Page 88 of Unforgivable

“It’s too late. Also, don’t be stupid, Beth.” She checks her watch. “We have another forty minutes or so, so you get comfortable. It will be over before you know it. Then when it is, I’ll tie you up, then go upstairs and call my friend Amelia, I’ll tell her I’m up in my room, in bed, about to go to sleep. Yes, it’s very early, but I am so bored alone with you downstairs, berating me about Jack all the time. And then I’ll say, oh my God, what was that? Did you hear that? And she’ll say, no…and I’ll say, it sounded like a gun shot. More than one, actually, because you’re not aiming very well, and you’re not taking any chances. I’ll panic, drop the phone and run down the stairs and I’ll untie you, call nine one one and scream and tell them that I was in my room and heard the shots and ran down as fast as I could, and you tried to shoot me too, but I disarmed you. What do you think?”

But my head has lolled forward, and I’ve closed my eyes. She bumps my head.

“Wake up, Laura.”

I moan, my head lolls to the side, my mouth drooping.

She slaps me once. My head hits the side of the back rest on the armchair. I don’t flinch.

“Shit,” she whispers. “Maybe I overdid it. But that’s okay. You’ll be awake when the time comes.”

FORTY

She leaves the room. Only when I hear her footsteps going up the stairs do I dare open my eyes.

I press my fingers on my temples, take a shuddery breath. I have to focus. I don’t have much time. I have to get help.

Harold. He’s our closest neighbor. If I can get to Harold, he will call for help.

The quickest way to get to Harold’s house is out the front door, but it means going through the hallway and past the stairs, and if she happens to look down she’ll see me. The French doors. They lead to the deck. I can get to Harold that way.

In two strides I’m there, pulling at them. Except they’re locked.

I feel the tears burn the inside of my nose, the back of my eyes. I’m wasting too much time. I take off my shoes to be quieter, look back at Charlie. Her lips twitch. Okay. That’s good. She’s asleep. Concentrate. Then I see with a start that Bronwyn has left the gun on the sideboard. I snatch it and for a split second I wonder what to do with it. I try to imagine confronting her, demanding my phone, but I don’t know if I can pull it off. Can I shoot her if she comes for me? I don’t know, and in my mind’s eye she’s laughing at me.

I walk over to the hallway, glance up the stairs, my heart somersaulting in my chest. Floorboards creek above my head. Very quietly, my hand flat on the edge of the door, I turn the handle and open it.

It’s raining. I run down the path to the gate. Harold’s house is completely dark and I wonder if he’s asleep. For a split second I consider going back inside, grabbing his spare key from where we keep it in the kitchen drawer, but I can’t. It’s too late. I take a step, a leap, I’m already running when a bolt of pain shoots through my legs and I trip, land hard face down, my chin hitting the ground, blood pouring inside my mouth.

“Harold!” I cry.

“Can’t you see he’s not there?” Bronwyn snaps behind me. She’s holding one of Jack’s golf clubs. She uses it to point to Harold’s house. “Are you blind, as well as stupid? The house is completely dark, Laura!”

There’s dirt and pebbles digging in my knees, I clock the gun on the ground and grab it, point it at her, my hand shaking like a branch in the wind. “Where is he? What have you done to him?”

She leans on the golf club like it’s a cane. “He’s in the hospital.” She makes a sad face. “He had a fall down the stairs. Luckily, I was there when it happened. I went there to personally invite him to drinks on Sunday. I’ve invited a few people, by the way. Just a friendly neighborly get-together. And no, I didn’t push him, in case you’re wondering. I was nowhere near him. I did, however, slap some cooking oil on the top three steps, which I cleaned off before the ambulance arrived.”

I’m going to be sick. I’m still pointing the gun at her. “Give me my phone.”

“For Christ’s sake, Laura, you just don’t give up, do you? There are no bullets in that thing.”

“I don’t believe you.” I point the gun away from her, press the trigger, but nothing happens. Then I remember her saying something about the safety latch. I fumble with it but my hands are shaking too much.

“I told you. There are no bullets. Here.”

Before I have time to react, she’s yanked it out of my hands. Then, in one smooth motion, she has pointed the gun at me and released the latch.

I scramble backward, raise one hand. “No!”

But she’s already pressed the trigger. “Click!” She smiles, then drops her arm. “There. Happy? Come on, get up. Let’s go.”

I push myself off the ground and come to kneeling. “Listen, listen to me. Just one second. Give me one second. It’s not too late to end this madness. I won’t tell anyone, I give you my word.” I bring my hands together in prayer. “I’ll convince Jack to give you the house. We’ll move out. Just end this here, right now. I’m begging you.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Huh. I guess I didn’t put as many pills in that wine as I’d thought. Interesting.”

“Listen. Please, just end this! You can have the house and anything you want! I swear to God, and I won’t tell anyone what happened here.”

“Whiny whiny whiny. Jesus, Laura. You sound just like your mother.”