Beyond the Dark Waters Trilogy

by Graham West

  Jenny sighed, picking up her phone and tapping the screen. “I got this today,” she said, handing it to Jake.

  Jake stared down at the message. “From who?” he asked.

  Jenny shrugged. “Well, obviously it’s from someone who wants to scare the shit out of me. Out of all of us. They daubed blood all over Mum’s grave—they called her a whore!”

  “What?” Jake stared back at the screen, almost as if he was waiting for an answer to pop into his head. “I bet whoever this is from will have used a pay-as-you-go thing—a throw away!”

  Jenny felt a gnawing pain in her gut. Her head had been banging all afternoon. “They have my number. Whoever this is had my fucking number—and Dad’s.” She stared at Jake. “And they will sure as hell know where we live!”

  Jake looked confused. “Why are you looking at me like that? You can’t think I’ve told anyone!”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Of course I don’t think it’s you!”

  In truth, the thought had crossed her mind, however briefly. Jake was an open book, and maybe he had just got talking over a drink. Everyone likes a good ghost story along with a beer and a packet of pork scratchings.

  Jake had read her mind. “Look, Jen, I promise I’ve never talked to anyone about your dreams. Or the Amelia thing. Nor has Dad.”

  “Yeah, why would you admit that your girl is a psycho? That she talks to dead people!” Jenny muttered angrily.

  Jake rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, but since we’re on the subject, your father was quite happy to spill the whole thing to that local rag.”

  Jenny glared at him. “So this is his fault?”

  “I’m not saying that, but anyone could have picked up on the story and decided to have a bit of fun. You know how many weirdos are out there, hanging around looking for something to do? These guys could soon trace you with a lot less information than he’s given them in that story!”

  Jenny shook her head, but he was right, and that rattled her. The Tabwell Herald that carried the article would have been recycled several times over by now, but if someone went looking online…

  “I just don’t think this is just a bit of fun, but I don’t know why. I can’t think what anyone would want with me or Dad.”

  Jake smiled. Peace had been restored and he was anxious to keep it that way. “Look, how about we go out, have a couple of drinks at the pub? We can walk there. It’ll clear your head.”

  Jenny nodded, but it would take more than a glass or two of wine. She didn’t want to tell Jake about the face in the bathroom mirror, or the tears of blood, but maybe Amelia was warning her. Jake looked pensive, as if he knew she was keeping something from him.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I’m okay.”

  Jenny wasn’t going to let it go. “Tell me. Something’s bothering you.”

  Jake shook his head, averting his eyes. “No there isn’t.”

  My god, she thought, he can be so stubborn sometimes. “Please, babe.”

  Jenny knew she was like a dog with a bone, and it was evident Jake felt trapped. “Okay… Don’t get mad. I’m just wondering if—”

  “What?”

  “I’m just wondering if the dreams have started again.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On several occasions over the years, Tabwell Council had threatened to sell the acres of land surrounding Crest Hill Rest home to enthusiastic developers with deep pockets and big cheque books. Yet, on each occasion, the people of the town had proven to be vociferous in their opposition. The council had always backed down, but there was a growing feeling amongst the army of silver haired protesters that the builders would keep coming back. Eventually, the diggers, the carpenters and the bricklayers would descend on the place and the face of Tabwell would change forever.

  Of course, the developers would be building luxury houses, but they would still have to build a percentage of what the government called ‘low cost homes’. They were usually apartments, and that, according to the townspeople, would attract landlords who would buy to rent. That, in turn, would attract the kind of folk who wouldn’t be so welcome. Benefit claimants, single mothers with out-of-control kids, and, God forbid, immigrants.

  But despite its middle class, right wing image, Blakely had come to regard the place as his second home, with its quaint houses, streams and coffee shops that sat alongside thatch roofed pubs and Georgian windowed restaurants. There was always a queue of folk looking for a home there, making it a seller’s market, and that was the way the townsfolk liked it. If you wanted to live in Tabwell, that was fine, but you needed to dig deep.

  Blakely smiled to himself. He had an affection for the place, and the locals’ Celtic zeal had worked in his favour. It was thanks to them that Mosswood Adventure Park existed at all, so if it meant a compromise here and there…well, maybe that was just good business.

  The Lakeside Hotel was far enough away from the park to provide him with the respite he needed at the end of the day, and he never tired of the view over the water. The food was good, too; nothing pretentious, just good quality fare served by a couple of women who might have been willing to keep his bed warm if he’d made a move.

  He was finishing off a glass of house white, watching a couple of children throwing bread to the ducks, when his phone went off. It was his site manager.

  “Larry. How are you?” he said breezily.

  Larry Thomas ignored the pleasantries. “Mr. Blakely, you need to get over here, now.”

  There was a pause; Thomas was breathing hard. “Look, I’m sorry, I know you’re probably having dinner, but—”

  “What the hell is it? Can’t it wait till tomorrow?” Blakely protested.

  There was another pause. “It can’t wait, boss. We’ve found a body!”

  ***

  Robert Adams knew trouble when he saw it. Jenny didn’t visit that often—not since Gordon Huxley had put a roof over her head. Now she stormed through the lounge as if she’d never been away. “Don’t even ask!” she grunted, throwing an overnight bag on the floor. Rob followed his daughter into the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of tap water and swilled it down in three gulps.

  “I presume you’re staying?” he asked.

  Jenny nodded.

  “And you’re really not going to tell me why you’re here?”

  Jenny slammed the glass down. “He’s a total prick!” she screeched, tears flooding her eyes. “He thinks it’s me—he thinks I’m doing stuff again.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Like I did before, when I zoned out. Trashing the church and—”

  Rob’s heart sank. “He thinks that the thing with the grave… He thinks that was you?”

  “He didn’t say so,” Jenny sobbed. “Not exactly. He just asked if I was having dreams again, so he must have thought it!”

  Rob sighed, running his hands through his hair. “And you took off on him?”

  Jenny nodded, wiping the tears from her face. “I can’t do all this again, Dad. I can’t be with someone who even has to ask.”

  Josie walked in with an armful of clothes for the wash and stopped short, looking first at Jenny and then Rob. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “They’ve just had a lover’s tiff,” Rob replied. “Nothing that can’t be sorted by two grown-ups.”

  Jenny flashed him a look. “This isn’t about being grown up. It’s not about leaving the top off the toothpaste, Dad. You know what I went through. What we went through!”

  “Jake merely asked you a question, babe. It wasn’t an accusation. It’s not as if he thinks you’re crazy. That lad believes the Amelia thing—there’s plenty of blokes who wouldn’t.”

  Jenny looked deflated; her mental health issue hung over her like a rain cloud. Rob followed her into the lounge and watched as his daughter collapsed onto the sofa. Jake hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. But Rob still felt like giving him a good, hard slap.

  Josie stood in the
doorway, still holding the washing. “Look, it’s not easy. But you’re not mad with Jake, you’re scared—you’re scared that all this might be starting all over again.”

  Jenny stared ahead. “I’m not dreaming. All this stuff, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  Rob perched on the arm of the couch next to his daughter. “I’m worried too, Jen. It’s no good pretending this is just kids vandalising a graveyard for kicks. This is either a cruel joke or something far more sinister. We just have to sit tight, and if it gets threatening, then we go to the police.”

  Jenny shrugged. “Why has this started now, though? After two years?”

  Rob wished he had an answer. Maybe the graffiti and the text messages were just some bored ghost chasing fanatic with a macabre sense of humour, but an old man had been attacked just yards from the grave. If there was a link then this wasn’t the work of a sick joker. This was someone with some kind of agenda—a reason to rock the family boat.

  Rob looked over at Josie. Clearly she was thinking much the same thing. “Maybe we shouldn’t have gone public with the story,” she mused. “This wouldn’t be happening if we’d kept the whole thing under wraps.”

  Rob nodded. Sometimes he wondered why he had agreed to that article in The Tabwell Herald. Luckily, it had only made the inside pages and would probably have been regarded by many as sensationalistic claptrap, but nevertheless it had riled a few locals.

  “Too late now,” he muttered. “But maybe we should tell the police about the grave. Just in case it’s the same person who attacked Sebastian.”

  “What’s the point? We’ve cleaned everything up. We’ve pretty much destroyed the evidence!” Jenny replied. “Unless it happens again.”

  Rob looked at Josie, who forced a half smile. “Unfortunately, I have a feeling it will,” she said

  ***

  Blakely felt as if someone had punched him hard in the gut. He caught his breath. “A body? Where?”

  “In the woods.” Thomas replied. “We were digging the foundations for the shelter.”

  Blakely closed his eyes. Any minute now, a migraine would kick in. “I’m on my way,” he said, “Stay where you are, and for fuck’s sake, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone! Do you understand?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “I mean it!” Blakely snarled. “If this gets out, you’ll be looking for a new job.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  Blakely shoved the phone into his top pocket and made for the door. Thomas wouldn’t have been the only one on site when the body was discovered. The question was, how many others knew?

  Larry was waiting for him at the edge of the wood, leaning against the fence that surrounded Amelia Root’s grave. “It’s just bones,” he said. “Looks like it’s been there some time.”

  Thomas turned, heading into the wood at twice his normal pace.

  Three men in hard hats stood around at five-metre square hole that had been pegged out with string. “You’ve all kept quiet about this then?” Thomas barked. The men looked up. “No one called their mates or wives?”

  “No, boss,” they replied in unison.

  Blakely looked down into the footings. The head and the arms of the skeleton could be seen but the rest of the remains were still covered by soil. “How much deeper do we need to go?” he asked.

  “Another foot or so,” Thomas replied.

  Blakely stared at the ground. “It’s only a bike shelter. It’s deep enough. Just pour in the concrete.”

  Thomas looked shocked. “But what about the body?”

  “It’s been there for over a hundred years. Just do as I tell you.”

  “You happen to know who this is, then?”

  Blakely nodded. He remembered the whole story. He had read the account left by Amelia’s governess, Sarah Bell. “It’s Amelia’s father. He went into the woods after his daughter and was never seen again. It has to be him. So please, just get the concrete in.”

  One of the workmen stepped forward. “But we can’t just leave a body like that. We need to—”

  Blakely glared at him. “We don’t need to do anything. My father already has his reservations about the whole thing with Amelia. We can’t afford another body! If this gets out, it could put this whole place in jeopardy.”

  “I’m not comfortable with this,” Thomas mumbled.

  “Then go somewhere else. It’s simple.”

  For a moment, Blakely feared that his foreman was going to put up a fight. He only had to walk off site and report the body, and that would mean a call to his father. Two bodies found on the site of a kids’ adventure park. He would freak out. “We have to keep this quiet. No publicity, no macabre stories in the press.” He glanced at the three workmen. “If any of you breathe a word to anyone, you will never work for this company again.”

  Blakely turned and walked away.

  “I want that filled in before five tonight,” he called back, “And let me know when it’s done!”

  ***

  Jenny Adams climbed back behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper and fired up the engine. Josie was right. Jake had just asked a simple question, one that anyone who gave a damn might ask. She thought hard as she drove. C’est Pas Fini meant something about the end. It is not finished, assuming her high school French was correct. If it happened again, maybe Josie was right—it would be best to inform the police and stay away from the graveyard altogether. If it meant changing her phone number, then that was easy enough. She wished she could have been honest and told Jake about the bathroom incident, but there was still a nagging doubt. What would he really think? Maybe she would tell him about the sketch, but that might freak him out too. It was just pen and paper, but there were the tears of blood. How would she explain that? How did red ink come from a blue pen?

  By the time she arrived home, Jenny was already feeling brighter. Jake was waiting in the kitchen and almost ran to her as she walked through the door. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he gushed, holding her so tightly that she struggled for breath. “I’d never hurt you, you know that! I’m just worried. I just want everything to be okay with us.”

  Jenny kissed his cheek. “It is okay,” she replied. “It’s my fault. I should have told you. I’m just over sensitive about all this stuff.”

  Jake let go, kissing her gently on the lips. It was a kiss that gave her the confidence. This was the right moment. “There’s something I should have told you,” she began nervously. “I had a kind of zoned out moment yesterday.”

  Jake pulled away, frowning. “A zoned out moment?”

  Jenny nodded. “Yeah, like I wasn’t aware what I was doing.”

  “And where did you end up? I mean, what exactly happened?”

  This was good. He’d already considered the worst possible scenario, and the truth wasn’t going to sound so bad. “I didn’t end up anywhere. I was sitting, talking to my dad about Sebastian, and I was doodling on my sketch pad. I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing. When I looked down, it was a picture of Amelia.”

  Jake stared at her. “So? Why does that worry you?”

  Jenny felt a wave of relief wash over her. “I don’t know.”

  Jake smiled, shaking his head. “Babe, you can’t pretend that this Amelia thing didn’t happen—you can’t wipe it from your memory like you’re some kind of computer. It’s there,” he said, tapping his temple. “It’s there in your head forever. So what if it surfaces now and again?”

  Jenny shrugged. “I’ll probably think the same—eventually. But she was crying…tears of blood. I couldn’t have drawn them, babe. I didn’t have any red ink.”

  Jake frowned. “Show me. Please?”

  Jenny shook her head. “I can’t. I destroyed it.”

  Jake pulled her back into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips as Jenny felt herself melting into him, body and soul. “I believe you,” he whispered. “I’ll always believe you.”

  Jenny wondered why she’d ever doubted him. Love conquered all, or at least, tha
t’s what they said. “It’s you and me, babe. You and me against the world. Whatever’s happening, it’s happening to the both of us.”

  Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dennis Blakely sat behind the desk of the site office with his head in his hands. The migraine had kicked in at least two hours ago, and the pills hadn’t touched the pain. The phone went, sounding like an alarm in his head. It was Larry Thomas. “The concrete is in, boss,” he growled, clearly unhappy at having to deliver the news.

  “Okay,” Blakely replied. “Thanks for letting me know. Just don’t forget what I told you—not a word to—”

  But Thomas had already hung up. Blakely couldn’t blame him. This was all about keeping his father happy and keeping his place on the project. Everyone deserved a decent burial, and that included Amelia’s father. But while his daughter had been given a funeral and a grave, he lay in a shallow one underneath a bike shed—hardly respectful. If Blakely had got his way Mr. Root would have been laid to rest alongside his daughter. Okay, maybe it was a bit macabre—it was a family activity park, after all. But the place had history. Was it so wrong to show some respect? Wouldn’t the grave of Jacob Root make this whole place a lot more interesting?

  Blakely popped two more pills. According to the instructions he had another hour to wait but the pain was getting worse. Now that the concrete was in, he could go back to his room at The Lakeside and crash until morning. Everything was starting to spin, so he called a taxi. When things got this bad it wasn’t worth risking the drive. Blakely remembered little of the short journey, and arriving back at the hotel he pushed the credit card key into the slot at the side of his door. He tumbled through, grabbing the handle to steady himself.

  A welcome breeze cooled his face. A breeze from a wide open window. A window he had left closed before he left that afternoon. Blakely studied the room—everything was a little blurred but as far as he could see nothing had been moved or stolen.