Текст книги "The House on Fever Street"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

They sat at the kitchen table. After a moment, Bella got up and switched on the overhead light. They both blinked against the sudden glare. Bella stood, dithering, by the light switch. Then she sat down again, unable to think of what to say or do.

Jake was staring down at the tabletop. Occasionally, his lips would move. She wondered what, if anything, he was thinking. I must have been more miserable than this at one time, thought Bella, but I can’t remember when. She was so cold, still shivering from the frosty air outside. As if he’d heard her thoughts, Jake raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed.

“I’m not lying,” he said, as if she’d told him he was. “I’m not mad. There was a body there, there was.”

“Okay,” said Bella. She held onto her legs under the table to stop her hands from shaking.

Jake glared at her.

“Don’t tell me I’m lying!”

“I’m not,” she said hurriedly. “Really, I’m not. I believe you.”

“You’d better – “ he said, before the rest of the sentence slurred away into a mumble.

Bella sat still but her mind was racing. What the hell am I going to do? She fought against a backwash of unreality. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? I don’t know what’s real anymore, she thought and blinked against the sudden sting of tears.

Jake was whispering something under his breath. Trying not to appear as if she was eavesdropping, Bella strained to hear. Something about cherries… surely not? She held her breath, trying to hear. Treachery. That was the word he kept repeating. She felt the chill that gripped her begin to deepen.

She got up slowly, trying to move quietly. Not quiet enough for Jake, who snapped at her. She jumped, she couldn’t help it.

“Where are you going?”

“Just thought I’d get us a drink,” she said carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. His eyes held her, glittering through his reddened lids.

“Whisky,” he said, flatly. She didn’t argue. She fetched the bottle from the cupboard and two glasses from the dish drainer. It was a new bottle, unopened – none of them were big whiskey drinkers. She struggled with the plastic smothering the top of the bottle. Jake took it from her without a word and cut the wrapping with one of the kitchen knives lying on the table. The neck of the bottle chimed against the glass as he poured.

Bella sat back down. She took a sip of whisky and tried not to gag. Jake began to speak very quietly, almost too quietly for her to hear.

“I should have known this would happen,” he said. “But if you can’t trust your family, who can you trust? That was the only thing that got me through this, the idea that we were all in it together, that we three, and only we three, knew what had happened. It bound us together, don’t you see? It bound us. That’s why we had to go on living here, the three of us together.”

He stopped speaking and Bella opened her mouth, to say something, anything. But after a second, she closed it again. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Jake began to speak again, not looking at her. He stared down at the glass in his hand, rocking the whisky gently from side to side. Bella could smell the fumes, pungent in the cold air.

“I know why he’s done it,” said Jake. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. He’s punishing me, you see. He’s punishing me for Veronica. For what happened with her – and what came before. I thought I hid it well enough but I guess I didn’t. I should have known anyway. You can’t hide anything from Carl.”

“No, you can’t,” said Bella. Jake looked at her in surprise.

“You agree with me then,” he said. “He’s not normal. He’s… I shouldn’t say this about my own brother… but it’s the truth. He’s evil. He pushed her, you know.” He looked at her, a quick sideways glance. “That’s probably shocked you.”

“No,” said Bella, tiredly. “Not really. I know she didn’t really fall.”

“She didn’t,” said Jake. He threw the remaining whisky into his mouth, swallowed and coughed. “Carl pushed her. Sometimes I wonder if she really did die because of the fall. Perhaps she was still alive and he killed her later. How would I know?”

Bella’s skin was crawling. A million unseen insects were spreading over the skin of her back. She held herself rigid, trying not to shudder.

Jake poured himself another glass of whisky, a full glass this time.

“Anyway,” he said. “It doesn’t really matter anymore.”

Bella stared at him.

“Why not?”

Jake didn’t reply for a second. He took a gigantic mouthful of whisky.

“It just doesn’t,” he gasped. “It’s over now.”

Bella opened her mouth to ask him what he meant. In the same instance she heard something that, in other circumstances, would be a wholly innocent sound. Here and now, it froze her to her bones. It was the scrabble of the key in the lock of the front door, and the scrape and thud of a pair of feet coming into the hallway. Two pairs of feet. Bella felt her entire torso go rigid. She could feel her heart fluttering like a trapped bird against her ribs. As the footsteps moved closer to the kitchen door, it was as if a giant hand had run an icy finger along the ridge of her spine. Across from her, she saw Jake, across from her. She looked at his face, at his mouth drawn back from his teeth, and clenched her hands under the table.

“Can’t believe they’re still up – “ was what she heard Carl say as he pushed open the kitchen door. A second later and he was framed in the doorway, wrapped in his dark coat, Veronica’s blonde head just visible behind his shoulder.

The two of them came into the kitchen, looking curiously at Bella and Jake. Bella struggled to breath normally – she struggled to breath at all. The sudden wave of terror that swamped her held her rigid in the kitchen chair.

“What are you two doing up?” said Carl, at last, raising his eyebrows.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Jake said, in a voice Bella had never heard before, “what are you doing back?”

“What?”

“What are you doing back? You said you’d be away all weekend.”

Carl half laughed. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

“You know what I mean.”

Veronica spoke up. Bella still had to strain to hear her voice.

“They closed the M4. It was awful traffic – so – we headed back. Didn’t we, Carl? There must have been an awful accident.”

Jake put his empty glass down on the table and the chime of it rang into the silence.

“Yeah, well – you two would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he said.

Bella flinched. She watched Carl’s face, as it moved from flippant confusion, to surprise, to slowly darkening anger.

“What?” said Carl, too quietly.

Jake stared at him. He still had his whisky glass clasped loosely in his hand. Carl appeared to notice it.

“Is that whisky? Give me some, would you? I’ve been dying for a drink for the past three hours.”

“Get it yourself.”

Jake was beginning to shake. Bella watched him, horrified. She gripped her legs tighter under the table, seeking meagre comfort from her own body warmth.

“What the fuck’s up with you?”

Carl said it in a tone just this side of bored but Bella thought she could see faint signs of uneasiness in his face. She wanted to shut her eyes, stop her ears, remove herself from the cataclysmic words she knew were about to be said.

Carl picked up a mug from the pile on the draining rack and sloshed a measure of whisky into it. He drank it down in a couple of slow gulps, his eyes fixed on Jake. The tension between them stretched across the room: Bella could almost see it, a thick, twisted rope, shimmering with things unsaid. She barely noticed Veronica moving to stand by the stove.

Jake took a deep breath.

“She knows.”

Carl took his final sip of whisky and set the cup aside. He licked his lips before he answered.

“Who knows? Who knows what?”

“She does. Bella.”

Carl hadn’t moved his eyes from his brother’s face. He didn’t move them now but kept them fixed on Jake’s. He spoke slowly. Almost too slowly for Bella – it was if he was figuring out what to say before he said it.

“What are you talking about?”

Jake took another deep breath.

“Bella knows. She knows everything.”

Carl sighed. He turned back to the counter, reaching casually for the whisky bottle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Bella spoke before she realised she was going to. It was partly the sight of Carl’s face, wiped of all expression save bored incredulity. It was partly Jake’s face, so young suddenly, so young and hurt, shocked pale under his dark stubble.

“I know about Candice Stanton,” said Bella.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Veronica behind her but she scarcely noticed. She was too busy watching Carl, watching the sudden blooming of his pupils, the momentary contraction of the muscles of his face. Then she knew. Bella felt a sinking of her stomach, her own muscles slackening, loosening. She clutched the edge of the table.

“I know,” she said, shaking. “I know what you did. I know what happened.”

Carl poured himself another slug of whisky. The neck of the bottle rang out against the lip of the mug and his face contracted again, momentarily.

“And what the fuck do you think you know?” he said, not looking at her.

Out of the corner of her eye Bella saw Veronica’s hand go up to cover her mouth. She could hear the other girl’s quick, jagged breathing, just audible in the quiet kitchen. Above the terror, she felt a sudden flash of pity for her.

“I know – “ her mouth dried and she had to swallow and start again, “I know you pushed her down the stairs. And then you buried her in the garden.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt embarrassed. She sounded absurd. Even with the tension pulsing through the room, Bella heard herself speaking with a sensation of disbelief. How was it possible that these things had been done, by these people? It was too late now anyway. She had to push on and say the rest of it. She took a firmer grip of the table edge.

“You pushed her. I don’t know if you meant to but you did push her. She fell down the stairs and hit her head and died. She died in this house and you wouldn’t go to the police. You dug a hole under the shed and you buried her there.”

Carl put down his mug. He was smiling.

“Buried someone under the shed?”

Bella flushed. “That’s what I said.”

“Well, Bella – “ Carl paused and his smile grew wider. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, darling… that’s quite a story. Let me guess – that’s what Jake told you, right?”

“I – “

“Am I right? It was Jake’s story?”

Bella floundered. “Well, yes – but – “

Carl stopped smiling. His brows drew together, less of a frown, more of a wince.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “You’re too young to really know how to handle this – and I can’t pretend that I was hoping it wouldn’t happen.”

Bella stared at him, winded.

“What?”

Carl put down his mug.

“Bella, my love, you must know that Jake’s not been himself lately.” He threw a quick, anxious glance at his brother as he spoke. Jake hadn’t moved since Carl started speaking but Bella couldn’t bear to look at him. “Jake is – is not well. He’s not mentally well. I did try and tell you about this earlier. I did try and warn you. You remember; that time you slept in V’s bed? Jake had thrown you out of the bedroom, if I remember rightly?”

Bella looked down at the table, feeling a great wash of heat climb towards her face. She felt the hard edges of the table beneath her fingertips, the only thing she felt she could be sure was real.

Carl went on.

“I tried to warn you then and I’m truly sorry Jake hasn’t been able to share this with you directly. He’s really not mentally well. He’s had these – these episodes – before. I really hoped the last one might have been the last but, it seems not.”

Bella blinked a couple of times. She was conscious of her mouth hanging open and shut it as she groped for words.

“What?” she said weakly.

Carl came over to her and she flinched back a little. He took no notice, and crouched down on his haunches, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. She felt the warmth of his fingers as he spoke again, softly.

“I’m so sorry, Bella.”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She felt as if she were groping through thick fog, towards a light barely glimpsed in the distance.

“What are you talking about?” she managed.

Carl looked serious. He kept his hands on her shoulders, tightening his grip just slightly.

“God Bella, I’m so sorry. I was so hoping that this day was never going to come. You just have to accept it. I’ve had to, my whole life. He’s my little brother, you know? I’ve always had this, I’ve always had to take care of him. Ever since we were little. Ever since Mum died.”

Bella sat, unmoving. She was transfixed by Carl’s eyes, so like Jake’s, holding her gaze, unmoving. His large hands cradled the rounded bones of her shoulders. She groped for clarity, trying to make sense of the thoughts that were filling her head in a thick, swirling fog. Was it true? She thought back to Jake, his moodiness, his temper, his box full of secrets. Was it all a lie? Why would he lie? Why? Because Carl says he’s ill, she told herself. He’s mentally ill. Her thoughts thickened, like mud, like the ash-choked air of an underground tunnel. She was back there again, wading through the wall of heat and thick choking dust. Only this time, there was no Jake to take her hand and lead her out to daylight – because it was Jake that was causing the darkness. She put her hands up to her temples, pressing her fingers into her skin, holding together her aching head. What a fool I’ve been, she thought, and felt tears sting her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked hard.

Carl was still crouching before her. His face was serious, his brows drawn together but she could see a lightening in his eyes, a release of tension. He could see her belief in his explanation dawning. He gave her shoulders one last, friendly squeeze and stood up.

For a moment, there was silence in the kitchen. Bella was aware of the four of them, locked for a second, in a curious tableau: Carl, frozen in the act of stepping back from his crouch; Jake, staring down at the table top; Veronica, cringing back against the cooker; herself, sitting static on her kitchen chair.

Jake looked up. His eyes were tear-filled.

“Am I mad?”

No one spoke. He asked again, in a faltering voice.

“Am I mad? Am I really mad?”

Bella felt her whole face clench in pity. She opened her mouth to answer him, to say something, to reassure him.

Veronica pushed herself away from the cooker. She stood straight, very upright, her blonde hair gleaming brightly under the light. She was trembling but when she spoke, her voice was surprising calm.

“No, you’re not mad, Jake. You’re not mad at all.”

She was looking at her boyfriend, full in the face.

“Carl’s lying,” she said.

Bella, gaping, looked from her to Carl, watching his face begin to darken. Veronica took a deep breath.

“He’s lying about everything. You’re not mad, Jake. That girl – Candice – she was here, and Carl pushed her down the stairs, and she died. We put her under the shed. Then Carl made me help him dig her up, and we moved her far away. He wanted to make sure she would never be found. And he wanted to make sure he had a scapegoat, just in case she was.”

Bella felt the muscles of her face contract in shock. She watched Carl take a step forward, his face black with anger, the denial of Veronica’s words trembling on his lips.

Veronica gasped in another breath. She was speaking fast, as if racing against some inner deadline.

“He went back to look a couple of times. I saw him do it the first time. He was fascinated by the body. You didn’t know I watched you the other times, though, did you Carl? I watched you do it. You couldn’t keep away from that shed.”

Carl drew his lips back from his teeth.

“You fucking bitch,” he said.

Veronica didn’t flinch. She kept on talking.

“Jake, you’re not mad, you’re not. Or you’re no madder than I was, than we have been. It was a terrible thing we did but we don’t have to put up with it any more. It’s over, it’s past. It’s too late, Carl, can’t you see? It was inevitable. I knew it then, but I couldn’t speak out. You cowed me down too much. Bella – “ her eyes turned to Bella, who clenched her fists beneath the table, “Bella, I wanted to tell you, to warn you but I couldn’t. I’m sorry. And now it’s too late for salvaging.” Veronica took a deep breath. She looked at Jake and her face softened. She looked at him, almost tenderly.

“I’m sorry Jake,” she said. “We should have stuck together, the first time. It would have been better for us all.”

In the silence that followed, Bella was suddenly aware of her held breath. She let it out in a giant whooping gasp, her heart stuttering against her ribs. She watched Carl open his mouth, to say something, to refute, to retaliate – she never found out.

Then there was a roar from Jake, so loud she jumped and nearly screamed herself, a inarticulate cry of pain; loss and fury rushing forward from his lungs. He exploded upwards, unfolding in an ungainly ballet from his chair. The roar went on, reverberating from kitchen wall to kitchen wall. Bella cringed back in her chair. She caught sight of Veronica, turning, her mouth an ‘o’ of surprise, her beautiful face stretched in shock. By then Jake had moved, his chair flying in a clatter of wood, Veronica in his way, pushed aside, the glint of metal as his arm came down, Veronica falling, her swathe of gold hair flying, Carl’s eyes wide with shock, Jake’s arm moving around, down, thudding against his brother’s body. Bella felt the scream come up inside her, her hands up to her face, digging her nails into her skin. Veronica hit the kitchen floor, crying out in pain as her head smacked back against the cabinet doors. Carl’s legs were sliding, sliding across the tiled floor, his hands grasping Jake’s hands, the two of them locked together, Carl’s eyes wide and his mouth gaping.

Jake had his hands knotted at Carl’s stomach. He sucked in his breath in a gasp and stepped back, letting go of what he’d been holding. Carl’s fingers slipped back over the handle of the knife that was embedded in his stomach. Jake put his bloodstained fingers up to his face, his eyes stretched open, red smears on his stubbled cheeks.

Carl’s face was going grey. His hands slowly fell away from the handle of the knife, protruding obscenely from just above the buckle of his belt.

“You stupid fuck,” he said in a whisper, and dropped to the floor.

Bella screamed. The sound seemed to galvanise Jake. From looking down at his prone brother, he leant back over him and tugged at the knife handle. Bella screamed again as the dripping blade came up, thinking he was going to stab Carl again. Instead he turned and looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot, just as they’d been the first time she’d seen him, stepping out of the tunnels into daylight. His mouth moved, saying something she couldn’t hear. Then he drove the knife blade into his own chest, once, twice.

Both Veronica and Bella screamed. Bella jolted forwards, catapulted from her chair, her hands reaching out in a futile attempt to stop him. The first blow of the knife glanced off the bottom of his ribcage but the second went in deep. Jake cried out, the sound barely heard over the girls’ screams.

Bella got to him just as he fell down, crumpling onto the floor by his brother. Jake’s hands fluttered over the shaft of the knife still buried, quivering, in his chest. His eyes were squeezed closed with pain. Bella knelt, sobbing, wanting to touch him, afraid to touch him. She was dimly aware of Veronica behind her, crouched and wailing.

“Oh Jake,” she said.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. One of his hands fell limply across his stomach and she picked it up, feeling his palm damp and clammy, the ebbing warmth of his fingers. She thought that it was the first part of him that she’d known, his hand, his palm, his fingers holding hers, leading her through the tunnels and up into the light.

“Bella,” he said. His voice was so quiet, she could hardly hear him above the sound of Veronica’s cries. She leant forward, her tears falling onto his upturned face.

“It was so dark down there,” he said, and closed his eyes.