Chapter Thirty
Millie
I spend the first hour convincing myself I've overreacted. Jackson obviously had some romantic gesture planned. He'd be back any minute with some quirky surprise, like dragging home a DJ from Worship for our own private party. In my head, the gestures get more elaborate and ridiculous as time goes on. Maybe he'd come back, sweep me into a car and we’d drive off to the airport. Maybe we were going to Paris? Imagine losing my virginity with the Eiffel Tower in my line of sight.
Eventually, when the excitement gets too much, I send him a message, a carefully constructed sentence trying to sound casual and undisturbed, asking for an idea of how long he'll be, and trying not to show just how annoyed I was growing.
No reply.
After two hours, I settle into a streaming binge-fest, reluctantly deciding that Jackson probably had just gone to work after all. I have no idea where his office was, but I guess a couple of hours would be about right—an hour to fix the crisis and an hour to drive there and back. He'll be back any minute, looking sheepish and full of apologies.
I send a couple more messages, and my attempts to look like the understanding girlfriend go out the window as time passes. The more it does, the more I know my anger isn’t only fair but justified.
Still no reply.
When it gets closer to four hours, I reheat the meal Jackson had made. I stomp through his flat, feet slapping loudly on the wooden floors, my fork scraping the ceramic bowl as I stuff rice into my mouth.
Around midnight, accepting that the night is ruined, I start on my birthday cake. It’s truly a gorgeous concoction of juicy strawberries and rich chocolate. However, I still demolish slice after slice with little care, making sure that Jackson's painfully tidy flat is coated liberally in crumbs. Whatever time Jackson shows up now, I’m too mad, too unhappy to enjoy anything he might have planned. Any thoughts of sex seem ridiculous. Eventually, with the light of the TV screen still flickering and the lights and noise of the city keeping me company through the window, I fall into an uncomfortable, unwilling sleep.
I wake to the sound of a key turning in the lock. It takes a second to remind myself where I am, the morning sun blinding me as I open tired, sore eyes. I sit up awkwardly, a blanket still wrapped around me. His footsteps make their way to the settee.
Jackson looks like crap. He looks like he'd lost a battle with a tornado, his dark hair messed up, sticking out at all angles, his clothes in disarray. His face is a sickly grey colour, frozen in what I could only describe as shock. I can see all these things, and in any normal situation, I would leap up, needing to know what had happened and if he was OK, but all I can see is the red haze of fury. All I could see and feel was my rage. I jump off the settee and quickly start gathering my things. When I check my phone, the time is six-thirty. He's been gone almost twelve hours.
“Won't be long, huh? Be back as soon as you can, right?” I stuff my phone into my bag and start searching for my jacket.
“Millie …”
“You couldn't have answered a single message? Don't have a signal in your office, huh?”
“I'm sorry, I …”
“Maybe I made too big a deal of last night, expected too much.” I turn to look at him, but his expression is flat, revealing nothing but unhappiness. “You knew what I wanted, what I was hoping for … and it definitely wasn't humiliation.”
“No … that's not …”
“If this was too much … if this is your way of saying you're still not ready for a relationship, then you could have said you didn't need to …” I can't finish the words; I'm too angry, too out of control. I walk to the door, clumsily slipping on the shoes I'd left just beside the wall.
“No, of course not. It had nothing to do with that. I just got caught up at work, and look … something happened, something …”
“I don't care,” I snap. When I look at this face and see the exhaustion and confusion there, I bite my lip, almost feeling guilty. Almost.
This isn't the Jackson I know, a quiet voice whispers under the rage. He's not arguing back, not using that dazzling charm or boyish sincerity to win me over. He looks defeated, and I want to go to him, but I'm too aware of the ache in my chest. I'd dreamt of a perfect night with him, something just for me after years of giving my life to someone else, however guilty and selfish it made me feel, but I'd trusted him, and he'd taken that trust, crumpled it up and thrown it away like a used coffee cup. Something is wrong with him, but I won't … can't let myself see it.
I open the door, but he moves his body in between, blocking me from walking through.
“Jackson, I'm going home. I'm tired. I can't do this right now. Just let me go.”
He just gazes at me, examining my face in a way that makes my cheeks heat. I'm not sure he's even listening to my words.
“I love you,” he croaks, tenderly running a finger along my jaw, and I back away like I've been burned.
“What? What are you doing? You're telling me that now? Like this? What's wrong with you?”
We've never said the words before. I thought maybe we would last night. Maybe. But not like this. Anger makes my face hot, my body rigid.
“You ruined everything else. Thought you'd ruin that, too?”
Not waiting for a response, I just yank the door from his grip and storm through. I don't slam it shut behind me; just launch myself toward the lift. Slipping through, I press the buttons to go down repeatedly until the doors close, and I feel the jolt as it descends.
He doesn't chase after me. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved.
I walk home, the crisp air clearing my mind. Despite the early morning, the city is already busy. The atmosphere feels charged. People rush about; their eyes seem too wide, their mouths anxious red gashes across their faces. Everything feels just a little … wrong, but I put it down to the own strange cocktail of emotions currently tripping through my veins.
I was so furious with Jackson. He'd hurt me and hadn't given me a reason. Not that I'd given him a chance, I admit to myself reluctantly.
Something bad had happened. I'd seen it in his face, but I hadn't asked. If I was being honest, I hadn't wanted to know. I felt like I'd lost something else, as small as it was compared to everything. It was still another thing to add to my bitter list.
And now, as the anger cools, I feel guilt creeping up my spine. I slip my hand to pull my phone out of my pocket but stop short of checking it. Sighing, I put it away. I need a few more hours before I either respond to Jackson or freak out about his lack of messages.
A dog growls in the distance, dragging me from my thoughts. I turn but see nothing.
Is the world always this erratic at seven in the morning? Cars are speeding down the streets, skipping red lights and jumping pavements, nearly hitting pedestrians who leap out of their way. I hear furious fights coming from inside the houses I pass—screams of rage, cries of fear. The church a few streets away from Roisin's house has dozens of people standing outside, the large wooden door locked as irate parishioners thrash at it angrily.
Weird, so very weird.
As I walk around the corner to Roisin's, I see a large black dog out of the corner of my eye. I like dogs. I spent a year when I was five trying to convince Mum to buy me one, but this is not a dog. This is a beast.
Muscled like a bear, thick wiry fur and, though it must be a trick of the light, its eyes seem to glow like fire. It’s standing next to the street sign, looking so out of place I would laugh if I wasn't battling a chill of fear. When I'm close, it raises its great head, taking in a gulp of air, nostrils flaring. Its eyes land on me, and I speed up, not looking back.
Quickly, my fingers dig through my bag, searching for my keys, as I walk up the path to Roisin's door. Shaking, I slip the key into the lock. I hear sirens nearby, more screaming, but underneath, I hear a faint growl growing closer. As I slip into the house, I turn back one more time, seeing the beast standing at the top of the path, watching me. I shiver, slamming the door.
“Roisin!” I call out after hanging up my coat and trying to forget about the beast-dog. “Roisin, I'm starting to think that having a boyfriend is seriously overrated. I had the worst night.”
I know she'll be up. It's early, but the twins don't give many opportunities for lie-ins. I walk into the front room, expecting to see the boys eating cereal and Roisin poised in the kitchen, but she's sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at the TV, the twins perched in front of her. They look bored and sleepy, but she's clinging to them the same way she did in the days after Mum's death.
“Roisin?”
She doesn't respond at first, but slowly, she turns. Something like horror, mixed with confusion, has her eyes glazed and her mouth wide.
“What is it?”
She doesn't move but finally beckons me over, scooting up so I can sink next to her and the boys. The news is on the screen. I read the headline at the bottom of the screen … and then I read it again.
“I don't … what does that even mean?”
Roisin looks at me, her face grave, and shakes her head.
“I have no idea. I've been watching it for the past half hour. They're still checking, speaking to hospitals and governments all around the world, but for three hours … no one has died. Not one person. Accidents have happened, and people who should be dead are still living. A man in Australia was cut in half in a factory disaster … he's still breathing.”
Roisin rambles on, panic seeping into her words. I stare at the screen, pale-faced newsreaders cutting between countries, all with the same stories. No one has any explanation, but for over three hours, not a single soul on this planet has passed away.
Thinking of Mum, my chest constricts. If she'd lasted just a while longer, could she be one of these miracle stories? Would she still be alive?
“There's more … there are these weird reports of …”
I hear it out the window, faint and deadened by the glass but unmistakable. I can hear growling.
The dark shape launches itself through the window. I cover Roisin and the boys with my body, glass shattering around us. We're all screaming. Roisin and I back away until we hit the settee, each grabbing a shrieking twin.
The black beast stands in the centre of the room. There's no denying it now. Its eyes are glowing red and staring right at me.
“Invisible monsters! They said … they said some people can see them, some can't.” Roisin looks around the room desperately. Archie and Simon curl into her sides, their heads pressed into her ribs as they cry into the fabric of her dress. The beast growls.
“Where is it!”
“What are you talking about? It's that bloody huge beast thing!”
She looks blankly at me, but I can see on her face the desperate way she looks around the room, seeing nothing. She can't see it; she can't see the beast-dog.
I seize the small side table next to me, and as the beast launches itself at us, I smash it into its snarling face. It goes down more in confusion, I think, than pain.
“Come on!”
Grabbing Roisin's hand, I drag her and the boys upstairs. As we reach her bedroom, I can hear the beast howling as it recovers. I slam the door shut behind us as it storms up the stairs. Next to the door is Roisin's wardrobe. I push it in front of the door. As she sees what I'm doing, she joins me. The twins flee to the corner of the room, their high-pitched screams slicing through my eardrums. We groan as we struggle to shift it. The beast crashes into the now barricaded door, and the entire house seems to shake. With the wardrobe positioned in front of the door, Roisin and I back away. The beast-dog hurls itself against the door once more.
“Oh my god, I don't understand; why is this happening,” Roisin mumbles as the boys rush forward, clinging to her as they cry. The beast slams into the door again. Each time makes Simon and Archie flinch and sob louder. “What can you see?”
I don't respond. There's no time.
“Quick! Through the bathroom. We can climb down the trellis.” I guide the three of them into the en-suite, locking the door behind us. The room is small, barely fitting the four of us in, and the door will offer no protection if the beast gets into the bedroom. Roisin sinks to the floor, trying to comfort the boys as I open the window.
“OK, you go down first. I'll pass the boys down to you.”
She looks at me blankly, like I'm talking in another language.
“Roisin, it's coming …” My voice is dripping in desperation.
There's an ear-splitting crack—the beast has broken the bedroom door. I hear it growling as it slams into it again, the combination of the crushed door and wardrobe still blocking its access. But it won't for long.
Roisin says nothing further, just nods and, using the sink for leverage, pulls herself up to the open window and climbs through. I stick my head out and watch as she awkwardly makes her way down the trellis. I hear another crack as the door and wardrobe continue to shatter under the barrage of blows.
She jumps off the trellis, looking back up at me as if she doesn't quite believe what she's just done. I grab the boys, positioning them so they're sitting out of the window, legs dangling over the edge, but I'm still holding their waists. Screaming, they try to cling to me, but I don't have time to comfort them.
“Go to your mum; look, she's waiting for you.”
“OK, I'm ready,” Roisin yells, reaching up to catch the first of her boys.
Taking Simon, I lower him out of the window, gripping his hands tightly.
“Get ready to grab him,” I shout down. Roisin nods, and I look down at his scared, scrunched-up face. “Your mum is going to catch you, OK?”
When he's dangling as low as I can get him, Roisin perched beneath him, I close my eyes and let go. He shrieks as he drops. With a grunt, I hear Roisin catch him.
Another bang, another crack.
As Roisin crouches down, hugging him and whispering words of comfort in his ear, I position Archie on the ledge of the window, ready to drop him down. Roisin stands up, nodding when she's ready to catch him.
A final crack and I hear the beast enter the bedroom, the wardrobe giving way and crashing to the floor. Snorting and snarling as it hunts for us. I'm quicker this time, struggling to keep my hands from shaking as I hang the twin out of the window. The beast-dog slams into the bathroom door. With no more hesitation, I drop Archie. Roisin catches him, and they sink to the grass.
On shaky limbs, I pull myself up to the window. Holding on, I try to twist my body so I can slip through the window and climb down. The bathroom door fractures. I look up to see the beast launch itself into the room. I try to pick up speed as I climb, but I see it, the beast leaning over the window, looking down and growling at me. Its red eyes burn into me, and it snaps its drooling jaws a hair’s breadth from my hand. My hold falters, and I flail around, desperately trying to find something to cling to, something to stop me from falling. But I can't.
“Millie!” Roisin calls to me as I finally lose my grip.
I hit the ground, the damp grass softening the blow, but the air is still knocked from my lungs. Above me, the beast looms, and then it climbs onto the window edge, growling down at me.
“Run!” I call to them, looking at the three of them standing over my shoulder. “Now!”
The beast leaps and soars through the air. A black mass of snarling fur, glacier fangs, and fiery eyes. All rage and fury. Coming right at me.