Chapter 34 #2
Euan hangs back and falls into step on the other side of Jameson.
He speaks to him as though I’m not even here – excellent, I’ve played my part well.
I want him to discount me, think I’m broken, defeated.
‘Sorry for interrupting you back there, mate,’ he says.
‘Didn’t realise you were still serious about her – brave man!
Better not piss her off, who knows what she might do to you. ’
Rage fills my chest, but I tamp it down. Jameson’s arm tightens around my shoulders and he laughs off the comment. I know he’s doing his best to play-act but it still hurts.
I’m not the monster. I’m a hundred per cent sure of that now. And I won’t be the monster’s prey either.
I’ve never believed in myself more.
*
We gather in the library. Becca has banked up the fire into a roaring blaze, and made hot chocolate in a silver pot.
Kimmy is pouring hot water from another, smaller pot into a china cup which contains a teabag on a string.
Leo is sprawled on the leather sofa like a young lord without a care in the world, yet another glass of wine in his hand.
The atmosphere is not exactly relaxed, but the tension seems to have unwound a notch or two. Everyone just wants this night to be over, for morning to come and events to move on. A vague pall of sadness hangs over the room, and I am sure Alex is not far from anyone’s thoughts.
He’s still out there, lying in that gully …
Every time I remember that I get a sharp pain beneath my ribs that feels like being punched. If only we could bring him back into the warm.
But Alex is long dead. There’s nothing I can do for him. I can save the living, breathing people in this room with me.
Maybe.
I warm my hands by the fire and slide into an armchair. ‘Hot chocolate?’ Becca asks, smiling at me – a peace offering. ‘I’ve brought cookies, too.’
‘You made the hot chocolate?’ I want to make certain Euan didn’t have a hand in it.
She gives me a peculiar look. ‘Yes. I made the hot chocolate and Kimmy made herself herbal tea.’
I accept the cup. Kimmy sips her tea – she probably has a thing about the calories in hot chocolate. Or unrefined sugar.
‘This weather is bloody miserable,’ Leo complains, draining his wine and picking up his cup of hot chocolate. ‘Anyone else had enough of snow to last a lifetime?’
Leo hasn’t properly been out in it since he got here except for crossing the courtyard. He has no idea how bad it is beyond the bubble of Tarnmore. But perhaps he’s feeling the pressure of confinement. I watch Euan, as subtly as I can, to see if he’s drinking the hot chocolate.
He takes a mouthful. I can’t study him closely enough to see him swallow, and his beard makes it difficult. He’s watching me too. I raise my cup to my mouth, inhale the whisky fumes before the liquid touches my lips. ‘Does this have booze in it?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Becca says. ‘Euan put a decent slosh of Scotch in each cup.’
Euan rises and paces over to the window to pull aside the curtain and look out at the snow. A casual move, but I can see through it. He’s desperate to watch me, see if I drink down the whole cup. But he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.
Euan might not have made the hot chocolate, but it wouldn’t be hard for him to doctor the whisky. And if he put the spirit into the cups individually, he could easily have made sure his was booze-free.
I lower my cup, spear Jameson with a look, a quick, barely perceptible shake of my head. ‘I don’t like whisky,’ I say.
‘Uh, me neither,’ Jameson says uneasily, although he drank a whisky cocktail without complaint last night.
Euan turns from the window, and I see fury in his face before he schools his features and slips the mask back into place.
There are spare cups on the tray set on the low table.
I inspect, find them empty. I tear open two of the fennel teabags from the little Mason jar Kimmy brought up from the kitchen, add hot water from her pot.
I hand one to Jameson and he thanks me, tastes the tea and grimaces.
He’d much prefer the whisky-laced hot chocolate – but not if, as I suspect, it’s spiked with a little more than Scotch.
Euan could have put something into the decanter quite easily – perhaps that’s how he got Alex compliant enough to be persuaded up to the falls.
Not poison, I think – too traceable if we all die by poisoning. Just something to make us sleepy.
So he can set up a few more accidents.
Or one big one, to be more believable. Picking us off one by one is too risky. Too suspicious. But if something were to happen to take us out in one fell swoop, he might get away with it—
So what could that be? It would be handy if I knew what he was planning.
Euan sits down, his face impassive. He knocks back the rest of his – presumably undoctored – hot chocolate.
I’d like to warn Leo and Becca, but they’ve both drunk deeply from the chocolate already.
I just have to hope whatever’s in there won’t cause them any lasting damage.
Euan wants us all out of the picture while he … what?
I need to get inside his mind.
Jameson takes another gulp of tea and pulls a pained face. My lips twitch. I sip from my cup – actually, as herbal teas go it is pretty horrible. I hate fennel at the best of times but this tastes really funky. I wrap my hands around my mug but don’t finish it.
After a moment, Kimmy lurches to her feet, swaying a little. ‘I have a banging migraine,’ she says, holding her head. ‘I’m going to take something and try to sleep.’
Is it my imagination or is she slurring her words a little? Surely Euan hasn’t managed to contaminate the tea pot too.
I glance quickly at Jameson’s cup and see that he’s drunk about half of it.
‘I’ve got soluble migraine tablets,’ Euan says, without missing a beat. I want to scream at her not to accept. My heart is beating fast, thudding against my ribs. It feels like a panicked bird in my chest.
‘I forgot to bring mine,’ Kimmy says. ‘I only have paracetamol and that’s not going to touch it. I’ll try yours … if you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘No bother.’ Euan gets up and she follows him out of the room.
This is my moment to tell Becca and Leo what’s going on. I’ll have to choose my words carefully; we might not have long, and I won’t get a second chance. If I get this wrong, and they don’t believe me, I’ll lose the element of surprise. Euan will know I’m a risk to him.
Becca is nestled into her chair, Leo reclining on the sofa.
They both look sleepy, their faces starting to slacken, eyes unfocused.
They’ve finished their drinks, and it seems my suspicions were well-placed.
I hold myself stiffly in my chair, listening to the ticking clock – just after 9 p.m. now.
I look at Jameson, debating what to do, how to explain things to Bex and Leo.
Idly I wonder what Euan will do with Jameson and me now that we haven’t imbibed the sleeping tablets I’m sure he’s put in the hot chocolate cups. Perhaps I should have pretended to drink it.
‘Bex,’ I whisper, leaning forwards. ‘This is important. We don’t have much time—’
She struggles to focus on my face. She’s already succumbing to sleep. Leo too. From the corner of my eye I see Jameson lean back in his chair, propping his head on one hand. When his elbow misses the arm of the chair, he jolts, head snapping sideways. ‘Oh shit,’ he murmurs.
I look sharply at him. Is he looking sleepy too? His eyes are half-lidded. Did Euan somehow get to the tea? I’ve only had a few sips – the fennel tasted vile; it would make a great mask for something else crushed up in the drink.
Becca is asleep now, and Leo is snoring beside her.
‘Jameson,’ I hiss, panicked. ‘Becca.’
Jameson manages to open his eyes and look at me, but Becca is out cold. A moment later, Jameson’s eyelids droop again.
I feel heavy, weighted down on this couch. I fight the urge to close my eyes. You only had a few sips; you’re fine!
But I can’t be the only one awake when Euan returns – what would he do to me then?
Quickly I grab my cup and chuck the rest of the tea back into the pot so that it looks like I drank it.
I do the same with the remnants of Jameson’s.
Then I settle back and close my eyes. Somehow I have to stay awake, whilst I’m cuddled down on an exceedingly comfy couch in a toasty room with the slow soporific breathing of my companions the only soundtrack.
And a trace of something that’s meant to make me sleep leeching into my bloodstream.
But fear is a good counter to sleep. I clench my fists, drive my nails into my palms to keep myself sharp. I hear Euan re-enter the room and slow my breathing. It takes every ounce of self-control not to leap up and flee for my life.
The thought of him chasing me through the dark corridors of Tarnmore while my companions sleep on, ignorant of my plight, is terrifying.
Euan moves around the room. I feel his presence hover over me, and I hear the clink of cups as he inspects each one. My act holds and he moves on.
I think I hear him leave the library but I can’t be sure. He might be waiting in the doorway ready to catch me out. I’ll just lie here a little longer, and then …
What?
I have no idea what I’m going to do, the only one awake and rattling around this creepy mansion with a murderer while a snowstorm rages outside.
The stuff of nightmares right there.
Practically the very nightmare I had my second night here.
The room is so warm and cosy, this chair so very comfortable. My limbs feel relaxed, almost detached from me. My breath flutters slowly in and out, and I feel myself go deeper, like slipping far, far underwater: spinning, sinking.
I fight it, but I didn’t sleep well last night and even the small amount of the drug in my blood has a smoothing, rounding effect, rubbing away the sharp edges of my thoughts, softening me.
I drift off.