by Lauren Algeo
‘Oh, Daniel, you scared me!’ The man turned to face him, his gaze flicking swiftly to the closed, locked door and back. ‘I didn’t hear you come in?’
Daniel said nothing and the man gave an uneasy laugh.
‘Did you need something?’ he asked with a slight tremor in his voice.
Daniel knew he unnerved this man – he’d checked inside his mind. Apparently there was something about him that was ‘off’; some sense of danger that he couldn’t put into words. He didn’t fit in. Daniel disagreed. He always did his best to blend in. He was quiet and polite, but he could laugh and play, and occasionally be naughty, just like other children. He’d studied their behaviour and knew how to act so he’d appear as one of them.
He’d always known instinctively that he should never reveal his true thoughts or abilities to anyone. People didn’t understand things like that – they feared the unknown.
Daniel cocked his head and assessed the man in front of him: Peter Davenport, the Prime Minister. He looked strong, with his expensive navy suit, crisp white shirt and immaculately styled brown hair, but he was weak inside. Daniel could see it. This man didn’t deserve a position of such power.
Davenport stared down at him nervously. In the glow of the firelight Daniel’s eyes looked completely black. He swallowed down his irrational fear – this was just his Deputy’s son.
‘Well?’ he pressed.
‘Are you hungry?’ Daniel asked, his voice low and deeper than his years.
The strange question threw Davenport. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You should have some cheese,’ Daniel said firmly.
‘I don’t…’ Davenport started, yet he found his body was already pivoting towards the table. There was one word repeating over and over in his mind: hungry. The voice that word belonged to was not his own. He felt paralysed with fear but his limbs kept moving, propelling him across the room against his will.
Daniel used Davenport’s obvious confusion to strengthen his hold. His eager fingers clutched tightly onto his mind. He’d been waiting months for this moment; been preparing Davenport’s mind for this onslaught of power. He wanted this man to suffer. He was the only person who stood in their way.
Davenport jerked to a halt in front of his desk and stared down at it through eyes that were wide with terror. What the hell was happening to him? All he could think through the constant drumming of ‘hungry, hungry, hungry’, was that he was sure he’d locked the door. Positive.
Daniel stood beside him and surveyed the desk surface too. There was a large wooden cheeseboard in the middle, covered with chunks of various cheeses and bunches of green grapes. There was a china plate loaded with crackers to the right and a smaller, empty plate next to it, presumably for Davenport to fill. Daniel’s eyes skimmed over these dismissively and came to rest on the object he desired: the gleaming, silver cheese cutter. Its blade was short, and not particularly sharp, but that was exactly what he wanted. Pain.
He could feel Davenport trying to resist although it would do him no good. Daniel was strong. Davenport’s trembling fingers reached out for the cheese cutter. He was thrashing inside his mind now, screaming at Daniel to stop, but the boy tuned him out. He was going to relish this.
He marched Davenport back to the fireplace, his power growing with his excitement. Over the sound of the crackling flames, he could hear his own heart pounding. The anticipation was almost as enjoyable as the act of releasing itself. Daniel had been disciplined over these last few years and this would be only his fourth releasing, as he called it. He had the gift of ‘releasing’ people from their miserable lives.
Davenport put up a struggle yet his left arm still rose in front of him and his right hand gripped the cutter hard. He didn’t want to look but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his limbs – ones that were moving of their own accord. No, not of their own – Daniel’s. He could see him out of the corner of his eye, the small boy with the slight build, who barely came up to his chest. His blond hair was combed neatly and he was dressed in blue jeans and a smart, grey jumper. It was only his dark eyes that belied the power inside. They were cold and hard and evil.
Davenport wrenched his focus back to his hands and watched in disbelief as the cutter inched closer to the vulnerable skin on the inside of his left wrist. He wanted to scream, to shout out for help, but his vocal cords were locked. His jaws were clamped tightly together and the most he could muster was a barely audible moan. There were people in the very next room yet they would be no use to him.
His body was no longer his own, and he was trapped in a corner of his mind, but the pain as the blunt blade bit into his wrist was very, very real. Excruciating. Blood bloomed on his skin as the blade dug deeper. Normal human reaction would have stopped this torture instantly and thrown away the cause of the agony but this was not normal. Daniel had the reigns and his grip was unwavering.
The cutter drew a ragged, red line down his wrist, towards his elbow. Davenport shrieked and bucked, and twisted inside his mind. His vision was blurred by tears that wouldn’t fall; this was what hell must be, only he wasn’t dead… yet. Dark blood was flowing down his forearm and dripping onto the plush, cream carpet.
The poor cleaner will have trouble getting that out, he thought absurdly.
He heard a small snigger from Daniel. ‘It would be better if they burn it.’ The boy didn’t speak out loud, yet Davenport still heard the words inside his head.
This can’t be happening, he protested. Denial was better than facing the true horror of the situation.
Oh, but it is. Daniel giggled again and the hairs on the back of Davenport’s neck rose stiffly at the sound. The boy was… happy?
‘Why?’ he managed to choke out through his clenched teeth.
‘Because I can,’ Daniel said coldly. ‘Now the other side.’
Davenport found himself transferring the cheese cutter to his left hand. The wooden handle was slick with blood, so much blood. He felt lightheaded at the sight of it but his mind wouldn’t do him the courtesy of passing out. Daniel would make him watch everything.
His right wrist met the blade and a fire of fresh pain spread along his arm. He was howling internally now and begging the boy to stop. He was powerful, he bargained, the boy could have anything he wanted if he just let him go. Daniel paid no attention – the only thing he wanted was Davenport’s releasing. And it would be spectacular.
Davenport’s breathing slowed as his body went into shock. He felt faint and every part of him was trembling. All he could see was red. How much blood was he losing? If someone came now would they be able to save him? The boy had slit his wrists straight down so they couldn’t be easily stitched but there must be something they could do. He was aware that he was desperately clutching at straws to avoid the one, obvious truth. He was about to die.
His legs buckled and he sank to his knees in front of the fire that had given him so much comfort only minutes ago. Before this devil child had… Daniel loomed over him, smiling coldly. Davenport couldn’t understand how a smile could look so threatening.
‘Nearly done.’
The boy’s strength helped him to lift the cutter upwards. His head tilted back and the blade pressed against the soft skin of his throat. The tears fell then. Fat drops that rolled down his cheeks and mixed with the blood on his hands. He could feel the life fading from him already. It would all be over soon.
He was barely conscious as the blade finished its final journey across his neck. There was only warm, gushing liquid and the heat of the fire on his face. He pitched forward onto his stomach and the cutter fell from his splayed fingers. There was no time to remember his life before he slipped down towards the darkness.
Daniel watched with satisfaction as the light dimmed in Davenport’s wide, unblinking eyes. The man had been released and everything would soon be as it should.
Davenport’s brown eyes remained open but they didn’t see Daniel disappearing back into the shadows to wait. Nor did he hear the c
ommotion some time later when his frantic aides broke down the study door. And he most certainly wasn’t aware of Daniel gliding silently from the room at the height of the chaos. No one was.
Chapter 1
Scott Brewer sat back in his seat with a contented sigh. His eyes met Ellen’s across the dinner table and she gave him a wide smile.
‘Ellen, that was delicious.’ Trudy put her knife and fork down loudly on her empty plate.
‘I can’t eat another thing,’ Marcus groaned.
‘So you won’t be wanting any of the cheesecake I made this afternoon?’ Ellen asked.
Marcus put his head on the table in mock despair. ‘I swear, every time I come here I gain five pounds.’
Brewer pushed his chair back with a laugh. ‘I don’t think it’s just when you come here,’ he teased. ‘I saw those donuts in your office last week.’
He stood up to clear the plates but Ellen waved him away.
‘Sit down, it’s your birthday.’
‘I’ll help Ellen with these.’ Trudy gathered up some empty dishes and carried them to the adjoining kitchen.
Marcus picked up his glass of red wine and tilted it towards Brewer. ‘Happy birthday, mate.’
‘Thanks.’ Brewer lifted his own glass and took a sip. The wine was an expensive birthday present and he savoured the taste.
‘How does it feel to be fifty two, old man?’ Marcus asked.
‘Hey, you’re only a few months off yourself!’ Brewer laughed. ‘To be honest, it feels good.’
Ellen and Trudy came back into the dining room with bowls for dessert and Brewer took mental stock of his life. He did feel good. He had a loving wife, a nice home, great friends, and a job he enjoyed. Somehow, through all the pain and nightmares, he’d ended up in a happy place. He gave Ellen’s hand a light squeeze as she put a bowl down in front of him and she kissed the top of his head.
‘Sorry again that Ella couldn’t make it,’ Trudy said as she sat back down on Brewer’s left.
‘You have no idea how hard it is to get a sixteen-year old girl to go out with her parents,’ Marcus said.
‘Marc is in denial, but she’s got a new boyfriend,’ Trudy laughed. ‘She’s spent all week with him.’
‘Ahh, I think it’s sweet,’ Ellen smiled.
Brewer knew her well enough to read the carefully disguised pain in her eyes. Ella was now the age that Lucy had been when she’d died… when she’d been murdered. Brewer quickly pushed away the thought of hikers.
Over time, he’d managed to dull the pain they’d caused but he still thought of them every day. He still thought about Georgie too. He often wondered what she would be doing if she were still alive – how old she’d be, whether she’d be married yet. Would she have a child? Would she be happy?
He dreamed of her every now and again, and tried to cling on to his memories. He had the creased photo of her as a child with her parents but no recent ones. He hoped her face would never fade from his mind. Brewer glanced down at the ‘G’ that was still inked onto the inside of his left wrist. He would never forget her.
He and Ellen took a trip up to the Yorkshire Dales every year, on the anniversary of her death. He could never remember the exact location of her grave, and didn’t want to get too close to the Grand’s old house, so they would place flowers on the green hills near that area.
Ellen had never met Georgie but Brewer had told her exactly what she did and how brave she was. They would toast her memory and spend a couple of days up there, taking long walks and being thankful for the life they now led.
Brewer and Ellen had married two years after the final showdown at the Master’s house. They hadn’t intended to at the start – Brewer hadn’t wanted to re-marry after Karen – but it became a practicality so that Ellen could move to England permanently. They’d had a simple registry office ceremony, with only Marcus and Trudy as witnesses, followed by a meal in a nearby Italian restaurant. Ellen still used her maiden name, MacIntosh, for most things – it was her bond to Lucy and she didn’t want to change it. Brewer gave her a reassuring smile as she dished out the vanilla and chocolate cheesecake.
‘I’m sure Ella will be back to her angsty, teenage self shortly,’ he said to Marcus. ‘Young love doesn’t usually last.’
‘God, I hope it doesn’t.’ Marcus rolled his eyes. ‘This guy is all piercings and hair gel. I was tempted to do a background check when he pulled up outside the house, blaring music out of some souped-up car.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Trudy scolded. ‘I’m sure he’s a nice boy.’
‘Speaking of work,’ Marcus said. ‘I was hoping to get you in next week, Scott. There’s a case I think you might be able to help on.’
Brewer nodded and took another sip of his wine. ‘I’m free on Thursday so I can drop by.’
‘Great. It involves this murder that…’ Marcus started.
‘Whoa, no work talk at the table,’ Trudy interrupted. ‘You boys can discuss that later.’
‘Agreed,’ Ellen nodded. ‘Eat your cheesecake instead.’
Brewer exchanged a quick glance with Ellen. She hated talk of violence and murders these days but Marcus and Trudy would never know why. They knew nothing of how she and Brewer had really met, or everything they’d gone through with the hikers in America. Brewer wondered how they’d react if they ever found out about them hunting hikers, Ellen being kidnapped by the psychotic Master, or his own close brush with death in order to kill them all.
As far as they were concerned, he went to America on a trip to research pioneering treatment for brain tumours and met Ellen at the library where she used to work. They’d bonded over books and fallen in love. They knew that Ellen had lost her daughter in a tragic accident on a ridge and that was all. The full, gruesome story was Brewer and Ellen’s secret.
Even though it was ten years later, she still had nightmares about those harrowing few months. She would dream of black eyes and Lucy, and the Master taking control of her mind. They were less frequent now but the horror was still buried inside her… inside them both. Brewer’s nightmares were always there, just below the surface.
He studied Ellen’s face as she lifted a forkful of cheesecake to her lips and laughed at a story Trudy was telling them. The softness of her face masked the deep strength inside her. Not many people could have coped with what she went through. Her brown hair was tied into a loose bun and she was wearing a black dress that clung to her slender frame. There were more lines around her eyes and mouth but she was as beautiful as the day he’d met her. She was forty-eight years old now although she looked younger. Her appearance didn’t belie the tough life she’d led.
Brewer glanced around the table and smiled in an automatic response to the story he wasn’t absorbing. They had all aged so much. He found it hard to remember the blond, chiselled twenty-year old Marcus had once been. Now his friend’s hair was completely silver and the washboard abs had been replaced by a middle-aged paunch. Marcus didn’t have time for the gym any more – he had a team of detectives to lead.
Trudy had faired better, with far less wrinkles on her face, and she kept the grey in her cropped hair at bay with brown dye. She and Marcus were both dressed casually, her in a beige jumper and dark trousers and Marcus in a navy t-shirt and black jeans. Brewer felt overdressed by comparison in his burgundy shirt and black trousers. Ellen had told him to dress up for his birthday, even though it was only dinner at home.
Brewer had shaved carefully and styled his short, brown hair too. There was grey at his temples but it hadn’t spread through the rest of his hair yet. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he could see the toll of the hiker years on his face. The lines there were deeper than anyone else’s and his skin had a weathered feel.
Sometimes he was sure people could see the haunted look in his brown eyes. He was still fairly thin, despite Ellen’s rich cooking over the years, and he’d always have that gangly look about him. As he’d aged, people had stopped giving him wary glances and he hop
ed the lingering sense of the hiker’s evil had finally left him for good.
‘Isn’t that right, Scott?’ Marcus nudged his arm.
‘Sorry, what was that?’ Brewer jolted out of his thoughts.
‘I was saying that we should have a manly night while the ladies are at Trudy’s niece’s hen thing in a few weeks.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Brewer nodded.
He forced himself to pay attention to the conversation and tucked into his birthday cheesecake. Thank god Ellen hadn’t covered it in candles like she had done for his fiftieth a couple of years ago.
Chapter 2
Ellen plonked the empty glasses next to the sink. ‘Well, I think that was a success,’ she smiled.
‘The paella was delicious.’ Brewer nodded as he loaded plates into the dishwasher. ‘Thank you for cooking, we could have just gone out to make it easier.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Ellen said. ‘It’s nicer to have dinner here – it’s not like there are many nice places to eat around here anyway.’
‘True,’ Brewer laughed.
There was only one real restaurant in the village where they lived – the rest were small pubs and coffee shops. They’d sold Brewer’s flat years ago and moved to a two-bedroom cottage in the countryside. He was relieved to leave the flat that held so many painful reminders of his old life. The more expensive London property had covered the cost of the cosy cottage, despite it being bigger. Everything was so much cheaper when you moved out of the city.
They’d chosen a quiet village in southern Kent and Ellen loved the quaint lanes and small, local shops. It gave them the peace they both needed. The cottage was full of character, with exposed wooden beams in the living room and uneven floors. The ceilings were low upstairs and Brewer had lost count of the number of times he’d hit his head on the beam by the staircase. It was decorated in neutral shades to contrast with the wood and there was an open fireplace in the living room that they liked to sit in front of during the winter.