Barry was exhausted. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep for a year. No rest for the wicked, though, and you’re very wicked. His self-acknowledgement of this fact had arrived a few months ago. He didn’t much care why he killed, or why he was more aroused when his Angels were dead rather than alive. But he’d seen a documentary on Jeffrey Dahmer, an American serial killer who often got sexual gratification from his dead victims, and it had made him think. He knew it was wrong. But Barry couldn’t stop – and he didn’t want to.
A small part of him still believed if his Angels completed his tasks and learned to trust him implicitly, then he would let them go. But the bigger part of him knew this wasn’t the case. It was a control thing. They did what he said because he controlled them. And he’d had a need to exert that control all his life.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that he’d started bringing his Angels and placing them under the woods. Before that, he’d left a few on the moors, but it had been too far to travel to see them, and he could lose track. He’d buried a few more around the school, but that never seemed like the right place. Happening on the clearing one day while he worked had been one of those lightbulb moments. The sun had been shining through the trees, lighting up the clearing. Wild garlic flowers had been scattered across the forest floor, and it had reminded him of beauty. Just pure unadulterated beauty. That was what his Angels deserved. And it was far easier for him to visit them there. To love them.
He was able to nip out when he had a break, for a walk, he’d always told TJ, to clear the cobwebs. But really it was to see his precious Angels. They called to him like a beacon. He could never stop working here. And he would never stop visiting.
He’d actually lost track of exactly many Angels he’d buried there – only really focussing on his favourite few. He knew Sally would be the best, though. Her beauty would cause the flowers to bloom like none of the others. And he’d lie there for hours spending time with her, loving her and showing her the extent of his love. He couldn’t let her go – not for a second.
That thought spurred him on – the sooner he got rid of the stupid Alan Brown and the one who just simply hadn’t been enough woman for him from behind the stables, the sooner he’d be able to get back to the school.
To her.
She’d be worried about him, he was sure. Wondering where he was. He knew she was becoming accepting – she was starting to trust him. Soon enough, she wouldn’t want to leave. And he’d make sure she never did.
* * *
18th December, 0005 hours – Brackenridge, Sherburn
Matthew finally arrived at his aunt’s house – the lights were off, and the doors were locked. He wouldn’t expect anything else. He knew Carolyn loved him, but he was a burden on her – she already had kids of her own, and he’d felt for some time he was allowed to stay out of obligation rather than anything else now. He knew his aunt loved him, but he didn’t make it easy for her to want to keep him there.
He set his chin in determination – he’d had enough. He needed to show her he was appreciative, that he loved her and wasn’t just some trouble-maker nephew whose dad had fucked him up. Even if he felt that way inside.
He still didn’t know what to think about the stables – all the way home all he’d seen was that hand flopping onto the upturned soil. His imagination had shown him numerous times what the rest of the body looked like, and he’d ended up throwing up a couple of times in response to the horrors his brain brought forth.
Why had Barry killed someone? Was there a reason for it?
Matthew knew he needed to tell someone – preferably the detective he’d spoken to before. But he was scared – how did he go about telling him that? Should he go to the station in person and speak to him? Or could he ring up?
Maybe he should just keep quiet. He couldn’t see Barry letting him get away with telling what he’d saw. If Barry knew he’d even been there, he’d have joined the body in the ground. If I tell, what if he comes for me? Or worse yet, what if he comes for Aunt Carolyn? Or Mum?
He couldn’t let Barry get to either of them. If he told, he’d be putting them at risk. Aunt Carolyn has enough on her plate dealing with me and Jimmy. Jimmy was one of his cousins and had been stealing from Carolyn to fund his new cannabis habit. And Mum, well, she can’t have anything else happen. It’s a miracle she survived my twat-head father – it’s not fair if she ends up in danger ’cos I say something.
Matthew had never been so conflicted. Was there a right solution here? If there was, he couldn’t see it. He used his front door key and snuck inside, locking the door behind him. He knew which stairs to avoid so they didn’t creak and crept quietly to the room he shared with Jimmy. His cousin was fast asleep on his back, his arm flung above his head, snoring softly. Matthew changed into his pyjamas and crawled under his duvet.
Sleep wasn’t likely, but he definitely had some thinking to do. His bed was warm – not quite as comfy as he’d been buried under the coats at the stables, but it was his. He lay with his head on his pillow, the duvet pulled up to his chin, and stared at the ceiling as the thoughts ran round his head.
18
18th December, 0035 hours – Fairfield Farm, near Durham
Sally had finally made it to the lights in the distance. She could see them clearly now – they were external lights illuminating a farm yard. The house itself was in darkness.
She took a few steps into the light, intending to knock at the door and ask for help. Surely the farmer wouldn’t be of the same mentality as the men in the woods? She shuddered as she remembered their hushed whispers.
Red, bloody footprints left marks on the concrete yard as she made her way across – she was almost numb to the pain now – it was such a constant that it was easier just to keep going than risk collapsing and not being able to get back up.
Suddenly, a low growl sounded to her right and she turned slowly, coming face-to-face with a large German shepherd. When it saw her looking at him, it started barking loudly, teeth gnashing as spit flew from its mouth. It stepped forward, advancing towards her, and Sally screamed and stumbled backwards. Instinctively, her arms moved to break her fall and when she hit concrete, her broken arm hit first. The pain was so severe, she fell backwards in a dead faint.
Amanda Wright had heard the dog barking and leapt out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat she kept beside her bed for emergencies. One never knew what could happen out there in the sticks. She was down the stairs and outside in the yard within seconds and stopped in shock.
A woman was lying in her yard, and her dog, the outwardly loud but crazily soft mutt she’d bought as a pup, was standing over the woman, licking her face.
‘Tasha, stop licking the poor woman. Crazy dog.’
Amanda saw instantly that the woman was hurt – the bone sticking out of her arm would have been enough indication, but she could see from the farmhouse doorway that the woman had bloody feet and bruising all over her. Her wife, Olivia, arrived at her side, carrying the other baseball bat which promptly fell to the floor with a clatter when she saw the bloodied woman.
‘Call an ambulance. And the police. I’ll bring her inside.’ Amanda’s voice was firm without sounding bossy, and Olivia nodded once, laid her hand on Amanda’s shoulder in acknowledgement then went inside, making sure to leave the door open.
Amanda was a well-built woman – she had to be to run the farm. Cattle farming wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Carefully, she placed her arms under the woman’s shoulders and knees and stood from the squat position. Up close, she could see the woman’s injuries even more. Where the hell did you come from, mon amie? And what’s happened to you?
There was no answer to her silent questions.
Once inside, she carefully lowered the woman down onto the sofa and left Tasha standing guard over her new friend as she went into the kitchen for hot water and towels.
Methodically, she cleaned the wounds she could see while the woman lay unconscious. Olivia knelt bes
ide her, helping by passing her clean cloths. Neither spoke – no words were needed.
And soon enough, sirens sounded in the distance.
* * *
18th December, 0120 hours – abandoned school, near Durham
Barry unlocked the back door to the school. It wasn’t the main entrance – he needed that to remain looking as though it was abandoned, just in case anyone came snooping around. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally, hikers or poachers wandered up that way. He’d heard rifle shots in the distance so knew they were out and about tonight.
It was always so quiet in the school. Apart from when he set the shrill siren off, anyway. He liked the quiet – it gave him solitude and a place to think.
And it was the place his Angels grew to love him.
He was hopeful that Sally would start seeing the light. That she would be coming to terms with her life being better with him in it. Before him, she’d been homeless – he’d given her a home. She’d not had anyone – no family or friends. He’d given her that, too. She could rely on him – she could trust him. He wasn’t like the other men – he’d always make sure she felt like his Angel.
The door to his office opened silently – he liked it that way. Everything quiet.
The second he walked inside, he realised something was wrong. It was dark inside. Normally, his CCTV and computer screen lit the room up, but every single one of them was black.
‘No, no, no,’ he muttered under his breath, and he pressed the power button on the screens.
When it finally clicked there was no electricity, the blood drained from his face.
She wouldn’t… would she?
He grabbed the large torch he kept on the desk to see the way to his car and flicked it on before running down the corridor and round the corner to the furnace room.
The door was ajar – and the torch beam showed bloodied footprints where someone – his precious Angel – had passed. The footprints smeared as they reached the first door. She paused. She didn’t want to leave me. But when he opened the door, the footprints clearly led towards the entrance.
‘Nooooooo!’ His cry was primal – he was truly devastated at the thought of losing her.
He followed the footprints to the front entrance – the one door he’d never had to adapt, because no-one had ever escaped before. A smudge of dry blood showed on the push bars, and he knew, in that instant, she was gone.
His Angel had run away – and she had no intention of coming back.
Barry punched the door, barely even registering as the wire-reinforced glass shattered at the impact.
I’ll follow her – I’ll find her and bring her back. No one gets away from me! How dare she!
He pushed at the bars himself, and the doors swung open with a creak that broke the silence inside.
Thick snow was still falling, and all he could see was a blanket of white shimmering in the moonlight. She’d obviously been gone long enough for the snow to cover her bloody footprints.
‘Arrgghh!’ he screamed his frustration out at the top of his lungs. Nobody would hear him, but he was at the stage where that wouldn’t have mattered.
If it hadn’t taken him so long to get rid of Alan and the stupid non-Angel, then he’d have been here when the electricity had shorted out. She would never have escaped if he’d been there with her.
It wasn’t even like he’d really disposed of the bodies, anyway! They were in the back of his car, waiting to be taken to their final resting place. Not the pig farm, unfortunately; he’d had to think of something else. They’d started to smell, too. It wouldn’t be long before the bodily fluids released their weak hold on the flesh. He was thankful they’d been having such a cold spell, or it would have happened much sooner. Arctic blast, the weather man had said – and it was expected to continue for a couple more days.
He’d intended to bring Sally some food and then dispose of the bodies where they belonged – in the wheelie bins adorning the street ready for the pre-Christmas pick-up. It was all planned in his head.
And she’d gone and ruined it.
Anger like he’d never experienced before shuddered through his whole body.
I’ll find her – and I’ll rip her bloody head off. Who the hell does she think she is? Leaving me?
Barry turned and went to go back inside, but the doors had closed behind him – the self-locking mechanism only able to be opened from the inside. Fury raged, and he lost his temper completely, flailing about and kicking the door, then turning and flinging his torch as far as he possibly could. The sound of it shattering as it hit something echoed through the snow, and slowly, Barry took in a few deep breaths.
What the hell am I going to do now?
First, he needed to get rid of the bodies – then he would focus his efforts on finding Sally. Wherever she is, she’d better be dead. Because if she’s not when I find her, she soon will be!
Barry stomped round to the rear door, pleased he’d left it unlocked when he’d entered. He grabbed his car keys and the carrier bag containing the food he’d brought, and all but ran from the school, only pausing to relock the door behind him.
The dead bodies in his boot had thawed slightly by the time he reached Sunderland – all he had to do now was find somewhere to dump them. He didn’t want to leave them close to home, so Sunderland had seemed like the next best bet. A quick Google search confirmed they were doing bin pick-ups in the Hendon area – the snow would have kept most people inside, and it was the early hours of the morning. He doubted very much that anyone would be wandering the streets.
He wasn’t looking for anywhere in particular – just anywhere with the larger wheelie bins would do. A small line of shops came into view, and he figured there’d be an alley behind.
He grinned widely as he realised he was right.
His car skidded slightly as he turned into the alley – it was a tight bend, anyway, and he swore softly as the front of his car hit the wall of the alley. It was only a slight impact but enough to knock his driver’s side lights off. Ignoring it, he carefully manoeuvred his car about a third of the way down. The large industrial wheelie bins sat, a thick layer of snow on their lids.
Moving silently, he left his engine idling as he half-dragged, half-carried Alan’s stiff body to the wheelie bin nearest the back of the car. He realised he should have lifted the lid before dragging Alan from his car but couldn’t do much about that now. He let Alan go, his torso hitting the floor with a dull thud while Barry hoisted the lid up.
His ribs pulled painfully – enough to make him gasp and blanch, but he kept going. Bending double, he hoisted Alan’s corpse onto his shoulder and into the bin, where it landed with a loud thump. He positioned a couple of the bin bags inside over Alan to disguise him should anyone open the bin before morning when the wagons would be out collecting.
The lid closed quietly, and just like that, Barry had one body less to get rid of.
He pulled the car further down the alley and repeated the process, this time lifting the bin lid before retrieving Cheryl’s body from his boot.
When he was done, Barry was panting with the exertion, and a wave of nausea flashed over him from the pain clamping his chest like a vice. Maybe I broke more than one rib – this can’t be right. His breath was leaving his lungs with a wheeze, and it hurt to even breathe.
No one else could know what had happened – he could get checked out at the hospital – this hurt far more now than it had when he’d first done it. Carefully, he put his car into drive and pressed on the accelerator. It wasn’t too far to Sunderland Royal Hospital – getting an x-ray was a good idea. And some painkillers. Strong painkillers!
* * *
18th December, 0145 hours – Sunderland Royal Hospital, A&E department
‘… and then I slipped on the ice and landed on a rock. I’m not sure, but I think I might have cracked a rib or something.’
Barry could be charming when he wanted to be. He smiled at the doctor, disarming her with
his apparent honesty. She was pretty to look at – he was surprised she didn’t feel his intense gaze on her as she wrote on his chart. She was around forty years old. Asian, with her long dark hair tied up in a messy bun. It was pretty much the in-style, currently. Almost all the women he knew wore their hair the same way.
The A&E department had a few people inside waiting to be seen, but it wasn’t as busy as he’d thought it would be. He’d been taken through to the examination area quite quickly.
‘I’d like to send you for an x-ray – I suspect you have broken a couple of ribs, which would explain the pain – especially if you’ve been active since it happened. I’ll grab one of the orderlies to come and take you down to x-ray. It’ll be a bit of a wait, I’m afraid – they’re really busy tonight what with people falling in the snow.’
‘Okay,’ he agreed, with a smile.
As the doctor went pushed the curtain aside to leave, he said, ‘Would you mind leaving the curtain open? I’m a little claustrophobic.’
She nodded without speaking, then pushed them open and headed to the nurse’s station opposite.
Barry watched with interest as paramedics pushed a trolley with a woman on it inside. They were pushing her feet first, and one foot had escaped the confines of the blue hospital blanket – it was bloody and torn up.
It couldn’t be…
He sat up further in the bed, ignoring the pulling around his ribcage.
They turned the trolley to head to a room down from where he was, and he saw her face. Unconscious, with a mask over her nose and mouth giving her oxygen, but he knew one thing for sure.
It was her.
Well, well, well. What a turn up for the books. Now I’ve got you – you’ll never tell a soul if it kills me keeping you quiet.
He closed his eyes – looking to anyone else walking past to be asleep – but the reality was he was listening. If he strained really hard he could hear the paramedic giving his update on ‘Jane Doe’ to the attending doctor. If he could just stay here long enough, he’d hear where they were taking her.
Under The Woods: a heart-stopping police thriller (The Forensic Files Book 4) Page 18