Seductive Truths (Seductive Trilogy)

by Becky Cairns

  The vehicle begins to slow and Gareth takes a left onto a bendy dirt track with a slight incline. Overgrown vegetation starts to spill onto the untraveled road. Potholes dent the gravelled route causing hazardous driving conditions as I discover by being tossed from side to side as we dip into one then another.

  And then I see it.

  As we come around the bend I spot a perfectly situated old farmhouse a mile ahead. Drawing closer I realise it to be derelict.

  All except one window is boarded up, the other has smashed glass. The front door may have been a lovely oak finishing once upon a time ago, but now it consists of splintered wood and is hidden behind the ivy that has wrapped itself around the building. A few roof tiles are missing while the rest is splattered with a layer of thick moss turning them from a sleek orange/brown colour to a motley dirty green/brown.

  At the front of the farmhouse is a small patch of overgrown garden, with weeds and tall grass sprouting up all over the place. There is no beauty about it. There are no red roses bringing richness to the shrubbery, no emerald coloured flowers to give it zest. A few dead plants litter the hidden pathways that have now become a death-trap with their cracked and upturned stones. What once may have been someone’s pride and joy, their little Garden of Eden, is now nothing more than untamed chaos.

  I wonder how long this place has been derelict for.

  Beyond the house are fields upon fields with nothing more than a few cattle grazing in the distance. To one side there is a patch of woodland and on the crest of a hill lies the silhouette of another building – the only signs of life that inhabits this vicinity.

  ‘Where are we?’ I ask.

  ‘Finchingfield.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘It’s about an hour and a half’s drive from London.’

  ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘Exactly. I couldn’t choose an abandoned place in London; yobs would have taken over it and used it as their crack house. I couldn’t risk anyone discovering what I have inside. I needed somewhere no one would think twice of. People have forgotten this place exists. It’s perfect.’

  I look at him, frown in place.

  ‘Perfect for what?’

  Turning his piercing blue eyes on me, he stares. That’s it. Stares.

  Now what?

  Blinking, he turns away to open the door while muttering, ‘To hide the truth.’ With that he is out of the vehicle and marching towards the farmhouse.

  What?

  I scuttle out after him, almost tripping over my own feet in the hurry.

  Gravel crunches under the pressure of our determined footsteps and the dampness in the air hits my skin, coating it in a layer of silken moisture. The area fills with deathly silence. No birds sing their song, no creatures scamper about, nor is there any sound of traffic echoing in the distance.

  The old oak door groans in protest as Gareth goes to tug it open, but with a few more firm shoves we manage to make our way inside.

  The damp smell hits me in the face as soon as I step through the threshold causing me to cough as it goes straight to the back of my throat. The musky odour lingers in the air giving the place a sort of…hollowness, for better word to describe the atmosphere. Cobwebs dangle from corners of the ceiling and wrap around anything it comes into contact with, suffocating them in layers upon layers of dust. It’s an asthmatic’s worse nightmare.

  Floorboards creek under our weight and if I’m not very much mistaken I swear I can hear the slight squeaking and scratching of mice or possibly rats.

  The room would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the sunlight seeping through gaps from the boarded up windows and open door. Pictures hang on the walls; odd oriental looking figurines adorned the top of a couple of bookcases that run along one side of the room. The books have become unidentifiable and a few are strewn across the floor, pages stained by some ungodly substance. Wallpaper has peeled away to reveal the rotting wall behind.

  The building looks so worn I am rather surprised it is still able to stand.

  Peering around I realise Gareth has disappeared. I stroll into one of the adjoined rooms only to be confronted with a whole span of wall littered with newspaper clippings, photographs and other documentation. The light beaming in from the half uncovered windows allows for easy viewing as I numbly take a closer look.

  There is an assortment of photographs. A few include two men of similar height, build and appearance; however one is a fair bit older than the other. Next to this is a picture with a man and two boys. The man is the same as the one in the other pictures, though younger, and I presume the brown haired boy is a younger version of the other man. The addition is a young, blonde haired boy, with a mischievous smile plastered on his chubby face and the most piercing blue eyes that light up the whole image. There is no mistaking whom this cheeky chappy is.

  A small smile comes unbidden as I imagine what mischief a young Gareth would have gotten up to, but it is quickly wiped from my face as a much more disturbing thought intrudes. One of Gareth being beaten, those vibrant eyes full of fear and the lost look every time he was left on his own for hours, days even.

  As my eyes continue to glaze at the multitude of pictures they catch sight of an image of a slender, blonde haired woman, possibly mid-twenties with the sun’s light perfecting her flawless skin and her smiling into the camera. It’s clear she is so happy and very beautiful.

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘My mother,’ he whispers from behind.

  ‘She looks so young.’

  ‘She was. She was nothing more than a kid when she had Mark. Sixteen. Dad was twenty-four. He loved her once, before my brother and I came along. That love turned to possession. He destroyed her, changing her into something she wasn’t. He destroyed everyone he touched.’

  The anger, the pain, it’s all there on Gareth’s face, lost in the past as he stares at his mother’s picture.

  How can life go so wrong?

  My eyes drift to another image. It’s a picture of the four of them, in a tight embrace, laughing at whoever is taking the picture with a carefree spirit on each of their faces. Their mother has a hand on Gareth’s shoulder, while their father is in the process of ruffling Mark’s fluffy locks, causing the boys to laugh at the antics and their eyes to sparkle with joy.

  ‘That was a rare moment,’ I start as his voice breaks the quiet. ‘I think it was the only time I felt truly loved by them. It was taken on my fifth birthday. The sun was shining, music played. My parents took us to a restaurant with a playpen where Mark and I enjoyed playing pirates. We used the balls in the ball pit as cannonballs, lobbing them at each other. At one stage I caught Mark in the eye, but instead of crying, he just laughed it off and said, “You got me.”’

  I look over my shoulder and see the pain intensify.

  I hate the clenching feeling in my stomach every time I see that look on his face. Even my eyes have begun to water!

  ‘I had a chocolate cake with five candles stuck into the top,’ he continues. ‘I wished for a puppy. Never got one though. Instead I received an absent mother, a bully for a father and a betrayer for a brother.’ Gareth’s face hardens. ‘Just what I’ve always wanted,’ he adds sarcastically.

  Turning my attention back to the collection of pictures my heart skips a beat and breath hitches. An involuntary shiver trickles down my spine. It’s Thomas! Alive and smiling at someone or something outside the camera shot. Underneath is the horrific clipping of a newspaper with an article on his hit and run. Smacked across the top are, “Hit and run KILLER!” in black, bold text.

  Shakily I take a step back; eyes wide. I can’t quite believe what I am seeing. There is another one of him! He’s spinning Bethany around in the air, both of them laughing. And there’s me. Me! Thomas and I are in the park and he is giving me a piggyback ride. In one I’m sat outside the local café down my road enjoying a nice cappuccino. In another I’m chatting away on my phone. But the one that stands out
is the one of me in my clingy red cocktail dress coming out of my front door ready for a night out. Bloody hell, I’ve had a stalker!

  There’s also a couple Zoe and one of Maggie.

  What the hell is going on here? Where did these pictures come from? Why were they taken in the first place?

  ‘William!’

  There are snapshots of him like I have never seen before, dark, dangerous and with a hint of ambiguity. Some contain him handing over a brown paper package to various people in questionable surroundings. There is a close up of him smoking a cigarette. Hold on….he doesn’t even smoke! Not once have I seen him light up. He has never had that lingering nicotine smell as many do, not once. But here he is, smoking.

  One has captured him in a suit, briefcase in hand on his way to work, that’s what I presume at any rate. For all I know he could be off to see a woman! I thought I knew William, thought he was as clear as black and white, but it appears I was wrong. Looking at these images I don’t know him at all. My life is turning out to be one big fat lie!

  ‘Wh-what is all this? What is it?’ I spin around, yelling at Gareth. ‘Why? What’s it all for?’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘What do you mean, “It’s the truth”?’

  ‘What you see on the wall are snippets of your life. I started to collect things and piece it together. All of it has been leading up to today. I started this the night your brother was killed.’

  ‘My brother? All this,’ I wave my hand at the wall. ‘Plus you kidnapping me, the note, the texts, all of it was leading up to you telling me the truth behind my brother’s death? Or do you have a certain vendetta against my brother and this is you getting your own back? It’s not like it matters. You’re too late, he’s dead!’

  ‘I do not have a vendetta against your brother, or against you. I’ve done this because you deserve to know the truth, one way or another you deserve to know. You need closure otherwise you won’t be able to move on.’

  ‘What difference will it make whether I know how he died or not? Knowing won’t bring him back! He’s dead for fucks sake!’

  ‘I know he’s fucking dead I was there when it happened!’

  ‘You…what? Y-you were there?’

  ‘Yes,’ he runs his fingers through his golden mane. ‘I was there. I saw the whole thing.’

  ‘How? What? Wh-I-I don’t understand. I…I…’ I turn my back on him; my hand goes up to cover my mouth in an attempt to keep the vomit at bay. It’s all too much too soon.

  ‘I’m sorry Alex, but your brother wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it weren’t for William.’

  ‘William?’ I twist back to face him. ‘What has this got to do with him?’

  A huge sigh expels from his lips and he looks to the ground. A second later he reaches inside his trouser pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and it isn’t long before he’s puffing away, slowly damaging his lungs further.

  ‘On the night your brother died,’ he continues without looking at me, ‘Thomas was in pursuit of William wherein they both ended up in a back alley in Soho.’

  ‘No, no, it’s all lies. Neither of them would enter a place like that. You’re lying!’

  ‘A few weeks before your brother’s death, he got suspicious about your fiancé. I don’t know what set him off or what conclusions he came to, but whatever it was, he obviously decided to keep it to himself, as far as I’m aware of. He may have spoken to Maggie, but that is something you’ll have to take up with her.

  ‘Anyway, your brother decided to take matters into his own hands and follow William. So that night, he left the safety of his house and family and took to the streets. The poor guy was way out of his depth. He should have left it well alone. He followed William all the way to the seedy parts of Soho, where you’ll find strip joints barley legal, drunken slobs falling over their feet, and addicts so drugged up to their eyeballs they can’t tell whether they’re dead or alive. Your brother took a disastrous risk that night.

  ‘Thomas must have lost track of William along the way, because your fiancé was in discussion with a man for at least five minutes before your brother turned up. But what he saw when he eventually showed his face would have changed everything.

  ‘Your brother witnessed the exchange of two brown packages. In one was a wodge of money. In the other was a gun. A gun your fiancé ordered specifically from...from me.’

  WHAT! ‘This isn’t happening. This, this has got to be some sort of nightmare. He wouldn’t, you, he, he’s not like that, he’s not…’

  I try shaking the thoughts away to no avail. My breathing becomes shallower and more erratic. My head begins to spin and fingers tingle. Chest is tighter. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe and I stumble back against the wall then slide to the floor, too weak to hold my body upright any longer.

  Knees bent, I hug them to my chest in an attempt to control my trembling.

  ‘Part of what I do is, well, basically go fetch to put it bluntly,’ Gareth forges on. ‘They come to me if they are in need of something. They ask, I collect. I give them the object they require in exchange for a hefty amount of money. William required a gun. I don’t know what for and I don’t care. I don’t know how he found out about me, but the fact that he did means he’s no stranger to the life I lead. He’s been in the game long before he met you. I just never heard of him until recently. This may have been what Thomas had discovered.

  ‘When it comes to guys like William or I, there’s only two ways to go once being discovered. Run into hiding or…or have the discoverer killed to avoid further people finding out. Your brother’s fate was already sealed I’m afraid.’

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this! I will wake up soon, I will, I must.

  ‘Once William spotted Thomas making his way over to us, he disappeared into the alley out of sight. I remained. He tried to reason with me, asked me a few questions, but when he realised he wasn’t getting anywhere he began to walk away. I thought that was it. I was so wrong. That night changed the fate of more than one person.

  ‘I was about to disappear down the same alley your fiancé did when the screeching of tyres caught my attention. A black Mercedes Benz came careening around the corner and was heading straight towards your brother with no intention of stopping. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Your brother was dead before he came crashing to the ground.’

  No, no, no, no, all lies, all lies. He wouldn’t, William couldn’t…it’s not happening, this isn’t happening! It’s, it’s….no, oh God no. Please let this be a nightmare, please.

  I remember William said his car got nicked when I questioned him where it was. He never did find it.

  I begin to shake uncontrollably as things start to slot into place. William’s odd snapping behaviour when I first told him about the note. The way Thomas suddenly started to act strangely around him. Several times a week William snuck into bed in the early hours of the morning after “a late night in the office” he used to say. And then there is the missing car.

  No, it can’t be, not, I won’t believe it. He’s not, no, no, he’s not. My fiancé is not. William is not…

  ‘Alex…’

  ‘No, don’t say it! Don’t say it!’

  ‘William murdered your brother.’

  ‘No! No! You lie!’ I push myself away from the wall with strength I do not have and storm towards Gareth, anger firing off all cylinders of my body. ‘Where’s the evidence for this? Where’s your proof?’

  ‘It’s all on the wall behind you. Amongst the photos and newspaper clippings, there is also documentation of his autopsy. Evidence found at the scene. Eyewitness statements, if you can call them that. They were probably classed as unreliable evidence they were so high off their faces on crack. Everything is there except a conviction. There’s nothing that puts your darling William at the scene of the crime. There was no hope in hell that the police would suspect pretty boy. He has a squeaky clean record. He’s top of
the game in the business world, a loving person who adores all his friends and family. He was in the clear and he knew it.

  ‘Safe? That’s one thing he isn’t and he realised that when you went missing. That day we went to see Dougie, the day we got shot at. That was William. He was on to me. You remember what Dougie told me. He said, “Hunt you down like the dog you are.” Your beloved fiancé wants me dead. There’s no question about that.’

  Looking off into the distance, over Gareth’s shoulder to be precise, anywhere than at him, I ask, ‘Where did you get them? The documents I mean.’

  ‘They are copies. The originals are still filed away. They are from a contact.’

  ‘A bent copper in other words.’

  ‘Contact.’

  ‘I thought you despised coppers?’

  ‘I do. They’d jump at the chance to bang me away if they ever got wind of who I am. However, this “contact”, knows the rules. I have something on him and if he ever breathes a word, if he ever thinks of shoving me in the deep end, his career would be over. His life would be over. I do not associate with him often, but when I need something only he can obtain, he’s the one I call on.’

  ‘I thought I was beginning to understand you. You’re, you’re…I…I don’t know what to think anymore.’ Anger mixing with frustration and denial are not the best combinations. ‘You’re no better than your father!’

  ‘Don’t. Don’t you dare say that. I’m ten times the man he ever was.’

  ‘Are you? Are you really? Where’s your heart? Do you have one? Are you actually capable of loving?’

  ‘I…I…’

  ‘To me you are no better.’

  ‘Please don’t say that,’ his voice softens.

  ‘You watched it happen! You could have stopped it from happening!’

  ‘There was nothing I could…’

  ‘That’s bull and you know it. If you wanted to you could have stopped it, but you didn’t. My brother died because of you!’

  ‘I’m not the one that killed your brother!’