Erin Hart - False Mermaid

“Be quiet.”

“He lied about Tríona. Nothing he told you about her was true. He made up all kinds of outrageous stories to egg you on. Somehow he knew about Natalie—maybe he was out running when he saw you attack her at the river. That was when he knew he could use you. He took the clothes you dumped that morning and put Natalie’s blood all over Tríona. Convinced her that she had something to do with Natalie’s murder. He sent her a note that said, I know what you did. The same as the note he sent you. All he had to do then was to sit back and watch. Tríona went to the river that night because she was terrified that she had killed Natalie. Because he’d taken away her self-respect. He made her believe it. Peter has been watching you, and using you for years, Miranda. Can’t you see that?”

Miranda’s voice was cold. “I told you to stop talking.” She pulled a flare gun from her waistband and pointed it at Elizabeth’s head. “Not another word.”

They continued to edge upward, and Miranda’s foothold on the small ridges grew increasingly precarious. Nora stayed silent. She forced herself to keep from focusing on the muzzle pressed to Elizabeth’s temple, and looked instead into the child’s frightened eyes. Don’t speak, Lizzabet, she urged silently. Keep still—

Without warning, Miranda’s right foot went from under her. This was their only chance.

Seizing Elizabeth by the hand, Nora pushed the child ahead of her, shouting: “Keep going up! Don’t look down, just keep going. Go!” She followed, feeling for footholds, struggling to keep from slipping down the steep incline. As a cloud of mist began to envelop the headland, Nora knew that Miranda was close behind, but the only sounds she could hear were her own ragged breathing and the pulse of the surf below.

After a few seconds, she felt Miranda’s fingers grasp at her ankle. “Keep going,” she urged Elizabeth. “Don’t stop!” Giving a sharp thrust downward, Nora heard a cry as her foot made contact with some part of Miranda’s body. “Not much farther,” she shouted upward again. “Keep going. Can you see the top?”

Through the mist she saw a pair of legs cantilever out for a few seconds, and then disappear from view. “Run back to the house, Elizabeth. Find Cormac.”

Reaching the top a few seconds later, Nora heaved herself up over the edge and staggered to her feet, scrabbling up the gravel wash where Elizabeth had fled. She hadn’t gone more than ten yards when Miranda tackled her from behind. They rolled down the steep incline, until Nora’s head and arms dangled over the edge. The wind had come up, and now waves below churned violently.

Nora was pinned, with Miranda astride her, holding a stone in both hands above her head. She grabbed for Miranda’s wrists, trying to keep the deadly weapon at arm’s length. They struggled, and finally, with a sharp twist, Nora pushed Miranda aside and scrambled to her feet. She raced for the top of the hill, but again Miranda came from behind and lunged at her, sending them both sprawling down the rocky bed of scree. They struggled to their feet, hanging on to one another, banged up and breathing heavily, like grapplers in a ring. A voice sounded above them: “Miranda—what are you doing?”

They both looked up to see Peter at the top of the ridge. He came skidding down the loose stones, nearly losing his balance. “What’s going on?”

Nora knew she only had one more chance. She took Miranda by the shoulders. “Tell me—do you ever wake up and not remember what happened?”

Peter cut in: “Miranda, don’t listen to that—”

But Nora could see that her question had struck home, and she kept talking. “How many times has it happened? Once, twice—more? That’s GHB—liquid ecstasy—you can’t remember anything. He’s already turned on you, Miranda. Just like he turned on Tríona.”

“That’s a lie, Miranda. You know how she twists everything—” Peter began to inch forward, but Miranda raised a hand to warn him off.

“Shut up—just shut up, both of you!”

No one spoke. Nora’s left foot, bracing against the rim of the precipice, began to tremble. She glanced down as a few small pebbles tumbled off the edge and disappeared.

Miranda spoke: “That stuff—how does it make you feel?”

“Ready to fuck anything. And then it makes you sleep—”

Peter had begun to edge closer. Nora looked into his eyes and saw the same expression she’d seen there the morning after Tríona’s murder. He was perfectly calm. A person might even imagine that he was enjoying himself. And why shouldn’t he, when his two biggest troubles were about to take care of each other? He didn’t have to lift a finger, and he was about to triumph yet again.

Nora suddenly stopped struggling. She felt so outrageously tired. “Go ahead,” she said to Miranda. “Push me. See what happens. He’ll tell the police he tried to stop you. You’ll go down for murder, and he’ll be rid of us both. That’s what he really wants.” She started to pull Miranda closer to the edge. “It would be even more convenient if we went down together.” Miranda’s feet were skidding along the gravel bed as Nora pulled her along.

“Peter—help me! She’s trying to kill me!”

But Peter kept his distance, as Nora knew he would. “Miranda, don’t try anything foolish.”

Nora could see the fear in Miranda’s eyes. “He wants you to try something foolish, don’t you see? That’s exactly what he wants. Whatever happens here, he’s sitting pretty, rid of us both—just like that.”

All at once, something happened that Nora had not anticipated. Elizabeth slid down the gravel wash, shouting, “Stop it, stop it—all of you!” She began to flail with both fists against Miranda’s back. “Leave her alone! Leave Nora alone!”

Before anyone could stop her, Miranda reacted. She whirled around and gave a savage kick, and Elizabeth’s arms and legs seemed to windmill in slow motion as she sailed off the edge of the precipice. All Nora could see were the luminous eyes, so like Tríona’s, wide with terror. Then she was gone.

Miranda gave a short, mirthless laugh. And in that moment, a transformation came over Peter. His face, so relaxed and calm only a moment ago, was suddenly drained of color. He took two steps forward, seized Miranda savagely by the throat, and pushed her to the ground. His left hand searched blindly in the gravel for a stone heavy enough to crush her skull. His voice was quiet, toneless, as if he were berating a disobedient dog. “You crazy, stupid bitch—I told you to stay away from her. I told you she was only a kid—”

By the time Nora spotted the orange flare gun, it was too late to react. All she could do was watch as Miranda lifted the muzzle to Peter’s face and pulled the trigger.

There was a flash as the flare exploded, and Nora fell back, watching in horror as he half rose and staggered back a step, dazed and disoriented, head engulfed in flames, his right hand still gripping the stone. The flare cartridge, lodged in his right eye, released a coruscating hail of sparks.

Miranda threw herself at him and began to shriek: “I didn’t mean to—look what you made me do!” He roared in pain, and tried to fight her off, but she clung fiercely. They thrashed about, engulfed in a terrible rain of fire, before tumbling together into the sea.

Nora scrambled to the rim, but all she could see was a small spot of flame, glowing red under the water at the bottom of the cliff.

Cormac’s voice came from the top of the ridge. “Nora!” He scrambled down the gravel wash. “What’s happened here? Where’s Elizabeth?”

She pointed wordlessly, and Cormac craned his neck over the edge. “I don’t see her. She’s not there.”