One Last Prayer for the Rays

by Wes Markin

  No answer.

  With her chewed lip stinging, she took the last few steps to the open door and climbed into the passenger side.

  Staring at Sarah from the driver’s seat was a young girl about the same age as her son; her chair was pulled forward so she could reach the pedals. Greasy and mousey hair draped around a face plastered with make-up. She looked like an excited child, who’d delved deep into her mother’s cosmetic drawer for the very first time.

  ‘Close the door,’ someone said behind her. The words were growled rather than spoken and were difficult to understand.

  Her hand shook as she gripped the handle and closed the door; the resulting clunk was loud, but not as loud as her racing heart.

  ‘Turn around.’

  Sarah turned and viewed a withered old woman under the inside car light. If she hadn’t already spoken, you’d have assumed she was dead.

  ‘Where’s my son?’

  ‘Martha,’ the old woman said, ‘turn on the windscreen wipers, the snow is building.’

  The wipers juddered as they did their work.

  ‘Where’s my son?’

  ‘We’re taking you to him,’ Martha said. ‘Paul is such a nice boy─’

  ‘Martha! What did I say?’

  ‘Sorry, Mother. I’m just so excited.’

  The windscreen wipers squeaked as they drove over dry glass.

  ‘Start the car, Martha.’ The old woman coughed and cleared her throat. ‘And switch off those fucking wipers.’

  The squeaking stopped and the engine roared into life.

  ‘Where is my son?’ Sarah said again.

  ‘Open the glove compartment.’

  Sarah hesitated and the request was repeated. The compartment was heavy with clutter, and rushed open with a sudden thudding sound which made her flinch.

  ‘Now, take out the bottle.’

  She rustled around tapes, CDs and empty crisp packets before finding a plastic water bottle. She pulled it out and swished it around, barely a mouthful of a red liquid remained.

  ‘Drink.’

  ‘You can’t expect me to―’

  ‘If you want to see your son again, I suggest you do.’

  ‘But what’s in it?’

  ‘Just something to help you relax.’

  ‘Is my son okay?’ she said as she unscrewed the bottle.

  ‘He’s been eating Mother’s yummy, scrummy food, he’ll be feeling better.’

  ‘Martha!’

  Sarah drank the contents of the bottle. It tasted of blackcurrant.

  ‘What do you want from us?’

  The old woman laughed. ‘Martha, let’s go.’

  The car crunched over gravel. ‘Please don’t hurt my family anymore.’

  ‘It’s not me you should be asking,’ the old woman said and this time her laugh grated so much that Sarah initially thought that the car was struggling to change gear.

  17

  ‘THOMAS RAY IS Phil’s father?’ Yorke said.

  ‘Birth father,’ Roy Holmes said. ‘Let’s get that right.’

  Eileen Holmes stared at Yorke, and he wondered if the yellow tinge in the whites of her eyes could really be the glow from a fire which had suddenly ignited within her. ‘I was a social worker most of my life, and we had a lot of dealings with Thomas Ray. I know that your police force have had their own set of experiences with this man too, Detective.’

  ‘I didn’t know he had a son.’

  ‘It’s not been made common knowledge. We adopted Lewis Ray at the age of two and we changed his name to Phillip Holmes.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t allowed to change their first names when they reached a certain age?’

  ‘You’re not, but remember I was a social worker. I knew people. It wasn’t hard to arrange.’

  ‘I assume Phil knows.’

  ‘Oh, he knows alright,’ Roy said, staring at the floor, slowly shaking his head.

  ‘When did you tell him?’

  ‘When he was two of course. We told him that his real parents didn’t know how to take care of him. That was sufficient until ...’ He paused to look at the rising flame.

  ‘Until?’

  ‘Until the nightmares about what happened to him as a child began,’ Eileen said. ‘As you saw in the picture, Phil was suffering from extreme neglect. It was a neighbour who first reported it almost a year after Thomas’ wife’s death from cancer. But it wasn’t the physiological neglect that really scared Phil ...’ She paused for breath.

  ‘It was the psychological,’ Roy said. ‘The bastard made him sleep in the barn with the pigs.’

  Yorke widened his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Jesus, for how long?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Eileen said. ‘Months, a year?’

  Yorke stared at the fire; sap oozing from the split log looked like bubbling blood.

  ‘How could anyone treat a child in that way?’ Roy said.

  ‘I wish I could answer that,’ Yorke said. But no matter how many times I see it, I’ll never be able to. ‘What happened to him whilst he was in the barn with those pigs?’

  ‘We’re not one hundred percent sure, but Phil’s dreams are a good indication,’ Eileen said, looking down.

  Roy said, ‘You are referring to one of, if not the darkest hour in our lives, so I’ll keep it short for you Detective and I hope you can understand why. Eileen is very unwell at the moment.’

  Yorke nodded.

  ‘At first, Phil bucked the trend; usually, following such extreme neglect, pathways in the brain struggle to form and the child usually experiences issues with cognition. This was never the case. As he grew, he developed into a happy, intelligent and quite carefree young man, quite contrary to what is often seen in these types of cases. This came to an end four years ago when Phil started to wake up screaming in the night. Despite knowing already about the adoption, it was only at this point, whilst asleep, that he started to remember and experience his childhood all over again. The screaming was unbelievable. Sometimes, I’d have to hold him down because it was so extreme and he’d start to thrash about ...’

  Eileen cut in, ‘It seemed to go on forever.’

  ‘He was dreaming about being in the barn with those pigs. He must have been in the barn long enough for them to become confident enough to approach him, prod him, grunt at him. Bully him. He was on their territory I guess.’

  ‘It was dehumanisation,’ Eileen said. The bags under her eyes had started to glimmer with tears.

  ‘And Thomas Ray never faced charges for this?’ Yorke said, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice.

  Eileen said, ‘There was no real evidence. They took the boy into care due to neglect, and Thomas didn’t really express an interest in trying to claim him back. It was one of the worst cases I’ve ever come across. Going into foster care was no good for this boy. He needed someone to care for him and love him, so we adopted him.’

  ‘And so you eventually told Phil who his birth father was?’

  ‘We didn’t want to tell him, for obvious reasons, but after the nightmares started, we didn’t really have a choice.’

  ‘How did Phil react to the news that his birth dad was Thomas Ray?’

  ‘Not well. His nightmares wouldn’t stop, and eventually he developed chronic insomnia,’ Roy said. ‘He used to keep himself awake all night, often through self-harming. If he did fall asleep; he’d manage an hour or two before the dreams kicked in, and the screaming began, again.’

  ‘He lost so much weight,’ Eileen said. ‘He went from such a happy, carefree soul into someone weighted down by worry and anxiety.’

  Roy said, ‘The doctors put him on all sorts of drugs, but they seemed to make the situation worse. At one point they wanted him committed. He became more and more withdrawn.’

  Eileen was crying more heavily now. Roy reached out and put his hand on her leg. She stroked his hand.

  She said, ‘It was an awful year. I couldn’t see an end to it.’

  ‘But then, there w
as,’ Roy said. ‘He seemed to come out of it. A different person than before; not quite as happy, and extroverted, but sensible, and often quite serious, but in a good way. A productive way. You know what I mean?’

  Yorke nodded. ‘And the sleeping?’

  ‘He says it’s fine now. He exercises regularly and has put on a lot of weight.’

  ‘Most of it muscle,’ Eileen said, gesturing to the pictures on the wall. ‘Which I always find peculiar when I look back at the skinny boy that left us and went to university.’ She smiled.

  ‘He’s got a good job, and he often talks about having a purpose – something he says he never used to have,’ Roy said. We have our boy back and we never thought we would again – I can honestly tell you there’s no malice in him.’

  ‘But we have to look at the facts, Mr and Mrs Holmes. Thomas Ray is dead. And three of his relatives are missing ... ’

  Roy sat up straight, ‘Biological relatives. He doesn’t know them. They’re not his real family.’

  ‘Still. We cannot ignore this connection. We have circumstantial evidence that Phil befriended Paul Ray; we need to speak to your son, to rule him out as a suspect. You have to help me find him.’

  Eileen was wheezing, and had turned a shade greyer than she was earlier. She leaned forward. Roy stood up and knelt down before his wife. He massaged her on the chest whilst looking her in the eyes. She sighed and nodded. He nodded back.

  ‘We’ve told you everything,’ Roy said, standing up and then turning to face him. ‘We really have. If we hear from him, we will let you know. Eileen must get some rest now.’

  Yorke stood up. ‘Could you give me a list of possible friends, contacts, he might have?’

  ‘Detective, if you wish to continue talking, please can we do this at the door, away from my wife?’

  Yorke nodded and they walked out of the room back to the security gate.

  ‘I really don’t know any of Phil’s friends, but I will contact you if he comes back.’

  ‘I’m going to station an officer at the door in case he returns.’

  ‘You really think he’s involved, don’t you?’

  Yorke reached out and touched Roy on his shoulder. ‘Sir, I don’t want to put you or your wife through any more stress than you’ve already been through, but you must let me follow procedure. Please contact me as soon as you hear from him.’

  ‘She’s dying you know.’

  ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘And this could shatter that last piece of her.’

  Yorke removed his hand. ‘I will do everything I can to avoid that. The officer?’

  Roy sighed. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Outside in his car, Yorke made a conference call to Topham, Gardner and Brookes. He told them everything. He suggested to Topham, that he get pictures of Lacey and Phil Holmes out to the press immediately.

  He stared at Roy and Eileen’s house.

  Paul, Joe and Sarah had distanced themselves from the Ray family’s notorious history whilst Phil Holmes had been completely removed from it. Yet here it was, catching up with them all again.

  He considered the phrase, Pray for the Rays, which the long-suffering locals of Devizes had coined all those years ago.

  Last month, Yorke would have scoffed at the thought of a cursed family.

  Last month, but not now.

  ****

  ‘Believe me Sheila, I’m begging you, I did not make contact with Lacey. What happened with her nephew brought her back here and unfortunately, onto our radar,’ Jake said into his phone, pacing around his office in the Salisbury station.

  ‘And the seedy movie – you never thought of telling me about that?’

  He bit his lip. If he lost control, he’d lose her again. It’d taken fifteen tries and the best part of an hour to get her on the phone. He took a deep breath.

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Still, I’ve told you everything about my past.’

  ‘But come on Sheila, would you really want to know about something juvenile I did when I was barely out of my teens? I’d rather not know.’

  ‘It’s irrelevant Jake. Bitch or no bitch. It’s not like it’s been going great recently anyway.’

  ‘There’ve been problems, I admit, but every marriage has problems,’ Jake said, desperate to keep her on the phone.

  ‘You’re married to the job. It’s a cliché, but it doesn’t make it false.’

  ‘For better or for worse, remember?’

  ‘There’s been too much of the worse.’

  ‘A career change then?’

  They were the words she loved to hear. But, ultimately, words she would never believe. ‘After you quit, you know where to find me.’

  ‘That’s not fair. I wouldn’t lie to you, I’ll do it, but I want to see you first. You can help me to decide what job I could do instead―’

  ‘No.’ ‘Jesus, Sheila.’

  Jake, you losing your temper isn’t going to solve anything.’

  ‘It’s frustration, I need you.’

  ‘You’ve betrayed me once by keeping things about your past from me; how can I trust you to quit the job that you adore more than me?’

  ‘Nonsense, I have not betrayed you and I love you more than anything. If I go back on this promise, I’ll pay for the divorce.’

  She sighed. ‘Okay, you know where I am.’

  ‘As much as your mother loves me, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me in her house.’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest then?

  ‘Meet me at home at half-past eight,’ he said.

  She paused. ‘I’ll think about it, but don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, but she’d already hung up.

  ****

  Through the window, Lacey watched the cathedral spire pierce the sky. Bleeding white, it created the moon and, with a sudden spray of arterial blood, the stars.

  At least, that was how Lacey imagined it.

  Why not enjoy herself? She was coming to an end. As soon as tomorrow. The greatest stars burn quick, but they also burn brightest.

  She reached out to her reflection, ran her fingers over the cold glass of the window and spoke out loud, ‘Have you seen the time?’

  Seven fifty-five.

  She took a deep breath and blew out the words, ‘Not long now.’

  Turning and grimacing at the beige room, she thought, it would be better if you were the colour of despondency.

  Just like the Blue Room.

  On a bed made with satin sheets, opposite a formidable flat-screen TV, the props from the Blue Room were laid out: the Colt handgun inherited from her father; a gag; handcuffs; rope and a pair of secateurs she’d had to sharpen after working them really hard on Brain’s stubby fingers. And finally, the pièce de résistance: a surgical scalpel with which to carve open Phil’s throat.

  She put the handgun in the bedside drawer, then wrapped the other instruments in a towel and placed them on a chair beside the bathroom door. Then, she stared in the bathroom where she planned to commit the deed, until her vision blurred, her eyes closed and she brought herself back to the Blue Room ...

  Moments later, she opened her eyes, stared in at the beige, empty bathroom, and smiled. Soon, everything would be running red.

  Chewing her bottom lip, she thought, she was the greatest star! How bright she had burned!

  Then came the knock at the door.

  ****

  Phil Holmes tucked the bouquet under one arm and knocked on the door a third time.

  She was making him wait. A clear demonstration of her annoyance. But that was fine. Let her enjoy herself. It wouldn’t alter the outcome.

  His life had been about control and careful planning for so long now that losing his temper the previous evening seemed surreal to him. And not just surreal, but stupid. Responding to Lacey’s taunts with violence had attracted the attention of that DCI. He’d done well to hold him off a few hours longer but, by now, he’d know about the adoption,
know that he was born Lewis Ray. He wouldn’t be able to go back to the school tomorrow; his plans had to be brought forward. Everything would have to end tonight. First, Lacey; then, back to the farm for Paul and Sarah. Finally, he would take out the last of the Rays.

  Himself.

  The door opened and he saw that she looked different. She’d restrained her elegant, yet wild hair with a clip. She wore no make-up.

  Deliberate. To show me the damage I caused.

  He presented the flowers to her, knowing already that she would forgive him. He’d studied women long enough to know their weaknesses. And Lacey Ray was the same as all the rest.

  He gave her an apologetic smile which he’d practised earlier in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She turned her back to him and walked away.

  He didn’t mind the pretence. It delayed the inevitable. Delayed him having to touch her, another product of a diseased line, another pig. Just like him.

  He followed her through the door. He said, ‘I’ve never hit a woman before,’ whilst thinking, I’ve never killed a woman before either.

  But she should be thankful of what he planned to do. He was freeing her from the life of sin she’d been condemned to by their family tree.

  She moved past the beige bed and stopped at the window that offered the best view of the cathedral spire. As he approached her from behind, he admired a picture of the same cathedral hung on the wall above the bed, rendered with long, patient strokes. He could, if he so wanted, sneak up behind her, and with a similar long and patient stroke, slide a meat hook between her two shoulder blades.

  Slipping his arms around her waist, he lifted her shirt slightly, and let his wrists move against her toned stomach.

  With eyes closed, he fought back revulsion and turned his mind to Sammie, an ex-girlfriend he’d had true feelings for before the nightmares had begun, before his life turned to mud, before he emerged, reawakened, with a purpose. With Sammie’s beauty in mind, he took control of himself again.

  The feeble woman, Lacey, welcomed his embrace. Easier than anticipated. She talked an angry game, but was biddable really.

  In bed, Phil turned her on her front, making it easier for him to continue the illusion that it was Sammie and maintain an erection. As he penetrated her, he thought of his plan to eradicate all of the swine; and while he came, he thought of all the ways he could kill himself afterwards to complete the disinfection.