V

He must have noticed how my pupils contracted. Or how the sweat started to pour out of me like I was a wet sponge on the floor that someone had accidentally stepped on. My shirt collar suddenly felt like a noose.

I tried to stutter out the words but I had temporarily forgotten how the English language worked. I didn't know if I should tell him anyway – I didn't want him anywhere near my mother. But on the other hand, my mother wasn't of much use to anyone if she was in a thousand jigsaw pieces all over my attic. But then again, was she of much use to me when she was with Dean? Surely there must be an option C.

And there was. It flashed like lightning in my mind, beautiful but terrifying.

"I imagined it," I said.

Dean stared at me for a moment. He raised his eyebrows. I told him that the people in my attic had only been a dream and I had only just remembered that it wasn't real. I was sorry that I had wasted his time. In fact, he could probably put the axe back in the car and I would come out in a moment to pay him, just a token gesture since he had stuck around. Well, not both axes, I added, I would be using one for just a couple of moments for something I needed to do upstairs in my room. A bit of interior decoration, I was thinking of shortening a chair. I certainly didn't plan to kill anyone, I added, especially since there was no one to kill and I had only imagined it.

Dean's forehead pulled together in confusion.

"Dude, I can just do it myself, it's what I do. You should have a lie down, you're not thinking straight."

No, I told him, I definitely was thinking straight. I'd see him outside in just a few moments. I started heading up the stairs to my room where I had the axe against the wall. Surely I could just talk to them, ask them to let my mother go, and, if that didn't work, well, surely axes couldn't be that hard to use. I knew how to use a stapler. And an envelope opener – they were basically the same thing as an axe, only smaller versions.

"You're going to die," Dean called up the stairs. I slipped a little on the carpet and tried to pretend I didn't, tried to look casual. "They will open you up like Christmas turkey," he continued, "and spray you around your attic like tomato sauce. But if there's two of us, we can save her."

I stopped on the top stair. How? How did he know? I looked back at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I could smell her in your kitchen. She's only just arrived but I can recognise that perfume anywhere."

So the game was up. I thought only I knew her smell.

"And dude, I think you should probably look at what you're doing. You can't seriously be so screwed up that you'd rather your mother was eaten alive than be with me."

I was pretty screwed up. My therapist said I was his favourite patient because I had more problems than a college maths book. I could probably even use it as an excuse in court, not that I would try it because I'm scared of the justice system. Why should I care if this thug didn't get what he wanted? If I couldn't have her, why should anyone else?

"Dude?"

I think my mind stopped working. I was too tired to even think. I looked forward at him blankly.

"Are you going to let me up the stairs and help me out or am I going to back hand you?"

A shriek came from upstairs.

"Dude, she's your mother."

I thought she was mine but she wasn't. She was like a rental property – mine until the landlord calls on the phone and tells me that I'm evicted.

Our eyes locked for what seemed an age. I wasn't going to move.

VI

I slid open the manhole into my attic and struggled to get my axe through after me. It was much heavier than I imagined it would be and the head was a funny shape so I found it difficult to move around. I had left Dean downstairs, cocky, arms crossed, reclining on the bottom step. He had waved me goodbye as I ascended.

I could just imagine him sharpening his axe downstairs. At the slightest call for help he would be up with me, slicing and hacking his way through the cult members and into my mother's heart. I was determined not to let that happen. I was also determined not to die in the process though that part was slightly less important.

Inside the attic it was so dark that it seemed like the black was swallowing the light and spitting it back out again in more black. I fumbled around the rafters for the piece of plastic on a string – the light switch – and hoped I didn't run across something else first, a bony hand, a cold piece of skin. There was fumbling going on somewhere around me and there were small grunts. Maybe turning on the light would not be a good idea.

I pulled down the light cord with a twang. The light sprang into action and I could see them, their hands shielding their eyes, all huddled around my mother in the far end of the attic. They had her bound with a sock stuffed in her mouth. A few got to their feet.

"Hi, guys," I said. I tried to sound pleasant in a friendly-neighbour sort of way. I was going for the "Can I borrow your sugar?" tone of voice. But it didn't seem to work – one of the group bared her teeth in her misshapen mouth and growled at me. I wondered if all cult members were this dramatic – everyone wants to be an actor.

"Yeah, OK," I laughed nervously (I could see my mother's terrified eyes from over the top of one of their veiny hands). "I don't want to be, you know, ah, raining on any parades, or killing the party so to speak…but um…"

This was going terribly.

"But um…this is…this is my attic, which isn't normally a problem…ah, well it wouldn't be but, you see, that's my, ah, that's my mother you've got there and I wondered if you could please, you know, just let her go."

They looked at me, then they looked at each other, and then they began to laugh. It was a low gurgling laugh, like a pot boiling on the stove and then one laughed loudly and it was the shriek that I had heard from downstairs. I had no idea how he could make such a sound. I was running in my head but I had to stand my ground just a little longer.

"Yeah, well, I…I can see the funny side too," I said. "I suppose. But uh…well, what you're doing is actually against the law. Trespassing is a federal offence. I mean, it's not like I'm going to call the police or anything…well, you know, if we can talk about this reasonably I'm sure I won't have to. You can even rent up here if you like it that much. I can draw up a lease tomorrow… if … but about my mother, I think you better let her go. I can be flexible with the rent but not with my mother. Just let her go."

One took a step towards me.

"Or what?"

And he began running towards me.