A New Dawn Rising

by Michael Joseph

  Sam showed a keener eye walking around the other rooms, spotting more noticeable patches as Carl chatted away merrily. They weren't restricted to the walls, either. He spotted circles on shelves and floors, darker areas where ornaments had once stood. It appeared to Sam that Carl had recently indulged in a drastic clear out.

  As the pair made their way through the vast kitchen and out the back door leading to the garden, Sam heard the sound of chopping once more. He saw a figure at the bottom of the huge garden working tirelessly over a pile of logs. The light outside was fading and a strong breeze had picked up. Sam pulled the collars of his coat up for protection and followed Carl down the path dissecting the garden. Halfway down, Carl called out heartily to the figure.

  'Peter!'

  Startled by the shout, a small, stocky man dressed in overalls stopped what he was doing and watched them approach. He stood in a clearing just past the end of the lawn. Behind him, the land changed to a rambling mass of bushes and trees.

  'Peter, this is Sam. He's going to be driving me round from now on. Sam, meet Peter Canning.'

  Peter was a swarthy man with a shock of unruly black hair. He shook Sam's hand with a vice-like grip, not looking particularly enthralled at being disturbed.

  'Pleased to meet you,' he offered begrudgingly, a scowl never leaving his face.

  'Likewise,' said Sam. 'I take it you look after the garden?'

  'That's right,' interrupted Carl. 'Peter's been with us a few months, haven't you?'

  Peter grunted.

  'A man of few words is our Peter,' laughed Carl, giving his gardener a friendly slap on the back.

  'Carl, what's back there?' asked Sam, pointing to the undergrowth.

  'Not a lot,' replied Carl, looking slightly bemused. 'Just trees and bushes.'

  'Mind if I take a look?'

  Carl shrugged.

  'Be my guest. I want to have a word with Peter, anyway.'

  ***

  Sam fought his way through the thick bushes until he reached a mass of solid trees. With the weak sunlight unable to get through, darkness covered the area to such a point Sam almost walked into the wooden fence marking the end of Carl's land. At six feet high, he judged it not much of an obstacle to anyone determined to gain entry into the garden. He hauled himself up against it and peered over the top. Nothing but endless fields. No neighbours to witness an intruder approaching the property.

  Sam had seen enough. Jumping down from the fence, he fought his way back through the shrubbery. The wind began to blow strongly, whistling through the trees, causing the branches overhead to rustle loudly. Sam kept his head down as he walked, his eyes peeled on the ground. Yards from the clearing, he spotted something. A cigarette end. He bent down and picked it up. It looked relatively fresh. Sam figured it had been dropped recently. He wondered if Carl or Peter smoked. If so, why the need to come way back here?

  Sam returned to the garden to find Peter alone and chopping again, seemingly oblivious to the howling wind buffering him.

  'Peter, have you got a spare fag? I'm gasping for one.'

  Throwing his axe to the floor, Peter gave Sam a stern look.

  'Nope,' he replied, gathering up the pile of freshly chopped logs. 'And I wouldn't bother asking the boss. He doesn't smoke, either.'

  ***

  Reaching the back door, Sam heard children giggling. He let himself into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. Carl was extracting himself from a woman's embrace while two young girls skipped happily around the kitchen.

  Sam stared at the girls.

  They looked just like her.

  The same blue eyes and blonde hair. Even the tiny freckles across the nose.

  All the air went out of him. He found himself catching his breath.

  'Ah, so this is the new driver.'

  Sam had to drag his gaze away from the two small faces staring back at him.

  'Sorry?'

  The woman walked over to him, smiling pleasantly as she offered her hand.

  'Hi, I'm Molly, Carl's wife.'

  Sam felt the room spinning. The kitchen lights were too strong. Too bright.

  'Are you okay?' asked Molly.

  Sam told himself to shake out of it and get a grip.

  'Yeah, I'm fine, thanks.' he said weakly. 'Just getting my breath back. That wind's really picked up out there.'

  All four of them watched him with concern.

  'Anyway, I'm Sam,' he said, making an effort to regain control. 'It's nice to meet you. And these must be your daughters.'

  Molly ushered the girls forward, their expressions coy in the company of a stranger.

  'This is Jenny, and this is Katie. Say hello to Sam, girls.'

  Twins.

  They looked like angels. So much like her.

  Sam overcame his initial shock and stayed a while getting to know Molly and the girls. He didn't find it easy, but he couldn't walk out straight away. How would that have looked? Molly was friendly, and the girls took to him once they got over their initial shyness. Eventually, he made his excuses and left. Carl saw him to the door.

  'Thanks for coming, Sam. Are you okay to start tomorrow?'

  Sam nodded in reply. He was almost away. It was just the surprise of seeing the girls. Tomorrow would be better.

  'I'll see you in the morning, Carl.'

  ***

  Sam drove back to the cottage, stopping along the way to buy a bottle of vodka. He knew he wouldn't sleep well tonight, and vodka wouldn't smell on his breath in the morning.

  At least he had held it together for long enough in front of Carl and his family.

  Now, he just had to get through the night.

  When the dream came, two balaclava-clad faces appeared, their eyes dark and sinister, their lips moving wordlessly. Intense rage danced in their eyes. Pure evil emanated from their piercing stares. Their mouths began to move faster, spitting out silent words of hate. Suddenly, their masked faces ignited into flames and the two heads were engulfed in fire. Even as the blaze took its ferocious hold and the woollen fabric began to melt into the skin of both faces, the eyes stayed vengeful and resolute, the boiling lips never ceasing to move.

  Then the two images faded into the darkness. The dying embers of light were replaced by the sweet faces of Carl's twin daughters. At first they looked content, smiling happily. Then a nervousness spread across their innocent faces. They looked worried and started asking for help. Their eyes flickered in panic. Frightened, the girls began to scream, pleading desperately for help.

  Once again, the faces changed, transforming into two new images. Only they weren't new. They were very familiar. A beautiful woman and a pretty young girl. Frightened. Shrieking hysterically. Begging for mercy.

  There would be no mercy for Sam Carlisle again tonight.

  Chapter 7

  Sam knocked on Carl's door at precisely nine the next morning. It was another chilly day, the sun nowhere to be seen through the thick cloud cover. Sam looked at his reflection in the glass panel of the door. Not too bad, he told himself. He had showered, shaved and donned his smartest shirt and trousers before leaving the cottage. He still felt like crap, though.

  'Blimey, Sam,' remarked Carl on opening the door to him. 'You look rough. Bad night?'

  Sam grimaced. So much for making the effort.

  ***

  Molly Renshaw stood at the bedroom window and watched her husband set off for the day. She had tried to talk to him last night. Tried to get him to open up. He wouldn't, though. He kept telling her everything was fine. There wasn't anything worrying him. He insisted she was fretting herself for no reason.

  Molly didn't believe him.

  She was going to keep a close eye on her husband.

  ***

  Sam's first task was to drive Carl to his factory. He gave the Jag a quick check over before they got in. He found the car a dream to drive, its engine purring smoothly every time he changed gear and accelerated.

  'I use this solely for work,' Carl tol
d him, sat in the passenger seat with a sheaf of papers on his lap. He was back in a suit again, looking every inch the dynamic businessman. 'We tend to take the girls out in Molly's Range Rover. That's a bit more practical for families.'

  'What about the Aston Martin?' asked Sam.

  Carl laughed heartily.

  'That's my toy. I jump in that when I want to race round the countryside pretending I'm twenty again.'

  Sam smiled. He thought Carl and him were going to get along just fine.

  'Business must be good, then? What with the house and cars?'

  Carl didn't reply. Sam glanced over at him. His new employer was gazing absent-mindedly out of the side window. It was the same distracted look Sam had seen yesterday, when he had asked Carl about his family being threatened.

  'Carl?'

  'Oh yeah, sorry,' said Carl, snapping out of his malaise. 'I was miles away. Yeah, business is okay. Up and down, you know the way it is. Anyway, what about you? All we've talked about is me. Are you married? Kids?'

  Sam felt that pang in his chest again. All it had taken was one simple question.

  'No,' he answered flatly, trying to think of something else to talk about. They were on the other side of Bursleigh now, driving through an area Sam wasn't familiar with. He asked Carl to direct him the rest of the way. As Carl set up the SatNav for him to follow, Sam spotted a large housing estate off to one side in the distance. It looked tired and decrepit, in marked contrast to the rural scenery that made up most of Bursleigh.

  'What's that place over there?' he asked. 'It looks a bit out of place round here.'

  'That's the Withdean Estate,' replied Carl. 'It's a right rough-hole.'

  His next line threw Sam totally.

  'It's also where I grew up.'

  With a wry smile, Carl explained how he spent his formative years on the Withdean, not moving away until he was in his mid-twenties, when he and Molly got their own place together.

  'Yep, rough and ready is the best way I'd describe it, although it did make me the person I am today. A place like that teaches you more about life than any school, Sam. If you can survive there, you can get by anywhere.'

  'So where did you get the posh accent from? Not there, I take it?'

  When Carl failed to answer, Sam looked across at him, wondering if he was deep in thought again. He wasn't. He was looking slightly embarrassed.

  'I, er, had elocution lessons.'

  'Really?' said Sam, curious to hear more. He checked the SatNav. They were only a mile from the factory.

  'I'll tell you something about Bursleigh, Sam,' said Carl. 'It's divided into two. The Withdean has high unemployment, broken families, high crime rate. Everybody in Bursleigh thinks people on the Withdean are scum. But if you live on the estate, you're brought up to believe the rest of Bursleigh is full of snobby, rich country bumpkins. And, to an extent, they're both right.'

  They passed a sign indicating DR Garments was farther up the road. Sam couldn't see any physical sign of the factory yet.

  'So,' continued Carl, 'when I started this business, I knew I was going to face some prejudice...from other business people, at least.'

  'And that's when you decided to have the lessons?'

  Carl sighed and shuffled the paperwork he was holding.

  'It wasn't about sounding posh for the sake of it. It was about getting on in business and making a better life for me and Molly. You understand that, don't you?'

  'Yeah, I get it,' replied Sam, feeling as though Carl was looking for his approval. 'And from what I've seen, everything you've done has worked for you.'

  'I'll do anything for my family, Sam,' announced Carl, his voice suddenly full of defiance. 'Anything that needs to be done.'

  Sam gave him a quick glance. He saw a man with his jaw firmly set and a steely look in his eyes. Sam believed he had just witnessed the tiniest glimpse of Carl Renshaw's inner psyche. The toughness that had driven him on to where he was today.

  Chapter 8

  The factory was tucked away behind a screen of tall trees. On reaching the site entrance, a security guard in a booth raised the barrier for them. As Sam drove through, he mentioned to Carl how well hidden the site was from the road.

  'It can't be seen from anywhere outside,' explained Carl. 'The whole site was purposely shielded so it wouldn't be a blight on the countryside. We also make sure the noise and pollution levels are kept to a minimum.'

  As Sam pulled into the staff car park, Carl's mobile phone began to ring. Sam parked up and turned off the engine. He watched Carl look at the caller number and pull a face.

  'One minute, Sam. I've got to take this.'

  Carl got out of the car and shut the door behind him. Sam looked over at the factory. It was a huge building. He thought it looked quite modern considering it was built years ago. Hardly any noise could be heard coming from it. In fact, the only sound he could hear right now was Carl raising his voice on the phone.

  'What the hell do you mean by that?'

  Sam peered out through the side window. Carl looked livid.

  'I told you, you'll get it soon!'

  The passenger door was yanked open. Carl poked his head inside the car and snatched up the paperwork he had left on the seat. His face was flush with colour.

  'Sorry about that, Sam. The trade can be hard work at times.'

  Sam shrugged. Carl's work calls were his own business. He was just paid to drive the man about and make sure he was safe.

  Carl encouraged Sam to join him inside and meet some of the staff. Walking onto the shop floor, Sam was surprised by its cleanliness. People worked away at their machines on spotless floors. Neat bundles of clothing lay piled next to each machine.

  'We keep on top of any litter and waste,' Carl pointed out. 'Nothing's thrown away. It's all recycled. Oh, and the whole building's been soundproofed to keep the noise down. Even the loading bays.'

  Looking about him, Sam didn't see the need. All the machinery hummed gently. Carl seemed to have gone out of his way to make his factory as environmentally friendly as possible. Sam wondered why any activist would have a grievance with this set-up.

  ***

  Carl opened the door to a small office.

  'This is where all the hard work happens,' he grinned. 'My office.'

  A man was sat behind Carl's desk. He rose to his feet as the pair entered.

  'Morning, Carl.'

  'Good morning, Bill,' said Carl, dropping his paperwork into an empty tray. 'I'd like you to meet Sam, my new driver.'

  Bill shot Carl a surprised look. Carl stared back at him defiantly. Sam detected a sudden tension between the two men. Bill walked round the desk to shake hands with Sam. He was a small man, about sixty years old, with receding grey hair and a pair of spectacles perched precariously on the edge of a bony nose.

  'Hello, Sam,' he said in a thin voice. 'I'm Bill Seymour, Carl's accountant.'

  It transpired Bill needed an urgent word with Carl. One that couldn't wait. Carl threw Sam another apologetic look.

  'No worries, Carl,' said Sam. 'You've got a business to be getting on with. I'll take a wander round the factory and leave you two to talk.'

  ***

  Sam leaned on the balcony overlooking the shop floor. He could imagine Carl taking a break from his work, walking the few feet to here from his office, and gazing down on all he owned with proud satisfaction. Sam watched the multitude of workers below, every one of them clad in dark blue overalls. Realising he would stand out like a sore thumb walking amongst them, he went to his pocket for the visitor's badge Carl had issued him. It wasn't there. He looked around and saw it on the floor outside Carl's office. He must have dropped it on his way out. He walked over and bent down to retrieve it.

  From within the office, he could hear Carl and Bill arguing. He couldn't make out exactly what was being said, but it sounded like they were rowing about money. He heard a fist being slammed down on the desk. Passions were clearly running high. It dawned on Sam he had been he
re barely ten minutes and already overheard Carl involved in two heated conversations.

  A metallic clang nearby told Sam someone was coming up the steps to the balcony. He clipped the badge to his chest and walked over to the top of the steps. A woman on her way up saw Sam and frowned slightly when she didn't recognise him. He cheerfully greeted her good-morning and carried on down past her.

  Sam took a leisurely stroll around the factory. As a strange face on the site, he naturally got a few curious looks. In the loading bay, he saw two men sitting on a stack of pallets, deep in conversation. An empty wagon lay idle yards away from them. As he walked past the men, they stopped talking and stared at him.

  'Morning,' he said to them.

  'Alright, mate,' said the younger of the two, a genial-looking chap with dyed blonde hair. 'You lost?'

  Sam stopped and studied the men. They were either waiting for some work to do or lazing about for a few minutes.

  'No, mate,' he replied pleasantly. 'Just taking a look round.'

  'Looking at anything in particular?' asked the other man, eyeing Sam suspiciously. 'Picking out who to make redundant next?'

  That threw Sam. Redundancies?

  'I don't know anything about that,' he replied. 'I only started today as Carl's driver.'

  The two men exchanged perplexed looks before turning back to Sam.

  'Driver?' exclaimed Blondie, shaking his head. 'Jesus Christ, mate, don't you know Mr Renshaw laid off a dozen people last week?'

  Sam was dumbfounded. He had presumed DR Garments was thriving, not laying people off.

  'Bloody hell, Jase!' said Blondie, addressing his mate. 'I think Mr Renshaw's got his priorities-'

  'Oi, you two, get back to work!'

  Sam turned to see who had shouted. A solid man with close-cropped hair was storming towards them with a scowl on his face.

  'That wagon should have been loaded by now!' he bellowed at the two men. 'Now, get on with it!'

  They rolled their eyes petulantly, jumped down off the pallets and moved off towards the empty vehicle.