Reversal. Chapter four

Reversal
Chapter four

Leyton Falls, at the old Evans place, 00.02

The solitary bulb above Helen’s head exploded as Elizabeth’s body exited the western twin, leaving the room bathed in a blue, half-light, emanating from within the two mirrors. Helen reached out, catching her daughter, the sudden weight rocking her backward.

She studied Elizabeth’s face. She looked pale; the bluish hue from the mirrors adding a more macabre slant to her features, then she moved her gaze to Elizabeth’s chest.

‘She’s not breathing, Peter!’

Peter placed his hand on Elizabeth, then looked at Helen as a smile cracked his lips. ‘There’s a heartbeat.’

‘What? Are you sure?’

Peter nodded. ‘She’s alive, Helen.’

Helen turned to Elizabeth’s bed and laid her on it.

Immediately, a sharp intake of breath rocked Elizabeth’s body rigid. Her arms pushed taut down her sides. Her fists clenched. Her legs inflexible. And, as black as the darkest of nights, her eyes opened.

Peter knelt beside the bed. ‘You see, it wasn’t too late, the old woman was wrong,’ he assured Helen. ‘Just trying to make out this was all some evil sinister act.’ But deep down he knew that’s exactly what this was. Not so much sinister in getting his baby girl back, but the act of doing so in the first place. It wasn’t God’s way. They both knew.

When Elizabeth’s soul began to emerge from the place it’d spent the last twelve and a half hours, her stiff form relaxed. The breath she’d drew a minute earlier only now being released, at first condensed, then turning to a fine grey powder before settling over her. both Helen and Peter had tears running down their faces, they looked to one another and a short solitary laugh broke out between them.

Elizabeth blinked a number of times before sitting up, she glanced around the darkened room as though not seeing her parents kneeling beside her. ‘What the fuck?’

Helen and Peter again looked to one another, this time horror-struck, then back to their daughter, who’d never once used a word like “Fuck”.

Peter took her hand; it felt cold, but warming. ‘Lizzie, it’s us … it’s mom and dad.’

Elizabeth frowned, looking at him. ‘Lizzie? Who the fuck’s Lizzie?’ she said. ‘Is this some kind of sick, fucking joke?’ Everything about her voice told them it was Elizabeth, everything but the words.

Helen stood, covering the lower half of her face with both hands. Her head started to shake. ‘I don’t know what we’ve done, Peter, but that’s not Elizabeth!’

Elizabeth, or who ever sat on the bed, looked herself up and down, her eyes turning to little more than thin slits as her forehead creased in yet another, deeper frown, drawing her eyes closer together, her top lip curled in rage. ‘Fucking ‘A’ on that one, lady.’

It had all gone wrong, the old woman told them not to go ahead after midnight but they ignored the warning. Helen turned, opening a drawer beside the bed, when she turned back; she held a gun in her hands.

Peter walked to her. ‘What the hell is that for?’

‘That’s not Elizabeth, I don’t know who, or what the fuck it is, but it’s not my baby!’ she yelled, pushing Peter aside then taking aim.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Her face softened. Colour returned to her Cheeks. Her arms reached out. ‘Mommy, it is me, mommy. Help me, I’m scared, really scared.’

Both Helen’s hands shook as she aimed the gun at her daughter’s head. ‘No … you are not Elizabeth, you are not my baby!’

Peter licked his lips, looked across to Elizabeth then back to Helen. ‘Put the gun down, Helen, please!’

Helen’s breathing had become loud, erratic; tears streamed from her eyes and a trail of clear snot seeped from her nose. She sniffed at it. ‘You are not my daughter,’ she shouted, her eyes blinking out more tears.

Elizabeth knelt up on the bed, her arms still reaching out to Helen. ‘Mommy, please stop it, you’re scaring me.’

‘Helen, would you put the gun down, can’t you see she is Elizabeth?’

Still shaking, Helen looked along the length of her arms to the short, black barrel trembling at the end of them, and still directed at her daughter. She screamed, pulling back the hammer ready to shoot.

‘Helen, please,’ said Peter, reaching for the gun. He placed his hand over both of hers and pushed them toward the floor. ‘It’s Lizzie, Helen,’ he said, using a calming tone. ‘She’s come back to us.’

For a moment Helen stood in silence, then, looking over her daughter’s face, she relented. Sobbing, she dropped to her knees releasing the gun to the floor, raising her head, she again looked at her daughter. ‘Elizabeth?’ she questioned, reaching out, her hands trembling, her breaths breaking into sobs.

Elizabeth climbed from the bed and stepped over. Helen embraced her, held her tight. Peter dropped to his knees and placed his arms around both of them, all three in tears. Then, a sudden loud bang sounded, Helen’s head shot back as she leaned away from Elizabeth, Peter looked to see a dark stain start to develop in the centre of her stomach. Her hand held the area, blood seeped through her fingers. She fell completely away from Elizabeth, staring at her, her eyes wider than Peter had ever seen before. He looked to Elizabeth, then down at the gun as another shot rang out, this one hitting Peter mid-chest. He fell back against the wall with a look of terror on his face.

Struggling to hold it steady, Elizabeth raised the gun to Helen’s forehead. ‘Like I told you, lady,’ she said, once again pulling the trigger. ‘Fucking ‘A’ on that one!’ The next shot blew the back of Helen’s head up the window.

Peter attempted to rise; he pushed away from the wall only to fall back again. ‘Who …?’ was all he managed.

‘Who?’ repeated Elizabeth. ‘Your worst fuckin’ nightmare, buddy, that’s who. Now what year is this?’

‘W-what?’

Again, Elizabeth struggled to manage the gun, her hands not quite big enough, but she managed to cock the hammer and press the barrel hard against his temple, forcing his head sideways. ‘You heard me, you piss-ant cunt, what fucking year is it?’ She then stepped back allowing Peter to turn his head back, though still aimed the gun at it.

Peter couldn’t believe the words he heard in the voice of his little girl. ‘It’s two-thousand-ten,’ he said, watching the young perfect face of his dead daughter once again contort with anger.

‘Fuck, that’s eleven years. Eleven fucking years I’ve been stuck in there. I should’a known that bitch was gonna pull a stunt like this. What did she tell you, throw your dead baby girl in one end and she’ll pop out the other like some brand knew fucking toy?’

Peter didn’t answer.

‘Where is she?’

Peter coughed, a thick clot of blood landing on his stomach. ‘What?’

‘The old woman, the one who told you what to do; only I guess you didn’t listen too well, huh, buddy? Thought she was just some old bag babbling a crock of shit, didn’t-?’ The sound of someone banging on the front door interrupted Elizabeth. Then someone shouting came from out front, she looked down at Peter and smiled. ‘You expecting company?’
Again, Peter never replied, already losing his grip on what little life he had, he said, ‘Where’s Elizabeth?’
‘Oh,’ she said, pointing to one of the mirrors. ‘She’s in there all right, she’ll be all curled up in some dark corner shittin’ bricks out her ass and watching for the Cucu man. And believe me, he’ll be looking very hard for her, and do you know what he’s gonna do when he finds-’
Again, Elizabeth was interrupted, this time by the phone ringing downstairs, when it eventually stopped, the crash of the front door being kicked in followed, then more voices, this time from inside the house.