Dead Push (Kiera Hudson Series Two#7) Read online

  Kiera turned away again, stepping into her bedroom. Before she closed the door, I said, “Hey, Kiera.”

  “What?” she said, without looking back.

  “I don’t deserve a friend like you,” I said.

  She closed the door, leaving me alone once again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack

  I crouched beside the trees in the woods all that night. It was bitterly cold – too cold to sleep. I dozed a little, but mostly I was awake. The photographer didn’t come and I still suspected that he or she wouldn’t – not until Melody Rose died. How the girl ended up dead – I still had no idea. Potter hadn’t said. As the wind whipped and howled through the trees, sending up gusts of leaves into the air, I wished now that I had known. That piece of information might have given me some idea as to how long I would have to follow Isi-bore and Melody Doze about for. They weren’t the most exciting of people to tag along behind.

  But maybe their lives weren’t as dull as I’d first thought. Why had they hidden in that wardrobe? That had taken some guts. And the look on Melody’s face as they had come tumbling out of it – I couldn’t get that look out of my head. I had seen that expression so many times before. It was the look of sheer fear. But what did she have to be so scared of? Her mother? She seemed harmless enough. By the way she dressed, the little church, and all the praying that was going on, the mother struck me as one of those God-fearing types. Not too much to be scared of there.

  So when Isidor popped his head above ground again the following morning, I decided to follow him once more. He had an anxious look on his face as he made his way back through the woods and towards the lake. His look of anxiousness soon turned to one of relief on finding the girl waiting for him on the shore. She was dressed in the same dull clothes, but today she carried a rucksack over her shoulder. I knew then he had probably lain awake all night deep within The Hollows fretting about the girl he so obviously loved. Isi-bore had pleaded with the girl to go with him the night before. It was like he suspected she was in some kind of danger.

  Together they walked along the shoreline. I wanted to stay as close as possible so as to hear what it was they talked so deeply about. Crouching low, I shook all over, releasing my coat of black fur, claws, long snout, and bushy tail. I slinked along in the shadows of the trees and the undergrowth which surrounded them.

  “You won’t ever tell anyone what you saw and heard at my house, will you?” the girl asked him, her voice full of dread.

  “I can’t believe you have to ask me that,” Isi-bore said, sounding hurt by her lack of faith in him.

  What had the boy seen and heard that the girl could worry so much about, I wondered.

  Secrets, perhaps? I knew all about them. I’d grown up in a house with a mother who had kept plenty of them.

  “I know I can trust you, but I would hate for anybody else to find out,” I heard Melody say as I crept along just feet away, my wolf shaped body low, belly brushing against the leaves and undergrowth.

  “Well they won’t find out from me. I promise,” Isi-bore tried to assure her.

  They reached the mouth of their secret camp, but instead of sneaking inside like they had the day before, they sat on the sand, which led down to the black coloured waters of the lake.

  Still disguised as a wolf, my black fur offered me a certain amount of camouflage on the edge of the dark woods, I watched Melody place the rucksack on the ground. She took an old-fashioned looking radio from it.

  “I thought we could listen to some music,” the girl said, smiling that crooked smile at Isi-bore.

  The boy didn’t say anything; he just kinda stared back at her with that dumb look on his face. Melody switched the radio on. There was a hissing of static as she turned the silver dial on top of the radio. A song started to play. It was a song I hadn’t heard for many years. I sat and listened from beneath a nearby tree as Melody started to sing along with David Bowie as he sung Heroes.

  The music almost seemed to animate Melody – as if bringing her to life somehow. She sat next to Isi-bore in the sand, singing along to the music and clicking her fingers. She looked happy, and for once her smile didn’t look so bad. I crouched low, my tail twitching from side to side and listened to the words of the song, and I couldn’t help but think of me and my younger brother – when we were younger – before we had become killers. I guess if our lives had turned out different – Nik and I could have been heroes too, instead of monsters.

  “Are you wearing makeup?” I suddenly heard Isi-bore ask Melody. He sounded kinda shocked by this.

  “Yeah, do you like it?” Melody smiled back at him.

  “What would your mother say?” Isi-bore asked.

  The mother thing again, I noticed.

  “She won’t find out,” Melody said and I watched her take a lipstick from her bag. She sat and smeared it over her lips.

  “Where did you get the makeup from?” Isi-bore asked.

  Does it matter where she got the fucking lipstick from? I sighed. You’re meant to be telling the girl how goddamn freaking hot she looks. She wants you to tell her she looks beautiful, you dumb-fuck.

  “From a shop,” Melody told him, pointing down at the pouch in her apron. Then, she added, “Comes in real handy for slipping things in.”

  “You stole that makeup?” Isi-bore asked wide-eyed as if she had just confessed to spraying a bank full of customers with machine gunfire then running off with the loot.

  It’s a fucking lipstick! Get a grip, I felt like hollering at him.

  “Just like you and the library book,” Melody winked at him.

  Well, well, well! I smiled slyly to myself. The boy’s a thief, too. Stealing from a library, huh? But then again, that just showed what a complete and utter fucking retard the kid was. I’d never heard of someone who can’t read stealing a freaking book before. What was the fucking point in that!

  “Speaking of books,” Melody cut in. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Not more reading! Surely not! I was just starting to like her too, now she had to go and spoil things.

  The girl pulled what looked like a comic book from her bag.

  “Why have you got me a book?” Isi-bore asked her.

  Yeah, why bring the kid a book? That’s a bit fucking cruel. I was beginning to like her again.

  “You know I can’t read,” Isi-bore reminded her.

  “But I can,” Melody smiled. “I’m gonna teach you.”

  Fuck me, this just gets worse and worse, I sighed, rolling onto my side in the leaves. This is going to be a long fucking day. I lay on my side and listened to Melody explain to the dumb-fuck that the comic book was called the Incredible Hulk. Why he couldn’t figure that out himself by looking at the big green monster on the front, beat the shit out of me.

  “What’s it about?” he asked, and I cringed.

  He’s got to be taking the piss. No one can be that fucking thick.

  “This dude – his name is Bruce Banner but he leads a secret life,” Melody started to explain. “Everyone thinks he’s like, a regular guy, but really he’s a monster. He can’t tell anyone, because if people find out they...”

  “Would capture him, put him in a cage, then open him up to see how he worked,” Isi-bore cut in.

  They’d stick you in fucking jail – like that sonofabitch Murphy did to me, I thought as I listened to Melody explain the story to numb-nuts.

  “People don’t like different, do they?” I heard Isi-bore say.

  No, people certainly don’t like different, you’ve got that right at least, I thought.

  I hid amongst the trees, as Melody sat just a few feet away and helped Isi-bore to read. At times I was so bored, I snuck away before I lost the will to live. I found a tree to take a leak against, then headed back, just to make sure that they hadn’t wandered off and I missed the next exciting episode in their adventurous lives.

  For the next few days they came back to the same spot, Melody sat patiently besi
de Isi-bore as she taught him how to read the words in the books she brought each day to the lake. The radio played in the background, and each time Heroes came on, Melody would sit and sing along, clicking her fingers and swaying from side to side. Once the song faded out at the end, Melody would go back to tracing her fingers under the words that Isi-bore was quickly learning to read and understand. And it was as I stood sloped against a tree and spied on them sitting together, I remembered how Father Paul had sat patiently with me as a boy, about the same age as Isi-bore, as I taught myself to paint and draw. Just like Melody sat patiently with Isidor, Father Paul had sat with me, teaching me how to use the watercolour paints he had bought me as a present.

  “It reminds you, doesn’t it?” a voice said from beside me.

  I glanced right to see the bride standing just a few feet away.

  “Is Isidor so different to what you were like at his age?” she asked, her virgin white dress flapping gently as she spoke from behind it.

  “That fuck-wit is nothing like me,” I barked under my breath at her.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, turning away, her long, white dress trailing out behind her in the dead leaves and mulch. “You’re nothing like the boy Isidor.”

  I looked away, I wasn’t in the mood to play fucking word games with a figment of my own imagination.

  The girl didn’t always come to the lake each day like Isi-bore did. I didn’t want to spend my days watching him. I had started to feel uncomfortable around him. I wasn’t sure why – but there was something. So instead, I followed the girl when she wasn’t with Isi-bore. I didn’t know where she went or what she did, so I headed for her home. It was still light when I arrived, guessing that she would be there as night drew in. I watched the house from the shelter of the trees that grew along each side of the narrow lane, leading to the house. Her mother’s car wasn’t out front and I wondered if Melody was home alone. It was still too light for me to climb the front of the house like I had done a few nights before, so I slipped from my hiding place and crept around the side of the house to where the basement was. I dropped over the stone wall and knelt down so I could peer into the small basement window. I pressed my nose against the dirty sheet of glass. It was dark inside and I couldn’t see very much at all, apart from the outline of the huge cross I’d seen before. I knelt back from the window and wondered if I could get it open, whether I might be able to squeeze through into the basement. I was tall and incredibly scrawny, so I might just fit through. Releasing my claws, I hooked one finger and ran the sharp nail around the seal. I cut away some of the wooden window frame, making a big enough gap to slide my fingers through. I could feel the latch on the other side of the window. Glancing over the wall just to make sure that I wouldn’t be disturbed, I knocked the catch free with one of my long fingernails. Lifting the window open, my heart started to race at the rush of memories in which I had broken into the homes and apartments of so many women before.

  Make sure you don’t hurt one single petal on any beautiful roses you might find, I heard Noah whisper in my ear.

  I blocked his voice out of my mind. Crouching so I was flat against the ground, I eased one of my rake-thin arms through the open window followed by my head and shoulders. I dangled over the edge of the window and slid down into the basement. Reaching out with my long arms, I braced my fall so as not to crack my head against the grey slate basement floor. I stood up and brushed the dust from my jeans and the elbows of my coat. After closing the window again, I started to check out the basement come makeshift chapel. The air stank of wax and incense. I screwed up my nose and sneezed. I stood in the semi darkness and looked up. I was waiting to hear any movement from above. If Melody was home, then surely she would have heard me sneeze. When I was quite sure I was alone, I made my way to the altar at the front of the chapel. I stopped before the giant cross and noticed that someone had placed a small wooden box before it. It was the size of a crate and was big enough to stand on. I was about to inspect the chapel further, when I heard the sound of a car approaching along the dirt road leading to the house.

  Mother’s home, I thought to myself, heading back across the chapel to the window. I pushed it open with my fingertips, a rush of air snaking inside and blowing my wispy fringe from my narrow brow. Through the open window I heard the sound of someone cry out.

  “I’m sorry, Momma!”

  It was Melody’s voice I heard.

  “Get inside and go to the chapel,” her mother hissed.

  Knowing that I would soon have company, I tried to scramble back up the wall to the window. I pushed the window open and poked one of my arms through. Even on tiptoe I couldn’t lever myself up and out of the window. I looked back at the box on the floor before the cross. The sound of a bolt being slid sharply back echoed like gunfire from above. This was followed by the sound of footfalls on the wooden stairs leading down into the chapel. Knowing that I wasn’t going to escape, I slunk back into the corner of the room, where a statue of the Sacred Heart stood. I pressed myself flat against the wall and hid behind it.

  There was a sharp scratching sound, then a flame. It lit up Melody’s mother’s face in the gloom like a Halloween pumpkin. She lit several candles at the feet of the Madonna statue on the opposite side of the chapel from where I was hiding.

  “I’m sorry, Momma,” I heard Melody sob.

  I peered around the edge of the statue to see Melody cowering before the huge cross in front of the altar

  “Slut!” her mother screamed, her breath blowing out the match that was burning down between her fingers. “Filthy little whore! You disgust me!”

  “I’m sorry, Momma,” Melody sobbed through fear more than sadness.

  “And you disgust the mother of Christ! Look at her! Look at her!” the mad-looking woman screeched, eyes bulging in their sockets as she forced Melody to stand before the statue of the Madonna. “Does she wear nail varnish? Does she wear lipstick? Does she dress up like a filthy-looking whore?”

  “No, Momma,” Melody cried, lowering her head so she didn’t have to look at the statue which stared blankly down at her.

  Raising the flat of her hand, the woman smacked her daughter in the face. There was an audible crack as Melody’s head snapped backwards, her bonnet falling free and hanging down her back, trapped by the black cord around her throat. The woman then made a fist as she grabbed Melody by the hair.

  “Women who look like whores attract the devil,” she breathed into Melody’s face. “Do you want the devil to come for you?”

  “No, Momma,” Melody sobbed, turning her head to the side as if her mother’s breath stank.

  “Because the devil came to me once,” the woman hissed onto her daughter’s face. “He came and took me, put his seed inside of me – he put you inside of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Momma… forgive me…” Melody cried out.

  “It’s not my forgiveness you need,” her mother screeched into Melody’s upturned face. “It is the Lord’s forgiveness you must seek.”

  Melody cried out and threw her hands to her head as her mother grabbed her daughter by the hair, pulling her towards the altar. “Over the box,” her mother seethed, forcing her daughter to bend over.

  “No, Momma,” Melody sobbed hysterically as if knowing what was coming.

  To watch what was happening from my hiding place behind the statue I couldn’t help but be reminded of the relationship I’d had with my own mother. Her room had been adorned with statues of the Elders, just like this room had been decorated with figurines. I remembered my mother catching me drawing on the garden wall with chalk and she had forced me to take my clothes off and stand in the cold while I prayed for forgiveness from the Elders.

  You’re a sinner and you must repent! Now get on your knees and pray to the Elders. I heard my mother’s voice as if she were standing beside me.

  I stood behind the statue and covered my ears with my hands, and in my heart I didn’t know if I were blocking out the sound of my
own mother’s voice, or that of Melody’s momma.

  The woman forced Melody into a kneeling position over the box before the huge cross. Melody’s momma had that crazy, wide-eyed look that my own mother had in her eyes when she had punished me for such minor indiscretions.

  She hitched up the girl’s skirt, revealing the backs of her bare legs. Melody tried to pull her dress down again and I understood why. I remembered those feelings of embarrassment I had felt as my own mother had made me strip in the garden. I hadn’t wanted her to see me like that – it had been humiliating. And I felt Melody’s humiliation now. I closed my eyes over the tears that stung in them. The urge to leap from behind my hiding place and rip Melody’s mother’s fucking head clean off was almost unbearable. But I remembered what Lilly Blu had said – she had told me not to get involved – not to change anything in this world. The woman who was now torturing her daughter before me wasn’t my mother, and I had to find a way of letting go.

  So however much I wanted to kill that fucking bitch, just like I had killed my own mother, I had to stay hidden as Melody’s momma took what looked like a small leather whip from the pouch on the front of her apron. With one hand gripping the back of Melody’s neck, forcing her into a kneeling position, the woman whipped the back of her daughter’s legs.

  With each deafening crack of the whip lashing across Melody’s skin, I flinched in the darkness behind the statue. Melody screamed in agony, her young voice sounding shrill. I placed my hands over my ears. Melody’s cries reminded me too much of my sister Kara’s screams as she died in my arms all those years ago. The sound of Melody’s screams and my own memories were un-fucking-bearable. I rocked forward, the sound of my weeping, drowned out by the sound of the whipping being given to Melody.

  When Melody was unable to scream no more, her mother stopped. The woman sagged backwards, gasping for breath. The exertion of whipping her daughter had obviously exhausted her. Panting, she wiped the sweat from her wrinkled brow. Melody dropped to the ground like a broken doll.