The Family Lie

by P L Kane

  The figures suddenly stopped. So suddenly Mitch almost let out a cry of surprise.

  One of them threw something into the fire and it exploded, the flames rising and licking the roof of the space. Mitch could see shapes in those flames, images. Wasn’t this how they used to tell the future in the olden days? Looking into the fire, seeing what was to be? Or was something coming through from somewhere?

  No, ridiculous.

  Mitch shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. Waited, waited … When he opened them again, all the hooded figures were staring in his direction.

  He caught a word, or thought he did then. A command, if anything: ‘Brothers!’

  Then they started to move, letting go of each other and racing towards him. Mitch rose, turned, finally obeying that urge to flee – and scrambled back up the way he’d come. If nothing else, he didn’t fancy a full-on fight in such a confined space with all of those people.

  He ran back up, into another tunnel, desperate for the darkness now. To be away from the light, from the fire, from the people who’d been dancing and chanting around it. Mitch was aware of footsteps behind him, chasing him. Scratching and shuffling, shuffling and scratching. If he reached the blackness then he stood a chance of hiding from them, especially as the tunnels were turning and twisting once more. Surely they couldn’t know them that well?

  He rounded corner after corner, the sounds behind him at last receding. But he turned one too many, unable to see where he was going.

  An outcropping hit him squarely on the forehead and he reeled backwards. Reeled and toppled against a wall, collapsing down it. Sliding and slumping to the ground.

  Then, as much as he tried to stay conscious, as much as he fought it …

  The darkness engulfed him totally once more.

  Chapter 17

  Blackness.

  He stared into it, and it stared back. Then became brighter and brighter, swirled around … as the milk was added.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The question roused him, broke the mesmerizing spell. Mitch looked up and across, seeing his Aunty Helen sitting there on the chair opposite at the kitchen table. Leaning forward, having just added the white liquid to his tea. ‘Hmm?’ he said.

  ‘I asked if you were all right?’

  Was he all right? It was a simple enough question, but frighteningly complicated. The blackness of the tea had reminded him of when he had been in the cave, when he woke in the darkness of the tunnel. The adding of the milk like the light that was coming in from somewhere. Not flickering this time, not the flame, but a chink of fading sunlight. A way out of the caves, not that far away: a hole he’d subsequently crawled towards, then squeezed through, out into what was left of the daylight …

  It felt like he was being born again.

  He’d held a hand up to block out that light, even though the sun was on the wane. Just too bright for him after all that dimness, and it was only then that the torch still in his other hand came back on. He sighed, switched it off again and put it back in his pocket. The sunlight explained how long he’d been in the caves, though. Hours: until evening actually. Unless he’d lost days? His watch told him it was quarter to nine, but not what day. Not important; all that mattered was getting home – his dad’s home. Although hadn’t he begun to think about it as his by now? Probably not a good thing, seeing as his real home was in Downstone with—

  Shit! Lucy …

  No, think about figuring out where you are. Where your bike is. And, as he’d stood up on shaky legs, touching his forehead and feeling a lump just under the hairline – but no blood, which was always a good thing – he’d spotted the edge of the woods. Had somewhere to aim for at least, and he should really get moving before night dropped completely.

  As luck would have it, locating the bike hadn’t been that hard – tracing the edge of the woods until he got to the other side of it where he’d originally entered. There it was, behind the tree exactly as he’d left it. Mitch wasn’t sure he should be riding it, there was a risk that he’d lose his balance, wobble and come off it again, injure himself further, but night had definitely fallen by this time and he really didn’t want to be out here till morning.

  So, he’d taken it slowly. Managed to get back around midnight, pulling up outside the house and wheeling the bike round to the rear. By the time he’d made it to the front door again, and was letting himself in, Cat was there to greet him. Probably wanted more food. Give me a break, he thought, I haven’t had time to get to the shops. I’ve been too busy being trapped in a cave.

  Then he felt bad when the animal dropped something on the floor beside him: a dead mouse it had caught and had been holding in its mouth. It nosed the corpse towards him, returning the favour for all the fish and meat he’d fed it in the time Mitch had been at the house. He laughed. ‘Look that hungry, do I?’ The moggy nuzzled against his leg. ‘As much as I appreciate the gesture, I think I’ll pass.’ He nodded towards the mouse. ‘But please, knock yourself out.’

  Cat had meowed, then picked up the mouse and carried it away into the building. If Mitch wasn’t bothered, then waste not want not. He’d locked the door behind him, then managed to stagger as far as the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa and fell into another sleep. Probably shouldn’t have done, weren’t you supposed to stay awake after a bang on the head? But he figured he’d made it back, and he was so, so exhausted. If he didn’t wake up again this time, he really wouldn’t have minded.

  Wake he did though, with yet another headache. It was gone 8 a.m., so at least he’d had a decent sleep. And no nightmares, which was good. No shadowy figures, no scraping and shuffling. That had been in the real world, though. Hadn’t it?

  The more Mitch thought about it, the more he wasn’t sure what he’d seen in those caves. Had he dreamed the whole thing? Knocked his head earlier and thought he’d seen what he’d seen? No, that had come afterwards when he’d been trying to escape from the figures chasing him. A reversal of what had happened in the woods, following those people into the caves in the first place.

  More painkillers had helped with the head, then a shower had woken him up a bit. Drying himself, he happened to catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bruises on his shoulder, his side, another one just below his hairline – not far from where his stitches remained hidden – which he attempted to cover up by brushing what hair he had there over it. He felt worse than he ever had pulling riot duty, like he’d been in a war – or caught in the middle of one? A battle between the people of Green Acres and those up at the Commune. A battle his dad had been caught in the crossfire of as well?

  After more toast for breakfast, and digging out what was possibly the last tin of anything the cat might be interested in from a cupboard, placing that on the saucer he’d been using to feed it, he’d returned to the living room and slumped back down on the sofa. It was then that the books he’d brought in here from the study caught his eye, piled next to the fireplace where his aunty and uncle had left them when they’d been tidying.

  Mitch reached over, grabbed the first – entitled Inside the Greatest Cults of Our Time – and started flicking through it. Made sense to do some more research, he told himself. Know thine enemy and all that, because Mitch realized he knew very little about them in general; the extent of his knowledge was some vague memory of an episode of Boy Meets World where Shawn was suckered into almost joining a thing called ‘The Centre’ by a guy called Mr Mack. After yesterday, Mitch was more certain than ever that the Commune was one of those. That it was, to all intents and purposes, a cult itself.

  Kicking off with ‘The Children of God’, which was established in the 1960s by travelling preacher David Berg, Mitch read all about how they used ‘free love’ as an incentive to draw members into their orbit. Former members reported the frequent abuse of children – a woman called Verity Carter claimed she was abused from the age of four onwards – and though Berg died in 1994, the group renamed itself the ‘Family of L
ove’ and then ‘The Family International’ after being labelled a cult and investigated by the FBI and Interpol.

  ‘Heaven’s Gate’ was another cult he hadn’t heard of, which preached that the end of the world was coming, and that God was an alien. Mitch had paused when he read this, wondering whether his father’s research into UFOs might have a connection. Did the Commune believe something similar? Were those losses they’d talked about just collateral damage, or were abductions considered to be something akin to a holy experience? The founders of Heaven’s Gate – Marshall Applewhite and Bonnie Nettles – encouraged members to give away their money and cut contact with families, which also smacked of the Commune. However, Mitch had no real proof any people involved with this one had been forced to break contact with relations.

  The end of the world also loomed large in another cult leader’s philosophy, and this time it was a name Mitch was familiar with. Though, again, he wasn’t conversant with all the history of it. Charles Manson talked about something called ‘Helter Skelter’ – inspired by the Beatles’ song – after he’d recruited his own Family of disparate youngsters. An apocalyptic event he used as the catalyst to get them to go out and murder innocents, most notably pregnant actress Sharon Tate, yet he always claimed he gave no such orders. Controlling and manipulating them through that cult of personality once more …

  Something that was totally embodied in Jim Jones, founder of the ‘People’s Temple’. Jones would use tricks and misdirection to convince members of his own order that he was some sort of superman. Mitch read one account where the guy had sent his own people out to fire guns at him filled with blanks, so he could say the bullets had had no effect on him. A media personality of sorts in the ’60s, his reign ended in the 1970s when he retreated to create his own ‘paradise’ called Jonestown. Mitch knew without even reading it what had happened there, the phrase ‘drinking the Kool-Aid’ referring to mass suicides Jones initiated when the authorities were going in. To have that much power over people, you could get them to end their own lives … It was just incredible.

  There were more, of course, which he read about in some of the other tomes: like ‘Aum Shinrikyo’, founded in the ’80s by Shoko Asahara, which started out as spiritual and became increasingly violent as time went on – members of that one even drank Asahara’s blood, Mitch was shocked to learn; ‘Buddahfield’, begun by failed actor Jaime Gomez, a leader – or mentor – who again, it was said, exploited his position for profit and sex; right up to examples such as David Koresh and his offshoot of the Seventh-day Adventists, who all met their end at Waco after a standoff with authorities; and Warren Jeffs, who became the leader of the FLD church, someone who – despite being arrested – was still in charge of thousands of followers. It was all scary stuff and had aspects in common. Mitch had to wonder just how many of the smaller cults everywhere escaped attention, until it was too late.

  Had Daniel struck him as someone charismatic who could inspire such loyalty? He must have had something going for him, to get people to give up on their lives, their savings, to come here to Green Acres and live that ‘unique’ life they’d talked about. Or was Leah the real brains behind everything, the true personality they’d rallied behind? Two – a couple – being stronger than one and all that, though who knows if their relationship was monogamous, or if relationships at the Commune were fluid. Everyone could be at it with everyone else, for all Mitch knew.

  He’d been working his way through these books when a sudden knock at the door made him start. Mitch had got up, going over to the window and peeking out to see who it was – catching sight of his aunty stepping back, carrying something under a tea towel. It was exactly what they’d done when Mitch called at their house for the first time and there’d been no response to his rap at the door. Being careful, making sure it was friend rather than foe. An atmosphere of unease had descended on peaceful Green Acres since he’d been away, and a lot of that was probably to do with the presence of the Commune. Now Mitch understood perfectly how threatened people felt.

  Making his way to the door, he’d opened it and the short woman had smiled. ‘Hello love, how are you today?’

  ‘I’m—’ he started to say, then was interrupted by Cat speeding out through the gap, as if he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity to escape. Probably wanting to go off and hunt more prey.

  Helen watched as it shot past her, pulling a face. He thought for a moment she was going to attempt a kick, but she didn’t. For one thing it was moving too swiftly. ‘Is that horrendous thing still hanging around?’ she asked.

  Mitch said nothing. He liked it hanging around. Instead, he invited the woman in, who explained she’d brought round a stew for lunch. ‘I doubt you’re looking after yourself properly,’ she said, and was it his imagination or was she trying to sniff his breath again? Checking to see if he’d been drinking? ‘I’ll stick it in a pan to warm up, shall I?’

  ‘Thanks,’ he’d said, closing the door and trailing behind her – as she was already making her way through to the kitchen, rattling around in a cupboard next to the cooker for a pan to put on the stove.

  It was as she turned to face him again that she pointed to his forehead. ‘That from the other night, is it? I heard about your run-in with Cam Granger.’

  Of course you did, he thought. ‘No, no. Just an accident. A bump on the head.’

  Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him, and even if she did she probably thought he’d been soused again when he whacked it. ‘Making friends and influencing people, eh?’ said Helen after he rejected her offer to take a look at it, returning instead to the incident in the pub.

  Mitch gave a small laugh. ‘Something like that, yeah. Actually, I might have landed a job out of it. Or potentially a job.’

  ‘Oh?’ she asked.

  ‘Security for Neil Sheldon,’ he informed her, thinking she’d at least be glad he was working towards getting another gig. But she pulled a face worse than the one when she’d spotted the cat.

  ‘Oh, him. The property fellow.’

  ‘The developer, yeah.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘Hmm,’ was all she said.

  ‘I didn’t say I was going to take it. Just that it was offered.’ He held his hands out in a gesture of placation. ‘I know how you guys feel about him. How most of the people here feel. I certainly know how that nutter of a farmer feels.’

  ‘Well, it’s only because Sheldon wants to exploit the area. Granger might not express his feelings in the correct way, but he speaks for a lot of us who have homes here.’

  They left it at that, Helen busying herself with the stew – but making him his first tea of many before he could even sit down. Seriously, what was it with the tea? The British liked a cuppa, were known for it, but if she could, Mitch had a feeling his Aunty Helen would have it on a drip attached to her arm. Personally, it just made his bladder feel like bursting.

  She served him up the stew on a plate, and he had to admit it was delicious. ‘It’ll save you having to go back into The Plough today,’ she told him. Part of her plot to keep him away from the booze, regardless of the fact he’d been on the brandy two nights on the trot in this very house.

  ‘You not joining me?’ he asked her.

  She patted her stomach. ‘I already ate, Mitchel. Just wanted to make sure you did. Keep your strength up.’ When he was finished, she’d taken the plate and popped it in the sink. Returning with yet another tea. That’s when he’d stared into the blackness, when he’d been reminded of yesterday, at the point the milk was added. ‘I asked if you were all right?’ Helen repeated, once she realized he’d zoned out.

  ‘Oh, right. Yeah, I’m fine.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Just tired, I guess,’ Mitchel said, but she caught the lie.

  ‘Events like those of late take it out of a person, whether they’re sleeping well or not,’ she informed him. ‘I actually called around yesterday, brought lunch then – but you were out.’

  ‘Yeah, I decided to go
for a ride.’ Technically not a falsehood, and as plugged into the Green Acres Matrix as she was, he very much doubted she would have heard about his visit to the Commune, or his exploits in the cave. Which may or may not have been real.

  ‘Just you be careful, young Mitchel,’ she replied, wagging her finger. He thought she might be talking about the drink again, but Aunty Helen had something else on her mind. ‘There are some things that are better off left alone.’

  It was his turn to pull a face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Too much like your father, you are.’

  ‘In what way?’ he asked, but she wouldn’t answer him. ‘I want to know what happened to him, what’s wrong with that? I seem to be the only one who gives a s—’ She looked at him sideways, as if daring him to say it: ‘Stuff.’

  ‘That’s not true at all,’ Helen said. ‘We all care.’

  ‘Then why is nobody doing anything? Not even the local cops are looking into this, and by the time Wilkinson gets round to it I’ll probably be dead too.’

  ‘What a thing to say! And with your birthday just round the corner!’

  ‘I …’ Mitch realized how that sounded, how it had come out all wrong. ‘I just mean I’ll have died of old age, Aunty Helen. We all probably will! It’ll be my hundredth birthday before we get any answers.’ It was one of the reasons he hadn’t bothered reporting what had happened in the woods, in the cave system.

  She let out a long sigh. ‘I know you’re used to a different pace of life, you’ve lived so long in the city. But things work differently here.’

  ‘They either work really slowly or not at all. There’s stuff going on here that needs investigating or—’

  ‘And it will be, Mitchel. In the correct manner.’