Kill All Kill All

by Craig McNish

  'You asked to see suffering, Andrew Mills, and I showed it to you. Now do you believe that I can make your life as miserable as I want it to ever be?'

  “That woman, with the baby – who was she? Her face is one that I recognise but cannot think from where. Tell me who she is.”

  'Why, that was none other than Mary Mills. I would be surprised were you not to know her, I think!' The mention of the name sends an agonising pain shuddering through my entire body.

  “My mother? And what of the baby she had with her?”

  'Elizabeth Agustine – she was your sister.'

  “But I have no sister; not that has ever been mentioned to me, anyway...”

  'Elizabeth was the bastard child of Mary Manners and Anthony Agustine; your unmarried mother and your Priest. Agustine had his way her one Sunday after a church service; she was too frightened to tell him she was with child because she knew he would be furious and likely dismissed from the church, but he found out and confronted Mary. She refused to give up the child and threatened to tell the Bishop of their encounter, but was paid a sum of money to make sure that would never happen. No longer able to look the child in the eye without seeing Agustine and the error of his ways was too much, and so she took his money before drowning the girl in the river. It was a secret she took to her grave. Not even your father knew of the child's existence after he and Mary married, but I do, and you wanted to see suffering. How better a way could there be than to let you see with your own eyes the death of your family?'

  A huge well of sadness has built up within me. To learn only after my death that I once had a sister is the kind of cruel joke that not even Master Brass would have been capable. No tears will come, and my fury has reached a peak, but I am unable to move and strike out as I would so dearly want to do. Now my ears are filled with the sound of laughter, of someone who is amused by my pain. I have to make this go away, for I could not bear to see the likes of this any more.

  “You make your point!” I scream. “I have seen and heard enough to know that I have little choice but to do as you bade, be it my own wish or otherwise. But please, I beg of you, do not let me see anything more of my family or their hurt!”

  'But there is so much more I could show you!' the voice teased, almost disappointed that my will and resolve had given way so easily. 'You are certain you will do as I ask?'

  “You have my word. Ask of me what you will and I shall do it without question.”

  'Very good. As I have told you once, there will be others who dare to challenge me more than three centuries from now. You will be resurrected as my servant and shall kill them all.'

  “And in return I get to be wed to Jane Brass?” There is a long silence, and I start to fear I could have been tricked.

  'You will' is the answer I finally receive. 'But be wary of her motives, for she will try and fool you. Have you the strength to kill her if I should ask for you to do so?' It was an impossible question to answer with the truth. I took a minute to convince myself of the answer I was about to deliver.

  “She will be killed if needs be.” I seem to have sated the Devil's desire for the death of Jane Brass, at least for the present time.

  'Then for now you will sleep. There is no need for me to say anything further.'

  “And how will I know when the time is right for me to do what you require?”

  'You will be summoned' the voice tells me, and then there is silence all around me again.

  Another feeling of warmth spreads throughout my body, leaving me to settle and think of what exactly will happen when I supposedly awake once more three hundred and thirty-three years from now.

  *

  SIXTEEN

  Ferryhill, County Durham, 2016

  It didn't take Parkes long to complete her transformation into Jane Brass. There existed no known pictures of the murdered young woman but Parkes had closed her eyes and conjured up an image she instinctively knew to be Jane, and their likeness shocked Parkes greatly. Roach had found some information on the internet about Candlemas and while it didn't seem to be entirely relevant it was still good to know. After three recitals from the detective, Parkes was pretty sure she'd managed to commit the most important parts to memory.

  Hawkins was hugely relieved to see Roach's car come to a stop outside the incident room twenty minutes before the six pm deadline was reached. His eyes opened wide when he saw Parkes; if anything she had dressed down for the occasion by removing all traces of makeup and wearing a simple white ankle-length dress but with her hair flowing and fringe held back by a thin silver headband, she looked amazing.

  “You're certain you want to do this?” Parkes considered Hawkins' question for all of a second.

  “I don't see that we have any choice. Mills is less likely to hurt me than absolutely anyone, so while I won't be singing and dancing my way up to the farmhouse and welcome him with open arms, I do believe I'll be safe.”

  “I spoke to him on the phone just before you got back here – well, he yelled at me for a couple of minutes – and I assured him that Charlotte would be there no later than six. Hopefully we haven't knocked his plans off course by sending you instead.”

  “I'm positive he'd much rather see me than Charlotte” said Parkes. “So, here goes nothing.”

  *

  Mills stared intently at the clock on the wall as the minute hand ticked ever closer to the number twelve. Still Charlotte had not shown herself. Well, he thought, now she will be responsible for the death of her mother.

  “Do you consider yourself to be a good mother, Miriam Cutter?” The unexpected question threw Cutter, primarily because Mills' insinuation had changed her mood from fear to anger in a flash.

  “Who the hell are you to comment on my parenting skills? From the way you've conducted yourself I'd say you were dragged up rather than brought up! Of course I'm a good mother to my child!” Mills was unmoved by the rant.

  “So if she knows your life to be under threat by her lacking appearance, why hasn't she arrived sooner? Surely if Charlotte Cutter loved you as you claim to love her she would be here already, don't you think? I think maybe she wants to see you dead.” And with that final blunt statement aired, Mills started laughing at his assertion. “If that is the case then we should not disappoint her. Two more minutes, or your head will be on its way to meet with detective Hawkins – minus your body, of course.” He laughed again. Cutter was trembling but tried not to let her fear show.

  “If killing me keeps my daughter alive then so be it. To me, that's a worthwhile sacrifice. But I can tell you now that if I die there is no way you'll get out of this house alive – the police will storm the place and blow your god damn head off. Personally, I hope they do it anyway.”

  “I am uncertain if you are brave beyond words or a fool beyond measure for talking in such a way” was Mills' considered response. “Those soldiers have tried to capture me before and each time I have managed to evade them. Why, I even killed one soldier almost with my bare hands after he turned his weapon on me! I am not alive, as you are, but long since dead. That means I cannot die a second time. Did you consider that, Miriam Cutter? There is nothing you possess that can stop me!” Mills was about to launch into a tirade when the Grandfather clock in the hallway began to strike six. Mills stopped in his tracks. Cutter gasped and then fell silent, her eyes wide with shock and fear. When the sixth chime had sounded, Mills spoke.

  “Six o' clock” he said. “Charlotte Cutter is not here. They were warned that you would die if she did not show her face. Well, so be it. You will kneel before the table, just as you did the last time I was going to take your head, but now there are no more chances. You will die and Charlotte Cutter will have your blood on her hands, along with the soldiers of Ferryhill who tried to stop me. May your death serve as a lesson to others who might try to defy me.” Mills didn't even wait to see if Cutter would move of her own accord; he was across the room to her in three strides and grabbed hold of her hair, yanking her violently from
her seat and dragging her over to the coffee table, where she was pushed to the floor and forced into the same position she'd found herself in a few hours earlier.

  “Grant me the strength and the weapons to kill this whore!” Mills boomed. Even Cutter could feel the intense heat radiating out from her captor's body. A flash of light briefly illuminated the room before dissipating, leaving behind a faint glow which, if Cutter had been looking behind her, she would have known was coming from the red-hot blade of Mills' axe. He looked at the weapon and turned it over in his hands a few times before raising it up above his head.

  “So now you die” he told Cutter. “I will not ask for your final words, for I have heard enough of your lies already. Be thankful that I am showing you mercy by making your life end swiftly and without pain. Mills started to bring down the axe.

  It took a few seconds of confusion for Cutter to realise she had cheated death a second time. Cautiously, she lifted her head from the table. The axe was embedded deeply in its surface, less than an inch from where the back of Cutter's neck had been. But why the reprieve this time when Mills had been so intent on killing her?

  “What was that sound?” he asked, gazing around the room.

  “I don't hear anything...”

  “There was a noise! I cannot describe it – I have heard nothing of its like before. A strange melody, but one I do not know and made by no instrument I have no knowledge of.” A few more seconds of silence passed. “There it is again!” Cutter almost collapsed with relief at the jingling sound of the doorbell.

  “Someone is at the door” she told Mills. “I should go and answer it.”

  “That was not the sound of a man rapping on wood” Mills said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know there is someone present? I think it better that I answer the door, so you cannot try to escape me.” he wandered off to the front door, opening it just as Parkes pressed the bell for a third time.

  Mills just stood and stared at her before dropping to his knees. That was when Parkes knew she had the advantage.

  *

  This was something that Parkes hadn't anticipated. In fact, the whole thing was quite surreal. She couldn't help but offer a wry smile as Mills pressed the doorbell for the umpteenth time, laughing again as the melody sounded around the house. Cutter had folded herself into the corner of the sofa, just glad to be alive.

  “And this is how you make your presence known at someone's house, you say?”

  “Not all houses, but a lot do have doorbells now, yes.”

  “So what of the others who do not possess these...'door bells'? I find the name of this contraption to be a strange one; there is no bell, nor does it make a sound like any bell I have ever heard.” And Parkes found herself explaining the simplicities again, something that everyone just took for granted and paid no real attention to. Mills was particularly intrigued to hear that the 'door bells' of which he was learning made any number of noises, some of which did, apparently, sound like a real bell.

  “A truly wondrous device, I am sure” he said, pressing the button again, “but I apologise most profusely for neglecting you, Miss Jane. Please, won't you come inside?” Parkes took a deep breath and stepped into the house. She was mindful that it was imperative she keep calm, but it was proving easier said than done.

  “Hello, Mrs Cutter” Jane said pleasantly when she walked into the living room.

  “Who are you? Where's Charlotte?”

  “My name is Jane, and Charlotte is fine. It was thought Andrew Mills might prefer to meet with me instead of your daughter – I am sorry if this offends you at all.” Now Parkes was trying to get the speech and inflections she used somewhere close to the language Mills spoke. Everything now had to be geared to putting him at ease, convincing him he was safe and that Jane was more than happy to go along with his plans for their marriage. The main problem, she feared, was using too many contractions; it was something she hadn't even thought about until Roach casually mentioned some TV program she'd watched recently about life from around Mills' era and said how long-winded their speech could be. From that moment Parkes had tried as much as possible to change her speech pattern, which raised a few eyebrows before she finally left to come to the farmhouse. But it was attention to detail like this which could prove to be the difference between life and death.

  “No, no offence, dear. I was just a little surprised, that's all.” Cutter could only guess that the police had formulated some sort of plan. It was even possible this young lady is an undercover police officer, she thought. While it might not have been so apparent to Mills, who appeared somewhat besotted by her, Cutter could clearly tell that the girl was initiating some sort of ruse. It was therefore best if she kept any questions to a minimum and did as she was asked, Cutter felt.

  “My manners! Where are my manners!” Mills exclaimed, bringing himself out of the trance he was falling into. “Would you like some refreshment, Miss Jane? Something to drink, or even an early supper?”

  “Coffee would be nice – thank you...” Mills looked shocked, leaving Parkes inwardly cringing that she must have said something wrong. She guessed she would find out soon enough if that was the case.

  “Coffee? As I remember it, Mister Brass acquired some just before Christmas; you tried not even one mouthful and spat it out in disgust. You told Mister Brass it had such an obnoxious taste that you would rather drink from the cattle trough.” Mills smiled, amused by the memory. Parkes made a mental note to keep things as simple as possible from now on.

  “Your memory serves you well! I feel ashamed to have reacted in such a way and was going to try it again, but you are right; I do not see a second taste will make it any better. A glass of water will be fine, please.”

  “Of course.”

  Nobody moved. Mills eventually broke the silence, and in the direction of Cutter.

  “Did you not hear Miss Jane ask for water, or are you suddenly deaf?”

  “What? Oh, right.” Cutter got up and headed for the kitchen.

  “And bring me a glass of water as well!” Mills called after her. “If you have any hope of staying here as our maid you will do as you are asked and be quick about it!” Cutter had just returned with two glasses of water when Mills added this last part, and she couldn't contain herself.

  “Stop on as your maid? Bloody cheeky sod! What makes you think you're even going to be made welcome in my house? The quicker you get the hell out, the better!” Mills, to his credit, kept quite calm.

  “It amuses me that you refer to this place as your house. The house belongs to Mister Brass, and in his absence and that of his good lady wife it passes to his eldest child. The house belongs to Miss Jane. Even I have more reason to be here than you do! Miss Jane has come back to reclaim what is rightfully hers and not a law man in the land will dispute her ownership. But we will need hired help to look after the farm, and if Miss Jane wants to see you hired I will abide by her decision. She will see what wages you are paid – I am sure it will be a fair sum. Now leave us; me and Miss Jane have much to discuss.” A bemused Cutter was ushered out of her living room by Mills, the door closed firmly behind her. Did he intentionally give her this golden opportunity to escape? At first glance, it seemed so; there was no mention of anyone being hurt if she didn't remain indoors. But Cutter decided it would be safer for all if she stayed. Her life was no longer under immediate threat and after trying but failing to hear any conversation through the closed door for a couple of minutes she gave up and went up to her bedroom. Maybe the peace and quiet would give her time to work out exactly what the hell was going on.

  “You look radiant, Miss Jane – just as I remember you” Mills gushed, unable to wipe the inane grin from his face. “I am surprised you would want to see me again, truth be told.” This was something else Parkes would have to get used to; Mills was still using past and present tense in a conflicting way, suggesting he knew that Parkes was not Jane Brass and indeed from an entirely different time while at the same time re
ferring to her in the first person as someone she wasn't, a part of his mind telling him this was indeed the woman he had killed long ago. She hoped that by speaking as Jane Brass in the first person it would help convince Mills she really was the Jane he wanted to be with. It didn't take Parkes long to realize he was referring to his murderous acts for her wanting to stay away. Luckily, Roach had also given her some quick coaching on the background to the original murders and this proved to be much more relevant information.

  “What you did was unforgivable, but I do understand why you might have been driven to commit such despicable acts. I realise my brother was a...a...” Parkes searched for the right word. “Well, he could be boisterous at times – my father often said he was a scoundrel – but I know he would not intentionally harm anyone, not even a fly. Father would often punish John for even the smallest of misdeeds; he wanted his only son to work the farm that had been in our family for so many years, and when John showed little inclination of wanting to do so my father became angry. He dared not fight back against such a formidable man and so found some joy in the teasing of others, but you have to understand that he never meant any harm.” Mills pondered this for a while before seeming to accept the explanation, much to Parkes' relief.

  “It is little Lizzie who I miss most of all – apart from you, of course” Mills said wistfully. “She was a wonderful companion to me, ever willing to listen to my grumbles when the day was not so good, and she knew perfectly how to make my mood a much better one. But it was the Devil himself who commanded me to take her life; I was not myself and so had little choice but to obey. When I saw what I had done, well, I was beside myself with grief. I wanted to die by my own hand, but it was not allowed. And now I must try to make amends for that every single day of the rest of my life.”