‘Dad was a good man, wasn’t he?’ Amanda resisted the urge to scratch at the sleeves of the black woollen dress her mother had picked out for her that morning.
‘He was the best kind of man.’ Corrine lifted a crinkled white handkerchief to her cheeks and dabbed at her tears and smeared mascara.
The cottage was finally empty. All of the mourners and well-wishers had moved on having issued heartfelt condolences and eaten their weight in finger sandwiches. Amanda swept her gaze around the living room, still not quite believing that her father wasn’t about to burst through the door any minute. She couldn’t imagine him in the long wooden box they’d committed to the ground just hours earlier.
‘Your dad, he always put his family first.’ Corrine’s handkerchief was now streaked with black but she continued to dab at her cheeks and panda eyes. ‘There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for you and me. He’d have given us his last penny if we’d asked him of it.’
‘What do we do now, without him?’ Amanda hugged a small crochet pillow to her chest. The date of her father’s accident had been carefully stitched into it. A ‘gift’ from Mrs Simmons who lived further down the street. Amanda couldn’t wait to take the pillow down to the beach and watch it burn on the next bonfire she made with Shane and John.
Shane had stayed longer than most people had. He let Amanda cry against his shoulder and barely spoke, as if he knew that words had no weight on days such as these.
‘We are tasked with the unfortunate demand of carrying on.’ Her mother ceased dabbing her cheeks and stood up with purpose, eyeing all the empty china plates littered around the room.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your dad is gone. It’s us, the living, who now get to suffer.’
Amanda whimpered into the pillow, letting her tears sink deep into its fabric.
‘Your dad would want us to be strong.’ Corrine started to stack the plates up. She had to be careful as it was the finest china she’d used for her guests, the set which she’d once received as a wedding gift.
‘But I just want him back,’ Amanda wailed. ‘This is so unfair.’
All she wanted was a hug from the man who meant the world to her. Instead she’d had to put on an itchy black dress and say goodbye to him forever.
‘Life is unfair.’ Corrine was taking her stack of plates into the kitchen, finding comfort in her current pragmatism of attending to chores.
‘He was a good man,’ Amanda chased after her, still clutching the unfortunate pillow. ‘The best man. You said so yourself. So why did he have to die? How is that right?’
Corrine dumped the plates into the sink and spun around to look at Amanda. Her eyes misted with fresh tears which she didn’t bother to dab away. ‘There is no right or wrong when it comes to death. Good men, bad men, even the best men, they will all be forced to meet their maker at some point. None of us can escape that fate.’
*
The next ten minutes felt like an eternity. Amanda’s muscles were tight. She was pressed against the tree in a permanent state of alertness. Every chirp of birdsong or rustle of leaves sounded like a jackhammer going off. Her sanity began to gnaw in on itself.
What if McAllister wasn’t coming?
What if he knew that she was waiting for him?
What if some of his best guys were currently heading her way?
She was driving herself mad with the ‘what ifs’. But the doubt-filled questions kept coming, falling like an avalanche around her.
What if I’m too late?
Footsteps. Light, yet unmistakeable. Amanda held in a breath and barely moved a muscle as she inched her head out from beyond the cover of the oak and glimpsed along the jogging trail.
McAllister was coming. He was running directly towards her, arms powering at his sides. He wore grey joggers and a white T-shirt. His hair was slicked back, perhaps still damp from his morning shower. This was it.
If Amanda stayed where she was he’d just run past, move deeper into the woods without ever knowing that she’d been there lurking, watching his every move. Doing nothing proved to be a tantalising proposition. Amanda entertained how it would feel to just watch him run away, to not endanger his life or her own.
But then she remembered the weight of Will’s lifeless body in her arms. The warmth of his blood as it flowed out of him and stained her hands. He’d been her oak tree and though he’d done his best he could never completely shield her from the darkness of his past. Amanda tightened her grip on her gun and moved away from the tree’s protection. It took her several strides to plant herself in the middle of the jogging trail.
McAllister ceased running. He slowed to a halt three feet away from her, panting. There was a sheen of sweat across his forehead which wrinkled with confusion.
‘Jesus, am I seeing a ghost?’
He smiled at her. Genuinely smiled, almost laughed, like he was being reunited with an old friend. Amanda wasn’t about to be fooled by his false warmth. She showed her ace as she raised her gun and aimed it squarely at his chest. McAllister staggered back in surprise and slowly lifted his arms up above his head.
‘My, my, it seems you and Jakey boy had more in common than I thought.’
‘You killed him.’ Emotions were coursing through Amanda like a potent black tide, desperately trying to drag her under. But she needed to keep her head above water, needed to stay focused.
‘I did no such thing. We’ve been over this.’ McAllister’s grey eyes danced over her. He sniggered when he saw the faded shadows of her bruises upon her face. ‘You look like somebody gave you a well-earned beating.’
‘I have you to thank for that.’ Amanda spread her feet, squared her shoulders, just like Shane had showed her how to do when they had practised.
‘You’re spunky, I’ll give you that. I figured you’d be fish food by now.’
‘You figured wrong.’
‘Still nursing that death wish though, aren’t ya?’ The left side of McAllister’s mouth lifted into a crooked smile. ‘I mean, why seek me out like this? Unless you want to finish what we started?’
Amanda bristled as she felt him undressing her with his eyes, devouring her with his hungry gaze. Though his hands remained above his head McAllister seemed completely unfazed by the gun currently aimed at his chest. Raising his hands was just paying her gesture lip service. This was clearly not his first time being held at gunpoint, which didn’t surprise Amanda one bit.
‘You killed Will and then you tried to kill me.’
‘Tried, failed,’ McAllister gave a flippant shrug. ‘And here you are, set to live another day. Provided you put that toy down and turn around. I’m willing to forget that you were ever stupid enough to show up here. I’ll carry on imagining you as a bloated corpse floating around in the big blue.’
‘You’re not a man who shows anyone mercy.’ Amanda’s arms were beginning to struggle with the weight of the gun but she didn’t flinch.
‘Sweetheart, you need to stop aiming that thing at me unless you intend to use it.’
‘I intend to use it.’ Amanda’s words were like nails – hard and sharp. She kept telling herself to focus, that she was at the finish line, all she needed to do was break through the ribbon and cement herself as the winner.
‘Bullshit.’ McAllister narrowed his eyes at her, his lips curling into a snarl. ‘I bet you don’t even know how to use the fucking thing. Stop wasting my time, Mrs Thorn. Or are you going by Miss Thorn now? Who the hell even cares? Step aside.’
McAllister lowered his arms and took a bold step forwards but Amanda held her ground. She kept the hands wrapped around the gun level, her aim steady.
He cocked his head at her, looking like he was caught somewhere between amused and annoyed. ‘I tell you now, lassie, that you don’t have the guts to kill someone.’
‘You know nothing about me.’
‘I know that you’re not from Jake’s world. I bet that’s what he liked about you – that you were so pure.’ Venom coated the final world.
‘You mean like your daughters were?’
That struck a nerve. McAllister’s neck snapped back as though she’d just given him whiplash. ‘Careful what you say, sweetheart.’ He still managed to sound menacing and dangerous even though she was the one holding a gun.
‘What about all the girls you smuggle into the country for a life of sexual slavery? I imagine they were pure before you ruined them. You ruin everything you touch. You’re toxic. You’re poison.’
‘I’m done listening to this bullshit. Either shoot me or get the fuck out of my way.’
Amanda tightened her grip on the gun and pressed her fingers against the trigger. All she had to do was squeeze and McAllister would be gone. Dead. But was he right – did she have it in her to kill someone? To be a murderer?
Before going into the woods she thought she’d covered every eventuality. She wore her gloves, used the darknet to cover her tracks, to give her an airtight alibi. She didn’t stop to consider that she might be the very thing standing in her own way, that her conscience might prevent her from crossing a line.
‘Jake got what was coming to him and so did you,’ McAllister was getting angry. His cheeks turned crimson as he spat out his hate-filled words. ‘When you tread on a scorpion, you better hope you crush its stinger else it’ll turn around and hit you right back, only it hits a lot harder.’
‘Will Thorn was my husband.’ Amanda thought of the man she’d married, the man she’d lay in bed with and dreamt beside. Even though he’d wrapped himself up in so many lies Will Thorn did still exist. He’d been the man who stroked Amanda’s forehead when she had a nightmare, who cleaned her car and restocked the oil without asking, who insisted on them eating dinner together every night to ensure they had quality time together. He had loved her. That part had never been a lie.
‘Will Thorn was Jake Burton. Stop being such a stupid bitch and holding onto his lies. I’m over this little reunion of ours. You’re not going to kill me.’
‘I’ve watched a man die in the woods before.’ Amanda was crying but her arms remained stiff. She refused to let her aim dip, even for a second. ‘I can do it again.’
McAllister lunged at her and she squeezed the trigger.
*
‘Did I nearly die today, Daddy?’ Amanda sat wide-eyed on the garden bench. She didn’t know how to process the feeling of staring into the void and having the void stare back. The old bench creaked as her dad sat down beside her. He didn’t look at her, instead he let his gaze drift towards the horizon so that they were both staring at the sun as it dipped towards the water.
‘It was a close call,’ he admitted, lacing an arm across her shoulders and tugging her closer to him. ‘You certainly scared me and definitely shaved a few years off my life.’ He gave a low chuckle.
‘What if I’d fallen?’ Amanda remained completely serious. For her there was no mirth to be found in what had happened earlier that day. Her stomach was still on a frantic spin cycle because of it.
‘But you didn’t fall.’
‘If I had?’
‘Amanda—’
‘What if you hadn’t been there to catch me?’ Amanda looked away from the setting sun, at the low-lying clouds which had been stained red like heavenly rubies. She watched her father scratch at his cheek and realised that her question had provoked him to do some serious thinking. This filled her with a weird sense of pride. She was always trying to impress her father, to prove to him how smart she was.
‘Today, I was there.’ He lowered his hand from his cheek and rested it flatly against his knee. The corduroy trousers he wore had been thinned by many years of wear. Once upon a time they’d been the colour of strong coffee but now they were more of a delicate beige. ‘But you know, I won’t always be there.’ A sad sigh escaped from his lips as he turned from the sunset and bowed his head towards her. ‘I’ll always be here,’ he tapped at her chest with his finger, ‘and here.’ The tip of his finger touched her forehead. ‘But not always here.’ His hand was resting on his lap once more.
‘So what happens when you’re not here to save me?’ Amanda’s shoulders began to shake. She was about to cry. It would be a mournful, haunting sound like all the other crying fits she’d had that afternoon. She wanted to shake off the shadow which had attached itself to her back and clawed its long fingers into her slim shoulders. She didn’t want to have to wear it for the rest of her life.
‘Someday you’re going to have to figure out how to save yourself.’
‘What about Mummy?’
‘Mummy and I won’t always be around.’
‘Then who will save me when I fall?’
‘You will, Amanda.’ He smiled at her, his eyes warm with pride. ‘You’re so bright, and so adventurous. But take care. You really scared me today, the cliffs are no place for little girls to be playing.’
‘I wasn’t playing,’ Amanda objected, pouting. ‘I was searching. For nests.’
‘Well then the cliffs are no place to go searching, either. You have to be careful, sweetheart. The world can be a dangerous place.’
‘Because of bad people?’
Her father chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered his response. ‘I mean, sometimes, yes.’
‘And places can be bad too, like the cliffs?’
‘Amanda, what you need to remember…’ he turned her to face him so that his eyes bore into her own as though he was trying to create a clear highway for the information he was about to impart. ‘No one is inherently bad. Just as no one is inherently good.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Bad people can do good things. Good people can do bad things.’
‘But they’re still bad though, right?’
He looked away from her. At the light leaking through the rose bushes. The sun had almost been completely swallowed up by the sea.
‘I know it’s a lot to grasp when you’re young, but try not to be too judgemental, Amanda. Good, bad, they are such definitive ways to see the world. It’s like a beautiful painting – from a distance it’s this wonderful image, but up close it’s a tapestry of little brushstrokes. Always try and see things for what they really are, not the illusion. Especially when it comes to people.’
‘So there are no bad people?’
‘There are bad choices. And often in life your choices are what make you.’
‘But you’re a good person, aren’t you, Daddy?’
‘Because I choose to be. And I definitely try to be.’
‘Then I’ll choose to be good too.’ Amanda nuzzled up against her father. He smelt of old books and coffee. The last light of the day glowed upon her dad’s face. The swirling in her stomach stopped. Amanda was with her hero, her saviour. She was safe. ‘When I grow up I want to be just like you – brave and good.’
*
There was no sound. The bullet charted a silent trajectory from the gun to McAllister’s chest. Amanda wasn’t even certain she’d fired it until he staggered back from her, his hands instinctively clawing at where his ribs met.
Clamping a gloved hand to her mouth, Amanda watched McAllister’s white T-shirt bloom red. He dropped to his knees and stared up at her, wheezing out laboured breaths through his wounded chest.
‘You… bitch.’ His perfect teeth were tarnished by the dark treacle of his own blood. He hunched forward to spit some of it out.
He was still alive, still staring at her. If she ran now he’d be able to fumble in his pocket for his phone, rasp out a cry to help to the goons stored back at his mansion. A helicopter might be flown in to help hurry him to a hospital so that doctors could spend the rest of the day saving his pitiful life.
Amanda kept her gun held stiffly in her hands and aimed upon him. ‘This is for Will.’ She fired off a second shot. McAllister instantly dropped to the ground. He was on his side, his eyes wide as blood trickled out of the fresh hole in the centre of his forehead. For a moment all Amanda could do was stare at him. His blood was seeping out into the mud of the jogging trail, the colour leaving his face.
‘We need to get the hell out of here.’ Shane was dragging her away, pulling her back to her senses. She felt like she was drifting in a bubble, like a bomb had just exploded right beside her, muting the rest of the world. As she staggered away from Gregg McAllister’s fallen body, her senses came hurtling back at her with the force of a freight train. The birds were still singing, though their melody was deafening. The rustles of the leaves felt like sinister whispers sharing secrets, all of which were about her. The woods were no longer tranquil and beautiful. They were terrifying.