Mirrorland Carole Johnstone (find a book to read .TXT) 📖

‘All right.’ He screws up the postcard in his fist. ‘All right. I wanted her to find out about us. That’s why I wrote it. Why I set it up. I was sick of lying. I wanted her to know how much we wanted each other. And I know how bad that sounds, I know how bad it was, believe me.’ He drops the postcard, breaches the space between us, and inside the next roll of thunder, takes hold of my hands, presses his lips quick and warm against mine, and looks at me with such sincerity and sorrow that I almost forget why we’re here.

‘But then she tried to kill herself. Because of what I’d done. She begged me. She told me I was the only man she could ever love. That she would destroy all of us before she’d ever let you have me.’ He strokes his fingers up and down my skin. ‘She wasn’t in her right mind, Cat, she needed help. And I already felt so guilty. You know I did.’

‘I know you did.’

‘She blackmailed me, that’s all. You’re the one I always wanted.’

There’s no point in me asking him about El’s letter or ‘Mouse’s’ accusations. His text on Marie’s phone. Every answer will be the same. She’s crazy. Delusional. She needs help.

When I move away from him, from the relentless stroke of his fingers, he steps between me and the staircase.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m leaving.’

‘No.’ He folds his arms. I make myself walk towards him.

‘Let me past.’

He grabs for me, pulls me against him, pushes his cold hands up under my T-shirt, licks and kisses my neck.

‘Ross. Let me past.’

His hands move around to my bra, his thumbs pressing hard against my nipples, teeth grazing the underside of my jaw just enough to hurt.

‘Let me go!’

But of course, he won’t. That’s not what he does.

I have a sudden sharp memory of El and me sitting inside our cells in the Shank. Ross, the wing guard, looking in at us through chicken-wire mesh. Brown eyes, warm smile. I’ll let you out. I’ll let both of you out, but only if you promise never to run away. If you promise to stay with me forever.

The minute I retreat backwards, he lunges for me again. When I slam my knee up into his crotch, he grunts, eyes widening in shock. He lets go just long enough for me to dodge around him and up onto the first step. His shout is almost a wheezed cough; I feel the heavy topple of him against the stairs, and I start sprinting upwards, my body and mind suddenly – finally – awake.

He catches me on the second-from-last step, his fingers closing tight around my ankle like the clichéd kind of monster I’m beginning to think he is. I kick out, but his fingers only wind tighter, higher, digging into the muscles of my calf. My palm slaps echoless against the door out of Mirrorland before Ross turns me around and drags me back down alongside him, the stairs’ hard edges scraping my bones, banging hard enough against the back of my head that I see brief black spots.

After Grandpa dragged us away from the wall, from our escape, he let us go long enough that we tried to run. He caught El on the stairs. By the time she stopped screaming, my eyes were blurred with blood and panic. I reached down for her hand and it was gone. Bluebeard’s deadlight shone its thin silver thread against the staircase ceiling. I could hear grunts and mutters over a wet dreadful choking.

Ross’s sweat is sour. I struggle to get out from under him. Furious tears sting inside my eyes. I can’t breathe.

I’m here. And her voice isn’t an echo, it’s as hot and urgent against my ear as Ross’s curses against my face.

I screamed when I climbed down close enough to the bottom of the stairs to see Grandpa’s hands around El’s neck, her mouth half open, eyes wide white. Our slingshots and war clubs were shut inside the armoire, but I punched him like a cowboy and kicked at him like a Sioux. Screamed at the impotent horror of seeing El’s bloodshot eyes fix onto mine and knowing Mum was right: I hadn’t practised enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t stop him.

I look up. Stop struggling against Ross and go limp when I see that piece of white card fixed to the ceiling with black electrical tape.

SNOW-WHITE SAID: ‘WE WILL NOT LEAVE EACH OTHER.’

ROSE-RED ANSWERED: ‘NEVER SO LONG AS WE LIVE.’

The silence is thick and urgent. Even the storm retreats.

‘She’s here.’

‘Who’s here?’ Ross sounds uncertain, maybe even afraid.

‘What are you doing, Ross?’ I muster as ordinary a voice as I can – no small feat under the circumstances.

He looks down at me, draws his bottom lip between his teeth. That familiar furrow between his eyes returns, and he plants his hands against a step somewhere above me, takes away his weight with slow reluctance. He turns, backs up a few steps towards the pantry. Stares down at me, and then up at the ceiling. That furrow drives deeper. He doesn’t know it’s our pirate code. He doesn’t know we had a pirate code. And he certainly doesn’t know that it means Trust me. Trust me and no one else. Even when you don’t want to.

The rain rattles against the wooden roof, and I think of the door behind Ross and the cold dark wet outside with a longing worse than thirst. ‘You sabotaged our escape. You blocked our way out and then you warned him, you helped him. And then you pretended you didn’t. You pretended to warn us, to help us instead.’

‘No. No.’ He scrambles back down towards me, banging his knuckles against the wall hard enough to make me wince, though it hardly gives him pause at all. ‘Baby, you’re wrong. This is wrong.’ He looks at me, cups my