by Wes Markin
He turned back to the island, stepped over and popped two tablets from the packet of painkillers in the open drawer. These would make him sleepy too. He fancied falling asleep in front of the television. He closed the drawer—
The patchy face of Reginald Ray looked up at him. The monster was lying on his side on the kitchen floor. ‘Hello Paul.’ He smiled, revealing his loose-fitting white teeth. ‘You left without saying goodbye.’
With his heart thumping in his chest, Paul glanced back at the open cupboard door. He must have just crawled out of there—
There was an excruciating pain in his leg. He screamed. Reginald was propped up on his right elbow as he worked the corkscrew into Paul’s calf.
Paul tried to pull his leg away and lost his footing as the corkscrew tugged him back. As he fell, the metal ripped free from his calf with a sucking sound. He landed on his front and the wind was bashed out of him.
Then, he felt the old man crawling up his back.
‘You know,’ Reginald said. ‘I thought we had a connection. You made me believe in you. And you let me down.’
Paul tried to roll over but couldn’t. Despite Reginald’s small size, he felt heavy. The painkillers in his system, and the shock of the deep flesh wound in his calf, were working against him.
‘I treated you like royalty,’ the old man said.
‘You tried to make me eat someone … that poor boy …’
‘Tried?’ Reginald said and cackled. ‘Tried? I’ve never seen anyone enjoy their dinner so much!’
‘Liar. I refused. I never touched—’
‘Refused? You gorged and gorged. Fuckity-fuck! You were one of the goddamn family.’
Paul felt the tip of the corkscrew pressed against the side of his neck.
‘A real Ray if I ever did see one,’ Reginald said. ‘It’s just a shame it has to end—’
There was a clunking sound. Paul felt the weight lift from his back. He looked left and saw Reginald was lying alongside him now with blood running down his face.
‘Who are you?’ Paul said.
‘I’m Reginald Ray.’
Paul looked into his eyes. ‘No, who are you really?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ He coughed as blood gushed down over his scaly face. ‘What matters is that I am Reginald Ray. We are Reginald Ray—’
There was a flash of metal and another clunk. Reginald’s forehead caved in but his eyes remained fixed on Paul’s. His next words were weak, and seemed breathed, rather than spoken. ‘You are Reginald—’
Another flash. One of Reginald’s eyes vanished inside his face and the other one protruded out. ‘Ray.’
Paul rolled over and looked up at his mother. She was holding an iron in her hand. She lifted it above her head, and brought it crashing down again. This time, Paul didn’t watch the damage it caused.
Instead, he saw the glass of water he’d poured himself, slip from the top of the island and tumble down towards him.
He didn’t have time to move so blackness came instead.
Despite knowing that this was exactly what Lacey wanted, Jake targeted Simon Young. He didn’t have a choice. Wielding an axe, the bastard presented a clear and present danger. With the tyre iron primed, Jake brushed Lacey aside and charged.
‘Go get him tiger,’ Lacey said.
Young’s eyes widened, he pushed Tobias away and raised the axe to block the tyre iron. There was a loud clunk as metal met metal.
‘JAKE!’
Screaming was the wrong thing for Sheila to do because when Jake looked over at her and his son, he let his guard down.
The thrust of Young’s axe against his tyre iron was sudden, and he slumped back. Then, the gangster stepped forward and swung. There was a whooshing sound as the axe sliced the air but fortunately not him. He’d managed to hop back another step and suck in his stomach.
Lacey pounced and shoved Young. He stumbled sideways, drawing dangerously close to Sheila and Frank. He was yet to bring the axe up for another swing and the weight of it wasn’t helping with the stumble. When he was within touching distance of Sheila, she swung the fire poker and clipped him round the face.
‘BITCH!’
Clutching his cheek, Young staggered back towards Lacey and the axe slipped from his grip. Jake ducked and darted inward, relinquishing the tyre iron so he could swoop the axe up with his empty hand.
Lacey clapped. ‘Teamwork!’
Young stopped and shook his head. He stood in the middle of them all. ‘And now what?’ He smiled. His teeth were red with blood. ‘Are you all going to kill me? Do you really think that if I die here today that is the end of it for you all? Every single one of you will be rounded up, the young boy included, and cut into pieces for your—’
He grimaced and reached around to his back. He started to stagger and moan.
Young turned around to look down at his son. Jake saw the knife sticking out of the small of his back.
‘Mummy’s little soldier!’ Lacey clapped again.
‘What the—’ Young gasped for air. ‘Tobias … I’m your father …’ He reached out and grabbed his boy by his neck and pushed him towards the front room window.
‘Jake!’ Lacey looked directly at him. ‘He will kill Tobias.’
Tobias flailed in Young’s grip. His face was reddening, and his tongue had slipped out between his lips.
Young said, ‘Who are you? … What’s she done to you? … You’re not my Tobias.’
Jake turned the axe and swung the back of the head downwards, intending to knock Young unconscious. Young shuffled closer into Tobias at the last moment and Jake missed the centre of his head. Instead, the back of the axe head scraped down past his ear and crashed into his left shoulder with a sickening crunch.
Young released Tobias. The boy crumpled to the floor and gulped for air, while his father released a long, guttural moan. Eventually, when Young turned, Jake saw that his arm was hanging dead from his smashed shoulder and that most of his ear had been torn off.
Young reached behind himself again and managed to pull the knife from his back this time. He stumbled towards Jake. Despite the wounding, his eyes continued to flare with life, darting everywhere, still trying to bore into everyone who met them.
‘It’s over,’ Jake said. ‘Just put the knife down.’
Young reached up to feel his ear and it came away in his hand. He turned to Lacey, threw it in her face, and lurched at her with the knife.
Jake swung the axe again, but this time failed to turn it in time. It buried itself deep into Young’s back. Behind him, Sheila gasped. He threw a look in her direction. Thank God she was covering their son’s eyes.
The clatter of the knife hitting the parquet floor brought his attention back to Young.
Lacey stepped forward, smiling. She pushed Young gently in the chest. He stumbled backwards and swayed. ‘I thought you were going to kill me.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but only a trickle of dark red blood emerged.
‘Shh.’ She placed a finger to her lips. ‘I will take good, good care of Tobias. It is time for you to sleep.’
He slumped to his knees and looked up at Jake. The energy in those eyes had gone. And then, behind those dead eyes, the man vanished too. The body fell forward.
Lacey looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m proud of you, Jake—’
‘DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!’
Jake heard his son burst into tears behind him.
Lacey smiled. ‘I always knew you had it in you.’
17
BEFORE HE’D EVEN finished his conversation with Willows, Yorke had started his journey to Wilton. The world was in flux, the curveballs were continuous, he’d heard enough to know that Wilton was where he had to go to steady this ship but the knowledge, the agony, of the truth was still too much to bear.
The chains …
He asked Willows again. ‘Clarify it for me one more time.’
‘Of course, sir … sorry, sir.’
‘Why do you keep saying sorry, Collette?
‘Because I know what this means to you.’ She was tearful.
‘It’s just our job—’
‘Nonsense, sir.’
Yorke sighed. ‘Yes, you’re right. It’s nonsense.’
He pushed his speedometer to seventy on a country lane. He had sparked up a two-toned siren and fired up a flashing blue light on the front grille.
Most people made way but those that didn’t, probably because their music was too loud, were provided with a sudden shock as he streaked around them.
‘There were no chains at the Samuel Mitchell crime scene.’
Yorke kept his car as straight as an arrow, a sharp turn could send him spinning to his death. And he wouldn’t let that happen. He had to live long enough to put all of this right.
‘And Paul definitely said he’d been chained to that chair?’ Yorke said.
‘Definitely.’
Yorke braced himself as he screeched around an Audi. He threw the stunned driver an angry look.
Yorke chewed his lip. ‘Where the bloody hell is that chain?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. Also, having looked at his hospital records again, there was no bruising around his ankles which would have been in keeping with his story that he had fought the chains and bashed the chair against the wall.’
‘But there was a broken chair at the crime scene?’
‘There was, but the medical report suggests there were no bruises on his back despite what Paul told you …’
‘Jesus. So, what we are saying is that he never broke out of that chair? That he was never chained up?’
‘Sorry, sir.’
Yorke punched his steering wheel. He approached a turn and should have slowed more than he did. He felt himself pressing against the side of the car as he took it sharp. ‘How the bloody hell have we missed this?’
‘There’s been a lot to process in such a short space of time—’
‘And what the hell does it all mean?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘I’ll be at Paul and Sarah’s in fifteen minutes. Dispatch some officers.’
‘Will do, sir.’
‘Yes, sir. And sir?’
‘Please don’t say I’m sorry again. Please don’t.’
‘Okay, sir – I won’t.’
‘Thanks.’
Paul Ray was in the air.
He knew it was a dream because it wasn’t possible that he could be this high up, but he welcomed the change in scenery after witnessing what his mother had done.
Beside him, a raven hovered. The muddy brown eyes stared into his. Ahead, he saw the Ray farmhouse. Below him, looking up at him, were the soldiers.
The horror began to dawn on him. He was hanging from a tree.
He reached up to claw at the rope around his neck. It was thick and taut, so his fingers made no difference. He tried to speak but realised he couldn’t. Then, he realised he couldn’t breathe either.
Below, the soldiers were cheering for his death. He wanted to scream at them. ‘You have the wrong person! It’s not Reginald. It’s me. Paul. I’m innocent!’
He recognised Gladys too. Reginald’s long-suffering wife watching him, the wrong man, die.
Alongside him swooped another raven. No, he thought as he fought the rope, no, no, no! You will not take my eyes … my tongue …
My life.
He went into a frenzy, battled as hard as he could but it was useless. The blackness was closing in. Below, alongside the soldiers and Gladys, was a young man looking up.
It was him.
But how can that be? Because if I am there, how can I be here too?
Unless …
We are Reginald Ray.
Ravens circled him now. They were ready to consume him. Take him into themselves.
I am Reginald Ray.
The ravens closed in.
After the murder, Sarah had dragged Paul all the way from the kitchen into the lounge and onto the rug in the centre of the room. Then, she’d placed a cold towel over the cut on his head and wrapped the bloody hole in his leg up in several tea towels. Finally, she’d phoned the emergency services. They wouldn’t be long away.
Now, she sat beside him on the rug, cradling his head. She sighed in relief when he finally opened his eyes. ‘My baby boy.’ She kissed him on the cheek. A tear ran down her face and soaked into the towel on his forehead. ‘It’s all over now … don’t worry … the whole thing is finished.’
He moved his eyes from side to side.
‘Something fell on your head. You’re probably concussed.’
He took a deep breath through his nose.
‘Please lie still—’
He sat up. Sarah jerked back to avoid a clash of heads.
Without saying anything, he sat there for a time, staring ahead. Tentatively, she stroked his back. ‘Please Paul, you’re all I have. Wait for the ambulance—’
‘I feel fine.’ Paul stood up. He groaned as he tested out his injured leg several times, before limping past her towards the window.
‘Watch the leg, honey, he did make a bit of a mess of it.’
‘Stop fussing woman. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.’
Sarah flinched. ‘But … Paul—’
‘Did you not hear me?’
She put her hand to her mouth. The sooner the ambulance arrived, the better.
Silence hung there for a time while she allowed him some breathing space to look out of the window. But, eventually, impatience got the better of her. ‘What are you looking for?’
He didn’t reply.
She stood up and approached him from behind. ‘Are you looking for the raven?’
He still didn’t reply so she put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Paul, please come and sit down. You’re tired.’
He turned around and stood close to her. Blood streamed down the left side of his face from the cut on his forehead. ‘It’s gone. Thank fuck.’
With tears in her eyes, Sarah reached up and took Paul’s face in both of her hands. ‘You’re not yourself. And you’re bleeding heavily. Please, listen to your mother.’
‘There’s something about you woman.’ He placed his remaining hand over one of Sarah’s hands on his face and leaned in to kiss her.
At first, she welcomed his affection but when she felt his tongue press against her lips and then slip into her mouth, she lurched away. ‘Paul, what are you doing?’
His top lip curled up into a snarl, but his eyes didn’t look angry. They looked hungry. He licked his top lip. ‘I always said Rays taste best.’ His snarl morphed into a ravenous smile.
‘You’ve banged your head really hard, Paul.’ Her words trembled.
‘Yes, so?’
‘You should sit down.’
He snorted. ‘What fun can we have sitting down?’
She took a step away. ‘I don’t understand—’
‘What’s not to understand, woman?’ He licked his top lip again and took a step towards her.
She lifted the palms of her hands. ‘Paul, this isn’t you!’
Paul’s hand darted out and gripped one of Sarah’s wrists. ‘Fuckity-fuck! You only just worked that out?’
‘Let go of me, Paul, before I—’
He jerked her in tightly against him. He then released her wrist and sent his remaining hand down to her backside and pulled her in sharper still. She could feel her son’s crotch against hers. He was aroused. A wave of nausea washed over her and terror froze her limbs.
He thrust his face in against hers. ‘Loosen up, woman, dance with me.’
‘Paul!’
‘I’ve never felt so alive.’
She tried to pull away but couldn’t. He now held the back of her head in the crook of his arm. She could feel him licking her neck.
‘Stop, Paul. I am your mother … I am your bloody mother!’
Still supporting her head with his arm and pushing his erection against her, he yanked his head back so
he could look at her straight-on. ‘Fuckity-fuck, you’ve got some fight in you Sarah.’
By nuzzling her, he’d smeared his own blood all over his face, reddening him like a devil. Despite looking less like her son by the second, she told herself to fight the doubt. This was her son. It was. And he needed her help.
Paul sucked in a deep breath through his nose. ‘Did Joe ever see this side of you?’ He smiled and touched his blood-stained front teeth with his tongue. ‘If not, you really should have shown it to him. If he knew what a feisty bitch he had on his hands, he might not have fucked half of Wiltshire.’
‘Paul, you need—’
There was a blinding flash as her son’s forehead smashed into her nose. She tried to pull away, but he just yanked her in harder. Her nose and temples throbbed. She could feel the blood gushing out.
With her mouth filling with blood, she said, ‘You’re injured … Paul… you don’t know what you’re doing …’
There was another flash. This time she felt his forehead bite into her top lip. Her head was swaying, so she kept her eyes closed. She felt herself starting to fall but he held her tightly enough to prevent that happening. She could feel him gyrating his crotch against her.
‘I am Reginald Ray. You will use my real name when I fuck—’
‘Paul!’ She opened her eyes. The headbutts had splintered her vison and divided her son into two. ‘You’re not … Reginald.’ She paused to allow the blood and tears from her mouth to dribble down over her chin. ‘You are … Paul … my son.’
He darted in again. She could feel him nuzzling her and licking her, surely tasting her bodily fluids as they poured from her nose, lip and mouth. She then felt him nibbling her.
‘Paul … this isn’t …’
He jerked back and looked at her. ‘Paul is here, but he won’t be for much longer, not when he realises what I’ve done to you.’
She spat at him. ‘Leave my son alone.’
He opened his mouth and flew in again. She felt a burning sensation around her collar bone. ‘GET … OFF … ME!’ Vomit oozed from her mouth as he gnawed at her. Her vision blurred further. If it wasn’t for Paul holding her up, she’d already be on her knees. Or her back.