“We're going out,” said Simon, tempering a headache that would cripple him if he didn't act on the Creature's instruction. He stood. “Now.”
Sarah looked at her plate, meal not even half-finished, and then back at him.
“Dessert,” he said. “I've had enough of that microwave. I want to buy something before the shop closes.”
“That,” she said, “is the most pathetic lie I've ever heard. You're still avoiding talking to me. You'll do anything, won't you?”
“I'm not avoiding you,” he said. “You're coming with me. Get your warm coat.”
“We’re taking your car, right?”
“Warm … coat ...” Simon said.
Her bare feet thudded against the carpeted stairs, hitting the ones that squeaked and the ones that didn't indiscriminately. The sound got smaller and smaller and then he heard her open her wardrobe door, followed by the clack and clang of hangers. Within moments, she was running back down the stairs in trainers. Over one arm was the dark green army jacket he had requested she wear.
“Okay,” she said, hopping down the last step. “Let's get this over with.”
“... Put it on then,” Simon said.
“I'll look like a div,” she replied. She hadn’t worn the coat since Simon had given it to her. It was all pockets and straps and scuffed, metal poppers. It had a detachable hood and a worn tag that said it was authentic, as used by the UK military. “I know you wear these, but ...” Although it was chilly out, it was still technically summer. Technically, she’d look like a div. She pouted in defiance. “Can't I just carry it? … Okay, okay, I'll wear it.”
In the car, she made a point of fiddling with the windows and the fan before even reaching for the seat belt. When she did, Simon said:
“I wouldn’t bother with that if I was you, Rabbit,” and set about adjusting the rear view mirror.
She let the seatbelt go and it clunked back into its place behind her left shoulder. She sat absolutely still.
She had been stupid to grab her coat and come back downstairs. That had been her opportunity to escape. 'Warm coat' was her signal to run and she had missed it. 'Rabbit' confirmed that she was now in deep shit.
Or was she? Maybe she should call his bluff.
She felt weak when she glanced at Simon’s face. She saw no emotion. No life. They were not going out for cake.
Only the hope that this might be a drill prevented her from babbling at him, as she had no intention of being chased down by him, by her own brother. She would rather die here and now.
Eyes shut tight, she tried not to cry. She had behaved stupidly, not once, but twice, so absorbed by her thoughts and her need for answers that she hadn't seen the change come over him.
When she opened her eyes, the car was eating up white lines. Simon looked dead ahead, focusing outwards.
If this is a test, she thought, what does Simon expect of me? They were driving too quickly for her to grab the wheel without killing them. Maybe that was what he wanted. She glanced at him again for some kind of hint, but he communicated nothing. He had become the automaton.
As if she needed more evidence that something was wrong, they drove past the local shop, which was still open, without slowing. Simon took a corner in fourth gear and Sarah's stomach turned.
The road descended steeply, flanked by trees on either side whose branches locked fingers overhead. They rocketed down the hill.
If she was going to stop this, she had to do it now. At the current speed, her options seemed to be injury or death and, considering that Simon had contingency plans for every eventuality, she ascertained that this must be the plan.
Now’s my chance, she thought. Grab the wheel. Roll the car …
It was one thing to think it and another to reach across, take the cold leather of the steering wheel and pull.
“Gum,” Simon demanded, breaking her mental loop. His eyes remained on the road.
“What? Where?”
“In your pocket,” Simon said, as though talking to a child.
In the inside pocket of the div jacket, she found a pack of spearmint chewing gum, along with an index card. She dropped two tablets of gum into Simon’s outstretched hand, afraid to touch him, and then she shrank back to read the card, which she was able to do quickly, because it had only one word written on it, in thick, black, marker pen letters.
GO.
“We’re nearly there,” Simon said.
She had never seriously considered that she would have to protect herself from him, but here it was, and faced with this reality, she couldn't do what it took to escape. Knowing her luck, she'd kill them both, and while that might have been part of Simon's plan it certainly wasn't something she could accept. She couldn't risk hurting him.
Simon glanced at her.
“It’s okay,” Sarah said.
Simon allowed a vehicle to overtake and get some distance ahead, before he cut the lights and turned the car onto a path that was partially concealed from the road, almost like driving through curtains and ending up backstage. Panic leapt within her and she knew why Simon had been keen for her to escape before this turning. She could not see ahead and within a few seconds could no longer see behind either. Through the passenger window, she made out the outline of trees, tall, old men with their arms around each other for support.
The tyres chewed the dirt, the engine growled to get up an incline, and then everything was still.
“Alright, rabbit,” he said and cut the engine with a flick of his wrist.
There was the word 'rabbit' again, her invitation to run, but she could not see more than a few feet in any direction. She had more chance of getting a branch in the face than losing Simon. This was probably his territory. She'd fall and scream, be lost and found, she'd run in a circle. Getting out of the car would only prolong the end. She wouldn’t do it.
“Let’s get it over with,” Simon said, taking the words out of her mouth. When she didn’t move, he said: “If you don't get out of the car, I'll drag you out.”
She looked deep into his dark, brown eyes and saw nothing except that he meant what he had said. He stared into hers and saw that she understood, and yet she still didn't move.
She thought he might slap her then, but instead he got out of the car. He became a shape, like the trees; a man in an army and navy surplus store jacket, unbuttoned, walking fast, with grim purpose. When he reached her door, she flicked the lock down, leaned over the driver’s seat, slammed the driver’s door shut and locked it too.
He looked surprised.
“Open the door, Sarah.”
On the other side of the glass, his voice was raised, but calm and very far away. She clambered over the gear stick, into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As she crunched into reverse gear, Simon took a step back and delivered a swift side kick to the glass. The car rocked, the glass cracked but didn’t break.
She hit the accelerator and the car revved uselessly. She raised the clutch, too quickly, and stalled the engine. Silence.
Simon was a blur at the window. This time the glass smashed into chunks and he reached in, leaning over the passenger seat and grabbing a handful of her jacket.
“Don’t do it,” he growled. “Get out.”
With one hand, she attempted to fight him off without much effect. With the other, she twisted the key and the car jumped backwards, forcing Simon to release her, spilling him to the ground.
Treat it like a driving lesson, she thought.
Check the mirrors. Signal. No. Fuck that. Raise the clutch. Slowly. Slowly.
As the car moved backwards, revving wildly, Simon reached through the broken glass a second time. This time he unlocked the door and had it open. Sarah allowed the car to pick up speed, racing back towards the main road, bumping up the steep incline and throwing Simon to the floor a second time. He rolled as though it was nothing, gained his feet and ran after her.
She jerked the wheel left and then right, engine screaming as the car crawled backwards up the incline, kicking up dirt. The back of the car hit a tree, but she kept moving, with the sound of metal on bark now. And then it was free and the car slammed down on the main road. She lost her grip on the wheel; caught it again. Still rolling backwards, she put the car into first gear.
Unable to watch what Simon was doing and concentrate on her driving, she looked down at her feet. Clutch. Gently. Gentle acceleration. The car lurched.
Heart hammering, she looked up and saw Simon running in her path, arms outstretched, waving her down. In the headlights she saw that his chin was bloody. She might have stopped had she not seen his eyes. Empty, as though he did not feel pain or anger or fear. There was only her and his need to take her into the forest.
Don’t stall, she told herself.
When she was sure that the engine had bitten, she floored the accelerator and was rewarded with a momentary squeal of tyres. She tried to swerve around her brother, but heard a sickening thud as he glanced off the wing.
She checked the mirror to see if he was (still coming) okay, but the road was empty.
It was half a mile before she realised she was holding her breath and another half a mile before she considered that she needn't hurry as she neither knew where she was nor where she was going.
She pulled over, tyres scraping the kerb, and took a deep breath of the air that swirled in through the broken window. The passenger seat was covered in shattered glass.
She had to go where Simon couldn't find her, something he had made her arrange, but which she had never taken seriously, as if not thinking about it could have prevented it from happening. It had almost worked.
He had always warned her not to go home. It was the first place anyone would look. And it was where he would go too, which made it the most dangerous place in the world.