The Debt Read online

  She had to toss the container away from her.

  * * *

  They talked through the night. At first the questions were laboured, but eventually, Anja spoke the answers: answers to the questions that Lucy was too scared to ask. She decided to tell her everything, including the details where she promised herself she wouldn’t. The family taboo’s: incest and their sexual desires. She told her about her grandfather, though it pained her to talk of such a man. In part, she had defended his nature but mostly exposed him to be evil, manipulative and controlling.

  Lucy’s reaction, when told about their sexual intimacies, came as no surprise. And, although Anja told her the truth, she always added an extra layer of dirt to divert her daughter’s interest to the heritage.

  She was a bright girl. It seemed to work.

  Lucy had to be excused several times throughout the night, each time removing herself from the bathroom a shade paler. In some sense, this filled Anja’s heart with a reassurance that, although her daughter was a monster on the inside, she did not have what it took to be a part of the heritage. She was her father’s girl and would remain that way.

  She had never told her about her father’s death, though. She feared that this was a step too far, and so stayed with the lie that he was involved with difficult people. She learned the reason why her mother was cast out of the family. And like with any teenager, she had rebelled against her father and the heritage. She had been reluctant to eat human meat and refused to feed the monster inside of her. The accident that occurred afterwards was the death of her real mother. Her name was Melisa. The monster had killed her, consumed her until it was satisfied, and shrivelled back underneath Anja’s skin, asleep around her bones until next time it needed to eat.

  Francis had never forgiven her; had almost come close to killing her himself. But he sent her to the lake house instead, and eventually had served to breed Jack into prime meat.

  Anja couldn’t tell her daughter this.

  “Your grandfather is different to the rest of us. The monster doesn’t control him; he controls it. He doesn’t eat human meat to keep it sedate. He eats for pleasure. He feels that we are superior to humans, and believes that we should exercise this right freely. He is not alone in his politics and has recruited many followers. People who want to be like him. They worship him. He is an evil man, Lucy. We eat meat to keep this monster at bay. It’s absolutely necessary. We are obligated to protect the rest of humanity. If we succumb to my father’s ways, then we are accepting that they are nothing more but animals.”

  “Animals? But you do eat them! Are you not accepting now?”

  “It’s a sacrifice. We do what we can to keep chaos from erupting.”

  “Do you like the taste? I mean—I eat meat from a dead deer. It’s been rotting away for days. Other animals have begun taking their share. Even the blue bottles have laid eggs and the meat is riddled with maggots. But I fall to my knees, anyway, and I sink my fingers into incisions that have already been made. It’s not warm anymore, but it’s not cold, either. It feels good and my heart is thumping against my chest. The scent of the animal rises. It doesn’t smell nice. It makes my stomach rubble. I don’t know if I’m repulsed by the rot, or just hungry. But never-the-less, I rip away handfuls of meat from its belly and eat the insides. The blood doesn’t take like blood, but I know that it is because it’s doing something to me. It’s feeding me—the same feeling when I kill a rabbit and the blood is warm and fresh.”

  “Do you like the taste?”

  Lucy took time to contemplate this. “It’s—unusual.”

  “But do you like it?”

  “No—and yes.”

  “Because that’s what we are. Don’t let it shame you.”

  “This monster—what is it?”

  “Your body is young so it won’t have taken hold, yet. But eventually, you will need to eat human meat. Think of it as a sleeping tablet. You wouldn’t want it to wake up.”

  “And if it did? Then what?”

  “You would kill relentlessly until it was satisfied. Unless you were like him and could control it.” Anja moved over to sit beside her. She forced her to turn her way, and as she held her hands, she pressed her thumbs into her daughter’s palms like she was reading her fortune. “Lucy, you are obligated now to keep people safe. A monster lives within you.” As Lucy wanted to look the other way, Anja took her daughter’s face in her hands. “And yes, it is hypocrisy eating another human, but it’s an acceptable sacrifice that could save many more. We are different, and with that comes a huge burden.” She let go, a sour taste on her lips. “Your grandfather—well—he just wants to hunt what he can because to him, they’re just animals.”

  “Then why doesn’t he? What’s stopping him?”

  “Nothing does stop him, Lucy,” Anja warned. She stood and went to the window that overlooked the lake. It was dark outside. The moon was hidden behind clouds and it was too dark to make out the ripples of water that gently caressed the shoreline. However, there was a woman staring back at her, someone she recognised but barely knew anymore. A woman desperate for her husband back. “He kills them like animals,” she said as if speaking to herself and had to be reminded. Lucy looked up at her. “He feeds off them. He doesn’t allow the monster inside of him to break free, because—Lucy—he is the monster!”

  15

  The realisation of losing her Lucy struck her down like a fever and before her brain could administer what was truly happening, she went to the kitchen and collected a knife from the oak block. The sound it made as she swiped it free stunned her into stopping, and her mind momentarily disengaged her actions. For that short while, she felt out of her body, floating above herself. She was second guessing her choices. But she didn’t linger there for long. She stared at the blade as a reflection of light stung her eyes. It was like a slap in the face, waking up and coming to terms with what must be done.

  A decision had been made.

  Francis would not have her, but neither would Anja. She stormed into Lucy’s bedroom, although halted as the door crashed against the wall. The bang made Lucy bolt upright, screwing her eyes with her fist, her sight breaking through the blurry vision of her mother.

  “Mum? What’s wrong?” she murmured. She saw the glint of metal her mother held. She could see clearly now and that metal shocked her into being alert.

  Anja stepped forward, although she hesitated.

  “Mum—what are you doing?” her voice sounded perturbed. She pushed herself towards her headboard as if trying to get away, her eyes unmoving from the knife.

  As Anja got closer to the bed, Lucy started to panic and became tearful. “I’m sorry, Lucy. This is the only way.”

  “I don’t understand!”

  “I will not let him take you.” She grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the bed, made her follow her out of the bedroom. Lucy held onto the sheets because it was the only thing she could think of to keep her on that bed. It was no good. Anja’s daughter was screaming at her to let her go, had even yelled for help, but they were far from anywhere and her screams would only serve to scare off wildlife. When she let go of her wrist, Lucy fell sobbing to the carpet.

  “I don’t understand!”

  “He’s going to eat you, Lucy!”

  “Who is?” she started to get up, wiped the tears dry, massaged her wrist where her mother had left her mark. “Hang on! What are you talking about? Eat—eat who?”

  “You, Lucy! Your grandfather wants to eat you.”

  “No! That’s just—No, mum! You’re wrong! How can that be?”

  “Because you’re nothing to him, just like your father was nothing.”

  “What’s dad got to do with this? Mum? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Your father was in trouble.”

  “With the wrong people—I know. You told me that.”

  “Yes—and then your grandfather helped him. He got him out of trouble. Paid off his debts. He gave him a life of luxury. I was gi
ven to him, and you were born.”

  “So? Isn’t that a good thing?" Lucy inquired.

  “But there was a condition. Your father agreed to be helped with his debt, but he never knew the real cost of this.”

  Lucy stared at her mother. She was trembling, her eyes glistened. She stepped away from Anja, catching another glimpse of the knife, but she wasn’t as scared now. "So, what was the cost?”

  “I think you already know.”

  Lucy checked over her mother’s shoulder and through the window. Across the lake, at the top of the tall trees, the sun was beginning to bleed its light across the treetops. They had always left the doors unlocked; no need to secure anything when there’s no threat around. She could make for the door; her mother wasn’t standing in her way. She could try and make it over the lake bridge, as far away from her mother as possible, because as she looked at the knife again, she was reminded of what her mother had told her.

  This is the only way.

  She feared that she must run, escape from this house, never return or else her mother was going to kill her.

  16

  It was the day Lucy would have celebrated her twentieth birthday with her mother. She had looked forward to the occasion for so long: had wanted to see her uncle Sam and had counted on it, too. At least now, she was with someone whom she loved. She was safe.

  It was nine in the evening. The sun had sunk behind the trees, its heat removed from the land, and the chill it was replaced by provided a freshness in the air that Anja embraced with every deep breath. As she waited nervously in the doorway, glancing at her watch then across the lake, a part of her had hoped that her father had given heart, and had relented to the prospect of eating his granddaughter. But then again, it was too late for that. Lucy couldn’t come back. It was, however, preposterous to think that Francis Dupont would have changed his mind. She knew him too well. But she didn’t know what would happen to her once he realised that his daughter had taken matters into her own hands. Anja speculated that she might be killed herself instead, perhaps the same fate Lucy was to endure. This was probable, given the fact that Francis would have made preparations for the feast, would have invited guests and would not want to embarrass himself by the absence of prime meat. Although, she would not be taken without a fight. She had made such provisions days before and had refrained from eating human meat. The monster inside of her was waiting to escape. She could feel her gums tingle, then sting like razors tearing through skin and salt poured onto the wound. Her teeth had already grown considerably since yesterday. But even though she had a plan, she looked at the water and wondered ‘what if’.

  She stepped from the doorway, onto the cobbles and down to the lake. Her feet were bare, soothing on the stones. The cold water kissed her toes like lovers teasing one another before intercourse. She took another step into the lake, and then another. The water soaked into her linen trousers, and as she stared out across the placid surface, she stopped as the water hit her waist and made her tremble. She turned around, looked at the lake house and was immediately surprised by how far she had gone into the water. She looked back over the lake and started to step back. But then she thought about how easy it would be. All she would have to do is take a few more steps, sink to her shoulders and swim out to the middle of the lake. It wouldn’t take long for the water to fill her lungs and then she would be with Jack. But as she was being seduced by this thought, and she took another step into the cold, a dust cloud from the other side of the lake caught her attention.

  Would Jack be waiting for her? Would he welcome her with open arms? She had administered a terrible thing; it had caused his death. Would he forgive her?

  Anja stopped just as she was about to take another step. She followed the trail of dust, a black car heading for the lake bridge. She heard the wooden beamed rattle as the wheel rolled across, and wished that the bridge would finally fall.

  No—if Jack was waiting for her, he would embrace her only with his hands around her neck. He would choke her until she was dead again—if that was possible. She figured that as punishment for her wrongs, there was no reason why it couldn’t be.

  The monster shook beneath her skin; the water rippled around her, a subtle warning that it was coming. Anja turned around, her legs heavy and numb as she pushed through the water and stepped back onto the cobbles. She shivered from the wetness and the cold it gave. When the car pulled up outside the lake house, tyres crunching the stones, Anja had run inside to quickly change. She made the driver wait. He was only a driver. He wasn’t a monster—only meat. Nothing to be frightened about.

  The driver waited patiently sitting on the bonnet. As soon as he was aware of Anja coming out, he stood immediately, flicking away his cigarette. He didn’t say anything to her. She was Francis Dupont’s daughter, and no matter how far Anja had fallen from the family, she was still his daughter, and he had to appear as polite to her as if she was Dupont himself.

  “My father not here with you?”

  He was staring at her, but when she looked back at him, he diverted his sight straight away. “No, ma’am. Is—is she here?”

  “By she, you mean Lucy, right?” Her skin was beginning to tighten. It wasn’t painful. It was a soothing warmth all over her skin, quite comforting, although it did make the hair on her arms stand. The driver nodded, taking the chance to look at her as she turned her back. Her clothing was loose, a long grey woollen jumper that hung down her thighs, and her legs were bare and slender and looked as smooth as silk. “You’ll have to tell father that she will not be coming to his party.” She looked over her shoulder, noticed the driver staring at her legs. “Like what you see? Want to fuck me—see the monster break free and ravage you? Does that turn you on?” She started to go over to him, walking seductively.

  “Ma’am?” He looked across the lake and tried to ignore her, but couldn’t ignore the bulge in his trousers.

  She was right in front of him. “I often wondered what it was that made people like you work for people like us. Is it the danger? Do you feel powerful? What is it? Is it debt? Because that’s how he persuaded my husband. He owed a lot of money and my father gave him a way out. Jack didn’t realise the consequences, though. Had he—I don’t know. Perhaps he was so desperate that he’d do absolutely anything. Were you desperate?” Then she looked down at his trousers and smirked. She placed her lips near his cheek—it was stubbled and smelled faintly of nicotine—and breathed warm air over his face. She turned his face to hers, smiled again. “No—I think it’s certainly a sexual thing. I bet you want to fuck me right now, bend me across the car, rip off my clothes and rape me.”

  “Ma’am—I’m here for Lucy,” he brushed her off almost apologetically and went to the rear passenger door.

  “You want to become one of us—is that it? Don’t you realise what we are? We don’t simply bite like some ridiculous vampire!” Her tone was becoming louder. “We’ll bite and keep on fucking biting until you’re dead, dead, dead and there’s nothing more left of you to eat!” She laughed.

  “Ma’am! Please!”

  “Ma’am, Please,” she mocked him. “Didn’t you hear me—Lucy isn’t coming, little boy.”

  “Ma’am, but your father.”

  “You tell my father that he can’t have her.”

  “But, he’ll—” the driver started; concern was written on his face as he imagined what would happen to him.

  Anja interrupted, “Kill you? Yes, he probably will.” She placed her hand on her hip and with a posture that stated superiority. “And then he’ll send another driver. But I’m telling you—I’ve killed her.”

  The driver looked at her with surprise but frowned like he wasn’t sure he believed in her words.

  “Yeah—that’s right.” Her chin prodded in his direction as if to make a point. “There was no way I was going to let my father claim her for his pleasure, so I cut her throat. She’s out back if you want to check. You’ll need a spade though, and I don’t think you’re d
ressed for manual labour.”

  “Dead?”

  “That’s right. You go back home, little boy, and tell my father that his precious meat is cold and rotten. Hell, if you dig her up, I’m sure there’ll be something worth eating: an added taste to damaged meat.”

  The driver shook his head. “What do I say to him?”

  “Tell him what you want, but tell him that it’s over.”

  He was still shaking his head. “No—it’s not. Mr Dupont said that if there were any complications, I was to bring you.”

  She was right. If Lucy couldn’t attend, then the baton would be passed to Anja.

  “Oh—I see,” although she knew this anyway. “And, do you think you can make me?”

  The driver slipped his hand into his jacket and removed a gun. “He said that I might need to be persuasive.” He took a step towards her.

  She dropped her hand from her hip, although it wasn’t because she hadn’t seen this coming and was now staring at a gun. She hadn’t anticipated that guns would be involved and, she now realised with annoyance, she had been careless. But as her skin tingled, she didn’t care for her mistakes. As the bone in her skull began to shift and creak beneath her skin, her cheekbones protruded through her flesh stretching her skin into transparency. She drew her tongue over her teeth, tasting blood as her teeth grew some more. In her head, she could hear cracking as her jaw split and became deformed to accommodate what was to follow. The monster filled her head with thoughts that she couldn’t imagine herself making as Anja. As her eyes glazed to a shade of bloodshot red, she thought about pouncing on the driver. Despite her father giving him strict instructions not to harm her, he would fire shots at her anyway. They would burn through the air, one striking her arm, the other her leg. One more bullet would shatter her shoulder, a smell of scorched flesh lingering in the air as she fell on top of him, knocking him down. She imagined sinking her teeth into his neck, tearing away his windpipe with an effortless bite. She would spit it to the ground. Her fingers would roam his body, almost stroking his skin, as it convulsed under her gentle touch. Blood would pump from his neck, his life becoming distant. But still, she would probe her hands over his skin, and if his thoughts weren’t already on dying, he would probably respond to her touch. As her hands smoothed over his body, his protest to dying becoming less resistant, her fingers searched for something as if they were trying to find a way in. Finally, as the driver stopped breathing, she pressed her fingers through his flesh and into his abdomen like a hot knife to butter and, as she was discovering his insides with a sexual calmness to her, she pulled out his stomach and devoured his last meal.