfully eradicated most memories of Lauren from my life. Cleansed my mind and left space for only the things that mean something to me. Like Rosie. Like my brother. I want to ask when she was released from the nuthouse. I also want to ask what imbecile deemed her safe to the outside world. Though I know bringing that up would be unwise.

  Besides, I know she’s safe to most people. It’s just me and my family she has a vendetta against. She’s volatile. I shouldn’t say anything to push her over the edge. We were assured that if she were ever released, we’d be informed. And it was a massive if. How the fuck did this happen? Why didn’t we know? More questions mount, tearing up my mind as I stare ahead.

  The clouds on the horizon are dense and low, giving the illusion of an impressive mountain range. Though however dull the sky is, the surroundings are beautiful. Fields stretch for miles, a patchwork of yellows and greens, though my appreciation is stunted by memories of my childhood and teenage years.

  We approach the small, idyllic village church where I married the lunatic now sitting next to me. Flashbacks hit me from all directions, my hands now bloodless, my jaw aching terribly from the force of my bite as I fight the memories away. I see me, barely a man, standing at the entrance of the church, Lauren’s parents talking me into entering. There’s a sea of faces, all smiling. I see the priest up ahead, his Bible resting in his open hands. I hear myself asking him to pray for me. To help me.

  He couldn’t have heard my silent pleas. That, or he and the Mighty One decided I was getting what I deserved. That I would pay for the rest of my life for being so reckless with my brother’s life.

  And I have. I’ve paid tenfold. When does it stop? When will the punishments end?

  ‘Fond memories. We could have been so happy.’ Lauren sighs dreamily as we pass the ancient place of worship, the car jumping from the endless divots in the old road. ‘Until you ruined it. Turn down the next road on the left.’

  I say nothing, for fear I might say the wrong thing, and take the next lane as instructed. I see the barn up ahead, the ramshackle building barely still standing. ‘What are we doing here, Lauren?’

  ‘Shut up, Jesse,’ she spits as I roll to a stop outside the deserted barn. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about my delightful stay courtesy of Her Majesty the queen.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ I turn to face her, enduring the face of pure evil. ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘I was such a good girl.’ She smiles, as if thinking fondly. ‘The doctors knew I wasn’t bad to the core. Just terribly hurt. Assessments proved it. They put me on a programme. I was an A-grade student, the perfect reformed example. So they released me.’ She smiles proudly, while I force my frown into hiding. She fooled them? Made them believe she’s stable so she could come out here and finish a job she started over a decade ago? ‘That’s when I became Zara Cross.’

  ‘They gave you a new identity?’

  ‘The good old justice system. I was vulnerable, Jesse. You see, I’m not crazy. I know damn well what I’m doing, and I know that as soon as I rid this world of your despicable life, I’ll be carted back to a padded cell to live out the rest of my days.’ She pokes me in the arm with the barrel of the gun. ‘Except I don’t want to live any more. I’m done with this life.’

  My eyes lift from the gun to her empty dull pits of fading blue, and I comprehend immediately that she means it wholeheartedly. ‘Lauren, it doesn’t have to be like this.’ I try to work on her reason. ‘You can be happy again.’

  She laughs. It’s cold and it’s fake. ‘You mean like you? You think I should replace Rosie and pretend she never existed? No, Jesse. Never. And do you honestly think I’m willing to stand by and watch you wash away her memory with a few more kids and that wife of yours? Our daughter deserves justice.’ Another poke of my arm. ‘Get out.’

  I blindly reach for the handle, pulling myself from the car as I keep an eye on Lauren getting out of the other side. Her plan now is crystal clear in my head. She’ll pull that trigger on me, and t
hen turn it on herself. She’s not going back to prison.

  As she rounds the car, she struggles on the uneven ground in Ava’s heels, having to hold the bonnet of my car for support. She eventually kicks the shoes off, motioning with the gun towards the barn. I silently lead, looking up at the filthy wooden planks that make up the derelict structure, seeing endless broken slats hanging off, most cracked.

  Once we’re inside the huge empty space, I look down at the concrete floor scattered with old strands of hay from decades ago, my steps echoing around us. ‘Up the stairs.’

  There’s a rickety staircase with one or two steps missing. I honestly doubt the rotten wood will take my weight. ‘Lauren, that doesn’t look safe.’

  ‘Arhh,’ she coos, jamming the gun in my lower back. ‘Are you worried I’ll injure myself?’

  I think for a moment, considering another way through this nightmare. How long has it been since someone showed her any compassion or love? How long since anyone actually worried about her? Her parents disowned her. She’s had no one except the professionals poking at her mind. I flinch where I stand at the bottom of the stairs, sick at the thought of it. Can I do it? Can I fool her into thinking I actually care? My stomach turns, my mind reels. The words I should say are thick on my tongue.

  She loved me once. And something deep and disturbing inside me warns me that she still does. That’s why she’s so fucked up. That’s why she’s on a mission to destroy me. If she can’t be happy, then neither can I. If she can’t have me, then no one can. There’s a fine line between love and hate, and I think Lauren is straddling that line. The question is, can I tip her in my favour? I don’t want to. What I want to do is rip her apart piece by piece until she’s nothing but a pile of body parts at my feet. But no matter what, no matter how I get there, I need to make it back to my wife. Preferably in one piece. I can’t put Ava through the agony of thinking she’s lost me again. I’ve been there myself recently. It’s lower than hell.

  I slowly turn to face Lauren and conjure up the words my heart forbids me to say. ‘Yes, actually. I do care.’ I keep my eyes on hers, searching for anything to suggest this might work. It’s my only hope. ‘Would that be so hard to believe?’

  It happens so fast, I nearly miss it. A flash of surprise, followed by a frown. ‘You care?’ She’s on the verge of laughter, though I hear hope, actual hope, and it drives me, confirms I’m bang on the money. I feel like I’m selling my soul to the fucking devil, but I’ll buy it back. One way or another, I’m making it home.

  ‘I never stopped caring, Lauren. Look at my life before you. I lost the person I was closest to in the fucking world. It fucked me up. I did things I regret. Said things I didn’t mean. It wasn’t personal. You were just another casualty on my road to self-destruction.’ It’s now I realise that most of what I’m saying is true. There’s just one small bit that isn’t. The caring part, but the truth is, I only stopped caring, stopped feeling guilty, when she turned on Ava all those years ago. At that point, she was dead to me.

  I see doubt in her eyes, but I also see the need to believe me. And now I believe her. I don’t think she’s crazy at all. I think she’s broken. I think she needs closure, and I think the only way she feels she can get it is by destroying me and then herself. I can make her see differently. I have to make her see differently. I take one careful step towards her and she lowers the gun just a fraction.

  ‘Why’d you do this?’ I ask, motioning up and down her body. ‘The dress. The hair. Why, Lauren?’ There’s only one explanation. She wants to be Ava. She wants to be mine.

  Her lip quivers. ‘It hurts me how much you love her. It killed me to listen to her tell me over yoga and coffee how devoted you are. Why couldn’t you be that for me? Why couldn’t you love me with that much passion?’ Her voice finally cracks. ‘When I was ill, like Ava has been, why couldn’t you do whatever it took to make me better?’ Tears form a river down her cheeks. ‘You will do anything for that woman. What is it about her?’

  And there we have it. ‘I’ll help you, Lauren. I promise I’ll help you.’ I’m surprised I really mean it. I don’t know how I can help her, but, honestly, if it means I get back to my family, I’m prepared to do anything.

  ‘Will you love me like you love her?’

  The words she wants to hear won’t come. I can’t say them. I’ll help her, but I can’t love her like she wants to be loved. ‘I . . .’

  She smiles, but this time it’s not malicious. It’s sad. ‘You can’t, I know.’ She points to the stairs.

  I take a long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. ‘Lauren—’

  ‘You’ve said enough. Just go.’

  I close my eyes as I turn, looking up to the heavens as I take the unstable old staircase to the hay store above. ‘Don’t do this, Lauren, I beg you.’ It’s all I have left. Pleas.

  I don’t get a reply. What I get instead is the clicking sound of the safety being disengaged. The barn is empty. There’s nowhere to take cover if she gets trigger-happy. I look over my shoulder as I reach the top of the stairs, finding her a few steps behind me. Not too far, but far enough to have the upper hand, far enough to fire before I make it to her should I fight. I’m fucking snookered.

  She swallows as she points to a huge opening in the wood looking out onto the countryside. I’ve heard funny things run through your mind when you’re staring death in the face, and currently running through my mind is how beautiful that view is. How lush and green the land is. How this might be the last thing I see.

  I approach and widen my stance, my back to Lauren. My mind settles, but determination fights forward. Here, I’m a sitting duck. I’m a dead man. No question, her aim is clear. If I charge her, she’ll be shooting in a rush. She’ll be clumsy. She might hit me, but the chances of her getting her aim right under pressure are reduced.

  I turn, every muscle in my body readying. Her head cocks, and she must see the determination in my gaze because she flexes her two-handed grip on the gun. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ she warns.

  ‘Then just fucking shoot me, Lauren,’ I goad. Why is she dragging this out? One would assume her sick head is enjoying the anticipation of my death. Or could she be searching for the strength she needs to kill the man she loves? I don’t get the chance to reach a conclusion on that. I hear a noise downstairs, the sound of a piece of wood snapping.

  My gaze shoots to the gaping hole in the floor where the stairs drop. More wood snaps, the sound echoing through the barn and ricocheting off the walls. I see something emerge from the opening, and it takes me two seconds to recognise who. There’s no mistaking the shiny, bald, black head. My heart lurches as Lauren swings the gun in his direction. And he’s completely unaware. ‘John!’ I yell, making Lauren spin around to face me. I raise my hands in the air and back up until I’m forced to stop or plunge fifty feet from the opening to the concrete below.

  ‘Motherfucker,’ John breathes once he’s made it safely to the top of the stairs. He slowly pulls off his sunglasses. His nostrils flare. His huge chest heaves. ‘Put the fucking gun down, Lauren.’ Most would heed the threat in his booming voice. Lauren isn’t most. She moves a few paces to the right, putting her at an even distance between both of us, the gun swinging back and forth between our bodies. My head twists and warps, my panic rising. Did Ava click? Did she realise what I was telling her? Then why the fuck didn’t she call the police? Not John, the police!

  ‘You should go, John,’ Lauren warns. ‘This is between me and Jesse.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere.’ He’s resolute, and I know he means it.

  ‘Then you can watch.’

  Before I can even register, the gun is on me, her body turning in what seems like slow motion. And she wastes no time pulling the trigger. The loudest bang pierces the air, and my body jolts as John throws himself across the barn at Lauren. My vision blurs, but I manage to see her turning the gun on hers
elf, taking it towards her temple. John roars, and Lauren crashes to the ground. I hear another bang as they roll across the dusty floor. It’s only the sound of Lauren’s screams that tell me she missed.

  Numb, frozen, I look down my torso, searching for the dark crimson soaking my T-shirt. There’s nothing. Then there’s something. Pain, fuck me, pain. I hiss and grasp the top of my arm, the blood now found, growing rapidly on my sleeve. The bolts of pain only keep my attention for a microsecond, a grunt from John realigning my focus. Lauren’s made it onto her feet, and she’s still holding the gun. She walks back, struggling for breath, wild eyes darting. She looks disoriented, unsteady as she backs up, the hole in the floor getting closer and closer, the wood all crumbled around the edges. I see what’s about to happen, and for the life of me, I can’t think why I try to warn her.

  ‘Lauren, no!’

  I’m too late. The floor cracks, and she loses her footing. She screams. It’s a bloodcurdling scream – a scream that will haunt me for the rest of my days. A scream that tells me she doesn’t really want to die. Instinct has me rushing forward as her arms flail and she plummets backwards, the gun firing again before the floor completely gives. I flinch and look away when her head crashes against the edge of a jagged piece of broken wood as she falls through the floor, the impact silencing her. I know she’s dead before she hits the concrete below. But I still wince on a helpless, broken sob when the thud of her body meeting the ground penetrates the air, the sound of cracking bones torturous.

  My breathing diminishes, my blood running cold, as I fight to get air into my lungs, the pain kicking back in. My arm begins to throb, becomes lead hanging from my shoulder. Forcing my eyes back to the gaping hole in the floor, I carefully tread to the edge of it and peer over. I don’t know why. I’m in conflict, relieved, sad, angry. Lauren’s mangled body lies in an unthinkable position, her dead eyes staring up at me. I hiss, jumping back from the edge, a low, pain-filled moan piercing my muddled head.