The Fenton Saga: Never Say Goodbye / There Was No Body.

by Colin Griffiths

  After seeing that it was safe, Mickey walked over.

  ‘It’s empty.’ said Mickey.

  Jezz turned around, grabbed Mickey by the collar lifted him a full six inches off the floor.

  ‘You, stupid bastard!’ He threw Mickey on the floor, where he cracked his elbow on the ground. Jezz paced back and forth.

  ‘You’re useless. You spend all night spying on them and the building’s fucking empty. They went and you were fast asleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jezz.’

  Jezz didn’t answer. Well, he tried, he thought. At least he tried. Now, if anything happens to those girls it would not be on his conscience. He looked at the pathetic figure lying on the floor, his faced bruised looking like he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks.

  ‘Why were you out here, anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘I wanted to try and save them. Katy’s my girl and he's got her. I gotta try and get her back Jezz.’

  ‘So what were you gonna do?’

  ‘I dunno, really. ‘

  ‘Get up.’ He helped Mickey to his feet. ‘You look awful.’

  Mickey just shrugged his shoulders,

  ‘You hungry?’ Jezz asked

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You smell, man.’

  ‘Sorry, Jezz.’

  Jezz looked at the beaten boy standing in front of him, a remnant of all that was shit in this society. A boy left out on the streets, who was neither big enough, nor strong enough to cope. Life was full of users and abusers. Mickey was one of those who got used and abused, time and time again and the idiot was still out here, taking on the likes of Bill Fenton. Jezz felt a sudden admiration for Mickey. Then he felt sorry for him. He has accepted this kind of life, being bullied and beaten, all Mickey got out of it was a bit of pot, and the occasional tab. It’s a fucked-up world, full of fucked up people.

  ‘You’re gonna get yourself killed, man.’ Mickey shrugged again.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you to my place, have some food, and we’ll think of a plan.’

  They got into Jezz’s car, leaving the stolen Focus behind. He had to find out where Bill had gone. Now was his time to make some amends, to do some good. It was time to move on. To move his life on. Just one more piece of scum to remove from this crappy world. He smiled as he drove. His life was going to change from here on in, for the worse or better. From now on Jezz Dwayne was going to be his own man.

  Chapter 32

  Once over the Severn Bridge and into Wales, Bill could see the carnage on the roads ahead. The signs ahead, warning of long delays on the A48, which was the road leading to Newport and Cardiff, two junctions which took you off to Ashbourne and Newport on the M4 were closed. Bill wasn't concerned about that. He knew some back roads to where he was going and that was neither Newport nor Ashbourne. They can fuck their party. He was going to have a party of his own and only a select few were invited.

  The two girls, sitting in the back of the car, were again wondering where they were going. As they reached the tolls on the Severn Bridge, it made Wendy feel better, knowing she was closer to home. She had thought about shouting out, just taking the chance. Maybe the toll man would take down their number. They’re bound to have cameras on the tolls, so if she screamed and shouted that would alert them. The number would be noted and soon the police would be round. She thought about the roads being blocked, but the police would find a way through. She was sure of that. They had to.

  As they crossed the bridge and approached the tolls, she noticed that a series of tolls were unmanned. That’s where Bill Fenton drove, dropped his cash into the bin and drove through the tolls. Just an ordinary driver, on an ordinary night. There will be a chance she thought there has to be. Katy had sensed her idea, when she realised what had happened, she put her head on Wendy’s shoulder.

  ‘It will be okay.’ she whispered.

  Wendy wasn’t too sure. It was dark. They had no idea where they were going. One thing was sure. They weren’t going to like it.

  Bill took a detour through Chepstow and Caldicot, two towns just on the border of Wales. Wendy knew these areas, but became lost again when Bill drove into back roads which were deserted and dark and void of other traffic. A perfect place to commit murder and leave a body. Both girls thought there would be nothing as simple as that. Somehow they were expecting a lot worse. They drove for about thirty minutes through the lanes and back roads. No other cars were seen, until they got onto a dual carriageway. There was hardly any traffic here. Wendy had seen this area before, but she couldn't remember where she was, until she saw the signs saying ‘Wentwood Forest.

  Wentwood Forest was the largest ancient woodlands in Wales’, where it was rumoured that a resident from Ashbourne, back in the 1970’s which was at that time a much smaller village, had killed his wife and buried her in Wentwood forest. Her body had never been found.

  It was soon clear where they were going as they turned down a lane, which was signposted Wentwood Forest two miles. Wentwood was famous for many things, not just the illegal rave that took place in 2007 with over three thousand people attending. The area contains Bronze Age burial mounds and was the scene of riots in 1678 regarding the ownership of the land. It is now a forested area of hills which rise well over a thousand feet. Some areas are dense and rumours have it if you go deep into the forest you are unlikely ever to come out. It is virtually an unbroken band of dense woodlands stretching between the rivers Usk and Wye, a perfect place to kill and hide a body.

  They pulled up to a picnic area just outside the forest. Wendy remembered the time she and Todd had come up here with Daniel and Becky and had a barbecue. It had been a lovely summer evening, they had explored the woods together. The pairs had split up from each other. She remembered that Todd had made love to her, deep in the woods, whilst Daniel and Becky were probably doing the same. She remembered when they had met up again and how red her face went. She was sure the others realised what they had been up to. Todd was the only man she had ever been with. How she longed, at this moment, to feel his naked body next to hers. Just one more time. Then they could make love forever.

  This was where the roads stopped. They would be driving no further. Bill got out of the car, opened the boot, took out his rucksack and what was clearly a shot gun. He opened the rear door to speak to the handcuffed girls.

  ‘Get out!’ he said.

  The girls shuffled out of the car and stood beside it, still cuffed together, their vacant faces just staring into the abyss. Bill liked this kind of power. He thrived on it. It made him grow stronger. It made him more evil. He could do anything he wanted. No one could stop him. They were his, under his control. Bill uncuffed them, raised his gun into the air and warned them not to run, not to make a move. After some thought, he cuffed their hands separately.

  ‘Just for now.’ he laughed.

  Wendy looked around. It was dark, but moonlight shone. She could smell the composting leaves and could hear the crackling of branches as she stared into the forest. It seemed deep and alive, with its ancient glory untouched and overgrown. Its groaning trees seemed to be beckoning and the hostile screeches from some animal sounded chilling as they walked into the forest. Katy thought about her past and the life she had led. She hoped that for one more time she could feel happiness, whatever that feeling felt like. It had been such a long time. They walked deep into the forest, to an unknown destination.

  To a future of uncertainty and probable death.

  Chapter 33

  Todd had no idea what was happening, or where he was going. Not the Todd in the wardrobe, who lay still and looking somewhat comatose. That Todd was just the body which housed the Todd who now flew in the skies. The Todd who had somehow taken to the skies and was now flying over the United Kingdom. He had no control over where he was going. There was no fear, no sense of anxiety, and no natural wonderment as he flew the skies. The only sense he had, was one of a purpose. He was sure that purpose would become known soon.

  This was no natural journe
y. Things seemed dark and demonic, a timeless journey of suspense. Sometimes he hovered, sometimes he sped, most of the time he just flew gracefully through the darkened skies. He had no idea which route he was taking. He had no idea what was holding him up in the skies. He wasn't flapping his hands like a bird’s wings. There was no engine attached. No motors to keep him going. He wondered if someone could actually float with enough helium balloons. He had already decided that when this was all over, he and Wendy would try it. Then he thought of Wendy and let the determination overwhelm him.

  There was no sense of time as he drifted through the air. He had no knowledge what day it was, what year it was, whether he had been up there for an hour, a minute, a day, or a week. He could see roads and houses, forests and fields, towns and cities. Maybe he was flying in a circle, and he would spend his days just going round and round in an everlasting circle, until he could fly no more. Then he would descend to the ground in a final moment before his death.

  He wasn’t scared. He wasn't anything. He was just some human form flying through the skies, alone amid the stars and the clouds, the breezes and the winds, but he wasn’t alone. He was never alone. There was always the light with him, not bright, but constant. He knew that the light was leading the way. The light would save him. The light would lead him to his, and Wendy’s, destiny.

  He could see the sea now. He now knew where he was. He was on the west coast of England, about a five hour drive from where he lived. Had his journey taken five hours? He doubted it. Maybe five minutes, maybe five days, but somehow, he thought, never five hours. He flew past the tower of Blackpool. He loved Blackpool. Then Blackpool had gone, and he hovered like a kestrel over Lytham St. Anne’s. He was hovering in the air, studying the ground below, as if scanning for something or someone. He felt like a predator, searching for prey, searching for food, searching for answers. He drifted closer to the ground, still hovering gracefully. The house below seemed large with lush, beautiful gardens. Was this where he was meant to be? Was this where he has to go? Was this where Wendy was?

  Then the light grew bright and Todd’s thoughts no longer seemed to be there. Now he was just like that kestrel hovering over his prey as the storm came in and started raging all around him. He embraced the storm. This was how it was meant to be.

  ***

  The elderly lady was asleep. Her sleep wasn’t natural. It very rarely was these days. There were always dreams, regular nightmares and her brain just never switched off. It was always thinking, always awake, while her body wanted to sleep. Tossing and turning would be regular, a look at the clock every fifteen minutes, hoping that hours had passed since she last looked, and she had actually fallen into a deep sleep. But that never happened. She couldn't remember the last time she slept, really slept. Sometimes the dreams were pleasant. She would dream about her grandsons, playing football in a field laden with daffodils and daises and a murder of crows flying through the air as the football her grandsons had kicked, disturbed them into flight. The two boys chasing the wild rabbits, which sped into their burrows. A secret world of wonderment, where she and her grandsons played, but those dreams never lasted long.

  They had never happened. Dreams had never come true for Marie Rose.

  The nightmares. Oh those nightmares. Those were just re-enactments of her life. The beatings that she had taken from her first husband and the raping’s she had taken from him as he battered and bruised her. She could see her own son’s face in those fearful dreams as he would watch his father beat her to within an inch of her life, with the smile of a demon on his face. They had happened so many years ago. It still haunted her dreams.

  She had made herself a good life, a gifted fortune-teller who knew how to say the right things. Numerous television appearances which had raked in a fortune and the insurance pay out when her second husband fell to his death.

  The home that was laden with the riches of her misspent life. She looked at the clock again. Surely some hours had passed. It was 2.32 am. The last time she had looked it was 2.11. She sat up in bed, the moonlight shining through the open drapes. Her bedroom looked onto her vast garden and she always had the curtains open, because she loved to look out into the night, at the moon and the stars. She got out of her bed, took her gown off the hook on the back of the door and wrapped it round her. She put her feet into her white fluffy slippers. Although they were over ten years old, she loved the feel of them on her feet.

  She walked to the window and looked at the skies. The moon was bright; the stars were in abundance tonight. As she scoured the skies, she noticed a dim light in the distance, hovering. She watched its movement. It didn’t look like a plane. She gave it no further thought as she went downstairs to make a pot of tea and have a cigarette. She didn’t want to try and sleep anymore tonight. The nightmares had been deeply bad. There had been no dreams of fields and rabbits, of footballs and crows, and the gleaming faces of her grandsons. They had not come tonight. Would they ever come again, she asked herself as she went down the stairs.

  She sat on her sofa, with a cigarette in one hand and a Famous Grouse in the other, after deciding that whisky would give her more comfort then any pot of tea. She knew she drank too much, but what else was there to do at her time of life. She was now seventy one and in remarkably good condition, looking twenty years younger than her age, despite her heavy indulgence in cigarettes and whisky. The large clock above the fire place, which had butterflies as numbers, showed it was 2.47. She quickly drank the whisky and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

  ‘Maybe I should move.’ she said, out loud.

  She didn’t read fortunes now. She had retired from that ten years ago. It had been an eventful career, a rewarding career, but she had grown so bored by it. She had been hoping that she would meet another Carol, a raven haired beauty who bore the signs of an angel, who bore angelic sons. Of course, something beautiful in life is always preceded by horror. Carol’s horror was the man she had married. The man that Marie Rose would only ever to refer to as the demon. Not the son of an angel, more like the son of Satan himself.

  Marie Rose always thought of her grandsons, whom she had never met. She was sure that one day there would be a calling and she would spend the rest of her days tending to them as a grandmother should.

  She lived in the same house in Lytham St. Anne’s, with the extravagant gardens, which she paid to have tended and a cleaner came in twice a week to clean the home in which she lived. She had often thought of moving, after her second husband died, but she never did. She knew she never would. She had got to know her neighbours a bit now and sometimes they would pop in to each other’s houses for coffee and a chat. Her neighbours were in their late fifties and extremely wealthy as most people around here were. She never got too friendly. She needed her own space, for her thoughts and wishes. Her own company, at times, was the best company she could wish for. She walked a lot of the time, though she had never been into Blackpool since the last day of her fortune telling. She didn’t want to. She hated the hustle and bustle of it. The drunken people from down south, on some stag or hen weekend drove her mad. Her home was more serene, filled with areas to walk amongst natural beauty and enjoy the sea air, without the fousty smell of beer, vomit and sewage, which she associated with Blackpool.

  Life for her was okay, sometimes lonely, and even at the age of seventy one she still sometimes longed to be held by the strong arms of a male companion. She debated whether or not to have another Grouse and decided she would. The wind was coming up outside, she thought, as she lit another cigarette. That had come up quickly. She walked towards the windows which looked out over her gardens. She leaned on the large oak cabinet underneath the window, putting her drink on the lace doily on the cabinet. The wind was now growing really strong. She could hear it howling. Where did that come from? She thought. She loved the storms, when she was tucked up warm in her home. As she looked out of the window, she felt an enormous sense of loneliness. All the money in the world could not ri
d her of this feeling. When the calling came she would be ready. If it never came, then she would die as lonely as she now felt. She looked out, noticing that the trees were still, but she could still hear the wind. Not just hear it, she could feel it. Her long hair which was hanging loose, blew across her eyes. The wind was in the house. My God, she thought, it’s in my house.

  She turned, looking across her large oak-furnished living room. The curtains were moving. How was that possible? A feeling came over her, one that she had never felt before. Something inside her told her to embrace it, adorn it, follow it, breathe it, and let it take her. Marie Rose knew this was what she had been waiting for, for more than twenty years. This was her time, her calling. They had come for her, and she wasn’t going to let them down. The howling was louder and stronger, as the storm took hold of her living room. Paintings started shaking, and one fell to the floor, shattering the glass of the frame into a thousand pieces.

  The room started to shake, building up to a violent paranormal activity. Ornaments started moving, and soon flew across the room. An ornamental figure of a young child reading a book, caught her a glancing blow on her head, drawing blood. She wiped her head with her hand and looked at the blood on her finger. This is my time, she thought The Lord is calling. Maybe this is how it is meant to end, caught up in a storm and dying alone, all alone.