Neil White - Beyond Evil

Charlie was breathing heavily, agony making him splutter and grit his teeth. He looked around for Donia, and saw Arni, his eyes closed, his body splayed unnaturally. He heard the pound of footsteps running towards him, vibrations in the grass getting louder, and he tried to turn over, but his leg complained, making him shout out. He looked at it. At least his foot was pointing in the right direction. He flopped back onto the grass.

Donia went to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing his neck. There were tears running down her cheeks. ‘Oh God, you’re all right. Thank you, thank you.’

He let out a small laugh and then winced.

‘Are you okay?’ she said.

‘It’s my leg.’ It was too painful to say much.

‘We need to get away,’ Donia said. ‘That house isn’t going to last much longer.’

Charlie looked over Donia’s shoulder. There were flames coming from every window, smoke billowing out of the hole in the roof, so that the grass was lit up as if it was daylight, the heat too strong.

He gritted his teeth and started to haul himself up, using Donia for support, until he was standing, one leg in the air, trying not to put any weight on it.

It felt like someone was twisting a knife blade into his knee as he started to move, but he had no choice but to keep going.

‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ Charlie said, as he let go of Donia and tried to make his way on his own. He winced and gasped as he hobbled. ‘The police will be here soon. We need to sit down and wait.’

There was a noise behind him, like a low laugh. He turned and saw the familiar twists of dark hair as Henry emerged from the shadows of the woods.

‘Henry!’ Gemma shouted. She had been spluttering and coughing on the grass, keeping away from Charlie.

Henry grinned. ‘I’m glad one of us could make it out. But you know that I’m not going to allow witnesses. I died in that fire, that will be the message.’

Charlie stood straight, ready to get through the pain.

‘It’s over, Henry.’

Henry shook his head. ‘It is for you,’ he said, and then said, ‘Gemma, grab her,’ pointing to Donia.

Gemma hesitated and looked at Charlie, and then at Donia.

‘Gemma, now,’ Henry said, anger in his voice.

Charlie looked at Gemma. Tears were in her eyes. She was looking at Donia and shaking her head.

‘I can’t do it anymore,’ Gemma said, her voice breaking. ‘You left us in there to die, just so that you could get away. You said we had to be loyal, but that isn’t true. You lied. You locked the door and shut us in. You saved yourself. Why, Henry, why?’

Henry ground his teeth for a few seconds as he looked at Gemma, and then said, ‘Because I could. Now, I told you to get her.’

‘That isn’t good enough,’ Gemma wailed. ‘We believed in you. You lied.’

Henry stared at her, his jaw clenching, visible under the beard, his hands bunching into fists.

‘So that was it?’ Charlie said. ‘You did it all just to show that you could? You sick, crazy bastard.’

Henry shrugged his shoulders, mocking Charlie, walking round him so that Charlie had to turn on his injured leg to keep him in view. ‘A few years ago, crazy meant something,’ Henry said. ‘Now, everyone’s crazy. Take the girl behind you.’ He pointed at Gemma. ‘She liked it too. So is she crazy, because I didn’t make her like that?’

Henry began to walk towards Gemma but she backed off. Charlie turned so that he could keep track, but his knee sent messages of pain shooting upwards again.

‘Don’t you feel any remorse?’ Charlie said. ‘For Alice Kenyon? For Amelia? For the people in that house, or that poor woman on the stone?’ Charlie flicked a hand towards them.

‘Remorse? For what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn’t that give me equal right?’

‘That’s twisted,’ Charlie said. ‘You can’t justify what you have done by self-pity.’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘We’re all our own prison. We’ve each got our own guards and we do our own time.’ He moved closer to Gemma, to Donia next to him, who recoiled. ‘We get stuck in our own trips, act as our own judges – because I can’t be a judge for anyone else, and so I try and be a judge for myself. I can do that and live with myself. Can you do that, Mr Barker?’

Henry came at him in a blur. His hands went around his throat, and then they were falling backwards, Henry on top of him, the ground rushing to meet him once more.

Henry’s grip stayed around his throat, his weight bearing down.

‘Get her!’ Henry shouted at Gemma, looking towards Donia. ‘Get rid of the witnesses. It’s your only chance.’

Charlie’s face was covered in Henry’s spittle as he gripped and snarled. Charlie threw a punch, expected Henry to flinch or more, but he didn’t. He just kept on squeezing, pushing down. Charlie started to flail. Henry was cut, Charlie’s fist splitting one of his eyebrows, but it didn’t stop him.

‘Gemma, get her,’ Henry shouted, teeth bared, panting with exertion.

Charlie couldn’t see what was going on, and as he struggled to breathe, he thought of Donia, hoped that she was safe, that she was running across the field, Gemma nowhere near her. There was desperation in Henry’s voice, that Gemma wasn’t doing as she was told, but Henry’s voice was getting fainter. Charlie’s chest became tight as he tried to pull in air, but he couldn’t find any, so that his body strained. His vision started to fade, and the stars started to swirl once more, the sky spinning.

Then he heard a scream, loud in his ear, the pound of rushing footsteps, and then some movement in his vision. There was the swing of something yellow, a jolt, then a crack, like an axe through kindling. Henry stiffened on him, but his hands relaxed around Charlie’s neck.

Charlie sucked in some air and grimaced. His throat hurt. He pushed at Henry, who groaned, sounding in pain, then gasping for air.

Charlie pushed him again, and this time Henry fell back onto the floor. As he looked, Charlie saw Donia standing there, a pickaxe in her hand, the pointed end wet and glistening. And as Charlie looked over to Henry, he saw a growing patch of red under his shirt. Henry’s hand was on the wound, and his fingers looked sticky and wet.

‘Thank you,’ he said to Donia, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

Henry started to shuffle backwards, one hand on the ground, the other on his body. Donia had got him between the ribs and pierced his side. He was groaning in pain.

‘Don’t let him get away,’ Donia said, moving towards Henry, the pickaxe raised again.

Charlie pointed to the gnarled old tree at the edge of the field, the one he had hidden behind before. ‘Tie him to that,’ he said. ‘He can watch his commune burn as we wait for the police.’

‘What with?’

Charlie grabbed Henry’s collar to pull him along the ground towards the tree. ‘Look around, find something,’ he shouted.

Henry wheezed and then gasped in pain. His eyes were closed.

Donia ran towards the house, her arm over her head as she got near to the flames spewing out of the windows, the metal grilles now glowing orange. She went to the outbuildings at the side, using the flames for light. Gemma hung back, her arms across her chest, hugging herself. Charlie carried on dragging Henry, who wasn’t offering much resistance, just his feet kicking against the ground. Charlie gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg, and as he got to the dead tree, gripped Henry by the shirt collar and hoisted him to his feet.

Henry slumped back against the tree, his head back. His eyes were getting glassy. Blood was running from the wound in his side and soaking his jeans. Charlie held him there, his arm outstretched.