Vanished, James Delargy [i like reading books txt] 📗

no connection between his brain and limbs, his motor skills lost. The single abiding instruction tearing around his skull was not to leave Dylan. Not to let him go. Naiyana’s tears arrived, bringing forth the vain hope that an outpouring of love could bring their son back. Or in futile competition over who loved him the most. A precursor to the inevitable accusations of who had killed him.

The inactivity of grief washed over him and anger filled the hole that it left.

He scowled at Ian, who stood watch over the proceedings. ‘You killed him,’ said Lorcan, searching for wrath but finding only a dry, reedy squeak, his arm in severe pain.

‘I didn’t see him,’ said Ian, his voice also lacking power. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘You took him out here!’ This was Naiyana, her tone fiercer than both of them. She had apportioned blame already. ‘Why the hell were you running?’

‘You both know why.’

She stared at him, reading his eyes. ‘You saw it,’ she said, her words faltering, the engine clogged, spluttering for power.

‘I saw Ian,’ said Lorcan, gritting his teeth when uttering his name, ‘kill Mike. I assume he killed Stevie too.’

‘No he didn’t—’ started Naiyana.

Ian half-nodded, half-shook his head as if confused. ‘I wasn’t there. Naiyana can back me up on that. Mike said you did it.’

‘Lies. I saw you kill Mike, so you killed Stevie too.’

As Ian continued to twist his head in denial, Lorcan continued, ‘I know something else too. Your affair. So, what I’m guessing is that Mike and Stevie found out, there was a scuffle and you killed them both.’

‘No,’ said Ian.

‘Who are the police more likely to believe?’

He watched Ian raise the rifle. Lorcan knew he was testing him. He knew that it was a stupid thing to do given that Ian had already killed one person. But he realized something else. That he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Only Dylan. His beautiful son. Squeezing his eyes he fought back the tears. The pause allowed a shard of self-preservation to catch the light. He needed to stay alive. For Dylan’s sake.

‘But I don’t want to go to them,’ said Lorcan.

‘What do you want?’ asked Ian.

‘We split the gold. And leave separately.’

He felt both their eyes on him. Weighing up if he was telling the truth. That he just wanted the money. Greed overwhelming grief for his murdered son. But Lorcan had a reason for wanting the gold.

‘I want to take Dylan with me and bury him.’

Naiyana started shaking her head at this, holding her son’s hand tighter. ‘You’re not taking him!’

‘You don’t have a choice,’ said Lorcan. ‘You’re shacked up with the guy who killed him. You decided that.’

‘It was an accident,’ said Ian, shifting his gaze from Lorcan to Naiyana, trying to reassure her.

For all it mattered, Ian did seem genuinely distraught, but Lorcan didn’t care. Naiyana could worry about his feelings. They could go screw each other and patch up their feelings. Fuck them.

‘This was your fault,’ he spat at Ian. ‘And yours,’ he said to Naiyana, right in her face, the tears streaked, drying on her bloodied cheeks.

‘I’m taking Dylan,’ he added, finding the strength to shout it across the barren landscape.

The first punch was weak but painful, her knuckles like knives as they rattled his teeth. Another followed, Naiyana attacking him as she let go of Dylan’s hand. Trying to block her swinging fists, Lorcan fought beside his dead son, trying to give as good as he got despite having one arm. Scratching and biting in the sand and the dirt. All while Ian’s rifle was pointed directly at them.

133

Naiyana

She fought with all her might. She fought dirty. She had to. The blood in her eyes had blinded her to all intent. She relied on wits that had been sharpened in the last year dealing with the shit she’d been through. She punched and when that didn’t seem to make a difference, she scratched. Then bit. He was not taking her son from her.

She heard Ian shout at them to break it up. Like a teacher in a school playground. But this fight was for so much more than teenage pride. It was for Dylan. It was for everything they had been through. A fight to the death.

The punch rocked her. It caught her on the neck and caused one side of her body to suddenly go numb, her arm letting go of his shoulder.

There was no follow-up blow. Just a hard shove that forced her away from him.

It allowed her to clear some of the blood from her eyes. It felt like a thick, stinging molasses. Though the ache in her skull cried out for her to give up she put her hand out to lever herself back up. To go again. To attack. In doing so her hand brushed something hard. Metal. The rifle.

Grabbing it, Naiyana staggered to her feet. She raised the gun and aimed it at Lorcan. At the blur that was Lorcan, one arm hanging limp by his side.

She could hear Ian yelling for her to put it down. And Lorcan yelling that Ian had killed Dylan.

She needed to end this.

She would aim for his chest. The largest surface area. One half-decent shot would do it.

She tried to set her feet to do so but found she had little control of her limbs, as if the blow to the head had sheared the connections. The sand grabbed onto her feet, holding them in place as her body weight pitched forward. She stumbled towards her husband, falling pathetically.

Lorcan’s one good hand grabbed for the rifle. She tried to squeeze the trigger but off-balance it was twisted from her hands, the butt swinging around and cracking into her forehead, spinning her to the side. More pain. More violent lullabies ringing around her skull.

The shot deafened her as she fell to the sand.

Blinking hard again, riding out the pain, she found Lorcan lying beside her, blood pumping from the