Thorn In My Side

by Sheila Quigley

  Smiler was about to say just how many there were of either description, when Jill came rushing in. Mike gave Smiler a look that plainly said, not a word about this.

  Looking sheepish, Smiler nodded.

  Jill was totally distraught. Kristina jumped up from her chair by the computer and coaxed her to sit down.

  'Smiler, bring some coffees from the machine, and an orange juice for me.' Mike handed him some change. As Smiler left, Mike turned to Jill. 'Right, give me a quick rundown.'

  'When she didn’t turn up at Billy’s, he waited half an hour, then phoned the school. She hasn’t been there all day.' Jill took a deep breath. 'Then Jayne turned up, and said she hadn’t even seen her this morning. She said, she said that Cassie got the early bus to go shopping, for… for a birthday present.' She looked up at Mike. 'For me.' She shook her head. 'Truly, Mike, Cassie wouldn’t do something like this. She’s a good girl. Something’s happened to her, I know it has. I just know it. She just wouldn’t stay out at all. She’s not streetwise or anything like that.'

  She started to sob, and Kristina put her arm around her. 'Shh. She’ll be fine… Don’t worry, we’ll find her.' Kristina looked up at Mike. 'Won’t we, Mike?'

  Cupping his chin in his hand, Mike scratched day-old stubble as he stared at the top of Jill’s head. Then at Kristina, who was urging him with her eyes to say something.

  He cleared his throat. 'Of course we will. Have youse two had a row lately? Or something like that? Can you give me anything at all to go on?'

  Jill didn’t even look up. She just shook her head. Smiler came back with three coffees on a tray. Taking one, Kristina put extra sugar in, stirred it, then handed it to Jill. 'Here, love, drink this.'

  Mike waited until she’d taken a sip. 'OK. Kristina, you stay here with Jill. I’ll go to Billy’s house, see what he has to say. But before that, I’ll give a description to the patrol cars. They might spot her. Of course, she could have gone present-hunting after school, forgotten what time it was.' He shrugged.' Who knows, she may even be back at Billy’s now.'

  Jill shook her head. 'No,' she said quietly.

  'OK, come with me Smiler.'

  Stopping at the desk, Mike and Smiler gave a description of Cassie to the desk sergeant, who relayed it to the patrol cars. Quickly Mike and Smiler went to the car. Mike started the engine. Suddenly, Smiler said, 'It’s Cassie.'

  Mike felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He pulled out onto the road before saying, 'What do you mean, It’s Cassie?'

  'I saw her. She’s one of the girls.'

  Mike’s face was grim as he stared at the rush-hour traffic.

  'Mike,' Smiler said a moment later in a hushed voice. 'There isn’t much time… One more sunset.'

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Brother David fussed around in the study, knowing that The Leader always watched the local six o’clock news. He had knocked and walked in, on the pretence that he had to find some important documents that must be sent off in the morning, or they would be getting a visit from their sister priory in Durham.

  A visit had already been made three months ago, a visit that ended in tragedy. Three brothers had died that night, murdered and made to look as if their car had gone off the road and into a tree.

  Ignoring the irritated glances he kept getting from The Leader, he continued with his search.

  When the newsreader had finished, and there had been no mention of a body found in the Police Station yard, he headed for the door. He was stopped in his tracks when The Leader said, with a touch of sarcastic irritation, 'Finally found what you’re looking for, fool?'

  'Sorry, sir,' Brother David said humbly, staring at the carpet, praying as hard as he could to be allowed to go.

  'Get out.' The Leader waved his long bony hand at him.

  'Thank you, God,' Brother David muttered under his breath, as he practically ran out of the door.

  Where are you, Michael? he thought, making his way along to the factory.

  Why haven’t you come?

  Surely he’s read the note by now.

  Please God, hear my prayers. These children need your help.

  He knew at least two of them might not make it to the end of the week, they were so wasted, so frail. He’d thought hard about breaking his vows and attempting to murder The Leader, but the two henchmen were never out of his sight. His sacrifice would be pointless. No way could he succeed against the three of them.

  Their only hope was Michael Yorke.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, he pushed the heavy oak door open. Brother Andrew was giving the poison out tonight. He worried about Brother Andrew, wondered how much more he could take. He had Brother Josh watching every move he made. If Brother Andrew committed suicide, then two children would lose their lives, and help might be just around the corner.

  Stepping silently into the great room, he stood at the back and watched Brother Andrew and the guard make their way around the workers. His throat hurt with wanting to cry, as the kids eagerly reached out for the drugs. He blinked hard to stop the tears that were building up behind his eyes.

  No emotion must be shown, ever. They had learned that lesson in the very beginning. Emotion brought painful beatings. Some of the brothers and some of the kids still carried the scars from months ago.

  His interest was piqued a few minutes later when Brother Andrew reached the newcomers. Brother David was certain he saw the young man and the girl palm the drugs. The act they put on a few minutes later was very convincing.

  His heart lightened. Had his prayers been heard?

  Had God sent him some allies?

  The Leader gorged himself on roasted chicken and fine wine. Sprawling on furs, he toasted himself in front of the unnecessary roaring log fire. Sweat ran down the faces of his two guards, but neither of them dared complain. There was another guard who watched while The Leader and these two slept. He would be wakening soon to take their place. But before then The Leader had some fun planned.

  He spat into the fire and laughed at the flames. Without turning his head, he said, 'Bring the one called Shelly.'

  Immediately the Chinese guard turned and left. Entering a door midway down the panelled hallway, he roughly shook the sleeping Shelly.

  Still half-asleep, she cried out. Pulling her knees to her chin, she stared in horror at the guard. Her hands were tied together in front of her with a length of thick rough rope that already had her wrists chafed in places.

  'What?' She blinked, saw who it was and begged, 'Please. No more.'

  He laughed as, with one arm, he hoisted her off the simple cot bed and pushed her, crying and sobbing, down the corridor.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  7.30 am

  Mike opened his eyes, and knew instantly that there was someone else in the room. Someone very close. Someone trying hard to be quiet.

  Keeping perfectly still, and controlling his breathing, he listened intently. He could hear short, shallow breaths and guessed whoever it was, was very near the bottom of the bed on his right. He listened for the sound of a gun cocking.

  Nothing.

  Even the sound of breathing had stopped or, more likely, someone was trying very hard to hold their breath.

  OK, Mike thought. In one fluid motion, he shot up with the quilt in his hands and threw it over the figure. 'Right, you bastard. Who the hell are you?'

  A muffled sob, followed a moment later by, 'It’s me. Smiler.'

  'Bloody hell. You scared me to death. What the hell are you doing?' Mike disentangled Smiler from the quilt, then glanced at the bedroom clock on his dresser. 'Good God. It’s half-past seven!' he said in disbelief, as he reached for the light switch.

  'I know. I’m sorry.'

  'You’re sorry? Two bloody hours, that’s all the sleep we’ve had.' He sighed. 'OK, what’s wrong?' He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Smiler.

  'I think she’s dead.' Staring at the floor, Smiler started to sob
. 'It was terrible, Mike… She’s not there any more.' He glanced up at Mike, his eyes full of tears, 'It’s like there’s a black hole where she should be.'

  Patting Smiler’s shoulder, Mike said, 'Right, mate, who are we talking about here?' He rubbed his eyes with his other hand, feeling totally lousy. A night on the booze never left him feeling this bad. They had been up most of the night searching for Jill’s daughter, with no success. Aunt May had spent the night at Jill’s house. Mike guessed she’d have had less sleep than any of them, and he knew he must catch her sometime today to warn her about going to the meeting tonight. There was something mighty suspicious about the whole thing. He put all those thoughts out of his mind when Smiler started agitatedly cracking his knuckles.

  'OK, Smiler, chill, eh?'

  Suddenly Smiler stopped, and Mike felt overwhelmed with a feeling of dread at the tortured look on his face.

  'She’s screaming, Mike,' he said a moment later. 'Really screaming, and… and I don’t know which one it is, because one of them’s gone.' Burying his head in his hands, he started to rock back and forth.

  8. 30 am

  Quietly closing the door behind her, Aunt May walked along to her own house. Jill was sedated, old Dr Monty had said she would sleep until well past midday. Far from the teenage rebel persona she had adopted over the last few months, Jayne had proved to be a rock, and was now dozing in a chair by her mother’s bed.

  She was surprised to see Smiler standing at the gate with Tiny. Patting the dog’s head, she said, 'Mike up yet?'

  Smiler nodded. 'Yeah, he’s cooking breakfast. I’m just taking Tiny out for his walk. No word yet?'

  Sadly Aunt May shook her head.

  Smiler sighed. 'I wish I could see more, Aunt May. If this is the gift you say it is, why can’t I see exactly where she is? Why can’t I make Mike believe? It’s worse than useless.' Without waiting for her to answer, he turned and headed up the street towards the churchyard.

  Watching him go, Aunt May felt sad for him. She wished she could help. Sometimes the poor kid looked as if his very soul was being tortured. But she had no answers. She’d read much on the subject mainly out of curiosity, but also because of some very strange things she’d experienced herself. Since Smiler had arrived she’d dug some of her old books out to re-read, hoping for what, she didn’t know. One thing she did know was that this world should be treated with an open mind. Hiding behind closed doors got you nowhere fast.

  Smiler carried on past the church, using the same route down to the beach that Mike regularly used. Although the causeway was open, the sea was still swirling around the small island of St Cuthbert, making it impossible to cross over. Instead, he sat down on the rocky beach and stared at the islet and St Cuthbert’s cross.

  He recalled everything he’d read about St Cuthbert. How he was tormented by demons on the islet, and on Inner Farne, where he also spent time as a hermit. The demons did their best to cast him into the ocean, but nothing they did discouraged him. When the devils had been driven from the island through faith and prayer, angels came and helped build a cell and a chapel.

  St Cuthbert had the power of second sight, because he was a good holy man. He’d first seen an angel when he was eight years old and tending sheep. He also had the power to perform miracles. He healed many sick and diseased people. Once he changed water into wine. Even on his deathbed, he healed a servant, and his miracles continued well after his death. In 1942 his relics, resting in Durham Cathedral, saved the city from the bombs of the Luftwaffe by shrouding the city in thick fog on the night of their raid.

  Smiler hung his head, his thoughts heavy. St Cuthbert had been a good man, who had been given the gift because of his goodness. If this is truly a gift, as Aunt May says, then why has it been given to me? A useless, worthless ex-druggie. I’m no good to anyone.

  Mike’s right, it’s all my imagination. A backlash from all the shit I pumped into myself. I might as well be dead for all the use I am to anybody.

  Slowly he rose and headed towards the pounding waves, tripping over pebbles and standing on sharp rocks, noticing neither as he reached the shore.

  10.30 am

  A low moan escaped from Shelly’s lips as she slowly opened her eyes. Her body felt as if it was being squeezed inch by inch. There was no part she could favour, the pain was everywhere.

  'Shut up and get up, you have work to do,' a disembodied voice said behind her.

  She lacked the strength to turn her head, but she knew it was the Chinese guard, and cringed inside. When The Leader had finished inflicting his own torture, he had handed her over to the two guards, who had repeatedly beaten and raped her through the night.

  'Here.' He placed her insulin pen and a bowl of cereal on the small night table. 'Five minutes.'

  She heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock, and sighed from the soles of her feet.

  Last night The Leader had told her, as he laughed in her face -- she shivered, remembering the spit that had landed all over her -- that she had twenty-four hours to live. She had only been given a stay of execution because the workforce was depleted. A new shipment of peasants was due later tonight. She had thought at the time, what a strange thing to say, but realised that it fitted in with what she knew. Most of people in the world were peasants to the families.

  Easing her feet off the bed, she groaned as she sat up, and instantly felt dizzy. Knowing she’d already used up probably half of the five minutes just getting off the bed, she injected herself, before hastily swallowing most of the cereal. She was drinking the milk from the bowl when he came for her.

  10.40 am

  Danny was facing the open door, and was shocked when Shelly walked through, accompanied by one of the fiend’s brutes. He watched as she hobbled towards him. She looked twenty years older. Her face was grey. He could see huge bruises on her arms and legs. Immediately he felt sorry and angry at the same time, sorry for the physical wreck she had become in a few short hours, and angry at the people responsible. He knew nothing of the families, nor the yoke the whole world had been under for centuries. His anger was directed at The Leader. His brain had worked overtime, figuring out ways he and Cassie could escape. They had lain with their heads together, whispering, until they fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

  The thug with the gun was pretty lax really, probably thinking that his charges were little more than zombies. Danny had told Cassie to be ready, and in the two hours after their breakfast, a slice of bread thrown at them as if they were animals, she had hardly taken her eyes off him.

  He figured he could probably take the thug from behind, but how the hell to get out of here? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with a working plan.

  Shelly was moving towards them. Danny was saddened to see that the closer she got, the worse she looked. His throat tightened. He put his head down so the over-developed freak with her would not see his eyes.

  'You.'

  Danny knew he was talking to him. Still he kept his head down and muttered a meek, 'Yes.'

  'Show her what to do.'

  Danny nodded. When he was certain the freak had gone, he looked at Shelly. Are you all right? he mouthed, even though he could see she was far from all right.

  Is that a bite mark on her cheek? Jesus!

  Slowly she shook her head. Danny ached to hold her. No matter what she’d done, she did not deserve this. He knew then that he still loved her, and felt totally inadequate at his inability to protect her.

  'Just fill these boxes with the packets of poison,' he said quietly, aware that Cassie was watching. Then he whispered, 'They’ll be round later with some shit. Don’t swallow it, OK?'

  She nodded, staring at the packets of pills. Danny knew the nod was automatic, a reaction from someone who was already dead. His spirits sank. Shelly knew more about these people than anyone here. If she was reacting like this, what hope did any of them have?

  12.15 pm

  'Where’s Smiler?' Mike asked Aunt May, as h
e closed his mobile and slipped it into his pocket. Officially today was his day off, but he had been in contact with the office every few minutes, driving Kristina crazy.

  Aunt May shrugged. 'Never seen him, nor the bloody Shetland pony, for' – she shrugged again – 'a couple of hours. Any news about Cassie?'

  Mike sighed. 'No. She was spotted looking into a jewellery shop window at about five to nine yesterday morning, by the postman. Before that, a couple of kids saw her at half-past eight. Nothing since. I’m going in to work anyway. We’re going to the school, question some of the kids who know her.' He looked at Aunt May. 'There’s not a lot more we can do.'

  Aunt May nodded. 'I’ll pop round and see Jill.’

  'You do that. Tell her… tell her we’re doing everything we can to find Cassie.'

  Aunt May nodded. She left through the back door as Mike headed up to the shower.

  1.30 pm

  Simmonds glared at his oldest son. 'I’ve told you, he’s completely reliable. Everything is going according to plan. By tonight the fool in Northumbria will be dead, along with that interfering copper.'

  His son Giles was a younger version of himself, with the same petulant mouth, now down-turned at the corners. He said, 'As long as he knows what’s riding on this. Seeing as you failed to push through the deaths of his whole family, we’ve lost out on their empire.' He slammed the book he’d been holding onto the coffee table. 'Really, Father, things aren’t going according to plan.'

  'We have to tread carefully, surely you can see that? If any of the families get wind of what we’re planning, then we will be the ones murdered in our beds.'

  'Huh.'

  'Huh, you say? Why do you think the Norwegian family were wiped out in the fourteenth century?'

  Giles shrugged. 'That was then. This is now.’

  'This is now?' Simmonds snapped. 'How many times do you need to be told that we are all in danger? Until the real Lindisfarne Gospels are found and hidden with the Historian, every one of the families is in danger. Thank God everyone thinks the ones in London are the real thing. If the genuine gospels were ever found, with the real truth of the world in them, we would be hunted down and torn to pieces.'