Page 132

He laughed.

‘Now you’re talking. See, I want him to get here. I can’t wait for him to arrive. Then I can kill him, too. Change of plan by the way. He’s dying first. I’ll use the knife, so you can both watch him bleed out. So bring it on. Welcome, Otis!’

He pointed at Mary.

‘How does it feel?’ he said. ‘How does it feel to see—’

He was interrupted by a loud, guttural rumble coming from the front of the house. It grew into the throaty roar of a powerful engine. Mary watched as Ryan turned and looked up the side of the house towards the drive.

Otis – presumably – had started a car. It wasn’t the sound of a Golf.

It was Carl’s Porsche. Otis must have found the keys. He’d always wanted to drive a sports car; well, now he’d got his wish.

Relief washed over Mary. At least her son would survive this. She waited for the sound of the engine to fade as he drove away.

It did not. It grew louder.

It was getting closer, and then she realized what Otis was doing.

The path between the house and the trees was wide. Wide enough for a car. She knew because she’d made it that way with her dad, when she was a demanding teenager who wanted a Hobie catamaran to sail on the lake. They had cut the bushes and trees and undergrowth back so that the boat could be towed down to the water’s edge.

The noise rose into a cacophony.

Too late, Ryan also realized what Otis was doing, and his eyes widened, his mouth a wide ‘O’ of shock and surprise.

Carl’s Porsche shot past the corner of the house and slammed into him. There was a thud and then a crunch of bone breaking. Ryan flew into the air, spinning over the hood and landing with a sickening crunch behind the car.

He lay on the ground, groaning. Mary got to her feet and walked over to him. His hips were twisted unnaturally away from his body and blood leaked from his mouth

Sally joined her. ‘Be careful what you wish for, loser,’ she said.

Good, Mary thought. Nice job, Otis.

The Porsche had skidded to a halt on the lawn. The reversing lights came on and the engine revved. Ryan tilted his head to look at the car.

‘Yes,’ he mumbled. ‘Do it.’

Mary realized what her son was going to do, and she understood why. Not least because this man had been pointing a shotgun at his family. Mary would have done the same. If she was sitting in the driver’s seat of that car, Ryan at her mercy, she would have reversed over him without a second thought.

And then run over him again and again and again until she was sure he was dead.

But she wasn’t behind that wheel. And Otis did not need to do this. Mary stepped in front of Ryan.

‘No, Otis!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t!’

The Porsche revved again. The door opened and Otis looked back at her.

‘Get out of the way!’ he said.

‘No.’ Mary held up her hands. ‘Not this, Otis. I won’t let you.’

‘Move, Mom,’ Otis said. ‘He deserves it.’

Mary shook her head. ‘He deserves nothing,’ she said. ‘Not even this. He wants this, Otis.’

He closed the door, then the engine switched off. Otis climbed out, his face drained of blood, and walked over to Sally.

‘You should have done it, Otis,’ Ryan said. He nodded at the shotgun, which lay on the dirt to his left. His voice was a rasp. ‘Shoot me. Go on. You know you want to.’