by Helen Slavin
It was the age of it, all the years of brewing it had done. It was the warm scent and feel of the mash itself underfoot and the sense of accomplishment when it was cleared out. She knew that the pigs at High Ways Farm would enjoy the mash and she would soon be ready to start another brew. Her brewing was an instinct. Ha. A Strength. Grandma Hettie had been very interested in her burgeoning career at Drawbridge. Grandma Hettie had, after all, first shown her how to brew at Cob Cottage. Charlie’s thoughts rolled around the inside of the tun, nestled into the mash as she shifted it out through the trap. She ought to try and remember how they brewed at the Cottage. She had tasted a few of those concoctions and there had always been something good, something different about them. She thought of the blackberry ferment she had started with the harvest she’d picked from Cob Cottage, that little decoction had stewed up well, densely purple but it might require a particular alchemy. And from there her thoughts drifted to the Wedding brew and the cider apples that were being pressed for her up at Top End. And that thought brought her Michael’s face in the sunlight, his eyes, honeyed sugar, and that was blurred over with Aron whose eyes were as hard and empty as marbles.
She was about to step out of the tun, ready to wheel the mash hopper out to the yard for picking up by Chris from High Ways Farm. Her head was tight with thoughts of Aron and therefore, as the fist jabbed out at her, it seemed to come straight from those thoughts and as a consequence Charlie reacted instantly, her fist lashed back, connecting hard with jawbone. A heavy boot lifted high into her back, kicked the breath right out of her and as she gasped and struggled, Tighe Rourke crushed her downwards to the floor of the tun.
As they fought the metal of the tun tolled out mournful notes. Inside Charlie Way fear and fury fused and created an explosive reaction. She punched upwards, scratched at the knot of his hands that clenched at her throat. Her chest felt tight, her mind was filling with darkness and, just when she thought she might die, the darkness within her burst outwards like a shockwave to hit Tighe Rourke square in the chest. She heard the breath pound out of him, a rib cracking before he fell backwards, releasing her. His face whitened as chalk as he rolled over to scramble clear of the tun onto the gantry steps. Charlie was close behind.
“HOI!” the voice boomed around the brewery, Charlie turned to see Michael, running towards them. Tighe Rourke made his escape, jumping off the walkway and out through the window. “NO!” Michael took the gantry steps three at a time, almost tripping onto the walkway, his torso lunging out of the window and a roar of anger releasing. He slammed the window.
“He’s running up onto Mill Run Road…” Michael hurried to stop Charlie sitting up “No… wait a sec Charlie, wait a sec, get your breath back…” But Charlie was pushing him aside, Michael put a hand on her arm. “No… give yourself a minute… you’re hurt. Oh Christ… your eye… your lip…” His eyes moved all over her, his expression pained, as if broken bones might be jutting out everywhere.
“I don’t have a minute…” Charlie was anxious now. “I have to follow him…” She was moving fast, Michael grabbed for her.
“Wait… what the hell was that all about? Is this to do with Aron?” His voice was tight with anxiety.
“What? No. No.” Charlie was heading out without explanation. Michael followed.
“This man was dangerous Charlie… he’s violent… I’m calling the police.”
Charlie shook her head.
“No point. They can make some notes and fill in some forms, and, in the meantime, he will have killed her…” She was pulling her car door shut by now, Michael jamming his fingers into it, pulling it back from her grasp.
“What? What are you talking about? Killed who?”
“No one you know.” Charlie tugged the door free and was starting the engine almost before it was shut. Michael stood, tense and bewildered as she reversed. She wound down the window.
“It’s okay. Seriously. He hasn’t killed her yet.”
“Charlie! What the hell? This is not okay.”
“It’s going to be. We can stop him. My sisters and I will work it out. It is okay.” She could see the worry in his face, but he nodded.
Back in the office Michael Chance telephoned the police to report an intruder at the brewery. He wasn’t surprised that, when it was time to close up and go home, no one had yet arrived to take his statement.
* * *
Charlie drove straight to Cob Cottage. At the sight of her Anna and Seren were shocked and glancing at her reflection in the kettle Charlie could see why; her right eye had swollen and grown bloody-black, her clothes were torn and now she thought about it and ran her tongue round her mouth, she could in fact taste blood. Did she still have all her teeth?
“Has he been here?” She didn’t bother with a greeting.
“What happened?” Anna asked. Charlie gave them the PG rated version of the attack at Drawbridge and was careful to highlight the saving presence of Michael Chance. Seren was distressed and headed out onto the porch, they could see her then walking towards the jetty. The sisters watched her, but Anna was, like Charlie, practical and pragmatic.
“We know the rules of engagement at any rate,” Charlie said.
“You mean no rules…” Anna said. Charlie looked surprised.
“You’ve not got any arguments to make?” she asked. Anna thought for a moment.
“No,” she spoke simply, considered some more. “Something different is happening here, Charlie. Forces. Fates. I don’t know quite…” She was unblinking as she looked at her sister.
“… We will go wherever it’s going to lead us,” Charlie finished the thought. Anna’s lips were pinched tight, her eyes serious as she looked back out to Seren.
“Not just us.”
The water glittered.
“What time is Emz back from school?” Charlie asked. “I think when this really kicks off, we’re going to need all three of us.”
* * *
Emz, as it happened, was not at school. At least not any longer. She was skirting the edge of town looking ahead to where the rather sinister painted hedgehog sign said, “Prickles Wildlife Sanctuary”.
The Sixth Form Centre at the school had been busy this morning and although she glimpsed Mark Catton at the edge of a crowd of other students he, she noted, was careful to avoid being seen, keeping his back to her and dodging out of the common room door as swiftly as possible. Caitlin was not around but Emz picked up on the harsh looks that Caitlin’s crowd was sending her way. She didn’t care what those girls thought. They were a pack; as quick to bay at and tear someone apart as be their friend. A part of her smiled. It was a brave part, a real part. The Emz part of her.
Having brazened that few moments out, Emz felt that she could handle the situation. After all, the only two people who knew what had gone on or not gone on at the summer house in the garden were Mark and Logan and it seemed unlikely to her that either was going to broadcast events. Because it was weird Emz, intense and powerful and very, very weird.
It was the sight of Logan Boyle that threw her off course. She was leaving L7 to the tune of Mrs King-Winters’ lament on the lateness of essays. There had been a prickle of recognition at this. Shit, have I finished that one? But as she moved out of the classroom the thought of her English essay vanished as Logan Boyle looked up at her from the turn on the stairs.
She felt naked. Her mind crowded with memories of his mouth on hers, his hands on her. In the summer house. She wished, at this moment, that she had been too drunk to remember. The usual phrase was that a line had been crossed but Emz knew, instinctively, ha, there was that word, that feeling, again, that more than a line existed, they had leapt off a cliff.
He said nothing, just paused and waited for her to move past him. He looked directly at her, his eyes intense. On the first step she thought she would stare back. Not. Stare. Not. Stare. By which time she was level with him and staring back and she felt powerful, her memory jogged a vision of the black web that she’d witnes
sed under the fuel of the golden vodka. Three of them, one of her. She had done the right thing. She had. Hadn’t she?
As she turned the stair she thought he was moving up away from her but instead his hand reached and gripped her upper arm so hard that she couldn’t move forward. He was hurting her almost and so she looked up into his face. His real face was exposed so clearly in that moment that it was crushing her, she could not breathe.
“I am sorry.” He looked down, let go and moved away up the stairs. Emz kept moving, unsure how her legs were working because her entire body was shaking, and her heart was a bag of blood in her mouth.
* * *
Mrs King-Winters did not like the look of the man in the central quad of the school. He had already tried the door to the Science labs and, failing on his quest there, he was looking in at windows like a man recceing a badger sett for a baiting. Mrs King-Winters pushed open the door to the Humanities block and called out.
“Can I help you?” She didn’t want to approach him, was aware that there was a sliding bolt on this door if she needed to retreat. He was striding towards her.
“I’m looking for the Way girl.”
Mrs King-Winters’ teacher instincts were at DEFCON 1 now. She had been right.
“I’m sorry… you’re looking for who?” Mrs King-Winters’ mind had reasoned that the best plan was to accompany this man to reception where there were other staff members who could be called upon to help deal with him and get him off school property.
“The Way girl. Emma.”
Mrs King-Winters managed her best schoolmistress smile as a loud siren went off in her head.
“Ah I see… Can I ask what it is in connection with?” She was stalling, and she was also braving the space between them. She had seen Emily Way earlier in class and she was also doing History, wasn’t she? So, if memory served, Emz would be in the Humanities building right this second on the ground floor in L2 with Mr Gray. It seemed appropriate, therefore, to get this man quite far away from the Humanities building.
“It’s a family emergency.”
“Ah.” Of course. So closely related that he couldn’t get her name right. Mrs King-Winters cocked her head in a business-like way that had got her through many a tight spot during her twenty-five-year teaching career. It was a move she had copied from Miss Gibbs, who had taught her geometry. “In that case I suggest we head over to reception and we can find out from the timetables where she is…” and telephone the police. Mrs King-Winters made a sort of air stewarding gesture designed to move the man in the desired direction. It failed.
“Did you hear me? This is an emergency. Tell me where the fuck she is.”
He stepped towards her, his foot trampling on hers as he did so, which angered him, as if she was hampering him by being trodden on and so he shoved her. Mrs King-Winters shoved him back and as he lost his footing she took her chance and darted inside the Humanities building. She tried to slide the bolt, but he launched himself into the door, battering through it, but Mrs King-Winters rammed her fist into the nearest fire alarm. As the siren wailed, decibels-loud students and staff began to evacuate, and the aggressive man made his escape.
* * *
It was always a good walk to Prickles but today, for Emz, it had seemed endless and tiring. The crazed energy she felt on the night of the party had left her. Her mind flashed up Logan’s eyes and she pushed the images away, finding it easier to do so the more distance she put between herself and Logan.
Winn was arguing with a woman in the reception area, something about a dog as far as Emz could tell, but she skirted round the building and came in at the back to avoid the confrontation. Once Emz was changed into her hiking pants and fleece her mind settled a little. The door opened, bringing a waft of woodland and the pond. Emz breathed in deep.
“That bloody woman! Bringing a dog here… to abandon the bloody thing… A DOG!” Emz was pulling on her hiking boots as Winn bustled by her. “What the blue bloody blazes is WRONG with these people…?” Winn’s rage seemed to know no bounds as she slammed around the kitchen, filling the kettle and rooting in the cupboard for the new box of teabags. The dog in question, a mongrel with a lot of Labrador in him, looked extremely sorry for himself as he sat obediently by the door.
“I mean… look at him… who in their right mind would abandon him?” She reached into the cupboard for the box of dog treats that she kept there. “Here you are…” She offered the treat to the dog. “Welcome home…” And she ruffled its neck affectionately, squinting at the name tag. “…Napoleon?”. The dog still looked uncertain but Emz knew it would not take him long to work out whose side Winn was on.
“I’m going patrolling.” Emz said as she walked out. Winn yelled some sort of farewell but that was one of the pleasures of working with Winn, she had no manners, so you could forget yours.
Outside, Emz’s mind began to wander amongst the trees. She didn’t think about where she was going, she just let her feet lead her. She had her binoculars slung around her neck and once or twice stopped to check out the owl and bat boxes as she passed them. She had a vague notion that she would head down to the pond and check out the hides because that was her usual go to place when she wanted to get away from thoughts. But there was something else powering her steps this time, and she began to feel that edgy sensation that she had encountered on party night. At first it set a little panic in her heart and she stopped. As she did so, the feeling retreated a little. It was odd, it was almost as though she was not in control of it, as if someone else was inside her head having a look around. She began walking again, stepping up onto the North Path which would lead deeper into Leap Woods, into the oldest part although as Emz thought about it, even that part was nowhere near as old as Havoc Wood. Still, it was beautiful and hardly anyone trod this way, through these trees, off the path, winding through and through and about and around and look at the sky jigsaw pieced between the trees and oh breathe in that breath of breeze. She stopped again. Her face was flushed, she felt softened and wilder. She explored her thoughts, it was clear, not all the thoughts were hers, some were being put there, oh like beautiful pebbles, the hairs on the back of her neck rose as if fingertips skimmed her surface, desire shimmered upwards through her body. Oh, look at this. And this. Umber, ochre, mulberry, amber, HUNTER. She stopped and as her feet began to propel her forward once again, unbidden this time, she reached out to stop herself and grazed her hands against bark. Hunter?
She did not often feel uneasy in the woods, even in the dark, but at this moment the wood seemed to hold its breath, waiting. Hunter. The word had come into her head. She listened. There was the breeze behind her, pushing her gently, but the trees were still. She stepped to one side. The breeze stopped, she could feel it if she reached her hand out, as if it was a corridor of wind moving through the wood, soft and calming and inviting. She looked to see if she could watch its progress. It was tracking up through the woods. She could just walk that way, step, step, step…
There was a brief cracking sound further down the hill. Emz turned. She could make out nothing at first and then she could see where he didn’t fit in, as if his anger and his violence brought with them a small black cloud. He was coming up through the trees, trying to keep out of sight but each tree he crept behind or between seemed to creak out against him. Hunter? Of course. Emz ought to have been afraid but instead she felt wired and, rather than run away, she turned and doubled back on herself.
Tighe Rourke was shocked when he stepped out from between the small stand of silver birch trees and Emz Way was standing, defiant, no more than a pace in front of him.
“Get out,” Emz spat the words, her face hardened. “You are not welcome. Get out. Of here. Of Woodcastle. Get. Out.” She took the step towards him and Tighe laughed.
“Ha. Bring it on you little bitch…” He reached for her, his hand like a hook latching onto her arm and his foot kicking outwards to trip her but somehow, Tighe Rourke did not know how, she flipped him, and they w
ere rolling then, rolling down the hill snagging on roots and fallen branches. He kicked out, his feet acting as a brake and as they jagged to a halt he twisted Emz Way over onto her front, his knee digging into her back as he twisted her arm up. With a grunt he lifted her to her feet, and half dragged, half carried her onwards. He was not sure what his plan was. Divide and conquer? With this one prisoner he had them to ransom. Didn’t he? A plan, a much better plan than he’d had before was asserting itself. An eye for an eye sort of idea. He would bash her around a little, was already doing that as her face knocked against the tree there, if he twisted this arm a little more he might dislocate the shoulder. He had rope in the car. Shit, why hadn’t he thought to bring it.
As the thought was distracting him Emz kicked out, her foot connecting with his back and sending him off balance just as he was dodging a fallen trunk. Tighe tumbled over the trunk, his grip on Emz tight. Got you, girly. He was laughing, his face pointed and animal above Emz. He pressed his weight down onto her, could feel her bones grinding beneath his grip, his feet splayed, pinning her legs but suddenly the power of it altered. He was struggling to hold her now, it was his bones grinding as he attempted to keep his grip. At first he thought it was the raincoat, the waxy black surface reflecting crackled sunlight but no, he started, the shadows crept forward like black fingers and what the hell? He looked up. The woods darkened, the trees stretched taller around him, their branches were bark-skinned arms, reaching, and beneath him Emz Way’s fists were like hammers, pounding at him as little screeches and wails of fury curled out of her. Christ, she was like an animal. Her fingernails caught at his face, gouged at his eyes. He punched her then, the bones in his fist connecting satisfyingly with her jawbone.
Emz’s head rang like a church bell and the world tilted in three different directions so that it was like having kaleidoscope eyes and so she couldn’t be clear what she saw next because there were trees and green and earthen brown and the branches of the trees seemed to reach down and whip at Tighe Rourke and ivy unravelled itself from the nearby trunks and boughs to strangle at him and stripe slits into his skin until he was running, stumbling, leaping and there was the sky, the beautiful sky and she would just rest here for a while, some moments, no more.