Nemesister: The gripping women's psychological thriller from Sophie Jonas-Hill Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2017

  by Urbane Publications Ltd

  Suite 3, Brown Europe House, 33/34 Gleaming Wood Drive,

  Chatham, Kent ME5 8RZ

  Copyright © Sophie Jonas-Hill, 2017

  The moral right of Sophie Jonas-Hill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-911129-30-1

  MOBI 978-1-911129-32-5

  EPUB 978-1-911129-31-8

  Design and Typeset by Michelle Morgan

  Cover by The Author Design Studio

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  urbanepublications.com

  For my husband, Andy, my brother Ben and my friend Martin, for their unswerving support and belief.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 1

  THE HOUSE HAD something American Gothic about it, though nothing it was minded to share. Wreathed in bougainvillea, it regarded me with the air of one recognizing an unwelcome visitor. There should have been a rocker on the porch or an old dog with greying muzzle, but they were missing.

  I stumbled forward, focusing on my feet in their worn canvas sneakers with the impression of toes ground into the pink fabric. Everything hurt and my head pounded like something inside wanted out. The shadow of the house brought the scent of the blooms and the sighs of a swamp; the first step creaked, the second moaned, then my hand secured the wooden pillar at the top of the stairs. I paused, then pulled myself up. I looked behind me, but there was only the road, a line drawn in the dust against an endless, ochre expanse.

  I faced a pair of cobweb-covered boots lolling by the door, and heaved myself in past them, plunging from bright into dark. The boots made no obvious objection.

  The room I entered was soaked through with the heat of the day and heavy with the stink of damp canvas. There was no source of light save for the open door, and at first the space was a blur of camouflage colours and indistinct, lumbering shapes rendered anonymous by my sun–blind eyes. I made the middle of the room, walking as if on hot coals and became aware of a chair-huddled table, something that might have been a couch and something that probably wasn’t.

  Panic gripped me, thundered in my head, as I groped in the dark of both room and subconscious. I knew everything but understood nothing from the giddying procession of images in my mind: red boots crossing a winter road, a hand on a steering wheel, the view from under a bed across a savannah of green carpet, pearl buttons on blue velvet, a brown dog barking.

  I willed breath into my lungs and, as stars cleared from my vision, the room snuck into focus.

  ‘Whoa, hey!’ The man silhouetted against the yellow-white rectangle of the open door froze as I whipped round to face him.

  ‘Keep back,’ I demanded as the world spun out of focus again.

  ‘Okay … whatever you say …’ he said as his shadowed form sharpened into detail. ‘Let’s not be hasty now.’ He made no move toward me but remained in the doorway.

  I swallowed, my tongue swollen to a stone in my mouth. ‘Okay, you stay … stay back.’

  ‘I’m staying back,’ he said. ‘It’s okay, I ain’t gonna hurt you … no need to fret none.’ He eased himself a step further into the room.

  ‘I mean it, stop right there!’

  ‘Okay … all right, darlin’.’ To my surprise he obeyed and raised his hands, gently patting the air between us. ‘But you sure you wanna…’

  As I stepped back, pain spiked through my side and the shock of it had me panting. I blinked as a black, glittering tide threatened to engulf my vision.

  ‘I ain’t comin’ near you, all right?’ The man moved slowly, purposefully; took two steps to his left and reached for one of the wooden chairs by the table. ‘I’m just gonna take a pew here…’ He sat down and brushed at his knees before he settled back. Tears burned down my cheeks but my vision cleared and his taut, hard features converged into a face. He ran his hand through his hair, a little of which sprang up at his temples.

  ‘So … what we gonna do now?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked, risking a step to my left and paying for it.

  ‘You wanna ask me that, now?’ he said, then smiled. ‘Them that knows me …’ He coughed into his fist. ‘Them that knows me, they call me Red. You know, you don’t look so good.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  He raised his eyebrow. ‘Maybe you wanna calm down a little here?’

  I stepped backwards and my foot found the end of the couch. I pressed my shins against it, praying it would help me stand just a little longer.

  ‘You sure you know how to use that thing?’ I saw his eyes flick down. A gun – I was holding a gun, and had been for so long that it seemed fused to my hand, my fingers knotted round it. As I stared down, my arm began shaking treacherously; I gripped my left hand over my right, my pulse hammering in my head.

  ‘You wanna find out?’ I asked, staring at him but seeing only the gun.

  ‘I’m happy to take your word on it, only…’ He leaned a little to his right. ‘Only looks to me as if you’ve been shot already, so I’m not convinced that you do.’

  ‘Shut up, I mean it, shut …’ My breath was coming faster, harder, lungs heaving. Trying to keep the gun trained on him, I risked a glance at my side. In the second I looked, Red lunged forward.

  He’d grabbed my wrists and yanked my arms up above my head before I’d even thought about screaming. He ripped the gun from my hand, turned me about and clamped his arms round me. Pain lit me up, blazed through my ribs and punched the breath from my body. I went limp and dropped to the floor but he went with me and broke my fall. I heard the gun impact seconds before I did.

  ‘Get the fuck off me,’ I said, trying to twist from under him.

  ‘Just you hold on.’ He had me on my back and twisted my hands together, pinning them above my head. ‘You need to hold still,’ he demanded, his face inches from mine, knees either side of me. ‘You come in here wavin’ that gun, what d’you expect? Jesus, darlin’, you gotta remember who’s you shootin’ at.’

  ‘Who the hell’s that?’ I asked.

  He huffed a dry laugh. ‘You’re a piece of work and no mistake. Now look …’ He shift
ed position. ‘I’m gonna let you go now, so take it easy.’ He grinned. ‘You look fit to faint anyhow – you’s in a mess, girl.’

  He let go. I struggled to get a grip on the floor, my hands scrabbling against damp boards for purchase, but pushing against the floor hurt like hell.

  ‘Get away from me!’ I managed to get up on my elbows, dragging, willing myself away from him. He grabbed at me and I flinched sideways but he let me go at once.

  ‘Just hold on … look – we don’t need this shit, now–’ He snatched up my gun, and when he was sure I’d seen he was holding the barrel between thumb and forefinger, he clicked open the chamber. His face registered surprise. ‘Goddamn it, you were bluffing all along!’ He laughed, then with deft movements he disassembled the weapon and tossed it aside. ‘Whatever, see, I ain’t aiming to hurt you none, okay? Let’s just calm down now, shall we?’

  I propped myself up, the last dregs of my adrenaline burning through my limbs and stealing sensation from my fingers.

  ‘What is this place?’ I asked and swallowed hard.

  ‘This? Just a fishing lodge.’

  ‘Is it your place?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sure, it’s mine.’

  ‘It is?’

  He bent over me again. ‘Look, you gotta let me take a look at you. What in the hell you done to your face?’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ I jerked right, and the throbbing in my head turned vindictive in revenge for the sudden movement. I slumped back against the floor, screwed my eyes shut and forced my mouth to bite back a scream.

  ‘Hey!’ I felt him move closer, felt him get hold of me and turn my face to his. ‘Hey, you still with me?’ I looked once I had the scream under control, pressing my back against the floor and pushing against the pain. ‘Don’t you pass out on me here.’ He adjusted position to look into my eyes. Desperate not to meet his gaze, I clamped my jaw shut again and tried to thrash free of his grasp. The effort overwhelmed me; my head fell back into his hands and I let my eyes roll shut.

  ‘Hey, you ain’t checking out on me, not yet. Focus, ya hear, focus. Now, tell me your name, come on, say your name, say your name!’ I laughed, the sound breaking free involuntarily. Anything, he could have asked me anything, but the last thing I could have told him was my name.

  ‘My name …’ My mouth stretched into a grin despite everything, my lips dragging on my teeth. Barking dog, under the bed, little pearl buttons.

  ‘Your name … shit, count for me … count for me!’

  ‘One, two, three, that do you?’

  ‘Good, so what’s your name … what the hell’s your name?’

  ‘I don’t know my name!’

  ‘Mercy …’ he said as the darkness seeped back into my vision. ‘What on God’s green earth … you expect me to believe that?’ He tilted his head, one eyebrow arched as he frowned. ‘What you saying … you got no memory of your name?’

  ‘No name, no rank, no number, sir!’ I laughed and he let my head fall gently back to the floor. We looked at each other, and for one, desperate, joyful moment, I really thought he might tell me who I was.

  ‘How … unfortunate.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, darlin’, whatever the hell’s you about …’ He chuckled, but the sound fractured before it reached me. He seemed to be moving away, taking the world right along with him. ‘That must have been one hell of a bump on your head.’

  ‘Please,’ I said, my hands flinching against the floor. I tried to sit up again, but I could barely lift my head. It seemed I’d nothing left but to rely on the kindness of strangers. ‘I’ve got to get out, I’ve got … I’ve got to go, please!’ Dark brown and heavy, fatigue slunk through my limbs as my strength bled out from my fingers into the swamp, sucking and snatching at me from beneath the floorboards. When Red spoke again, his voice was indistinct, no more than the murmur of the dank earth below.

  ‘You ain’t going nowhere. Seems to me you oughta close up them pretty eyes now, get yourself some sleep.’ But I’d already closed my eyes, pretty or otherwise. As a sucking, glittering blackness pulled me into the quicksand of the day, I tried one last time to surface, but my mouth filled with dust-dry words which choked me.

  ‘You just lie back there, I’ll look out for you. Seein’ he never did.”

  Before I could ask, unconsciousness embraced me and his voice spiralled into darkness.

  I had to get to … Paris. Paris? I had to get to … Paris?

  Chapter 2

  I RAN.

  Dry grass whipped and snatched at my legs, my breath came hard and fast, rattling in my lungs. The sky was a glass blue expanse above me, then I was hit and it tumbled down around me. I was Chicken Licken and the sky was falling in. I struggled to wake, straining against a dream that would not leave me; aware I was calling out through layers of heavy sleep. I fought as if it were a cocoon that smothered me, clawing and tearing at the stuff clogging my mouth, my eyes. I thought I broke free, but my memory unravelled before I could reach it and slipped through my fingers into darkness. I tasted cinnamon and sandalwood; generations of perfume on an old fur coat which wrinkled my nose in recognition. I was billowed, buffeted and spun as translucent as silk, then I heard a voice.

  ‘Some men must do evil,’ it said. ‘But not all become evil. Those that do, may still chance on good. Be sure as not to let the devil know your name, ma Cherie.’

  Then, the strand broke.

  The weight of the dream rolled off me and I sat up and scanned the room, aware of my breath in my lungs. The air was heavy with heat, and a dirty yellow light. I was on the couch, in the room, in the house, in the swamp, light pouring through the open door in front of me, and through a naked window blinking by its side.

  I’d been covered with a blanket. I threw it off and relief flooded over me when I discovered I was still fully dressed. However pretty he’d thought my eyes, he’d kept his hands to himself. Or bothered to dress me afterwards.

  Next to me I saw a side table, its missing drawer leaving a slot grinning up at me. On it was a glass of water, with the dismembered revolver placed ostentatiously by its side, a peace offering? I snatched up the glass and drank; it was glorious, but the shock of it jolted me and I gasped and spluttered.

  ‘Good morning.’ The laconic voice came from over my shoulder. I flinched round, grimacing at the movement’s pain. ‘You wanna take that a little easy now, give yourself time to swallow.’ He smiled. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you, when I came in just now?’

  ‘I was awake already,’ I said and cleared my throat.

  ‘You slept most like the dead,’ he said. He was holding a wrench with a rag wrapped round it. ‘Insensible.’

  ‘I should get going.’ I swung my feet onto the ground but they burned as they touched the wood, cool though it was.

  ‘Going?’ He frowned, working the rag over the wrench. ‘I suppose it ain’t that early, though I’ve always been an early riser. My mama said it’s the southern climate, makes one rise with the dawn and take something of a siesta in the heat of the day. An army life behooves a man not to be a slug-a-bed.’ He stopped moving the rag. ‘I been up the morning already, seein’ to the engine. We’re getting well on for noon.’

  My head wasn’t pounding but it hadn’t forgiven me yet. ‘I need to get going, been here too long, I should …’

  ‘Now just you hold on.’ He took a step toward me. ‘What sort of gentleman would I be, sending a lady off with no breakfast? Hell, I’d not treat my ex-wife so, and she did plenty more in the way of imposition.’

  ‘Really, it’s fine …’ The word ‘breakfast’ had my stomach growling. ‘You got a car?’

  ‘Sure do.’ He tilted the wrench in his hand. ‘My old truck. Shame to say though, she was makin’ a terrible fuss on the way over yesterday. I been under the hood a while, seems as she ain’t prepared to play ball just yet.’

  ‘No car?’

  He grinned. ‘Give me an hour or so more, sure that’s all I need. As we find ourselves some forty miles from an
ything one might call …’ he tilted his head to the side ‘… civilization, you best stop a while. Seein’ as you’re …’ he pointed the wrench at me. ‘Recuperating ‘n’ all.’

  My fingers found the wound on my side, now swathed in gauze and Band-Aid. ‘Did you touch me?’ I demanded, backing away from him along the couch.

  ‘Now just you hold on,’ he said, holding out one oil-blackened hand.

  ‘Did you touch me?’

  ‘You were bleedin’,’ he said and jabbed his finger at me. ‘You wanna ease up on me a little?’

  I looked at my hand where it gripped the wad of bandage. It was grimed with dirt and sweat, my wrist swollen and ringed in filth. Beneath my fingers I saw the red-brown bloom of blood on my t-shirt.

  ‘It’s just a graze, not as deep as I feared,’ Red said. ‘Seems it just passed you over, much like the spirit of the Lord. Not that I reckon he were after you.’ He grinned. ‘He never misses.’

  ‘So, what, you some kind of doctor?’

  ‘Well, sorta. You’re gonna have to forgive me for layin’ hands on you, but it was that or let you bleed.’ He took a step towards me. ‘I don’t claim to be no surgeon, but I seen my fair share of bullet wounds serving Uncle Sam, and done my turn with a field dressing. They say it’s not what you know … but what you remember that counts.’

  ‘You call 911?’ I asked, edging further down the couch.

  ‘Oh, there ain’t no phone here, darlin’, that’s why I like it. Man needs a space where he can think things out, once in a while.’

  ‘I need to get going,’ I said.

  ‘You might wanna take another drink first.’ He nodded toward the glass on the side table. I looked at the water and, glancing up at him, shifted back towards it and picked it up. ‘You got no memory still?’ He came a little closer. ‘No idea what fate befell you down that dirt track?’ He ran the cloth over the wrench again, as if he hoped to summon a genie.

  ‘No,’ I said. From his expression, this was not the genie he’d hoped for.

  ‘Such a queer thing.’ He held out his hand. Though it was dirty, I figured mine was worse.