White Lady (24 page)

He smirks.

I refuse to react.

Until he cups a hand over my mouth and shoves his fingers inside me. I let out a deep moan.

“You’re mine,” he says.

Yes. Yes, I am.

Chapter 58

Mick: Astagh firol lahal-lathi la …

I dart across me fuckin’ nature strip. Duck behind a bush by me front fence to try ’n’ get closer. To see what the fuck’s goin’ on, but it’s too fuckin’ dark, too dark to see, fuck!

Shit shit shit, you stupid mother fuck dick.

My breathing becomes heavy ’n’ quick ’n’ shit. I yank me phone from me back pocket ’n’ almost flick it over the fence. I catch it midair ’n’ dial. Me hand is shakin’; I’m hummin’ the notes the zero makes as I press it three times.

It rings ’n’ rings. Aren’t emergency services s’posed to pick up fast, for fuck’s sake? It’s freezing tonight, ’n’ me fingertips feel like they’re going to snap off.

Come on come on come on come on … pick up, ya fuckheads!

“Police, Fire, or Ambulance?”

I hammer the front of me forehead with one finger.

“Police, Fire, or Ambulance, sir?”

“Ambulance. Fuck!”

“Location?”

“What?”

“Your address or whereabouts, sir.”

“88 Grandfield Drive, Thornbury.” I look above the bush to check if Mia or Nash are movin’, but they’re not, ’n’ in me chest, me chest, it’s heavy ’n’ tight ’n’ feels like I can’t breathe, ’n’ tears start comin’ outta me eyes ’n’ down me cheeks ’n’ inta the corner of me mouth. And the back of me throat feels like me father is chokin’ me—he
is
choking me, with his mind, his existence—me fuckin’ dad is ruinin’ the only fuckin’ chance I have ever had at true love.

The phone blips ’n’ sounds like it’s being put through to someone else.

“Hello, an ambulance is on its way to 88 Grandfield Drive, Thornbury. Please confirm that this is the correct location.”

“Yes!” I hiss. “It’ll come quick, right? It won’t take long?”

“No, sir. Please state your—”

I let the phone slip from me hand ’n’ crash to the ground as I stand up. I stare at Mia, passed out on the road, ’n’ choke on the thought of me mother wrapped up in garbage bags buried in the backyard. I bring me hands to me throat thinkin’ I still got me T-shirt on. It feels like the collar is chokin’ me.

It’s all me. I can’t blame me dad for this. I did this meself. I put Mia’s life in danger. I’m never gonna fuckin’ forgive meself.

It’s me last fuckin’ chance to do something right for ’er.

The only way Mia is gonna be okay—the only way she’ll ever be happy—is if she has nothin’ at all to do with me again.

I run indoors ’n’ grab me mum’s pistol from the table by the front door.

I stand in the doorway, where the rug is, drop to me knees, ’n’ shut me eyes—hard—so hard that me vision turns white, like light from Allah is gracin’ me. I can pretend he’s gracin’ me.

I pray, quietly, quickly, quietly, for the first time in fuckin’ ages, for Allah to forgive me sins:
Astagh firol lahal-lathi la ilaha illa howal hayyal qayyoma w’atooba ilayh. Astagh firol lahal-lathi la ilaha illa howal hayyal qayyoma w’atooba ilayh. Astagh firol lahal-lathi la ilaha illa howal hayyal qayyoma w’atooba ilayh.

Then I hold the pistol to me head.

Chapter 59

Sonia:

A gunshot fires from inside the house. I gasp, sucking Ibrahim’s palm to my mouth—his sweat, my saliva, our flesh, the magnetic rush of his forbidden touch thrilling me into submission.

Ibrahim pulls back as though I gave him an electric shock. He squints at me, shakes his head. His sharp wet jaw glistens in the moonlight.

Our heavy breathing slips into sync.

“What if it’s Mick?” I whisper, or maybe only mouth—maybe only think.

Ibrahim nods—a curt flick of his head in the direction of the house.

I bolt to the back door, through the kitchen, and down the hall, my breath pulsing in and out of my chest—faster, heavier, hotter.

I reach the entrance of the hallway, and my breathing stops, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Mick’s lying in a pool of blood near the front door.

For a moment—a very short moment—

Time.

Stops.

“Mick!” I scream, gasping for air, over and over—a fish out of water. “Oh my God, Mick, no, no, no—” My veins pulsate in my throat as I rush to his side. I try to swallow, I can’t, I’m choking, choking on my own tears and regret and years upon years of neglect.

I wrap my arms around him, cradle him, crying his name over and over, the scent of his blood a sting in my nose. I stroke his forehead, crying, smearing his blood all over his face, my hands.

I stop.

My pistol rests in his limp fingers.

I pick it up. Stare at it in my shaking hand.

It’s my fault. It’s
all
my fault.

I killed my only son. I
murdered
my son!

Sirens. Sirens. Sirens grow louder, shrilling, pounding, louder, breathing, crying, screaming, screeching through me, pulsing, pushing, pounding in my head.

Flashing lights and police commands encompass the space around me. Heavy footsteps, running, yelling, suck the air from the room, and I try to cry mercy but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t breathe.

The commotion comes to a complete halt when I look up at them, their guns, their weapons, their anger—fear and fulfillment reflect from their faces.

I drop the gun and lift my blood-smeared hands above my head. Three officers stand at the open front door shining torches straight into my eyes, aiming guns at my heart.

This is it.

This is how it ends.

Chapter 60

Mia: Seven months later.

I sit in front of the glass, waiting for Sonia to be escorted out of her cell. It’s been weeks since I’ve been to visit as I’ve spent the last few months talking to a lawyer about how to get Sonia out of prison. But he’s convinced her testimony will not hold up in court without Dad and Mick as witnesses.

And of course, with Ibrahim nowhere to be found, there isn’t any proof that he was even the slightest bit involved. The only fingerprints on the gun Mick shot himself with were his own and Sonia’s. And Ibrahim somehow got rid of the bodies of Kimi and his sidekick without a trace. Their Missing Persons reports are just that—missing persons’ reports. So there isn’t even any proof that they are dead.

And my mum. My fucked-up mum. I don’t think I will ever understand what went on there. What was she doing following us? Why was she driving so fast? The cops said that she was doped up on sedatives, but that she had some kind of paradoxical reaction to them.

I don’t get it.

That doesn’t explain why she was
there
.

Sometimes I wonder whether Dad knew. And I think back to that weird phone conversation, and the follow-up dinner in that weird purple restaurant. Did he really just want to ask me about Sonia then? Or was it actually about my mum? Maybe I’m looking too deeply into it. I hope so. I’m not sure how I’d feel about Dad keeping that from me. And I wouldn’t really be able to do anything about it now anyway.

And Mick.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand why he did what he did. Well, maybe I do. Maybe he did it to protect me and Dad. Or maybe he did it simply to escape arrest. I hope—every day—that it’s the former.

Dad and I sat staring at Mick in his hospital bed for hours. Still in a coma. On life support. But I felt like he could hear me. Like he was still looking out for us. I need to remember him in a good way, in case he wakes up. If it wasn’t for my mum being at the wrong place at the wrong time, would any of this have happened? Or what about if I hadn’t taken the drugs from Kimi?

Or is the taste for crime really in the blood forever, and it wouldn’t have made a difference at all?

Maybe.

Maybe it’s a curse.

But Mick is so much more than what he seems. He’s smart. And I love him.

I guess, in the end, that’s all that matters.

Love. I will love him even if he doesn’t ever wake up.

A buzzer rings, and Sonia walks through a heavy metal door, hands cuffed in front of her. What the hell for? She’s not a murderer. She’s not a criminal. Whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty? I can’t believe they are putting her through this. All she was trying to do was protect her family.

Plain and simple.

Why won’t anyone believe her? It was all Ibrahim.

“Any progress?” Sonia’s voice is raspy, and she has a big black bruise on her left cheek the size of an apricot.

I shake my head. “Not until we can locate Ibrahim. It’s impossible. The case against you is solid without him or the bodies. Are you sure you have
no
idea where he is?”

Sonia nods, coughs, and clutches at her side in pain.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

Sonia smiles wryly. “What do you think?”

I don’t know what to say. I just stare at her.

“How’s your arm and leg? Better?”

I nod. “Much. The scars are starting to fade a bit.”

“That’s good.” Sonia smiles at me with apologetic warmth. I really don’t understand how she can manage anything but self-pity right now. I guess she has always been a good person deep down. It was Ibrahim that tainted her. I’m sure of it.

I swallow a buildup of saliva. “I’ve gotta go. I had to bring Dad with me today, and he’s waiting outside.”

“Nash? He is here? Why didn’t you bring him in? I would have loved to see him.”

“They wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?”

“Not sure. Something to do with him not being lucid. He’s come in here before. I don’t get what the problem is.”

Sonia shrugs. “You didn’t question it?”

“I didn’t have the strength to argue.”

Sonia coughs again. “Okay, well—I’ll try to sort it out for next time.” She looks down; the smile on her face remains. She is trying so hard to be normal around me. I really look up to her for that. I wouldn’t be so strong in her situation.

“I guess I’ll be in touch,” I say, and flatten both hands on the glass—the closest I can get them to her. Sonia does the same, directly on mine, like we are taking each other’s handprints off the glass. We hold each other’s gaze for a moment more and share a few silent words of hope.

When we lower our hands, I stand and say, “I wrote a rock version of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ for you.”

It looks as though Sonia’s breath catches in her throat. “You remember my rainbow story?”

I nod. “Of course I do. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. I’ll play it for you when you get out.”

A tear falls down Sonia’s cheek as I step away from the glass.

Dad is staring into space when I approach him in the waiting room. He’s sitting on a bench, peeling the banana he shoved in his pocket on the way out of the house.

I kneel in front of him and rest my hands on his thighs. “Do you want to go get some lunch? Pizza and beer?”

Dad nods. “Mia? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

I squeeze Dad’s knees. “Yes, that’s my name.”

Dad rests his half-peeled banana in his lap and touches a hand to my cheek. It’s cold and clammy. He looks into my eyes as if he suddenly remembers who I am, but his eyes glaze over again just as fast.

He lowers his hand and scrutinizes his surroundings. “Where are we?”

“It’s not important,” I say. “What’s important is that I’m about to take you out for a real yummy pizza. You’re hungry, right?”

Dad looks at the banana in his lap as if it were a weapon. I pick it up and hold it in front of him. “Would you still like to eat this?”

“Did I want to eat it before?”

“I think so. You were peeling it when I came out.”

“Came out of where?” Confusion spreads across his face and his bottom lip trembles. “I’m sorry. I’m being forgetful today. What’s your name again?”

I stand from my crouching position and sit beside him on the bench. I take his hand and pat it gently. He looks puzzled but not at all afraid. He has always been good at hiding that.

This is my dad now. The longest he remembers who I am is five minutes, usually less. A tear tickles my cheek, and I wipe it away with the heel of my hand.

“My name is Mia, Nash.” I try not to call him Dad because that always triggers more confused questions.

Dad smiles and squeezes the tops of my still-quite-flabby arms.

“Well, Mia,” Dad says, then runs his thumb under my right eye as if removing some smudged mascara. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

Epilogue

Sonia: