The Headsman
Page 42
“The Lord protects me.”
“Really? They’ll get you, you know. Sooner or later the cops’ll get you.”
Stark grunted in contempt. “The hell they will. I forgot more about police work than those fuckers ever learned. Get me? Never. And you know why, asshole? Because after this the headsman’ll be gone without a trace. And everybody in Braddock will say, yes, he came back and killed the ones that deserved it. And then he disappeared again. Just the way he’s been doing for over two hundred years.”
“You son of a bitch.”
Stark stared at him. “You still don’t understand, do you? The truth is right in front of you, and you don’t understand at all. What you don’t see, you stupid bastard, is that all this is not what you think it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Think, goddamn you. Can’t you see it?”
“See what—what is it?”
His eyes were glowing. “I am the headsman. I am the headsman of Hounslow, come to the colonies on HMS New Hope in 1705. I am in Emmett Stark’s body now, as I have been in the bodies of other hosts many times. Whenever God has commanded me to serve the people of Braddock, I have returned.”
He’s totally mad, Jud thought. Straight-out fucking crazy.
“Watch closely, MacElroy. I told you, you’ll be a witness. Twice.”
He stepped back to the platform and picked up the ax.
Sally had been silent throughout the exchange between Stark and Jud. The beating she’d taken had left her unable to move. Now she looked up at Stark. “Please don’t. I’m begging you—don’t do it.”
For answer he bent over her and held the axhead close to her face. “Don’t worry, you’ll hardly feel a thing.” He grinned. “Not after a few seconds, anyway.”
She moaned, closing her eyes, her mouth trembling.
Stark straightened and looked over at Jud. “Takes skill, you know that? You want the ax to hit right there on the adam’s apple. That’s the aiming point. You do it right, the blade goes through like the neck was warm butter.”
Sally was gulping air in shallow gasps. “Oh, God. Please.”
Jud had to keep him talking, had to slow him down. “Where did the ax come from?”
“Where? From England, of course.”
“You mean that’s the original?”
“Of course it is. Forged by a master armorer in sixteen-ninety.”
“Did Mulgrave know it was here?”
“Sure he did. But he didn’t know who was using it. He was scared shitless it’d be found and he’d be implicated somehow. Or he’d lose his pissant curator job. So he came here thinking he’d get rid of it.”
“And found you.”
“Found me, found the ax. And then justice found him.” He raised the ax once more.
Jud gave another violent tug at the cord binding his wrists, but it held fast. Desperate, he struggled to his feet.
Stark looked at him in surprise, the expression on his harsh features rapidly turning to rage. He stepped down from the platform, holding the ax ready.
Jud half-staggered toward him. As Stark lifted the weapon to strike, Jud dropped into a crouch, then propelled himself at the big man’s midsection. Stark swung the ax, but he was a second too late.
Jud barreled into him, ramming his head into Stark’s gut. Stark stumbled against the edge of the platform and went over backward, losing his grip on the ax. As he scrambled to regain his feet, Jud snapped the top of his head up as hard as he could, smashing Stark’s mouth and nose.
The big man cursed and slammed a clublike fist against the side of Jud’s jaw.
Half-dazed, Jud turned and snatched up the ax with his bound hands. He swung the heavy weapon with all his strength, driving the huge blade into the center of Stark’s face, splitting it open like a rotten melon.
Stark fell onto his back, the axhead buried in his shattered features. His hands and feet twitched, and then he was still.
Jud struggled until he got a hand free, then bent down and untied the cord binding his legs. He pulled Sally to her feet and freed her as well.
They stood huddled together for a long time, holding onto each other for support, both physical and emotional.
“You all right?” Jud gasped.
She was trembling, her body shaking. “Yes … I think so. Are you?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He’d never experienced anything like this, a feeling of having been totally drained, his mind still reeling from the shock of what had happened. The only thing remotely comparable to it was coming out of the fever when he’d been wounded in combat.
He was drenched in sweat, and becoming aware of his cuts and bruises. A terrible headache was pounding the top of his head.
Sally shuddered. “Please take me out of this awful place.”
“Yeah, come on.”
He turned, and guided her out the door of the chamber. There was a stairway just beyond it. He could feel her continuing to tremble, and thought he might have to carry her. How he’d manage that he had no idea. But she kept going, and he stepped behind her, supporting her as she put a foot on the stairs.
A hand seized Jud’s shoulder in a powerful grip.
He twisted his head around, and what he saw was the embodiment of a nightmare.
Emmett Stark loomed there, one hand holding Jud, the other raising the ax. He’d torn the weapon away from his face, but the wound was horrendous. In the dim light Jud could see bone splinters and torn tissue, all of it dripping blood. One eye had been ripped from its socket and was hanging by a thread, dangling against Stark’s cheek.
The other eye was fixed on Jud, burning with a fiery light. The big man swung the ax.
From somewhere, Jud found the strength once more. He slammed his right fist into the center of Stark’s body, forgetting the bulletproof vest until he experienced sharp pain in his hand.
But the force of the blow knocked Stark back a step, ruining his aim. Jud moved sideways, and the ax missed him by inches.
A maniacal cry of rage boiled from the bloody center of what had been Stark’s face. He came forward, lifting the ax.
As hard as he could, Jud poked two fingers of his right hand into Stark’s remaining eye. The big man stumbled, again emitting that unearthly howl. He pawed his face, and Jud tore the ax away from him.
Holding the haft in both hands, Jud swung the heavy weapon in an arc. But this time he brought the razor-sharp steel directly down onto the top of Stark’s head. The blade drove completely through his skull, cleaving it into two gory halves.
The lumbering body stood erect, its hands raised, blood pumping from the place where the head had been. Then it staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor, the ax handle poking straight up from it.
Only then was Jud sure it was over.
EPILOGUE
THE MEDIA ATTENTION focused on Braddock was enormous. Reporters from television, newspapers and magazines swarmed over the community like flies on a compost heap, and Jud MacElroy was held up to the world as a hero.
It was a role he refused to accept. Nor would he accept the contract offered him by the Braddock Town Council, which would have provided him with long-term security in his job and a considerable increase in salary. Instead, he left Braddock to become chief of police in Ardsley, California, an even smaller town than Braddock. He did not choose the position purely on the basis of the warm weather Ardsley offered, although that was a factor. A more important reason was that the town was only a fifteen-minute drive from Berkeley, and he enrolled in the University of California Law School there, taking courses at night.
Sally Benson also left Braddock. The career opportunities that opened up for her as a result of her work on the headsman case were almost unlimited. She joined the staff of Lifestyle magazine in New York and became an associate editor.
The lives of many other Braddock citizens changed as well.
Frank Hathaway was called to a hearing by the school board, at which he asserted
that after an injury in Vietnam, severe emotional stress had incapacitated him. His claim was supported by a psychiatrist, who explained that what began as psychosomatic illness had developed into a genuine physical handicap. Nevertheless Hathaway was fired by the board. He too moved to New York, and was hired by a private school in Greenwich Village.
The Harpers were divorced, and Jean Harper moved to Boston. Peter Harper was awarded custody of their daughter.
Loring Campbell, not Bill Swanson, became the next elected mayor of Braddock.
Sam Melcher and his business partners were unable to attract a major industrial firm to the town.
Sam’s daughter Betty enrolled at Skidmore, driving to the college in a new Mustang convertible.
Charley Boggs died of a massive coronary thrombosis.
Ray Maxwell also suffered a heart attack, but survived it. He retired, after selling his interest in the Braddock Express to the Newhouse newspaper chain.
Inspector Chester Pearson and Corporal Williger were awarded commendations by the New York State Police for their outstanding work in supervising the work of the state police task force as well as coordinating the efforts of the BPD.
Before leaving for California, Jud MacElroy appeared before the parole board in Westchester County and supported Joan Donovan’s request for parole, stating that she had provided valuable help in the investigation. His request was denied.
To the people of Braddock, the death of Emmett Stark marked the end of a nightmarish period of terror and revulsion. They breathed a collective sigh of relief and resolved to get on with their lives, hoping the notoriety would fade and their little community would at last return to normal.
But among them were many who knew in their hearts that the tale of the headsman had not ended, that it never would. The legend was as much a part of Braddock as the fierce storms that roared down upon the town each winter, holding it in an icy grip.
They knew that at some point in the future, perhaps ten years hence, perhaps twenty, a shadowy figure would appear once more, a big man dressed all in black. Black boots, black tunic, black gloves. Covering his head would be a black hood, and from within the slanted holes his eyes would burn with a devilish light. In his powerful hands he would carry a huge, double-bladed ax. He would make his rounds, seeking out those who were living lives of sin.
Then there would be footsteps in the night, and cries of horror. The steel would flash in a glittering arc.
Oh, yes.
The headsman would be back.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by James Neal Harvey
Cover design by Tracey Dunham
ISBN: 978-1-4804-8598-3
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