Within half an hour, I had his Proteum and I took it over to Emily right away.

  As I injected her she turned over, her eyes flickered open and then closed again.

  "Thank you, Mummy," she said.

  I stroked her hair for a few minutes until her breathing settled.

  I decided to take the car to the clinic instead of the quad—I didn't want to disturb Steph. Frank and I got Alex into the back seat and over to the butchery building.

  As we removed Alex from the car, I noticed he wasn’t breathing. I put my hand on Frank's arm. He stopped and looked at me.

  "He's already gone," I said.

  I felt relieved. I didn't want any danger of him waking up like Hector had.

  We got him onto the butcher’s block and I felt for his pulse. Nothing. I'd brought another syringe to give him an overdose but it wasn't needed.

  "Goodbye, Alex," I whispered, and stroked his face. "Right then, are we doing this now?"

  "If you're up to it," Frank said.

  "We've got no choice." I helped him cut off Alex's clothes and threw them into a black bin bag.

  Frank started the bone saw and I looked away. This was his area of expertise and I hated this part.

  I stood still at the side of Frank but facing the opposite direction. I tried to mentally transport myself to another place far, far away from this awful room of death.

  The screams, when they came, scared the shit out of me. I was so confused. I turned around just in time to see Frank lose his balance and crash to the floor. The screams continued, and not from Frank. I looked around and I couldn't believe my eyes.

  Alex was sitting up. One arm was gone, chopped off at the shoulder and his other arm flailed wildly.

  I screamed. An earth-shattering deafening scream that seemed to drown out any sound Alex made.

  He seemed to see me for the first time and grabbed the neck of my overalls, pulling me towards him. His eyes were wide open. His screams had lost strength and were now a high pitched squeal. It horrified me.

  How could this be possible? I'd checked him myself—he was dead! However, this one-armed naked man was far from dead. I gripped his hand and tried to pry open his fingers but they were stuck in some kind of spasm. I couldn't get him off me.

  "Frank!" I screamed. "Frank, help me!" But Frank didn’t budge. I couldn't take my eyes off the real-life horror movie playing out before my eyes.

  I leapt backwards, but Alex came too. I pushed him but he held on tight. His squeals made it hard for me to think straight, hard to think at all.

  I shoved back at Alex, needing to get him off me, to put as much space between us as possible, but I couldn’t move him. I shoved him with every ounce of strength I could muster. He began to move backwards, and his pleading eyes tore my heart to shreds. I wanted to stop. To beg for his forgiveness, but it was too late.

  I shoved and a roar escaped me. Alex staggered backwards, still holding my top, still screaming and I thrust myself forward. I slammed him into the far wall and suddenly the screaming stopped.

  His eyes stared at me, unmoving. What had just happened? Why had he suddenly let go and stopped screaming?

  I staggered backwards and fell to my knees. Alex stayed at the side of the wall, unmoving.

  His eyes still stared, yet they were glazing over. I spun around to Frank who lay on the floor against the door, also unmoving. I scrambled over to him.

  "Frank!" It didn't sound like my voice. "Frank. Wake up, Frank. Speak to me."

  Chapter 32

  I flicked at Frank’s face—no response.

  A gash on his forehead pumped blood out at a steady pace. He'd obviously hit his head on the way down. Thankfully he'd dropped the bone saw and the safety switch had cut off.

  I tore a strip of fabric from Frank’s shirt and tied it around Frank’s head.

  Alex was still rigid at the back of the room. I sat, leaning my body against Frank. Trying to weigh up what had just happened. What was still happening, and what I could—would—do about it.

  Frank's pulse was strong but his pupils were unresponsive. Whatever I needed to do, I'd have to do it alone.

  The room looked like a blood bath. The blood from Alex’s amputated arm was all over the place, and all over me. The room could be washed down easily, but I'd have to hose myself down before I could step foot out of the place.

  I put my arms under Frank’s armpits and tried to drag him to the door, but I couldn’t budge him. I needed to call an ambulance, but how could I?

  I'd known from the start this was a bad idea. Known it would go horribly wrong.

  I got to my feet, legs shaking. I could hardly move, but I managed to get over to Alex. His unmoving, unblinking eyes told me he was really dead this time, but I needed to make certain.

  I placed my fingers on his throat. Nothing. I had no idea how and why he was still upright. I looked around the back of his head and solved the mystery.

  A hook in the wall now stuck straight into the back of his skull, and had assisted in killing him off once and for all. I put my arms around his waist and yanked.

  He came away easily, although with a nasty wet squelch.

  A cry escaped me. I tried to place him on the floor with the grace and dignity he deserved, but he was too heavy for me. Instead, he fell in an ungainly heap, his head hitting the concrete and bursting like a ripe watermelon. I fell to his side and sobbed hysterically.

  I don't know how long I sat there, but the blood that covered me and my overalls dried. I needed to pull myself together.

  I located the large blue bin that Frank used for the body parts, and wheeled it over to Alex. Finding the strength from somewhere, I managed to lift him up and topple him over the side. Then I picked up his dismembered arm, holding it by the finger like a squeamish child picking up a worm. I shuddered, flinging it into the bin.

  I pushed the bin out of the room, leaving a trail of blood behind me.

  I hosed down the room as much as I could with Frank lying to the side. I stripped off my overalls, and the ones that Frank wore and threw them into the black bag which I also put in the bin.

  Then I ran around the building, searching for anything that could assist me to get Frank to the car. I found an old plywood trolley. One of the wheels was missing, but it would have to do.

  It took an age but I finally got Frank onto it, enabling me to get him into the main part of the building so I could finish hosing the blood down. Then, with a mop and bucket, I cleaned the trails the two sets of wheels had made.

  I found another pair of overalls hung on a nail at the back of the toilet door. They were huge orange things but I climbed into them, rolling the arms and legs up to fit.

  Once the room was clean, I pushed the bin containing Alex back into it and locked the door. Then I pushed the flat-decked trolley out to the car.

  Frank’s pulse beat strong. I tapped his cheek again. "Frank? Frank, I need you to wake up." The nasty gash above his right eye needed stitching. I could have stitched it myself if that was all, but it wasn't—he needed a doctor.

  I tried my best to rouse him, and eventually he began to stir. "We need to get you into the car, Frank. Will you help me?"

  He mumbled something that I couldn't decipher, but slowly got to his feet and staggered to the car. I pushed the trolley back inside, making a mental note to come back and clean it as soon as I got a chance. It was still covered in blood. I drove to the house.

  Frank stayed in the car while I ran inside and quickly showered and changed my clothes. I thought I'd removed most of the blood from me at the butchery but the water still ran red for the first few seconds.

  Afterwards, I wrote a quick note for Steph and grabbed my handbag and mobile phone, before racing back to the car.

  By the time we reached the accident and emergency entrance, it was almost four am. I ran inside and called for help. A porter and a doctor helped to get Frank onto a stretcher, then wheeled him inside.

  I had to stay at reception to give his details and located him a short time after in a cubicle. Several doctors and nurses buzzed around him.

  "Can you tell us what happened?" a tall effeminate doctor asked.

  "I'm not sure. I found him like this, but he's obviously banged his head."

  He nodded.

  "He gets unsteady on his feet. He's recovering from a stroke."

  "I see," he said as he examined the deep gash. "He'll need a few stitches, and we'd best to do a scan to be on the safe side."

  "Of course. Do you think he'll be okay other than that?"

  "I think so. He's taken a nasty knock but his vital signs seem okay."

  Nothing sinister showed up on Frank’s scan. He would be all right, but he was still out of it at eight-thirty when Steph called.

  "What happened?"

  My stomach flipped. Oh shit, what would I tell her? "He fell and banged his head last night. It's a long story. I'll explain later. Is Emily all right?"

  "Yes, she is now, but she had a terrible headache earlier. I gave her some Paracetamol and she brightened up soon after."

  "Are you okay to stay with her until I get back?"

  "Yeah, course. I'll take her to Steve’s with me if she feels all right, otherwise I'll postpone it for another time."

  "Thanks, Steph. I'll give you a call as soon as I know more."

  I curled up on the armchair beside Frank and waited. A while later I sensed a movement. My eyes flew open. Frank’s hand wafted the air in front of him and his eyelids fluttered.

  "Frank! Thank God. Are you okay?" I jumped to my feet and leaned over him.

  He seemed disorientated. I poured him a glass of water from the jug on the bedside cabinet and placed it to his mouth. He drank gratefully. I wiped his mouth on a tissue. "Are you feeling okay?" I repeated.

  He nodded, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes darted around the room.

  "You're in hospital. Do you remember what happened, Frank?"

  He began to shake his head then stopped. His eyes grew wider as clearly his memory returned.

  I glanced around, making sure we were still alone. "It's okay. I've sorted it. For now, anyway. You banged your head and had to have stitches, but you're okay, except you'll have a doozy of a headache for a while."

  "Alex?" his voice sounded hoarse and scratchy.

  "He's gone," I said, glancing around me once again. "I put him in the blue bin but he's still in one piece—well, two counting the arm. I'll have to sort out what to do with him later."

  "Get me up."

  "No way, Frank. You're staying put. No one goes there. It'll be okay for now."

  He struggled, trying to get up, but he didn't have the energy and lay back down heavily.

  "See, you're not well. Just do as you're told."

  "But …"

  "No buts—I'll sort it."

  "Then wait for me. I'll be okay in a day or two."

  "We'll see. Now, have you any idea what we’re gonna tell everyone?"

  He lay back, looking at the ceiling, deep in thought for a few seconds. "Say Alex attacked me when he was drunk. At least that'll explain why he's not around."

  I nodded. "Okay."

  ***

  I arrived home to an empty house. Steph had left a scribbled note on the kitchen bench, telling me that she'd taken Emily to Steve's.

  Although I wanted to do nothing more than drag my weary body upstairs and crawl into bed, shutting out the world, I needed to make use of the time alone.

  ***

  Alex's room was surprisingly tidy for a young man. In fact the orderly way he'd folded his clothes, in colour order, would put most women to shame.

  I found a bag under the bed and began throwing his belongings into it. I was amazed at how calm I felt. How far removed I had become from my feelings. I didn’t take much stuff. I figured a young man in a hurry would only take the essentials. A full sweep of the place only took a few minutes.

  In the bedside drawer I found his passport. The name inside puzzled me: Alexander Finnegan. I knew him as Alexander Snow. I shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans.

  After one last look around, I threw the bag down the spiral staircase and loaded it into the truck.

  I stopped at the shed, got out of the truck and ran inside. I returned with Shane’s bike, the one made from cannibalised parts. I threw it into the truck, climbed back in, and drove towards the butchery.

  As I opened the door to the butchery, the stench made me gag. I’d not thought to put Alex back in the cold store.

  I held my breath and ran over to the blue bin and pulled out the rubbish bag.

  It took several minutes back in the truck before I was able to breathe properly. Then I drove to the incinerator, stashed Alex’s things inside, and lit it.

  I took the passport from my pocket and studied it again. Alexander Finnegan. The photograph was Alex, and the date of birth his as well. I remembered him telling us he’d arrived in the country on a work visa from America. The passport he showed Jon when he first came to work for us, had been in the name we paid him under–Alexander Snow. I knew I’d probably never know the truth now. I tossed the passport into the incinerator and watched the blue outer cover melt and burn.

  Next stop, the offal pit. I launched Shane’s bike into the deep dark hole. I thought how easy it would be to dispose of Alex’s remains down there, but I would always worry about them being found.

  I didn’t have the physical or mental energy to deal with the body today. I knew there was no way on this earth I could chop him up myself. However, I knew he’d be okay in the cold store for a while longer—no one ever went in there.

  I needed some sleep.

  ***

  “What the hell!” I yelled, as I swerved to miss the huge, black four wheel drive coming at full pelt towards me. I skidded to a stop before jumping out.

  “Are you stupid? You almost smashed into me,” I yelled to the driver.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The man held his hands up to his head as he leapt from the vehicle. “It was all my fault.”

  “Damn right it was. What the hell are you doing here anyway? This is private property.”

  “I know. I’m looking for Frank.” He held his hand towards me. “Michael Woods, David and Lynette’s son.” He smiled, his pale blue eyes twinkling.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, taken aback. I offered my hand limply.

  “I called at the house first, then guessed you must be busy on the farm.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Have you finished your work? Because I’d kill for a cup of coffee,” he said, displaying that cheeky smile once again.

  I shrugged. “I’m on my way back to the house. I’ll put the kettle on if you want to follow.”

  “Great.”

  Michael parked his beast of a car beside mine as I opened the front door.

  “Do you take sugar?” I asked as he entered the kitchen.

  “No thanks, just a drop of milk.”

  He looked nothing like his parents. David was stocky with fairish skin, grey hair and light blue eyes. Lyn was blond with brownish eyes. This guy was tall and lean, with a shock of dark hair and startling blue eyes.

  I placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “There you go, Michael. Now, what can I do for you?” I smiled as I sat opposite him at the table.

  “Is this a bad time?” He screwed up his black eyebrows and a concerned look crossed his face.

  “Your timing could have been a little better.” I laughed. “I’ve been at the hospital all night with my father-in-law.”

  “Uncle Frank? Why? what happened?”

  “He fell—banged his head. He’s all right though. Should be home tomorrow.”

  “Bloody hell! The last time I was home he had a stroke.”

  “Yeah, the poor guy is only just coming right from that. Our farmhand left last night too, so we’re in a bit of a mess.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Dad tells me you’re thinking of selling the farm.”

  “Nothing concrete yet. We’re weighing up our options. Why? Are you interested?”

  “I could be, at the right price.”

  “That’s nothing to do with me. Frank’s the owner. But we have been thinking about leasing the land out initially, then sub-dividing so we can keep the house and clinic.”

  “I see.”

  “Would that be a problem?”

  “Guess not—I don’t need a massive house like this one and it wouldn’t affect what I have in mind.”

  “Which is?”

  “Extending Dad’s farm. I’d be able to stay there while I convert one of the disused barns. You still have the butchery and the outhouses, don’t you?”

  “I guess so. That’s Frank’s domain, I’m afraid. I don’t have a lot to do with the farm.”

  “Would you mind if I have a quick squizz round?”

  “No! I mean, I’d rather you wait until Frank’s back. Why don’t I call you tomorrow, once he’s home? He has the keys and everything.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” he said. “I was shocked to hear about Johnny. He was a great bloke. We were best friends growing up.”

  I sighed, nodding. “Thanks. I’d forgotten you knew him. How’s it feel to be home after all this time? Were you in Ireland long?”

  “Sixteen years in total. We stayed with Maria’s parents for the first few years, then Maria and I bought a run-down farm just over ten years ago. We were able to turn it around and we sold it off for a decent profit, even with the recession.

  “That was lucky.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure my mum’s told you all about my marriage.”

  “She did mention it.”

  He slapped his thigh and laughed. “I bet she did more than that. She can be very vocal when she’s a mind to, and makes no secret of the fact she hates Maria.”

  I shrugged. “She just cares about you, that’s all. You’re lucky. My mum died when I was a kid so I’ve never really had that kind of maternal concern, but I do envy it.”

  “She’s not a bad old girl. And to be honest with you, it wasn’t all her doing. Maria’s a very hard woman to deal with, very self-centred. Mum read her like a book as soon as she laid her eyes on her.”

 

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