Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CADENCE
I slowly return to consciousness, feeling groggy.
My shoulder convulses with pain as Arnold twists it behind me, but I trap the sound behind clenched lips.
If he wants me to scream, he’ll have to try harder.
“Are you okay, Mum?”
She mumbles something unintelligible around her gag, and I take it as a good sign.
We’re awake. We’re aware. We’re alive.
Between us, we have a hope of getting out of this jam.
“You don’t need to restrain us, Arnold. We’ll do what you tell us to.”
He snorts, moving in front of me with a roll of packaging tape in hand. For a second, the sensation of déjà vu is so strong, I’m dizzy.
Cracks have appeared in his neat appearance. His shirt is crumpled, thinning hair dishevelled. Thin lines run down one side of his neck, and I think they’re scrapes where his fingernails dug into the flesh.
His eyes are cold, darker and more manic than I’ve ever seen, his gaze lancing through me. A snarl twists his lips, and he moves in fits and starts like a run-down tin robot.
Gone is any sign of the mild-mannered workaholic who greeted me on the first day.
This man is the killer who hid behind that docile shield.
“We’ll do anything you want,” I say, my voice cracking to betray my frazzled emotions. The desperation. “You know Mum adores you, don’t you?”
Arnold unrolls a short length of tape and slaps it across my mouth. So much for trying to bond with my attacker.
This is going about as well as my attempts to fend off his son.
Except, unlike with Drake, there isn’t a pathway to a relationship at the end of this. Whatever Arnold has planned, if we can’t defend ourselves, he can and will destroy us.
I want to believe that’s my pessimism talking.
I want to hold on to my last shreds of hope.
My tongue works against the tape, using saliva to loosen the edges until the muscles ache. Arnold has left the room by the time I earn a gap for my hard work. Eventually, I snag the edge with my teeth, nibbling until it splits, and the thrust of my tongue forces it apart.
“Please, Arnold,” I shout, hearing him moving in the lobby. “Just tell us what you want us to do, and we’ll do it. You don’t need to use force.”
I try to repeat my success on the tape binding my arms, but it’s wound so tightly, all I do is pull the material until it bunches, digging further into my skin.
“If you want to run, that’s cool. Fly overseas and we’ll wait however long you like before we tell anyone.”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll come in there and shut it,” he yells, sounding more unhinged with every passing second.
My head gives a sickening thump, making the world swim. My throat aches, inflamed where Arnold choked me. I tilt my head back to open the airway, panicking that my windpipe might swell until it closes.
There’s a splash and the acrid stench of petrol fills my nostrils.
The world dims again as my pulse races, taking me to the edge of blackout while the struggle against my bonds uses the last of my air.
Not again.
I can’t do this again.
My wrists are as raw as they were the day I fought to get free of the batting cage. Lights flash in my vision as I struggle to get enough oxygen, fighting my panic as much as I’m fighting to get free.
“Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”
“I told you to shut your mouth.”
Arnold stalks back into the room, swinging his hand.
The slap is so hard, half my face goes numb. My right ear is ringing. The skin of my cheek feels way too tight.
And my mother spits out her gag. “Arnold, please. Don’t hurt my daughter.”
“Mum? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, darling.” Her voice sounds artificially bright. “Come on, honey. This isn’t you. I know you don’t want to hurt us. Let Cadence go and we can talk about it. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
With a grunt, Arnold lifts the huge petrol can and tips it over her shoulders, the smell biting into my nose, singing the hairs with its chemical sting.
Mum shrieks and my panic explodes.
My worst nightmare has come to life.
I can’t hold in the screams. Shouting and crying until my vocal cords are strained and tattered, my frantic calls for help reduced to throaty whispers.
I can’t do this again!!!
“Please. We can help you. Tell us what to say to the police and we’ll say it. Nobody ever has to know you killed Maggie.”
Mum gasps and I choke out, “Please,” trying to cover the sound.
Thoughts race through my head, memories stuffing it to bursting as I mount a frantic search through everything I’ve ever experienced, trying to find another angle.
There must be something.
A magic word or phrase to bring this madness to an end.
Arnold upends the can on me, petrol splashing as it gushes from the nozzle. It soaks into my clothes, cold against my skin, making every small abrasion sting.
The smell is everywhere. I taste it on my tongue. Its harsh burn sears my throat. My eyes stream with tears.
“That’s better.” He chuckles at my silence then leaves the room. A loud clang sounds from the lobby where he tosses the empty can. “Just a few minutes of excruciating pain and we can all move on with our lives.”
“I called the journalist,” I croak. “Elaine Ngata. We’ve been in contact after she told me she was writing an exposé on you. That’s how I got the referral for a lawyer.”
Arnold falls silent.
The steady drip of petrol from our doused bodies onto the floor is the only sound in the room.
“I told her everything.” And the lie comes easy—a lie finally comes easy—because God how I wish I had. “About Mum getting uncollected prescriptions. The names on the labels. How you were dating her and stole them and forced them down your ex’s throat.”
There’s a long pause, then the soft pad of Arnold’s shoes as he returns to the room. “Nice try, sweetheart. A pity you have no proof.”
“Drake found the label you peeled off the bottle. He thought his mother did it to protect whoever gave them to her, but the truth is simpler, isn’t it? You left it on the top of the rubbish because you’re a careless man who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”
I force a laugh that tears my tender throat apart even as it fills me with renewed strength.
“He kept it. For a year, he kept it because it was the last connection he had with his mother.”
“No, he didn’t,” Arnold says but doubt makes his voice tremble. “You’re lying.”
Another laugh. He moves into my field of vision, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “I’m not lying. Drake has probably told the police everything by now.”
“Not with his lawyer telling him to keep his trap shut, he hasn’t.”
“Except you sent the same lawyer who put him in boot camp. Why else did you think I was trying to find someone better? He would never take advice from that man, and you never treated him well enough for him to keep your secrets. He’ll have shown them the scars you left on his body. The medical records from when you hurt him as a baby. The police are probably on their way here already.”
Headlights shine through the doorway, streaming across the room. Perfect timing.
“See? That’s probably them now.”
For a second, Arnold freezes, staring towards the lobby with fear in his eyes.
I experience the first stirrings of victory.
Then a blank mask snaps over his face as the headlights retreat. Someone must be turning in the driveway, and I could kill them. Literally kill them for not being the hero we need to save us.
Could they not have paused for a minute longer? Just enough time for the seed of doubt to blossom.
“Uh-oh. Looks like you were wrong, but thanks for the warning.”
He moves to the side of the room, opening the sliding French doors onto the wide patio, the net curtains fluttering in the breeze.
“I was planning on staying around for the aftermath, but there’s a private plane on standby at the terminal. A long holiday in a country with no extradition treaties sounds like the perfect break.”
He pulls a lighter from his pocket and I can’t even panic.
My efforts to get free have already exhausted my store of energy. There’s nothing left.
“I’d like to say this will be quick and painless.” Arnold smirks and in that instant, despite mimicking Drake’s most used expression, he’s never looked less like his son. There’s not a scrap of humanity in him. “But that would be a complete lie.”
He flicks the wheel, the flint sparks, the flame catches, flickering with menace.
He raises the lighter.
The front door slams and I gasp in relief. “Here! We’re in here! He’s gone crazy.”
Footsteps pick their way across the lobby. The empty can comes skidding across the floor, coming to a stop near Arnold’s feet.
A casual off-tune whistle tells me it’s Drake before he nonchalantly strolls into sight, lounging against the doorframe. Even when I twist my neck to its farthest extreme, his right hand is obscured by the wall, body angled in the gap.
“Hey, Dad,” he says, his tone mild. “You look surprised to see me.”
Arnolds face drains of colour. He makes a noise that’s more snarl than language. Then he gives a low chuckle, a grotesque smile distorting his face.
“You know, I planned this to look like Raelene had gone off her rocker, but this is so much better.”
“Better?” Drake echoes.
“Sure. Because here we were, sitting down to have a nice family meal while the black sheep of the family was safely locked in a cell.” He snaps the lighter lid closed, raising his opposite hand as he gestures to Drake. “But now, the resident firebug is back to take his final bow. This story is so much better.”
“Better than the story of how you killed a pharmacist? Because that’s the lead the police are following.”
“No, they’re not.” Arnold shakes his head, chuckling again. “If you’d been released, I would’ve had a phone call. Which means you escaped.” His smile grows as he flicks open the lighter, reigniting the flame. “And everyone knows how dangerous escaped prisoners are.”
He tips the lighter back and forth, his steps carefully backing him towards the sliding doors, ready to abandon the inferno.
There’s no separation between my heartbeats. The world pulses in and out of focus, black spots eating my vision as my head spins towards unconsciousness again.
Arnold drops the lighter.
The spilled fuel catches.
And the world turns into a shimmering lake of flame.