Chapters (29)
But Wigney was too wired up to think clearly, consumed by his anger at this bitch of a woman blocking his way. She felt the heat of his breath as he wheezed above her, the weight of his legs astride her and then his hands around her neck. He squeezed her throat, pumping his forearms to tighten his grip, crushing her larynx. Her head exploded with pain but she still managed to thrash her arms and legs, trying to fight him off. Air hunger meant the body would fight to survive and get the air it needed.
Then, with the sustained pressure from Wigney’s hands, Paula felt herself shift down into a different gear, light-headed, her limbs tingling, hypoxic. She scrambled to calculate time—how much time had passed, how far the kids could have run—but she couldn’t think anymore. Not enough oxygen in her brain to think. This was it.
The sat nav in the car showed she was virtually there. Over the last few kilometres Anita had seen half a dozen police cars on the highway, lights and sirens going—hunting the bad guy presumably.
She spotted the sign for the medical practice and pulled off the road, but the place looked very much shut on a Sunday—blinds drawn, Closed sign on the front door. She was about to drive away—try ringing again, maybe ask around at the pub—but then she saw Paula’s car in the car park round the side.
Anita found herself smiling at the thought she was about to see Paula. She wanted to see her friend so desperately.
Then she realised the side door of the practice was open, hanging askew, splintered wood around the hinges. Anita stepped through the door and took a breath to call out to Paula. But when she heard strange guttural noises, it made her cautious, triggering the instinct to keep quiet as she moved further inside.
She saw a man crouched over Paula, hands around her throat, growling over and over that she was a ‘fucking bitch’, loud enough that he didn’t hear Anita come in. Paula was limp, her face blue, dead-looking.
Anita rushed forward with the impulse to kick at this man to force him off her friend. Her foot hit something on the floor and she realised it was the butt of a rifle. The man heard that and when he looked up, his eyes black, monstrous, the muscles in his thick neck tight and shiny with sweat, Anita knew she didn’t have the strength to haul him off before he killed Paula.
The decision felt simple and clear. She picked up the rifle. She’d had a go with one once, on her first visit to the Maryvale property. Matt had showed Anita how to fire his rifle at cans on a fence.
She aimed it at the man’s head and pulled the trigger.