Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

The woman was uncomfortable and hesitated. She looked across the recreation area and to the path ahead.

  They waited, urging her to speak.

  'Some say the place is haunted,' the woman said, 'I even heard someone screaming once. It was years ago mind. John, my husband, thought I had rocks in my head.'

  'Haunted?'

  'Oh yes. Have you heard about his poor wife?'

  'Saskia?'

  The woman nodded. 'That's the one. She left, although most believe someone murdered her. Folks say she now haunts the place.'

  Imogen edged closer to him, and then wiped her finger across his cheek, smoothing away a stray hair. He could barely breathe, let alone focus on the conversation.

  'Have you ever seen her ghost?' she asked the woman. ‘Aside from that scream you heard.’

  'Now let me see. Yes, I once saw a woman in the downstairs window. She looked upset, even terrified, and I went to help. Of course, there was no one there. Ron even took me around the house. I was quite persistent, see.'

  'Did she look like Saskia?'

  The woman's eyes glazed. 'I don't know . . . can't remember. It was a long time ago. John told me off . . . told me I was a busybody and to mind my own business.'

  'Did you ever see her again?'

  'No. I used to walk by the house at night and listen out for sounds, but it was always silent and a bit of a disappointment if I’m honest. I wanted to believe the rumours.'

  'I would too.' She pressed her hand onto his middle. 'I'm a bit of a ghost fanatic, aren't I darling?'

  His lips moved, but no words came out.

  'He's a bit shy . . . gets overwhelmed with strangers.'

  The audacity! He had to gain control and assert his dominance, and told himself to breathe and urged his pulse to stabilize. He tried to wriggle free, but she wouldn't let him and pressed her soft curves into his arm. She had a glint in his eye. She knew exactly what she was doing and was enjoying every second.

  'Does he ever have female visitors?' he asked.

  'Not now. There was a time, about ten maybe fifteen years ago when he had a woman friend, but it didn't last. Other than that, I've never seen anyone. He seemed to give up women when Saskia left.'

  'He loved her then?'

  'That he did.' She studied them both. 'I can see you too are in love. You remind me of Ron and Saskia.'

  'Thank you,' Imogen said, smiling.

  'I must get on.' She looked at her dog. 'This little one is getting impatient. Lovely to meet you both.'

  'Just one more thing,' he said, 'has he ever had any children?'

  'No, definitely not. I would have remembered that.'

  'Do you ever recall seeing children at the house?'

  'No, never.'

  As the woman stepped away, the dog regained a spring in its step and scampered ahead. Luke tried to pull free his arm.

  Imogen clung on. 'Not yet. She'll be suspicious.'

  'You're enjoying this aren’t you?'

  'And why shouldn't I? It's just a bit of fun.'

  Fun. It was that word again. He could do fun.

  There was a bench ahead. He made the suggestion to sit down, claiming it would give the woman time to leave the area. In reality, it was so he could detach himself from her grip.

  Imogen perched by his side. 'What do you think of the ghost story? Cool, don't you think?'

  'Intriguing.'

  'I think Saskia's spirit is still around. I think we should see if we can get inside . . . check it out.'

  He held his hand to her cheek, thoughtful.

  'What are you thinking?' she asked.

  'Nothing.'

  'You must be thinking something.'

  'Okay, I'm wondering why you had to pretend we were a couple.'

  She chuckled. 'You were petrified.'

  'No I wasn't.'

  'I could feel you shaking.'

  He folded his arms. He wasn't petrified, he had enjoyed it, but he couldn't tell her that. He struggled to admit it to himself, as for some reason it seemed like a betrayal. He looked up, avoiding her line of sight, and gazed at the woman with her dog. She was moving much quicker now and heading to the exit. He waited for a few moments longer, giving Imogen a chance to tap a message into her mobile phone, and then stood up.

  'Come on, let's go.'

  She placed her phone into her handbag and together they headed back along the street, walking at a sedate pace so as not to reach the elderly woman. As they approached his car, Ron's house came into view. There was still no movement.

  'What do you want to do?' Imogen asked.

  He was pondering his choice of action when the woman from the park appeared in her garden, motioning wildly. They crossed the street, hurrying between passing cars, and strode to her house.

  'You've missed him,' she said. 'I just saw his car leave.'

  'Oh dear, thanks.' He turned to Imogen. 'I think we should drop him a note through his letterbox.'

  They turned and stepped back to the car. He told Imogen they would wait a few minutes to give the woman a chance to grow bored in case she was watching through the window. Then they would go across.

  'What for?' she asked.

  'A look around. See if you can see anything to indicate a woman has been around.'

  'Why?'

  'I’m curious.'

  'Shouldn't we looking for ghosts?'

  He smiled. 'If you want to you can, but don't go arousing suspicion.'

  'What do you think I'm going to do, imitate one?'

  He chuckled, and she did too. Then, as they had agreed, they waited for a few more minutes and sauntered towards the house, walking as nonchalantly as possible and stepping into Ron's garden.

  'You wander around the back,' he told Imogen. 'I'll check the kitchen.'

  Recalling Ron's sudden appearance on their previous visit, he wandered around the shed and stood by the window. There were a few pieces of crockery on the draining board and a pile of tins on the surface, but other than that, it was clean with little out of place. He scanned the walls. There was only one door in the room - the one he knew led into the hallway - and there were no large cupboards. There was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.

  Ron could have bobbed down, but he wasn't a small man and it would have been difficult to miss him. Luke's unease lingered. He stepped back, searching the exterior of the house for anything untoward. There was another window further to the rear, and two on the upper floor. There were no differences in brickwork, no alterations, and no extensions.

  Imogen's rhythmical steps alerted him. Her excitement stretched across her face, brightening her eyes and reddening her cheeks. She was holding something.

  'What's that?'

  'Hair. It was in a plastic bag. It can't be Ron's.' It was brown with a hint of red. 'It's too long.' She stretched it out. 'This belongs to a woman.'

  He grinned. 'Don't lose it.'

  They walked around the shed.

  'Do you think it's Saskia's?' Imogen asked.

  He did not respond.

  'That's what you were thinking earlier, isn't it? You think she's still alive.'

  'I suppose she could be.'

  'You could sound a bit more enthusiastic. What if she's been living in the house all this time? It would explain why that woman saw someone in the window. This is so cool.'

  They headed out of the garden and closed the gate. The elderly woman was standing by her lounge window watching them. Instantaneously, Imogen grabbed his hand, turned to face him, and winked.

  'Where to now?' she asked.

  His heat was rising, her hand a perfect fit. 'Megan's,' he said huskily.

  Chapter 28

  Lacking enthusiasm, Megan scanned the job adverts in the local paper. There were numerous sales jobs, nursing jobs, and teaching jobs, but nothing matched her skills and experience or her desires. She recalled thinking after she arrived in Rodley that she would accept whatever came her way, but now that the moment was drawing closer, as her savings were dimini
shing, she could not build any motivation to apply for jobs. She flicked over the flimsy sheet, glanced at the classifieds, and told herself that once this business with Saskia was over, she would make a concerted effort.

  She was growing bored, and time seemed to be ticking ever slower by. Ben was out collecting a new car he had purchased and David was upstairs, not that she would ever consider having a conversation with him. They had barely made eye contact since she had discovered the images on his computer. It was just too difficult. Each time she imagined him drooling over the pictures, her stomach turned.

  She glanced to the doorway, her heart beating a little faster, and scanned the staircase, hoping that he was not watching her at that moment. There was no sign of movement, no shadows stirring, and no footsteps padding the steps.

  The arrival of a text made her jump. She reached for her phone and her tension melted. It was from Larry, and he was asking about her plans for the day. She told him she was bored, so he suggested that he take her to a place that would inspire her to draw beautiful pictures. Smiling, she tapped an enthusiastic reply into the phone and sent the message. It was just what she needed, a break from the monotony of unemployment. She put the phone on the table, closed the newspaper, and glided upstairs.

  A sound emanated from David's room. She paused next to the open door, curious as to his activity, and peered through the gap. He was sitting on a chair and looking to his laptop. He seemed a little flushed, and puffed out and mumbled a comment. She couldn't tell what he had said, but she got the sense that he was looking at something pornographic.

  Her nerves tightened her body. Was he looking at her? Tentatively, she strained her neck, but it was no use, as she still could not see beyond the rim of the monitor. Holding her breath and with her pulse throbbing in her throat, she tip-toed forward, one step and then the other, careful to avoid the creaks. An image appeared.

  Grateful it wasn’t of her, she released a whoosh of air. Together, her shoulders dropped and her muscles slackened, and swiftly, she turned and stepped away.

  Footsteps hammered the floor. She spun around. He grabbed her by her arms and flung her against the wall. She released a wailing cry.

  'If you want me, just ask.'

  'Let me go you creep!'

  He drew closer. She turned her head away, keen to avoid his warm breath on her face and tried to tussle free. He was pressing his body into hers and pinning her to the wall. It had the firmness of youth.

  Grinning, he let go of her arm, wedging it with his shoulder and shoved his hand up her cotton top. He pushed up her bra and groped her breasts. She screamed. She kicked. She could not make him stop.

  In a flash, David had lifted her top and was squeezing and licking her nipples. She tried to fight him off, but it was a pointless attempt. He was overpowering her, and eased back and grinned and leered.

  'You want more?' he asked.

  She wriggled and kicked. She could not get free. 'Let me go you bastard!'

  'You don't mean that. You love it, I can tell.'

  'Like fuck I do!’ she said through gritted teeth, fighting him with every bit of energy. ‘You’ll pay for this!'

  He raised his head and smirked. 'You think? I'll teach you not to spy on me.'

  Her energy was draining and her muscles weakened. She wriggled, pummelling whenever she could, and kicking out with her legs. He wasn't going to do this. She would get free and continued to fight.

  The doorbell sounded and her heart leapt. It would be Larry, her escape. There was an element of panic in David's eyes, and she could see he was wondering what he should do. Taking her opportunity, she kneed him in the groin, took a moment of satisfaction as he roared in agony, and raced down the stairs, straightened out her attire and flung open the door.

  'I'll tell Dad about Joshua,' David cried.

  'You do that. You'll be doing me a favour.'

  She slammed the door and her body crumbled. She fell into Larry's arms.

  'What's happened?'

  She could not speak and shuffled to his car, and with his help climbed inside. Shaking, she wrapped her arms around her body, searching for warmth, and stared through the windscreen. She could not go back, could not risk another moment with David, and searched in a panicked state for an answer.

  She sat in silence, quivering and flushed, and looked at the trees, fields and houses as Larry drove them to an unknown destination. Whilst he spoke in a calm and quiet voice, she had been unable to focus on his kind words and gestures and refused to share any sordid details of what had just happened. It was a private matter, and she was too ashamed.

  Her thoughts were rampant. What would have happened if he had not arrived? Would David have raped her? She could not match his strength or size and feared that she would have had little chance of escape. Folding her arms across her middle, with visions of their union flashing into her mind, her eyes moistened.

  Had David any idea of what he had done, or of the consequences that would follow? In effect, he was her stepson. Where was the respect? He was perverted and lecherous. It was bad enough that he sought out images of her, but to force himself upon her was a criminal act. She should have put an end to it weeks ago, and she should have told Ben what he was like before they arrived in Rodley. She was weak and cowardly.

  She breathed deeply and scanned the winding lane as it melded into the desolate landscape. There were few houses, bar an occasional farmhouse, and there was woodland up ahead. It seemed familiar.

  'Do you come here a lot?' she asked.

  He gave her a sideways glance. 'Used to. It was one of my favourite spots. You'll like it. Pity you didn't bring your sketchbook. I hope you've got a good memory.'

  Drawing was the last thing she wanted to do. Exhausted, she wanted to go home. But where was home? She would not return to David. The thought caused her tension to rise and a moan to escape her lips.

  There was only one solution. She had to phone Ben and tell him what had happened, and this time she would hold onto her determination to speak the truth. Convinced it was the right way forward, she reached into her pocket for her phone.

  It wasn’t there, and neither was her wallet.

  'We'll have to go back,' she said, 'I haven't anything with me.'

  'It doesn't matter. You don't need anything.'

  He swung the car left and jolted to a halt in a lay-by.

  ‘Then you must let me treat you next time,’ she said and glanced at the woodland and a narrow path progressing into the darkness. 'Where are we going?'

  He pointed to the path. ‘The view is something else.’ He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car. ‘Ready?’

  Going for a walk was the last thing she wanted to do, and hesitated to move. When Larry strode around the car to her side, and she noticed the hope and expectation in his expression, she complied with his wish and joined him outside.

  'Don't worry, it's not far and not much of a climb,' he said. ‘It is worth it, though.’

  She started along the path, progressing at his rear. It was steep, shrouded in darkness, and overrun with brambles and nettles. Other than a faint whoosh of the wind in the trees, there was silence, and not even bird sounds to keep her company. It was eerie, and since she was sticky with dried perspiration from David’s attack, she was cold. Craving the comforting warmth of the sun, she strode out, following his steps, and dipped under the branches and stepped over exposed roots. They arrived minutes later.

  The view was reasonable, and maybe when she felt less drained she would appreciate it more. In the distance was a town, presumably Rodley, and in the foreground, in a valley, were trees, a small lake, and a meadow with horses.

  'Like it?' he asked.

  Clutching her stomach, she nodded her head. She wanted to go home, needing a comforting hug and craving Ben’s touch.

  'Follow me,' he said, 'there's a rock just a little way down to sit on.'

  They weaved past shrubbery and trees, stepped around grass clumps, and followed a tra
ck around a large boulder and down a sharp incline. Just below, on the edge, a small cave was a rounded rock.

  A vision of a past event flashed into her mind, jolting her to a standstill.

  'I won't bite,' he said, 'come sit down.'

  She crept towards the rock, unable to remove the images of two lovers making love on the grassy bank; their bodies entwined, their giggles tormented, and their lust embarrassed.

  'Do you want to talk about what happened back at your house?' he asked.

  'Not really.'

  'David sounds as though he is a bit of a handful, but give him a chance. He likes you.'

  She stiffened. What conversations had they shared? Dared she ask?

  'He's been asking me about the RAF,’ he continued. ‘Did you know he's interested in joining?'

  She shook her head.

  'Years ago I used to take pictures at a base. You'll have to come over and see for yourself.'

  'It's not my thing.'

  'Fair enough. I've promised David I'll show him. We've chatted at some length. I like him.'

  She raised her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes swam with tears. She wanted to curl up in a dark corner, out of sight, and she wanted to scrub herself clean.

  When's Ben leaving?'

  'I . . . I don’t know.'

  His tone hardened. 'I thought you said it was over.'

  'It . . . it's complicated.'

  'It's either over or it's not. It doesn't sound complicated to me.'

  A memory surged. She had heard those words before, somewhere in the distant past, or rather Saskia had. She had been arguing with someone. Had it been Ron? She had said that their relationship was over and it had resulted in a massive argument. Whoever it was, was displeased and carried a furious look in his eyes. It had preceded the stabbing.

  She gulped and tried to piece the bits together, searching for clarity. She felt sure that it had been Ron and believed Saskia had threatened to end their relationship. However, she had a strong sense that he had appeared forlorn rather than angry, and it was confusing.

  Something did not make sense. Could she be confusing two separate conversations? Her efforts were futile and no matter how she tried, she could not recall anything more.