Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (large ebook reader .txt) 📗

Frankie suddenly can’t find any air.

‘I loved seeing Charlotte naked too… Did you know she wanted to be a model?’ Jack cups the back of his head as he strikes a pose. ‘And I just obliged. Silly bitch,’ he sneers. ‘She thought it made her look powerful and sexy, but she didn’t see all the dirty-minded men using her pictures to spill their filth into. That’s how powerful she was,’ he laughs. ‘You’re all silly bitches. Her and you and all the others.’

Martin jolts beside her as though he’s woken from a trance.

‘So that’s why she couldn’t tell me what was going on: because it was you Jack! She only hinted at what you were doing to her… And the indecent images – they were yours, weren’t they?’ Martin shakes his head, incredulous. ‘That’s the bit we missed. Peter took the rap for you.’

Jack only looks back, blankly, for a moment. ‘It was my idea,’ he says suddenly. ‘To kill two birds, as it were. You and my dad.’

‘Why would you do that to your own father?’ Martin looks at him, horrified.

But Jack’s face clouds. ‘Have you got any idea what it’s like to be neglected all your life, hmm? To be the child that doesn’t exist? Have you?’ He glowers. ‘All I ever wanted was for him to see me, but he never did; it was all Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte.’ His mouth grimaces. ‘So bit by bit, I took her away from him until I took her away for good. It didn’t take much to convince my mental father to kill the man who had murdered her – It all seemed so sweet.’ Jack looks directly at Martin. ‘But the incompetent old fucker didn’t kill you, did he, Martin? He ballsed up and you get to make a nuisance of yourself with her.’ He points the can at Frankie. She sees that the cap is off.

‘How I wanted you dead, Jarvis.’ Jack’s grimace turns to anger. ‘You just couldn’t keep your hands off anything, could you? Charlotte was mine and you had to go and touch her.’ His face hardens. He grips the can until it makes a denting sound, in and out, in and out. ‘And she wasn’t yours to touch.’ He pulls a lighter from his other pocket.

‘Jack, you’re not serious,’ Frankie starts. ‘Put that down. What do you think you’re doing?’

‘He touched her.’ Jack doesn’t take his eyes from Martin. He rolls the lighter wheel again.

‘But I didn’t touch her Jack! She came to me a few times and we talked. That’s all! That night at the party was different: she was crying. She was shit-scared. Now I realise she was scared of you, Jack – you were everything she hated… It was you.’

‘You’re a liar.’ Jack flicks the lighter once, then twice. ‘You were telling her to get away and leave me. I knew it wasn’t her saying that shit. You put the words in her mouth.’

‘She was terrified. She said something really bad was going to happen to her. I told her to go to the police, but she said no one would believe her.’

‘See? See?’ Jack’s head snaps back. ‘You couldn’t help yourself. We were fine until you came along. She was happy—’

‘You’re not going to do any of this, Jack. You’re not that stupid.’

Martin glances at the lighter can and then at the flame that keeps popping and fading from under Jack’s thumb. Frankie shoots a look at him in warning. What was he thinking, antagonising him?

‘Don’t you tell me what to do.’ The flame sends weird dancing shadows across the glint of Jack’s eyes. His thumb pauses menacingly. ‘You’re not in charge here, Jarvis: I am.’ He eases the door open behind him. ‘All this and you…’ he waves the can across the floor and a spray of fluid patters across the carpet, ‘… are going up in smoke.’

There’s a sudden blur of movement.

Martin lunges for Jack, knocking the can from his hand. A spray of lighter fuel fountains into the air, pattering across Frankie’s face, leaving her gasping. There’s a crash as the two bodies hit the wall. A whole shelf of books topples, smashing to the floor as Martin makes a dive for the can but misses.

‘Frankie!’ he yells.

Jack has grabbed him, pinning him to the floor; his elbow is at his neck. Martin thrashes wildly, his fingers reaching for Jack’s face. He rakes at his mouth, digging his nails in and tearing downwards. There’s a howl from Jack and a sudden spurt of blood from his lip as Frankie suddenly jerks into action, leaping onto Jack’s shoulders and using her whole bodyweight to haul him backwards. He stumbles, floundering madly, wheeling her round and crashing blindly into the bookcase. A load of books topple, and then he has her: his fingers dig into her windpipe, squeezing and squeezing as she claws frantically at his clothes. There’s a buzzing in her ears, the sound is getting louder as the room begins to fade around the edges. She’s aware of Martin somewhere, his voice sounding very far away, getting fainter and fainter… then there’s a sudden release of pressure and she takes a huge gasp of air.

Martin is shouting, she doesn’t know what. Jack’s weight lifts and her senses come rushing back. She finally hears the words he’s yelling. Her fingers fumble to her pocket and suddenly she has it: the Swiss Army knife is in her hand, the blade pulled and pointing and she thrusts forward, not knowing what she’s doing or where it’s aiming.

Jack screams, and both men pitch backwards into the bookcase. She is aware of the sound of splitting wood and looks up to where the shelves used to be. In their place is a camera, its hooded black snout pointing in her direction, its red camera eye blinking and flexing, and what she saw that night begins to fall into place. Jack is crouched on all fours, bleeding from a cut on his face. Martin