was slashed in half by a horrible and unmistakable sound.
A gunshot. And then another gunshot.
Inside the Garovillos’ room.
They ran to the door and shoved against the rusted locks. The wood and metal resisted for a minute, then two minutes. But the planks were wormed, and the hinges were ancient, the doorway began to splinter, and then it swung open. They were inside.
David gazed across, and he felt his heart shrivel in bitter disgust. Amy had a hand to her face, shrouding her tears.
Two corpses were sitting in two chairs.
José and his wife.
Fermina Garovillo had been shot at close range through the temple, the side of her head was simply missing; the obscene wound was echoed and amplified by a splattered patch of blood on the wall nearby. José had shot his wife first, it seemed – and then turned the gun on himself. And his wound was worse: the entire top of his cranium, taken clean away. Burn marks on his thin white lips showed how he had done it, put the gun between his teeth, pulled the trigger – blasting away his own brains.
More blood on the ceiling and the wall behind confirmed the suicide. David took one quick look at the grey jellylike stuff balanced on top of the chair – and he felt the rising bile of nausea.
But why?
Why had they done it?
An answer, the answer, came immediately. The menacing slurch of tyres, outside.
David went straight to the window and scanned the scene, his muscles tense with alarm. And there. There it was. The reason for José and Fermina’s suicide, maybe. A red car, driving slowly between the dripping trees. Miguel was surely inside the car. David recalled old José’s words. One day he will kill me.
Amy joined David at the window. She cursed and shivered, simultaneously.
But there was faint hope. The red car slowed to a stop, then it started up once more, going the wrong way. David realized, with a tiny jolt of optimism, that Miguel must still be looking for them. The Wolf didn’t quite know where it was, he was driving up and down. For how long he’d been doing this, who knew. However he had discovered their exile in Campan – torturing Eloise maybe? – he hadn’t pinned down the precise location of the refuge.
But it wouldn’t take him long. Eventually he would see the concealed turning. Miguel would drive past the bushes, and look in the right direction. And then discover the house. And then come and kill them. Epa. Epa. Epa.
‘The gun!’ said Amy.
‘What?’
‘There must be a gun.’
She was right. David scanned swiftly around the room for José’s gun. The old man must have had a gun to shoot himself and his wife. And there – a glimpse of black metal in the greyish light. David reached between José’s lifeless legs and picked up the pistol. It was still warm. He figured there must be bullets left inside. There had only been two gunshots.
He lifted the gun and held it, pointing the muzzle at the ceiling.
For a second the madness of it all gyred in David’s mind: a year ago he was a lethargic media lawyer. Bored, safe, and incoherently sad. Commuting on the District Line tube, going home to a microwave chicken curry, maybe a pint with a friend. Maybe meaningless sex with someone he didn’t love, if he was lucky. Now he was terrified, and angry, and hunted – and yet the paradox was there again: he felt more alive than ever.
He wanted to live now: he wanted to live so much. To find out the deeper reasons for his parents’ murder, and to take revenge for their deaths. But the first thing was to escape.
‘The back garden,’ said Amy, her tears visibly repressed. She was being strong, she looked angry. ‘Through the garden, the ravine? We can go that way?’
They hurried out of the door and along the hall; the damp old planks thudded and creaked as they took themselves downstairs, to the rear of the house – from there the garden and the gate led to the forests; but Amy pulled him back.
‘Listen!’
He listened; she was right. Voices. Out there in the garden, maybe over the wall – in the woods.
‘We can’t risk it,’ she hissed. ‘The road?’
‘Miguel’s car.’
They sighed with frustration – and fear. David felt the rage inside. ‘We’re stuck. Dammit we’re just stuck. He’s got us trapped!’
‘No. The cellar!’ She grabbed his arm. ‘I am sure there are passages down there. C’mon, we