Blood Feud (53 page)

“I was warned about you by the real angel. We will never say your name, she told me. You’re not worthy of a name until you redeem the demon, she told me.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. I didn’t dare twist my head away from him while he held that knife. I’d seen what he’d done with it. But I tried a conversational, “Sarge.”

Dylan didn’t seem to notice. “She warned me that when my name was spoken, it meant a demon was trying to trick me. Trying to pretend they were an angel.” He jabbed his knife in my direction, taking a small step forward. I took one backwards.

I tried again. “Sarge.”

“The old lady asked my name, so I knew she was one of the demons. I had to redeem her by destroying her. Just as I was instructed to do.”

That held my attention. I dared a question. “The old lady in the house asked you your name? You knew her?”

“She pretended to help. She gave me food, but all the time she was plotting and planning against me. Do you understand? She wanted to know my name so she could say it.”

Oh God, poor Miss G. Her kindness
for a lost soul had killed her
, I thought with immense sorrow.

“I knew then she was a demon, so I redeemed her. But it didn’t work. The angel promised me peace, but I can still hear them talking to me.”

“Voices talking to you?” I caught myself in time from adding his name. It was standard cop procedure to use people’s first names as often as possible to maintain their attention and try to connect with them.

He momentarily closed his eyes with otherworldly fatigue – but too short a time for me to act. “So many of them. All the time. Talking, talking. It never stops. I’m so tired. The angel promised me peace.”

“I mean it when I say I’m not here to harm you. I only want to get you some help from people who can stop the voices.”

“Deceiving angel,” he hissed, moving forward again. “You lie, demon.”

I took another step backwards and called out to the Sarge again, but my shout to him came out as a mere squeak.

“I thought I found the real angel,” he said in a distracted voice. “So beautiful with long hair.
She
never asked my name. But she had no wings. I couldn’t understand it. And she wouldn’t tell me when the voices would stop.”

Phoebe had been lucky that night
, I thought as I edged away from him again.

Dylan lunged towards me, his knife out in front. I parried his thrust with my own knife, the clanging of the blades loud in the quietness around us. We had a treacherous half-minute of sparring with our knives, both in danger of being injured at such close quarters. His stench was overpowering. I found it hard to concentrate on protecting myself while also gagging from the smell of death emanating from him.

He was without trepidation or comprehension of consequences, and I feared hurting him and being hurt myself. All that made me more passive than I’d normally be in an attack situation. I guess I’d always thought that if I met someone who’d genuinely lost touch with reality, they’d look ‘crazy’, but Dylan’s eyes were lucid and shrewd. He truly
believed
what he was saying. He didn’t know he was psychotic, so carried the impetus of his self-belief. On top of his bush skills, that made him a formidable opponent. I’ll gladly admit at that moment I was afraid of him and afraid for my own life.

His next jab sent me stumbling backwards until I rammed up against a clump of thick, spiky bushes.

“Demons must be redeemed,” he said, almost sadly, nodding his head in agreement with himself. “Name stealer. Soul stealer. Coming here to my home to destroy me.”

“No, I’m here to help you, not destroy you.”

“Lies!” He lurched at me again and in my haste to retreat, my foot skidded out from me in the dirt and I tumbled down into the bushes.

No, no, no, no
!
I berated myself, scrabbling to my feet.

He thrust his knife at me and I twisted my upper body to avoid it, my ponytail tangling in the branches. I struggled to free myself, only serving to ensnare my hair further.

“Sarge! Help!” I shouted in panic, tugging at my hair while desperately covering Dylan with my knife.

“Demons must be redeemed.” He stepped closer, within slashing range.

“
Sarge!
” I screamed, kicking out at Dylan. My boot connected sharply with his shin, saving myself from a stab in the neck. He yelped in pain, the surprise on his face quickly replaced with anger. He jabbed out at me and I met his move with my knife, catching him on the forearm in a shallow slice.

He stared at his wound, seemingly fascinated by the flow of his own blood from it. I took advantage of his distraction to kick out at him once more, trying to keep him at a distance until I could free my hair.

Denny flew out from inside the cave. He stopped for an instant, taking in the situation, before rushing at Dylan.

“Leave Tessie alone,” he yelled, aiming to shove Dylan away from me.

“Denny, no! He has a knife!” I remember shouting, but later, when I had to recount it all in minute detail, it was almost impossible to recall exactly what happened. Everything from that moment was a blur, it all took place so quickly.

Dylan twisted away from me and lunged forward to grab Denny by his t-shirt. He yanked him forward and plunged his knife into Denny’s stomach with great force, brutally ripping upwards.

I have never heard, and I never again want to hear, the sound that Denny made as that knife tore into him. It was an inhuman, animalistic scream of unspeakable suffering. Dylan pulled out the knife and looked at Denny with detached interest.

Denny clutched the ugly gash in his stomach and sank to his knees, his shocked eyes locking on mine. Blood gushed between his fingers, soaking the ground around him and drenching his lower t-shirt and jeans.

“Tessie . . .” he whimpered, collapsing on the ground. His face screwed up in agonising pain, but he kept his eyes on me, full of incomprehension and anguish.

“It’s going to be okay, Denny. It’s going to be okay,” I promised, my voice trembling. I frantically pulled and jerked at my hair, frustrated by my helplessness to act while Denny bled into the dirt in front of me.

“Shit,” summed up the Sarge, charging to the entrance, his camera dropped in horror. He pulled out his gun. “Drop the knife, Dylan. Step away from everyone and put your hands on your head.”

Dylan glared at me, doubly angry. “He said my name. You told everyone my name, demon.”

“Dylan, put the knife down now!” hollered the Sarge.

“
Stop saying my name!
”

He thrust his knife out at me again and it was only pure luck that I avoided it, deflecting the hit with my knife. I tore at my hair, trying to free myself.

“Sarge, please,” I said, eyes frantically shifting between him and Denny. “He stabbed Denny. He needs help.”

“Dylan –”

“Sarge, please don’t say his name.”

“
Stop saying my name!
”

The Sarge and I exchanged frantic glances. “Put the knife down now and step away with your hands on your head.”

The Sarge took a few cautious steps forward, his gun on Dylan.

“Maybe you are the demon I was meant to redeem,” Dylan mused, head slightly tilted, looking at me as if I was a specimen between glass slides.

“I’m not a demon,” I said, almost begging.

“Drop the knife now,” insisted the Sarge, stepping forward again.

“Do you have wings?”

Oh God
, I thought.
What should I say?
If I said yes and he checked, he’d stab me. If I said no, he’d stab me.

“Drop the knife now.” The Sarge advanced again, his gun up in front of him.

“Do you have wings?” Dylan asked again, suddenly striking out with his free hand, knocking my knife out of my grip.

He sprang forward, closing the gap between us. He slipped his arm around me, running his hand over my shoulder blades through my t-shirt, while pressing the serrated edge of his knife against my throat, its multitude of pointed edges digging into my soft skin, drawing drops of blood. We stood as close together as if we were dancing. I gagged on his stench, bringing up the water I recently drank. It trickled from my mouth and dripped off my chin.

“No wings,” he claimed triumphantly, as if he’d proven his own theory. “Demon!”

“Please, don’t . . .” I pleaded, terrified. I gagged again, my stomach in turmoil.

“Put the knife down now and step away from the officer,” shouted the Sarge.

Denny had stopped screaming and now keened. He paled as his blood flowed from his wound.

“The demon must be redeemed.”

With determined effort, I shoved Dylan away as he sliced out with his knife across my throat, a shallow, stinging movement that drew more blood. He sprang forward again, knife raised.

Two shots rang out and I was drenched in blood. Dylan crumpled to the ground, the knife falling from his hands.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” I couldn’t stop saying, shaking violently, another person’s blood running down me.

“Tessie,” the Sarge said hoarsely, looking down at his gun as if he was wondering how it got into his hands.

I roughly ripped my hair free from the bushes, ignoring the pain and leaving a few clumps of it behind. I dropped to my knees next to Denny and used my hands to press on his ragged wound. The Sarge stripped off his t-shirt and threw it to me. I wadded it up and pushed it down hard on the bleeding. The blood soaked through the material in no time.

“Tessie,” Denny said weakly.

“It’s going to be okay,” I lied. “We’re going to get you help. You’re going to be okay.”

The Sarge crouched down next to a motionless Dylan and felt for a pulse, his face robbed of all colour. He tried his neck, both wrists and then his neck again. He leaned down to feel for breath. He checked his eyes. At the end, he rested back on his haunches and looked at me, his eyes bleak.

“He’s dead,” he announced, stunned. “I killed him.”

Drops of blood from my shallow neck wound fell on Denny’s face. His eyelids flickered.

“Denny needs an ambulance. Fast.”

Trying to compose himself, the Sarge stood, staggering a little. “There’s no fast, Tessie. What are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do for Dylan, but we can carry Denny down the mountain.”

The Sarge cast his glance over at Denny, empathy on his face. He shook his head slightly and our eyes fixed on each other. “No, Tessie. That would be cruel. I’m not sure we could climb over the rocks with him anyway.”

“We can’t leave him alone. You go for help. You’re faster than me. I’ll stay here until you bring people back with you.”

We stared at each other, our shocked distress reflected in each other’s features.

“I’ll never get anyone to come up here in the dark. They won’t come until tomorrow morning.”

I swallowed and pressed down harder. Denny began to whimper, a constant heart-rending sound. “I can’t leave him, Sarge. You have to go. I’ll be okay here.”

“I hate this,” he said, his face twisting in torment. “You need help too.”

I tentatively felt my own wound. “I’ll be okay. It’s quite shallow. It’s not bleeding much. But Sarge, you have to go now. It’s getting late. One of us has to get back to town tonight. We need people up here as soon as possible.”

I can honestly say I’d never seen a man more torn than the Sarge was at that moment. He took deep breath and leaned over to carefully pick up Denny in his arms. Denny howled in pain. The Sarge carried him inside the shelter depositing him on Dylan’s disgusting bed. I kneeled down to press on his wound again, while the Sarge took a few minutes to examine mine.

“It’s not deep, thank God, because if I had to make a choice about who I’d carry down this wretched mountain, it would be you every time.”

He went back outside and retrieved Dylan’s body, bringing it inside the shelter and draping a blanket over it.

“You probably shouldn’t have moved him,” I said.

He shook his head. “Couldn’t leave him lying out there for scavengers to discover.”

“I guess not. You better go, Sarge. Denny needs help.”

He placed my backpack near me so I had easy access to snacks and water. He needn’t have bothered, the unbearable stench as well as the traumatic events killing my appetite – probably forever.

He squatted down next to me, hugging me, in the process smearing Dylan’s blood on himself.

He smoothed back my blood-speckled hair. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Without any warning, I started crying. “I don’t want you to either.”

“God Tessie, please don’t cry. I’ll stay with you.”

I willed my tears to stop, snuffling. “No. There’s not much chance that people will want to trek up here tonight, but there’s a small chance. We have to try at least. Denny needs medical help urgently.”

He checked his watch. “I’m leaving you both backpacks. I’ll get back down before the sun sets and I want to make sure you have enough light, food and water to get through the night if necessary.”

“Okay,” I said in a small voice.

“I’m going to run the whole way and I’m going to try to force people back up here tonight.”