Chapter 26 Matches
‘Hello, Lalla,’ says Owen O’Donnell. He smiles, leaning his bulk against the door. There’s a bed with a petroleum wet patch behind me. I feel the knife in my pocket and slowly remove it from its plastic bag in readiness. Sadly it will remove Cait’s fingerprints, but needs must.
‘Cait sent you, did she?’ he says, glowering with menace. ‘Ask you to do more of her dirty work?’
‘The question is, what are you doing here? Planning to burn your wife’s house down? That’s romantic.’
‘Fuck you. If it wasn’t for you, we’d still be together.’
‘If it wasn’t for me, she’d be dead, Owen, and you’d be in prison, you disgusting little coward.’
He lurches towards me, kicks me hard in the stomach, and I fly back onto the petrol-soaked bed. I lie there, feeling the pain course through my body, but it immediately turns into anger. My hand slips back into my pocket. I will enjoy cutting this throat.
‘You speak like that again and I’ll kill you,’ he says. I notice he’s slurring his words and swaying slightly.
‘What do you want?’
‘Money!’ he shouts. ‘I told Cait I needed five grand today, and she didn’t even reply. Stupid bitch.’
‘You think burning her house down will help?’
‘I’m dead unless I get five grand, so I’m making my fucking point.’
‘What point is that?’
‘I’m burning her bed. This time without her in it,’ he says, and laughs. ‘Next time, who knows?’
‘You’ll burn down the entire house, Owen. It’s petrol. Are you pissed?’
‘Not pissed enough,’ he says.
‘Let me go,’ I say, pushing myself to my feet.
I grab the handle of the knife as he strokes the match against the matchbox.
Even if I pull the knife, he could probably disarm me.
I might cut him once or twice, but unless I catch an artery, his strength and size would leave me at his mercy. I need to get closer, somehow.
I take a step towards him. ‘This has nothing to do with me, Owen. You need help.’ I stare up at him, eyeballing, and take another step. I’m close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. He puts the matches in his jacket pocket, raises a hand and holds my chin.
‘I might like to help you.’ He smiles.
I take the knife out of my pocket. He holds my face so firmly I can’t even glance downwards. If I stab now, I could hit his coat, bone or muscle, and I can see in his eyes what this scared and humiliated man would do to me.
I look up at his neck. It would be difficult. But the decision is taken out of my hands as his hand moves from my chin and he gropes my crotch.
My hand rises. One fast blow. I stab, but he feels the attack coming.
His head jerks back, and the knife slices across his neck rather than into it.
Blood cascades from the wound. He grabs my arm, and twists it so violently that I drop the knife.
His other hand grabs my neck and squeezes hard.
He shoves me hard, and I fall back onto the bed. He stands holding the gash on his neck.
‘You cut me, you fucking bitch.’ His eyes burn as they move over my body. Lust or hate? Both, I imagine.
I’m calculating distances and force, but a well-aimed kick to his crotch might just make him angry. I have to find another way. I need to switch him from one mode to the other.
‘I can get you five grand,’ I say.
‘I don’t want your money, I want to hurt you, like you hurt me,’ he says, climbing on top of me. His weight crushing me, petrol fumes choking me, and blood dripping down onto my face.
‘I’ve thought about this many times,’ he says.
‘I know you have, Owen,’ I say, ‘and so have I.’ A good magician must distract their audience effectively and I make some flattering remarks while my hand slips into his jeans pocket and pulls out the small rectangular box.
He tries to force his knee between my legs. I know I have one opportunity. As he’s off balance, I raise my knee with as much force as I can and connect with his crotch. He shrieks in pain and tumbles onto his side.
I jump off him, and in a single sharp movement, strike the match. The teardrop of red sulphur bursts into flame. His eyes take half a second to work out what’s happening. He tries to get up, words and arms flailing, but I’m not going to give him a second chance.
I drop the match. It tumbles through the air and, instantly, flames engulf the bed, along with Owen O’Donnell.