The Last Witch: Volume Three

Mr Simmons’ heavy steel toe-capped boot presses into my shoulder.

‘Wake up, girl. For goodness sake. What am I? Your bloody butler?’ He presses harder and tuts as I struggle to open my eyes. ‘Lazy bloody brat. Ungrateful and wretched creature. Get up before I drag you up!’

‘I’m up,’ I slur before he can put his hands on me, while still trying to blink open my eyes. He keeps on nudging me with his boot and I recoil, desperate not to feel the burning agony that comes with physical contact. ‘I’m up, Sir. I’m up,’ I insist, forcing myself onto my back so I can see past him and up to the ceiling. The sun streams through the window straight into my eyes. I lift my arm to shield my vision.

I’m on the floor and exactly where I was when I gave up last night. After Ryan left, I came to with barely enough strength to pull on my jogging trousers and my mother’s old t-shirt before curling up in a ball and sleeping off the nightmare that is my life. As I move, I feel the bruises. Both inside and out. The marks he’s inflicted meld with the ones given to me by others. My uncle. My aunt. The brute of a military man currently standing over me.

Mr Simmons drops a bruised apple by my head, telling me I have five minutes to eat it before I get a few minutes in the bathroom to wash myself. He leaves the room to wait outside as I take hold of the apple and bite into it. The taste is bland and grainy. I long for the taste of a fresh, crisp and perfectly ripe piece. My mouth waters at the memory of an apple plucked straight from the tree. Strange, because I have never tasted such a thing. Yet, I am sure that my taste buds remember it. I chew and look up at the rafters, blinking against the rays of light. As I blink, images of dark hair and vivid blue eyes flash across my vision. The smell of a leather coat and the scent of sandalwood and vanilla fill my nostrils. After a quick sniff of the fruit, I know that it’s not coming from that. I reach up and run my hand through my hair, feeling my scalp for any sign of injury. Ryan struck me last night, the hit is affecting my senses. It happens sometimes. As I pull my fingers through the long mass of red curls, I see fingers drag through brown hair and a wicked grin in the quickest of flashes.

My insides twist and with a gasp, I swiftly sit, ignoring the pain that shoots through me from last night’s assault.

I clutch at my heart which hammers wildly. Adrenaline courses through me and I start to shake.

And then, as quickly as it all arrived, it fades.

‘You sick?’ Mr Simmons asks. ‘Because if you are, you can go out with the dogs while you recover. I won’t have your germs be spread around this household.’ I look at him as he fills the doorway with his enormous frame. The buttons on his waistcoat strain against the bulk of his gut. ‘Well?!’ he snaps.

‘No, sir,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not unwell.’

The last thing I want is to be locked out there in the sheds for two weeks, surrounded by dog piss and shit.

‘Then what was that?’ he barks. ‘You looked like you’d seen a ghost.’

‘It was nothing, sir,’ I tell him, lowering my gaze. ‘Just a lingering dream, I guess.’ I try to grab hold of the images that passed so briefly through my mind and attempt to recall why I had suddenly filled with such an urgent need to do… something.

What was it? I knew it for a second. A job, perhaps? A task that I needed to complete?

But like smoke, the more I try to grasp the dream or the memory or whatever it was, the more it slips through my fingers.

I get a hard whack on the back of my head. One that jolts my neck and makes my ears ring.

‘Enough daydreaming,’ he says, readying his hand for another blow if I don’t get a move on. ‘Get in the bathroom, or you can kiss your day’s rations goodbye.’

I get on my feet and with my head down, I go into the hall and towards the bathroom.

I wash and brush my teeth. As I dress, I’m careful to not look at the deep purple bruises and scratches between my thighs.

And then I’m put in the library and made to sit at the piano playing an arrangement of Camille Saint-Saen’s Danse Macabre. The window is slightly open and the breeze blows my sheet music.

I miss a note.

WHACK!

My Simmons brings down the metal ruler on my knuckles. I seal my lips shut, knowing that if I cry out or even hiss at the pain, he’ll only strike me harder.

He points to the keys.

‘Again.’

I play. My fingers glide across the ivory and the melody is beautiful. I close my eyes and let myself fall into its gothic wonder. And like a scene from a film, I see a man beside me, his fingers moving at speed as he plays with me. And when he flashes me the most beautiful smile, my fingers forget what they’re doing and I create a hideous sound.

WHACK!

I clutch my knuckles close to my chest and close my eyes. I even stop myself from breathing because it will only let out the scream brewing in my lungs and if I let that out, the ruler will be the least of my problems because it’s a scream fuelled by anger and hatred. Such an outburst will not be taken by the ex-military man and certainly not by my aunt or uncle.

I’ll take the ruler.

It’s odd, though. Emotions are rarely things I feel these days, except for dread, of course. My emptiness has been pretty constant since the night of the fireworks when Ryan first laid his hands on me over two years ago. Getting angry leads to nothing but trouble, so I never get angry. And the longer I refuse to allow such emotions into myself, the easier it becomes to feel nothing. With every day, with every beating and humiliation and night spent clutching my stomach against the crippling hunger pains, I die a little more. My spirit and my desire to see another day, another sunrise, is taken. With each hit. With each slap. With each thrust. Between them, they’ve been taking my life for years, but this morning feels different. For the first time in so long, I feel a spark inside me. One of hope and one of purpose. I look down and see that he has split my skin. I watch a bead of red glide between my knuckles and travel down along my wrist, meeting the cloth binding spell I have knotted tightly around my wrist. The blood seeps into the material, and I let my attention linger on the spell that I have worn for as long as I can remember.

The corners of my mouth itch and for a second, I see myself in the dark, the binding spell tied around my head and stuffed into my mouth as a gag.

‘Again!’ Simmons orders as he paces back and forth, far too agitated for only my mistakes to be upsetting him and far too agitated for my liking. ‘Play it again and if you miss another note, you will regret it.’

I take a breath, roll my shoulders and flex my fingers before playing once more.

‘It’s too slow,’ he informs me. ‘Pick up the tempo.’

I do, but my hands are sore and fingers cumbersome as the swelling and bruising start. Droplets of blood land on the keys, making them slippery. I feel the music and let it flow through me as I always do. It travels from my heart, this beautifully gothic melody, and leaves me through my fingers to travel into the world.

The clock chimes out in the hall, marking midday, and a feeling of being horribly late swamps me, just as a voice screams at me in my head.

‘GET TO THE BLOODSTONE!’

But the voice isn’t in my head. I screamed it so loudly, Mr Simmons dropped his ruler in surprise. The metal lands with a thud on the wooden floor and twangs at it bounces. My fingers stop and I take a shaky breath as I wait for the inevitable reaction.

I feel his protruding belly press against my back. I sit bolt upright and tense.

‘Explain.’

‘I-I’m sorry,’ I stammer, barely moving. ‘I don’t know what that was. I-’

Mr Simmons grabs me by my hair and tosses me to the floor. I roll several times before hitting the ottoman by the wall and knocking over several garish ornaments resting on its surface.

‘You dare raise your voice to me?’ he growls, standing over me with clenched fists. ‘What has gotten into you? Are you deranged? Have you lost your senses? Who in the hell do you think you are talking to, huh? You are a waste of air, girl. And teaching you anything is a waste of my time.’

‘Then why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?’ I snap back before I can stop myself. Never mind the look of furious shock on his face, even my eyes have widened at my unheard of outburst. I raise my hands and shake my head. ‘I didn’t mean it! I didn’t-’

He swiftly pulls off his belt and just starts whipping as I curl up in a ball with my hands over my head in a desperate attempt to try and protect myself. A short snap follows the sharp hiss as the belt soars through the air and meets my bare arms.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

He just keeps hitting, lost in his rage and utter indignation at the sudden change in my attitude. Each strike batters my flesh and causes me to yell. But I know that if I say another word, even to apologise, it will only be worse. Hard to believe, considering I’m being beaten so brutally, but it’s only a belt. One wrong word and it could end up a cane. A boot. A fist. So I just remain huddled up on the floor. He’s panting now, exhausted by his exertion. He drops the belt by my head and slowly, I lift my head.

He points at his weapon. ‘Put it back on me.’

I wince as I get to my knees and pick up his belt. My hands are bloody and bruised. My arms are welted and red raw from his strikes, but I carefully slide the belt through his trouser loops and buckle it up. The heat of his anger and the smell of his sweat keeps my eyes down. I know he’s watching me keenly, hoping that I meet his stare so he can find another excuse to vent his anger. Once his belt is back in place, I lower my hands and step back to look at the floor.

‘You ever…’ he pants. ‘Dare talk back to me like that again, I will have a long and persuasive chat with your uncle about ending your time living in safety and comfort under his roof. He gives you food. He shelters you. He has risked his life for years to keep you breathing when Witch Hunters could easily kill us all for harbouring you. You know the risk they pose to anyone helping your kind. So, take a moment to reconsider your words before you let them spill out of your disgusting little mouth. If we kicked you out of here, you would be snatched up by Witch Hunters before the day ended, and the things they would do to you? Well. Hell would be preferable. I assure you.’

I nod and hide the roll of my eyes. Another very uncharacteristic action.

He opens his mouth, ready to release yet more threats, but is cut off by someone knocking on the library door.

‘Enter!’ Simmons barks.

It opens and I freeze.

Ryan gives a courteous little nod before he speaks. ‘Sorry to bother you, Mr Simmons, but your husband is on the landline.’

‘What does he want?’

‘I’m not sure. He is insisting that he speaks to you, though. He says it’s urgent.’

‘Urgent indeed…’ Simmons grumbles under his breath. ‘Calling me in the middle of work. The nerve.’

I thought as much. Simmons and his husband have argued. This happens occasionally and it always puts him in a far harsher mood than usual. Slowly, Simmons turns his head to me and the hatred in his eyes burns bright. All his frustrations and his resentment over whatever they have argued about is handed to me to carry. As ever. And I have no choice but to take it.

As he heads to the door, his massive shoulder barges into me and almost knocks me clean over. I grab hold of the piano to steady myself and I’m careful to keep my head down, despite his eyes following me until he reaches the door. In a murmur, he and Ryan speak. I wait as they finish their conversation and risk a look. They both glance at me before Ryan steps into the hall to let Simmons and his enormous frame past. As I watch the library door slowly start to close, I relax all the muscles in my body. The door creaks as it closes but then stops with a small thud. I soon spot a black boot wedging it open, and with a nudge, in steps Ryan.

His sickening smile grows as he takes in the aftermath of my beating.

‘Rough morning, Lills?’ he asks, the sound of his voice alone turns me cold and every muscle in my body re-tenses. I glance past him and hope for Simmons and his belt to return. Instead, Ryan chuckles. ‘I didn’t get much sleep, so I’m feeling a little rough too if I’m honest. Spent hours watching this amazing film of us over… and over… and over…’ He watches me for a reaction. I just stay quiet. Submissive. Small and tucked away. ‘Your guard dog told me to take you out the back while he talks to hubby.’ He nods out to the hallway. ‘C’mon. It’s a nice day. Sun is shining and there’s a lovely breeze. He said you’re to help Sally hang up the linens while you wait for him.’

That sounds better than being locked up in here with Simmons and his temper or Ryan and his vile desires. He steps aside and leaves the doorway empty. I head out. As soon as I am within his reach, he lunges and pins me to the wall. He kicks the door shut behind him and presses himself against me. In an instant, before I can react or have time to stop him, one of his hands is over my mouth and his other is thrust into my trousers. My palms slam into his chest and I push, but he’s so much bigger than I am. He stifles my pain-filled cry as he rams his fingers hard inside me and laughs with fierce eyes, full of excitement and joy, as mine fill with tears.

‘Last night was amazing,’ he breathes, pushing his fingers in further and renewing the dull pain that was there before. ‘I told a buddy all about you,’ he says. ‘He didn’t believe me. He doesn’t think I would be able to have such a willing little plaything at my beck and call.’ He takes his hand from my mouth and waits. When I don’t scream, he sneers smugly. ‘You don’t cry out because you don’t want to, do you, Lills? You like what I do to you. You like it rough.’

His fingers are pushed into my mouth, all four of them, straight to the back of my throat. I gag, and my stomach churns.

‘I said he could come and meet you. That you would be a good girl for him. Just like you are with me. Just like you are now. Ohhh… look at you.’ He moans as he torments me, kicking my feet apart as I try to press my thighs together. ‘We’re gonna share you, Lills. Him and me. How does that sound? Come on. Give me what I want.’ He watches my eyes. ‘C’mon, Lills. C’mon. Give it up to me. Give it up.’ When the first tears spill down my cheeks, he lets out a long sigh. ‘There it is.’ He leans in and presses his tongue on my cheek, dragging it up and catching my tears as they fall. The moaning he creates is repulsive as he laps them up. ‘Oh yeah,’ he whispers. ‘Perfection.’

And just like that, he lets me go, stepping away to re-open the door. He peers down the hallway.

‘Simmons really does want you outside though,’ he says. ‘And Dad is pretty pissed off with me already after I raided his wallet last week. Last thing I need is for Simmons to tell him I’m not doing as I’m told with the little witch.’

‘W-what did you call me?’

‘Huh?

‘Little Witch?’ I whisper, confusion swirling inside me. I claw through my memories, desperately searching for why that sounds so damn familiar. ‘Little… Witch…’ I let the words wrap around my tongue, feeling the way it sounds as it leaves my mouth. I hear the gruff voice of an older man saying them. I see dark, shaggy hair and a wiry beard. I smell old sweat and stale spirits. And a sense of dislike, friendship but also betrayal.

‘Half breed…’

‘What did you call me?’ Ryan looks at me as I stand pressed to the wall as still as a statue. He crosses his arms over his puffed-out chest and raises his brow in daring. ‘I said, what the fuck did you just call me?’

I vehemently shake my head and back up further against the wall. ‘Nothing,’ I insist. ‘N-nothing. I swe-’

‘Get the fuck outside, Lills. Before I give you a spanking so vicious, you won’t be able to sit for a month.’ He laughs darkly before adding, ‘After last night, I’d be amazed if you do manage to sit comfortably for the next month anyway.’

Replaying Ryan’s words over in my head, I walk out into the hallway and turn right to the back door. He follows close behind.

In the garden, the sound of my uncle’s dogs barking and the hum of a lawnmower fill my ears. Birds chirp and fluffy white clouds drift slowly overhead. The scent from the lavender fields down the road faintly wafts into my nostrils.

It’s a beautiful day.

But I feel at the end of my rope. A sense of finality is quickly beginning to engulf me. One that tugs at my heart and fills me with sadness and grief.

Grief because I don’t think I can do this anymore.

Ryan kisses my cheek as he heads towards the shed to cut wood. He pops on a pair of headphones so he can listen to his hideous music, and points at Sally in the distance hanging out washing.

‘Off you pop, Lills.’

I turn towards Sally, obeying his command like an emotionless drone. My bare feet sink into the freshly cut grass and my hair blows across my face. Blood still trickles from my knuckles and the bruises from Simmons’s belt are well and truly forming on my thin and pale arms. I reach the large hamper of white bedding and Sally looks past the linen she’s in the middle of hanging to scan me.

‘You better not get blood on these sheets,’ she says, a disgusted crinkle forming in her brow. ‘I won’t touch anything if you get blood on it. I don’t want to catch anything.’

My mouth opens, and I know exactly what words are forming in my throat.

It’s like I have already heard them before and a sudden sense of déjà vu hits me like a hammer.

‘Sally,’ I say. ‘Junior… he’s been f-forcing himself on me.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she scoffs in reply.

‘He’s been sexually abusing me. And… oh god… I can’t take another second.’

‘You’re so dramatic.’

‘He’s planning on sharing me with his friend. Please, I can’t take this anymore.’

‘So?’ she shrugs. ‘Why are you telling me?’

‘Will you help me? I beg you, lend me some money so I can get away. Give me some clothes. Help me get some food to take on my journey. Teach me how to travel. How do I use a bus? A train? How does money even work? Are there safe places I can sleep at night?’

A hundred questions and I hear them all. I see myself asking them as clearly as I see the trees sway in the breeze, and I also see Sally’s reaction. Her response. Her cruel and callous eye roll as she tells me in no uncertain terms that I should feel lucky that any man would ever want to touch me considering what I am. Especially one as hot as him. That I should take what I can get. That I am blessed to have such a loyal and caring household to call home. That I am an ungrateful, spoilt little cow for daring to put these good people in danger by leaving.

That everyone in the house knows about Ryan and me. And that they either don’t care, get paid too much to want to notice, or ignore it altogether.

Sally watches me with a raised brow, confused by my open mouth and silent voice. I may know what I was about to say and apparently, what she was to say in return… but Sally has no idea.

‘Have you gone mute now?’ she asks, slamming her hands on her hips. ‘They keep telling me you’re dense. That you’re simple. Apparently, your mum was the same.’

‘My mum wasn’t simple,’ I tell her.

‘Whatever. The apple never does fall far from the tree.’

‘She was a psychotic murdering bitch actually.’ I know that I’m not going to ask for her help. Because for some reason, I know what she is going to say, word for word, in response. She’s not going to help me. No one here is ever going to help me. I need to help myself. ‘And you are absolutely right. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.’

She quickly becomes unsettled by the serenity of my voice and steps back.

I step forwards and she glances at the binding spell knotted around my wrist.

‘You dare make a move against me and I’ll-’

‘You’ll what? Beat me? Starve me? Rape me? It’s barely midday and I’ve already had all that done to me so what the hell else do you think you can do to me, huh?’

I hiss at her like a snake and she falls backwards over the laundry basket before scampering to her feet. We stand there watching each other and an odd calm settles over me. Her eyes keep glancing behind me and towards the house. I look down at the sheets bundled up in the basket and pull one out, feeling the cold cotton on my skin. I wipe my knuckles clean, leaving streaks of red on the perfectly crisp whiteness and know that this moment matters.

‘I think you should go back into the house,’ Sally says. ‘Perhaps Mr Simmons needs some assistance. He won’t be happy if he hears-’

‘I took this,’ I say, holding the sheet in my hands. ‘And I wrapped it around my neck.’ I raise my head and look to the end of the garden where the large willow tree grows far from the house. ‘I walked to the end of the garden and I hung myself.’ I look at Sally, the maid. ‘How do I know that? How do I feel that it has happened and yet it hasn’t?’ My fingers caress my throat and I recall the feel of the noose tightening and crushing me. I remember clawing at my throat, regretting my method of suicide and thinking that I should have just slit my wrists or stolen some of my aunts many, many sleeping pills.

‘I… I errr… I think I should perhaps fetch Mr Simmons.’

‘I’m going to kill myself today, Sally.’ I look in the direction of the willow tree as more and more blurred images deep in the far reaches of my mind start to clear. Images of lilac eyes filled with malice. The more I focus on them, a pressure begins to build inside my head. A deep and resounding ache that starts at the base of my neck and slowly spreads across the entirety of my skull, like a wave slowly crawling to shore. With a groan, I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes closed as the pain grows. More images slam into my subconscious. Each one feels like a hammer hitting into my temples and has me doubled over, grasping the sides of my head in desperation.

Images of my suicide at the end of the garden… and my rescue… Toby Smith! Memory after memory of our sordid and destructive relationship hurl themselves into their rightful place, cramming back into the place where they are yet to form. Gasping and trying not to vomit through the immense pain and disgust of my past… wait… future… I open my eyes wide and swear.

‘Toby Smith. He’s coming.’ I look around me, scouring the miles of hills and woodland that surround Harry’s house for any glimpse of his ashen hair or black and white fire. ‘Or he’s already here. He saves me.’ I look at the sheet which lies on the grass by my feet in a ruffled heap. ‘I remember it. He burnt the noose so I would fall. I… I think I had a vision of the future!’ Another assault fills my head with more pictures of the years that I am yet to live with this man.

This monster.

His menacing grin. His skills at making my body react to his touch. My desperate need for him. My addiction. My twisted pleasure at doing everything he asked, even if it hurt.

‘It always hurt,’ I whisper, my palm settling on my thigh where his mark is yet to be. His palm print, scorched into my flesh, claiming me as his.

More images rain down like boulders of hailstones, landing with purpose and force into my head.

Of our baby. Of The Miller’s Barn. The beating. The bleeding. The loss of my soul and the loss of my baby. Then, the carnage caused by my Broken-self in those few hours of chaos as I tortured and killed the men who helped Toby do that to me. I fall to my knees, stunned into silence as these horrific memories, or visions, cram their way back inside me. Tears slide down my cheeks and slowly, my hands fall to my stomach.

‘It’s not real… it’s not real!’ I half plead and half argue the point. Whatever I am seeing, it hasn’t happened. And now I’ve seen it, I will make sure it never will!

‘That’s enough of that!’ Sally stammers. ‘Stop it. I know you’re just trying to freak me out! I’ll… I’ll call for the Witch Hunters if you carry on. Tell them you’re here and let them take you away!’

Rage and misery fill me up as I search around me, wondering if he’s here, lurking in the bushes at the edge of the estate or lingering down by the willow just waiting. Well, I don’t know how I know what is about to happen with this Toby Smith, but there’s no way in hell it will now. I will not let him make me his… “Red”. I see nothing past my hair turning white and the blood of his men staining my skin. I turn into a monster and after that, all I see is darkness.

Nothing.

Is this a vision? Is that was has just happened? I have read about them in books. And somewhere deep in the furthest recesses of my mind, I recall my mother telling me tales of those who can see the future and that one day I too will see it.

Because I am an Arcane Witch.

How do I know that? The word Arcane has never been spoken to me, but I know! That is what I am.

This vision, or whatever it was, only fuels this nagging feeling that I have somewhere to be. Something I need to do.

‘You’re really freaking me out,’ Sally whispers fretfully, backing away slowly. ‘If you don’t stop, I’m fetching your uncle.’

‘No. No don’t. I’m sorry.’ I start to return to my feet, placing my hand on my knees as I push myself up. I reach out for the crumpled sheet, ready to hang it on the line and take a moment to compose myself. Sally watches me like a hawk, her whole body tensed and primed to react. I take some pegs. This sheet is going on the line. It will never find its way around my neck. Nothing will. Today, when I can, I’m running away from here and starting over.

I am worth more than this, and I am stronger than they keep telling me I am.

‘It was a migraine or something,’ I tell her, plotting my escape in my head. I have no idea where this new sense of self-worth, determination and bravery has come from, but no way I let it go. Today, I make a change. Today, I fight back!

I let out a scream as my vision burns and the sensation of red hot pokers jab into my eyes and ears.

Everything forces its way back in.

Toby Smith was just the tip of the iceberg. A lifetime crashes into my head. Locked in the cellar. Being found by… Hendrix! The vampire. Meeting Grayson. His obsession with my magic. My bloodline. Our entire story plays out in a second. All of it. Every sordid, violent minute of it. The Orchard! His house. His men. The scent of apples rotting in his garden. Him branding me. My fire as it blows his home to pieces. My revenge. Then… Collins and sweet Amara. Our friendship. Our love for each other. Our separation. Their deaths. And Connor! The charming Irishman with more intelligence than any great man to ever grace history and a heart bigger than any man I have known. Theo. His Hunters. My dad! His murder.

Gabriel.

My Gabriel.

His brilliant blue eyes and half-smile. His permanently tousled hair. His hand in mine. The way his leg twitches when he dreams as he sleeps wrapped around me like a wild vine. The way his lips curved every time he called me “Beautiful”.

Our wedding.

My Break.

My evil deeds and the fallout.

I remember my daughter. My sweet Callie. My head fills with memories from days that are yet to pass. Everything from the next five years, right up to the end. When I sent myself back here to fix what went so wrong.

And with a final gut-wrenching thump… I remember the spell. The Arcane Realm. The reason I am here, back in time for a matter of hours to fix the apocalyptic wrong that lies ahead.

I know that this… this is the past. I know it all.

Ha! I have all of my fingers back! I remember Theo taking them as clearly as all of the other memories that have returned. I wriggle them with glee.

I have them back!

I pull up my sleeve. There’s no brand. My forearm is clear of the hideous mark Grayson seared into my flesh. No more am I restricted by the Bloodstone necklace.

I am whole!

I lift my T-shirt and see no scars by my hips. I remember it all like a dream, but none of it has happened yet. And best of all… I have no Break. No malevolent voice in the back of my mind. No splinters in my soul. Because although I remember it, the evil events of the Miller’s barn has not yet happened. I remember where I am. Who I am. What I need to do.

‘I am the last Arcane Witch. Destined to complete a spell that will return witches to the Arcane Realm where they will live in safety and freedom. I am sister to Amara Jayne. Best friend to Connor Quinn and Cailean Collins. Wife to Gabriel and a mother to Callie. I am Lilly fucking Kendryk.’ I laugh. ‘I remember everything.’ Panting with sweat beading down my skin and blood dripping from my nose, I lift my gaze to see Sally running to the house for safety. I remember her too. Her fate, at my hands. I killed her. Toby watched me do it. I strung her up in her bedroom. She was the first person I intentionally murdered, all because of what she said to me on this day. Sally occasionally peers back over her shoulder, just to make sure I’m not following.

But she is the least of my concerns. I look to the woodshed, and a fiery wrath vibrates through every cell in my body.

‘I remember absofuckinglutely everything, Harry Ryan Junior. You piece of shit.’