by Wes Markin
Paul looked up at the elderly man. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘What do you want to hear?’ The sores opened and wept on his face as he spoke. ‘That I like the taste of veal? That I want to consume their souls? That I do it because I’m hungry, and cannibalism is the answer to famine? Which answer would you like?’
‘The truth.’
‘But the truth is too simple and will not give you the closure you want. I do this because I’ve always done this. I do this because it is who I am. Who we are. And you too, are part of all this, Paul.’
‘No, I am not!’ Paul’s eyes filled with tears now.
‘Exactly as I said – cutting your nose off to spite your face.’ He picked up a carving knife and licked the tip. ‘Now, there’s an idea.’
Gardner had taken the evidence back to HQ in her vehicle. Yorke and Jake followed behind.
For a change, Yorke had allowed Jake the wheel.
Jake said, ‘I know it doesn’t happen very often when we are both in a car together, but can I just have it on the record that I prefer it this way round?’
‘I agree that it is more relaxing ... sleep-inducing actually, but what happens when we have to get somewhere quickly or on time even?’
Jake laughed. ‘I’ve missed you, mate.’
‘I’ve missed you too, buddy. Although I only saw you last week!’
Jake slowed down as he neared a car towing a horsebox. ‘Yes, I remember. You were being mildly irritating if I recall.’
‘I think the word is supportive. Besides, I’m pretty sure I bought most of the rounds. There’s no pleasing some people.’
They laughed for a moment but there was a topic looming around the corner which needed to be broached. And they both knew it.
‘Could you overtake please, Jake?’
Jake sighed, but then complied.
They changed the subject until Jake took the third exit off the roundabout onto the motorway.
‘So, did you put a line under it then?’ Yorke said.
‘Wait until I’m on the motorway before you bring that up! Do you value your life?’
But Yorke wasn’t about to be fobbed off – no matter the circumstances. ‘A line under it?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Not exactly?’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘Working on it?’
‘Is there a fucking echo in this car?’
‘Hey look,’ Yorke said, ‘I’m pretty sure we spent over three hours in the Wyndham discussing the merits of doing the right thing in this situation. I agree, my memory of the last hour of that conversation is rather hazy, and Kenny, well into his eighties, came over to throw in his tuppence, which was an old-fashioned tuppence, and not too helpful, but I’m absolutely positive we reached an agreement by last orders.’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘And then you stopped by her house and slept with her after chucking out time?’
Jake’s face reddened. ‘How did you know?’
‘Well, the not exactly and the working on it were pretty big indicators.’ Yorke sighed. ‘And keep your bloody eyes on the road.’
Jake looked back and continued to negotiate the slow lane. Yorke saw that he was reaching an all-time record of 55 mph. Well, Yorke thought, more chance of surviving if he throws a paddy, and veers into a bollard.
‘It’s your life …’ Yorke said.
‘Yes, it is.’
Yorke nodded. ‘Well maybe you should stop asking for advice then?’
‘I will.’
A stony minute passed in silence before Jake said, ‘Okay, you got me. I’m fucked. I don’t know what to do.’
‘We discussed—’
‘I like her, Mike. I mean, I really, really like her.’
Yorke sighed. ‘For now! We discussed this. It’s exciting, but you are reacting to the chemical explosions in your brain, and they may not last. And then what? You’ll have nothing.’
‘No, it’s not like that. All me and Sheila do is argue. With Caroline, it’s different. We just laugh.’
‘You and Sheila just need to figure things out—’
‘Figure things out? We’ve been trying for years. You, more than anyone know that. During our marriage, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d spent more time outside the bedroom than in it!’
Yorke accepted that he had a good point, but he wasn’t about to concede defeat just yet. ‘Think of your son, then.’
Jake turned sharply for the junction exit. He’d almost missed it. Yorke gasped. A lorry driver, forced to slow down, hit the horn. Yorke was surprised – Jake had never been that gung-ho behind the wheel before. His adrenaline was obviously high.
‘Frank is all I bloody think about. The worst thing is looking into his eyes. Do you know what that feels like right now? The guilt?’
‘I can only imagine.’
‘You can only imagine! Is that because you, the moral and upstanding Michael Yorke would never do anything like—’
Jake was cut off by his phone ringing over the car speakers. Yorke pressed the answer button on the control panel.
‘It’s me,’ Gardner said. ‘We have a witness.’
‘Go on,’ Yorke said.
‘Get this address into the SatNav and head there now while I explain everything to you.’
Yorke listened and programmed the SatNav in Jake’s car.
Gardner continued, ‘We had a large response to our press release yesterday, but nothing like what just came in five minutes ago. A witness has reported seeing someone driving on the road behind the maze and woodland! Check your phone, Mike.’
Gardner had sent him an image from Google Maps. She’d dropped a red pin on the road running behind the woodland next to the Mitchell farm.
‘It’s an eight-minute walk from where we just stood under that tree,’ Gardner said. ‘The witness saw the driver at approximately 3 p.m. on the day Samuel Mitchell disappeared.’
‘So, that would place it roughly ten minutes after the possible abduction?’ Yorke said.
‘Yes,’ Gardner said.
‘Jesus,’ Jake said, ‘What did this witness see?’
‘The witness is a dairy farmer called Bryce Singles. While returning home in his tractor from a neighbouring farm, he says he passed a parked vehicle where I’ve dropped that pin. A couple of minutes later, the same vehicle was tailgating his tractor, desperately trying to get around him. Singles reports that it was lunacy. It was literally trying to run him off the road. Obviously, he pulled aside to let the maniac past.’
‘Okay, so do we have vehicle details?’ Yorke said.
‘Yes, but that’s not the best of it.’
‘Go on.’
‘Singles recognised the driver, Mike.’
‘Bloody hell. Who was it?’
‘Another local farmer. Robert Bennett. That’s the address you’re heading to now.’
‘Armed response?’ Jake said.
Yorke said. ‘I wouldn’t advise it. It’s too long to wait. Both Paul and Samuel could be there and in danger now.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Gardner said, ‘so, I’ve got some officers in the vicinity to come and support.’
‘Good.’
‘There’s more.’
‘Go on.’
‘Singles says that Robert Bennett literally rolled his window down and hurled abuse at him. He couldn’t hear what he said over the noise of the tractor, but it was clearly venomous. Bennett has eczema all over his face, Singles confirmed this.’
‘So it’s the grandfather who approached reception at the farm and put the fake alert out on his grandson?’ Jake said.
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Yorke said, ‘we will discuss that later. Could Singles see anyone else in the vehicle?’
‘No, but I guess Samuel could have been in the boot?’ Gardner said.
‘Right, we need to get there … Jake?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You need to pull over so I c
an drive.’
‘Now why did I get the feeling you were going to say that?’
Paul Ray welcomed time away from Reginald.
He knew it was a dream, and that, back in reality, he was still with him. But he was so thankful for this break from the mean old bastard.
The chairs around the table were empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the mutilated young man was no longer sitting opposite him. However, every place was made, and the fine cutlery and gleaming white plates suggested that visitors were expected.
Alongside the candelabra, someone had laid out more candles. Paul had yet to see the room so illuminated.
With the absence of Reginald, and the dead young man, there were reasons to be upbeat, but there were a great many more not to be. The assortment of food laid out before him, for example. The banquet had grown. And following his conversation with Reginald, how could he not expect the worst from these dishes?
As his eyes moved from dish to dish, his fears were realised. Nausea grew, and he became aware that he was scratching a peculiar itch in his right hand. He glanced down and saw that it was red and sore.
The guests began to shuffle in. Continuing to scratch, he looked up at their faces. Some he recognised, some he didn’t.
Opposite him, his father, Joe, took a seat. He winked at his son and then grabbed a napkin off his plate and tucked it under his collar to shield his shirt from food.
He recognised Lacey, his auntie. She tucked her long, blonde hair behind her ears and sat to the left of him. She placed her hand on his, leaned in and whispered in his ear, ‘Never judge a book by its cover. If you look further beyond, you will see more.’
He smiled at Lacey. He’d always liked her. Yes, the things she’d been accused of worried him, and she was a dangerous individual, but she’d always been good to him.
He felt strong hands on his shoulder and felt Lewis Ray’s bristly face against his. Here was one relative who’d never been good to him. A relative who’d made him sleep with pigs, and then tried to feed him to wild boars.
‘See the soul, Paul.’ Lewis sat down to his right.
He noticed he was still feverishly scratching his hand. He looked down and saw that he’d drawn blood.
Then, he looked back up and saw other Rays taking their seat around the table. He recognised many of them from photographs his parents had shown him growing up. He recognised his grandparents, parents of Lacey and Joe, who’d died before he was born.
The only noticeable absence was Reginald. The head of the family.
The family then greeted one another, picked up wine glasses, clinked them together and started to prepare their plates.
His father scooped up two eyeballs, the optic nerves still trailing from the backs of them, onto his plate. He seasoned them with black pepper, and with the smaller of his forks, speared one. He got it into his mouth, closed his eyes and chewed. Paul felt his stomach turn.
After finishing, his father smiled at him. ‘There is nothing that doesn’t work with garlic.’
Quickly, Paul turned his attention to Lacey to distract himself, but she was also engaged in disgusting behaviour. She was working hard with her knife and fork on an ear. When she finally wrenched a piece free, she popped it into her mouth. Seconds into chewing, she spat some pieces of metal onto her plate. They looked like shotgun pellets. Paul tasted sick in his mouth.
She smiled at Paul. ‘Don’t you just hate it when you get one full of studs?’
He tried to shut them all out by looking down at his sore, itching hand, but that was no use, because he’d made a mess of it and some of his scratches had torn his skin.
From the corner of his eye, Paul could see Lewis scraping something from the inside of a skull. It was the top part of a skull, and he wondered if it was the piece removed from that poor young man who was sitting opposite him back in reality. Paul put a hand to his mouth; he wouldn’t be able to hold back from vomiting for much longer …
The host made his entrance. Everyone stood to welcome him.
Reginald came around the table quickly. Spritely on his feet, despite his many years. He stood behind Paul, like Lewis had moments ago, and said, ‘Don’t stand for me, but stand for your guest of honour.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Joe said, raising his glass.
Lacey ruffled Paul’s hair, Lewis clapped a large hand down on his shoulder.
‘After all,’ Reginald continued, ‘they always taste better when they’re one of your own!’
Everyone started to laugh, and Paul dug his nails deeper into his sore hand …
… Paul opened his eyes.
The candles still flickered, but Reginald Ray had left. The mutilated young man had now slumped forward so Paul could see directly into his empty skull.
His right hand was stinging like mad. He looked down, saw that he was scratching a bloody, bandaged stump, and screamed.
The farmyard was much smaller than the one they’d visited earlier, and this one was not open to the general public. Judging by the state of it, it never would be. A dishevelled farmhouse was framed by two fenced off unkempt fields. The fences, where they still stood, had rotted. Not a single animal grazed.
Yorke and Jake climbed out of the car.
‘So, is this what happens if you don’t turn your farm into an amusement park in the twenty-first century?’ Yorke said, heading for the path to the farmhouse. ‘Come on.’
‘Emma told us to wait for back-up!’
‘She didn’t. She just said there would be back-up coming.’
Jake watched him sprint away. To the side of him, Gardner crunched to a halt in her vehicle.
She jumped out and saw Yorke, in the distance, approaching the path to the farmhouse. ‘Couldn’t he have waited a minute?’
Jake looked at her. ‘He doesn’t seem to do much by the book these days. We best catch him up. Farmers and shotguns? We’ve got experience in this area already.’
‘With two young men missing, he wouldn’t have given it much thought.’ Gardner said, breaking into a run.
Yorke was banging on the door of the stone farmhouse when they caught him up.
Jake was certain he could see dust swirling down around the porch every time he pounded. ‘Don’t knock too hard, sir, the place might fall down.’
Yorke ignored him and hit harder. There was no letterbox to shout through, so he was probably taking his frustration out on the wooden door.
‘He gets one more chance or I’m going around the back,’ Yorke said.
‘Is it just me, sir, or has demotion made you more edgy?’ Jake said.
The door started to open. Jake pulled his badge out.
‘Police,’ Yorke said.
An elderly man stepped from the house. He was the man from the CCTV footage and the sketch from the forensic artist. He had a thin layer of white cream over the patches on his face.
‘Mr Robert Bennett?’ Yorke said.
‘Yes, what is this?’ His voice was muffled.
‘Who is in the house with you?’
‘No one. I live alone. Why?’ He reached into the pocket of his jeans.
‘What are you doing?’ Yorke lifted his hands, ready to pounce if necessary.
Robert pulled out a small, purple box. ‘My falsies.’
‘Okay, slowly,’ Yorke said, lowering his hands.
Robert opened the box and slipped in the false teeth. ‘That’s better. I find it so hard to talk without them in. Now why do you want me?’
‘Did you find your grandson?’ Jake said.
‘Excuse me?’
Gardner reached over and put a hand on Jake’s arm. She gave him a look to admonish him for being antagonistic. He nodded, accepting her warning.
‘Can you step away from the door, Mr Bennett?’ Yorke said.
‘Why?’
‘DS Pettman here will escort you to the vehicle, while we search your premises.’
‘Again, why?’
‘Because we have reason to believe that som
eone’s life may be in danger on this property, Mr Bennett. That is why.’
Get busy living or get busy dying.
When he’d been ten years old, Paul had heard his father saying that to his mother during one of her episodes. She’d spent the entire weekend cleaning the house from top to bottom. And then from bottom to top.
Her OCD for cleanliness was unrelenting, especially when faced with extreme anxiety, and his father had been remarkably talented at bringing this turmoil into their family home. Extra-marital affairs had been his speciality.
He’d loved his father but learning about his wayward behaviours had been scarring to say the least. Would Paul have ever forgiven him? He didn’t know, nor would he ever find out. Lewis Ray and his wild boars had seen to that.
So, as he stared at the bloody, bandaged stump where earlier he’d had a hand, those words came back to him. The words that his father had used on his sick mother when he couldn’t stomach her irrational behaviours anymore.
Get busy living or get busy dying.
The fact that he was about to follow his father’s advice after everything he’d done to his mother didn’t sit right with him. But nothing could be truer than this mantra right now.
Reginald Ray, a man who had died over a hundred years ago, was alive, and eating people again. How he was alive was anybody’s guess, but the fact remained … he was eating people again.
And he had taken Paul’s right hand.
Paul rose to his feet and the chair came off the floor with him. He looked down at the chain around his ankles that snaked around the legs of the wooden chair and then looped through two wooden arches which sat underneath the cushioned seat.
The chains were so tightly wound to him that walking would be impossible. He would literally have to hop to freedom, unless …
Get busy living.
He threw himself and the chair backwards against the wall.
The force of the blow vibrated throughout his entire body. The air was forced out of him and he heard a crunch which he prayed was wood buckling rather than his spine.
He gritted his teeth and launched himself again. This time the sound was more like a crack.