I blindly reach for the handle, pulling myself from the car as I keep an eye on Lauren getting out of the other side. Her plan now is crystal clear in my head. She’ll pull that trigger on me, and then turn it on herself. She’s not going back to prison.
As she rounds the car, she struggles on the uneven ground in Ava’s heels, having to hold the bonnet of my car for support. She eventually kicks the shoes off, motioning with the gun towards the barn. I silently lead, looking up at the filthy wooden planks that make up the derelict structure, seeing endless broken slats hanging off, most cracked.
Once we’re inside the huge empty space, I look down at the concrete floor scattered with old strands of hay from decades ago, my steps echoing around us. ‘Up the stairs.’
There’s a rickety staircase with one or two steps missing. I honestly doubt the rotten wood will take my weight. ‘Lauren, that doesn’t look safe.’
‘Arhh,’ she coos, jamming the gun in my lower back. ‘Are you worried I’ll injure myself?’
I think for a moment, considering another way through this nightmare. How long has it been since someone showed her any compassion or love? How long since anyone actually worried about her? Her parents disowned her. She’s had no one except the professionals poking at her mind. I flinch where I stand at the bottom of the stairs, sick at the thought of it. Can I do it? Can I fool her into thinking I actually care? My stomach turns, my mind reels. The words I should say are thick on my tongue.
She loved me once. And something deep and disturbing inside me warns me that she still does. That’s why she’s so fucked up. That’s why she’s on a mission to destroy me. If she can’t be happy, then neither can I. If she can’t have me, then no one can. There’s a fine line between love and hate, and I think Lauren is straddling that line. The question is, can I tip her in my favour? I don’t want to. What I want to do is rip her apart piece by piece until she’s nothing but a pile of body parts at my feet. But no matter what, no matter how I get there, I need to make it back to my wife. Preferably in one piece. I can’t put Ava through the agony of thinking she’s lost me again. I’ve been there myself recently. It’s lower than hell.
I slowly turn to face Lauren and conjure up the words my heart forbids me to say. ‘Yes, actually. I do care.’ I keep my eyes on hers, searching for anything to suggest this might work. It’s my only hope. ‘Would that be so hard to believe?’
It happens so fast, I nearly miss it. A flash of surprise, followed by a frown. ‘You care?’ She’s on the verge of laughter, though I hear hope, actual hope, and it drives me, confirms I’m bang on the money. I feel like I’m selling my soul to the fucking devil, but I’ll buy it back. One way or another, I’m making it home.
‘I never stopped caring, Lauren. Look at my life before you. I lost the person I was closest to in the fucking world. It fucked me up. I did things I regret. Said things I didn’t mean. It wasn’t personal. You were just another casualty on my road to self-destruction.’ It’s now I realise that most of what I’m saying is true. There’s just one small bit that isn’t. The caring part, but the truth is, I only stopped caring, stopped feeling guilty, when she turned on Ava all those years ago. At that point, she was dead to me.
I see doubt in her eyes, but I also see the need to believe me. And now I believe her. I don’t think she’s crazy at all. I think she’s broken. I think she needs closure, and I think the only way she feels she can get it is by destroying me and then herself. I can make her see differently. I have to make her see differently. I take one careful step towards her and she lowers the gun just a fraction.
‘Why’d you do this?’ I ask, motioning up and down her body. ‘The dress. The hair. Why, Lauren?’ There’s only one explanation. She wants to be Ava. She wants to be mine.
Her lip quivers. ‘It hurts me how much you love her. It killed me to listen to her tell me over yoga and coffee how devoted you are. Why couldn’t you be that for me? Why couldn’t you love me with that much passion?’ Her voice finally cracks. ‘When I was ill, like Ava has been, why couldn’t you do whatever it took to make me better?’ Tears form a river down her cheeks. ‘You will do anything for that woman. What is it about her?’
And there we have it. ‘I’ll help you, Lauren. I promise I’ll help you.’ I’m surprised I really mean it. I don’t know how I can help her, but, honestly, if it means I get back to my family, I’m prepared to do anything.
‘Will you love me like you love her?’
The words she wants to hear won’t come. I can’t say them. I’ll help her, but I can’t love her like she wants to be loved. ‘I . . .’
She smiles, but this time it’s not malicious. It’s sad. ‘You can’t, I know.’ She points to the stairs.
I take a long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. ‘Lauren—’
‘You’ve said enough. Just go.’
I close my eyes as I turn, looking up to the heavens as I take the unstable old staircase to the hay store above. ‘Don’t do this, Lauren, I beg you.’ It’s all I have left. Pleas.
I don’t get a reply. What I get instead is the clicking sound of the safety being disengaged. The barn is empty. There’s nowhere to take cover if she gets trigger-happy. I look over my shoulder as I reach the top of the stairs, finding her a few steps behind me. Not too far, but far enough to have the upper hand, far enough to fire before I make it to her should I fight. I’m fucking snookered.
She swallows as she points to a huge opening in the wood looking out onto the countryside. I’ve heard funny things run through your mind when you’re staring death in the face, and currently running through my mind is how beautiful that view is. How lush and green the land is. How this might be the last thing I see.
I approach and widen my stance, my back to Lauren. My mind settles, but determination fights forward. Here, I’m a sitting duck. I’m a dead man. No question, her aim is clear. If I charge her, she’ll be shooting in a rush. She’ll be clumsy. She might hit me, but the chances of her getting her aim right under pressure are reduced.
I turn, every muscle in my body readying. Her head cocks, and she must see the determination in my gaze because she flexes her two-handed grip on the gun. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ she warns.
‘Then just fucking shoot me, Lauren,’ I goad. Why is she dragging this out? One would assume her sick head is enjoying the anticipation of my death. Or could she be searching for the strength she needs to kill the man she loves? I don’t get the chance to reach a conclusion on that. I hear a noise downstairs, the sound of a piece of wood snapping.
My gaze shoots to the gaping hole in the floor where the stairs drop. More wood snaps, the sound echoing through the barn and ricocheting off the walls. I see something emerge from the opening, and it takes me two seconds to recognise who. There’s no mistaking the shiny, bald, black head. My heart lurches as Lauren swings the gun in his direction. And he’s completely unaware. ‘John!’ I yell, making Lauren spin around to face me. I raise my hands in the air and back up until I’m forced to stop or plunge fifty feet from the opening to the concrete below.
‘Motherfucker,’ John breathes once he’s made it safely to the top of the stairs. He slowly pulls off his sunglasses. His nostrils flare. His huge chest heaves. ‘Put the fucking gun down, Lauren.’ Most would heed the threat in his booming voice. Lauren isn’t most. She moves a few paces to the right, putting her at an even distance between both of us, the gun swinging back and forth between our bodies. My head twists and warps, my panic rising. Did Ava click? Did she realise what I was telling her? Then why the fuck didn’t she call the police? Not John, the police!
‘You should go, John,’ Lauren warns. ‘This is between me and Jesse.’
‘I’m going nowhere.’ He’s resolute, and I know he means it.