by J. D. Weston
Yet the eyes had still roamed.
For a while, anyway.
Shaun wondered what manner of death the beast was planning outside the van. The fire must be large, from the sound of the rush he'd heard, with hot fiery coals. How long had he been there? In the darkness, it was hard to tell. Amongst the fear, it was a lifetime.
A twig broke outside.
The side door was yanked open.
Shaun pounced from his crouched position and slashed at the beast with his small knife, who stood silhouetted by the fire. Shaun caught him off guard. His hands shot up to defend himself, and Shaun felt the blade connect with skin. But he didn't look back. He landed and ran.
He ran past the fire into the trees, away from the light and into the darkness. He ran until he could barely see himself then he ran some more. The jelly-like feeling in his legs took hold like he was running in tar. He was sure he could hear the beast behind him. He needed to hide. The fire was small, maybe three hundred meters away. Shaun ducked behind a tree and searched the darkness for movement.
The thump of his heart and his breathing was loud in the quiet night, and holding his breath only made his heart beat louder.
Was he safe?
Should he wait there until light? Where was the road?
Shaun's breathing eased enough for him to begin to hear the noises in the trees. The scratching of a small mammal on the ground a way off. The rustle of the leaves in the gentle breeze. The occasional pop and crackle of the fire in the distance that sent sparks into the air.
But no other movement.
Shaun stood slowly. His eyes never left the direction from which he'd run. He hoped to see the silhouette of the beast, of Harvey. At least then, he would know which way to run.
He took a step back, keeping the tree between his body and the fire.
His heart started to pound once more, as he began to make his escape.
He was close to the edge of the trees. He could see the long grass beyond the forest that shimmered like water in the pale moonlight.
That was his escape.
"Shaun."
He froze. His mouth was bone dry with fear. He was unable to swallow. The whisper had seemed to come from nowhere, yet everywhere.
He span.
Darkness.
Had he imagined it?
The long grass beckoned. It was just forty feet away.
His head swivelled back and forth, searching the blackness for a sign, for a shape, for movement. Anything.
"Shaun."
The hushed whisper had come from the grass.
There was nobody there.
"Shaun."
No, it came from the trees.
The beast was all around.
He turned once more, stepping backwards, edging towards the grass, to safety, to anywhere, to nowhere.
Somewhere to run.
"Shaun."
Behind him.
He span.
Those eyes.
"Kill the lights," said Melody, as the camper approached the open wrought iron gates of John Cartwright's estate. "Drive straight past. We'll park further down the lane and walk back."
"We?" said Reg. "I thought I-"
"You've got two options, Reg," said Melody. "You can either stay here in the creepy dark lane all by yourself, knowing there's a serial killer out there." She turned to face him and saw the look of dread on his face. "Or you can come with Boon and me."
"You're taking the dog?"
"Of course I'm taking the dog. His eyes and ears are better than ours."
Reg pulled the camper to the side of the small lane and let out a long breath.
"I don't like this one bit," he said.
"And what about me?" said Melody. She opened her door. Her voice fell to a whisper. "You think I'm in love with this whole idea? A few days ago, I was talking about my wedding with my fiancé." She tucked her Sig into the back of her cargo pants and clicked her fingers for Boon to come. "Now I'm hunting him down."
"That puts things into perspective," said Reg, as he climbed down. He gently pushed the door closed and joined Melody in the lane.
"Just remember, you're his friend, he doesn't want to hurt you," whispered Melody, as they started to walk back up the lane towards the two iron gates.
"What if we're too late?" asked Reg. "What if-"
"We're not too late," interrupted Melody. "If I know Harvey as well as I think I do, he'll take his time with this one."
"Why?" asked Reg. "Why not just get the job done and get out of here? I mean if he's looking for closure-"
"He's looking for suffering," said Melody.
"Suffering?"
"Suffering, Reg." She stopped in the middle of the dark lane and explained in whispered tones. "The people he targets are sex offenders. They've destroyed lives. They're sick and twisted people, and each one of them represents the men who raped and killed his sister. To him, they're just as bad." Melody looked up into Reg's eyes to make sure he was following. "A quick death wouldn't bring the justice he's looking for. It wouldn't offer the retribution, and it wouldn't bring peace to Hannah's memory."
Reg nodded slowly. "I understand."
"So, let's go. Walk quietly."
They turned into the gates and hopped across the gravel to the much quieter grass.
"Didn't there used to be a house there?" asked Reg.
"Harvey burned it down," said Melody.
"Speaking of fire," said Reg, "look over there."
In the distance to their left, the tall flames of a large fire lit the surrounding area and the underside of the trees that stood at the edge of an orchard.
"It's the orchard. Of course. That's where his parents are buried."
"In an orchard?"
"Follow me," said Melody, ignoring his questions.
Melody walked slowly, keeping Boon by her side, and listening for him to alert her to anyone approaching in the darkness with his low growl. She'd always hated the place. It was large, old and creepy, and now that it had fallen into disrepair, the wild, overgrown gardens had begun to overcome everything that stood in its way. She took a wide path around the fire. Her eyes scanned the area for movement, for Harvey's shadow. She saw the black van parked nearby the fire, but no movement.
Melody lowered to a crouch, as she grew closer.
"Keep down, Reg," she whispered blindly.
The flames were large next to what looked like a huge pile of wood. But no sign of anyone tending the fire. He'd be near. He'd show himself. It was just a matter of time.
Maybe Tyson was still in the van? Maybe she could get him out.
She stopped beside a lone willow that sat beside a trickling stream and turned back to Reg.
"Stay here," she whispered. "I'll be back for you. If you see anything, whistle."
Reg nodded with wide eyes. Melody could plainly see he was scared out of his mind. She handed him Boon's lead then pulled her Sig from her belt, and made her way slowly towards the van.
The long grass made staying quiet difficult, so she lowered herself to the ground, softly and quietly, and for the last hundred yards, she crawled.
One elbow.
One knee.
Push.
Scan for movement.
One elbow.
One knee.
Push.
It was slow going, and the thick grass obscured her view, but gradual progress was her safest option.
Melody drew close the van. The sound of the fire was loud and clear. She attuned herself to the environment. She tried to understand the noises, the crackle of wood, the gentle swish of grass as the soft breeze rolled across its tips in waves.
The thud of heavy wood hitting the ground.
Melody froze.
Another thud.
She peered beneath the van to the fire behind it.
Something dragged across the earth.
A rush of sparks flew high into the air, and the flames reached up higher than the van, just licking the lowest
of the tree's outstretched limbs.
Footsteps.
Melody pulled the grass in around her.
Two black boots stopped and stood in front of the fire. A garden spade slammed into the earth beside them.
She needed to move. She was too open.
One knee.
One elbow.
Push.
Stop.
She listened. The boots hadn't moved. If she could just get beneath the van, she'd be safer. She could watch him prepare. She might even understand him a little more.
Melody crawled forward, her eyes fixed on the boots. The space beneath the van was just large enough for her to squeeze in and lay on her front with her Sig ready to fire. She crawled in slowly and felt him there, a few feet away.
Beyond the boots, in the fire, Melody saw for the first time what the pile of wood had concealed.
Melody shuddered.
In the very core of the fire was the main act, with flames licking its sides greedily, and its cast iron claw feet embedded into the glowing hot coals like some kind of creature from hell.
The old copper bathtub.
18
A Kiss from the Beast
"Turn here," said George, looking at the map on his smart phone. "The estate is on the left. That’s it there, see the big iron gates?"
"Jesus," said Harris. "Would you look at this place?"
Harris pulled the car onto the gravel driveway, stopped, and killed the lights.
"We're on foot from here," he told George.
"Sir, do you think we should tell someone where we are?" asked George.
"What's the matter with you?" replied Harris. "You're not afraid of the dark are you?"
George huffed, and climbed out of the car.
They pushed the car doors closed quietly and began to move into the long grass.
"Sir," said George, "look over there. Fire."
Harris held the handgun down by his side. He fingered the safety catch, nodded in reply to George, and then began to move off slowly in a wide circle to the right of the fire.
He strode carefully through the grass, as quietly as he could, and keeping an eye on the fire for any sign of movement. He made it as far as the tree line at the edge of the orchard, and began to hug the shadows as he worked his way along towards the fire.
"George, do you see the van?" said Harris, "just through the trees there. Bingo, my friend. We're in the right place."
But George didn't reply.
Harris glanced back, but there was no sign of George.
"George?" he hissed.
Harris' eyes scanned back in the direction of the car, but there was no movement.
He carried on alone, and with his gun in front of him, he made straight for the van.
His footsteps were bolder. There was no need to be scared, he told himself. He was armed after all.
He raised the weapon, switched the safety off and worked his way along the tree line toward the fire. Stopping thirty metres from the van, he surveyed the darkness. Nothing but darkness.
Around the fire were five tall trees that formed a C shape that half-enclosed the area, creating a little clearing. A thick bough stood out proudly from the largest and most central of the five trees, from which hung what looked to Harris like a heavy chain.
In the centre of the fire beneath the chain was a shape.
What was it?
He focused harder, trying to make out the shape. His night vision was ruined from staring at the bright firelight, but then the shape took form and Harris froze.
It was an old-fashioned bathtub.
His heart began to race.
Clearly, the killers had taken the time to set the scene up perfectly, but the lack of movement and noise added to the anxiety. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and ran his tongue across his lips.
Should he approach? What if the killers were waiting in the trees? Who knew if they were also armed? Where was the camper?
He lowered to a crouch and scanned behind him for George. Harris sucked in a few deep breaths to calm himself, then stood and took two steps forward.
Something wasn't right.
He wasn't alone.
Slowly he turned his head and stared into the darkness of the trees beside him.
There was something in there.
He took a step closer.
Something shined briefly in the moonlight, so faint.
Teeth?
A smile?
Suddenly, a hand reached out of the darkness and clamped onto his throat.
Harris tried to call out, but there was no air.
He pulled at the hands but they were too strong, like iron, and sticky with blood.
Harris kicked, but was dizzy and weak.
He fought for breath.
The hand squeezed tighter.
A brief inhale of chemical.
Harris knew the smell.
But it was too late.
He dropped to the ground.
The two black boots took a small step back then swivelled sideways on one heel and one toe, like a soldier might begin a left turn. Then, they began to move as they made their way from the fire towards the orchard and disappeared into the long grass.
Melody shuffled forwards to see which way he'd headed. But in the darkness with just the dancing flames to light her surroundings, finding the shape was futile.
She tapped lightly on the underside of the van with her Sig. Three taps, slow, but enough to let him know he wasn't alone. She hoped Tyson would respond to let her know he'd heard.
He didn't reply. Why would he? He was probably tied up and gagged, sitting in the darkness terrified beyond imagination.
Melody would need to let Shaun out, but she didn't have much time. Who knew when Harvey would return and begin his gruesome plan? She took a couple of long breaths and planted her hands on the ground, ready to slide out backwards.
Suddenly, two hands grabbed her ankles. Two iron-like grips, strong and large. She inhaled sharply and gave a soft murmur. Wrenched backwards from her hiding place, she watched as the Sig slid from her grip and fell to the ground.
A hard knee pressed down and he forced her hands together behind her back.
"Harvey," she hissed, "it's me."
Harvey didn't reply.
Her hands were bound with cable ties that immediately began to dig into her skin.
"Ow, Harvey, what are you doing?"
Harvey didn't reply.
A canvas bag was forced over her head, and she heard the familiar zip of a cable tie fastening it tightly behind her neck.
"Stop it," she said. "I just want to help you."
Dragged to her feet, she tried to kick out at him, but her arms were forced up behind her, nearly dislocating her shoulders.
"You're hurting me, Harvey," she hissed. "Just stop it."
Harvey didn't reply.
A gentle nudge encouraged her to start walking. She felt the heat of the fire to her left and imagined where she was being led. Powerful arms forced her against a tree then she heard the rattle of heavy chains.
"Harvey? What are you doing?" she said gently. "This is too far."
No reply.
"Harvey, just talk to me. Please?"
She was forced to turn around and the heavy chain was thrown around her neck. She knew it was coming, but when the chain pulled tight, she gasped at the feeling of it against her throat.
The click of a padlock added a tense finality to the silence.
She didn't even hear him leave.
Was he behind her still?
Had he moved off?
Then a stark reality hit home and her stomach rolled with disgust, fear and hatred. She'd been too confident of his feelings for her.
He was going to boil her.
"Harvey?" she said softly. "It's me. You're not going to hurt me." She tried to command him.
But silence.
"Is anyone there?" she called out, louder this time. "Help."
The
heat from the fire a few yards away warmed her skin and her neck prickled. She could feel a bead of sweat run down her chest.
This is fear. Don't be afraid.
But her inner strength was forced to the back of her mind by the muffled whimpers of someone close by. Something was dragged to the tree beside her. A man cried out in the darkness. He begged for mercy, and chains rattled once more.
Was that Reg?
Melody guessed he would be hooded and fixed to a tree just as she had been.
"Harvey, you're out of control," she shouted blindly. "This is it. This is the end. It's over."
Harvey didn't reply.
"Who's there?" said a man's voice, thickened from his tears.
That's not Reg, she thought.
"Don't worry," replied Melody. "This isn't over yet. Just hang in there."
"I can't die," he said. "I have a family. I have children."
"Take it easy," whispered Melody. "Try to control your breathing."
The man took several breaths.
"That's it," said Melody. "Just relax. If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now."
"Somehow I find that hard to believe," he replied.
"What's your name?"
"George, Dave George."
"You're police?" asked Melody.
"Yes, how did you-"
"It was me. I shot your tyre," said Melody. Somehow, honesty seemed a way to induce trust with her condemned companion.
"You?" he said. His breathing began to ramp up again. "But you-"
"Easy, calm down," said Melody. "You shouldn't have come here."
George took a few more breaths and then sobbed loudly from inside his canvas hood. "I know, I didn't want to, but-"
"But what?" asked Melody. "Your boss? He's here too?"
George didn't respond.
"Is he armed?" asked Melody, quietly.
George began to reply, but once more, the silence was broken by the sound of something else being dragged across the ground in front of them. The familiar rattle of chains clattered in the night.
The click of a padlock.
Once more, no footsteps of him walking away.
Was he close?
She spoke in hushed whispers, blind to her surroundings.
"Who's that?" whispered Melody.
No reply.
"Harris?" said George. "Is that you?"