They stumbled through the forest, almost losing their way, then hurried across the meadow. Emily clutched the knife in her hand, wondering if she would be able to use it if she had to.
The front door of the house was open. Light spilled out.
Emily pushed her legs forwards. Twice, she almost fell, but Jerome was there to hold her up. Passing through the garden, she saw two sets of muddy footprints trailing along the corridor towards the Hardys’ living quarters.
Chest rising and falling in quick succession, Emily nodded at Jerome. Together, they stepped into the foyer.
“Wait!”
Jerome tugged her back outside. In the northwest corner of the forest, a haze of blue and red lights flashed above the treetops.
“They’re here,” Jerome said. “The police are here!”
The lights were mesmerising, like the afterglow of fireworks. Emily blinked them away. Minutes would pass before the police would walk through the front door. Terrible things could happen in a matter of seconds. She stood, her senses pulling towards rescue and her conscience pulling towards the house.
No one else was going to die.
“Emily, no! What are you doing?”
Jerome pulled her back. She tried to shake him off but his grip was firm.
“We have to go in there, Jerome.”
He stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, then jabbed a finger towards the lights. “Are you out of your mind? The police are right there! They’ll be here any minute!”
“Melody doesn’t have a minute!” she said. “They’re going to kill her, Jerome. Don’t you see? They’ve played her all along. Used her loneliness to manipulate her into making a stupid, stupid mistake.”
She moved forwards. Jerome held her back.
“Even so, she should have known. There’s this thing called right and wrong.”
“So we just let her die? You really think she deserves that?”
Their eyes burned into each other. Far behind them, the police lights inched closer. Jerome released his grip. His shoulders sagged.
“Fine. But this time, I’m coming with you.”
They entered the foyer together, heading in silence along the corridor and towards the Hardys’ living quarters. The door was ajar.
Knife wavering in front of her, Emily peered inside. Helen was alone, slumped on the sofa. They hurried towards her. Jerome pressed two fingers into Helen’s jugular.
“She’s alive. Looks like the bleeding has stopped too.”
Emily glanced out of the window. In the distance, she saw beams of torchlight emerge from the forest. She turned and faced the door that led towards the bedrooms. A smear of blood stained the jamb. A muffled cry came through the wood. Trembling, Emily reached for the handle.
She looked back at Jerome, who was propping Helen’s head up with more pillows. Their eyes met. Jerome shook his head wildly.
Emily opened the door.
Pamela stood in the centre of the corridor, hands pressed up against the bathroom door. She turned towards Emily. She looked old and weak, all the vitality sucked from her bones.
“Please, help me!” she sobbed. She turned back towards the door, curled her hands into fists, and pounded the wood.
Emily held out the knife in front of her. She looked uncertainly at Pamela, then to the door. Jerome came up behind.
“Please!” Pamela screamed. “Stop her!”
Frightened now, Emily looked at Jerome. He ran forwards, pushing Pamela out of the way. Then, bracing himself against the wall, he charged at the door. The lock broke on his second attack, tearing away from the jamb. The door flew inwards.
Knife still in her hand, Emily entered the bathroom.
They were sat in the bath, toe to toe. Melody’s hands were still tied. Her knees were pulled up to her chest. Her back pressed into the taps. She turned to face Emily, her face smeared with tears and dirt and splashes of blood. She sobbed into the gag.
Marcia sat across from her, unmoving, her skin draining to a horrible shade of grey. She had made two deep cuts that ran the length of her inner arms. Blood poured and spurted from the wounds, effervescent against white porcelain.
Emily was paralysed. She watched scarlet rivulets run along the bottom of the tub to soak Melody’s sweatpants. A bloody razorblade rested on the floor. It took just a second to drink it all in but that second lasted for an hour. Behind her, Pamela fell to her knees and wailed.
Springing into action, Emily pulled towels from the rail and moved towards the bathtub. Marcia’s eyes opened. She watched Emily as she wrapped a towel around one of her forearms, then started work on the other.
“I need more!” she cried.
Behind her, Jerome darted from the room.
Emily tightened the towels but they were already dark with Marcia’s blood.
“I’m sorry.”
Emily looked up. Marcia stared at her, the light draining from her irises.
“Why?” Emily choked. “Why didn’t you just say no? Why didn’t you just tell her to stop?”
Marcia swallowed. An exhausted smile found its way to her lips. Pamela was crawling towards the tub on her hands and knees, spit hanging from her mouth.
“Mother knows best,” Marcia whispered.
Then she was dead, her eyes fixed on Pamela for an eternity.
Melody began to howl. She squirmed against her bindings and thrashed against the bathtub. Jerome returned with a large pile of towels. He saw Marcia’s lifeless eyes, then hugged the towels to his chest.
Pamela pulled Marcia towards her, wrapping arms around her back. In the bathtub, Melody continued to wail through her gag. Voices and footsteps filled the air, followed by the crackle of police radios.