Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  Andrew closed his eyes for a moment. Someone would’ve been in very hot water when their mistake was discovered. And it would have been discovered. So Crawford knew all about Cally. He knew she wanted to go into this tunnel and he had done his best to stop her. Why?

  “It’s just typical, isn’t it?” Cally said. “Faceless bureaucrats messing things up for everybody but themselves.”

  “Yes,” Andrew said, and he couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “Bloody typical.” He looked at Cally. In the half-light of the tunnel her blue eyes glittered with a passionate fire and the shadows sculpted the soft skin of her cheeks, transforming the fresh-faced young student into a darkly beautiful woman. How dare that bastard Crawford threaten her? How dare he? He took a breath. “What did you want to do?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. “In the tunnel—why did you want to go in?”

  Cally hesitated. “I just wanted to see for myself. It was for my dissertation. There are stories, going back hundreds of years, and I wanted to see if there could be any truth in them.”

  Andrew waited a moment, expecting her to add something more compelling. “Is that all?” he asked.

  Cally nodded sadly. “Yes. Just an hour or two to make a few notes, take some photos.”

  Andrew frowned. There had to be more to it than that. He’d seen nothing so far that would explain Crawford’s interest. He narrowed his eyes and studied the metal gate. It was heavy duty, made with thick iron bars, and the chain and padlock were industrial strength. Somebody had gone out of their way to deter unwanted visitors, and that was suspicious in itself. The gate was definitely stronger than was needed just to keep a few tourists from wandering into the wrong tunnel. What was Crawford trying to hide? There was only one way to find out.

  The gate hung from very basic hinges: two metal rings on the gate slotted onto a pair of iron pegs in the wall. The tops of the pegs were open, and only the sheer weight of the gate’s iron bars kept it in place. If he put his back into it, he could probably lift the gate from its hinges. He glanced at Cally. “Stand back.”

  Cally’s eyes went wide. “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “Just stand back.” Andrew took hold of the horizontal bar that ran across the middle of the gate, gripping it firmly with both hands. He bent his knees, checked his back was straight and his stomach muscles were tight, and he heaved.

  Cally gasped and stepped back.

  Andrew closed his eyes and strained every muscle in his arms, his legs, his back. He grunted with the effort, and then slowly, with a screech of scraping rusted metal, the gate slid upward. Yes. It was working. But just as Andrew’s muscles began to burn, the gate stopped suddenly, sending a jolt of pain through his arms. He gritted his teeth and held on, but when he looked down at the gate the problem was obvious. There was not enough slack in the chain, and as he’d lifted one side, the gate had tilted and the thick links of the chain had twisted together into an immovable block of metal. He let out his breath in an explosive hiss and dropped the gate, stepping away as the heavy frame clanged back onto its hinges. “Damn it!” He removed his hard hat and laid it on the ground, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand.

  “Andrew,” Cally said, “I don’t think…I mean, you don’t have to do this.”

  Andrew looked her in the eye. “Yes,” he said. “Yes I do.” He took a breath. “I can lift the gate, but it’s the chain—it’s too short.”

  Cally stepped closer to the gate and ran her hands over the chain, thinking. She looked up at Andrew. “What if we keep it level while we lift it up?”

  Andrew smiled. She was determined, and she could do it, too. He had no doubts. She really was special. “OK,” he said. “But make sure you bend your knees and not your back.”

  “Oh please—I bet I go to the gym more than you do.”

  I bet you don’t, Andrew thought, but he kept it to himself. “All right, just checking.”

  Cally removed her hard hat and laid it on the floor beside Andrew’s, then she took hold of the horizontal bar at the centre of the gate. “I’ll count to three, then we lift,” she said. “One, two, three, lift.”

  Andrew tensed his arms and pushed the gate upward with all his strength. The icy metal bit into his palms, but he ignored it.

  And this time, as the gate inched upward, it was almost level, and the vertical iron bars slid upward through the heavy chain as though it wasn’t there.

  At one time, Crawford would’ve presented his ID and explained his visit, but that wasn’t necessary anymore. Now, he swept through the lobby without pausing, though he did at least say hello to the girl behind the ticket desk.

  Nicki looked up from her phone with a start. “Oh, Mr. Crawford, I wasn’t expecting…”

  But he was already disappearing down the stairs. “Please yourself,” she muttered, and turned her attention back to her phone.

  Crawford fought the urge to take the stairs two at a time. It was important to keep up an air of quiet authority. He needed everyone to remember he was in charge. At the bottom of the stairs he took a moment to straighten his jacket and check his tie, then he strode along the corridor and into the museum. He wore his warmest smile as he walked up to the woman in charge of the gift shop. “Hello, Margaret,” he said. “I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem.”

  Margaret raised her eyebrows. “Oh? I haven’t heard anything.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have, it’s all very last minute. You know how it is.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes and tutted. “Always the same,” she said. “What sort of problem?”

  “I’ve just had a structural integrity report.” He slid his briefcase onto the counter and patted the leather with his palms.

  Margaret looked down at the sleek briefcase, and her mouth formed a silent O.

  “No need to be alarmed,” Crawford said. “But I need to check a few things. It will be best if no one goes into the tunnels until I’ve made sure it’s safe.”

  “Oh dear, there’s a group in there now. Do we have to get them out?”

  Crawford shook his head. “No need to cause alarm. We’ll let them finish. But please don’t allow another group go in until I give you the nod. All right?”

  “Of course. I’ll tell them there’s a delay shall I?”

  “Yes, that should be fine. I just need to complete a few tests, that’s all.”

  Margaret bit her lip and nodded slowly.

  Crawford observed the woman’s worried frown and congratulated himself on a job well done. If he’d made a more dramatic announcement, she’d never have been so easily taken in. But a little understatement went a long way. Her imagination had done the rest. He gave her an appreciative smile. “Thanks for your help. It’s best if you make your announcement after I’ve slipped in through the door. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

  When she nodded, he turned away and walked casually across the museum, heading straight for the door. He let himself in, and as he closed the door quietly behind him, he heard Margaret begin her announcement: “If I could just have everybody’s attention…”

  He allowed himself a satisfied smile. So far, everything was going just as he’d planned it. He placed his briefcase on a chair, flipped the catches open and reached inside. The Taser was the latest model; slim enough to be easily concealed and powerful enough to drop a horse. It wasn’t really his style. He preferred to use subtler methods of persuasion, but it was always best to have a backup plan. He slipped the Taser into his jacket pocket, then selected a spare Taser cartridge and a metal flashlight before closing the briefcase. He’d stow it in a locker. There was a small arsenal of other weaponry in the case, including his personal sidearm, a Glock 17, but he wouldn’t need to be so heavy-handed. He was Andrew’s superior, and that authority was better than any crude weapon.

  He checked the locker was properly fastened, then pocketed the key, smoothed down his jacket and, with his head held high, he made his way along the corridor and into the passages.
This won’t take long, he thought. Not long at all.

  Chapter 33

  2014

  TOM STRODE TOWARD the stone platform.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Alan complained. “What are going to do—act it out?”

  “You’ll see,” Tom said, through clenched teeth. “You’ll see soon enough.” He stood in front of the stone and bent down, sweeping across the smooth surface with the palms of his hands, brushing away the accumulated soil and mouldering leaves.

  Alan grimaced. “What’s the point of that? I’ve already seen the damned thing. What are you trying to prove?”

  Tom didn’t waste time on a reply. He just carried on clearing away the debris from the stone. It has to be the same. I have to make everything the same.

  Slowly, Alan made his way across the ledge. He stood behind Tom and watched his furious activity for a moment then peered at the stone. “Is there…is there a bloodstain or something?”

  “No,” Tom said. “Nothing like that.” He stood up straight and surveyed his handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. He stood, roughly where he thought the boy had been, all those years ago, and turned to face Alan. “Push me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Push me. So I fall backward, onto the stone.”

  Alan’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? Why?”

  “Because…because it’s got to happen just the same,” he said. “It’s the only way to make it work.”

  “Make what work?”

  “The stone,” Tom said. “I’ve got to make the stone work. It’s the only way you’ll believe me.”

  Alan snorted. “I don’t think so. If I get that close you’ll grab the phone off me, or punch me in the face or something.”

  “For god’s sake,” Tom hissed. “If I wanted to punch you in the face I could’ve done it a dozen times already.”

  “Well, why don’t you then?” Alan said, his voice rising.

  “Because that’s not who I am—not any more. I know it won’t solve anything. I know it only makes things worse.”

  Alan looked Tom up and down. “I know exactly what you are,” he sneered.

  You know nothing, Tom thought, but he held his tongue. He looked the man in the eye. “Are you going to push me or not?”

  Alan tutted under his breath. “You’re not going to pull the wool over my eyes, so stop trying. I thought you were anxious to get to the hospital.”

  “I am. But you won’t give me my phone until you know the truth and I’m trying to show it to you.”

  Alan shook his head. “I won’t do it. I’m not playing your stupid game.”

  “Fine,” Tom snapped. “I’ll bloody well do it myself.” He closed his eyes and threw himself backward. As he fell, he tried to put his hands up to protect his head, but his reactions weren’t quick enough. When he landed, flat on his back, his head cracked against the stone. A flash of pure white light blotted out his vision for a split second and then the pain bit deep into his skull.

  Alan watched, open mouthed, as Tom fell, and he gasped when Tom’s head hit the solid rock.

  Tom lay still for a moment, waiting, then he pulled his legs up, curling himself into a foetal ball, just as the boy had done. He held his breath and listened. As soon as the weird noises start, I’ll jump off. The man just needed to see the stone in action, that was all, then everything would be OK. He’ll see it wasn’t my fault. Something had happened to the boy because he hadn’t jumped off, he’d been too scared, but that wouldn’t happen this time. I’ll be OK, he told himself. I’m ready for it.

  But nothing happened. Tom put his face in his hands and took a shaky breath. “It’s not working,” he whispered. “Why isn’t it working?” He lay still, waiting, waiting. But as the seconds stretched on, a sense of defeat pressed down on him like a great weight. He knew there would be no answers and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d failed. This had been his only chance to finally prove his innocence, and it had come to nothing. All he’d achieved was another bruise on his already injured skull. Useless. Worthless.

  This was just another hopeless failure in the sorry series of disasters that made up his pathetic life. Tom squeezed his eyes tight shut, but it didn’t help. He’d held back his tears for a very long time, and now they forced their way out. He let out a great sob. It shook his shoulders and tore the air from his lungs. Then before he could stop it, another sob escaped from his lips. And another. The hot tears streamed down Tom’s face and he wept. He wept for his ruined childhood, blighted by the casual cruelty of a father who’d never cared. He wept for the friends who’d mocked him and turned him away when he’d needed them the most, and for the heartless gang members who’d taken their place. He wept for the hurt that had been done to him, and for the way he’d dealt out hurt to those around him. And he wept for Jake, the boy who’d never deserved the beating he’d suffered; the boy who’d vanished four years ago and had never been seen again. If only… if only I could make everything right.

  Alan stood, helpless. He’d always hoped Tom would come to his senses and break down the wall of silence he’d maintained for the last four years, but he hadn’t been expecting this. Alan’s bottom lip twitched and he sniffed back a tear. He couldn’t watch Tom’s abject misery without being affected by it. But all this weeping wasn’t getting them anywhere. He still didn’t have the answers he needed. Patience, he told himself. Give the lad a couple of minutes.

  Alan stared at Tom and waited. After a moment, he shifted his weight to try and lessen the pain in his ankle, and as he moved, something caught his eye. He’d seen something, a reflection maybe, something glittering on the stone. But how could that be? He flicked his eyes toward the sky. The sun wasn’t bright and there was no other source of light here. He turned his head to one side and scanned the length of the black rock. There. A flicker of blue light danced across the stone’s surface.

  “Blue,” Alan muttered. Wasn’t that what Tom had said? Something about the stone lighting up blue? He gasped as another blue light, stronger this time, arced over the stone and raced toward Tom’s body. “Get up,” he shouted. “For god’s sake, Tom, get up!”

  But Tom didn’t hear him. His ears were suddenly filled with a roaring hiss, a buzzing, crackling wall of sound that vibrated through his chest. He opened his mouth to cry out, but it was too late. No sound would come from his throat.

  “Tom!” Alan yelled, desperate to be heard over the rising cacophony. “What the hell’s going on?”

  The lights were even brighter now, coming thick and fast as they flickered over Tom’s helpless body, enveloping him in a latticework of light. Alan stepped forward. He had to do something, he had to pull Tom off the stone slab. He threw Tom’s phone to the ground and stepped closer to the stone. And in that moment, the phone began to ring.

  Chapter 34

  3650 BC

  I STARED UP into the old man’s eyes. “You…you can understand me? You speak English?”

  He nodded. “Just stay quiet,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. “They’re coming. I have to take you back. I’ll try and help. Help you later.” He spoke awkwardly, as though struggling to find the right words.

  “Please, just let me go. I’ll go away. You won’t see me again.”

  He shook his head. “It won’t work. They’d kill you right now.” He pushed himself up to his feet and turned away from me. I heard the pounding of feet, and suddenly they were there, the whole group, surrounding us. They stood, their chests heaving, glaring at me, at the man who stood over me, their eyes alight with an animal greed. One of them, I think the one who’d caught me in the forest, confronted the old man, standing very close to him and shouting into his face. But the old man just gave him a weary smile, as though tolerating a naughty child. He turned to the others and said something in their language, and then they were grabbing me, hauling me up to my feet.

  I hung my head and let them drag me back up the hill. I was so close. Another few seconds and
I might have got away. But perhaps there was some hope. The old man had spoken to me in English and he’d said he would help me. There might still be a way to escape, to survive. I closed my eyes tight. Stay quiet, the old man had said, and you just might live. I had to hang on to that. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.

  I opened my eyes and looked up. We were almost back at the top of the hill. The black stone loomed above us like an impenetrable shadow against the darkening sky. It was already dusk. Soon, the sun would set and the worst day of my life would finally draw to a close. Maybe they’ll camp down for the night and leave me alone for a while. I pictured myself slipping away into the night while they slept. But that wasn’t going to happen. These men were angry, greedy, excited. They had something in mind for me and their other prisoner; something they were looking forward to very much indeed. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be good for me.

  I looked for the old man. For a second, I couldn’t see him and a wave of cold panic ran through me. He’s gone. But I strained my neck and looked back over my shoulder and there he was, trudging along behind me. Thank god for that. Our eyes met but his expression stayed blank, emotionless. He was going to help me, wasn’t he? Or had his promise been nothing more than a cruel trick to keep me quiet? I studied his face for some small trace of sympathy but his eyes gave nothing away. I opened my mouth to speak, but there it was—the sign I’d been looking for—a barely perceptible nod.

  The old man’s acknowledgement wasn’t much of a comfort, but for now, it would have to do. I’d no idea how he might help me, but as I looked forward again and saw their other prisoner lying beaten and helpless on the ground, I had to hope I wouldn’t end up in the same state, or even worse. I had to believe the old man would stick to his promise. He’s got to let me go. He’s got to.