Left for Dead

by Paul J. Teague

  She waited for her eyes to fully adjust to the complete darkness. The kids always made fun of her about how bright she ran her phone screen.

  ‘No wonder your battery is always running down!’ Lucia would tease. ‘Your phone screen has the brightness of a solar flare. Dim it, old lady, and then your battery will last all day!’

  What she’d give to hear Lucia’s dismissive teasing right now.

  A cloud had moved away from the moon, and for a moment it was possible to get a better sense of her surroundings. She could see her daughter’s figure in the middle of the concrete pool base, kneeling and still. When the breeze subsided momentarily, she heard her sobs. What kind of monster would do this to a teenage girl? Bruce Craven, that’s who. He’d done it to her when she was only two years older than her daughter. And now it was happening again.

  Charlotte followed the curve of the pool’s fencing, to where the doubles gates had been at the far end. She activated her phone light and left it on for a few moments. On-off-on-off. It would catch Lucia's attention. She might even sense it was her mother. It was the best Charlotte could do. All she wanted to do was to run down there and release her daughter and tell her how much she loved her and that she never had to go to that school again if she didn’t want to. She’d have given anything to reassure Lucia in that moment.

  Instead, Charlotte switched off the screen on her phone and found the side path that she should have taken if she’d been heading for the old chalet. Was he watching her? She felt her every move was being scrutinised. What was he planning? She stopped dead as she thought back to that night. He’d tried to rape her back then. She’d pushed it to the back of her mind, but that’s what his intention was. He’d have succeeded too, if she hadn’t slammed him with that rock. Would he try it again now? She’d felt safe ever since that day, a threat like that never entering into her world again. Was that what he had planned now? To finish off what he started? She hadn’t thought it through - she was too vulnerable out there. Anything could happen.

  Charlotte ducked into the doorway to one of the chalets, nearly there now. She activated her phone screen. There was no signal in this part of the camp, so she couldn’t sound the alert if she tried. Looking around for a weapon, Charlotte spotted a piece of wood that had come away from the fence at her side. She flexed it to test it for strength. It dissolved in her hand, rotted by years of driving seaside rain.

  Making her way along the side of the chalet, she kept close to the wall, hoping that she might at least be able to confuse Bruce momentarily, and perhaps create some element of surprise. He’d be older now and slower. Maybe he’d respond better to words and reasoning; perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so handy with his fists.

  She was passing directly underneath the concrete balcony which led to Will’s old room. This was her husband’s chalet. What she’d do to see him now. Will meant safety for her. She longed for his smile.

  Soon, she was at the foot of the concrete staircase which would take her to her old room. The chalet directly ahead had been flattened, throwing off her sense of direction. She had to check she was in the right place. Her memories were being demolished. If only Bruce Craven could be reduced to rubble, buried in the foundations of a new building development, out of their lives forever.

  Charlotte activated her phone screen and read the message once again. Still no signal.

  Make your way back to your old room. There’s an envelope in the sink. Read it. Tell me when you’re ready.

  She walked slowly up the concrete stairs, taking each step deliberately, fearful of what would await her there. She walked past the window of Abi’s old room. Poor Abi. She’d given Will such a hard time about her. Her only crime was fancying her then-boyfriend - it wasn’t so bad as far as misdemeanours went.

  Charlotte waited on the landing, just outside the recess which led to her room. The one that she’d shared with Jenna. How strange that they should all still be drawn to that area, all those years on.

  The door was wide open. Of course it was - she’d broken it down on her last visit. But there was light inside, coming from a lit candle.

  She stepped inside, the candlelight casting a long shadow across the floor. Her eyes were drawn towards the sink in the corner, where she could see the envelope. Above it was the mirror, now broken, where - years ago - she’d made sure she looked her best for her dates with Will.

  Charlotte moved directly in front of the sink and reached down for the envelope. As her finger moved to the sealed flap to begin to tear it open, she became aware of a second shadow appearing on the floor at her side. As she looked up, she saw not only her own reflection there, but also the face of a man about to attack her.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  1984 - Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp

  Jenna Phillips saw nearly everything that night. She and Bruce had problems of their own that evening. She didn’t want to leave the crowd, but Bruce had caught her when she left them momentarily to visit the toilet.

  ‘I don’t want you around that bunch of dickheads - do you understand me?’

  He had her alone in the corridor space between the male and female cubicles. Her wrist was sore where he was gripping it so hard.

  ‘Yes, of course, I’ll stay with you and the guys,’ she agreed.

  Jenna should have listened to Charlotte. Instead of stewing in the juices of her own jealousy, she should have heeded her best friend’s warning and steered well away. She saw that now - how Charlotte had been seduced by his easy charm and good looks, which had soon turned to controlling behaviour and intimidation. He hadn’t hit her yet, and to her knowledge he’d never hit Charlotte. There was just a constant feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was always lurking there somewhere on Bruce’s agenda.

  At first, she’d felt some distorted sense of pride that someone who was so into Charlotte would give her so much of his attention. But she became quickly embroiled by moving in too soon with Bruce, and even though all the escape routes remained open, she was too paralysed to take any one of them. And so, as she looked on from the public bar at her friends laughing and joking, she smiled at Bruce and placated him, pretending to be enthralled by the conversation with his male friends when she found it offensive.

  It was quite clear where Bruce’s priorities lay. He kept glancing across to Charlotte’s group all through the evening. Every time there was a roar of laughter, Jenna watched him seethe and scowl. But she couldn’t keep her eyes off them either. On the other room was the life she’d left - of her own volition - and one which she now longed to return to.

  As the night drew on, Jenna’s attention was caught by a sudden change in the atmosphere among the group in the lounge area. She saw how Bruce had clocked it too. When Charlotte stormed out of the front door of the pub, Bruce handed his pool cue to her.

  ‘Take my place in the game Jens, will you, I’m just off for a pee.’

  Jenna took the cue and watched him as he made a lame attempt to be seen heading for the toilets, then quickly doubled back to follow Charlotte out of the front door. As he glanced over to make sure he hadn’t been seen, Jenna leaned across the pool table as if oblivious to his subterfuge.

  The moment he’d exited, she handed the pool cue over to one of Bruce’s mates who was watching the game.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit sick - carry on this game, will you?’

  She made her own exit, looking in all directions as she emerged into the cool night air, anxious not to lose Bruce. She’d seen the way he’d looked at Charlotte as she’d left, unaccompanied. At the moment, she wasn’t entirely certain if she was going to look out for her friend or make sure Bruce wasn’t cheating on her.

  Bruce had a good lead on her already, but she spotted him turning a corner, heading towards the far end of the camp, towards the beach. She couldn’t risk him seeing her - there’d be hell to pay - so she hung back, ducking into the shadows, staying well out of sight.

  By the time she’d made her way to the beach and cautiously pe
ered through the wooden door which separated the camp from the seashore, Bruce was already on top of Charlotte. She darted through the door and took cover behind a dense patch of gorse growing on the bank which led down to the beach. She looked ahead, trying to work out what was going on.

  Was he cheating on her with Charlotte? Were they about to make love on the beach? As she watched, it became apparent that this was more of a fight than a sexual encounter. He forced his hand to push up Charlotte’s skirt. She was struggling; this was not consensual. Jenna froze for a moment, not sure what to do. She stood up, ready to go and help Charlotte, then watched as Bruce’s body crashed down on her friend. Charlotte had struck him on the head with an object that she’d grabbed off the beach.

  Jenna retreated back to the cover of the gorse bush, watching as Charlotte pulled herself out from under Bruce and made her way back to the camp. Tears were streaming down her face, her hair was wet with seawater, and even in the semi-darkness, Jenna could tell she looked gaunt and scared.

  Jenna shivered, unsure whether to reach out to Charlotte or check on Bruce. Was he dead? Had she just witnessed a murder?

  Charlotte staggered through the wooden door, back into the grounds of the camp. Jenna stood up, checking that the coast was clear. Bruce was still lying motionless on the sand.

  Tentatively, she emerged from the gorse bush, slowly walking down the banking onto the debris-strewn beach. She got her nerve back and ran over to Bruce. Charlotte’s necklace was on the sand at Bruce’s side. She picked it up and put it in her pocket to return to Charlotte next time she saw her.

  Bruce stirred. He was alive. She didn’t know if she was pleased or upset by that. Quietly, before he woke, she stepped away, trying her best to avoid small stony areas so he wouldn’t hear the crunching underfoot.

  Jenna decided her best bet was to head back to her room, to pretend that nothing had happened. She would leave the camp the next day and go home to her parents, where Bruce couldn’t find her.

  As she was heading back towards the wooden gate, from the beach, she saw Will approaching up ahead. She didn’t want to be seen there, or to get involved, so she ducked back behind the gorse bush once again until he’d passed the doorway to the beach. He would see that all was well with Bruce and head back to his chalet.

  What happened next shocked her. She watched as Will checked on Bruce, his body language proving even from that distance that he was not the aggressor. She saw everything: Bruce’s violent punch and then his powerful push. She saw Will trying his best to get away and she shrank deep into the prickly gorse, putting up with the scratches to ensure that neither of them saw her, as their fight continued at the newly constructed paddling pool.

  Jenna trembled as she followed the fight from the shadows and saw Will struggling for his life in the foundations of the pool. He had no choice but to do what he did to Bruce; he was completely overpowered. For the second time that night, she watched on as one of her friends, without a violent bone in their body, managed to overcome Bruce Craven with enough force to make their escape.

  Jenna was hiding in the darkness as Will staggered by, dishevelled, gasping, desperate for the sanctuary of his chalet.

  Like a bird moving in to pick at the body of its friend which has just been struck dead by a car, Jenna climbed over the low fence and made her way down the bank to Bruce. She placed her ear to his mouth, then felt for a pulse. It was faint, but he was still alive.

  For a moment, Jenna thought through her life choices. She was jealous of Charlotte, envious of Will and scared stiff of Bruce. And here he was, defenceless. Nobody knew she was out there. As far as Charlotte and Will knew, they’d be responsible for his death. So she placed her hands around his thick, ugly neck and squeezed until she was certain he was finished. Bruce Craven would no longer be a problem.

  Now panicking, she raked loose rubble over Bruce’s body to conceal him as best she could. He was heavy, a dead weight, but it was the best she could do. Then, scared witless at what she’d just done, she returned to the room that she’d shared with Bruce so that she could feign surprise when he hadn’t returned the next day. She was free of him. They all were now.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Present Day - Morecambe

  He’d been waiting for her to open the envelope, but she saw him too soon. It happened fast; she’d barely caught a glimpse of him. Was that Bruce Craven? He looked like he was a completely different build. He was wearing a black face mask, only revealing his eyes and his nose, making it difficult to tell.

  None of it mattered. As soon as he realised he’d been seen, he grabbed Charlotte from behind and threw her to the ground. Her head struck the concrete floor, dazing her. She immediately stopped her struggle, willing herself to retain consciousness.

  She was only half aware of what happened next. The man grabbed at her feet and legs, and lying there, stunned by the blow to the head, she feared that he was going to assault her.

  ‘No! No…’ she tried to scream, but the words wouldn’t come.

  She heard the rip of tape and felt her feet being bound together. She was flipped over onto her front unceremoniously, then her hands were also taped. Finally, another tearing of tape, and a strip was placed across her mouth. She tried to struggle, but she needed more time to recover. The fall had shaken her.

  ‘Now stop struggling, bitch,’ he screamed at her. ‘Do as you’re told, and this will work out well for everybody.’

  Charlotte looked at him, hate in her eyes. There was no fear now, just a determined intent to save Lucia and get out alive.

  ‘Here’s how this is going to work. In August 1984, you and your now hubby murdered Bruce Craven.’

  So this isn’t Bruce? Who is he? How does he know?

  ‘Bruce’s body was concreted into the foundations of the pool the day after. Everybody thought he’d left, but you knew the truth. You’d killed him. First a blow to the head by you, then strangulation by your man…’

  ‘I didn’t kill him!’ she tried to say, but her mouth was completely constricted by the tape.

  ‘Even better, look what we found on the body - irrefutable evidence of who killed him.’

  The man held up her necklace. Her precious necklace. Her last memento of her mum.

  ‘So, here’s how this works. You’ve got a lovely little set-up at your new guest house. Quite a little earner there, I’d say. Every month, you’re going to pay me £500 in notes. I will tell you where to leave them. I know where the body is, and I have your necklace. If you ever fail to pay that money to me, the police will get an anonymous tip-off about the whereabouts of Bruce Craven’s corpse. And when they do, they’ll find a necklace with your mother’s name on it. It’ll be found there, because I’ll bury it there before I call the police. Your lives will be over.’

  It was probably a good job that Charlotte’s mouth was taped up, since she was trying to scream every expletive that she knew at this man.

  Had Will killed Bruce? Was this a con? Was Bruce’s body really buried in the foundations of the pool? Was that why he’d put Lucia there? The thoughts raced through her mind: Go to the police. No, Will killed Bruce, we both hurt him, either one of us might have contributed to his death. Pay the money. We can’t! We can’t afford to skim off £500 every month. Silence him. Kill him. I’m no killer. I have no choice. I have to agree.

  The man moved over to where the brown envelope had fallen onto the floor by the sink. He opened it up slowly, kneeling by her head. He showed her the page of A4 paper onto which some instructions had been printed. She read the words as he held them in front of her eyes. His hands were shaking - he was as nervous as she was.

  Leave the money in a reusable coffee cup in the rafters of the boating club building at 5pm on the last Sunday of the month. Go home to your guest house straight away. We will be watching. No police, or we tell them about Bruce Craven.

  The spellings had been bothering her, but she couldn’t figure out why. As she read the note, she realised wh
y there had been inconsistencies in the spellings. There were two of them. And it was Charlotte’s guess that the person lurking in the darkness with Lucia had been working at the holiday camp with them back in 1984.

  She nodded. She knew where he meant. The boating club building wasn’t far from the guest house, on the sea front. It was an unusual building, built on iron stilts and suspended off the ground. It was a good place to leave the money - she or Will would easily be able to reach into the wooden rafters and conceal the reusable coffee cup.

  She had to get to Lucia. Whatever reassurance she had to offer, she’d give it to this man. He and his accomplice had already shown what they were capable of. Poor Isla - she hoped that the ambulance got to her in time. She and Will could discuss the details later.

  Charlotte indicated through her stifled mumbles that the man should remove the tape from her mouth. She needed to speak. He peeled it away without ceremony, ripping it off her skin. It stung.

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked. ‘How can you possibly know about all this? It was years ago - there were no mobile phones, no videos … even DNA testing was new back then. How do you know about all this? You weren’t there, were you?’

  Charlotte caught something out of the corner of her eye. It began with the flame of the candle flickering, as if it had just been caught by a light breeze. Then a partial shadow, just behind her assailant, away from his view. She looked towards the door.

  It was Will. As he ran into the room, the draught of his movements extinguished the candle and the room was thrown into darkness.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Present Day - Morecambe

  Charlotte closed her eyes as a body thumped to the ground beside her. A struggle was going on, but it was too dark to see what was happening. A piece of wood fell just by her head, and she could hear Will swearing and struggling. The man was giving as good as he got - it seemed to be an evenly matched fight.