Jessie Keane - Ruthless

She sat up, mouth dry, pulse accelerating, felt in the darkness for her robe and slipped it on, belted it. Then she took hold of the gun. Barefoot, she crept to the door that connected her room to Layla’s, and turned the key to open it.

She grasped the doorknob, twisted it. Pushed the door open and passed inside. She could hear more noises coming from downstairs. She knew this house, every creak, every moan it made while the wind howled around the eaves, every protest the old floorboards uttered when someone stepped upon them.

Someone was moving down there, quietly. But not quietly enough.

Still in darkness, Annie crossed to the bed. ‘Layla!’ she hissed, and shook her daughter’s shoulder. Layla turned and Annie could see her eyes in the dimness of the moonlight opening wide, her mouth opening too. Annie clamped a hand over it. ‘Hush,’ she said urgently. ‘There’s somebody downstairs.’

Layla’s whole body stiffened. Annie took her hand away.

‘What ?’ Layla whispered, scrambling up on the bed, getting into her dressing gown.

They both heard it then.

Someone was moving.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

‘What should we do?’ hissed Layla.

‘Give them a surprise,’ said Annie with more boldness than she felt.

Layla was staring at the outline of the gun in her mother’s hand. She shook her head. ‘No! I’ll call the police.’ She started to reach for the phone on the bedside table.

Annie grabbed her hand. ‘We don’t have time for that. They could hear one of the extensions pick up. And if they hear you speaking, they’ll know we’re awake. Come on.’

Keeping hold of Layla’s arm, Annie steered her to the connecting door to the master suite. They passed inside, then Annie locked that door. Which left only the main door into the hallway for anyone to come through. And they were going to be ready for that.

Annie took Layla across to the door into the hall. She tucked herself in behind it, and placed Layla behind her. She squeezed Layla’s hand. And then focused all her attention on the door.

Don’t come in here, she thought. Please, please don’t .

But the footsteps were coming closer. She froze into stillness, raised the gun – and watched the doorknob start to turn.

Layla gave a frightened gasp. Annie felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Whoever it was, they were coming in here.

Hit him with the gun or fire it?

Fire it and get herself banged up on a murder charge? No. Hit him. Hit him hard . She wished she had the kiyoga, the martial arts weapon Tony had given her years ago, but it was long-forgotten, in a cupboard somewhere.

Now the door was swinging inward.

The two women froze, held their breath.

A tall dark outline appeared, moving cat-footed on the floor of the master suite. As his head came into view, Annie struck out with the gun. But the intruder had fast reactions and must have sensed it coming. He turned his head away so that the weapon caught him only a glancing blow. Then, knowing they were there, he jammed his shoulder into the door, driving Annie back into Layla.

Caught off balance, Annie staggered, fell to her knees, dropped the gun.

Layla screamed as the intruder flung himself upon them. Annie, unable to reach the gun, resorted to kicking out at him as hard as she could, her face a mask of terror and fury. He stumbled, crashing into Layla and sending her sprawling to the floor. When she looked up, her mother was grappling with the intruder. Wild-eyed with horror, Layla thought she saw the flash of moonlight on a knife.

The gun was lying on the floor where Annie had dropped it. As the man knocked her mother down again, looming over them both, Layla didn’t hesistate: she snatched it up, and fired.

The shot was deafening in the enclosed space of the bedroom. The intruder cannoned backwards, hitting the wall and then sliding down to the floor. Layla, caught off guard by the weapon’s recoil, staggered backwards, tripping over Annie’s legs. Practically gibbering with fear, she groped her way upward and threw the switch.

Light flooded the master suite.

‘Oh my God,’ she gasped out as she stared at the man lying half in and half out of the doorway. He was dressed all in black, his head covered by a hood with slits for the eyes and mouth. There was a rip in the hood and blood was showing through where Annie had hit him with the gun. And there was a lot more blood, trickling thickly down the wall where he had collided with it when he was shot. A wet stain was spreading across his chest.

‘Oh no,’ said Layla, staring down at him. ‘My God, I shot him,’ she wailed.

Annie was coming to her feet, half-supporting herself against the wall. She felt horribly unsteady. She too was staring at the fallen man, wondering what to do next.

Not a man, she thought. More like a boy .

The body was tall, but now she could see it was slender, too.

Her eyes were caught by the wicked-looking knife lying on the floor near one of the man’s gloved hands.

She swallowed hard, feeling the dry heaves start at the back of her throat. Shakily, she kicked the knife away, in case he should reach out, get hold of it again. He’d come here to kill one or both of them. Her, of course. Layla hadn’t done a thing wrong in her entire life. Whereas she… well, she…

‘Wait,’ she said suddenly.

She was staring at the man.

‘Wait? What do you mean, wait?’ Layla was babbling in panic. ‘For God’s sake, Mum – I’ve shot him.’ Her eyes went down to the gun, still in her hand, and she dropped it with a grimace of disgust.

Annie snatched the gun up and approached the fallen boy. She glanced at Layla, who was deathly pale, her skin coated with a sheen of sweat. She wanted to embrace her daughter, hug her, reassure her, but she stopped herself. Even now she was afraid Layla would only shrug her off, the way she always did.

She knelt at the boy’s shoulder and pressed the muzzle of the gun firmly against the side of his head. Then she reached down with trembling fingers and felt his neck, searching for a pulse.

‘Is he…?’ asked Layla, looking like a ghost, she was so white.

‘No pulse,’ said Annie, feeling her stomach clench and churn.

A stranger had come in the night, armed for murder. That stranger was now dead. But even in her current state of shock she knew there was something about this intruder, something wrong…

Setting the gun carefully aside, Annie started tugging at the woollen hood.

‘What are you doing?’ shrieked Layla. ‘I can’t believe this…’

‘Quiet,’ said Annie sharply. ‘Give me a moment.’

‘Mum, I’ve killed him.’

‘Well, at least he hasn’t killed us ,’ snapped Annie, giving the hood a final tug. It came loose, revealing a thick heavy fall of red hair.

Annie Carter slumped to her haunches and stared at the corpse. ‘Holy shit ,’ she murmured.

The face of their attacker was revealed. Milk-pale, with green eyes still half-open, frozen in death. Not a man’s face at all.

Layla had shot a woman .

Annie stared at the woman’s face.

Stunned, Layla turned to Annie. ‘Who is it? Mum?’

‘I know her,’ said Annie, dazed with shock. ‘No, this isn’t possible, this isn’t possible.’ Annie was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘It can’t be.’

‘For God’s sake, who is it? ’ asked Layla desperately.

Annie took a breath.

‘That’s Orla Delaney,’ she said.

‘Who… who’s Orla Delaney… Oh shit, I’m going to be sick,’ said Layla, turning to dash into the bathroom.