by Conrad Jones
“Fucking hell,” Joseph said wide eyed. “Do these freaks really believe all this shit?”
“Oh yes,” I nodded. “They believe every word of it.”
“So you’re the sacrifice at the full moon,” he pointed to the text. “The child is for the Feast of the Beast.”
“Born to two of the blackest hearts,” I said to myself.
“What?”
“She keeps on telling me that my heart is blacker than any of her followers,” I sighed exhausted by it all. “I didn’t know the meaning behind what she was saying until now. She chose me to father the child because I’m as evil as she is?”
“She’s a fucking lunatic.”
“Is she?” I drained my beer. “She’s right though.”
“What do you mean?”
“She keeps on telling me that I’m a killer, an evil, stone-cold killer and you know what?” I shrugged. “She’s right.”
“You’ve killed for a reason.”
“Yes, my reasons and I haven’t blinked once, any time that I’ve pulled the trigger or watched them burn or hang. I haven’t given their families a single thought before, during or after killing them.”
“Neither would I but it doesn’t make me evil,” he argued. “It makes me human. Scum like that don’t deserve families. Imagine finding out that your husband or dad was dressing up as a goat and abusing children. Fuck them!”
“Whatever we think,” I shook my head. “They have their virgin child born of two of the blackest hearts, one mortal and one shapeshifter. There it is in black and white. That is what they believe, so to them, it is true.”
“Fuck what they think,” Joseph searched some more. “This is giving us clues as to where they will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the spelling here,” he pointed to the word ‘color’. “American English or old English and the baby must be mixed blood so they mean race. She’s black, right?”
“Right.”
“A mixed race child,” he stared at the screen. “What the fuck is a shapeshifter?”
“Therianthropy,” I shrugged. “The myth is as old as the seas. It’s the power to change shape, from human to animal like a man to werewolf or a vampire from humanoid into bat.”
“So it’s mumbo-jumbo,” Joseph dismissed it.
“I’m not so sure,” I shrugged remembering her at the farm. “At Brunt Boggart when we fucked, her face changed. Her jaw distended and her strength was incredible, almost superhuman. Her face became animal-like.”
“Did she drug you?” he dismissed it again.
“I don’t know if what I saw was real but I do know that I saw it.”
“You know that you think you saw it.”
“Whatever,” I sighed.
Joseph wasn’t willing to debate the subject and I couldn’t be bothered trying to explain something that most people would consider as madness. The entire episode was too far-fetched to expect rational minds to contemplate it. “You think that these ley lines are the reason they’re going to Anglesey?”
“I’m guessing, but yes I do.”
“We need to get an Ordnance Survey map of Anglesey,” he held his chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Using a compass, we can plot all of your ley lines on it and see which standing stones sites and buildings are on those coordinates. You know the island well, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Something else was on my mind as he spoke. It occurred to me all of a sudden. I thought back to our first encounter at the camping shop when he saluted me as I drove away. His behaviour and mannerisms were consistent with others I had met through my writing and research.
“You need to think hard about any old buildings, which could be considered ‘sinister’, whatever that means.”
“Everything on Anglesey is old,” I chuckled as I searched my memory banks for ideas. “The text says that it has to be done ‘within the walls’, which rules out all of the sites where the standing stones are, doesn’t it. It won’t be outside.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Do you still have their mobiles?”
“Yes,” I reached for my bag. “I’ve got seven of them.”
“You have been busy,” he said sarcastically but there was something in his eyes. I think it was respect. “We need to go through every phone and write all the numbers down and then we cross-reference them. Any number that is on two or more phones we keep. Any number that is on four or more, we prioritise and if any are on all seven, we’re going to ping the numbers and see exactly where they’re at.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I asked shocked at my oversight.
“You have too been busy shooting them and avoiding the police,” he smiled cheekily. “You would have thought of it in time.”
“Of course I would,” I smiled. “It was my very next plan.”
“I thought your next plan involved walking blindly into a trap with your fingers crossed that you could get out of it, kill everyone and then go home?”
“That was plan A,” I shrugged. “Plan B is better.”
“Plan B is always better, trust me on that,” he nodded knowingly, which added to my growing realisation, “we’ll check the OS map for possible EHQ. There can only be a handful of possible buildings and then we’ll cross-reference them with the mobile phone locations.”
“Were you in the military?”
“What makes you ask that?” he smiled wryly.
“OS maps, EHQ,” I said. “Enemy Headquarters, right?” I guessed, “add the compasses and the way you think strategically and I’m guessing you’re a scout leader or military.”
“I was 1st Assault Group, Royal Marines,” he saluted again. “Served in Bosnia, Kosovo and Sierra Leone. Broke my dad’s heart when I left the family business but he was very proud when I earned my Green Beret.”
“I bet he was,” I mumbled a little in awe of his career. “Makes my story sound like a walk in the park, eh?”
He looked me in the eyes and shook his head. “Not at all but now you know why I don’t judge you for killing the men that you’ve killed,” he said honestly. “You’re not a lunatic or a freak. I pulled the trigger without questioning who I was killing. I’ve laid charges, which killed dozens and I’ve never given it a second thought. I killed because I had to and so did you.”
“Do you think my flat cap is up there with your Green Beret?”
“Not a fucking chance!”
“If I get caught will you act as a character witness in court?”
“Maybe you are a lunatic after all,” he laughed.
“There’s no doubt about it,” I countered. “Where can we find an OS map?”
“I’ve got one in the garage.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“You need to go and get some sleep,” he put the laptop down on the table. “We need to be fresh and alert when we begin. You look like shit and I need you to be sharp.”
“Okay,” I replied without any argument. “I guess a few hours won’t hurt.”
“Down the hallway off the landing,” he pointed to the stairs. “Take the second room on your right. The bed’s made up and there’s shower gel and towels in the bathroom.”
“I need a shower badly,” I stood up and my legs felt like jelly. Running up the mountain away from the police had been a mammoth effort and my muscles and joints were screaming with exhaustion. Only the will to survive and adrenalin had kept me going. Now they had worn off and I needed to rest.
“You do,” he nodded sympathetically. He nodded to the shotgun. “Leave the Mossberg with me.”
I felt a bolt of fear shooting through me. “I don’t leave it anywhere,” I said defensively. “Sorry but it stays with me.”
“That weapon needs to be stripped and oiled if you want it to keep working,” he said stoically. “Do you know how to do it?”
I shook my head. I knew it made sense but I’d been on the run for so long that trusting someone was unnatural.
�
��If we’re going to do this together then you need to trust me,” Joseph said reaching for the gun. With the twist of his wrist and the click of a catch the Mossberg was in two pieces and rendered into useless scrap metal. “I’ll service her and leave her next to your bed when I’m done. If I’m coming with you then I need to know that your weapon isn’t going to seize up when we’re knee deep in blood and shit, understand?”
I thought about the implications of what he was suggesting. It meant that I wasn’t alone any more. I had more chance of ridding the world of Jennifer Booth if I had help, especially the help of a man who had made a career out of killing. “Okay,” I agreed. “I’m grateful for your help and somewhere to sleep but I don’t think you realise what you’re offering to do.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he smiled. “I’m stopping you from killing yourself for nothing. On your own, you have no chance. Together we have a good chance. If we can find them, then we go to them before they even realise that you’re not going to turn up at their trap. We hit them unexpectedly, kill this bitch and anyone else who fancies dying with her and then we get away before they’re even cold. We can be back here before the police get a sniff of it. What they find won’t be attributed to you or me.”
“You’re assuming that Jennifer Booth is just an evil woman,” I turned towards the stairs before turning back to look Joseph in the eyes. “What if she is what she says she is?”
“Then we’ll have to hope that God is on our side,” he shrugged and began stripping the shotgun. There was a flicker of something in his eyes but it wasn’t fear. I felt lifted and optimistic for the first time in an age. Hope. I had hope.
“God? I don’t think he’s watching,” I smiled tiredly and walked down the stairs. “And if he is then he’s having a fucking laugh on my behalf,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that Joseph was right. Hope is a powerful emotion and I could feel it spreading through my soul.
Chapter 29
When I woke, it took me long seconds to remember where I was. The bedroom was half lit by the morning sun, which filtered between the dark curtains and the wall. The Mossberg was leaning against the bedside table next to the bed. The metal gleamed and the stock was polished. I touched the barrels with my fingertips. My old friend was in the shape of her life and ready to do what she did best, blowing the shit out of niners. The smell of bacon cooking drifted into the room from upstairs. I’m not sure if it was the smell of bacon or the excitement of renewing my search for Jennifer Booth which motivated me the most, but I leaped out of the bed and headed into the bathroom.
Powerful jets of hot water washed away all the sleepy fog from my mind. The ache in my muscles seemed to run away down the plughole, along with the dried blood and grime from my skin. The lemony soap bubbles invigorated me as they cleaned the filth from my body. I marvelled at the colour of the water as it flowed into the tray. It was hard to comprehend how much muck could come from one human being. I must have smelled like a dead donkey in a manure pile. The urge to shave the bristles from my head and face was almost unbearable. I had needed to keep as much of my face covered as possible but that day, I didn’t care. Using a disposable razor, I took the hair from my head and face. It felt amazing. I reluctantly stepped out of the shower and brushed my teeth at the sink.
When I walked back into the bedroom, I noticed that my clothes were gone, replaced with a clean pair of olive-green combats, fresh underwear and a black tee-shirt. My boots had a pair of new socks stuffed into the tops. Joseph was obviously organised to the point of being obsessive but I wasn’t going to complain. Looking and smelling like a member of the human race, I loaded the Mossberg and carried it upstairs following the intensifying smell of bacon.
“What’s that for?” Joseph nodded to the shotgun. “In case anyone steals your breakfast?”
“Force of habit,” I said sitting on a tall stool at a granite topped breakfast bar. He plonked a pint mug of coffee and a packet of menthols in front of me. “Thanks, kick-starters,” I said lighting one up and slurping the hot brew. I looked over at a pile of books, which were stacked up on the coffee table in the living room. Beneath them Joseph had spread out a map. There was a ruler and a compass next to some coloured pencils. “Looks like you’ve been busy. Thanks for the clothes, by the way.”
“No problem,” he slid a bacon sandwich across the worktop. “Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. There's acres of stuff on the internet about your ley lines. Most of it is bullshit but there is some interesting stuff too.”
“I warned you about getting involved,” I said with a mouthful of butty. I washed it down with coffee and then took a drag on the menthol. Joseph shook his head as he watched me trying to shovel three things down my throat simultaneously. “Sorry but I’ve learned to eat in a hurry lately. I never know when it’s going to be my last meal.”
“Carry on,” he smiled, “I’ve been there myself, remember.”
“Yes, sorry. I know you have,” I swallowed before carrying on. “I did a lot of research on ley lines especially the ones on Anglesey. Some experts say they are burial mounds, others a place of sacrifice, while others believe they’re a source of energy, which can be channelled. Others say they are signposts for alien visitors. The information that I found pointed to the fact that there might be something in it.”
“Seriously?” he raised his eyebrows.
“Seriously,” I stuffed the remainder of the sandwich into my mouth. Chewing furiously, I walked over to the map. I studied the work that Joseph had done the previous night. “Ah, now then, you have made the exact same mistake that I did when I researched them. It took me weeks to see the mistake I’d made.”
“I’ve marked the lines exactly as they are plotted in all the information I found on the net.” He pointed to the books. “I checked them in these reference books too. They’re walking guides but they mention the standing stones on the island. I’ve plotted the lines precisely.” He looked offended. “There are no mistakes.”
“Okay, it’s not a mistake with the plotting on the island as such, it’s an oversight.”
“An oversight?”
“Yes.”
“There are no oversights.”
“There is one big one.”
“Where?”
“You have taken the ley lines and plotted them along the latitudes which follow the standing stones, right?”
“Yes.”
“And then you’ve plotted the lines east all the way across Snowdonia to the edge of the map, right?”
“What’s your point?”
“I did the same thing.”
“So what?”
“I didn’t finish the job and continue to plot the lines west in the other direction.”
“That’s the Irish Sea.”
“I know it is,” I smiled smugly. “Thanks for the geography lesson.”
“I still don’t get your point.”
“Watch this.” I took his ruler and continued one of the lay lines across the blue area of the map. Joseph frowned. “Bear with me,” I grinned and did likewise with a second lay line, then a third and then a fourth and fifth. Joseph’s eyes widened.
“Fucking hell,” he looked from the map to me and back again. “They all intersect in the sea near these islands. The Skerries?”
“The North coast of Anglesey lies on the main shipping route to Liverpool, which I’m sure you know was one of the biggest ports on the planet and at one time during the nineteenth century, thousands of ships passed the island on the way to Liverpool. The Skerries has had a lighthouse for as far back as shipping records go,” I explained and pointed to the islands. “Despite the lighthouse warning shipping, records show that in this area one mile to the west of the Skerries and a mile to the east of Lynas, where the lay lines intersect, over three hundred shipwrecks have been recorded and there are probably many, many more, which disappeared, but actually sank here.”
“More?” he asked incredulously. He was still digesting the news. “Ho
w would you know that there were more?”
“From the number of ships, which left their ports and never arrived in Liverpool but they were spotted rounding North Stack by the lighthouse keepers on South Stack. They kept logs of all passing vessels.”
“So they sank somewhere in this area?”
“Yep,” I sat back and nodded. “It surprised me too. I published some of it on my blog but the theory was dismissed as nonsense.”
“Coincidence?”
“I don’t do coincidence and you can’t refute the number of ships lost there.”
“So the area is jinxed because it’s at the intersection of ley lines?” He scoffed.
“Which came first,” I asked, “the chicken or the egg?”
“What?”
“Whoever built those standing stones built them in a linear pattern, which intersects at this point, right?”
“Right.”
“Maybe they were built as a warning that that area of the sea was incredibly dangerous,” I shrugged as I offered an explanation. “Imagine if the early sailors and fishermen were dying regularly in that area, so they pointed it out.”
“What is the other option?”
“That the area is a ley gate,” I laughed at the thought. “It’s the centre of some kind of mystical cosmic power and our ancestors on Anglesey knew how to map its flow and tap into it. The key to understanding their theories is the word ‘gate’,” I tried to make it as clear as I could, although it was a clear as mud to me too.
“Gate?” he frowned.
“Ley gate,” I sat back, “it implies that where ley lines intersect, there’s a gate, a portal, through which things that don’t belong here can pass. Evil things.”
“Like demons and dragons?” he chuckled.
“Who knows?”
“And this evil which comes through the gate makes ships sink?” Joseph looked at me as if I was mad.
“Look, ships have sunk there in the hundreds yet there has always been a lighthouse to warn them of the rocks. Why have so many ships sunk there and why did our ancestors think to plot their standing stones to intersect at that point?”