by Tom Hoyle
The man with her was Alistair – Abbie loathed his pinched, pale face more than ever. Whereas Abbie could imagine that Vee was a reasonable, if peculiar, person in the outside world, Alistair was a wasp of a man. He was often with Bolleskine, snivelling and whispering, spinning his nastiness. Abbie felt as if she was allergic to him.
‘Abbie, come with us,’ snarled Alistair. ‘We have something to show you.’
‘I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind,’ said Abbie in a low tone. She still saw hints of spiders in the corners of the room and was sure there was one in the corridor outside. Knowing that they were hallucinations didn’t help. The drug was too powerful.
‘No,’ he barked, ‘it’s not an invitation; it’s an instruction.’
Abbie wondered what Alistair had been before he came to Castle Dreich. Probably a teacher who enjoyed making kids cry, or an inflexible traffic warden sticking tickets on disabled people’s cars, a small man desperate for power and the opportunity to be disgusting.
‘OK,’ said Abbie. ‘I’m cooperating now.’ She stood up to show her willingness.
‘We wouldn’t want to punish you,’ leered Alistair.
I bet you would , thought Abbie.
‘Come along . . . or we’ll have to teach you a lesson,’ he whispered, staring, eyes like marbles behind thick glasses.
Abbie was led down through the building, emerging on to the central staircase, off which there were rooms big enough to host many people, as well as one that was a large sitting room.
At the bottom of the stairs was the front door.
‘Look,’ said Vee. She pulled back a bolt and clicked up an old-fashioned latch. Wind blew the door open an inch. ‘No lock to stop you getting out.’
Abbie’s mind began to whirl. She had assumed that there would be extensive security.
‘Of course,’ said Alistair, his reedy voice sarcastic and dismissive, regardless of the words, ‘we know when the door is opened, and there’s other security in the valley, but everything is designed to keep people out .’
Vee locked and unlocked the door again to show that it wasn’t a trick. ‘Always the same.’
Abbie stretched out her hand and pulled open the large wooden door. It was heavy and solid, but well-oiled and opened easily. Light from the castle shone about twenty yards across the track that swept past the front door and alongside the loch. At its end, Abbie knew, was the main road.
‘Let’s go out into the darkness.’ Alistair gestured towards the open door.
‘I’m not going out there with you,’ said Abbie, ready to fight, considering a dash for freedom. ‘No way.’ They would have to pin her down again and force far more of the drug into her before she went anywhere with him.
Vee stepped out and wandered to the edge of the gloom. ‘Come with me then,’ she suggested, holding out her hand. It was the hand that had slapped Abbie yesterday.
Abbie forced herself on, step by step, both terrified and intrigued, hoping to learn as much as she could. She could hear Alistair’s sniffing behind her; perhaps an occasional chuckle.
At the edge of the darkness, Vee grabbed Abbie’s arm and Alistair pushed himself next to her, pinning her tight. ‘You slimy bastard,’ Abbie said instinctively.
He ignored her. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘stretch out your hand into the darkness.’
Abbie pushed her hand forward, the only sound her slow deep breaths. At first, there was nothing, then, a little further on, she felt . . . She wasn’t sure. A branch . Maybe a tree?
‘Go on,’ Alistair said in her ear. ‘See what it is.’
What? Abbie thought. It’s got thorns. A bush?
But there were no trees near the castle.
Then something soft. Hair. A tooth.
No – fangs.
‘I know what it is,’ said Abbie, ‘and I don’t want to stay here any more.’
‘Say the word,’ taunted Alistair.
‘S-spi-spider.’ I must be as hard as nails , thought Abbie.
‘You see what a horrible world we live in,’ said Vee. ‘We must escape these demons and go to the promised place.’
‘And you’re wrong,’ said Alistair. ‘Not a spider.’ His face was turned towards Abbie, spittle glistening on his lips. ‘Spiders.’
He pushed Abbie forward into spiders that swarmed around her: small spiders ticked across her skin and were caught in her hair, larger spiders clung to her legs and arms, and the largest of all were like thick bushes and curtains, hemming her in, nudging her from side to side.
‘None of this is happening,’ shouted Abbie as she tore and spun around in the darkness. ‘It’s not real!’ But the drug coursed through the blood vessels in her brain, tiny pellets of poison, turning the darkness into her greatest fear.
Smothered in spiders, she could see a dull light and lunged awkwardly towards it, falling into Alistair’s waiting arms. ‘Get off me,’ she screamed, pushing him away and stumbling back towards the castle door, then running inside.
‘You see why we don’t lock the door,’ Alistair laughed after her. ‘Sleep well!’
Vee turned to Alistair. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, Alistair. She doesn’t realize what an evil place this world is and how desperately we need to escape it.’
‘I think she does,’ said Alistair, smiling as Abbie ran up the stairs. ‘But give her more of our medicine. Let her see things very clearly.’
CHAPTER 22
OLIVER VS ADAM (TUESDAY 16TH DECEMBER 2014)
The police could tell immediately that Megan was not like the troublesome teenagers they usually dealt with.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘this is a major incident.’ Even the words major incident sounded peculiar from a fifteen-year-old. ‘Please just stop that man over there, the one walking towards the Land Cruiser.’ Megan was careful not to overstate her case. ‘Just talk to him, don’t arrest him. He’s the man who was after me.’ She pointed, desperate.
Abbie’s father was opening the passenger door when the police called to him to stop.
‘Thank you,’ said Megan, seeing light at the end of the tunnel. ‘Don’t forget that number plate, and make sure you get that one as well.’ She pointed firmly at the 4x4 just ahead of them.
‘Thank you, madam ,’ said a policeman, who then jogged towards the Land Cruiser, calling for it to stop.
Abbie’s father was just about to get in. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, officer?’
‘We’ve received a report that you’ve been acting suspiciously.’ The officer, peering in the car, saw two other men, one of them Bolleskine. ‘Can you tell us what you’re doing here, sir?’
Bolleskine raised his eyebrows in surprise at the question.
Abbie’s father also looked innocent. ‘A bit of skiing, we hope, if the snow stays.’
‘And why were you out of the car?’
He pulled energy drinks out of his pocket and chuckled. ‘We’re not as young as we used to be!’
‘Can I see some ID, sir?’
Mark Hopkins had been waiting for this. ‘Yes, I think so.’ He pulled a wallet out of his jacket and removed a card rather like a driving licence.
At the top left, the ID card had a golden sea lion surrounded by roses and portcullises, with the words Regnum Defende underneath, then MI5 The Security Service . ‘I’ve been in the service for over twenty years,’ he said, half apologetically. He looked carefully at the police officer, who had been joined by a colleague. ‘If there’s any trouble, I’ll be sure to let you know. Please do take down my service number –’ he pointed at a long series of numbers and letters at the top right – ‘and the number plate of this car.’
The policeman looked back at Megan and then at Commander Mark Hopkins, MI5 Intelligence Officer Grade 10.
Megan could see that there was a complication.
‘Perhaps calling a number will clear things up?’ suggested Commander Hopkins casually. ‘Do you have a pen?’ It was a London number, someone in Thames House who would vouch for
him.
Megan turned to the policewoman by her side. ‘What can be taking so long?’ she said in a high-pitched, slightly frantic voice. ‘The others are getting away.’ She could see the policeman using his mobile phone. Megan moved a little closer to the policewoman. ‘There’s a boy involved in this as well – he’s called Oliver Arkwright.’
To Megan’s horror, the policeman started smiling at the people in the car. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Why is he just letting them go?’
She realized that if they had been let go, Adam was again in danger. She turned to the policewoman. ‘Adam Grant, the missing boy, is on the train that has just left. You need to get police officers to him as soon as possible.’
Adam was relieved when the train pulled away from Aviemore with no one who looked dangerous having boarded. Before long he would be in Edinburgh, could walk into a major police station and maybe mention some of the senior police officers he had dealt with in the aftermath of the previous Christmas.
The Scottish countryside slid past as the train headed to the next station, Kingussie. The track was hemmed in by frosty mountains on both sides. Adam saw a couple of lochs and the blue thread of the River Spey on his left, but his thoughts were back in Aviemore, outside the railway station with Megan. He pictured the handcuffing of snarling criminals, with Megan directing proceedings, and he smiled.
A Scottish announcer interrupted his imaginings. ‘The next station is Kingussie.’ Adam saw that it was a very small town, with about ten people dotted along the platform. He sank deep into his seat.
At the far end, where Adam couldn’t quite see, was Oliver. With him was a tall, slim man with a large birthmark on his left cheek and glasses balanced on his thin nose. He had been pacing up and down the platform, looking carefully at the waiting passengers; he now kept a close eye on the entrance. When the train arrived, Oliver’s job was to quickly search the carriages, starting at the front of the train.
Oliver saw no one in the first carriage even vaguely like Adam: families sat restlessly while other travellers concentrated on books or gazed out the window.
Then Oliver checked the second carriage, looking carefully at everyone.
Another boy stared back, confusion and annoyance immediately combining and multiplying. ‘What you looking at?’ he said to Oliver in a no-nonsense Glaswegian accent as he yanked headphones from his ears. ‘Have you got a problem?’
Oliver looked carefully at him for two or three seconds, then lost interest and went to the third and final carriage. About half the places were occupied – but it was easy to spot Adam low in his seat, looking out of the window. Oliver ducked back and beckoned to Alistair to join him, but at that moment the doors bleeped and closed, leaving Alistair slapping his hand against the window as the train pulled away.
Adam looked up towards the noise of the man trying to get on and spotted an innocent-looking pale-faced boy with blond hair: Oliver.
The train was gathering speed.
Adam glanced at the door between the carriages, then looked back at Oliver and cagily said, ‘Hi.’ He reckoned that Oliver wouldn’t start a fight on a train.
The train was rattling along past snow-covered fields as Oliver came towards Adam, muttering into his mobile phone with one hand and reaching in his pocket with the other. ‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ he said as he put the phone away, ‘we want to help you.’
There were some wary looks from other passengers, but they were not about to get involved in an altercation between two teenagers.
‘I thought you were my friend,’ said Adam. ‘I trusted you.’
‘You are a very important person,’ Oliver replied. ‘You just don’t see it. Yet.’
As Oliver reached for the syringe, Adam stood up, pushing Oliver’s arm away and shoulder-barging him towards the seats opposite, where he fell on to a man reading a newspaper.
Most passengers now made sure that they were busily occupied, but one elderly lady shouted, ‘You boys should behave yourselves!’
Adam pressed the button to open the doors between the carriages, swaying slightly with the movement of the train, as Oliver disentangled himself from the man and ignored his complaints.
Moving forward into the middle carriage of the train, Adam realized that he would soon run out of places to go. Perhaps he could lock himself in the toilet. But as Adam approached, he saw a red engaged sign.
Oliver was now in the same carriage.
‘Just leave me alone!’ said Adam.
Oliver came closer, halfway through the carriage, as Adam retreated again. ‘I’m doing the right thing for you ,’ said Oliver, ignoring the people around them, not noticing that he nudged the Scottish boy as the train wobbled. The needle was now visible in his hand.
The Glaswegian took his headphones off again and bristled aggressively. ‘Hey, you.’
Oliver didn’t seem to hear.
The train was at its full speed as Adam went through into the front carriage, nearest the driver. At the next station he could leap out and get help. He urged the train on.
Oliver followed Adam, reaching the interconnecting doors just as they closed. He pressed impatiently. But as he entered and looked immediately to the far end, Adam was nowhere to be seen.
THUMP.
Adam’s fist made solid contact with Oliver’s cheek. Leaping off the seat immediately to the left of the door, Adam made a grab for the needle with his left hand and thumped wildly with his right.
Oliver was far more muscular than Adam had thought; he was wriggling furiously and Adam realized that he was not going to be able to hold him. So he put everything he had into one shove, leaving him between the seats, and then retreated back into the middle carriage.
Three or four people stood up to intervene, and one of them called after Adam, yelling at him to stop as he raced down the aisle.
Adam felt the train begin to slow. It was only five minutes between Kingussie and Newtonmore stations, and there was a slight squeak of brakes as Oliver entered the middle carriage.
‘Just stay away from me,’ Adam shouted. He saw houses outside now – the station must be near.
The Glaswegian stood up as Adam passed him, and faced Oliver, who was following. ‘I’ve told you more than once.’
Adam now saw what Oliver could do in a straight scrap. As other passengers looked on, stunned, Oliver held himself slightly off the floor between the seats and jabbed his foot into the taller boy’s stomach, shunting him backwards. But the Scottish boy had been in fights before; the livid fog of anger enveloped him and he was determined to do some damage to Oliver.
The train was slowing down.
‘Hey, stop it!’ said another passenger, and two stocky men in their early twenties entered from the front carriage, cornering Oliver.
For a few moments it was as if the scene was freeze-framed. Oliver weighed up the odds, glancing at those around him; Adam urged the seconds on, looking between Oliver and the train doors.
The doors opened. Adam shoved past a family waiting to get on and glanced back briefly: there was a scuffle on board. A few seconds later, briefly pausing at the end of the platform, he could see Oliver halfway off the train, the Scottish boy holding on to him. Adam frantically looked around for a place to hide.
Should he try the car park? Or would his pursuers be arriving? Maybe the fields on the far side of the train?
A variety of shouts came from the carriage, some of them aimed at Adam. The family who had been about to get on cowered, their young son clinging to his mother’s side.
Through the chaos, for an instant, Oliver’s eyes met Adam’s. Then Adam was gone.
Oliver shoved back his head, thrust down his foot into the Scottish boy’s knee, and lashed out with his elbow. His opponent slumped to the floor.
Adam ran across the tracks behind the train and vaulted the fence on the far side, landing in a drift of damp snow. He started to run at an angle across the fields, towards a line of trees.
Oliver jabbed hi
s needle towards those nearest to him and shouted, ‘Get away from me!’
The police, already alerted by Megan, were given greater urgency to reach the scene by a flurry of 999 calls.
But Bolleskine was already on his way.
CHAPTER 23
HIDE AND SEEK (TUESDAY 16TH DECEMBER 2014)
Lifting his feet high, arms outstretched for balance, Adam ran through the field. The snow wasn’t deep, perhaps only two or three inches, but it made every stride unpredictable and treacherous. The train, which had been held in the station, fell into the distance, and Adam was slightly over halfway towards the trees when he saw a figure pursuing him. He could just about see that it was Oliver, hand pressed to ear, probably using a mobile phone.
Although he was out of breath and slightly dizzy when he reached the trees, his legs were still fresh. Oliver could follow his footprints across open ground, but he couldn’t do that under a canopy of trees.
To his dismay, the wood was less extensive than he had thought, just one or two trees wide, but he followed them rather than running straight out.
Oliver paused as he entered the trees. Adam had anticipated Oliver’s dilemma: Adam could be hiding – or could be about to double back – or could have run off at any angle – or maybe he had run straight out the other side.
‘Adam?’ Oliver shouted. ‘Adam? Please! We want to help you!’
Adam heard the shouting in the distance as he emerged on to a fairly wide and very long field. For an instant he couldn’t work it out: then the indentations and dotted flags made sense: it was a snow-covered golf course.
‘Adam?’ Oliver shouted again.
The sound of his name spurred Adam on. He headed up and across the fairway towards a longer and more dense-looking wood.
Then far away in front of him, he saw two figures. Frustrated golfers? Police? Friends of Oliver? Adam halted. Looking over his shoulder he could again see Oliver, maybe three hundred yards distant.