For Rye by Gavin Gardiner (books for 10th graders txt) 📗

the stitching of her gown tear. ‘Damn you! You didn’t know her or what she’d been through or—’

Quentin drove his fist into her stomach. Her body stiffened like a board then went limp, deflated. ‘But how else was I gonna get you home, huh? It got you back to this shithole of a town and started you on the path to flipping out again. Two birds, one stone, babe. Work smarter, not harder.’ He gave her a quick double thumbs up. ‘Barbeque Mamma Wakefield to get you home,’ he said, stroking his chin, ‘carve that rhyme into her to get me involved, then find ways to get you close to me. By the way, you did a fine job at comforting me after that tragic explosion outside your house, and all your hard work on the script really is appreciated, even though I deliberately made it crappy. All ways to get us close.’ He leant down to whisper in her ear. ‘Tell me, Ren. You do still love me, don’t you?’

‘I’ll…kill you.’

Quentin applauded mockingly. ‘Yes! We have a winner!’

After lighting a fresh cigarette, he reached into his blazer and proudly presented the notepad, the character study on Renata. He licked a finger and began flicking through its pages. ‘I got me the whole shebang right here, all the little details. Your crazy little tics, all those idiosyncrasies that hint at your madness, tell-tale signs you know nothing about. But I do. All the plot points that have led to this moment, every word from your mouth, every twitch and jitter leading inevitably to your unhinging: I have it all. My book won’t be a carbon copy, obviously, but I’ll have enough to create something truly meaningful. It’s just a waiting game now, Renata, darling. A risky waiting game, I’ll admit. After all, you’re a killer. You’ll come after me, and when you do, who knows what shit you’ll try and pull?’ He blew smoke into her face. ‘I can’t wait to find out. I’ll be ready. The risk, the danger: it’s an essential ingredient in this grand search. Or maybe it’ll be dear Daddy Wakefield to get the spade treatment next, huh? No matter, I’ll be sticking around to see where this goes from a safe distance. I’ve been following you for a long time, put a lot of money and effort into you, and it’s time for this little investment to pay off. I can’t wait to see how you flip out. Just make sure it’s good. I want this book to sell.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, fingers curled, nails gouging the palms of each hand. Blood crept from her fists. ‘None of it.’

‘You don’t need to. I’ve already broken one of your rules. What was it…?’ He flicked through the black notebook. ‘Ah, here. “Don’t tell them the story, let them discover it.” Well, I’ve told you enough. It’s time for you to discover the rest for yourself.’ He reached under the bed and pulled out the red spade, then placed it ceremonially on the nightstand. ‘Don’t believe me, please. I beg you, don’t take my word for it. Discover the truth for yourself.’ He looked at the spade. ‘Funny,’ he said, ‘that your mother should be buried so close to such a little unmarked stone.’

The door swung open.

‘What is this, cigarette smoke?’ barked the bulldog of a nurse as she grabbed the Marlboro from Quentin’s mouth. Renata cringed as the woman threw the smoking stub into that sparkling sink in the corner. ‘This is a hospital, sir,’ she said as she climbed a chair and began fiddling with the ceiling-mounted disc. ‘Bloody smoke alarms don’t even work. Right, get out of here. Go on, or I’ll call security.’

Quentin winked at Renata as he dropped the nine-volt Duracell into the bin. He went to the door.

‘Discover the truth for yourself.’ His eyes flicked to the spade. ‘It all comes back to the truth.’

17

‘Wake up.’

The cold air stung as her mind struggled into consciousness. The voice growled again.

‘Miss Wakefield?’

The hospital bed felt hard, like stone.

‘It’s okay, it’s just me.’

She struggled to sit up. The figure that knelt by her side began coughing. She desperately tried to focus on the shape’s outline, marked by the sun pouring through a tall window. She strained against the glaring light, finally realising where she was.

The clock tower.

She felt the hospital gown under her duffle coat and the dull ache in her feet, then remembered her barefoot trudge along the Millbury Peak backroads and across the fields. Funny, all these years fantasising about being back in hospital only to end up escaping one. But what were those jaundiced eyes and that tatty raincoat doing here? What was he doing in her clock tower?

‘Detective O’Connell,’ she said, rubbing the drip wound on the back of her hand.

‘I told you, Miss Wakefield. It’s Hector to you.’

Her joints ached from the stone. The chill bit into her face. Light filled the room. Her eyes fell on a shrivelled makeshift bouquet of lichens, dandelions, and daisies sitting by the window. Dread suddenly flooded in.

Quentin.

‘I was worried about you, Miss Wakefield. No one’s heard from you in days. I couldn’t even get hold of Mr Rye. His crew’s packed up shop and left town. Ran out of money people are saying. I ended up checking with the hospital in case anything had happened to you. They said you were there two days until you just…’ He paused. ‘You must be wondering how I knew to look for you here.’ He took a breath to calm himself, then reached for a thermal flask and poured Renata a cup of hot tea. His hands were still unsteady, sweat still beaded his forehead; alcohol withdrawal hadn’t finished running its course. ‘Like I said, I’ve known your family since you were a girl. I’m a detective, Miss Wakefield.