Cold Valley Nightmare

by Anna Willett

  Clem’s chin wobbled and tears ran down his grimy cheeks as his small hands reached out to her.

  “Clem.” She growled out his name, hating herself for the way he winced back in fear. “Do as I’m telling you, understand?”

  He sniffled and nodded. Before leaving, she hesitated, then leaned in and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll come back when it’s safe.” Fighting back tears and struggling to keep the tremble out of her voice, she pulled back. “I promise.”

  She placed the jacket over Clem’s head, the dark suede blending into the burnt trunk. Not allowing herself time to change her mind, she headed back towards the stream.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Brock slowed the Jeep during the drive through Narrogin. As they bumped over a set of speed humps outside of the town hall, Damon’s phone rang. He answered and set the phone on speaker so Brock could follow the conversation.

  Larson didn’t waste time on greetings. “Tyson Plick was convicted of manslaughter in 2004. He served six years of an eight-year sentence.” His voice was a distant echo. “He was out for a couple of years before going back inside for armed robbery.”

  Damon rubbed the back of his neck. “Is he wanted for anything?” If Tyson had any outstanding warrants, it would be easier to force the cops to get involved. Maybe suggesting Plick was in Narrogin might get them to act.

  “No.” There was disappointment in Larson’s voice, suggesting he’d been thinking the same thing about getting the local police involved. “He’s been clean for the last few years. Served his full sentence, so no parole officer or address is on file.”

  “Damn it.” He knew Larson was doing the best he could, but Damon couldn’t keep his frustration out of his voice.

  “I’ll try…” The static was thicker and Larson’s words were cut off midsentence. “Dangerous…” Larson managed one last word before the line dropped out and the sound of dead air filled the Jeep.

  Damon stared at the phone for a second, Larson’s last word hanging in the silence. They had no way of knowing for sure if Tyson was with Mimi or if the two of them were anywhere near Narrogin. They could be going in the wrong direction on the Clem Scott case and the bodies in the forest and the crime scene at Marina’s were completely unrelated. The world was full of evil and random crime; he knew that better than most. Cold Valley was a small community, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any number of criminal activities at work below the surface. But no matter how he looked at it, he was convinced they’d got it right with Mimi Shaw.

  “Damon.” Brock’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. “Isn’t that Lucy’s car?”

  Up ahead, the Saab sat just beyond a white mailbox. Damon’s heart was thumping as they slowed and pulled alongside the vehicle. Without waiting for Brock to brake, Damon was out of the Jeep. Evening was drawing in and with it a cold breeze. Damon placed his hand on the Saab’s bonnet, noticing it was cool to the touch.

  “This isn’t the house.” Brock was beside him, looking at the mailbox. “The address Janice gave us has Mimi’s aunt living at number two.”

  “Yeah, but Lucy parked here for a reason.” Damon still had his hand on the Saab. The most likely explanation was that she’d left the car and walked up to the aunt’s house. Surprise visits were always Lucy’s specialty, still he felt the need to be sure Lucy wasn’t at number three. “Let’s go ask if the people at number three know anything about Mimi’s aunt.”

  “We could cover more ground if I go on to the aunt’s house,” Brock offered.

  The idea had already crossed Damon’s mind. During his days in the military, he’d have done just that, telling himself that the end always justifies the means. But as much as splitting up would allow them to move with haste, he couldn’t risk sending Brock into a dangerous situation. Not without back up. Not if he wanted the nightmares to stop.

  “If Tyson Plick’s at the aunt’s house, he could be armed. It’s safer if we stay together,” Damon said.

  Brock had resigned from the police force and started working with Damon fourteen months ago. While it had never been discussed, both men accepted that Damon made the final decisions on how to proceed on most cases.

  Brock frowned, his dark eyes focused on the crest of the hill. He was a self-contained man, not given to emotional display. If Damon’s decision troubled him, he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later they were staring at a burnt-out building, its jagged edges a stark contrast against the twilit sky. There was something desolate about the ruined home that added fuel to Damon’s sense of dread. Part of him had hoped it would be that easy and they would find Lucy at number three, maybe sipping coffee and interviewing the aunt’s neighbour unaware of how much time had passed and that her phone had no signal.

  He turned away from the wreck and silently cursed himself for letting her go off alone – for getting her involved in something dangerous. After what happened in Night Town, he should have… His thoughts faltered. Lucy was strong and a resourceful woman. Maybe the most resourceful person he knew. Every break they’d had on this case had come from her instincts and determination. He doubted there was anything he could have said or done to keep her from her single-minded mission to bring Clem home. I could have kept her away from the case.

  “Let’s go.” He spoke over his shoulder, already on his way back to the Jeep. He would have plenty of time to agonise over his decision to involve Lucy in the Clem Scott case, but for now his only job was to find her.

  * * *

  She was close. Smiley had heard her breaking through the trees only minutes ahead of him. Carrying the kid was slowing her down. Still gripping his knife, he jumped down into the stream. The breeze was cold and the water almost freezing, but his skin burned with the need to find Lucy. Gritting his teeth against the pain searing inside his gut, he clamoured up the bank onto the weeds that littered the bush ground.

  He was dizzy and unsteady on his feet, the trees dancing like tall ghosts weaving in and out of focus. He tried to remember how long it had been since he’d last eaten, but his thoughts were like the trees, shifting and sinister. All he knew was the woman, Lucy, had taken the boy and his only hope was to stop her before it was too late.

  Pushing himself up, he dragged the back of his hand over his face. She was to blame for everything that happened. She was to blame for the pain that wouldn’t let him sleep or eat or rest. It had been growing inside him like a poisonous cloud until every breath was taken in agony. He stumbled forward, catching himself on a tree. Lucy and Mimi were a swirling cyclone tearing through his thoughts, calling out to him, laughing at him, forcing him to commit violent acts.

  “It’s not me.” His voice echoed off the trees, sounding flat and lonely. “I didn’t want to do those things.”

  Something moved out of the corner of his eye, a dark shape coalesced into a human figure with small shoulders and a swollen belly. Mimi stepped out of the shadows, arms raised as though waiting to embrace him. Smiley shrieked and ducked behind a tree only to see her face emerging from below the banks of the stream. Her blue eyes were hungry and leering, and shot with red.

  He held the knife out, whipping it from side to side.

  “You did all this. You’re one of the dead-heads,” he shouted. He turned from the stream and ran through the trees while the dead-heads emerged from the shadows.

  Breathing was difficult, but he forced himself to keep moving. Lucy was close. He could almost smell her. All thoughts of running and starting a new life in Victoria were gone. Now all Smiley wanted was the soft blackness of sleep. If he could just find Lucy and the boy, then the nightmare would be over. The pain would stop and he’d go back to Elaine’s house and sleep. Sleep next to Mimi.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  When Lucy was satisfied she’d put enough distance between herself and Clem, she began searching. The ground was in shadows. As the sky bled into orange, it washed the trees in silvery light. A few seconds of drag
ging her fingers through leaves and seedpods and she found what she was looking for. Grunting with effort, she pulled the fallen branch towards a gum tree.

  Listening for sounds of approaching footfalls, she snatched handfuls of leaves and stalks from a nearby wattle bush and used them to cover the branch. With no time to stop and appreciate her work, she continued to search the area around the wattle bush until she found a piece of what looked like limestone.

  Finding one half buried, she dug into the soil, tearing her nails on sticks and roots. When the rock came free, her hands were bleeding, but the cold numbed any real pain. She wiped her fingers on her jeans, adding blood to the mud and filth that coated most of her clothing, then she carried the rock back to the gum tree.

  With everything in place, she moved from the covered branch to the gum tree, counting her steps. Six steps. Roughly seven metres. It could work. It has to work. She raised her eyes to the sky, whispering a silent prayer. Not to a God that she wasn’t sure she believed in, but to her parents. If there was an afterlife, she hoped they were watching over her just as she liked to believe they were that day when she first met Damon on the road to Night Town. Like a miracle, he appeared in her life and transformed what had been a lonely existence into something more than she ever thought possible. Now she asked her parents to give her the strength to return to Damon and bring Clem home.

  When she finished her prayer, she noticed something between the tree’s lower branches and the wattle bush: a spider. The web-like cotton strung between the foliage housed an oversized arachnid. The insect’s blonde furry body and thorax were as big as a matchbox and its legs, orange and black and impossibly long, stretched out like hands. A shudder ran the length of her spine as she backed away from it.

  In the distance, she heard a splash followed by what sounded like a man’s voice. She backed up until she was half hidden behind a small grass tree. This would be her only chance. Clem was severely dehydrated. She didn’t think he would last much longer, which meant hiding in the bush overnight as the temperature dropped was out of the question. Carrying Clem to safety would never work, not with Smiley chasing them. Her only chance was to stop Smiley or at least slow him down.

  She was shaking, partly from the cold, but mostly because she knew what she had to do. To succeed she’d have to carry out an unspeakable act. To fail would mean death for her and an innocent child. If she managed to walk away from this with her life, she’d have to live with her actions.

  “I’ll live with it.” Her lips moved, but barely a sound was produced. Then as though answering her prayer, something her father used to say came back to her. ‘It’s another rock in the road.’

  Another rock in the road. Sometimes her life seemed like a trail of rocks, each marking new chapters. Some were warm and pleasant while others were less like rocks in the road and more like mountains. Looming peaks of sorrow and loss, and of these giants one was marked by jagged crests that had peaks of pure terror.

  It had been almost fourteen months since her brother was abducted and tortured. Only a year and a few months since she’d almost lost her life trying to find him. The memories of her time in Night Town still shadowed her thoughts, making her wonder if the mountain would ever shrink into a hill. But now, preparing to do battle for her life, there was a part of her that was almost grateful for what she’d endured, because fighting for her life had left her with emotional welts, those wounds had healed over and grown scar tissue, thick and strong. But were they strong enough for what was to come?

  She curled her trembling hands into fists and held them at her side. For Clem’s sake she hoped she was strong enough. A masculine, terrified shriek caught her by surprise. She held her fist to her mouth, blocking her own need to scream. He was coming. She wasn’t sure if he was shrieking out of fear or to scare her. It’s working. Watching the trees, scanning back and forth, her body felt like a tuning fork, almost twanging with fear and tension.

  When he appeared, it was on her far right. In one strangled moment, she realised the angle was wrong. If he approached from the side, her plan would fail before it began. Working on instinct, she snatched up a handful of fallen gumnuts and flung them into the trees on the left.

  Smiley, little more than a tall shadow, changed directions and followed the rattle of movement caused by the nuts. When he reached a spot roughly central to her hiding place, he became more visible. The first thing that struck her was his size. He was tall. Taller than Damon and wearing a heavy jacket. The overall effect was big and imposing. She spotted the knife in his hand and for a second she had the urge to turn and shrink back into the trees, but Clem’s face jumped into her mind. His wide panicked eyes just before she covered him with her jacket. There had been pure terror in his gaze.

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Clamping her lips together, she stepped out from behind the grass tree. Smiley stopped moving and turned in her direction. Lucy could hear her blood rushing like an ocean in her ears. For a heartbeat there was no other sound bar her breathing. His face was in shadows, but his eyes were shining like flames.

  In a blink, he lunged for her, but Lucy was quicker. She ran the five paces and jumped over the branch on the sixth, then ducked behind the gum tree. When Smiley’s feet caught on the covered branch, he hit the ground with a thud and cried out. Lucy snatched up the limestone chunk and stepped out from behind the tree. This was her opportunity. He was down, vulnerable. The only chance she’d get.

  Eyes fixed on his head and the way his dirty blonde hair parted, revealing white scalp, she raised the rock. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t stop to think. She wouldn’t let herself hesitate or she’d be lost. There was no time for thought and only action. She swung the rock, knowing it would most likely be a death blow, but determined to land it. As the limestone chunk came down, Smiley turned his head and she saw the horrified look in his eyes. At the last minute, she adjusted the course of the rock and landed a glancing blow just behind his ear.

  The sound of a rock hitting skin with a sickening whap. A gash opened in his scalp and he slumped forward. Smiley groaned and touched the back of his head. Blood ran through his fingers. Still holding the rock, Lucy knew she should hit him a second time and finish the job so he couldn’t come after her, but the sight of what she’d done made her want to run. Hands jittering, she dropped the rock and started to back away.

  His hand shot out and tugged her ankle, pulling her leg up and out from under her. Lucy landed hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs and for a second it seemed her throat had closed. She tried to snatch her leg free, but Smiley held firm, and suddenly she was being yanked through the leaves and sticks.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Apart from a shaft of light spilling out of a side window, Mimi’s aunt’s house stood in darkness. An aging Commodore sat on the dirt driveway parked at a lazy angle. Damon paused long enough to put his hand on the bonnet. Like the Saab, the car was cold.

  “I’ll go round the back.” Brock’s voice was low, barely above a whisper. He disappeared around the side of the house.

  Damon approached the porch, noticing the blare of the TV. He frowned seeing the front door hanging open. Instead of entering, he stood to the side of the front window and peered in. Satisfied that there wasn’t anyone on the other side of the door, he slid a small length of pipe out of his back pocket and pushed the door open, then stepped inside.

  Only a few metres into the house the stench hit him. The hand holding the pipe dropped to his side. He knew that smell, recognised the taste of it in his mouth. He was too late. Years of training and field experience evaporated. He was stumbling blindly, not away from the deathly odour but towards it.

  Brock appeared in the hallway, his broad shoulders filling the gap. In the seconds between seeing his partner and waiting for him to speak, Damon felt numb with fear. So much so that when Brock shook his head and spoke, Damon found it difficult to understand the words.

  “It’s not Lucy or the boy. Two wo
men, both in the kitchen.” Finally, Brock’s words were breaking through Damon’s panic.

  “Not Lucy?” He’d heard his partner, but had to ask again.

  When Brock answered, his voice was softer. “No, mate. She’s not here.”

  Damon tipped his head and stared at the ceiling, trying to rein in the maelstrom of emotion that threatened to paralyse him. “Okay.” He turned his gaze on Brock. “Thanks.”

  Brock nodded, his dark hair shiny in the shaft of light from what looked like a bedroom. As he turned to go back to the kitchen, he stopped and ducked into the room. When he emerged, he was holding something Damon immediately recognised as Lucy’s handbag.

  “That’s Lucy’s.” Damon gestured to the bag. “She was in this house.” He reached for the bag, but Brook pulled back and bent, returning it to its place on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Damon exclaimed. He wanted to snatch the bag and hold it like the object would magically lead them to Lucy.

  “It needs to stay here for the cops to see.” Brock’s voice was still soft, but now there was a hint of steel.

  Damon knew what Brock was doing. He was preserving a crime scene. If Lucy and Clem were victims of whoever did this, the bag would prove she was inside this house. It would help establish a timeline and chain of events. But understanding Brock’s reasoning didn’t stop Damon from wanting to search the bag for any clue to where she might be.

  Seeming to sense Damon’s thoughts, Brock quickly added, “I’ve already looked. Her keys are missing. Her phone’s there and her purse was on the floor beside the bag.”

  Inside the kitchen, Damon took in the carnage. There was no doubt the younger woman was Mimi Shaw. He guessed the older of the two to be Mimi’s aunt, Elaine Shaw. It looked like Elaine had been stabbed and bled out. While Mimi was covered in blood, Damon couldn’t see any visible wounds. As horrific as the scene was, it didn’t put them any closer to finding Lucy.