by Jack Lewis
“Hannah Rigby,” he said.
“I looked her up but I couldn’t find anything. No reports about a missing girl with that name, her age.”
“She’s my niece,” said Jeremiah.
My head whirled for a second. “You have a niece? What? You have a brother or sister?”
“A sister, but we haven’t spoken in a long time. The only reason I knew she’d had a kid is because my cousin somehow got my number, and he texted me asking if I wanted to meet them all for some big reunion meal.”
“You never told me much about your family.”
“My sister is Nadine.”
“She’s married?”
“Nope.”
“Then what’s with the Rigby instead of Lasbeck?”
“I guess she must have taken the father’s name for Hannah. But Oriel was our grandmother’s name. We used to spend summers with her. Some of the best memories of my life there.”
“And you haven’t spoken in years? Nothing? Why?”
Jeremiah stood up. “No time to get into that. I don’t suppose you brought the rope?”
I patted my rucksack, where I’d stored the climbing rope. “I understand that there can’t be many girls called Hannah Oriel Rigby around,” I said. “But it might not be her. There was nothing online. If a girl had gone missing…”
“They might not know she’s missing, yet,” said Marion.
Her words were like a shower of ice. She was right. If a girl went missing, there would be articles about it online. Even if the national press didn’t pick it up, the local press would.
The absence of any reports meant that maybe nobody knew Hannah was missing yet. Could she have gone missing in the last few hours?
“We need to tell the police,” I said. “Where does your sister live?”
Jeremiah shrugged.
“How can you not even know where she lives?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
I stood up. I glanced at the well, saw its stone rim and the darkness in between. I imagined it soaking up our words, maybe so they’d appear on another audio file in the future, years from now when someone else heard things from it, and had the idea to record it.
Jeremiah opened my rucksack and started rummaging around, probably for the rope. I was beyond caring about him going through my stuff.
“We have to go to the police,” I said. “They’ll be able to find where your sister lives, talk with her, make sure Hannah is okay. Jeremiah? Are you even listening?”
He shined a torch down the well. Squinting, he then unravelled the rope and attached something to the end, and then started lowering the rope down the well.
“Jeremiah? This is your niece we’re talking about. If something happened to her…how can you just ignore it?”
He shot me a stare. A flicker of anger. Not just his usual grouchiness, but real, burning fury.
“The well is something to do with it,” he said. “So is the man we saw here, and what he dropped.”
“We don’t know that. This is beyond us now. We need the police.”
“Then you go and fetch them. I’m doing what I can by finding out what the hell he dropped. It was something, Ella. It had something to do with this.”
As Jeremiah fed rope through his fingers, I checked my mobile phone; no signal. Now I had to decide whether to stay and help Jeremiah, or leave the forest and go to the police.
I knew Jeremiah would see it as a betrayal; he had a funny idea about loyalty. But he wasn’t acting like himself. Whatever had happened with him and his sister, if he truly believed his niece was in danger, why would he mess around with the well? Jeremiah was obsessive, he was selfish, but he usually did the right thing when it came to it.
Maybe he didn’t believe the recording. Not that he didn’t believe he’d heard it, but he didn’t believe the voices came from the well. To be honest, it was something I struggled with, too. Hearing the voices of missing kids from an empty well in the middle of a forest? Was that something anyone could explain?
That’s what I’d have to do if I went to the police now. I’d have to tell them to locate a girl called Hannah Oriel Rigby and her mother, tell them that if the girl wasn’t already missing, then she needed to be careful.
How do I know this, you ask?
A well told me.
Jeremiah pulled the rope, carefully heaving it back up. Did that mean he’d managed to catch hold of whatever was down there?
Marion tugged on my sleeve. “Ella,” she said. “If this girl is missing, if there’s even a slight chance that she’s missing and people don’t know it yet, we have to tell the police. Trust me on this. The first 24 hours of someone going missing are the most important. Even if it turns out to be bullshit, I’d rather be embarrassed than regretful.”
She was right. Marion had been through this before, years ago, and she knew how all of it felt, right from losing a child to the search, to the gradual chipping away of hope.
“Let’s go,” I said. Then I turned to Jeremiah. “I’m going to the police, Jer. I’m sorry, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“Wait, Ella. One second. This is what the guy dropped into the well. If Hannah is missing, whatever this is could be important.”
He was holding a metal box in his hands. It was a steel silver color, the size of a fishing tackle box but with a lock on it. That wouldn’t be much of a problem; one bash would pop it open. I saw how Jeremiah had gotten it out of the well now; he’d attached a magnet to the end of the rope. The box had a dent from hitting the well bottom, but it was sturdy enough to have survived.
“Clever,” I said. “You carry magnets around with you all the time?”
“I was the one who told you to get the rope, remember? When we surprised Rocky Balboa earlier, before he thumped me, I saw what he was messing with at the well. I saw that it was metal, anyway.”
“We can show the police,” I said. “Whatever’s in there, they get the first look. If a girl has been taken, there could be evidence. In fact, you shouldn’t even be getting your prints on that – put it down. The man is involved in all of this. Why would he punch you and run away?”
Jeremiah started trying to open the box with brute force, but the lid wouldn’t budge.
“Jeremiah, what the hell?”
He backed away from me a step. “This isn’t just a child going missing. You heard the recording. Three separate kids. One from 1963 – explain that to the police! There’s something else to this, Ella. Something more than just police work. And if something’s happened to my niece, then whatever is in this box could be my only way to help. I need to get it open and see what’s inside. If the police get it first, they’ll never let me see it.”
“You’re getting your fingerprints all over something that could be vital in a missing person’s case. In three cases, actually. Just set it on the floor,” I said. I tried to keep my voice non-accusatory. Jeremiah hated anything that approached someone telling him what to do. He was a big kid like that.
“Unless what’s in this box is a DNA swab and CCTV tape showing the kids being taken, the police won’t know what to do with it. If it’s something beyond all of that, beyond what people believe exists and doesn’t, then I need to see it.”
“And supposing the box is booby trapped? That it’s designed to destroy what’s inside if the wrong person tampers with it?”
“Unlikely,” said Jeremiah. “No, we get it open, and then I call my sister, and then we call the police. In that order.”
The sound of twigs cracking drew my attention to the left of us, where two figures stepped out of the treeline and approached the clearing.
-20-Lester-
Lester Lockpit couldn’t believe it. He understood the words, he just couldn’t believe them.
“What do you mean, she almost got out?”
“She started acting like she was choking, so they ripped off the tape. Took off half her skin with it. Then she started chanting. When I got there, Terry and Jennifer were passed out
, and she was trying to get the keys to the manacles from them.”
“They told you this?”
“Yep.”
Lester felt the pressure of anger build up in him, and he struggled to keep it in. The rest of them were already so worried about keeping her prisoner that he didn’t want to be angry with them. Showing his temper might be the last straw, and they’d walk out and leave him to look after her himself.
The thought caused dread to slither through him, prodding his bowels. He had the sudden urge to go to the toilet. There was no way he wanted to be the one to go down there and take care of her.
He tried to keep control by taking a deep breath and looking around. He was in the second parlor on the east wing, his favorite wing to be in at that time of day because of how the fading sunlight hit the stained-glass windows and spread dappled, multi-colored light over the marble floor.
It was extravagant enough to make most people sick with envy, but it was a luxury he’d grown up with, and he’d become used to it. His family had more than others, and that was just the way. Hefty annual contributions to charities kept his conscience, if not totally clean, then presentable.
Steven was standing next to him, waiting for Lester to tell him what to do. He looked around shiftily, always measuring his distance away from the heirloom lamps, vases and furniture. It was funny to watch him walk through the manor sometimes, he always kept a wide-berth from anything valuable, a minimum of a meter distance at all times. It was as if he felt like he had some destructive force around him, and the slightest step toward something pricey would see it smash to pieces.
He’d been like that since they were kids. Steven was the son of a man called Chapman Duke, an ironic name for a man who came from a long line of people employed in servitude roles at Lockpit Manor.
Since he had no brothers or sisters and he was home-schooled, Lester didn’t have many friends his own age when he was growing up. He supposed this was why he’d acted out in petty acts of vandalism around the manor – smashing a pane out of a hundred-year-old window, toppling a five-figure vase onto the floor by ‘accident’. His parents guessed that his lack of friends was the reason, and that was why they’d asked Chapman if he’d bring his son, Steven, to Lockpit manor on evenings and weekends.
Lester had grown up with Steven as his only friend. He supposed that qualified him as his best friend, too, but that was more by default than actual feeling. Growing up, Lester had never had much affection for Steven. Now they were adults he felt a respect for him, respect for Steven’s loyalty, work ethic, and his sense of morals which he tried to use to steer Lester away from dark waters. But affection? Maybe a little. Not so much.
Even so, he was glad to have him here. He just wished that Steven wouldn’t act so scared in Lockpit manor, that he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable around all the rich things.
“Sit down a minute while I think,” said Lester.
Steven crossed his arms. While Lester needed to start exercising if he was going to keep eating like he did, Steven could stand to have a few more meals. He’d have easily doubled for a model skeleton in a science classroom.
“I’m okay,” he said.
“You’re making me tense, hovering there. Just take a seat. You won’t break it, for heaven’s sake.”
Steven glanced at the Tudor chair to his right. “Isn’t that thing hundreds of years old?” he said.
“And it has borne the weight of hundreds of fat arses over the years. Yours won’t break it. Just because something is valuable, doesn’t mean it’ll shatter at the slightest touch. Sit down.”
Steve perched on the edge of the chair. Lester rubbed his temples, as if massaging them would make his thoughts calm down a little.
“Can’t we let her go now?” said Steven. “We don’t need her anymore, do we? And it’s not exactly fair, keeping her down there.”
“We might still have to use her. I don’t know.”
“The others won’t go down there anymore. They’re not backing out of everything, but they won’t tend to her. They’ve decided.”
Lester felt a pinch of annoyance, but the anxiety sitting in his stomach forced empathy on him. He understood where they were coming from; she was frightful. He wouldn’t let Steven see that though.
“She’s harmless as long as you don’t remove the duct tape. Why would they do that?”
“I didn’t. Terry and Jennifer did. Like I told you, she was choking. Or she pretended she was.”
“She’ll try every trick to play you.”
“You talk about her like she’s an animal, Lester.”
Steven was right. She wasn’t an animal, but that was how Lester had to think of her. One person had to face hardship to save others. When he died and went to one of the seven gates, the first thing he’d face would be a judgement on his life. And it wasn’t a judgement of 'you did something bad, so you’ll face one of the worst of the Seven.' No, it was more like balancing a check book. They would weigh up how badly he treated her against what it accomplished, and it’d put him in the green.
And how he needed that. The things he’d done that nobody knew. Years ago, of course, but time couldn’t restore his balance. Only actions.
“What do you want us to do?” asked Steven.
“Tell the others to smarten up, for one. We’re feeding her through a tube that goes directly into her stomach; it’s highly unlikely she’ll choke. The rule of thumb is that if she acts in a way that would necessitate uncovering her mouth, then she’s tricking you.”
“Right. I’ll try to tell them. They seemed pretty set on not going anywhere near her from now on.”
“We’re almost done, I think. Seeing everything work out, seeing them all connected will change their minds. Has everyone reported back?”
Steven nodded. “Everything is set up, except in Blaketree. Eric got interrupted while he was setting it up.”
“Shit, who by?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Steven, I’ve spent my years since I was a teenager trying to summon a demon. I’ve tried every way we could. Cynical is something I’m assuredly not.”
“It was Jeremiah Lasbeck,” said Steven.
Hearing his name was a knife of surprise. “Seriously? In Blaketree?”
“Eric didn’t let Jeremiah see him properly. Jeremiah tried to grab him, and he pulled a knife and tried to stab him. Eric had to wrestle it from him, headbutt Jeremiah and run.”
“Tell me he set everything up first,” said Lester. Any chance of thinking calmly was gone now. Keeping her in his basement scared him. Having it all turn out to be for nothing absolutely terrified him.
“No,” said Steven. “He dropped it. But he’s going back to get it, and Felicity has gone to meet him.”
Lester felt the tension ebb a little. “Good. It should be fine, then. Did she take her crossbow?”
Steven nodded.
Lester crossed his legs and let a smile form. “Good. If she’s there, it should be set up for tomorrow at the latest.”
-21-
I wasn’t so much worried about the crossbow as the woman holding it.
After all, she had it trained on Jeremiah and not me. Her finger wasn’t on the trigger, but the way she held the weapon with such a strong posture and confidence made me think she’d used it before, and she wouldn’t worry about using it again.
That was what bothered me. A look in her eyes. She was twice my age but honestly, I’d have backed her to beat me in a fight. She just had that scrappy look about her.
The man standing next to her had long sideburns and thick eyebrows, completely out of keeping with his bald head. Judging by the dark rings under his eyes, he hadn’t slept properly for years. When he glanced my way, I saw that he had one iris larger than the other, almost misshapen.
Although I didn’t know him, there were no prizes for guessing who he was. We’d only seen one other person near the well until now, and he’d almost broken Jeremiah’s nose.
<
br /> He and the woman had crept up on us, catching us while we were trying to decide what to do. It looked like the choice was taken out of our hands now.
Marion moved so that she was closer to me, and Jeremiah folded his arms and stared at the crossbow-wielding pensioner. He didn’t show even a fraction of fear. I was proud of him right then, and glad to be with him.
“Felicity,” he said.
“Jeremiah. Can’t say I’m surprised that you didn’t take my warning.”
Wait - did they know each other? I was surprised for a second, until the memory came back like a sudden flicker of light. The last time I’d seen this woman she had been sitting on a train with giant headphones on her head. It was the woman who’d stopped Jeremiah from getting off the train.
“What warning?” I said. “About…”
I searched my mind for the name of the demon that Jeremiah said was watching him.
Felicity took her eyes off Jeremiah for a second, but she didn’t move her crossbow. She smiled at me. “Hello, love. Sorry about all of this. We won’t be long.”
“What’s this all about? You already told Jeremiah about…” then it hit me. “Viseth. That’s who you said was stalking him.”
I watched her expression change from a smile to confusion. Her forehead screwed up, her eyes looked like she didn’t know where to focus them.
“What did you tell her, Jeremiah?” said Felicity.
I spoke before he had the chance. I didn’t trust him to keep calm. “That the demon you worship is following Jeremiah. I don’t know why. He’d have to be pretty bored to do that. But he’s your demon, not mine.”
The man beside Felicity laughed. The way it changed his face made it seem like his misshapen iris was rolling. “He’s lying to you, darling. Bullshitting, just like always. Same old Jeremiah Lasbeck.”
I faced Jeremiah. “Wait, you know him, too? Do you know both of them? What the hell is going on, Jeremiah?”
“I don’t know how you’ve fallen in with him,” said the man, “But he’d out-bullshit a politician. It's best that you get yourself away from him.”