by Jackson Lear
Emily pulled back into the doorway. “I’m telling Dad.”
Daniel’s face contorted in a split second as tears rocketed from behind the barricade. He shoved his way past his sister, hurtled down the stairs, and ran out the front door.
“Hey! You can’t leave the house!” Emily shouted. “It’s not safe outside!”
Daniel didn’t even close the door as he left. All that mattered was getting as far away as possible while wishing his sister would drop dead before she told anyone about what she found.
It took Daniel two hours of walking around town before he came up with a nervous plan. Even doing that wasn’t easy as every adult locked eyes with him, convinced that they had seen him rummaging through their backyards and identifying him as the one who’d had sex with the woman in the tunnel.
His legs carried him to the field along Blyth Street. A few under-18s were warming up for a rugby game. Daniel kept on walking, refusing to let them see him cry. He made it to the stone bridge just ahead and climbed down to the water’s edge.
He was in the Beast’s territory now, no question there. He crawled under the archway, away from every set of prying eyes, and did his best to ignore the thump overhead of almost every car hitting the bridge above the speed limit. The smell of decaying leaves hit his nostrils as the water carried them from right to left. There was also a faint stench of urine along the walls.
Daniel pulled out his phone, sniffed back a tear, and shakily wrote an email. He got halfway through before realising that he no idea who to send it to.
‘To Mr and Mrs Bukowski. Hello. My name is Daniel Whitmoore. I am thirteen years old. I met your daughter Zofia on the last day she was alive. I think James McIntyre killed her. He said he was going to let her go but then she turned up dead. I haven’t seen James since that day and if he does see me again he will probably try to kill me like he tried to kill my friend Warrick. Zofia was crying and I didn’t try to help her. She was scared of James. We all were.’
Daniel looked over his feeble attempt at writing a last confession and felt his mind rattle with the many different things he wanted to say nothing made sense anymore. The police had never mentioned publicly that she’d had sex just before she died. Maybe the police weren’t interested in that and they only wanted to find whoever killed her. Even so, Daniel kept writing.
‘I know I’m going to Hell.’
Daniel stared at that last line until his hands trembled beyond control.
For the twentieth time that day, his mum called. The first phase of his plan needed only the courage to confess. It had taken two hours to get himself there but even so it was easier than what would have to come next. What became increasingly clear was that he wouldn’t be able to do it without a little more encouragement.
“Where the hell are you?!” Carol screamed. “You know you’re not allowed out of the house! There are people outside who are trying to kill your friends and you wander off by yourself?”
Daniel hung up the phone. Perhaps Emily had not yet told her about the underwear or the videos on the computer. A sliver of hope appeared before him as he called Emily’s phone.
“Where the fuck are you?” Emily whispered.
The moment he heard her voice his future crystallised in one suffocating moment. Maybe she hadn’t told Mum and Dad yet, but she would. So would Ian. Even his own best friend couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. He was probably blabbing to his own mum right now. And if by some miracle Ian kept his exaggerations to himself then the police would catch James and he would tell them everything.
“I’m not coming home,” said Daniel.
“Don’t you dare think you’re going to stay out any longer. Mum went ballistic and Dad is out driving around looking for you. They grounded me again for not keeping you home.”
“I’m not coming home,” said Daniel again.
“You better come home before they find you!”
“They won’t find me,” said Daniel.
“Oh yes they will. Dad is pissed!”
Daniel waited a few seconds to let the air clear, before saying again: “I’m not coming home.”
Emily rolled her eyes. Then her brother’s tone started to sink in. “What, like you’re at a friend’s house?”
Daniel could hear his mum talking in the background and getting closer.
“Who is that?” Carol asked. “Is that Daniel? That better be Daniel.” Carol then came onto the line. “Daniel? Don’t you dare hang up on me! You better come home now! Don’t you know how dangerous it is out there?”
Daniel hung up.
He stayed under that bridge for another half an hour, tempting his fate. If only the Beast would come and put him out of his misery. That way he would get a fighting chance at being remembered as a tragic victim, not as a runaway rapist. But, after half an hour, his body was numb from the cold concrete and some kind of plan had taken hold.
He shifted his weight, steadied his balance, and headed along the stream. He had climbed up and down these embankments a hundred times looking for the Beast, sometimes with the gun in his pocket, sometimes with a knife, and once at midnight with nothing more than a can of hairspray and a lighter. Now he didn’t even bother to check over his shoulder to see if something was charging after him. If it happened, it happened.
He veered up towards the rugby game. To the far left side, away from the main road, was James’ Smith and Wesson, buried in the corner of the hedge. Daniel crept along the side of the field with his head down, trying to remain inconspicuous while several boys four years older than him ran back and forth, trying to drop their opponents onto the ground and force a concussion.
Daniel crouched down to the corner of the hedge and began picking at the ground. The roots of a nearby hedge had tried to reclaim the land, but after some pulling and ripping at the ground Daniel was able to reach into the dirt and pull out a very dirty silver barrelled handgun.
He hid it under his t-shirt, walked back along the hedge towards the river, caught sight of the referee who was eyeballing him, and trotted as quickly as he could before an adult could shout at him for being outside without supervision. He hurried across to the other side of the embankment with one goal – to find the Beast and provoke a fight.
He checked the gun over and wished he had saved one last bullet for right about now.
Daniel’s nerves gave out on him as he stumbled into a clearing. Just ahead was the tunnel where they found Zofia. It had taken him longer than he expected, and truth be told he hoped to never find his way back there. Now the black concrete greeted him like the grinning face of the Devil, harrowing him with every past sin as it beckoned the boy to join him in the depths of Hell.
Daniel noted the spot where he had passed out like a coward, then came the flash of watching helplessly as Ian ventured back to the tunnel to learn the truth. Ian had climbed inside, slowly disappearing into the dark. His friend could have been sucked into the mouth of Hades, either by the living Beast or from Zofia returning to life and ripping him apart. Daniel would have been left on the outside, listening to Ian’s paralysing screams. A set of eyes would slowly emerge from the darkness. They would know that Ian hadn’t come alone. Even a month later, from the confines of his own bed, those eyes kept him company late at night.
Daniel crept forward. He wished he had the guts to call for the Beast to show himself, but the creature had not been seen in a month. And with all of the police activity in the area lately even someone as dumb as the Beast would see how stupid it was to linger anywhere near that tunnel.
Then again, the police hadn’t found Zofia. Or the Beast. Or James. They hadn’t even found Catherine Shievers on their own.
Daniel reached the mouth of the tunnel. He tugged on the grate blocking the entrance. A shiny new padlock was fixed in place, no doubt by the police. Daniel peered into the listless dark. Perhaps the Beast hadn’t been seen in a month because the police managed to lock him inside that tunnel. Maybe he was chained to the horrors he ha
d created, slumped forward, moaning for help, rattling those chains that unseated Daniel’s deepest nightmares.
Daniel pulled out the gun and aimed it forward, hoping to shoot his fears away with the first click. As soon as the hammer snapped forward he saw a flash of Warrick doing the same.
It was another hour before he heard his father shout his name. “Daniel!”
Daniel spun around, dumped with a downpour of nerves that splintered through his entire body. He raised the gun up in defence, then saw the frantic eyes of his dad staring back at him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Martin Whitmoore called out.
Only one word sprung at him: run.
He darted to the side, tossed the gun somewhere into the trees, and burst into tears as he stumbled down that slope. Emily had found part of his stash. If they hadn’t already found what was on his computer, they soon would. They would never speak to him again. They would tell the police and he would go to prison. They would tell the school and everyone in town would know that it was his decision to hide in The Den in the first place. It was he who first went off to grab James the whiskey. He was the one who convinced Ian and Warrick to go and get some bullets. He jerked off into his sister’s knickers and had felt invincible afterwards. Then he was the first to fuck Zofia and the first to find her in the tunnel.
God, how he wished he had kept one bullet in reserve.
The crumbling slope got the better of him and momentum flung his body forward. Daniel tumbled, hit the ground with a heavy thud and winced against a sharp pain in his wrist. His legs flew up over his back and hung in mid-air for an age.
Somehow he kept moving. He pushed himself off the ground, climbed to his knees, and found the strength to keep moving. Ahead of him were the train tracks.
An end to it all.
If he had the strength to move forward, to stay between the rails while the train charged at his back, then maybe …
The world seemed to fade away and he could picture the Beast racing towards him, ready to slash his face and neck and eat him alive. Then he saw James McIntyre beat his own face in with the side of the gun before riddling his body with bullets. He saw the look on Emily’s face and was certain that his mum and dad would soon know everything. Then the police would know. Then everyone would know.
Daniel stared at the parallel rails of the train tracks as it dawned on him that he had never actually been this close to them before. Now all he had to do was wait. He just had no idea when the next train would arrive.
Emily’s look of disgust rang through his mind. In a distant second place was Zofia crying as he had sex with her.
Daniel tried to stand perfectly still, but even so he lost his balance and slipped to the side. He walked it off, staying within a foot of the tracks, until he found the courage to actually step into the middle of them. A voice inside told him that he would never be able to face a train standing up. He would have to kneel to stop himself from passing out and falling to safety like a coward.
All I have to do is wait.
The rocks jabbed him in his knees and shins, but after a little shimmying about the pointed stones were no longer an issue. He knelt down, stared at his knees, and willed the train to come.
“DANIEL!” his father screamed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Daniel glanced to the side and felt himself mumble. “I’m letting the train do it.”
Martin ran as fast as he could with a jagged breath clearing the distance in just a few seconds. Daniel didn’t have the time to get out of the way. He ducked to the side but Martin was too quick. He ran in and got a good hold of Daniel’s arm before Daniel could squirm himself free, before Martin pulled with all of his strength.
“What the hell are you doing?” Martin screamed.
All Daniel could think at that moment was that this would be the same tone his father would use as soon as the truth came out. He resisted as best he could, but his best lasted for all of five seconds. After that, his mind turned to mush as his dad seized control of the situation.
Martin pulled Daniel free and dragged him clear of the train tracks.
“Walk!” Martin shouted, but his son lay limp and spaced out. Martin stood over Daniel, heaving with every breath and shaking beyond control. The run down the slope had nearly killed him, which was nothing compared to the sight of seeing his only son first pointing a gun at him and then kneeling on the train tracks. Martin had used up every ounce of strength, leaving his arms and legs to quiver with fright.
A train shot by the Whitmoore’s without incident, leaving Daniel to burst into tears.
Martin cast a mental look at the passengers, wondering what they would have thought at the sight of a grown man standing with his back to the train, while his son lay in a heap on the ground, crying. Somewhere, maybe a mile away, was his car. Between that and here was a blubbering mess of a teenager, a steep slope that lasted a hundred yards, and the scene of two grizzly crimes.
Martin pulled out his phone and called his wife. “I’ve found him.”
“What the hell are you doing by the train tracks?” Carol asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve found him. I’ll bring him home as soon as I can.”
“What are you doing by the train tracks?”
Martin hung up. The GPS tracker had helped him save his son, but for the life of him he had no idea how to tell Carol that their son had just tried to kill himself.
Martin lowered himself down, juggled Daniel into position, and lifted him off the ground. Thus began the hour long climb back up the valley, through the embankment, across the field, and to the car.
69
Claire
“Don’t tell them anything about Zofia,” she had said. “Don’t tell them you had sex with her. Don’t mention James McIntyre. Tell them only what you know from today. Did you see him at all?”
Ian had shaken his head.
“Good. If they ask you who you think attacked Warrick, what will you tell them?”
“The Beast did it.”
“Good.”
Claire waited at the police station while Ian was talking to one of the officers. The best lawyer she could afford was in there with him.
‘Good’ lurched in her chest. It’s not lying to the police, its keeping them focussed on Warrick’s attack.
Martin Whitmoore sat across from her, scrolling through a phone. He had come with a lawyer as well. His leg jostled up and down like he had drunk far too much caffeine that day. It wasn’t until he got a call on a second phone, his, that Claire’s pulse spiked.
He has Daniel’s phone. The one with me on it. Don’t give it to the police. Don’t give it to the police. Don’t give it to the police or everything will unravel.
70
Josh
Josh’s day had been largely uneventful until two o’clock. Then he received a message from Claire.
‘There was an intruder in the school today. One of Ian’s friends had his head beaten in. He’s probably not going to survive.’
“Holy fuck,” Josh muttered. For the third time that summer Luxford was in front of the lens. According to the news write up, a tall middle-aged man wearing black clothing and a bathrobe walked into St. Bart’s and beat a thirteen year old boy nearly to death in the middle of his classroom. All of the other students ran for their lives and the teacher was powerless to stop the man, who appeared to be in a frenzy. The attacker then fled the scene.
‘Did Ian see it?’ Josh asked, figuring at worst, Ian was sitting in the chair next to the poor kid and saw it happen right in front of him.
‘No. He was in another room. It was Warrick, part of the trio of friends. The one who found Zofia and was then chased off.’
That one slapped Josh with surprise. He knew of Warrick but hadn’t met the kid. Still, the answer seemed as clear as day: Toads waited until he knew where Warrick was, snuck into the school, and finished the job of trying to kill him.
He kept his phone in sight at all times,
waiting to see if another message or even a phone call came through. He was still hoping to get a reply from Hannah, but the last message he sent to her was from last week and she still hadn’t responded.
Four hours later, the silence of an empty house was broken when his phone rang. With a fumble and a click, Josh got to it in time. “Hey, what’s happening?”
“Are you able to come over to my place?” asked Amanda.
Josh paused at the tone in her voice, one he had heard only once or twice from her before. “Sure. What’s up?”
“It’s important you come over. Right away. And don’t tell anyone.”
Twenty minutes later, Josh found out what the emergency was. Anthony was pacing around Amanda’s living room, seething with uncontrolled rage and destruction.
“I’m going to strangle that cocksucker myself,” Anthony muttered. “Choke him until his eyes pop out of his skull.”
“He’s been like this for a while,” Amanda whispered to Josh.
Josh stepped forward and held onto Anthony’s forearm. “Anthony? Buddy? Who are you wanting to strangle?”
“James McIntyre,” said Anthony, then he pointed at Amanda and snapped. “And she knows, you can find out everything from her.”
“Easy, buddy,” said Amanda. “You talk to me like that again and I’ll kick you out of here.”
“Then I’ll go off and murder that bastard,” Anthony said.
That name clanged somewhere in the back of Josh’s mind. “What’s going on?”
Amanda pulled Josh to the side but kept a constant eye on Anthony. “I don’t know all of their names, but Ian has two other friends. One was the one who James McIntyre clubbed in the head today.”
Josh reeled back and shook his head. “Woah, hang on. They think James McIntyre did it?”
“Yeah.”
“What about Toads? If anyone was going to do it, it would have been him.”