by Wes Markin
18
FROM THE RAFTERS, a pair of unblinking eyes reflected light from the dying lamp. Something else was living in here with him.
He turned onto his side, squeezing his sore eyes closed. Desperately trying to push the smells and sounds of these horrid creatures to the back of his mind, he imagined himself with his father, watching Chelsea FC.
But the howl of a wild dog reminded him of the awful shriek he’d heard earlier from his dad and his attempt to daydream was over. He curled into a ball. I can’t stand it anymore.
Dad ... you have to get me out of here.
After uncurling, he pounded his fists and feet on the floor. The swine flared into life, and the creature with the glowing eyes – a bat perhaps – beat against the rafters.
Please come back.
Out of breath, he rolled onto his side and rubbed tears from his eyes.
The animals had only just started to calm down when a rattle from the barn door disturbed them again. Paul sat up.
Dad? The police, maybe?
‘Help me,’ he said, drawing the dying lamp nearer to him, ‘Please.’
The swine relaxed. A good sign. It meant that it wasn’t Lewis.
The young girl, Martha, came into his circle of light. He felt a wave of disappointment that it wasn’t his father.
Well at least it wasn’t him again.
‘Paul, I brought you some food – I cooked it this time, Mother is feeling poorly.’
‘I want my Dad. Where is he?’
‘I think you’ll like the food.’
‘I’m not hungry, I just want to go home to my Mum. It’s so horrible in here and Lewis is scary. . . what’s he done to Dad? What will he do to me?’
She came nearer, and Paul saw that in one hand, she held the cattle prod whilst in the other, she held the familiar dog bowl―
Nothing’s changed. Two days on and I’m still here.
‘Where’s my dad?’
She lowered herself to her knees a few metres in front of him and put the dog bowl down on the floor. She glanced behind her to check she was alone. ‘I didn’t want Lewis to hurt him, I really didn’t, but he doesn’t listen.’
‘Where is he?’
‘It wasn’t me, I promise.’
‘Tell me he’s okay.’
‘He says that you’re all bad people. He says that when all the Rays are gone, he will go too.’ She leaned in to whisper. ‘I won’t miss him, I hate him.’
Paul widened his eyes and sucked in enough air to shout. ‘Where is he?’
‘Shush!’ Martha leaned in, panic on her face. ‘You’ll wake Mother.’
The old woman in the wheelchair? So, she’s in bed, leaving you with no one to back you up?
Martha looked down. ‘Lewis gave him to them.’
‘Them?’
‘Simon and Colin.’
He felt dizzy. ‘I don’t understand―’
‘Wild boars.’
He closed his eyes.
‘I begged him not to.’
His whole body seemed to fold in on itself as he issued two loud sobs. He curled into a ball again, and when she tried to touch him, he shrunk away. ‘Get off me.’
He cried until he had little energy left, then he unfolded and lay limp, staring off into the darkness, feeling like he’d had everything scraped out of him.
‘It wasn’t me,’ she said.
With tears and snot dribbling into his mouth, he turned back to look at her. ‘Let me out of here. You have to.’
‘It’s not possible. My mother won’t allow it.’
‘Why is your mother helping him?’
‘She loves him.’
‘But he’s evil!’
She stood up, leaving the cattle prod on the floor. His eyes widened. She took a step back, and despite feeling exhausted from despair and dehydration, he summoned up the energy to reach out. She didn’t challenge him as he slipped his hand around it. Rising to his feet, slowly, he ignited the dancing spark. ‘Are you going to let the boars eat me next?’
Martha took a step back with tears in her eyes. ‘You’re not next.’
‘So someone is next – who?’
She was crying hard now as she continued to back off towards the door.
‘Who?’
‘I’m sorry, Paul. She’s so pretty.’ She turned, and buried her head in her hands.
‘Who is?’ He moved forward until he was only a metre behind her.
‘She’s in the house, I know, we took her there.’
‘For the last time ... who?’
‘Your mother.’
Paul’s vision swelled, making the slats of the wooden barn appear as if they’d pried loose from the wall and were weaving in the air towards him like giant vines; he wielded the cattle prod as if it was a machete and hacked at them ―
There was a sickening crunch and Martha crumpled to the ground. Then, he stepped over her limp form and charged through the open door, still holding the prod.
Outside, the sky was dark and silent, and snow emerged from this nothingness as if it was breaking through from another dimension. Everything seemed to be in constant motion, as if every pixel on a photograph was at war with one another, circling and striking. Ahead, he saw the two windows of the lit farmhouse glaring like the eyes of a wild animal.
He thought of the young girl he might have just killed lying on the floor of the barn and started to run.
He’d never wanted his mother so much in all of his life.
****
Yorke took a call from Dr Patricia Wileman.
‘The fingerprint we just lifted from Phil Holmes’ office matches the one from the window of Joe Ray’s house. He was there.’
‘Thanks, Pat.’
‘You don’t sound too happy about it; I thought this would be good news?’
‘It would be if we knew where he was.’
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, just worn out. Speak later.’
‘I’d like that; I’d like a drink or two when all this is over.’
‘Only one or two?’
After the call, Yorke joined Jake, Tyler and Willows in a small office at Salisbury police station; he informed them of what Patricia had just told him.
Yorke was still waiting on the records of adoption from the General Register Office so they could corroborate Roy and Eileen Holmes’ claim. They did have medical records though and it confirmed what they’d been told. ‘Chronic insomnia and extensive treatment with hypnotics; six sessions of CBT for self-harming; suspected schizophrenia, which he didn’t attend the tests for; countless drug therapies for anxiety and depression. He went through an intense few years.’
Yorke wrote a list of all the doctors and psychiatrists that Phil had spoken to.
‘How’s the hunt for Lacey Ray?’ Yorke asked Willows.
‘We haven’t found any more CCTV footage of her in town, but we have five officers on it – so, it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Can you get someone to handle these too?’ Yorke said, sliding over the doctors’ names to her. ‘Find out what they thought of Phil Holmes, what he could be capable of. Anything. Places he could have gone ... liked to go. That kind of thing.’
‘Okay, sir,’ Willows said.
‘Sean, if you could return to the parents. I have requested a warrant to search the property, but until that arrives, you could carry on digging. You need to be as forceful as you can, despite the fact that Eileen Holmes is dying.’
‘No problem, sir,’ Tyler said.
‘And Jake, if you could have some officers check out all of Holmes’ previous employers that would be great.’ He slid another file over to Jake.
‘I don’t get it,’ Jake said. ‘He’s a Ray. Treated badly by his real father, but ultimately, given a good life.’
Yorke said, ‘A good upbringing does not necessarily undo damage―’
‘Obviously,’ Jake said. ‘I don’t mean that. I can understand why he may have motive for his father’s m
urder, but why would he kidnap the other Rays? They didn’t do anything to him.’
‘Maybe, he thinks they owe him?’ Willows said, ‘that they had it lucky by inheriting that money?’
‘I doubt it,’ Yorke said. ‘His effort to retrieve that ransom money was feeble and was unlikely to succeed. He doesn’t care about the money and, if he has somehow lured Sarah in too, he’s left no one to pay a ransom.’
‘Lacey could pay?’ Tyler said.
‘No chance,’ Yorke said. Jake nodded.
Yorke took a phone call from Topham.
‘Bryan’s car has been found run off the road less than half a mile from Lankton car park, stuck in a ditch.’
‘Any sign of Sarah.’
‘None.’
‘CCTV footage?’
‘Looking into it.’
‘The fingerprint at the cottage was Phil Holmes.’
‘I know, I just saw Pat.’
Yorke said, ‘Finding this guy is our main priority. We need to saturate the media with Holmes’ image. Have Emma liaise with Martin Price again.’
‘Okay.’
Lankton, Yorke thought. ‘Anybody got a map?’
Jake said, ‘Ever heard of the internet?’
****
The night may have been young, but the situation was getting stale.
Once the animal had closed its eyes, Lacey reached into the bedside drawer for the only worthwhile relic she’d inherited from her father: a Colt handgun.
From cheap-cotton sheets, an inconvenience after enjoying silk ones for so long, she emerged naked. She didn’t mind the temperature. Didn’t they say that revenge was a dish best served cold?
She walked over to her smartphone docking-station which she had positioned next to the TV, needing music to drown out any impending sounds of confrontation. Keeping the volume low to avoid waking him too soon, she selected a song by Keane. The keyboard introduction was gentle. After scooping up the remote control, she headed back to the bed, where she placed them so she could turn the volume up when it was time.
At the foot of the bed, she looked at the beast. Goosebumps rose on his thick arms like smallpox. His bulky, hairy chest, expanded then contracted like a sack of insect larvae. She pointed the gun at his head and a shiver of excitement fluttered down her spine.
I could make it quick ...
But that would spare you the pain you deserve.
It would also deny the Blue Room. And it could never be quick there. She owed that place so much. It had made her everything that she was today.
So, control your impatience Lacey.
She lowered the weapon, closed her eyes and imagined roots sprouting from the soles of her feet, worming their way into the ground, seeking nourishment. Vitality and clarity flowed through her. She imagined a silver rain, streaming down on her, washing away any lingering impatience. But within this meditative state, awash with clarity, patience and vitality, she found a realisation that concerned her:
What if Lucy Evans, the woman I am about to become, did not find truth and justice in the Blue Room?
Her eyes flicked open and she glanced at the bright and colourful bouquet lying in the corner of the room.
Could Lucy Evans be satisfied in a world with colour?
She looked down at her victim.
Would she be able to accept love?
When she cocked the old weapon, the clunk of the hammer was loud, but already the music was helping and Phil didn’t stir.
Marriage? Even children?
The lead singer reached an operatic wail; she grabbed the remote control again and cranked up the volume. When she slung the controls back down, car headlights illuminated the room and Phil’s eyes burst open.
Could Lucy Evans really leave all this behind?
Phil met her eyes; then his stare fell to the gun in her hand. Allowing time for his confusion to become awareness, she enjoyed another moment of realisation:-
Lucy Evans would appreciate where she came from. How she was born. She would not, could not, turn her back on that.
The future was blue. Like the past, like the present.
Like always.
‘Do as I say or I will kill you,’ she said.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
‘What needs to be done. Get up.’
He turned his head slowly from side to side. ‘No, you cannot tell me what to do.’
Lacey scooped up a pillow, placed it against his foot, and buried the nuzzle of the Colt deep into the material. ‘Yes I can.’ She pulled the trigger. There was a thudding noise and a flurry of feathers.
He snapped his foot back.
‘A warning. Next time, I’ll make sure it takes your foot off.’
Holding his hands out in front of him, he sat up. ‘Are you doing this because I hit you?’
‘Come to the bathroom.’
‘Why?’ He climbed out of bed and stretched out his large-muscular frame; there was a break between songs, so she heard his joints cracking. He turned to look at her. ‘What’s in there?’
This is all wrong, I knew he was odd, but he seems almost ... unconcerned.
He turned and cocked his head from side to side as if to examine her. ‘I asked you what happens in the bathroom.’
She took a step back. ‘Follow me, and I’ll show you.’
‘And if I don’t?’
She lowered her gun to point at his exposed genitalia.
As another Keane song kicked in with a cascade of keyboards and powerful vocals, she took another step backwards to ensure there was enough distance between them to prevent him pouncing. She raised the gun from his genitals to his wide chest; it would be hard to miss if he suddenly charged.
He said, ‘I think it’s time I told you something important.’
She snorted. ‘Like what?’
‘Who I am.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I know who you are!’
Phil took a step forward. ‘No, who I really am.’
Lacey regarded him for a moment and then smiled. ‘My, I knew you were odd, Phil, but you really are surprising me. Go on then, who are you? Really?’
‘My name is Lewis Ray.’
Lacey creased her brow. ‘Never heard of you.’
‘I’m the son of that crazy man who killed the nurse, Thomas Ray. Our parents were cousins, which makes us second cousins.’
She laughed. ‘Nonsense!’
‘It’s true. What’s in my blood is in yours too, Lacey.’
She thought of the words on her brother’s kitchen wall and her eyes widened.
He took another step forward and she tensed her hand on the gun.
‘I was adopted when I was two.’
Another step.
‘Stop moving, or I’ll shoot.’
‘But then you won’t find out where your family are. You may be too late for Joe, but Sarah and Paul are still alive.’
Even if it’s true, Lacey, she thought, lifting the gun slightly so it pointed at his head again, it’s irrelevant, stay in control, stick to the plan. ‘Have you not got it through your thick skull yet that I don’t care about them?’
‘But you must have some interest in why I have them.’
‘Why would I have any interest in your primitive ways of making money?’
‘Is that what you really think? There are easier ways to make money! We Rays have had everything our own way. We’re greedy and cruel, and we’ve spent the last century, hurting people, using people, killing people. Ignorance is bliss, but it didn’t last for me I’m afraid. But after a turbulent time, I am whole again, I have a purpose.’
‘What’s your purpose?’
‘One that you, Lacey, are part of, but not able to stop.’
‘That doesn’t help.’
‘So I have your interest now?’
‘Not really. This makes no difference. Nothing changes. The outcome, your outcome, remains exactly the same─’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’
Can you not see who is holding the gun? She thought and then started to laugh. And not the fake laugh she used to taunt prey, but rather a genuine laugh. In a way, looking at Phil Holmes was suddenly like looking in the mirror – the commitment, the drive, the need, staring right back at her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before.
‘Why are you laughing? Do you really hate your family that much?’
She took a deep breath to bring her laugher under control. ‘Yes and hearing the news that Joe is dead is actually quite exhilarating!’
He advanced.
Knowing that the bathroom door was just behind her and she was almost out of space, she tensed her finger on the trigger. ‘Be careful.’
He stopped. ‘How can you think that a woman’s vengeance is anywhere near as important as what I’m doing? Put your gun down.’
‘You’re giving yourself too much importance. You think this is just about you hitting me? You’re not my first, Phil, and after the excitement of killing you fades, I’m sure there’ll be someone else. Someone else who deserves it too.’
‘You think you’re a vigilante?’
‘No - just the person who’s going to cut off your fingers one by one.’
‘Might be better to let you shoot me here then.’
‘Might be. Up to you. But I’d prefer you in the bathroom.’
‘You still haven’t told me why I have to go in there.’
‘To beg.’
‘For what?’
‘Death.’
She took several steps to the side to clear a pathway to the bathroom, keeping the Colt trained on him at all times. He started moving forward, but stopped when he reached the door. ‘One last thing.’ He clutched the frame of the door with one hand.
‘No! Get in, Phil–’
‘Fuck you, it’s Lewis!’ His hand moved suddenly. Something struck her hard on the temple, her head flipped back and her finger slipped from the trigger; then, he was crashing into her. Her body collapsed to the ground under his entire weight. She threw out an arm, but only succeeded in knocking the towel-wrapped instruments off the chair by the door.