Dark Ink

by Gary Kemble

  ‘Why do people seek power?’

  He thought of everything he knew. Constable Brad Brooks had reached out to the union via Don Clack. But why was paedophile cop Marcus Wilson involved? The hairs on Harry’s neck stood on end.

  ‘Sometimes . . . sometimes it’s because they’ve been victimised.’

  Sandy went to speak but Harry held up his hand. ‘What if . . . what if she’d been raped by Marcus Wilson?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He’s a cop . . . was a cop . . . what if he raped her and she went to the cops and they buried it . . .’

  ‘You’re reaching, Harry,’ Sandy said.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why sacrifice her friend?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He rubbed his face. The clarity he’d had was fading fast.

  ‘Revenge. It’s a motive as old as time. But that’s not all of it,’ Sandy said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Harry felt weak as fatigue rolled back through his body. He wanted this to end. Then he looked at Sandy, really looked at her. Under the bruises he could see the fear. And frustration.

  ‘When I close my eyes, I see something stalking through the darkness. It’s looking for a way in.’

  Outside, wind rattled the window. A siren blared through the night before being carried off. Harry lifted his head. He felt like he was at an AA meeting, about to say those words for the first time. about to start his journey on the Twelve Steps. Part of him wanted to just go back to Mistress Hel, if she’d take him. Give himself over properly, completely. His mouth salivated at the thought. But part of him wanted to fight. The tattoo on the back of his neck thudded in time with the swallows on the backs of his hands, which were bunched into fists on his knees.

  ‘You said you could free me?’ Harry said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sandy said.

  Harry took a deep breath. ‘What do we have to do?’

  ‘Elizabeth Tawny is buried at Toowong Cemetery. If you want your life back, Harry, you need to dig her up.’

  CHAPTER 36

  Harry parked the car and turned off the engine, looking around at Dave and Sandy then out at the dark cemetery.

  ‘Sandy, will you please just wait in the car?’ Harry said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘You’ve been out of hospital, what?’ He checked his watch. ‘Twelve hours?’

  ‘I told you before, Harry,’ she said, ‘you need me.’

  It was true. Even after everything she had told him, he felt sick and fevered. He felt as though he was doing something desperately wrong, something that was going to ruin his life, even though he knew on one level that Sandy was trying to get his life back on track. He hated her for keeping him away from Mistress Hel. And he hated Dave, who had insisted that he sleep at his place. Harry suspected Dave had slipped something into the cup of tea he’d made him the night before, because after drinking it, he’d dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The cemetery was deserted. Wednesday night. No ghost tours tonight. Dave had phoned to double-check. That only left wannabe Satanists and drunk uni students, but they’d have to take their chances with those.

  He got out of the car and tentatively stretched his back. The doctor had let him discharge himself, but he was pretty sure graverobbing wouldn’t fit her definition of ‘rest’. Dave and Sandy climbed out and looked at him across the roof of the car. Dave shook his head. A light was on in the living room of the house across the road. Harry stood and watched for a few moments, contenting himself that it was left on for security rather than because someone was up. It would be hard to explain the three of them, with torch, shovel and pickaxe, in the cemetery.

  He checked up and down the road. There were no headlights coming. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, then checked again, this time for people out walking, or sitting outside their houses. Nothing.

  He popped the boot, grabbed the shovel and his backpack with his torch and water bottle in it. Dave reached in and grabbed the pickaxe.

  ‘Ready?’ Harry said.

  ‘No.’

  Harry gently closed the boot, and they made their way into the cemetery. A silvery moon sat low on the horizon, casting long shadows. Every grave marker became a tower, every stone angel transformed into a giant. They could get by without using the torch, as long as they watched where they were walking.

  Sandy led the way through the rows of graves, stopping every now and then to catch her breath and peer around. She was operating on instinct. She set off again, and Harry and Dave followed. Watching her hobbling along, Harry felt waves of guilt washing over him. He welcomed it – at the moment it was the only thing keeping him from running away. They walked in silence, cutting between the tombstones, following the ashen grass further into the cemetery.

  ‘Here,’ Sandy said.

  Harry looked up and saw the three angels staring down at him. Two were in shadow, but the one up on the plinth caught the moonlight, her white face shining.

  The plot was a relatively simple one. A headstone. Her name, birth and death dates: Taken from us too soon. A big stone slab, cracked in the middle, covered in lichen.

  They stared at it for a couple of minutes. Wind propelled leaves between the graves. Above them, red lights twinkled on the TV towers on Mt Coot-tha. Below them, late-night traffic droned along Milton Road onto Centenary Highway.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Harry said.

  He wedged the tip of the shovel under the edge of the slab. The base had fallen away an inch or so, giving him a little bit of purchase. He lifted it experimentally, feeling the weight and also the strength of the shovel.

  Dave moved in beside him, wedging the pickaxe into the gap as well. ‘I’ll lift and you push,’ he said. ‘On three. One . . . two . . . three . . .’

  Harry took the weight in his legs, the end of the shovel on his shoulder. When his legs were at full extension, he pressed up with his arms. He felt a twinge in his back. The heavy stone slab scraped against the base, the noise deafening in the deathly quiet.

  ‘How’s your back?’ Dave said.

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ He wondered what exactly was in the tablets Dave had given him before they’d headed out. ‘I bet I’ll feel it tomorrow.’

  They paused, catching their breath, listening for any sign that someone had heard them. Satisfied that they hadn’t been discovered, Harry slotted the shovel in and repeated the manoeuvre. The slab tottered on the edge of the base. Dave moved around to the other side, grabbing it by the edges.

  ‘Watch your fingers,’ Harry said. ‘On three again. One . . . two . . . three . . .’

  The slab scraped the rest of the way off the base and fell to the ground. In the distance a flying fox crashed through leaves in a tree. Other than that, they were in the clear. So far, so good.

  Under the slab was a patch of dirt, spider webs, a couple of weeds that had found enough light and moisture to grow. Harry grabbed the shovel and drove it into the ground. He pressed down with his foot, then threw the earth on the grass to the side of the grave.

  Are you being a naughty boy, Harry?

  He shivered and stopped digging. Did she know what he was doing? Dave stepped in and slammed the pickaxe into the ground, loosening the soil. They developed a steady rhythm, swapping tools every once in a while, pausing to stretch their backs and have a drink of water. Sweat was pouring off both of them, despite the cold night.

  As the moon rose, the hole grew, until Harry was standing up to his waist.

  ‘Wait!’ Sandy said. ‘Someone’s coming.’ She dropped to her haunches, then climbed into the hole with Harry and Dave.

  They listened. Wind rustled through the leaves but, under that, they could hear footsteps, then laughter.

  ‘Shit!’ Harry sat in the hole, resting, trying not to think about Mistress Hel. He had this weird feeling that thinking about her was like letting her see through his eyes. He focused on the steady thrumming sensation coming from his ribs and his back. It was getting worse.

&nbs
p; The rasping footsteps came nearer. Sandy looked into the night sky. Muffled voices. A man and a woman.

  ‘Hang on,’ the guy said.

  The sound of zipper opening, then the trickle of water against stone.

  ‘You’re going to hell, Muzz. You’re going to hell.’

  ‘Not fast enough.’

  They laughed. More footsteps, then a squeal of surprise from her.

  ‘Not here, you sicko.’

  In the darkness, Harry saw Dave’s mouth curl in a grin. Harry smiled back. He wasn’t happy exactly, but it was nice seeing something replace the angry frown that had resided on Dave’s face for the past twenty-four hours.

  The footsteps faded into the darkness. Harry and Dave waited a few moments more before moving. Dave helped Sandy out of the grave. Harry had more water then settled back to digging. He and Dave swapped tools again. The hole grew. Up to his chest, then over his head.

  He stepped on the shovel, but this time it only went down halfway before clunking against something solid. A jolt ran up his arm, into his spine. He raised his eyebrows. The moon was overhead now, lighting the ground they stood on so they still didn’t need the torch.

  Harry scraped the layer of dirt off the top of the casket with the shovel, then got on his hands and knees and brushed away more dirt. Sweat dripped off his forehead onto the dark casket lid. Dave stood at one end, watching him.

  ‘Now what?’ he said.

  ‘You climb out. Keep watch with Sandy.’

  Dave reached over the edge of the grave. Harry helped boost him out. From here, the gravestone looked very high. If it fell he would have nowhere to go. Dave looked around, then peered at Harry.

  ‘All clear.’

  Using the pickaxe, Harry cut a foothold into the dirt wall on either side of the casket. He stepped into them, taking his weight off the casket lid, then reached down to steady himself. He shuffled his hand over to the side of the casket, and tried to lift it. His back and ribs screamed in protest. His calf muscles threatened to cramp. He tried again.

  This time the lid lifted slightly, hinges groaning, then dropped back. Harry got off his footholds and stood on the edges of the casket lid. Stretched his back. It wasn’t heavy, just awkward.

  He stepped back onto the footholds, reached down, and pulled. For a moment he thought he’d lose his grip, then the hinges screamed and the lid opened. He couldn’t open it all the way, because they hadn’t dug the hole wide enough, but he got it open enough to get his feet into the casket. He was expecting a god-awful smell, but it was a dry odour, not unlike compost.

  He pulled the lid open further. Moonlight fell on the dead girl’s face. Or what was left of it – some dried skin, remnants of hair sticking up, teeth sticking out, desiccated lips drawn back in a rictus smile. She was buried in a summer dress. Seeing that flowery pattern was the worst part. Her arms were clutching a ratty teddy bear and a CD – The Killers’ Hot Fuss.

  Harry felt a wave of grief wash over him. He flashed on her and Lily Sweeney, holding hands. Suiciding together. Did this girl realise she’d been duped, right before the end?

  STOP!

  Harry jumped, stumbled, his foot slipped into the grave and he fell backwards, smashing against the casket lid. His ribcage screamed and the world greyed out.

  * * *

  ‘Harry! Harry!’

  Harry opened his eyes, looking around frantically, heart pounding in his chest, half expecting to see Mistress Hel standing behind him in the grave, as ridiculous as that was.

  ‘You okay down there?’ Sandy said.

  ‘No,’ Harry said. ‘She knows we’re here.’

  ‘She can’t know we’re here, Harry,’ Sandy said.

  ‘We need to get out of here.’

  ‘Harry. You’re safe. If you’re hearing her, it’s probably triggered by proximity. You’re safe with me. If she knew, I would know.’

  Harry stared at the dark outline of her head.

  ‘Really?’ ‘Really. Harry, you’re safe. You need to keep going.’

  Harry felt sick. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need your assistance,’ he said.

  Sandy didn’t ask questions, she just climbed down with Dave’s help. Harry stood up one end, over the girl’s head. Sandy stood down the other, using her legs to keep the lid open. Harry pivoted so that he was kneeling in the casket, straddling the body. His ribs pulsed, each breath sending a red flash through his vision. He could feel the girl’s bony hands through his jeans.

  ‘Fuck this,’ he muttered.

  Sandy reached out, touched his hand. ‘You’re doing well, Harry. Once we find it, we can go.’

  ‘Can you remind me what we’re looking for?’

  ‘In West Africa it’s called a juju but other . . .’

  Harry rubbed his face. ‘I don’t need a fucking anthropology lesson, Sandy. Just tell me what I’m looking for,’ he said. Then added a ‘Sorry’ under his breath.

  ‘A small bag, probably cotton or hemp. It will have some things inside it. A bone. Both of their blood. Some other stuff.’

  Harry pushed the CD and the teddy bear off the body. He leant forwards, feeling underneath with his hands. His head was now barely a foot away from the girl’s face. So close he could see the fillings in the teeth at the back of her mouth.

  I AM GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE! AND THEN BURN YOU!

  Harry jumped back, causing another burst of pain from his ribs. He started to climb out of the grave, then saw Sandy staring at him, concern in her eyes. Even in the gloom he could make out the bruises on her face. That was what got him back down there.

  He checked the lining of the casket, felt for something hidden behind the rotting silk. Nothing. He slid his hand along the dress, checked the pockets. Nothing.

  ‘Shit.’

  He turned, shuffled down, pulled off her shoes. Checked each one before dropping them in the bottom of the coffin.

  ‘I’m going to have to lift her up,’ Harry said. ‘There might be something underneath.’

  He grabbed the girl by the shoulders and lifted. There was nothing to her, but her body was stiff and awkward. Harry put her back down.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Dave said.

  Harry listened. The wind had picked up, making it hard to hear anything over the rasping of leaves. Cars still droned by on the road below the cemetery.

  There. Footsteps. Someone walking through the grass.

  ‘Better hurry up, guys,’ Dave said.

  He picked up the body again, and this time managed to get it on its side. The lining under the body was stained with something black and thick. Harry wished he’d thought to bring gloves. He ran his fingers along the bottom of the casket, thanking the gods that she had been dead long enough for whatever this was to have dried. But he couldn’t find any secret compartments. Couldn’t see any unusual seams in the lining that might have suggested something was hidden there.

  Harry stopped. Stared. ‘I’m an idiot,’ he said.

  He wrestled the body back into the casket. The old teddy bear was wedged between the casket and the dirt. He picked it up. Flipped it over. The stitching on the back was uneven. He showed it to Sandy.

  ‘Guys,’ Dave said, ‘someone’s coming. I’m coming down.’

  He lowered his sizeable bulk into the grave, stepping on the girl’s stomach. There was a cracking noise. He looked down and grimaced. ‘Sorry.’

  Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He looked up, hoping for a shadow or something, but there was nothing.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch. It sounded close. Very close. But there was no way to tell for sure; sounds travelled further in the depth of night. And the adrenaline coursing through his body made his hearing super-sensitive.

  They waited. Part of Harry wanted to end it, jump out of the grave and tell whoever was out there to fuck off.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  THEY’RE GOING TO FIND YOU! MY ACOLYTES ARE GOING TO KNOCK OUT YOUR TEETH AND USE YOUR MOUTH LIKE A CUNT!

  Harry c
ried out. Dave hissed at him.

  The footsteps paused, then resumed. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch . . .

  Did that sound as though the footsteps were moving away? Harry thought so. He looked at Sandy, and she shrugged.

  Harry stood and risked a peek over the top of the grave. He saw a shadowy form in the distance, heading towards the road that ran alongside the cemetery. He could see footprints in the dewy grass. The man – judging by his silhouette and the size of the footprints, Harry was sure it was a man – had stopped about ten metres away. He must’ve seen the open grave.

  And then what? Was he on a drunken walk, got freaked out and lumbered home? The pace of the retreat didn’t suggest freaked out. Stoned, maybe. Was someone watching them? Had someone followed them into the cemetery? Why not confront them while they were trapped?

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Dave said. ‘They might come back with someone.’

  In the distance, Harry thought he heard an engine start up. He listened, but the wind carried the sound away from him.

  ‘Wait,’ Harry said.

  He turned the teddy bear over in his hands, tore the back seam open. Inside was a small bag, tied at the top with twine. It was blackened and stiff. Holding it, he felt a strange sensation of power and fear, as though he was being torn in two. He showed it to Sandy. She nodded.

  PUT IT BACK! PUT IT BACK, YOU FUCKING THIEF! PUT IT BACK OR I’LL TURN YOU TO MINCE MEAT!

  Dave poked his head over the top of the grave. ‘Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

  ‘What?’ But when he looked up, he knew what. The police hadn’t bothered with the siren, but he could see the red and blue of their flashers.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Down the bottom, they’ve come in from down the bottom.’

  ‘Here,’ Harry said. He clasped his hands together and bent over. Dave stepped into them and launched himself out of the grave. Harry felt something tear, and he cried out.

  One car door slammed, then another.

  ‘Come on, Sandy, move it.’

  She stepped onto his hands. Dave took her weight and lifted her clear.

  ‘Quick!’