by Mary Wood
As Jack turned to lead the way, it took only a moment for Billy to curl his fingers around his chosen weapon. The resulting thud had a sickening note to it, and it didn’t sit right with him to see this man he loved, beyond any, buckle and fall. But he’d to focus. He had a job to do.
The gun in his hand had a magnificent feel – clean-cut lines, two barrels, long and sleek, a lovingly carved stock and a chamber holding the bullets. Two, that’s all he’d need, but he had more in his pocket and had taken only seconds to load it. He held it in readiness across his chest, his finger resting on the trigger. His pace quickened when he knew he was out of sight. His head burned again, giving him the message that he was right to do what he intended. They must die.
His ma had had it coming for a long time. He hated her. She hadn’t protected him from his dad’s brutal ways. She’d driven his dad to hate Jack, and driven himself to kill his dad to protect Jack. But he understood his dad now, because Sarah was doing the same thing: messing around. And with that arsehole – the man he despised more than any other, and had always done. He hated Richard’s fucking guts. One day he’d do for him as well. Aye, one day. The thought warmed him; it’d give him something to live for after Sarah had gone.
The cottage came into view. Mam’s car stood outside. Billy quickened his pace. The beads of sweat ran down his forehead and dripped off his brow, and some found their way into his open mouth and salted his tongue. The blinding pain was etched into him. His mind recalled the first time that pain had come to him, the exquisite sensation of it weeping from him once the thick branch smashed into that fat sod Bella’s head. Her ugly, flat face swam before his eyes, then his dad’s image came to him, and he heard the satisfying crunch as he squelched his dad’s head to a pulp. The memory took some of the pain from the heat and increased the sense of facing his most magnificent moment; and with that came a clear knowledge of how he’d kill his mam and Sarah.
Taking his finger from the trigger, he let his hand glide along the polished stock of the gun until he held the cold steel of the double barrel. Gripping it with both hands, he sliced the air as if it were a sword. Adrenaline pumped around him. He’d never been so honed, felt so in tune with himself. His body had reached the higher level of his mind. Every sinew of him knew what part it had to play.
Entering the cottage yard brought the red mist back into him, almost as though it was a sponge soaking up his conscious thoughts, blocking his ability to think straight. He hadn’t wanted this – not to be cut off by the red fog from the act of killing them.
His heart pounded in time with every step he took. Nothing about him wanted to hesitate, to think again. The redness commanded him, telling him that peace would come with his actions. As before, it would sear the feeling – the pleasure – onto his very soul. He’d remember it forever.
He moved with stealth. He could hear them; could hear Sarah’s sobbing voice. ‘I know, Aunt Megan, I know, but I feel me guilt. I love Richard beyond words, but I promised meself to Billy. I couldn’t let him down. Oh, I’ve made such a mess of things and—’
The scream rose from deep in the pit of his bowel, surging the redness to the forefront of his brain and catapulting him into the room. Their shock gave their ugly gapes the likeness of the devil incarnate. His mam cowered beneath him – her terror-filled eyes reflected the blood-red that was swimming around his brain. Then he heard the squelching crunch as the butt of the gun smashed into her face.
Now the heat enclosed him. It comforted him, gave him more strength, congratulated him and urged him on. His mam’s face had gone, and now her head split open and gushed blood all over him as his second blow finished her off. Spittle filled his mouth, thrill zinging through his veins. Never had he felt more alive. He turned towards Sarah. No sound came from her. She had slumped forward, her breasts squashed into rounded mounds meeting in a deep crevice. He would torture her, make her suffer like she’d made him suffer.
Sliding his hand along the barrel, he grabbed the stock. Sticky blood coated his fingers before they curled around the trigger. Pointing the gun at Sarah’s head didn’t get any reaction from her. Still she did not utter a sound, or close her gaping mouth. Had he ever thought her beautiful? He stuck the barrel into her mouth. ‘You bitch! You’ve betrayed me.’
Her eyes widened, the look in them changing from one of horror to sheer terror. He remembered the gutting knife in his belt. He’d taken it from the shelf at the last minute. He whipped it from its sheath. The skin of her breast indented as he pressed the tip into it. A laugh gurgled up from his belly. This was the best time of his life – better than killing the bitch at his feet; better than smashing his dad; better than when he’d killed Bella.
Yes, that’s who Sarah reminded him of at this moment. He’d tell her: ‘You look as ugly as that fat sod of a sister you had. Remember her?’ His own laugh interrupted him again. He let it release, then looked back at her. He wanted to taunt her some more, but his laughter wouldn’t stop. It hurt as it rebounded back at him. He cringed against it, hearing it echo around the room. He wanted to control it, but he couldn’t. A weakness took him. He wanted to hit out at the image of his own face as it stared back at him from the mirror on the wall, hideous and twisted in mirth. But before he could, a great force pushed him and his body smashed into the wall. The laughter stopped, and he was crying.
Through his tears he saw the twisted and agonized face of his Uncle Jack and heard his thick holler, ‘No! No!’
The sight of this man – the only good thing in his life – crumbling to the ground and crawling like an injured animal towards his mam tortured Billy’s very soul and wrenched from him the realization that his beloved Uncle Jack hated him. No, I can’t take that. Don’t, don’t hate me – not you, not you! Billy’s hand reached out. He needed something to hold onto. The feel of polished wood sent a message through him. Now the cold steel of the barrel showed him clearly what he must do.
Through an excruciating haze of pain, Jack saw the glint of the barrel. He felt no fear; all emotion had frozen inside him. A crack resounded around the room and bounced off the walls. Sarah’s scream reverberated with it and then died, turning into a helpless wail. Blood splattered Jack’s face and ran along the floor towards him. Billy’s hideous eyes stared at him. No face – just staring, glassy eyes.
He heard his own wailing join Sarah’s and felt his body slump, leaving him with nothing inside him. His arm reached out and held the still-warm body of his Megan, and then his mind closed down. A deep black fog swirled inside his head and took him into nothingness.
31
Rita
The Flames of Hell
Rita looked towards where the rifle shot had come from. It was a normal sound for around these parts and one that wouldn’t usually bother her, but it frayed her nerves more than they already were.
The bag she’d just placed in the undergrowth, next to where a supporting wooden beam stood out from the rough stones of the building, looked huge and highly visible. Hesitating, she wondered if she should squash it down, but that might mean the petrol seeped through onto her foot. Shaking with fear and indecision, she stood still, listening. The gunshot didn’t seem to have disturbed anyone else.
Though it was only just on five o’clock, darkness had crept up and the air held a bitter sting in its coldness. The girls’ voices came to her, giggling like children. They must be outside, but she had no idea why. Or were they in the stable itself? Blimey, if they were, she’d have to get them out of there before she left them.
Trying to summon some courage, she moved away from the wall and strode out around the barn. Now the girls’ location became clear. The floodlit yard showed the stable door ajar, and she heard their squeals of delight and an annoyed snort from one of the horses.
Heading towards the entrance of the stable, she glanced up at the house. A light shone from the top of the door and from one of the rooms to the right of it, but there was no car in the drive. She supposed one of them must be
out. She wished they both bleedin’ were. She didn’t want any folk around when she did the deed. Not that she could help the girls being here, but she just hoped none of them came out with heroics to try and save the animals. She couldn’t have anyone being hurt on her conscience; it was bad enough to think of the poor bleedin’ horses. But then what was a bit of animal flesh, compared to her ticket to a better life?
‘Ahh, he’s lovely. Look at him. I can’t believe he can stand, and him only a few hours old.’ This was from the young one, Iris.
‘Oh, they are not like our babies. He will be half as big as his mother in a few weeks.’ The replying voice was that of Louise, the posh one.
Jealousy still lay in Rita over Louise. She had everything – looks and money – and now she was going to take bleedin’ Terence if she’d read the signs right. It was Louise who spotted her looking in the door.
‘Rita! Gracious, they haven’t brought you over in the car, have they?’
‘Fat chance of that. Me, in the toff’s bleedin’ car? I don’t think that’s going to happen. No, I walked over. Got a bit fed up. I’ve never been in such a boring place in all me life as that Hensal Grange. What you up to? You were all gawking and cooing over something. I could have crept up on yer and murdered the lot of yer.’
‘We’ve had a foal born last night. Come and look. He’s beautiful.’
‘Nah, I ain’t interested in bleedin’ animals. Besides, I’m freezing. Any chance of a cup of Rosie Lee?’
‘Yes, love. Come on – come up to our flat. It’s lovely and warm up there.’ Mildred came over to her and linked arms with her. ‘We’ll make you more than a cap, as you call it. We’ll make you a pot full.’ They all laughed at this.
She’d found that Mildred and Iris were the friendliest of these girls, but all of them seemed a cut above her and Penny. Although they were all from down south, she and Penny were the only ones from the East End.
‘I won’t come up,’ Louise said. ‘Terence said the car would be here for me between four-thirty and five. That’s why I thought it had brought you, Rita.’
The twinge of hurt she felt at Louise assuming she would be brought over here by the family chauffeur was nothing to what hit her when, in answer to her question as to the reason the car was coming, Louise replied, ‘I’m invited to dinner with him and his family at Hensal Grange.’
Seething with jealousy, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. ‘Oh, well, I hope you has a nice time, I’m sure.’
‘I’m sorry – have I offended you in any way, Rita? I didn’t mean to.’
Offended her! She could have scratched the girl’s eyes out, and Terence bleedin’ Crompton’s, the bastard! As it were, she felt like saying: Yes, you have actually, as your so-called fancy man is having the bleedin’ time of his life with me, whenever he fancies. And at this moment he’s probably having a go at Penny!
The thought of that fuelled Rita’s temper even more. Terence had come across the yard just as she was leaving. He’d saved the day, as it happened, as she had Penny in tow and didn’t know how to get rid of her. He’d said he wanted to talk to Penny, explaining that he’d not had a chance to get to know her, and had steered her into the barn.
As she’d left them, all she could think of was the bed up in the loft. It had taken all her effort not to have a go at him. She’d wanted to, just like she did now with Louise, but the thought of the threats Terence had made stopped her. If she was to get out of this with what she wanted, she’d have to carry out his instructions to the letter – and spoiling his chance with this posh bitch didn’t come into that. He’d been a different bloke when he’d come on rough to her, holding her in an armlock and warning of the consequences, and she believed he’d meant it.
Putting a cheeky smile on her face, Rita told Louise, ‘Nah, I’m not offended. It’s me way. Take no notice of me.’
Dorothy made and poured the tea. As she took it from her, Rita wished that she dared take three heaped spoons of sugar to steady her nerves, but the stuff was getting hard to come by and there was talk of rationing, so she just took one and stirred it well.
Sitting having a laugh with them all eased some of her dread until Dorothy said, ‘Has anyone heard Jack come back yet?’
Mildred and Iris shook their heads. ‘I heard a car just now, but I reckon as that was Louise leaving. Why?’
‘It just seemed funny how they all left, that’s all. That son of Mrs Fellam’s arrived, then she took off like she was in a hurry; not ten minutes later the son left, then not long after that Jack tore across the yard and jumped the fence by the barn over there. He was running like something possessed across the fields – or, I should say, staggering in a hurried fashion towards Sarah’s cottage.’
Iris, her eyes wide, said, ‘I don’t like that Billy. He seems surly.’
‘Nah, and he ain’t one to like, neither. He’s a murderer.’
‘What?’
Three voices said this in shocked unison. Rita was stunned to realize they didn’t know. How could they have missed all the tales about him? But then this farm was four or so miles from the village, so they might not hear the gossip. ‘He’s killed two, as I heard, and I can see as none of you know about it. Well, it happened a long time ago.’
By the time she’d told them all she knew, Iris was quivering, Mildred sat with her mouth open, and Dorothy looked as though Rita had told her a bomb would drop any minute. Dorothy found her voice first: ‘Oh God! It doesn’t seem possible. I mean, Jack’s let him marry his daughter!’
‘I know. And I have it at first hand as Billy’s still dangerous. I’ve seen him rape someone.’
‘Rape!’
‘Yes, Mildred. I keep me bleedin’ nose into everything as goes on and I snoop around – and that’s not all I’ve seen. It’s bleedin’ fantastic what these country folk get up to, I’ll tell yer. London ain’t got nuffing on them up here, and that’s with all the gangsters and the barrow boys, and everything you can think of to compare it with.’
A whimper took their attention. Iris, white-faced and trembling, sat huddled in her chair, tears running down her face.
‘Aw, come ’ere, love. You’re safe. He ain’t no random killer. He has to have something against yer. Don’t be worrying.’
The tone of Dorothy’s voice as she said, ‘I’m worried – I’m scared out of my wits’ sent a chill through Rita’s bones, and her voice shook as she asked, ‘Why’s that, Dorothy?’
‘Well, why should all three – Mrs Fellam, her son and Jack – go towards the cottage one after the other, not together, and all looking agitated?’
‘That’s not all. Oh my God!’
‘What is it, Mildred?’
Mildred’s face had paled. ‘I – I came out of the stables for a few minutes to have a fag. Just as I got to the door, I saw that son of Mrs Fellam’s coming out of the storeroom. He – he had a gun!’
‘’Ere, come on. Don’t be daft. He was probably going shooting.’
‘No, Rita. Something is wrong.’
‘Look, if there is, there’s nuffing you lot can do now, is there?’
‘If you want to go to the cottage, I’ll come with you, Dot.’
This from Mildred set Rita feeling agitated. They’d expect her to go with them, but she couldn’t. Her frantic brain sought a good reason why not, and suddenly one occurred. ‘Well, I think you’re daft and will look stupid if you turn up and they’re all sitting enjoying a cup of tea. What’re you going to say then, eh? Besides, what about Iris, ’ere? She’s scared out of her wits. You can’t leave her alone.’
‘Will you stay with her? We’ll be back as soon as we can. It takes about twenty minutes to reach the cottage and get back.’
‘Well, I think you’re out of your minds. It’ll only look as though you’re poking your noses into family business and—’
‘I don’t care. I just feel something is wrong. I don’t know what, but I’m going over to that cottage, and that’s that.’
> ‘All right, keep your hair on. I’ll stay, but I can’t stay for long. I have to be back to bed the cows down.’
‘You won’t leave me, Rita, if they’re not back, will you? Promise me you won’t leave me?’
‘Nah, if they’re not back, I’ll take you with me. How’s that? Then it will serve them right when they have to fetch yer.’
She’d hardly said this when the door closed behind Mildred and Dorothy. Bloody hell, what do I do now?
Terence sat in his car, his limbs stiff with cold. His fingers, though encased in gloves, were aching and tingling. His breath curled like smoke, causing patches of mist on the iced windows. Where is that bitch? God, I’ll kill her if she flunks this.
And what would it look like if he didn’t have the fire as his reason for not being home when Louise arrived? His parents would be furious.
He’d spent half an hour with the virgin, Penny, doing what he called ‘priming’ her, giving her a few kisses, compliments and endearments, all said and done with gentleness and easily pretended. He’d found her innocence – and, yes, her vulnerability – more than appealing. It wasn’t long before he was no longer putting on an act, as Penny had begun to have a deep effect on him. It had been her shy and confused reaction that had prompted him to take things easy with her, for fear of spoiling something quite unique, and which, he knew, would be better for the waiting. Getting out of the house afterwards had been a simple matter: a message left for the parents to say he had remembered that he was due at a late-afternoon parish council meeting, but he’d be back in plenty of time to greet Louise. Not being there was out of the question – a faux pas of the worst order. And now it would happen. He’d seen the family car pick Louise up, but there was nothing he could do about it. The moment had him sweating with fear that their driver would have to wait and might get out and wander around, but Louise had come out of one of the stables the moment the car glided to a halt.