Flowers for the Dead

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  But then he had realised: it was them letting him down.

  He had tied himself up in knots trying to make them happy, trying to turn their lives around for them. And in the end he had even sacrificed his own happiness by killing them – setting them free so that they could find peace in death, an end to their struggles. They lived on in him though, their souls bound together forever; his garden a physical expression of that.

  Destroying the garden of remembrance had made him feel better for a while. He felt it had shown them who was boss. He told them he had seen through them and that from now on they had to toe the line with him, and he had felt so much happier as he had made his way to Colchester to see Laura.

  But then Laura had once again betrayed him.

  Only when he had stood outside his old house, watching it go up in flames to the applause of his harem, had the real revelation come. Only then had he seen things from Laura’s point of view.

  She is hurting Adam because he is hurting her.

  How can she possibly allow herself to be with him when he is full of those spirits? He is being unfaithful to her by keeping those other women with him – if she had other men, he would be furious.

  So he must do what any sane man would: end his relationship with them. Not a simple thing to do when the women are living inside you because you have taken in their souls for all eternity.

  Watching the flames destroy his old home and finally ridding himself of his mother’s voice, the answer to his problems had come to him. To prove himself worthy of Laura’s love, he must purge himself of his other lovers.

  Flames were the way he would get free.

  It would be a trial by fire worthy of the greatest stories. Once Laura saw that he was as pure as their love, he knew that she would put her doubts to one side and they would be together. Love conquers all.

  In the glade full of snowdrops, he now looks into Laura’s eyes and he can feel the love consuming him. It is all over his skin, the heat is incredible, the pain horrifying. But he can get through it for her. She is scared for him, shrieking in disbelief, but that is because she does not understand what is happening – in the end all will be revealed to her.

  The spirits do not want to leave Adam though. He can feel them resisting with all their strength, hurting him. But the pain is good, it means his plan is working and soon the women will go.

  They cling to him, clawing at his flesh, their cries rising into a discordant crescendo. Julie is the first to go, she has not had time to burrow as deep into him as the others. He feels her spirit flare as suddenly as a match being struck then snuffed out. Sharon, screaming like a banshee, is seared away next. Alex and Sandra put up a fight, rising up inside him and shredding his flesh as they try to stay, begging and crying for mercy. But he has given them all the mercy he has; now, finally, Adam is being selfish.

  Irene is next. She slaps him and shakes him, beseeches and wheedles. Her words are hot lava dripping on his body. He moans in agony, almost gives in, but looking at Laura gives him the strength to carry on.

  Soon he will be purged of their taint and cleansed of their denigration. As each woman is seared away, leaving behind a cauterized wound on his soul, he can feel himself lightening. His only wonder is that he had not seen the truth before: that these women were selfish. All he had wanted was to make them happy, but they had been intent on stopping him from finding his own happiness, just as his mother had.

  The pain is overwhelming him though. Adam is being consumed by the dragon’s breath of his gran’s fairy tales. In agony, he cries out, but he knows that if he is truly to be purged he must go through this horror. Then and only then can he be reborn, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. This is the moment his whole life has been leading up to.

  Only Lisa is left now. He can feel her talons ripping and tugging at his flesh, determined to stay anchored inside him. It hurts, oh God, it hurts! He steps towards Laura to embrace her, to seek comfort. But his legs won’t work.

  Then he screams too. His cries joining Laura’s as he falls to the floor.

  ***

  Laura rails against the ropes binding her in place. They bite into her flesh until she bleeds but she doesn’t care, she is a wild animal willing to chew off its own leg in order to get away. The man in front of her is a Roman candle, totally consumed by flames. All apart from his eyes, which remain locked on her as if she can somehow douse him.

  Utter terror has her in its grip as he falls at her feet. Petrol has splashed on her feet and clothes, and she will go up herself any second if she cannot break free.

  “Someone help me! Please God, someone help me!” she screams.

  An orange flame blossoms round one ankle of her jeans, and the rope looped around it. Laura tries frantically to kick snow up, to move her leg so that the fire is doused. Yanks at her bonds until one arm pops from the shoulder socket. She screeches in agony, but keeps on pulling.

  ***

  Mike can hear screams echoing through the trees. He crashes through undergrowth, trying to see past the trunks. He must be getting closer, he can smell burning flesh and hair.

  There, ahead of him! A ball of flames.

  He doesn’t think, just whips his mac off, throws it over the burning body. It writhes beneath his hands as he pats at it. The smell makes him want to wretch, a horrific barbecue of crispy human flesh.

  Mike throws snow over the body.

  “Roll him!” shouts a voice beside him. Laura on her knees, shoving at the body with one hand, the other dangling uselessly. The two fight side by side to douse the flames.

  Suddenly the living cremation stops screaming. Mike can barely make out a face in the destruction. Everything is black or suppurating red. Peeling, blistered. The nose has gone, ears melted away, and the flesh looks like the wax drips left on bottles used as candleholders in bad Italian restaurants. The lips have completely disappeared in a parody of Adam’s own crimes, a charred empty hole where the mouth should be.

  The black hole opens, a rasping noise issuing from it. Flames have burned all the way down to Adam’s lungs as he breathed in, incinerating his trachea.

  “Don’t speak, don’t say anything, I’m going to call an ambulance,” Mike tells Adam, fumbling for his phone.

  He turns to Laura. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, while dialling.

  She does not reply. Cannot seem to tear her eyes from the ruined man she kneels beside. Her face is grey tinged with green. Her right trouser leg and right sleeves are smoking but there are no flames. The charred remains of rope still circle her left wrist.

  Now the action is over, she is sliding into shock, Mike realises. “Did he hurt you, Laura?” he repeats.

  “What…he’s…is…” Her teeth are chattering and she cannot seem to form more than single, disjointed words.

  Mike checks her over, notes her dislocated right arm, and barks instructions down the phone. When he is finished he helps her stand.

  “Are you hurt?” he tries again.

  “No, no, I don’t think so… Wh-wh-what’s he done? Is...is he…? Oh God, he’s not is he? He’s dead? Oh Jesus Christ… I tried to save him. Why? Why did he kidnap me and kill himself in front of me?”

  All Mike can make out after that is little whimpers.

  “Laura, listen to me. Help is coming, okay? Will you be all right while I check on Adam?”

  She nods, but it is hard to tell if her shaking body is making her do it. Still, Mike leans over to check on the charred body of Adam Bourne.

  His lipless mouth is moving. He is trying to speak.

  Mike leans forward.

  ***

  Adam looks up into kind brown eyes.

  This must be the woodsman.

  Hansel and Gretel. Little Red Riding Hood. Snow White. Adam.

  Adam has been rescued at last, ready to live happily ever after.

  He gives a gasp as Lisa finally lets go and floats free. The relief! No longer weighed down, he sees the world in its pristine state. He is no lon
ger a dirty boy, he has been made into an immaculate man.

  He tries to smile but nothing will work properly, although the pain has stopped. He has all the answers to all the stories now. Staring into twinkling teddy bear eyes, Adam wants to pass on his newfound wisdom. He takes a deep breath to speak at last.

  Mike leans forward, straining to hear what Adam has to say. But all he can make out is a tortured groan. It is a death rattle. Adam has gone. There are no last words.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  ~ Star Of Bethlehem ~

  Reconciliation

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  The spring bumblebees buzz deep and lazy, glinting amber in the gentle May sunshine. Mike stands looking at the small patch of grass dotted with daisies and buttercups outside Colchester Police Station, listening to the traffic go by on the busy road. Rubs his hands together against the slight chill of the early morning, and reflects that the shiny burn scars from where he had patted Adam out with them are barely noticeable now.

  He sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then blows out, the vapour hanging in front of him like smoke for a second. This had been Mike’s favourite smoking place for years, and as he turns to go inside he looks at the brick that has scorch marks on it from him repeatedly stubbing out cigarettes. Part of him laments the fact that he does not do that any more but he cannot stand the smell of smoke these days. Even burnt toast sends a shiver up his spine and brings memories of Adam’s charred body flooding back. Mike has even given up meat because it reminds him too much of the serial killer’s remains. He is dreading summer for its barbecues.

  On the plus side though he has managed to make his daughter a very happy girl by quitting smoking forever thanks to Adam’s agonising demise. He pulls her latest note out of his pocket and gives a growly chuckle, his belly dancing up and down.

  It is a drawing of a princess with a big smile on her face, and below her is written: “Thank you for not being smokey.”

  Mike does not miss smoking, but he does miss the fag breaks, which is what has brought him outside now. He puts his hands back into the pockets of his smart tweed knee-length coat, still very much mourning the loss of the mac, which had suffered too many scorch marks to be recovered. He still misses it. But Daisy thinks he looks handsome in this coat, and who is he to argue.

  Time to head back to his desk. Mike trudges inside and the desk sergeant, Biggs, instantly catches his eye.

  “There’s a visitor for you,” he says, nodding towards the seated area. The movement makes the tiny strands of his comb-over fly up. Mike is not sure why anyone would choose to look like a dandelion clock, and reflexively runs a hand over his own bald patch as he looks over to where Biggs has indicated. Laura is standing up to greet him.

  She looks a lot better than last time they saw each other, when he had insisted on taking her statement the day after Adam had died. This despite his hands being wrapped up like a boxer’s ready for a bout, because of the injuries he had sustained patting out the flames. His beard had looked decidedly sorry for itself too, with bare patches and frazzled ends here and there.

  Laura had been in worse shape though. Her right arm in a sling after doctors had popped it back into its socket, scabs running around her wrists from the ropes that had held her in place. Her hands also covered in burns. Yet she had managed a smile, insisting that she was just glad to be alive.

  Mike had really respected her strength of character for that. He had respected her even more for trying to help the man who had kidnapped and terrorised her. No one would have blamed her for running in the opposite direction when the flames had burned through the ropes holding her, and she had broken free. Instead, she had run towards her stalker. At the time she had stuttered it was what her parents would have wanted her to do.

  “Hi! I wanted to come and thank you again for everything you did for me,” she says now. Her blue eyes are bright and she is looking happy and healthy.

  “There’s no need,” smiles Mike.

  “Yeah, well, I think there is. I might not be alive today if it weren’t for you. And it feels pretty good to be alive!

  “I, umm, I had a hard time dealing with life after my family’s death. I felt guilty for being alive. But now I know it really is what they would want - and more importantly, it’s what I want too.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that.” Mike is thinking about Mags and how he felt after losing her. The first time he had laughed he had been eaten up with guilt. But then he had realised how ridiculous that was, especially as he had been laughing with Daisy at the time.

  “Actually, I’ve come to say thanks but also goodbye,” beams Laura. “I’m leaving Colchester for a while.”

  “Oh right, going anywhere nice?”

  “Yeah, I’ve sold my flat – didn’t have the best memories associated with it.” She gives a wry chuckle. “But I’m using the money to go travelling for a year. It’s time to live and experience new things, broaden my horizons, you know. And I figure I’ve had two near death experiences and survived so I think I can deal with pretty much anything life can throw at me now.

  “There are so many things I want to see and do. The Great Barrier Reef, blue whales breeching the water, skydiving.” Her eyes are shining with enthusiasm as she talks. “When I get back I’ll probably finish my nursery nursing studies, make my parents proud.”

  “That sounds a really great idea.”

  She nods. “Have you ever been to Australia or Thailand?”

  “Nah, I’m more of a caravan in Britain kind of guy,” he smiles.

  While Laura’s route to happiness lies in travelling, Mike has decided the opposite. He and Daisy will be staying put in Colchester, the move to Reading cancelled. This is where his happiest memories are, and his support network is strongest; something that had really been hammered home to him when he had been injured.

  Laura’s smile clouds for a moment. “I’ve got to ask,” she says hesitantly. “Do you have any idea why Adam Bourne did what he did?”

  Mike shakes his head. “Don’t think we’ll ever know. We don’t even know for certain how he met his victims, they had nothing in common at all apart from being lone females.”

  “I suppose some people are just born twisted,” she replies.

  Mike scratches his beard thoughtfully. In his experience some people are. And some people are made that way.

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTES & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First, an author’s note. Although there is a private park in Moseley, I have taken certain liberties with history, and also changed the name of the company that set it up (which was actually Moseley Park and Pool Estate Company). Other details have also been changed through the novel, and it is important to remember that this is a work of fiction, not a factual book. Certainly there is no suggestion that any owners of property in that area, living or dead, have ever been serial killers!

  Writing is a solitary business, and yet there are so many people who I couldn’t have done this without. My partner Paul Humphreys not only puts up with me when I am busy despairing about plots, but also creates my book covers for me. My mom has unfailing patience when listening to me talk non-stop about my books for months on end.

  Thanks to Andrew Cumberworth for his scientific know-how, and my brother-in-law Terry Pryme, for their help in trying to kill Sara and Graeme Bourne in a car crash. Thanks also to my cousin, Julie, for her psychological insight into Adam, and her unstinting support.

  Three of Adam’s tragic murder victims are named after real people who wanted to be part of my book: Julie Clayton, Lisa Brookman, and Sharon Humphreys, take a bow. If you fancy being a character in my next book, watch out for competitions on my Facebook page (AuthorBarbaraCopperthwaite) and Twitter feed (@BCopperthwait).

  I really hope you enjoy my books – and if you do, please leave a quick review on Amazon, etc. It’s so lovely to hear from you!

  rs for the Dead