by Emma Snow
And it was a sacrifice. He didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to keep her, to use her, to make her his for the rest of their lives. She had always outshone the others, physically she was perfect. Mentally, she had been the strongest, the longest to hold out. Even when he’d taken Lisa’s eye, Martha hadn’t lost that defiance, still visible in her face as she submitted to him to protect her friend, not because she wanted to. He knew she wanted to, the little slut. They all wanted to, really, Mother had said so. She still spoke to him sometimes, whispering in his ear, telling him to do what he wanted to them, to defile them, to corrupt them, to make them his, to exert his power over them.
It never occurred to him that it might not be the voice of his mother speaking to him, that it might just be his own warped desire seeking an excuse for his needs.
He whispered a quiet prayer at the altar before walking quietly away. Soon he would return with his offering. Ten years of waiting and two days to go. In the morning, one more day. The excitement made him grin in the dark. The best part was knowing that mother was on his side. She was pleased with him, he knew she was. She was probably up there on the comet with the Gods, hurtling through space towards Earth, ready to watch him carry out their bidding, prove his loyalty to them and to her.
It was time to put the plan into action. He needed to make a phone call.
THIRTY-FOUR
D.C.I Gregg cursed silently. He had been an hour from Helmsley when he’d been called back. Another body had been found and they wanted him there at once. “I’m in the middle of something,” he’d said when the call came in. “Send Lucas.”
“Where are you?”
“On the way to Helmsley.”
“Helmsley? Where the hell’s that?”
“In Yorkshire. I’m following up on a lead in the Kirke case.”
“That’s why we need you back. We’ve had a phone call from someone calling himself the Gamesman.”
“Shit, seriously?”
“He gave us a location and told us to go look.”
“And?”
“And we found a body there with a gaming piece in its hand. I want you here yesterday, Gregg.”
“But I’m almost here.”
“We’ll send in the locals to do whatever it was you needed. There’s a time pressure on this, he’s supposed to be ringing us back tonight. I want you here and no excuses, understood?”
THIRTY-FIVE
Samuel had planned things well. He knew there was a chance that the police would find Lisa and then put the pieces together, that they might send someone to Helmsley to seek out Martha. That was why he’d left one of the bodies somewhere findable. One phone call and anyone closing in on him and Martha would find themselves with a set of clues leading them in the opposite direction. He’d laid the bait with the call. The clues would hint that he’d gone on to Cornwall and that if they hurried they’d catch him in time before he did the next one. He’d told them things about Lisa in the call, things that hadn’t been released to the press, things that proved he had been there when she died.
He had no idea how well his plan had worked, that the sole detective close enough to catch him had turned around at the last minute and was at that moment heading in the opposite direction, chasing a lead that would take him precisely nowhere.
All Samuel knew was that the Gods were on his side. Everything was ready. He had taken every precaution he could but he’d forgotten one thing. The car he’d stolen had belonged to the corpse the police were standing over. He had forgotten to remove the number plates from it before setting it alight.
The body was found and quickly connected to the missing car. The number plate details were circulated on the central system in the hope that it might be traced.
In normal circumstances that would have taken time. But in Helmsley the landlord of The Black Swan pub on the edge of time was the brother of the local constable. When Richard Hope had heard about the fire by the sawmill the previous day he’d been curious. Checking the external CCTV footage of the pub, he’d seen a car heading onto the track that led to the sawmill the previous evening. He’d mentioned it to his brother when he’d come in for a drink after finishing his shift. Michael Hope had taken note of the number plate and then the ball began rolling downhill, picking up speed as it went.
It wouldn’t take long for the dots to be joined together and as the team investigating the Gamesman headed south, D.C.I Gregg would decide to ignore his superiors. He would once again head north. If he was wrong, he would take the hit. He already felt bad for going back against what his instincts had told him.
The body they’d found had been in the derelict building for weeks. He should have ignored them. He should have stayed up there. But it took nearly twenty-four hours to undo the damage and by then, although he didn’t know it, time was running out.
THIRTY-SIX
Ben didn’t know anything of the machinations of the Gamesman. He did know the Gamesman existed and he was starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The previous evening, after talking to his father, he had used the ancient laptop that used to belong to his mother. It still fired up and accessed the Internet, which was all he needed, albeit running incredibly slowly.
He had the black knight gaming piece on the table in front of him and he had decided to do some research. It took hours. He had finally gone to bed at three in the morning. What he learned had told him he needed to have another conversation with Martha.
He talked to his father about his initial findings. His father already knew, which surprised him. “You didn’t think you should have told me?”
“It’s her private life, not yours,” Peter had replied. “If she wanted to tell you, she would.”
“But what if he’s still out there? What if he didn’t die in the fire?”
“Then she’s safest here, where we can keep an eye on her, don’t you think?”
Ben disagreed. To think that she had been a child when that happened. It beggared belief. To have gone through all that at so young an age, abused by that sicko, that murdering deluded psychopath. He thought about what Timothy had said, that he should keep an eye on her. Did the old man know something too? Was he the only one in the dark about the woman who stood to inherit the castle?
He helped his father climb into bed before returning to the laptop, looking up more about the Gamesman. There were various lurid tabloid reports from the time but a lot of the information was contradictory. The only consensus that he could find was that an employee of a care home at the time used to play board games with some of the girls in his care, part of a sickening ritual abuse he carried out undetected for years before finally losing it completely and attempting to burn them to death. It seemed that he tried to escape but was unable to, dying with them.
There was a single report that he found that suggested discrepancies with the official line taken at the time, noting the inability of the coroner to identify the adult victim by his teeth as they were too badly damaged by the intense heat of the blaze. It was unlikely to be anyone other than Samuel Lyons who died with the three children though, according to all the other available information out there. The girls had seen him head into the chemical store at the last minute and not come back out.
Ben thought about the black knight he’d seen out on the site, the one that had scared Martha so much. Was someone trying to frighten her? Who would stand to gain the most from doing so? He stroked his chin absently as he thought.
The only name that sprung to mind was Alexander. If the information about the Gamesman was out there, it was entirely possible that Alex had found out the truth about Martha, that she was one of his victims. He might also have got a head’s up from Joanne that Peter was planning to leave the place to her. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Alex had planted the black knight to frighten her into leaving.
He thought hard. Was it feasible? Or was he so biased against Alex that he was capable of making him the culprit without thinking things throu
gh properly. He rubbed his eyes, deciding he was too tired to think clearly anymore. He’d sleep on it and see what his subconscious had decided by the morning.
Heading upstairs, he stuck his head around his father’s door, finding him fast asleep and snoring slightly. Relieved that he seemed on the mend, he headed through to his own room a moment later.
He had been in bed ten minutes and was just drifting off to sleep when he shot upright. His father was crying out from his bedroom. He leapt out of bed and ran across the landing, finding him with his teeth gritted, his face white. “It hurts,” Peter was saying, his voice slurred, rubbing the wound on his head. His eyes rolled back as he slumped down on the bed, not moving.
“Dad!” Ben shouted, grabbing his wrist, feeling for a pulse. With his other hand, he groped for the phone which was supposed to be somewhere on the bedside table. On the third attempt, he got hold of it, ringing 999 whilst trying to rouse his father at the same time.
The ambulance arrived in twenty minutes, way outside of its target time. Ben saw the lights in the courtyard through the curtains. His father still hadn’t moved. He ran downstairs just as they knocked on the door, unlocking it and opening it to two of them. “He’s upstairs,” he said, stepping aside and then following them up, looking at the stretcher they carried, fearing the worst.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked from the doorway as the two men marched over to the bed.
“I don’t know yet,” the man knelt by Peter’s side said. “How long’s he been like this?”
“Since just before I rang you.”
“What’s his name?”
“Peter, he’s my Dad.”
“And your name?”
“Ben. Look I don’t-”
“Just give us a minute, will you, Ben?” the paramedic interrupted.
Ben felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Martha standing there, anxiously glancing from him to his father. “Come on,” Martha said. “Let’s wait outside.”
Ben followed her downstairs, allowing himself to be led by the hand outside into the courtyard. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I saw the lights,” she replied. “What’s happened to him?”
“They don’t know yet.”
He looked into the house in time to see the two paramedics carrying Peter out on the stretcher. His eyes were open and he was trying to speak.
“We think he’s had a stroke,” the paramedic said as they passed by Ben and began loading his father into the back of the ambulance. “Are you coming with us?”
“He stays here,” Peter said, his voice more slurred than before. He fixed an eye on his son. “You stay here.”
Ben looked at his father and then at Martha. He thought about what Timothy had told him, to keep a close eye on her. He thought about what he’d just found out about the Gamesman, then he shook his head. “Where’s he going?”
“York.”
“I’ll follow on in the car.”
Ben watched them go. He could feel the unasked question from Martha. Why had he stayed behind? He turned to look at her, she looked pale, shivering in the cold wind. He noticed she was only wearing a pair of pyjamas. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
She shook her head. “I want to come with you to the hospital.”
“You heard what he said, he doesn’t want me there.”
“But he’s not thinking straight. What if he dies?”
Ben winced internally. He wasn’t willing to even think about that question. Turning away from her, he paused, his emotions threatening to boil over. He took a deep breath, staring at the open door to his house. He wanted to walk away from Martha, sit alone and do nothing apart from think. Then he felt her arm on his shoulder again and he thought about everything he’d learned.
In the brief second before he turned to look at her, he thought about her past, about his own, about how different they both were, how unlikely it was that they had ended up standing there next to each other. Then he looked into her eyes and all his thoughts went away, all that was left was the raw sensation of pain combined with the deep seated fear of being alone. He said nothing.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Martha sat on the sofa while Ben rummaged in the kitchen. She was surprised by how calm he seemed. When she’d first woken up, it had taken her a few seconds to work out why her bedroom seemed lit up like a Christmas tree at an office disco. Then she realised it was an ambulance outside and she feared the worst.
She had found Ben looking taciturn as ever, his lips pinched as his looked down at his father, his voice little more than an angry growl as he berated the paramedics at work on Peter.
Son and father were more alike than they realised, both of them doing their best to hide their true feelings. She knew what was really going on in Peter’s mind most of the time, she’d got used to the subtle clues about his feelings, how he hid them behind his gruff manner. But the main difference between him and his son was that she didn’t know Ben enough to know what was really going on in his head. He went from furious to upset to calm in the time it had taken to load Peter into the ambulance. But then out of nowhere, he’d invited her in for a cup of tea. She could hear him in the kitchen and she marvelled again at his ability to stay calm through all this. If Peter was her father, she would have brushed aside his protests, she’d have been pacing up and down next to his hospital bed at that moment, not making tea at home.
She felt guilty when Ben returned. Her momentary anger at him for not being upset enough vanished when she saw the look on his face. He looked hurt and the sight touched something deep inside her, made her want to comfort him. He was carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I thought this might be a better option than tea,” he said with a shrug.
“Wine at gone three in the morning,” she replied, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. Had only fifteen minutes gone by since she was woken by the ambulance? It seemed a lot longer.
She thought Ben would sit on the armchair but he came and settled in on the sofa next to her. As he did so, their sides brushed together and she felt a shiver pass through her. She told herself it was the remains of the cold night outside.
The fire was dying in the grate but enough warmth filled the room to make her eyes sag as she sipped at the wine. For a long time neither of them said anything but at last Ben turned to look at her. “I think you should have the castle,” he said quietly. “If anything happens to him, I mean. I can’t think of anyone better suited to look after the place.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” she replied, placing her hand on top of his and squeezing lightly. “They’ll put him right.”
“It’s not that,” he replied, looking down at her hand in surprise but not moving his away. “If he’s not able to work, he has to sell.”
“Who told you that?”
“He did. There’s some condition attached to the terms of the place. If he can’t work, the place has to go.” Ben was silent for a brief moment. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” Martha asked but Ben had turned away again. He took a sip from his glass before putting it down on the table beside him. When he looked at her again, she saw something else there, something she hadn’t seen before.
“What?” she asked as he continued to stare at her.
“Can I be honest with you, Martha?”
She nodded, feeling her heart flutter as if she knew what he was about to say. “What? What is it?”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“What? What about?”
“About my father, about the castle, about my life. I haven’t got a clue. You want to know something? I thought I was coming down here to say bye to the old man. I thought he hated me. Then I find out that he’s not dying. Now he is again. But he doesn’t want me by his side. My mother has run off with the biggest arsehole this side of the Scottish border and to cap it all, I then go and meet you.”
“You sound furious.”
He leaned back on the sofa and sighed, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. When he spoke again, the anger was gone from his voice. “I should have stayed up there. Then I wouldn’t have known about any of this. I should have unplugged my phone, I shouldn’t have taken your call.”
“I’m glad you did,” Martha said, shifting in her seat to look at him, taking in the way he was trying to get his emotions locked away again. She didn’t want it to happen. “I’m glad we met.”
“You are?” he asked, glancing across at her.
She nodded slowly, feeling her throat turn suddenly dry as his eyes fixed on hers. “It might be the wine, it might be the fact that it’s nearly the morning, or it might be that I can’t keep this inside anymore. But I like you, Ben. I didn’t want to. I don’t want to. But I do.”
“Why don’t you want to?”
“It’s complicated, I can’t really explain.”
“Then don’t,” he whispered, shuffling towards her, his hand sliding on top of hers. She felt the heat coming from his fingers and that sensation passed through her skin, reaching somewhere deep inside her. Was he about to kiss her? He looked as if he was. Where had that come from? A few minutes ago she was furious with him, terrified about Peter. And now, now he was looking at her with such intensity that she could barely match his gaze. It was as if he was a blazing log and she a block of ice. The more he looked at her, the more she melted and if he kept looking at her like that, she thought she might just vanish entirely.
The person she thought she was seemed to have gone from the room, replaced with someone new, someone she didn’t know. All she knew was she hoped she wasn’t wrong. She hoped, in that moment, that he was about to kiss her because if he wasn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the disappointment.