Deep Water Mark Ayre (inspirational books for students txt) 📖

“You planned to wait until you were sure Louis was asleep, then break in and end his life. How long would you give Louis after the lights went out? Maybe half an hour, but that would be risky. Two hours feels too long. One hour, that’s your Goldilocks point. Just right.”

Still nothing from Tony. They reached the bottom of the street. Without thinking, Abbie took a turn onto another cobbled path. Already on this cold Friday morning, ahead of sunset, a couple of shops were opening. Abbie smiled at a shop keeper before returning to Tony.

“After the lights went out at midnight, did they come back on before Jacob got home? Any of them?”

Tony didn’t answer, which was all the answer Abbie needed.

“Could you hear movement inside at any point?”

Tony didn’t answer, which was all the answer Abbie needed.

“Did you try to break into the house before Jacob returned home?”

“Okay,” said Tony. “That’s enough.”

“You didn’t,” said Abbie. “Which means rather than waiting one hour after Louis turned the light off, you’d sat by that bush in the freezing cold for six, staring at the house, willing yourself to go inside.”

“I said, Enough.”

“Do you want this gun back?” said Abbie. “Do you plan to kill Louis?”

“I can do it. I have to. If you’ll just give me—”

“Then it’s not enough,” interjected Abbie. “You waited for hours in a freezing cold garden staring at a house because you were too afraid to move, because you’re not a killer, because you don’t have the stomach to walk up to a sleeping man, put a gun to his head, and pull the trigger. I’m sure you conjured numerous excuses while freezing your butt off in that garden, but you know that’s the real reason. With the lights off, with no sign Louis was awake, there was no other reason to delay your break-in. If Jacob hadn’t arrived and shocked you into action, I’m willing to bet you would have stayed there until the sun rose, and Louis left, or the gardeners returned. Until you knew your chance was gone. Then you’d have slunk off home, got into bed, and screamed into your pillow. You would have hated yourself even more than you do now. You should be thanking me for dragging you away. For giving you an excuse.”

They’d reached the bottom of the second street. Rather than turning, Abbie stopped and faced Tony. From her jacket, she removed the gun and held it by her stomach. Stepping closer to Tony, putting her chest an inch from his, Abbie trapped the weapon between them, concealing it from passers-by. Though Abbie was tall, Tony was half a head taller. Tilting her head up, she met his eye.

“I don’t care if you tell a thousand lies to me,” said Abbie. “But I strongly advise being honest with yourself.”

Taking Tony’s hand, Abbie moved it to the gun, wrapped it around the handle with her hand over his.

“You were having no luck picking Louis’ lock when I found you,” said Abbie. “It’s gone six. Louis will soon be awake if he isn’t already. He probably keeps a gun by the bed in case of trouble if he’s the type of man you’ve implied. But let’s assume everything goes to plan. You get through the door and, without Jacob hearing, make your way to the master bedroom. Louis doesn’t wake. You turn the gun—” she twisted it in his hand, so the business end was pressed into her stomach. Tony’s breath hitched with fear. Good. She wanted him to imagine this. “—towards his head. You have him in your sights; there is nothing he can do to stop you. You think of your sister. Remind yourself over and over that he murdered her. You have your finger on the trigger. It will all be over in a second.”

She put his finger on the trigger. He was trembling so hard, it would be a miracle if he didn’t accidentally shoot her. Abbie didn’t shake. She kept her eyes on his.

“You tell yourself all you have to do is pull the trigger, and it’s over.”

She still had one hand laid over his. She squeezed.

“Could you do it? Could you end Louis’ life?”

“My sister was only fifteen,” he said, his voice cracked, broken. “She was innocent.”

“Doesn’t answer the question. Could you kill Louis?”

“I have to. I have to do it.”

“Could you kill him?”

He was staring at her. Tears brimmed and then broke from his eyes. Looking down, he saw the gun in his hand, saw the way it pushed into Abbie’s midriff. He imagined pulling the trigger, imagined the bullet tearing through flesh. Closing his eyes, he envisioned putting a shot through Louis’ brain.

In a sudden jerk, he yanked his hand from the gun and shoved it towards Abbie. With calm speed, she slipped it into her jacket.

Still sobbing, Tony took two steps back, then his legs seemed to give way. He dropped to his knees and buried his head in his hands.

There were two or three people in the street now. Catching sight of the crying, crumpled man, they looked his way. Ignoring them, Abbie crouched beside Tony and put an arm around him.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“I can’t let her down. I can’t let her down.”

“And you won’t,” said Abbie. “You’ll never let her down, no matter what you do to Louis. I promise you that.”

He continued to cry, and Abbie pulled him closer. She shushed him and waited for him to get himself under control. At last, he was able to tear his face from his hands and look at Abbie. He had been quite handsome before he broke down, but now was not the time to mention he was an ugly crier.

“What now?” he said.

“We can deal with Louis later,” said Abbie. “For now, you need to take me to your mother.”

Eight

The sun climbed over the houses and shops, draping the quaint coastal town in a weak, watery light that seemed to contain no warmth.

Tony didn’t look up