The Devil Inside, page 30
Her throat moved convulsively as she tried to swallow but she could barely even do that. Her neck was sore, her throat swollen and bruised, maybe worse. There was blood and something else in her mouth.
Fingers touched her neck, feeling for a pulse.
She couldn’t help groaning. Was he checking that she was alive? Was he going to help her or was he making sure she was dead?
Her mind flickered back to Phil. To Arwen. No. She didn’t want to leave them. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want her precious baby to die.
‘No. Don’t go back to him. Go back to before the fire. Where did your mamochka hide you? What did she leave with you?’
‘Phil.’
‘I don’t care about Phil!’ he screamed, his face right in front of hers, his spittle sizzling and hot on her skin. At least, she imagined it did. He was the devil. She began to giggle.
His fingers pinched into her arms as he shook her, making her head snap back, hitting the chair with a thwack. She knew she should feel the pain but everything else hurt so much, her racing heart a painful pulse in her chest, she couldn’t quite feel other pain. She’d felt this before. This all-over body pain. The fear of loss. Such aching loss. ‘Phil. Arwen.’
He shook her again. ‘No. Mention your bloody husband one more time and I will go find him and bring him here and kill him slowly in front of you. Concentrate.’
Melissa wanted to scream, to fight him, to stop him. He couldn’t hurt Phil. He couldn’t kill the only person who had ever loved her openly and honestly with no secrets, no pain.
She couldn’t face losing him. She’d lost too much already.
‘Focus. On Katya and Mikhail. On your mamochka and papochka. Tell me about them. Tell me what you remember.’
Her heart raced and her head span. She didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to, but the drugs driving through her system burned and tore and picked until those memories Katya had pushed down so deep, were driven to the surface.
She remembered Sergei and Anatoli—the two boys who for a few short years had been her brothers. She remembered an older woman singing Russian folk songs to her. She remembered Mamochka crying and Papochka stealing in to kiss and hold her when nobody was around. She remembered Anatoli pinching her cruelly, picking her up and dropping her. Sergei managed to break her fall, to save her. He had held her, kissed her, loved her. Would he come now? Would he save her now as he had back then while she’d been too young and helpless to stand up for herself?
Anatoli barked something at her and her mind shifted again, to a time when she was bundled up for a walk outside. Mamochka sounded strange as she told her to be as quiet as a mouse. Her heart raced against Milessa’s head as she was held in a way that always spoke of love. So much love. Hurrying. Running. Looking over her shoulder. Someone telling Mamochka to act normally.
Then they were in a new place. Happiness. Safety. Until words whispered late at night. Sobbing. Fear. Mamochka pushing her into the secret wall, handing Krolik and a new blankie to her—they felt strange, heavier, less pliant in her chubby fingers, but still, she pulled them close, cuddled her face into Krolik. The door closed and there was only the torchlight and the things it lit up in the dark—a blanket and pillow, the water bottle and some fruit, a chest in the corner, a suitcase and a box on top.
‘Where are the diamonds? Where did he put the account information?’
She shook her head, her mind fighting against the memories he wanted her to see. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want—
‘Tell me!’
Whispered words came out of that dark place in her mind, grating and raw. ‘The diaries. It’s in the diaries.’ Papochka had worked over them for hours, writing, writing, only looking up when Mamochka took her over to kiss him goodnight. ‘He wrote everything in them, punched different years into the front on the leather covers. They were bundled into different envelopes. Someone came to pick them up and promised to send one each year on his birthday. He said he would keep the faith and make certain Mikhail got them. Papochka was relieved when they were gone. He told Mamochka it was security. For them. For me. He said he’d shower her in the diamonds when he was able.’
‘The diamonds. Where did he put the diamonds?’
She shook her head, crying out when the fire in her veins intensified. His voice ground into her skull. ‘I can’t. He didn’t … say. There’s nothing … nothing.’
He stepped back, braced his hands on the table, his expression a terrifying thing, even through her fuzzy sight, as he muttered to himself. Then he turned back to her, sweeping his sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. She blinked. His face was suddenly right before hers again, cold eyes piercing into her. ‘Tell me more about the diaries. What more can you remember?’
Her mind skittered sideways and memories flickered like the end of an old movie reel through her mind, grabs of voices, of shouts, of flames, of running, of being bundled into a car, the chest and suitcase and box with them, her blankie and Krolik clutched against her, Mikhail and Katya sparing her worried glances as she stared blankly ahead. They were worried. She wasn’t eating. She wouldn’t talk. Katya said she had to make her forget.
‘No, no. You’ve already told me about that. The diaries. What did Natan write in them? Remember. Remember it.’ His spittle hit her face again but she was already falling into the memories. She was talking, saying things, barely aware until the final words spilled out of her mouth: ‘A packet of diaries arrived every year. They didn’t know how he’d managed it—Papa had seen his body, knew he was dead, but somehow, the diaries kept coming. I saw both of them one night, looking over one that had arrived. I’d seen a light in the barn when I woke up and crept out to see what it was. They had the chest open.
‘Why did he start them in 1963?’ Mama asked as she thumbed through one.
‘That was the year the bastards killed our father to keep my family in line—just before Natan was born.’
Mama hugged Papa and they put the diary in with the others and locked the chest. ‘When will we be able to use this to make them pay?’
‘Not yet, my love. Maybe never. But we have their honour, their livelihood. We must content ourselves that they can never hurt another the way they hurt those we loved. And that Milessa is safe.’
‘She must be kept from this to keep her safe.’
‘Yes. She must.’
She made a sound and they turned and saw her. ‘Melissa.’ Mama’s accent changed to the Texan drawl. ‘What did you see?’ She came towards Melissa, features intense with fear.
She backed away, but Papa caught her up into his arms, hugging her against him. ‘Shh, shh, it’s okay, Melissa. It’s for your own good …’
‘Anatoli. What the fuck have you done?’
Melissa blinked as the voice tore her out of the cascade of memories. She strove to focus on the wavering form of a man as he came into the room.
Jerry. No, Sergei. That was his real name. Her brother. He was here. He hadn’t been killed.
Phil appeared behind him, face fierce as he moved towards her. Craig, Dae and Stan were behind him.
Anatoli swung around, grabbed the gun from the table, turned. ‘You traitor,’ he shouted.
She kicked at him just as he fired. There was a loud percussive sound.
‘Phil,’ she screamed as he went crashing to the floor.
***
Hands grabbed at Phil, pushing him to the ground as Anatoli swung towards them, a gun in his hand.
The retort of two guns and a rifle firing rang in the kitchen.
Mel screamed his name as he hit the floor, Dae and Craig landing beside him. Had they been shot? His head pounded but he used the rhythm of it to keep going, to roll over. His friends were pushing back to their feet already, Stan surging forward to catch Sergei before he fell.
The rhythm drove him to his feet, moving to Mel. Anatoli was beside her, but he stumbled back, falling across the table before crashing on the floor, a spray of blood flying up to hit her.
‘Mel!’ Phil reached her. ‘Mel, where’s Arwen?’ A wail from the corner answered him before she managed to say anything.
‘I’ll get her,’ Craig shouted.
He turned back to Mel. ‘Mel, Mel, are you okay?’ There was a vile looking yellow liquid in a bag above her, feeding through a tube and into the canula in her arm.
He tore the tube from the canula, but didn’t know how to safely remove the needle from her arm. ‘How do I remove this?’ He turned quickly to glare at Sergei. Stan was helping the bastard to sit as he clutched his stomach, red seeping from between his fingers. No. He couldn’t die. Or pass out. Not until—
‘Phil, Phil,’ she cried, struggling against the ties that held her down, her face red, gaze unfocused. ‘You’re here. You’re not dead.’
He barked out a choked sound. ‘No, I’m fine. I’m fine.’ He tried to take her hand but it was tied so tightly to the chair, her fingers curled over the rounded edge of its arms as if she couldn’t let go.
‘I’ll get something to cut those off,’ Dae said.
‘Phil. Phil.’ Her head dipped as if she couldn’t hold it up and her voice was cracked, as if she’d been screaming for hours. ‘You have to save Arwen. Save Arwen.’
‘Craig has her, she’s fine. See?’ Craig had come to stand beside him, Arwen in his arms. Phil grabbed the baby and held her, kissing her head, saying to Mel, to Arwen, ‘See, she’s here. She’s here. You’re safe. You’re both safe.’
‘Phil. Phil.’ She seemed unable to focus on him or the baby.
‘I’m here. I’m here,’ he said over and over as he touched her face with his free hand, using his thumb on her chin to tip her face up so she could see his words were true. She was shaking, her shirt and short hair wet with sweat, her lips almost blue. Her eyes kept sliding away, darting around, flaring wide, her breath coming in pants as if she’d been running a marathon. Her face was flushed and glistening, the skin around her eyes and mouth pale and fragile looking, her veins popping out of her skin.
She writhed and flinched. ‘Phil. Phil. It hurts, it hurts.’
‘I’ll take care of it, my love.’ He ran his free hand down her neck to her shoulders and back up to cup her face again, leaning in to kiss her forehead. She smelled of sick and something acrid and nasty.
‘I’ve called an ambulance,’ Dae said. ‘I couldn’t find scissors, just these.’ He held out two sharp knives and he and Craig started to saw through Mel’s bindings.
‘Don’t die on me, you bastard,’ Stan snarled behind him. ‘You have to help our Melissa.’
‘There,’ Dae said as he freed one arm, revealing the vicious red mark beneath. Phil’s anger was a hot burn in his throat as Craig freed her other hand. She cried out, lurching forward, shaking more violently than before, her hands pulled to her middle as she curled over them. He wanted to hold her, but he didn’t want to put Arwen down even though the baby was screaming now.
‘I’ll take her outside,’ Craig said. ‘You take care of Mel.’ He took Arwen from Phil and even though he didn’t want to let their baby out of his sight again, he didn’t protest. He knew it was best for his little girl if she was taken out of this room.
He rubbed Mel’s hands while turning to glare at Sergei as he was being tended to by Stan. ‘What did your arsehole brother put in her?’
‘A concoction Katya … Milosh came … up with to help cover memories … or find them.’ Phil shook his head. What did he care about someone called Katya Milosh? ‘The woman you … knew as Claire … Linklater.’
‘She wouldn’t have used something on Mel that would hurt her like this.’
‘No. Anatoli used too much.’ His gaze fluttered to the body lying in a pool of blood behind Mel’s chair then sucked in a deep breath, his face pale and sweaty as Stan pressed a towel into his wound and helped him lean against the table.
Mel shuddered and gasped. Phil’s gaze flew to her. ‘What can we do?’ The ambulance was too far away. Surely if Sergei knew about this ‘program’ he knew how to help her too?
‘There should be a … blue vile in the case there.’ Sergei jerked his chin at the suitcase on the table. Dae leapt over the body on the floor to rifle through the suitcase on the table, lifting up the vile.
‘This it?’
Sergei nodded. ‘We need to give … it to her. Counteract … the drug.’
‘How?’ Phil asked.
‘Use the canula. It will be faster.’ Sergei gave halting instructions which Dae followed after taking the needle from Phil’s shaking hands. ‘Put her … on floor. Recovery … position ... She might vomit.’
Phil lifted Mel from the chair, carrying her into the lounge room where a thick rug covered the floor and laid her down on her side as Sergei had instructed.
Then he sat next to her, stroking her hair as she shivered and shuddered, clearing the vomit away when she lost the contents of her stomach, making sure her airways were clear.
Finally, she lay quiet and still, her breathing easing, the redness in her skin fading. He took the towel Dae handed to him—he hadn’t even noticed Dae come in—and wiped the sweat from her face and neck.
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, her lips flickering into a weak smile. ‘Phil.’
‘Mel.’
‘Arwen?’
‘Outside with Craig. Do you want me to get him?’
She grabbed his hand. ‘Stay.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘Karl?’
‘He was shot through the shoulder. Bev and Lexi are with him and the ambulance was on its way before we left. He’ll be fine.’
She nodded, swallowed hard. ‘Before. When I got here. I remembered something.’ Her voice was crackly and dry, but he’d never heard anything so beautiful in his life.
‘You did?’
She nodded a little. ‘About us. About being here.’
His lips quivered. ‘That’s wonderful.’ He didn’t care if she remembered or not, as long as she was going to be okay.
‘I remembered. Something else.’
‘Shh, you don’t have to talk. Just rest.’
‘No.’ She swallowed hard again. ‘I have to tell you.’
‘Okay.’
‘I remember. Why I was so afraid.’
‘Afraid of what, baby?’
‘To love you. Again. It was the accident. I thought I was losing you. It hurt so much.’
‘I know.’ And he did. He’d thought he might lose her.
‘He said … he was going to kill you … and in that moment … I felt your loss. The fact I might … lose the baby. After losing Mama and Papa … and Mamochka and Papochka … I couldn’t take losing anything else. But I was stupid. So stupid. I almost ruined everything.’
‘Shh, it wasn’t your fault. I’m terrified of losing you too.’
‘But we never will,’ she said, smiling up at him again. ‘We are forever. I know that now.’
‘Yes. Forever.’ He kissed her knuckles, held on tight, his throat too thick to say anything more.
Her eyes closed over again as if her words, her emotion, had sucked all the energy from her. ‘I’m so tired.’
He glanced up at Dae who shook his head. ‘Sergei said she had to stay awake.’
‘Mel. Mel. You have to stay with me.’
Her eyes flickered open. ‘Always.’
Sirens sounded in the distance, coming closer. He glanced up at Dae who nodded. ‘I’ll go out to meet them.’
‘Phil?’
His attention returned to Mel. ‘Yes.’
‘I love you. I didn’t say it before. But I love you. And there’s no need to be afraid.’
The room and Mel’s face blurred as he grasped her hand to his chest and leaned down to press his lips to hers. ‘I love you too,’ he whispered. ‘That has never changed and never will.’
‘Good.’
The paramedics burst into the room and it was all he could do to let her go so they could take care of her. But he stood there, his daughter in his arms—Craig had brought her back in when he showed the paramedics through—and held the gaze of the woman he loved as she was lifted onto the gurney and taken out of this house of terror and death.
Chapter 28
Melissa sat by the window in her hospital room, staring down at Arwen as she held her in her arms. She couldn’t get enough of holding her precious baby. She wondered how she could have ever been frightened of this. Such a simple thing that brought so much joy.
‘Are my two favourite girls ready to go?’
Phil stood in the doorway, a look of contentment on his face, his lips cocked in that smile she loved so much. Everything inside her warmed, came alive. How could she ever have been scared to love him? Her fear seemed so ridiculous now—although, she understood why it came about, the memory of being in the car and the fear he would be taken from her as all the other people she loved had been taken from her. In that moment before she’d lost consciousness, there didn’t seem to be a way to scale the walls of such a deep loss.
The benefit of the drugs Anatoli had given her was that they brought clarity. They had given her back many memories of Mamochka and Papochka and had explained the estrangement between her and Claire and Calvin—Katya and Mikhail. They’d used Katya’s techniques to make her leave when she was eighteen, to live away from them and never come back while they were living—not even after they were dead as evidenced by the fact she hadn’t gone home for their funerals or to pack up the house. It also explained why they’d been so horrified about the career she’d chosen once she got to university. She was absolutely certain that if she’d gone home, her life would have suddenly taken a wildly different course.
They’d been protecting her.
She knew so much now. Her past was no longer shrouded by secrets and loss. And she was no longer afraid to love Phil and Arwen.
Not that she ever stood a chance in the face of Phil and his love. He’d torn through her inclination to shield herself from loss when they’d first met and he’d done it again these last few months.
She only wished she could remember more of their time together. She’d had flashes and knowings of the last eight years, memories that came jumbled and out of order, like a half-finished puzzle. Enough to make out the picture, but not enough to fill in the detail.
