Beyond the Dark Waters Trilogy

by Graham West

  He’d never believed in all that ghost crap, and he certainly didn’t believe in God. Besides, he’d robbed enough stuff from the local churches to have made an enemy out of the big guy if he actually existed. His online searches revealed nothing, but there was something in that forest.

  Taylor had escaped the fire by a few minutes and had since read every newspaper account he could find. The whole place had felt a bit damp, which was why it became known as Mosswood, but he’d seen firsthand how quickly the place had gone up. The memory loomed like a thundercloud above him.

  Velma must’ve noticed the change in his mood because she came to check on him.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, tentatively peering at him around the slightly open door.

  For once, Taylor responded without sarcasm. “Dunno. Just feel like shit. Probably a bug or something.”

  “You’re very pale. Have you seen a doctor?”

  Taylor shook his head, and Velma turned to leave, but it seemed foolish not to ask.

  “Fancy a quick one?” he asked with a leery grin.

  To his surprise, she smiled and nodded. Presuming it was a freebie, he opened the door wider and invited her in. No need to tell the boys.

  She undressed quickly and slid under the duvet beside him. Taylor tugged off his sweatshirt and underwear and pulled Velma on top of him.

  “Maybe this will warm you up,” she whispered, taking him in her hand.

  This was good. This was what he needed. Taylor closed his eyes as Velma straddled him, focusing on the softness of her thighs against his hips, her scent filling his nose.

  The comforting darkness was suddenly permeated by the scent of burning wood and a chill that ran the length of his spine. Gripped by an inexplicable fear, he opened his eyes and was instantly paralysed with horror. It wasn’t Velma’s face he saw; it was the charred remains of a woman whose breasts were barely distinguishable and whose eyes burned with hatred. Taylor screamed, pushing the stinking remains away, and leapt from the bed. He stood, staring down at Velma, who glared at him in disbelief.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she screeched. “Why did you do that?”

  Taylor was trembling. “I’m sorry. I thought I saw something.”

  “Saw something? What?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was…a hallucination.”

  Velma pulled the quilt around her. “You are a crazy fucker! I should tell Stefan what you did!”

  Taylor recoiled at the thought. Stefan wouldn’t ask questions. He had a wiry strength and worked out on pads in the back room. It would only take one punch.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’ve just been a bit screwed up lately.”

  Velma eyed him with suspicion. “Maybe you should stop smoking that cheap shit.”

  The cannabis hadn’t helped, but he’d stopped a couple of weeks back, and things hadn’t got any better. Maybe he should come clean; Velma would understand. She might like all that spirit stuff. After all, Dracula was from her part of the world, wasn’t he?

  Taylor pulled on his top, quickly followed by a grubby pair of denim jeans which were still stained with tomato ketchup from the burger he’d had three days ago—a burger he’d brought back up half an hour later because he couldn’t seem to hold on to a proper meal recently. The nausea usually came on just seconds before the food came back, and then he’d feel okay until the next time.

  Taylor had stuck to biscuits and cola, which he’d managed to keep down. It was probably all part of the same problem—some weird virus these sweaty immigrants had brought in with them. Taylor had thought of joining the Union Flag march, but if Stefan ever found out he was a neo-Nazi sympathiser, he’d probably run a blade through Taylor’s gut.

  He watched Velma, who stood in front of the mirror, pulling on her underwear. It wasn’t worth asking if they could try again. She didn’t look like she wanted to be in the same room as him, so he decided not to tell her what had really gone on in the forest. She’d tell the boys, and they’d take the piss for weeks. Maybe living with his parents wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. They were the only people in the world who might believe him. Of course, it would mean going straight for a while, but he needed to get out of this place, even if it meant sleeping on a bench in Alshaw Park.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jenny dropped into the driving seat and sighed loudly. It was good to be free for a couple of hours, and Isaac wanted to see his grandfather anyway. Kayla buckled up beside her. It was a girly day, and they planned to have something to eat and head off into town. Jake was working locally and promised to be home by six—they could grab an early evening meal at the local pub before picking Isaac up.

  Back at the cottage, Jenny hovered over the kettle, waiting for it to boil, her mind revisiting to the forest fire and those shadows. She felt a breath on her neck and turned, startled, to see Kayla, her face just inches away. Kayla pulled her forward, and an electric current surged through Jenny’s body as Kayla’s lips met tenderly with her own. It lasted no more than a few seconds, but her eyes had been closed, and when she opened them, Jake was standing in the doorway.

  Jenny gasped, and in that moment, it felt as if her whole life flashed before her. The life she had built with her man, the cottage, the little boy who shared their genes—everything she loved and was about to lose.

  “It’s…it’s not how it looks,” she stammered.

  Jake stared, open-mouthed. He could not have looked more bewildered if he’d found her dead body lying next to him in bed one morning.

  Jenny wanted to run over and embrace him—anything that might reassure her husband—yet she was afraid. The fear of rejection, that he would push her away, rooted her to the spot. “Please, babe…I know what you must be thinking, but—”

  “It was me,” Kayla interrupted. “I kissed Jenny. That’s it. That’s what happened.”

  Jake blinked, as if he’d just emerged from a trance. “I-I can’t believe it,” he gasped. “I saw you…”

  Kayla stepped forward. “Jake, I just told you—it was me.”

  “You’re a lesbian?”

  “Well…I had a boyfriend. I’m sure you, of all people, haven’t forgotten him.”

  Jake still had the scar on his shoulder where Caden Reece had shot him, but Jenny guessed he’d sooner take a bullet in the other shoulder than witness his wife kissing another girl.

  “You mean…you fancy Jenny?”

  Kayla nodded. “Yes,” she replied quietly.

  Jake closed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe, looking as if he were about to collapse.

  “I’m sorry,” Kayla pleaded. “But it’s my problem, not Jenny’s, or yours. It’s you she loves!”

  Jake exhaled, his eyes still closed. He didn’t believe either of them. “Please…” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Please tell me you two haven’t…you know…got it on.” He opened his eyes. Jenny felt them burning into her.

  “No!” she snapped, more angry with herself than with Jake.

  Kayla’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve ruined everything! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

  Jake was still staring at Jenny. “And you never wanted to do anything? You’ve never fancied her?”

  Jenny shifted her gaze. “No!” I’ve never ever fancied any girl—ever.”

  Jake looked at Kayla. “Then what possessed you to kiss her like that?”

  “I was just stupid. I had feelings, and I was stupid. I’d never want to hurt anyone, honestly. Not you or Dad.”

  Jenny’s heart thumped hard. “Please can’t we just forget this? I didn’t ask her to kiss me.”

  Jake shook his head. “No, babe, I can’t forget this.” He was still glaring at Kayla. “And if you can’t control your feelings, then I suggest you stay away from the cottage. And stay the fuck away from my wife!”

  ***

  The atmosphere was fraught. Kayla left immediately, after her car took several minutes to start. Jake would norm
ally have gone to her aid, but he stood and watched impassively from the window.

  The silence that followed felt like the end. He slept on the sofa, leaving Jenny on her own in the double bed. It was a long night, and one which left her exhausted and tearful.

  She rose early and went downstairs to find Jake waiting for her with coffee bubbling in the percolator. He had that look his eyes—the look she knew so well—that told her things were going to be okay after all.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I overreacted. It was a shock.”

  She felt guilty. It wasn’t about whether she had cheated. Nothing had happened between her and Kayla—that was the truth. But she’d lied about her feelings, and it weighed heavily on her conscience.

  She sat at the table. “We need to talk. I wasn’t completely honest with you.” Jake looked horrified. “Oh, it’s not that,” she added quickly.

  “Then what?”

  Jenny sighed. “Look, I promise you—absolutely promise you on Isaac’s life—I’d never have acted on it, okay?”

  Jake nodded slowly, looking confused.

  “I mean, I’ve never been attracted to a woman before. I knew when someone was pretty and all that stuff, but I’ve never had any kind of feelings for them.”

  “Until Kayla?”

  Jenny nodded and started to cry. “Babe, I’m so sorry!”

  Jake sat with his head in his hands. His anguish was palpable.

  “I couldn’t live a lie because I love you,” she continued. “I always will.”

  She prayed a genuine prayer in her head that his grief would not turn to anger. “We can work through this together. No one else needs to know.”

  Jake looked up. The pain in his eyes made her heart ache. “Who? Who’s gonna work this out together? You and her? Am I going to be looking after Isaac while the two of you go on Pride weekends and live your lives on some bloody rainbow ticket?”

  Jenny reached out to take his hand but he pulled away.

  “If you’re a lesbian then you’re a lesbian. That’s the end of it. Be true to who you are—isn’t that what they say? Don’t live a lie!”

  “I’m not living a lie!”

  “You don’t belong with me if it’s her you really want. Me and Isaac, we’ll be fine. You just go. Leave us alone!”

  Jenny’s whole body trembled. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Jake. If you need time to get your head around this then fine, I get that. But I’m not giving you a divorce. You can forget it!” Jenny stood and headed for the door.

  “Just tell me…” Jake called after her.

  She stopped and turned to see him standing, his fists clenched by his side. “How long have you had feelings for her?”

  “Babe, it doesn’t matter. Don’t do this.”

  Jake nodded knowingly. “I see. So it was right from the start. All this time—all this time! Even when you were carrying our baby, you wanted her.”

  “It wasn’t like that. All I could think about was Isaac and you. We’re a family!”

  Jake’s eyes flashed in anger. “We’re a fucking sham! That’s what we are. A sham!”

  Jenny slammed the door and headed down the path. She needed to get away—from the cottage, from Jake and his pain. The pain and the heartache she had caused. But Jake followed her.

  “I need to know something else. If I wasn’t around, would you be with her?”

  “What kind of dumb-fuck question is that?”

  Jake stood with his arms folded, eyeing her in suspicion. “I reckon it’s one you can’t answer honestly, that’s what kind of question it is.”

  “I have been honest. Maybe I should have lied—is that what you wanted?”

  “I want an answer. I want to know if my wife is capable of having sex with another girl. I want to know if—”

  “Okay!” Jenny’s face burned like the pits of hell, “I get it. You want me to paint you a picture? You’re a bloke, Jake. Don’t try to tell me you’ve never seen girl-on-girl porn.”

  “Don’t you dare try to turn this back on me! You think I’m fantasising about you and her?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Jenny turned, continuing down the path, half expecting Jake to follow, but when she reached the car and looked back, he was on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Jenny felt as if her heart had been torn in two; the pain was almost physical. She turned and walked back to him, crouching down beside him. “I’m never giving up on us, Jake,” she whispered. “Never.”

  Reluctantly, she left him and climbed behind the wheel of her car, firing up the engine. She drove away, unable to look back.

  ***

  Dennis Blakely found his father waiting in the hotel reception with a face like thunder. “Jesus! This place is like a bloody ghost town!” he barked. “We can’t afford to run this show without an audience.”

  Blakely wasn’t in the mood for a fight; it was best just to nod in agreement without actually making any verbal commitment, wait until the dust settled and the southerly breezes no longer carried the scent of charred wood.

  “Do we know why the fire spread so quickly?”

  Blakely shrugged but, out of the corner of his eye, noticed a figure lurking in the background. He turned to see the white-haired ex-councillor standing beside a much younger man in a dark, tailored suit.

  Matthews stepped forward. The younger man hung back. “Mr. Blakely. We spoke a few weeks ago, by the lake.”

  “I remember,” Blakely replied, shaking his hand. “So what brings you back?”

  “I’m sorry about the fire,” he said ruefully. “And that poor boy who died…” The young man at his side lowered his head instinctively. “But I really need to talk to you,” he added before looking directly at Blakely’s father. “In private, if that’s possible?”

  Blakely senior bristled. “I own the place. If you have something to say, you can say it to the both of us.”

  Untroubled, Matthews nodded in the direction of a corner table. “Very well. Do you mind if we take a seat?”

  Blakely senior rolled his eyes, reluctantly joining them. Matthews pulled up a chair and sat. “This is my son, Gerard,” he said. “He’s studying to be a psychiatrist.” Matthews was quite obviously proud of his boy. “I wish I’d made more of my life instead of settling for a dead-end job.”

  “Hey, you were a councillor,” his son pointed out. “And a good one.”

  Blakely’s father sat forward, tapping his fingers on the table, agitated by the interruption. “So are you going to tell us what this is about?”

  Matthews raised his eyebrows. “I came here to help, Mr. Blakely. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

  One of the staff, a young man, out of his familiar uniform, hovered in the background and waited to be summoned. Matthews raised his hand. “Could I have a coffee please?”

  “Another three,” Blakely’s father ordered. “Americano, please.”

  Matthews was clearly unimpressed. “At least you got a please,” he said to the young man. “I’m guessing that makes you a bit special.”

  Blakely glared at his father. It wasn’t often he felt driven to take on the old guy. “He occasionally remembers the P-word. We’re teaching him how to say S-O-R-R-Y.”

  Matthews held up his hand. “Okay!” he said, “this is not what I came here for. Let’s just try and play nicely.”

  Blakely’s father looked as if his head were about to explode, the veins in his neck standing out like ropes. “What have you come here for?”

  Matthews leaned forward. “I’ve come to give you some advice—the same advice I gave you a few weeks back.”

  Blakely’s father frowned.

  “This fire has only confirmed my fears, and I’m telling you both, stay out of that forest.”

  Matthews’ son was staring down, nervously sliding a paper napkin between his fingers.

  “There is a history to that place,” the councillor continued. “One this town would
rather keep to itself—”

  “I’m sorry,” Blakely senior interrupted, “but what the hell has the history of Tabwell got to do with turning that forest into something the public can actually enjoy?”

  Matthews sighed, running his hands through his hair. “If you open that place up, you might as well unleash a box of tarantulas into a kids’ playpen. I can’t stop you—I know that. It’s your land, although, at the time, I did everything within my power to prevent you buying it. I failed—obviously—so now I’m appealing to you directly.”

  Blakely’s father gave Matthews one of his death glares. “I’m sorry, Councillor, but I’m a businessman, and you’re telling me I can’t use something that’s mine—something I paid good money for—and you’re not going to give me an explanation?”

  Matthews shook his head. “You’re going to have to take my word for it.”

  Blakely’s father leapt to his feet. “You’re wasting my time. I’ve got a park to run. A park that’s costing me mega-bucks and making me zero.”

  “You’re going? What about the coffee?” Matthews protested.

  “Fuck the coffee!” Blakely’s father retorted, storming off towards the hotel foyer.

  Matthews shrugged and managed a weak smile. “Well,” he sighed, “you’ve all been warned. My conscience is clear.”

  Chapter Forty

  Alex didn’t believe in angels. He’d never really believed in anything, and his parents had never even set foot in a church since they married thirty years ago. Sure, he liked to watch the occasional horror film, and had read a couple of Stephen King books, but that was just fiction. It got the heart pumping a little faster, got the imagination working overtime, and that was all it was. Imagination. Yet there had been something in that cottage—something that could throw a grown man across a room—and the old lady had been real. She had touched his hand; that wasn’t something ghosts were supposed to do.

  Maybe the girl on the other end of the phone was yanking his chain, but she was a damned good actress. The mystery woman’s granddaughter had sounded genuine and had hung up pretty quickly, so maybe it had happened before.