by Tim O'Rourke
There was music too – faint – in the distance. Ellie Goulding singing Burn. Kerry’s phone lighting up the night.
‘Please let me call my mum,’ Kerry called out.
‘Shut up, you silly little bitch!’ the man spat.
My blood felt as if it had turned to ice in my veins. The vision’s clarity took my breath away. I felt it deep inside, and my mind screamed in trauma. This was much worse than I had ever felt it before.
I opened my eyes to see the building with its tumbled down chimney.
‘This is the place I saw,’ I gasped, not knowing how I should be feeling. Like Tom said, I would never have known this place existed if I hadn’t seen it in those flashes. What I’d seen was real.
My head hurt, but not as bad as before. The pain was a dull thud, like toothache. The lights that blinked on and off all around the house eased the pain. I didn’t understand why, but whatever the reason, I was grateful for it; although they couldn’t take away my feeling of shock.
Being able to stand before the ruined house showed me what I saw in my flashes was real, but it didn’t fill me with joy and relief. I felt as if my skin was peppered with goose flesh even though it felt hot. It was like I was burning from inside out. Was it because I was standing so close to a place I had seen in my flashes?
The world swayed then swam back into focus again. The very air around me felt charged with static electricity. I felt sick, as if I’d gone around too many times on a merry-go-round.
In my flashes, the tiny, derelict house hadn’t been illuminated by bright white lights that flickered all around it. It was like the house was trapped in a snow globe, and every so often, some invisible force took hold of it and gave it a good shake, causing a snowfall of light to shower down all around it.
‘Do you want to take a look inside?’ Tom asked me.
‘Yes,’ I said, slowly making my way towards it. The air fizzed in my ears. I felt unsteady on my feet.
As I moved closer, the lights began to dim, flicker out. I looked up as the last of them winked out, and all I could see was the endless murk of the winter sky.
The doorway to the house looked like a gap in a row of front teeth. I made my way towards it. With Tom at my side, I reached the opening, then paused; something felt different, wrong.
The flashes had been so vivid this time, so much so that they shook me to the core, but inside I felt an emptiness, as if I had lost something.
I waited for the flashes to come again but in my heart, I knew they had gone.
CHAPTER 15
Tom – Tuesday: 12:06 Hrs.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
Charley stood before the open doorway of the house, kneading her temples with her fingertips. ‘The flashes …’
She looked bewildered, like a child who’s lost sight of her mother.
‘What about them?’ I said.
‘They’ve gone,’ she said, screwing her eyes tight.
‘Gone where?’
‘How should I know?’ Charley shot a glance at me, lowering her hands and folding her arms across her chest. ‘It’s not like they go anywhere … but I feel different somehow, hollow.’
‘But you said they had gone.’
‘I know what I said,’ she glared, looking as frustrated as I felt. It was like we had got so far and now the information had dried up.
‘Can’t you see any more?’ I asked. ‘Aren’t any more pictures going to come through?’
Charley looked lost somehow, disturbed. ‘I’m not some kind of freaking tap that you can turn on and off!’
Her hair blew about in the nagging wind. Nearby tree branches screeched and the hanging door of the house slammed closed. Both of us flinched backwards. It was like it was telling us there was no more to be seen – no more secrets to be given up. Charley shivered, with fear or the cold I couldn’t be sure. She looked lonely, even though I stood just feet away.
I fought the sudden urge to go to her, wrap my arms about her slender frame and hold her tight. I couldn’t. She was a potential witness to a crime. Witness? Crime? Who was I trying to kid? I couldn’t be sure of either. The only thing I could be sure of was that if I was caught with Charley anywhere near where Kerry Underwood had died, my feet wouldn’t touch the ground as Harker kicked my arse out of CID.
‘I’m sorry,’ Charley said. ‘The flashes have stopped.’
Or had they ever really been there? I wanted to say, but that would’ve just been cruel. But I couldn’t help thinking it as I stood and looked back at Charley. Slipping my notebook into my pocket, I didn’t know who was kidding themselves more – me or her? Charley, for believing she could see what had happened to Kerry Underwood or me for even entertaining the idea.
Lowering my stare, I said, ‘C’mon, let’s get out of here.’
‘Why?’
‘You said your flashes had stopped, so what’s the point?’ I said, maybe a little harsher than intended.
‘So you’ve finished using me, is that it?’ Charley said, her green eyes bright with anger. No, it wasn’t anger I could see, it was hurt.
‘It’s not like that …’
‘Then what is it like?’
‘I should’ve never brought you out here,’ I said. ‘C’mon …’
‘You don’t just get to walk away, Tom,’ she snapped. ‘If my flashes were still shining brightly in my head you wouldn’t be going anywhere right now, you’d be standing there scribbling away in your little notebook. Taking down every little thing I told you.’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ I said.
‘Enough of what?’ Charley asked. ‘Enough of me telling you how it is, or just enough of me?’
Taking a deep breath, I looked at her. ‘Any other time, any other situation, I couldn’t imagine myself ever having enough of being with you, Charley. But it isn’t like we’ve met in some bar or out with friends. We met stomping all over a crime scene for Christ’s sake. Don’t you get that? Don’t you see I could get in the shit for bringing you within a mile of this place?’
‘So why did you?’ she yelled, screwing her hands into fists. Before I’d had the chance to defend myself, she said, ‘Look, don’t even bother trying to explain, Tom. It looks as if my dad was right about you. You did just want to use me. I should’ve listened to him.’
Charley turned, and hurried away.
‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Home,’ she called, sounding as if she was crying.
I went after her. ‘Let me give you a lift.’
‘I’d rather walk.’
‘Charley!’ but she was gone, disappeared amongst the hedgerows and bushes.
I forced my way through the undergrowth. I had brought her out here so it was down to me to make sure she got home safely. Reaching the dirt track again, I looked left and right but she was nowhere to be seen. ‘Charley!’ I called out again, but there was no reply.
I sat in my car, the engine idling. Should I go in search of her? I wanted to, I was worried. I tried to push away thoughts of Kerry Underwood being dragged along the dirt track. Was there a killer out there? I only had Charley’s word that there was and the train driver’s description of how he had seen Kerry lying in an odd pose between the tracks. There was still a chance that the killer was Jason Lane, and he would have no reason to harm Charley.
The temptation to just go home, climb into bed, pull the blankets over my head and forget about her was huge. But I knew in my heart as soon as my eyes were closed, I would see Charley, lighting up the darkness of my mind. I drove out of the narrow lane and back onto the country road. I had several hours to kill before my nightshift started and they seemed to stretch out before me like a desolate road.
I would go back to my flat, but not yet – I needed to clear my head. As if on autopilot, I drove down the country roads towards the coast. As I drew near to the jagged cliffs that dropped away into the ocean, the wind buffeted the side of my car. I drew to a stop on a flat piece of ground. Gra
ss flecked with sand blown up from the shoreline lay on either side. Seagulls squawked overhead as they circled high above, their beady black eyes constantly in search of food. I could hear the waves crashing against the granite rocks below.
Settling back in my seat, I switched on the CD player. I Will Wait by Mumford and Sons seeped from the speakers. I adjusted the volume so the music became nothing more than a distant soundtrack to my thoughts. Charley was the first to fill my mind. If I were to be honest, she hadn’t left it since she had marched away in tears. Could I blame her for being upset –angry – with me?
No, not really. I had used her in my own way and I couldn’t deny that. It wasn’t as if I wanted to intentionally hurt her, but I had done all the same. That’s what happened when you were trying to prove yourself – people had the habit of being stepped on and squashed. Isn’t that how anyone reached the top of their profession? I should know, I had seen my own father climb over enough people to become a partner in the firm of lawyers he worked for.
He had been relentless in his pursuit of being the most notorious defence lawyer in London. I stared up and watched the seagulls, remembering how my father had never wanted me to be a police officer. He had wanted me to join the firm – but there had been another firm I’d rather be a part off. I had never been able to understand how he defended some of his clients.
To most right-thinking people their guilt was obvious, but my father would fix me with his stare and tell me that everyone was entitled to a defence – that those he represented had a voice. But the victims had a voice too. I couldn’t help but remember how my father had chuckled when I’d told him I wanted to join the police service. I could still him laughing now, and I turned up the volume on the CD player sandwiched into the dashboard of my car.
‘You’ll never really help anyone by joining the police,’ he had smiled. ‘It’s a thankless task.’
But I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to be able to help Kerry Underwood and not the man who had hurt her. That was the difference between me and my father. But in my desire to prove my father wrong, I had hurt someone very special and quite possibly put her in danger. Whether Charley really could see what had happened to Kerry Underwood or not – that’s not what made her special. It wasn’t why I felt a connection with her. I wasn’t the only one who had something to prove to their father.
With Charley at the forefront of my mind, I pulled my mobile phone from my coat pocket. The screen flickered again so I bashed it against the dashboard.
‘Charley,’ I sighed, thumbing through my contact list in search of her number. My thumb hovered over it. Her name and number stared up at me. Taking a deep breath, I placed the phone back on the dashboard. I didn’t want to add to the hurt I’d already caused … but I needed to know if she was okay.
If Charley was to be believed, there was a murderer at large and I had left her all alone. I took the phone from the dashboard again.
For God’s sake, Tom, grow some balls, I heard my father whisper as if sitting on the back seat.
And however much the memory of his voice got my back up, he was right – I needed to grow some and fast. I had left Charley alone out here where a murderer was killing young girls. What sort of cop would do a thing like that? Not a good one.
I pressed Charley’s number with my thumb.
‘The person you are calling is unable to answer …’
Charley was either in a dead patch or … I started up the engine. The clock on the dashboard read 15:47. It was beginning to get dark. Flipping on the headlights, I sped back towards the road and away from the cliffs. I needed to find her – make sure she was safe. But where to start? Most of the roads out here were nothing more than a winding maze.
Trace the route she would have taken from the dirt track and then follow it back into town, I told myself. Charley would be just fine, and once I knew she was safe, and I had taken her home, I would still have enough time to go back to the railway line and the dilapidated house and look for some clues the old fashioned way. Kerry’s phone still hadn’t been found. Charley had said the man who had taken Kerry had thrown it into some nearby bushes …
I had to try and forget what Charley had told me and get on with some good old-fashioned police work, but I knew in my heart I couldn’t. With the last of the wintery daylight fading fast, I raced back in the direction I had last seen Charley. I drove the desolate and winding roads, my fingers gripping the steering wheel. I leant forward in my seat and scanned the road for any sign of her. The daylight was fading with each passing moment. I drove around and around, peering left and right into the gloom.
Could she have reached home already? I doubted it.
It was like she had vanished. My heart started to race. I licked my tongue of dry lips. How could I have been so stupid – so cruel to someone I’d promised to help? What if Charley had gone back to that ruined building? What if she had stumbled across … what if? I saw Charley peering out at me from beneath the wheels of a train … her eyes blank …
I shook my head, desperate to rid my mind of that hideous image then realised I was back near the dirt track that led down to the railway tracks.
Killing the engine, I climbed from my car. It was almost full dark now, so I took a torch from the boot and switched it on. A thin beam of light cut through the night. A train thundered past in the distance. Pulling the collar of my coat up, I set off in the direction of the track.
I hadn’t gone very far, when I heard the sound of a girl scream in the distance. I stopped dead. Whoever is was, they sounded terrified. The scream came again and I raced through the dark towards it.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to give special thanks my wife, Lynda, and three sons, Joseph, Thomas and Zachary, for putting up with me. I would also like to thank Barry Cunningham for being the first publisher to take a chance on me, and Imogen Copper for all her advice and help. Both of you have brought out the very best in Flashes. Thank you. Thanks to my agent Peter Buckman for signing me on that cold snowy day in March and for telling me to go away and write a gripping mystery for young adults. I hope I’ve done that with Flashes.
Although Flashes was the first of my books to be signed by a publisher I had been self-publishing my stories on the internet since 2011. During that time I have sold 300,000 books and none of that would have been possible without the army of loyal fans who follow my stories and tell all their friends and family about them. So I am truly grateful to the following fans who have encouraged me: Lisa Ammari, Jennifer Martin-Green, Carles Barrios, Shanna Benedict, Carolyn Johnson Pinard, Caroline Barker, Amanda Golder, Sarah Lane, Rose Lennart, Spandana Nallamilli, Louise Chapman, James Hodson, Marsha Meadows, Rose Freeman, Toni Francis, Lindy Roberts, Zoey Burns, Roz Hilditch, Kara Cheney, Erica Paddock, Stacey Szita, Gemma Dahren, Michelle Wilton, Paul Collins Bullet, Shereen Baldwin, Courtney Jackson, Noreen Mc Cartan-Doran, Trish Diehm, Cassie Sansom, Michelle Brearley, Conny CH, Shelley Mckelvey, Cathy Douglas, Tina Altman, Shelbey Proudfoot, Teresa Walsh, Jackie McLeish, Heidi Madgwick, Claire White, Kellie Micallef, Maureen Harn, Rachel Micallef, Nereid Gwilliams, Tricia McDaniel, Jen Rosenkrans Montgomery, Wendy Wiegert, Robbie Parker, Joanne Lonsdale, Michelle Hayman, Sue McGarvie, Lieann Stonebank, Abbey Pearson, Jessica Claire, Jennifer Goehl, Maria Vargas, Stacey Tucker, Michelle Thornton, Kathy Howrey Brand, Holly Harper, Sarah Isherwood-Smith, Kiera Hayles, Savannah Harrop, Amber Mundwiller, Kathleen Guardado, MaryAnn Brittingham, Laura Wootton, Lois Li, Tara Taggart, Andreia Lopes, Kimberly Mayberry, Helen Louise Ellis, Ruth Morgan, Tina Langford, Melissa Wright, Rebecca Holloway, Cally Munn, Rachel Roddy, Sabrina Christine Quarantillo, Tina Altman, MaryAnn Brittingham, Amanda Duke Ne Carlin, Krystale Willis, Etta Mellett, Julie Garner Shaw, Lindy Roberts, Shellie Hedge, Sam McMullen, Jackie McLeish, Jen Clachrie, Amanda Anderson, Jaime-Leigh Wilton, Jordan Wilton, Jemma Wood, Barbara Grubb, Heidi Madgwick, April Harvey, Lisa Kresco-Churchey, Samantha O’Rourke, Jade Sutherland, Stephen Gibson, Kay Donley, Beata Janik, Warren
Bixby, Helen Websdale, Fiona Nelson, Gemma Rushton, Kristen Heyl, Michelle Thornton, Nikki Espiritu, Jenn Waterman, Nikki Ayres, Gayle Morell, Nichola Dickson, MaryAnn Brittingham, Lee Creed, Wayne Millard, Jenna N. Waller, Jolene Saunders, Patricia Lavery, Ally Esmonde, Julie-Anne Hope, Hannah Landsburgh, Kayleigh Morgan Griffiths, Clare O’Neil, Bernice Thomas, Abbie Robertson and Marilyn Waters.
Thank you all so much.
Hugs,
Tim XX
Text © Tim O’Rourke 2014
This electronic edition published in 2014
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