It was coming up to the one day of the year that Malcolm always dreaded.
As he stared at the one photograph he had of Margaret, his mind drifted back to the fire that had claimed his sister’s life. It was the catalyst for many things to come and it had changed everything, setting him on a new path that would determine his future and ultimately result in vengeance and murder.
Christmas was never much fun in the Grimes household. Gerald and Marie Grimes took their faith seriously and much of Christmas Day revolved around the church. Although the children received a few gifts, all were practical in nature – a new Bible, clothes, maybe a book bag for school – and the majority of the day was spent in prayer or Bible study, firstly at the church then later at home. The only highlight of the day was Christmas lunch (though as always Gerald was watching closely, ready to deliver punishment for the slightest wrongdoing) after which they were allowed to listen to a few Christmas songs. Nothing too modern, mind. There would be no Slade, Wham! or Mariah Carey in the Grimes house. Marie had an old-fashioned record player and the family would listen to a selection of songs by artistes such as Bing Crosby, The Andrews Sisters and Perry Como.
Christmas Day 2003 was a more sombre affair than usual. Malcolm had heard his mother sob that first night he was home, but other than that his parents had remained dry-eyed and stony faced in the days following Margaret’s death, completely emotionless and of little comfort to their two remaining children.
This did nothing to help the burning grief eating up Malcolm. Margaret hadn’t just been his sister, she had been his twin. They had come into the world together and, although she was the good to his bad, the lightness to his dark, and they’d never had much in common, she had always been his constant. Without her he was lost. Knowing how she had died filled him with a rage he had no outlet for.
Margaret was mentioned in the prayers of the Christmas morning church service then the Grimes family returned home.
It was during lunch that Malcolm really noticed the change in Alice.
His older sister had always been defiant and uncontrollable, getting worse in the last year, but since his return from the school trip, she had seemed like an empty shell. At first Malcolm had put it down to grief, but now he sensed it was more than that. There was an atmosphere between Alice and his parents, something unspoken between them, and it was as though her spirit had been crushed.
She was even on her best behaviour – no snide looks or rolled eyes, and no answering their father back – and for the first time in Malcolm’s life, Alice was actually doing exactly as she was told.
It was as if she had been replaced by a robot.
Malcolm didn’t like it. Margaret had always been the good child, the one who tried her best to please their parents. Alice was the rebel and Malcolm, well he was beyond saving, according to their father. Alice’s complete change of personality… no, not change, more like lack of personality was unsettling.
He couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened during the week he had been away.
Over the coming months Alice remained in the same zombified state. There was no more sneaking out at night and she became a loner at school, losing interest in friends, boyfriends and all social activities, instead studying hard. Malcolm tried to talk to her about it on several occasions, but each time she shut him down.
And so he did the rebelling for both of them, acting up and causing as much trouble for his parents as possible, as he desperately tried to evoke some kind of emotion or reaction in them, so bloody angry that Alice had submitted to their will, almost moulding herself to replace Margaret, while sweet, dead Margaret seemed to be wiped from their lives. The beatings from his father became more frequent, but Malcolm didn’t care. At least when Gerald hit him he could feel.
Unlike Alice, who passed all of her exams and went to university, Malcolm failed every one of his. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do them. Despite what his father thought, he was a relatively intelligent boy and knew he could have passed had he wanted. He just didn’t bother to show up.
Of course Gerald had been furious about that, but Malcolm was growing fast, almost six foot and muscular with it, making it difficult for his father to physically punish him.
He managed to secure work in a local supermarket and as soon as he was able to afford it, he left home, moving into a bedsit on the rougher side of town.
It was while he lived there that Alice made contact from university.
At first her messages had been tentative, but the more they talked, initially by text, eventually by phone, he understood about her change in personality.
They had both lost Margaret and they both grieved for her, and they both hated their parents with a passion, but Alice was also terrified of them. And now Malcolm knew why. He was furious with his parents, disgusted with what they had done to Alice.
That was why the match had been lit. Malcolm had wanted to see Alice when she returned from university for her summer break, but things had ended so badly with his parents, he knew they wouldn’t let him in the house, and each attempt to see her outside and away from their control, kept being thwarted. Malcolm suspected that his father was monitoring Alice’s phone, which is why she wasn’t replying to his messages or answering his calls.
He was so angry, so blinkered with hatred, he had sat outside the house waiting for his parents to leave then had broken in once he knew it was empty.
As he watched the flames rise, taking hold of the conservatory blinds, he had stood mesmerised, drawn back to the night of Margaret’s death. He was so caught up in the past, he hadn’t initially heard Alice’s voice, hadn’t realised she was in the house.
‘Malcolm, what the fuck are you doing here?’ Her tone had been sharp, she had been so angry with him. They had fought, the police and fire brigade had arrived, and Malcolm had been arrested.
He didn’t see his parents or Alice again.
Now, as he sat at his laptop and studied the news reports, he knew it was time.
Kelly Dearborn, Rachel Colton née Williams, Gary Lamb and Howard Peck. Four had paid for what had happened to Margaret. Four sinners had been burned alive.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
Time was running out as it grew closer to the eve of Margaret’s death. The instigators were going to be next. He closed the laptop and grabbed his duffle bag.
It was time to finish this.
