Downfall

  Chapter 12: Transgression

  There was so much hot adrenaline teeming in my bloodstream, I thought my arteries might melt. By now, dried blood had crusted around Jude’s mouth. I shuffled over to place his head gently in my lap while he stared at the van’s ceiling.

  “God, what if his spine’s injured?” I said to Cain.

  “Just keep him still as possible,” Cain answered in a low voice. “We’ll get him some help.”

  Jude tried to sit up but Cain and I held him still, reassuring him so he wouldn’t hurt himself further. He relaxed where he was, resting his thatchy blonde head in my lap, looking up at me in trusting bewilderment. I stroked his hair back from his face.

  “How do you feel, Jude? Can you feel your feet?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “They’re cold.”

  Cain tucked an old blanket shoved in the corner of Owen’s van over Jude’s legs and I wrapped my arms around him to keep him warm. Liz, unable to resist any longer, unbuckled and crawled over the back seat so she could check him over. She felt his pulse and listened to his breathing.

  “Jude, look at me,” she ordered. He did so, if a little slowly. “Where does it hurt?”

  “Everywhere,” he said, wincing. “My chest. My guts.”

  Liz ran her hands over his chest, her fingers feeling his ribs expertly. I cringed to see how hard she pushed her fingers in, watching spasms of pain cross Jude’s face. At one point he sucked air in through his teeth and she stopped.

  “That one’s fractured,” she said. She moved across the other ribs and reported two more fractures. Next she inspected his face, feeling around his jaw and looking in his mouth. “Jaw’s okay. Tongue’s badly bitten. Focus on me, Jude,” she ordered suddenly. “Move your fingers on your left hand. Now right. Wiggle your toes: left, now right. Does your back hurt? Your neck?” Jude obeyed in a bewildered way, replying in the negative. “Can you turn your head? Stop if it hurts.” He turned his head but stopped, his face twisting in pain. “Neck pain?” she asked.

  “No, back of my head,” he mumbled.

  Liz rolled him gently onto his side. My jeans were stained dark where his head had rested and a nasty, sticky patch of blood was congealing in the hair at the back of his head.

  Liz peered at it. “Hmmm.”

  “Owen should have us at the hospital soon,” I said.

  “Owen,” Cain called. “Did we stop it in time? What did you see?”

  Owen glanced back at us, his face still glowing faintly. “Jude’s angry,” he began, his voice somehow resonant and clear in the noisy van. “The others have been trying to stop him wishing Frankie was his. He’s mad at himself because he knows they’re right. He wonders why he ever thought Frankie would look at him with Cain around. He knows he’s being stupid to keep thinking about her.” I flushed angrily, wishing I could cover Jude’s ears. “Jude reacts to the guy from the bar who’s bugging Liz. He doesn’t care how much this will rile the guy up. The man is even angrier than Jude. His wife told him earlier that his genetics are the cause of their son’s learning disability. He’s fuming. He’s looking around for a woman. He wants revenge. He wants to rough some woman up. He’s scared of his wife. She’s so big. She could hurt him in a fight. He thinks Liz looks demure and easy to push around but Jude keeps protecting her so he opts for second best. If he can’t get Liz, he can give Jude something to remember. He can see he’s tall but thinks Jude’s a pretty boy who can’t fight. There’s an incident―some shoving―and Jude bumps the guy’s beer, which spills. It’s the perfect trigger. He shouts at Jude to go outside and they fight. Jude’s stronger but he’s at a disadvantage because the other guy fights a lot. Knows all the dirty tricks. He tries to kick Jude’s kidneys, brings his fist up under his jaw, gets in some punches.

  “Then Cain breaks it up and the guy runs away. He’s still furious. He wants more trouble. He rounds the corner and down the road he sees a gang of young guys coming towards him. He shoves one as they pass him. They stop and grab him, throwing him onto the ground. The guy is pretty drunk so he’s unsteady. The impact is hard and one of the guys jumps on him while he’s lying there half-conscious, grabs him by the shirt, pulls him up, and slams his head down onto the curb. The impact smashes the back of his skull into the ground and the guy’s mushed up brain and blood leak out―”

  “What?” I cried. “No! Shut up, shut up!”

  “He’s dead?” Nadine asked.

  “By now, yes,” Owen said.

  Cain was staring at Owen. I knew what he was thinking. He couldn’t believe Owen had made the decision to leave the scene. “Maybe he’s not dead,” he said. “Owen, take us back.”

  “Quick! Hurry!” I said. “We’ll call an ambulance for Jude. We need to help that man!”

  But Owen didn’t turn the van. He kept right on driving, talking calmly over the top of us. “The gang takes off, leaving him there dying. The police find him. They question people at the bar and get a description of us. Jude was noticed stepping outside to settle things with the dead guy. They run checks for anyone fitting the description and find Jude has been admitted to Augur’s Well hospital with injuries. They charge him with aggravated assault causing death and he’s convicted, sentenced to seven years―”

  “Oh, my God!” Liz gasped.

  I sat frozen, too horror-struck to speak, but Nadine and Liz’s attention shifted onto Cain.

  “Owen,” he said, not taking his eyes off Jude. “You’re right. Don’t drive to the hospital. Take us back to Gaunt House.”

  “He needs the hospital,” Liz said, her voice low.

  “We can’t take him to hospital.”

  “Cain, he has broken ribs. Perhaps a punctured lung. And worse, he’s got a head injury. There may be a skull fracture. And the cut may look superficial but there could be bleeding inside.”

  “No hospital,” Jude mumbled. “I’m okay.”

  Liz closed her mouth, her lips pressed tightly together, and Jude rolled his head back so he could look groggily up at my face. He clearly had no idea what was going on. I stroked his bloodied cheek, my heart aching for him, for what he hadn’t yet quite understood. Surely Cain would know what to do? I looked at him for reassurance but the intensity in his eyes as he watched me with Jude was an unpleasant shock. The too-long drive ended at Gaunt House where Owen and Cain half-carried Jude toward the ruin. I hovered for a minute, frightened of the hulking darkness of Gaunt House.

  “Come inside, Francesca,” Cain called to me.

  When I caught up, Nadine was using her phone to illuminate the hole. I truly felt like we were descending into the realms of hell as Cain and Owen attempted to maneuver our injured friend, in desperate need of medical help, down through a trapdoor. What in God’s name were we doing?

  Inside, everyone was quiet while Liz lit the candles. The first thing I saw when light rose in the chamber was the deck of cards and small pile of coins Nadine, Liz, and I had played with earlier in the night. It made me want to scream. Jude lay on a mattress, rolling onto his side in a sort of fetal position. Liz had pulled a first aid kit out of her car, and she slid a towel under his head, getting straight to work cleaning up the back of his scalp. She ordered Nadine to fetch ice from the cooler and wrap it in a towel for his ribs. Owen rested his hand on Jude’s shoulder, which seemed to ease his pain. I checked on Cain and found him staring from Jude to me, and back again, eyes full of anguish. I wrenched my gaze away. I knew what he must be thinking. It had already dawned on me that this whole event was inextricably linked to me―that I was somehow responsible―but I didn’t want to figure out exactly how just yet.

  Nadine jumped up as if she’d been stung by something and paced the floor. “Cain, it’s only a matter of time until we’re caught! The police will make up those identikit pictures ... someone we know will recognize us and turn us in. It’s obvious Jude’s been in a fight. They’ll arrest him, and probably us, too, for being accessories!”

  Jude rolled over and sat up despite Liz’s p
rotests.

  “What is she talking about?” he asked Cain.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Jude ignored me. “Was the guy hurt? Did I hurt him?”

  “Not you,” Liz soothed. “Jude, it wasn’t you.”

  “Jude, lie down,” Owen told him.

  “Cain,” Jude pleaded. He knew Cain wouldn’t lie.

  “The guy’s dead,” Cain said, looking at him steadily. “He went looking for trouble and found it with a gang of young guys. They smashed his head open and left him to die. Owen had a vision where the police thought it was you who did it and charged you with assault causing death after you were admitted into hospital.”

  Jude froze while Cain spoke, and then sagged, wrapping his head in his arms. He rocked back and forth in total silence, although that position must have caused him pain. I could hardly believe Cain had told him so bluntly. Jude was just a human. Just a normal guy still. He hadn’t transformed yet like Cain or Owen. Had Cain forgotten that? I crawled over.

  “Hey, don’t think about it, okay?” I urged, taking Jude’s face in my hands and rubbing at the dried blood around his mouth with my thumb. “It’s all right, you were just unlucky. Try not to think about it. We’ll make sure it’s all okay.”

  Jude’s face crumpled as I spoke. I hugged him, his whole body shaking violently.

  “My shift starts at one a.m.,” Liz told us. “I’ll get some supplies from work. Dressings and painkillers. I’ll see if I can get some anti-inflammatories and antibiotics, too.” She got up to collect her bag, and then turned back to Cain. “Someone needs to stay with him until I get back. And promise me―promise―that if he shows any signs of hematoma ... if he loses consciousness or vomits, if he has breathing issues ... a seizure, or anything else suspicious, then you will get him to a hospital,” she said sternly.

  Cain nodded. I used the diversion of Liz’s departure to go and hide in the room where the drinks cooler was stored. The candle had guttered but there was a little light coming from the main chamber. I stood and stared blankly at the shadowy outline of the cooler while I tried to piece together what had happened.

  “Francesca?” Cain startled me. I didn’t respond, not trusting my voice. “Francesca, are you all right?”

  I was incredulous. “Are any of us all right?”

  “Well, no,” he conceded, “but we see these things in visions every day. We talk about them and expect them. You don’t. I’m worried you’re freaking out.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I muttered.

  “What’s going on in your mind?” he said, coming closer, an anxious edge to his voice.

  An image of the dead man’s face surrounded by a pool of blood came to me like a gunshot to the head. I reeled, staggered, and sobbed. Cain reached out and caught my arm, pulling me close.

  “Stay here with me tonight. Stay and help me take care of Jude.