Matt Hilton - Cut and run

Rickard allowed his earlier threat to drop. He would get more out of her if she could talk. 'I want you to see me.'

'I see you. You're a maniac; that's what I see!'

'I need you to look deeper than that, Imogen.'

She wrenched at the cuffs again, the metal crossbar digging into flesh and wood with equal ferocity. The support beam creaked ominously and dust and old shingles sifted down, pitter-pattering in the water. Rickard pounced, grabbing her chin in his left hand and guiding the blade very close to her eyes with the other. 'Stop that. Stop struggling or I'll blind you.'

Imogen went very still, but there was something in her posture that made Rickard step back. Imogen nodded at the knife. 'You do that, you pig. But how will I see you then?'

Rickard stared at her. His breath came heavy, in time with the lapping tide. He allowed the blade to drop by his side. He took another step back, his heels very close to the edge of the walkway.

'Tell me, Imogen. Tell me and maybe I'll let you live.'

She shook her head. 'You're going to kill me whatever I say.'

He folded the blade away and slipped the holder into the pouch on his belt. He showed her his empty hands. 'You have my word.'

'That maybe I'll live?'

'I can't offer more. Satisfy my curiosity, Imogen. Tell me the truth and I will consider what happens next.'

Rickard watched her. He saw the machinations of hope and denial and mistrust make war in her mind. Hope seemed the stronger emotion.

'What am I supposed to see in you?'

'My true essence,' Rickard said.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she shook her head slowly. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'The serpent,' Rickard said.

Imogen nodded slowly, peering into his eyes. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she blinked quickly to clear her vision. 'Yes. I see it.'

Rickard smiled.

'I see it in you. A great big snake. Its forked tongue flicking in and out.'

Rickard's smile froze. Then melted away.

'Liar.'

'No. I'm not lying!' Imogen pushed herself upright against the beam, worming her shoulders round so she was less constricted. 'I can see it like a superimposed shadow towering over you.'

'Liar!' Rickard lunged forwards and grasped her throat in one hand, his other fist poised to strike. 'You don't see that. The serpent is nothing like you describe. Now, do it: look into my eyes and tell me what you really see.'

Imogen could barely breathe. She twisted against the beam and there was a crack of shifting wood. She pressed down with her chin, trying in vain to push away his hand.

Rickard slapped her across the face and the shock sent a wave of blackness through her skull.

'Tell me, goddamn you…'

'Go to hell!'

Imogen kicked out blindly, but her foot found a viable target in the juncture of Rickard's thighs. Caught unprepared, Rickard's eyes bugged and a red flush crept up his face. He let out a groan. Imogen didn't stop; she kicked out with both legs as though pedalling a cycle, thrusting at his legs and stomach. Rickard hopped backwards and his heels skidded on the edge of the walkway. He grabbed at her to halt his slide, but Imogen snatched herself back from him and his groping fingers found only empty space. One foot went off the walkway and then he plummeted down, suspended on the platform by the strength in only one bent knee. Imogen kicked again.

Rickard let out a wordless cry and toppled over, going down on his back in the water. Foamy bubbles rushed over him for a moment, then he erupted out again and roared in anger. Water streamed through his dark hair and from his clothing.

'You filthy, stinking whore! I'm going to skin you alive for that.'

Imogen shrieked in denial, throwing her weight against the upright beam. She felt it shift, heard the agonised squeal of nails pulling loose. Rickard squinted up at her, then dashed salty water from his mouth with the back of one hand as he reached for his ceramic knife with the other. Imogen became frantic. She stamped at the boards, throwing her shoulders against the beam, bumping it and bumping it with all her might. The beam split, triggering a small cloud of rotted particles. Rickard snorted at her attempt at escape, then waded forward and placed a palm flat on the walkway to aid him in stepping up. Imogen kicked at him again but Rickard easily avoided the blow. Suspended by only the cuffs, Imogen skidded and fell, twisting awkwardly. She screamed in pain as her wrists were lacerated by the tight metal hoops. There was a low rumble from above and more dust and slivers of wood rained down.

Rickard surged forwards once more, a wave pushing ahead of him, his attention alternating between Imogen and the suddenly dipping roof. Leaning over, he reached to grab at Imogen's ankles, but she swung sideways, avoiding his grip, and again threw her entire body weight into her escape. This time she didn't work against the beam but away from it. The effort almost dislocated her shoulders but the beam pulled away from the roof and fell, showering her with shards of broken planks. The roof sagged, but, held firmly by the remaining upright beams, it didn't collapse on them. Immediately she got her feet under her and yanked free from the broken end of the beam. Then she scrambled away from Rickard, who changed direction and waded quickly towards the earth ramp.

Imogen slipped on to one knee. But in the next instant she was up again, barely avoiding the swipe of Rickard's knife as he slashed at her. Rickard came on wordlessly, Imogen trying her hardest to avoid his gaze as if by doing so it would ensure her escape: as pointless as an ostrich burying its head in sand.

Running was difficult with her arms cuffed behind her, but adrenalin gave an extra lift to her heels and she raced along the walkway towards the double doors. When Rickard had brought her inside, he hadn't locked them – a padlock was useless when the wood supporting it was so rotten. She skidded up to the doors, banged against them with her shoulder and they burst open. Imogen charged outside into the cold and softly falling rain. She felt neither of them on her hot skin.

'What in God's name is going on?'

Imogen barely made sense of the words, but the figures looming up in front of her made her collapse to her backside and she rolled on the floor at the feet of the two men standing over her. From her ignominious position in the dirt she stared up at a burly old man and a slighter built teenage boy. Both were shocked to find a semi-naked, handcuffed woman lying at their feet and the rifles in their hands drooped ineffectually.

'Help me,' she screamed. 'He's trying to kill me!'

Rickard appeared in the open doorway, dripping wet and vibrating with anger.

The younger man saw him, made sense of the knife clutched in Rickard's hand and let out a croak as he slapped at his father's arm. The older man, made of sterner stuff, brought up his rifle.

'Hold it right there, mister,' he barked.

'Shoot him,' Imogen yelled. 'He's a murderer. Shoot him, for Christ's sake!'

The older man tensed his finger on the trigger, but he wasn't ready to fire yet. His mind was in too much turmoil to shoot a man without all the facts at hand. To the teenager, he said, 'Best you ring nine-one-one, boy.'

The younger man back-pedalled, then raced up the trail towards a nearby house.

Rickard stood stock-still. He still held the knife in his hand, but he was staring directly into the eyes of the older man.

'This is no business of yours,' he said.

'It became my business when you moored in my boathouse,' said the man. 'I thought you were only trespassing, mister, and I've been waiting for you to come back to put you straight. Now I see that what you're up to is much worse.'

Rickard shook his head. 'Get out of the way and you won't get hurt.'