Page 58 of Unwell
And I already knew I wouldn’t like them.
THIRTY-FOUR
NANCY
The storm was in full force by the time I stumbled out the door.
Rain lashed across my face and whipped my hair around. It stuck to my cheeks and covered my eyes as I trudged out across the mud. The sky was ominously black, dark and furious like it was as angered by the photographs as I was. The sucking mud gripped at my legs with every step, the heavy rain turning it into a quagmire. I pressed on, desperate to leave the horrible house behind me and get back to Ginny, to see if she would answer my questions now that I knew the extent of what she'd suffered.
The ground gave way beneath me, sending meslipping down a ditch and tumbling onto the wet earth. Filth covered me from tits to toes.
I pushed myself to my knees; the mud seeping between my fingers.
And froze.
Mounds of dirt stretched before me in a crooked row, rain water washing around them like moats. Each one was no bigger than the length of my forearm. Far, far too small.
Crude wooden crosses stuck out from the mounds. Snapped branches lashed together with twine and ribbon. Ribbons. Stained dark with rain trailing from the crosses like veins.
They were graves.
So many tiny graves.
The howl I let out couldn’t rival the terrific growl of the storm, lightning flashing the ground momentarily white. The rain carved deep tracks, pulling the earth away from the little mounds.
Something poked from the mud where the water ran. A corner of wood.
I clawed at it, rain stinging my eyes, my nails filling with black. The box came free, sodden and crumbling in my hands.
The lid sagged open and my breath caught.
I heaved.
A tiny body folded in on itself. Exposed bones and scraps of rotting flesh. Not deceased long enough for the worms to have eaten it to only a skeleton. Its neck wrappedin a faded loop of ribbon, knotted tight, the ends still stiff with filth. Big empty cavities where its eyes had been. The smell slammed into me and had me retching in the mud.
I stumbled back, gagging, bile rising hot in my throat. Memories of the strung rats flashing in my head. It was Ginny. All Ginny.It had to be.
And Robert had known all along. He’d locked her up so she couldn’t kill another one of his babies. She’d killed him, and I’d protected her.
Fuck.
There was no one else who knew at the asylum. Her files were empty. And if Marney knew, he’d be more likely to pull up a pew and watch rather than stop her.
The memory of her panic when her ribbons went missing. And I’d been the one to bring her more. My stomach grew heavy with the realisation. I’d facilitated her, believing her to be innocent.
What a fucking idiot.
I made for the car, the mud gripping me like it wanted me to stay with the other bodies. When I got there, I wrenched open the trunk.
A neat bundle of carefully folded ribbons, tucked away in a corner. The ribbons I’d left on Ginny’s bed. Fresh. Untouched.
Robert must have stolen them knowing what she intended to do with them. I should have reported the rats, maybe then he’d have confided in me earlier.
Then an image hit me right between the eyes as I stilled in the howling wind.
Ginny had clutched one ribbon after killing him.Bloodied. I saw it as something to soothe her. How wrong I’d been.
‘Oh God…’ The storm whipped up around me, as if I’d invoked the wrath of the heavens. ‘I have to get back.’
