She Is Gone

by Ben Cheetham

  “Neal?” A rise of comprehension came into Eric’s voice. “You don’t mean–”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” broke in Jack, shoving the car into gear and speeding away from Hayley’s house.

  “What makes you think that? Has Hayley–”

  “I’ll explain when I see you,” Jack interrupted again, racing towards the edge of the village. Hayley’s fear of the consequences of letting her parents know he was on his way would only temporarily hold her in check. Sooner or later, the family loyalty that had kept her quiet all these years would compel her to reach for the phone.

  “OK Jack. I’m on my way. Just you make sure you wait for me.”

  Jack hung up and focused on pushing his speed as high as possible. The river sparkled amongst the trees to his right. His tyres screeched as he careered across the humpback bridge. He shifted to a lower gear as the road ascended Leagate Brow. Not far beyond the brow of the slope, he turned onto the stony track that led to Bray Farm. The sheep in the fields to either side scattered away from the roar of his engine.

  He made a sharp right onto an even narrower track with grass running down its centre. Moments later he was pulling up at the entrance to the farmyard. The front gate was open. The collie dog raced through it barking. There was no sight of Pam or Neal. Jack eyed the farmhouse and adjoining barn. Apart from the dog, it was a peaceful scene.

  As Jack got out of the car, the dog retreated, baring its teeth and growling.

  “It’s OK boy.” Jack tried to sound non-threatening, but the dog bristled and barked again. Jack frowned. The collie wasn’t simply saying hello. Something had got it spooked. His phone rang. Eric’s voice came apprehensively through the receiver.

  “They just pulled Dale’s body out of the pond.”

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut as if blocking out a sight he couldn’t bear to see. “Jesus.”

  “There’s something else. I’ve been on to my guys at Phil Beech’s cottage. Phil’s gone.”

  “What? How?”

  “Buggered if I know. I’m heading over there. The AFOs are with me. We’re about ten minutes away.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Jack pocketed the phone, whirling to duck back into the car. The Brays had kept their secret for twenty years. Another few hours wouldn’t make any difference. Even if Hayley contacted her parents, the Brays weren’t going anywhere. Alistair was bedridden. And Neal wouldn’t last five minutes in the world outside the farm.

  He stopped as a sound reached him from the farmhouse. He cocked his head, listening. There it was again – a high-pitched cry, like a baby in distress.

  The collie heard it too and raced back towards the farmhouse. Jack sprinted after it with one name ringing in his mind – Charlie!

  Chapter 25

  “Why did you hit her?”

  The voice found its way past Butterfly’s veil of unconsciousness. It belonged to a woman with a thick local accent. It sounded anxious and angry.

  Butterfly was lying flat on her back on a surface as cold and hard as a mortuary slab. The bedroom floor? She doubted it. The air had a mildewy odour.

  “She found the necklace.”

  The second voice was male with the same accent. It simply sounded anxious.

  “What necklace?”

  “The necklace. The one Butch took from them.”

  “You mean those people he–” The woman fell silent as if she couldn’t bring herself to say any more.

  Butterfly cracked her eyelids. The glare from a bare bulb dangling overhead brought a sheen of tears to her eyes. She was in what appeared to be a basement. Black mould mottled a low, arched ceiling of flaking white paint. Rabbits, hares and squirrels were strung from hooks on the ceiling. The animals had been slit open and gutted, but not skinned. The air was musky with their scent. She was on a stone table. To her left was another such table piled with coils of wire, balls of twine, sharpened sticks, pliers and other equipment for making snares. At the far end of the basement, next to the stone stairs was a chest freezer.

  The woman was walking back and forth in front of the freezer. She had bobbed brown hair and a ruddy, weathered face. A striped apron was strung over her sturdy shoulders and large, saggy breasts. Butterfly recognised Pam Bray the same way she had Alistair. Pam had aged better than her husband, although the stoop in her shoulders and the bags under her eyes suggested the years had taken their toll on her too.

  A warbling cry pulled Butterfly’s gaze away from Pam to a tall, thirty-something man whose muscular frame filled out jeans and a chequered shirt. Dark wavy hair dangled over the man’s eyes as he looked at the baby he was holding awkwardly in his arms. Charlie let out another shrill wail. Butterfly resisted an almost overwhelming urge to jump up and snatch him away from the man.

  “Here, Neal, give him to me,” said Pam. She took Charlie from Neal. Charlie quietened down as she expertly cradled and rocked him. She angled him so that he could see Butterfly. “Look, there’s your mum. There, there, no need to cry, little one.”

  Butterfly lay statue-still, hardly daring to breathe. Her mind was racing. Neal was one of the killers. That much she was sure of. Who was Butch? A friend of his? An older mentor? She thrust the question aside. It didn’t matter right then. What mattered was getting Charlie away from Pam. First she would have to deal with Neal. But how the hell was she supposed to do that? He looked strong enough to pick her up and break her in two. Think, she commanded herself. A name sprang into her mind – Karl! A bolted door wouldn’t keep Karl out of the house for long. He would find a way in.

  Butterfly resisted a fresh impulse to spring into action as Pam pressed her nose against Charlie’s hair. “It never ends,” Pam murmured, her eyes racked with exhaustion.

  Neal looked at her sheepishly from under his floppy fringe. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  She swatted his words away. “What are we going to do?” she asked, seemingly speaking as much to Charlie as Neal.

  Neal’s eyes lit up as if he’d had an idea. “Why don’t we ask Butch? He’ll know what to do.”

  “No,” Pam shot back. “Not him.”

  “We have to. What other choice do we have?”

  Shaking her head, Pam resumed pacing to and fro. “There’s no end to it.” Her voice was clogged with sorrow. “No end.”

  “Yes there is.” Neal pointed at Butterfly. “Don’t you realise who she is? She’s Tracy Ridley.”

  Deep creases spread from the corners of Pam’s eyes as she squinted at Butterfly. “The little girl who came to us for help? No. It can’t be.”

  “It is. She had this.” Neal showed his mum the ‘Little Sis’ necklace.

  Pam reached for it, but snatched her hand back as if it might be cursed. “How?” she murmured. “How could she have known?”

  “It doesn’t matter how she knows.” A tremor of nervous excitement came into Neal’s voice. “What matters is that no one else knows.”

  Pam threw her son a scathing look. “Have you forgotten about those policemen that were here earlier?”

  Neal’s head shrunk between his shoulders like a scolded dog’s. “Of course not, but they don’t know. Otherwise they’d have arrested us, wouldn’t they?”

  Pam’s face softened with thought. “You may well be right, son, but that doesn’t mean they don’t suspect us.” She glanced at Butterfly. “And if they find her here, it really will all be over.”

  “Then we have to make sure they don’t find her.”

  Pam’s gaze slid from Butterfly to Charlie, riven with uncertainty. “And what about this little one?”

  “We’ll take him into Wasdale, leave him somewhere where he’ll be found.”

  Pam stopped pacing. As if she didn’t want Charlie to hear, she mouthed, “Tell Butch to do what needs to be done fast. I don’t want him doing anything…” she sought the right word, “unnecessary to that girl. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes Mum.”

  She turned to ascend the steps. Butterfly felt a w
renching in her gut as Pam disappeared from sight with Charlie. There was a squeak of ill-oiled hinges as the basement door was opened and closed. Then Butterfly was alone with Neal. Where the fuck are you, Karl? she wondered. Wherever he was, there was no time to wait and hope. If she was going to act, she had to do so before Butch got here. She’d spotted a pair of heavy-looking pliers on the other table. If she could get her hands on them, maybe she could overpower Neal. It wasn’t much of a chance, but it was all she had.

  As she tensed in readiness to make a grab for the pliers, she heard a voice that seemed to reach out from some subconscious nightmare. “You can stop pretending,” the deep voice said. “I know you’re awake.”

  Butterfly’s heart hammered against her ribs. She held herself still. Was this Butch? How had he got here so fast?

  There was a gravelly chuckle. “If you don’t open your eyes, I’ll cut your eyelids off. You’ve got three seconds. One… two…”

  Butterfly opened her eyes and, in that instant, she understood. The figure at the end of the table was Neal, but at the same time it wasn’t Neal. A crooked, leering grin had twisted Neal’s face out of shape. There was no nervousness in his eyes, only cruel amusement. His hair had been combed back into straight lines. He loomed over her, somehow seeming to have grown several inches.

  “Butch.” Butterfly’s voice scraped out.

  “At your service, madam,” Butch said with a little flourish and half-bow.

  “It was you who killed my family.”

  Butch’s grin rose even higher. “Course it was me. You didn’t think that little pussy, Neal, could have done that, did you? That clown’s about as much use as a limp dick in a brothel.” He let out a booming laugh at his joke and ran his tongue over his lips as if tasting something sweet. “I’ll tell you this, my dick was anything but limp when I saw what your sister had under her t-shirt.”

  Butterfly’s eyes gleamed with the desire to grab the pliers and smash Butch’s skull like a boiled egg.

  He chuckled again. “Hell hath no fury, eh? No need to feel left out, sweet cheeks. You were a bit young for my tastes back then, but you’ve done a lot of growing since in all the right places.” He laid a sandpaper-rough hand on Butterfly’s leg and ran it up to her inner thigh.

  “Take your fucking hand off me.” Butterfly’s voice was like a knife being sharpened.

  “I see you haven’t changed in other ways. Still a fighter. Good, that’s just how I like them.”

  Butch dug his powerful fingers into Butterfly’s thigh. Wincing, she kicked out at his face. He dodged aside, bringing his fist down like a hammer against her chest. All the air whistled from her lungs. She flung up her hands as he raised his fist to hit her again.

  Like a projector slide being changed, Butch’s smile vanished and Neal’s anxious, almost apologetic expression took its place. His voice jumping up several octaves, he said, “No Butch. I told Mum we wouldn’t do this to her.”

  Butch’s sneering smile returned. “What’s wrong with having some fun?”

  His face an assortment of tortured twitches, Neal shook his head. “Mum said just do what needs to be done and get rid of her.”

  “Your mum doesn’t tell me what to do,” scowled Butch. “No one does. Now keep your gob shut, unless you want me to leave and let you deal with her.” There was a second of silence, then Butch added, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He jerked his chin at Butterfly. “Just because you’re scared shitless of what’s under her clothes.”

  “That’s not true,” Neal retorted, his cheeks reddening.

  “Isn’t it? Then prove it.”

  “I don’t need to. I’ve been with women.”

  Butch let out another boom of laughter. “Oh yeah, what were their names? Wait, don’t tell me. There was Flossie and Baa-bara–”

  “Shut up!”

  “Only if you do what you couldn’t do back in ’98.”

  “OK, I will!”

  Neal grabbed at Butterfly. Gasping, she tried to push him away. He swatted her hands aside and ripped open her vest. His eyes expanded at the sight of breasts still swollen from having breast-fed Charlie for the first eight months of his life. Neal’s hands trembled as he made to pull down her bra. Her nails flashed out, drawing four crimson streaks down his cheek. His fist thundered into the side of her head. Pain radiated inwards all the way to the deep place where the bullet was lodged. Butterfly’s eyes rolled like a slot machine as she fought not to lose consciousness again.

  “I… I’m sorry,” stammered Neal.

  “What are you apologising for?” growled his alter ego. “Stop messing around and show me you’re finally a man.”

  Thick fingers fumbled at Butterfly’s belt. She tried to roll off the table, but shovel-sized hands pinned her in place. “Stop!” she cried as her jeans were yanked down around her knees.

  As if doing as he was told, Neal stopped just as his fingers were finding their way into her underpants. “Oh no.” His voice thickened. His eyes squeezed together. “No, no, no.” He pressed his hands to his groin, a shudder running through him. The flush on his cheeks deepened to a blazing red.

  Thunderous laughter burst from him as Butch took control. “I knew it! I knew you’d blow your wad before you could get your cock out, just like last time. Now stand back, little boy, and let me show you how a real man does it.”

  He clambered onto the table, prising Butterfly’s legs apart with one hand. His other hand clamped onto her throat, squeezing hard enough to make her bladder spasm and try to release its contents. “You won’t escape this time,” he bellowed, his face so swollen with blood and hate as to be almost unrecognisable.

  Do something, Butterfly’s mind screamed. She futilely attempted to pry Butch’s hand off her throat. His eyes! Go for his eyes! She stabbed her fingers at the huge black pools of his eyes, forcing him to abandon trying to tear off her underpants. Seizing hold of her fingers, he bent them back so forcefully that there was a crunch of snapping bones. A hoarse scream pushed its way up her constricted windpipe. She bucked and twisted, seeking to drive her knees into his groin. He lay on her like a concrete blanket, crushing the last precious gasps of oxygen from her. She could feel his erection prodding her thigh. His hand returned to her underwear, but he snatched it away again as she released a hot gush of urine.

  “You dirty bitch!” he roared, locking both hands onto her throat.

  He’s right, Butterfly thought. This time you’re not going to escape. As she felt herself inexorably slipping back into unconsciousness, one thought comforted her – Charlie would live. She was thankful that she could die knowing that. In some ways maybe her dying was the best thing that could happen. Charlie wouldn’t remember any of this. He would grow up unencumbered by her emotional baggage. He would be whoever he wanted to be.

  She felt the fear flowing out of her. Her arms dropped limply to her sides. She stared up at Butch, her eyes as calm as his were maniacal. The pain in her throat and lungs was as hot as a blowtorch, but it wouldn’t last much longer. Soon she would feel no more and know no more.

  Goodbye Charlie, goodbye my beautiful little boy, she thought as blackness descended over her. But then the pressure on her windpipe was slackening and a great gulp of air was rushing into her lungs. The face looming over her washed back into focus. Only it wasn’t Butch’s face. Nor was it Neal’s. This face was open-mouthed and wide-eyed with concern.

  “Oh thank god. I thought you were dead.” The voice was comically high-pitched. It abruptly dropped to a rumble of fury. “Wendy, you bitch!” Then it jumped back up again. “You leave her alone, you evil brute.”

  Just how many other personalities does this schizo have? wondered Butterfly, heaving in more oxygen as Wendy climbed off her. Her thoughts returned to the Peter Pan poster in Neal’s bedroom. Was that where Wendy came from?

  Wendy’s gaze darted around the basement as if she expected someone to pounce from the shadows. “Quick.” She tugged at Butterfly’s hand. “You have to g
et out of here before he comes back.”

  Butterfly managed to lift herself a few trembling centimetres before collapsing back against the table. Her limbs felt as if they’d been pumped full of cement.

  Wendy’s face spasmed. She clenched her teeth as if battling terrible pain. “I can’t hold him–”

  She broke off as Butch burst to the surface. “You already ruined his life once,” he scowled. “I won’t let you do it again, you little bitch.”

  Wendy fought her way back into view. “You’re the one who ruined his life, not me. Neal hates you. He wants you to go away and never come back.”

  “Go away and never come back?” Butch’s laughter bounced off the walls. “That big sissy wouldn’t last five minutes without me.”

  “He’s not a sissy.”

  “Yes he is.”

  “Not.”

  “Is!”

  “Not!”

  Neal was flicking back and forth between alter egos so fast that Butterfly couldn’t tell which was which. He clutched his hands to his head as if to stop it from splitting apart. He staggered against the adjacent table, scattering bundles of wire and twine.

  “Bitch,” roared Butch.

  “Monster,” retorted Wendy. “I’ll kill you before I ever let you hurt anyone again.” She grabbed the pliers and made as if to bash Neal’s head in with them.

  “Hey!” put in a voice that belonged to neither Wendy nor Butch.

  The sound of it gave Butterfly the strength to lift her head. She gave a sob of relief. Karl was descending the stairs. Blood glistened on his face. There was blood on his leg too where the barbed wire had torn his jeans and the flesh beneath.

  “Move away from her.” Karl motioned with the Glock.

  Neal stepped away from Butterfly. The nervous expression was back. “Where’s my Mum?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions. You’ve got about ten seconds to tell me what’s going on here before I paint the walls with your brains.”

  “No,” croaked Butterfly. “Don’t shoot him.”

  She looked at Neal, her eyes reflecting his uncertainty. She didn’t know what to feel. Should she hate him? Pity him? All she knew for sure was that he had to live. And not only because he had to face justice, but because they might need him to leverage Charlie away from Pam.