Heathen/Nemesis

Sixty-Nine

It wasn’t a matter of if they would return; it was merely a question of when.

Donna sat at the sitting-room window, the Beretta on the sill in front of her. On the coffee table to her right lay the .38 and the .357. All had been reloaded.

On the sofa behind her Julie was sleeping fitfully, a blanket covering her, her face pale and drawn, dark rings beneath her eyes. The cuts on her hands and arms had been cleaned and bathed, then covered with plaster. She’d been fortunate to escape more serious injury from the flying glass.

Donna herself touched her lip tentatively with one finger, feeling how it had swollen. There was a dark bruise surrounding it; she hoped that the discoloration wouldn’t last too long. Her sides ached when she inhaled, and when she moved too quickly she felt a sharp pain in her lumbar region. As the night wore on it began to diminish. There were more bruises on her arms and legs, and some on her shoulders.

The house had been cleaned as well as was possible. The broken windows had been boarded up with pieces of wood from the attic. Donna had re-attached the back door to its frame as well, while Julie mopped up the blood in the hallway - although she finally passed out during the task. Donna had helped her onto the sofa, woken her gently but then realized that she was becoming hysterical. She had been forced to slap her face to quieten her. Tears had followed, both women understandably shaken by their ordeal, by the knowledge of how close to death they had come.

And of how close they might come again.

Donna felt herself dozing and sat upright, shaking her head free of the crushing tiredness that threatened to envelope her. Another fifteen minutes and she would wake Julie. They had agreed to keep the vigil between them. One would watch for two hours while the other slept.

Donna reached out to touch the butt of the automatic, as if the feel of the cold steel would somehow shock her from her lethargy.

How easy it would be to surrender now, she thought, not only to sleep but also to the demands of these men. How easy to give them the book they sought, to be done with the entire affair.

And just walk away?

Donna knew that was impossible. Even if she did tell them the whereabouts of the Grimoire, there was no way they were going to spare her or Julie. Too much damage had been done; she knew too much about them now. They would have to kill her.

As they had done her husband?

She still didn’t know for sure if Chris had been murdered. The police had been convinced it was a genuine accident that took his life

(and that of his mistress)

but after what she’d been through, after what she had discovered, Donna could not believe that men willing to kill for the possession of a book had not taken the life of the man she’d loved.

Once loved? Before his affair?

She administered a mental rebuke. She and her sister had almost been killed only hours earlier and all she could think about, it seemed, was her dead husband’s infidelity.

No one can be trusted.

How prophetic had been those words he’d written. How apt. How irritatingly, fittingly, fucking appropriate. She gritted her teeth in anger and pain.

And frustration?

No. She would not give in to these men. She would not let them have the Grimoire.

She wanted it. Not because she needed it, but because she was determined no one else should have it. It was like a prize. This hunt for the book had become a contest and Donna intended winning.

Life and death.

Win or lose.

There was no turning back now, even if she wanted to.

Life or death.

She looked at the guns.