The memory wood, p.31
The Memory Wood, page 31
He lies between my legs, head resting on my shoulder. The chain from my manacle is still looped twice around his neck. Through the links, I see the weak echo of his heartbeat.
I’m done stabbing him. There’s a point, I think, where justice descends into barbarism. One thrust for each boy and each girl he snatched, that’s all. I didn’t count Gretel, because she took her own revenge.
My own wounds are almost as severe. Three times Papa plunged his blade into me. Two of those injuries I can now barely feel, but the pain from the third is stunning. I don’t want to die in this shed, with Papa lying between my legs. Before my strength fails completely, I need to go outside.
And before I do that, I have to kill him.
II
The carving knife is still buried in his flesh. When I yank it out, a last tide of Papa’s blood gushes over me. He kicks his legs and sighs.
It’s so intimate, this. So weirdly emotional.
Because of my injuries, it takes me a while to draw back my knee and wedge it against his spine. Once that’s done, I grasp the ends of the double-looped chain and pull. Papa kicks again, but his struggles make no difference. He gargles, his eyes bulge; it’s all quite pathetic.
And then, just like that, it’s over.
I unloop my chain from his neck and loll forwards. Closing my eyes, I almost drift off. It’s such a shock that I jerk back my head, terrified that my life will end here, in a gross pool of his blood.
A helicopter blasts over the tool-shed roof. Coastguard, probably, on a regular patrol of the peninsula.
Working quickly, in case I pass out fully, I root through Papa’s clothes until I find the manacle key. Moments later, I’m free. I roll him off my legs and try to pull myself up. My attempt is a joke – if I wasn’t dying, and in a nauseating amount of pain, I’d probably find it funny.
My feet scissor back and forth, creating ripples in the blood lake. Somehow, I get a knee beneath me. Finally, I manage to stand. Blood drips from my clothing like rain. If I go down, I won’t get back up. I’m panting before I’ve even taken five steps.
Outside, I hear the asthmatic rattle of a diesel. I recognize it immediately – the white van that ferried me here. If Gretel’s trying to steal it, she won’t have any luck. Only Papa’s ever known the trick of firing up that engine from cold. Sometimes even he can’t do it on the first attempt. It’s probably why he didn’t worry unduly about leaving the keys in the ignition.
At last I reach the tool-shed door. The wind on my face, so fresh after the horrors at my back, is a blessing straight from Jesus. What I see unfolding down the slope is without doubt the work of the devil.
ELISSA
I
The scream pierces Elissa’s skull like a drill.
Looking behind her, she sees Annie emerge from the shack. Such violence in the witch’s expression; for a moment, it freezes her rigid. Seconds later, a wasp-like helicopter blasts past in a violent sundering of the sky. The noise is incredible. It shakes Elissa loose of her paralysis. Turning from the shack, she stumbles down the slope.
In the fairy tale, Gretel burned the witch in her oven before freeing her brother from his cage. Elissa, by contrast, has allowed the witch to live and has left Hansel to his fate. It’s a failure of duty that might cost her everything.
The helicopter swoops in again. Printed on the door in bold yellow letters is the word she’d given up hope of ever seeing: POLICE.
‘Help me!’ Elissa shrieks, lifting her good hand to the sky.
This part of the slope is treacherously steep. To her left, jagged promontories thrust mossy elbows of rock into the sea. Far below her, a fleet of police cars bumps along the coastal road, emergency lights flashing. They look so far away.
At her back she hears a groan of metal. Glancing behind her, she sees the witch throw open the van door and climb behind the wheel.
II
The grass is slippery with moisture. Slick arrowheads of rock thrust up from the soil. Elissa knows she can’t descend any faster. If she falls, slams her injured arm, she’ll lie there screaming until Annie runs her down. Instead, she moves at a worm’s pace, carefully picking her way, checking each step before she takes it.
The helicopter plunges past on her left, the thwap of its rotors vibrating in her chest.
‘Help me!’ she shrieks. ‘Tell me what I should do!’
There’s a loose rattle behind her – the van’s engine turning over. Elissa slips on to her backside, barely preventing her injured arm from smashing into the ground. For the space of two breaths she sits there, stunned, while chaos flows around her.
Again, the van’s engine turns over. Again, it clatters out.
‘Good, bitch!’ Elissa screams. ‘That’s what you get!’
In response, the witch runs the ignition a third time. The pistons punch and counter. This time they’ll surely catch a spark, but they don’t, even though Annie keeps them spinning for a good ten seconds.
The police helicopter blasts past yet again, rapidly losing height. Elissa sees, at the base of the slope, the flat patch of ground for which it’s aiming. Its nose angles up. The skids hit the ground and bounce once, twice. The pilot throttles down.
Dragging herself upright, Elissa continues her slow-motion descent. To reach the helicopter, she needs to cover another two hundred metres. If the witch pursues on foot, she’ll have thirty metres of rough ground to make up. Annie’s fat and old, but Elissa’s injured, exhausted. She glances around once again, checking the gap between them.
What she sees is horrifying.
III
The witch can’t start the engine, but she can release the handbrake.
Sluggish at first, the van rolls forwards. Quickly, it gathers speed, bouncing over rocks and tussocks, rattling like a box of sharp tools.
Already, Annie’s halved the distance between them. It’s clear from the sheer recklessness of her pursuit that she cares about only one thing: putting Elissa under the wheels.
In the distance, the lead police car swerves off the coastal road and bounces on to the gravel track that serves the peninsula, tyres kicking up mud. It may as well be on a different planet.
Abandoning all caution, Elissa slip-slides down the slope. The van bears down on her, unstoppable, a cacophony of screaming metal. There’s simply no way of avoiding it. She thinks of her mum, her grandparents, of all the things she wanted to say. She thinks of the agony her death will cause them, and how fiercely she tried to prevent it.
Far below, one of the helicopter doors swings open. A woman jumps from the cockpit. Four police cars slide to a stop near by.
The woman beside the helicopter waves frantically. Uniformed police officers pour from the parked patrol cars. They wave their arms too.
Behind her, Elissa hears the van. It’s shaking so violently it sounds like it’s breaking apart. Below, the officers start yelling. She can’t hear their words. There’s nothing they can say to help.
Elissa skids down a hillock, nearly trips over a rock. She can’t outrun what’s coming. She hopes her death will be quick, that it won’t hurt too much.
As the van’s shadow overtakes her, she tries to fill her head with something good, a memory of better times. She doesn’t want to face her fate, but in the end she can’t resist. Twisting around, she sees the van’s front grille filling her vision.
‘No!’ she screams, her legs giving out beneath her. ‘NO!’
Here it comes.
Here it comes.
Oh Jesus please let there be something after please let this not be it please forgive me Lord please be with me right now right now RIGHT—
She stares through the windscreen.
Her eyes flare.
It’s been such a crazy life. So startling and bittersweet.
KYLE
I
Wind on my face. Wind in my hair. A quiet intensity in my heart.
Outside the tool shed, with nothing to protect me from the wind rolling in off the sea, my blood-drenched clothes ripple against my skin.
Above me, grey clouds heavy with rain haul themselves east. Further west, I spot a narrow strip of blue. I’d like to die with a clear sky overhead, but we don’t choose how we go – I know I won’t get my wish, and that’s OK.
Further down the slope, I see Elissa, struggling to get away. She looks so lost and afraid. It feels important, suddenly, to use her real name.
Watching her, I think back to the first time we met. Injured, shackled to the iron ring, her spirit nevertheless blazed with fire. In just over a week, it’s been cruelly whittled away.
I think of my own family: Mama, my sweet brother. Like most of God’s gentler creatures, we lived in joyful denial of the wolves that prowled among us. Because of our innocence, we were smashed. If I have anything in common with Elissa Mirzoyan, perhaps it’s that.
The sound of Papa’s van brings me back; its engine turning over and over. Looking around, the first thing I see is the trilby-wearing skull smoking a cigarette.
I found that sticker in a custom-car magazine Papa brought home once. When I stuck it on the van’s back bumper, nobody seemed to care. It scared me, that skull, so badly I could barely look at it. If it scared me, I reasoned it might scare other kids too. Maybe, when they saw Papa parked up, they’d see that sticker and run. I don’t know if my plan ever worked, but I know exactly how many times it failed, because every time the van delivered a new resident to the Memory Wood I’d load up my .22 and put a round through the bumper.
I’m having difficulty breathing – I can only manage short sips of air. At least the pain of my injuries has dulled. Maybe that’s a benefit of bleeding out.
I try to find Elissa again. I spot her a little further down the slope.
How much of ourselves we shared, that week beneath the Memory Wood. How much I feel I learned. I know she never really trusted me. Even just now, when I grabbed her in the tool shed before explaining my plan. But I can hardly fault her for that.
The van’s starter motor mewls like it’s in mourning. Drained of life, the battery doesn’t have enough power to crank the pistons, but the starter keeps on winding.
I know it’s Annie behind the wheel. From the punishment she’s giving the engine, she must be really pissed off. Limping over to the passenger door, I swing it open.
II
Her head snaps around. When our eyes meet, her jaw drops open like a hatch.
I can’t really blame her. As a rule, I stay away from mirrors, but if I caught my reflection right now, I’m pretty sure I’d be appalled.
Baring her teeth, Annie twists the key. ‘That bitch was going to kill you,’ she hisses. ‘Might’ve lost her nerve, but she was going to try.’
Back when Annie was my spirit guide, I hung on to her every word. Now, I see she’s just a fraud. One hand pressed to my tummy, I haul myself on to the seat.
The helicopter plunges past on our left, its downdraft rocking the van on its springs. Far below us, a line of police cars surges up the coast road. A short distance away, I see Gretel picking her way down the slope.
Getting on to the seat really took it out of me. My vision has blackened around the edges again, leaving a narrow tunnel. I lay my head against the rest and concentrate on my breathing.
‘He do that?’ Annie asks.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘He really fucked you up.’
I grunt in reply. There’s not much else I can add.
The seat rocks like a crib. My head nods on to my chest. It’s comforting, this – I feel like I’ve drunk too much of Meunier’s wine. If only someone would sing me a lullaby, I think I could fall asleep. When my head swings towards Annie, the world smears like runny paint. That’s when I grasp the reason my seat’s become a cradle. Annie’s released the handbrake. We’re beginning to roll downhill.
Within seconds, the gentle rocking becomes a violent jostling. ‘Wha’ you doin’?’ I slur, listening to my mangled words.
The van hits a tussock, rears up. Suddenly, instead of sloping grass, all I see is sky. When the bonnet swings back down, the front wheels punch the grass so hard that Annie and I are tossed forwards. I put out a hand to the dash, but I have no strength to brace myself. The little air I’ve hoarded is punched from my lungs. A spray of blood mists the windscreen.
Gross.
Beside me, Annie rocks back in her seat. She must have headbutted the steering column – her face is veiled in blood. Right now, she looks more like a feasting vampire than my old spirit guide. Regaining her grip on the wheel, she maintains our collision course.
In front of us, bracing her injured arm, Elissa slides over a rock. The van bounces towards her, a two-tonne metal wrecking ball. Unable to offer aid, I slump back in my seat and watch. No one who wakes beneath the Memory Wood really leaves it. No one ever escapes.
Here, at the end, I recall something Elissa once told me, back in the Gingerbread cellar: that we were like Hansel and Gretel, the brother and sister from the fairy tale. Even if she didn’t mean it, she’ll never know how happy it made me feel.
The van bounces up, slams back down. A crack races across the windscreen. The shaking is now so violent it’s impossible to catch a breath.
Outside, just like me, Elissa reaches the end of her strength. Realizing what’s about to happen, she twists around to face her fate.
I push myself back in the seat, hoping to delay the moment. Of a lifetime of bad memories, this will easily be the worst.
When she sees the van hurtling towards her, Elissa lifts her chin. Watching my queen, I’m so proud I want to cry out my admiration. In my ears, I hear that old line of Scripture, the one Mama used to make me read: Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armour of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.
Once, when I was younger, I tried to sabotage those schemes. In the attempt, I lost my little brother. Now, as I look through the cracked windscreen at Elissa, and Elissa looks back through the glass at me, I know I must try again.
With no breath in my lungs, no strength in my muscles, I have no ability to intervene. But intervene I do, sliding across the seat and ripping the wheel towards me.
Annie screams. The van heels over on its side. I don’t see Elissa flash by on the right, but I feel no impact against the front grille. We hit a mound, launch up. We’re airborne for a good few seconds before crashing back down. Again, Annie’s face is mashed against the wheel. One of her teeth pings off the dash.
‘Let go!’ she shrieks, spitting blood.
By turning the wheel so sharply, I’ve altered our course down the slope. Now, we’re crossing it at an angle, towards the tall cliffs that face out to sea.
Annie stamps down on the brake. But even with the wheels locked, we slough off barely any speed.
The cliff edge races closer. The van knocks and shakes, so loud in my ears it’s as if I’ve strapped myself to a moon rocket.
‘Bastard!’ Annie screams. ‘Bastard, let GO!’
She drives her elbow into my face, knocking my head to the side. Beside me, on the seat, I see something amazing.
III
It’s my family.
Elijah, his face alive with mischief, is perched on Mama’s lap. When our eyes meet, he smiles and mouths my name.
Mama’s arms are wrapped around his tummy. I glance up at her and she smiles at me, too, her face shining with so much love I feel my strength renewed.
Beneath us, the van’s wheels bump and thump like those of a runaway train. Annie hits me again. This time, I hardly feel the blow. All my attention is on Mama.
I do notice the sudden silence as we punch over the cliff edge into empty air. Despite the cracked windscreen, I can still see that chink of blue sky. There’s sudden screaming beside me. It’s easy enough to tune out.
As the nose of the van starts to dip I have a glorious view of the sea. Some distance out, I spot a police boat riding the swells.
There’s sound, now, all around: the wind, beginning to roar.
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armour of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.
‘Kyle,’ Mama says. ‘Kyle, look at me.’
When I turn my gaze from the water rushing up, I see her loving eyes. Elijah’s too.
‘Come home,’ she tells me.
I go to them.
ELISSA
For a while, she can’t do anything but lie on her back in the long grass and stare at the sky. Out to sea, the clouds have separated to reveal a narrow strip of blue. Elissa watches it, listening to the wind, and to a gull crying overhead.
Soon, a face is leaning over her. It’s the woman from the helicopter. Weirdly, she seems to be crying.
‘Elissa,’ she says, touching her as if she’s made of glass. ‘It’s over. You’re safe now.’
Elissa nods. Not because she believes it, but because it’s the polite thing to do. ‘How’s my mum?’
‘Your mum’s a fighter, just like you,’ the woman says. She wipes her face clean of tears. ‘How’s that arm?’
Elissa grimaces. ‘Hurts like a—’
She stops, colour rising in her cheeks. A week with the ghoul and she’s about to swear in front of a stranger.
‘A bitch?’ the woman asks.
‘Don’t tell my mum I said that.’
‘I won’t.’
Elissa turns her head towards the sea. ‘Did you see what happened? What he did?’
‘We all saw.’
