Goths?
She rolled down the window, wondering if they were going to ask for money. The girl said with an English accent, 'So sorry to bother you, but we have information about your brother.'
Maria was taken by surprise and when the girl moved to open the door, Maria let her.
The girl sat in the shotgun seat, and the man –
more boy, really – got in the back. Maria didn't like him behind her.
The girl smiled reassuringly and said, 'It must have been very hard for you, the awful way that John died. He must have suffered so.'
Maria thought she detected a sneer in the words and the girl's eyes, they were definitely
. . . malevolent. She began to regret her rashness in allowing them into the car.
The girl said, 'Grief, it just kills you, don't you think?'
Maria looked through the windscreen, but no one was about. The evening was cold and the usual walkers had stayed at home.
She asked, 'You said you had information about . . . John?' It hurt even to utter his name.
The girl was fumbling in her bag. She produced a lighter and asked, 'You smoke?'
And the boy grabbed her from behind, holding her tight in a vice-like grip.
The girl produced a small can of petrol and began to douse Maria, saying, 'Juice you right up, girl.' Then she flicked the lighter, opened the door of the car, said, a smile on her lips, 'You're cooking now,' and set the flame on Maria's jacket. A whoosh followed instantly
and Maria could have sworn she heard the boy say, 'I'm so sorry.'
They were halfway down the prom when the flames hit the tank. The explosion sounded unbearably loud.
The girl did a little ballet step and let out a holler:
'Way to go, girl.'
12
How the flame ignites . . .
The girl's eyes opened. She'd been dozing and now snapped awake. She took in her surroundings, this awful room in such stark contrast to the home her mother had kept.
And dampness, the whole house reeked of it.
Blame the Irish weather? No, just a cheap landlord.
A slight smile curled on her lips as she thought, 'Can introduce him to the flame too.'
Even as she thought it she could smell smoke, a burning not too far away, and she allowed the scent to engulf her, to lift her up.
She was delighted, and emitted a series of giggles before wrapping her arms round her thin frame, hugging to herself the stark fact that she'd now killed twice. It gave her a rush of such adrenalin and power, it was like a whole new mode of intoxication. And yet she was still dissatisfied. More . . . she needed more.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a whoosh of flame. It started in the corner of the room and crept along the wall, but when she turned to look at it directly, it vanished. When this occurred, as it did more and more, she usually checked people around her to see their response. She couldn't believe they hadn't seen it – but no, they seemed oblivious.
This just confirmed that the darkness had chosen her. Only she could hear and act out the dark scenario, the malignant blueprint of revenge.
Her heart accelerated with images of fire.
She recalled the flight to Ireland with Aer Lingus, the cabin crew asking if they were going on holiday. There had been flames in the corner of the cabin – couldn't they see them? She'd smiled and said, 'Oh yes, a family outing. We're going to have us a high old time.' She'd waited before adding, 'Our mother is already over there.'
The crew had thought it was refreshing to meet such a close-knit family and had promised, 'You'll love Ireland.'
She'd pulled her eyes away from the inferno she could glimpse along the wings of the plane and replied, 'And Ireland is going to love us.'
13
There is no pain like the loss of a child.
I could have caught a cab to the hospital, but I
wanted to delay the news that I dreaded I was going to hear.
Cody had come to me asking to be my partner in investigation, and he was a mix of naivety, pseudo-American swagger, irritation and aggravation.
Then the amazing thing had happened. I
hate to go
She rolled down the window, wondering if they were going to ask for money. The girl said with an English accent, 'So sorry to bother you, but we have information about your brother.'
Maria was taken by surprise and when the girl moved to open the door, Maria let her.
The girl sat in the shotgun seat, and the man –
more boy, really – got in the back. Maria didn't like him behind her.
The girl smiled reassuringly and said, 'It must have been very hard for you, the awful way that John died. He must have suffered so.'
Maria thought she detected a sneer in the words and the girl's eyes, they were definitely
. . . malevolent. She began to regret her rashness in allowing them into the car.
The girl said, 'Grief, it just kills you, don't you think?'
Maria looked through the windscreen, but no one was about. The evening was cold and the usual walkers had stayed at home.
She asked, 'You said you had information about . . . John?' It hurt even to utter his name.
The girl was fumbling in her bag. She produced a lighter and asked, 'You smoke?'
And the boy grabbed her from behind, holding her tight in a vice-like grip.
The girl produced a small can of petrol and began to douse Maria, saying, 'Juice you right up, girl.' Then she flicked the lighter, opened the door of the car, said, a smile on her lips, 'You're cooking now,' and set the flame on Maria's jacket. A whoosh followed instantly
and Maria could have sworn she heard the boy say, 'I'm so sorry.'
They were halfway down the prom when the flames hit the tank. The explosion sounded unbearably loud.
The girl did a little ballet step and let out a holler:
'Way to go, girl.'
12
How the flame ignites . . .
The girl's eyes opened. She'd been dozing and now snapped awake. She took in her surroundings, this awful room in such stark contrast to the home her mother had kept.
And dampness, the whole house reeked of it.
Blame the Irish weather? No, just a cheap landlord.
A slight smile curled on her lips as she thought, 'Can introduce him to the flame too.'
Even as she thought it she could smell smoke, a burning not too far away, and she allowed the scent to engulf her, to lift her up.
She was delighted, and emitted a series of giggles before wrapping her arms round her thin frame, hugging to herself the stark fact that she'd now killed twice. It gave her a rush of such adrenalin and power, it was like a whole new mode of intoxication. And yet she was still dissatisfied. More . . . she needed more.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a whoosh of flame. It started in the corner of the room and crept along the wall, but when she turned to look at it directly, it vanished. When this occurred, as it did more and more, she usually checked people around her to see their response. She couldn't believe they hadn't seen it – but no, they seemed oblivious.
This just confirmed that the darkness had chosen her. Only she could hear and act out the dark scenario, the malignant blueprint of revenge.
Her heart accelerated with images of fire.
She recalled the flight to Ireland with Aer Lingus, the cabin crew asking if they were going on holiday. There had been flames in the corner of the cabin – couldn't they see them? She'd smiled and said, 'Oh yes, a family outing. We're going to have us a high old time.' She'd waited before adding, 'Our mother is already over there.'
The crew had thought it was refreshing to meet such a close-knit family and had promised, 'You'll love Ireland.'
She'd pulled her eyes away from the inferno she could glimpse along the wings of the plane and replied, 'And Ireland is going to love us.'
13
There is no pain like the loss of a child.
I could have caught a cab to the hospital, but I
wanted to delay the news that I dreaded I was going to hear.
Cody had come to me asking to be my partner in investigation, and he was a mix of naivety, pseudo-American swagger, irritation and aggravation.
Then the amazing thing had happened. I
hate to go
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