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‘Actually,’ Erin says, sounding broken, ‘he wants you to see what he’s done to Max.’
FIFTY-SIX
Suddenly, it feels like every muscle in Joseph’s body is singing with tension – as if he’s become a giant tuning fork struck hard on its tines. He doesn’t want to consider the meaning behind Erin’s words. When he tries to breathe, he can’t pull air into his lungs fast enough.
That strange resonance transmits through him to the earth. And now it feels like everything around him is vibrating at the same frequency: the trees, their branches, the saplings pushing through the leaf litter, the roots plunging into the soil.
Has he just lost his son? That can’t be true.
But he’s felt this resonance once before, when Claire died. Perhaps it’s the sound of the universe rearranging itself around a proscribed event – and unwittingly revealing its workings.
Erin says, ‘He’s waiting for us around the back.’
Joseph blinks, tries to cast off the unworldly sensation that’s stolen over him – of a change to the natural order so perverse that everything around him is trying to reject it. ‘What else did he say? Just tell me. So I know.’
Erin looks bereft, like she’s operating on nothing but fumes. ‘Honestly, Joe, that’s all he said.’
She studies his face, must see the agony in it, just like he sees the agony in hers. Cursing, she digs out the keys for the cuffs. Removing one from the fob, she drops it into his breast pocket. ‘I know promises are meaningless at this point, but don’t make me regret that. I won’t let you put Tilly in danger. Now please – turn around and walk.’
Joseph complies without further comment, stumbling through the undergrowth to what awaits.
Is the blood-red sky a portent? Perhaps he’s lucky and a meteor has struck, somewhere on the other side of the planet, and at this very moment a blast wave is racing around the earth towards him, obliterating everything in its path. Because it seems, now, that he’s at the end of things. Likely the very end.
He limps forward regardless, his right leg dragging, his left knee popping each time it flexes.
It’s impossible to move stealthily. Twigs snap beneath his weight. His feet tangle in roots and rip them from the soil. He passes Thornecroft on his left, hears Erin following close behind.
The garden reveals itself in silhouette.
Joseph steps on to a black lawn that climbs towards a black oak spreading its branches across a red sky. Four dining chairs have been arranged around the trunk, all of them facing a sight Joseph’s brain tries its best to reject.
Because Max – his only son, his everything – is hanging by his neck from one of the oak’s boughs.
FIFTY-SEVEN
When he falls to his knees, he barely feels the impact. The world smears, an Expressionist palette of scarlet and black. The air drains of warmth, becomes frozen.This can’t be real, he thinks. That’s not his boy hanging there. Because Max has a future, a whole life to live.
But Drew had a future too. As did Enoch, and Angus Roth.
He hears commotion behind him, sounds of a struggle, and turns to find a swarm of busy shadow. When it resolves, he sees Erin lying prone – and Gabriel, crossbow in hand, standing over her.
Joseph turns away, no longer cares. His gaze returns to the silhouetted oak – and the silhouetted form hanging from it. He gets a foot under him. Tries to stand.
Once he’s struggled to his feet, he limps up the sloping lawn. It doesn’t matter what’s behind him, doesn’t matter how much his body is hurting. All he wants is to be with his son. He’ll gladly die in the attempt.
He’s halfway to the tree when his perspective begins to shift. The flat silhouettes of the objects arrayed at its base take on depth, revealing their relative positions.
Joseph staggers, nearly falls, recovers himself – doesn’tknow if he can trust what his eyes are showing him. Because from this angle Max’s feet don’t look like they’re swinging freely. Instead, the tips of his trainers appear to be touching a chair seat.
Gasping, Joseph breaks into a run. When he reaches the oak, he discovers that his hope was justified and that Max, by standing on the balls of his feet, has just enough rope to breathe.
‘Dad,’ the boy croaks.
‘I’m here,’ Joseph says. ‘I’ve got you. I’m not going to leave you.’
But even though this feels like a reprieve, he knows it isn’t; because Gabriel Roth put that noose around his son’s neck and waited for him to arrive.
‘Please,’ Max whispers. ‘Help me. I can’t … stand much longer.’