Alan closed his eyes, but it only made the memories brighter. “For god’s sake,” he muttered. He opened his eyes and tilted his head back, blinking rapidly. There had to be something he could understand—some explanation that made sense. There just had to be something he’d missed.
Alan shambled slowly back to the stone slab. He stood over it, searching its dull, dusty surface for a hint of anything unusual. But there were no sparks now, not even a faint glow to show where they’d been. Alan stared at the flat, black stone for a long time. He chewed the inside of his cheek, and then he made up his mind. He held his breath and bent down, reaching his hand toward the stone. Don’t do it, he told himself. But he was determined, and his fingers were already brushing against the stone’s cold surface. He pressed his hand flat against the slab, forcing his fingers through the fine layer of dust and grit.
He winced as he slid his hand slowly across the stone’s grimy surface, expecting at any moment to feel the jolt of an electric shock. Or something worse. But there was nothing; no strange buzzing sound, no flashes of light: nothing except the cold, solid flatness of polished stone.
Alan swore under his breath, then he sank to his knees, next to the stone, and knelt on the damp ground. He’s gone. He hung his head. “Tom,” he whispered. “Tom, you were telling the truth.”
Alan pinched the bridge of his nose. It was almost impossible to believe, but there was no other explanation. Tom had vanished, and somehow the stone was to blame. It had erased Tom from existence, ripped him from the world, and four years ago, exactly the same thing must’ve happened to his own son. Alan looked up at the stone. He wanted to hate it, but he could feel nothing. He wasn’t even angry anymore. If I’d known the truth back then, would it have made any difference? He shook his head sadly. No. He would never have believed it. And even if he had, he would still have blamed Tom, or Robbo as he’d called himself back then. He sniffed. “But, I wouldn’t have done all those things,” he murmured. “I would never have…” He let his voice trail away. He didn’t want to face the dreadful things he’d done to Tom, didn’t want to admit them, even to himself.
He put his head in his hands. “Oh, Jake,” he sobbed. “My son, my only boy. What happened to you?” And when the tears came, they were hot, and they burned as they ran down his cheeks. Alan had cried many times since he’d lost his boy, but now his sorrow flooded through him, hollowing him out, and the pain wracked his body, consuming him in its wicked darkness.
The pain would never end. But Alan didn’t care. He could die here on this lonely ledge, unnoticed and unmourned. His miserable life was the only thing he had left and it was no substitute for the loss of everything he’d loved.
Alan let the pain take him, let it wipe out his thoughts, let it crush the breath from his lungs. It didn’t matter. The only thing that could save him now, the only thing that could make his life worth living again, would be to see his son one last time, and for that, he’d give anything. For one more glimpse of Jake’s smile, he’d give his life without a second thought or a moment of regret.
“Jake,” Alan whispered. “Jake, come back to me.” Then, as loud as he could, his voice rasping in the back of his throat, he called out his son’s name. And he wept.
Chapter 40
2018
AT FIRST, Cally stares, wide-eyed in horror as the flecks of crackling light swarm toward her. But as the lights spin and flicker, curling up through the dark water, she tilts her head to one side, and her expression softens. The delicate tracery of light is beautiful, fascinating. And when the flickering blue tendrils reach out to her, stroking her skin, she does not flinch. The lights will do her no harm. Their cool, gentle beams will envelop her, protect her. And then she hears them. A chorus of whispering voices calling out to her, lullaby-soft, the voices of a thousand women. They know her, they remember her. She is one of them, and through the stone they are interconnected, across all of time. Their energy flows into her, through her, and she is limitless, almost overwhelmed by her own power. She can achieve anything.
But first, the voices tell her, there is something to be done. There is someone here who does not respect the stone—a man who would subvert its power. He must be stopped. And Cally smiles. She can bring this man to his knees. It will not even be difficult.
Crawford could only stand and watch as Cally fixed him with her glare. Slowly, she raised her hands and held them out in front of her, her fingers pointing directly at him. For a split second, he thought of backing away. But no. Why should he? The girl had no right to do this, no right to interfere. The stone was his and his alone. It’s time to put an end to this. He adjusted his stance and brought the Taser up. The corner of his mouth curled in contempt. The girl was an easy target.
Andrew stared at Cally, his face a mask of fear and confusion. He opened his mouth to call out, but suddenly, Crawford was in motion, swinging his Taser upward, taking aim at Cally. Andrew seized his chance and ran toward the older man, his arms outstretched.
And Cally roared. She opened her mouth and let loose a deep, guttural growl; a barrage of sound that swept through the tunnel and battered the men’s ears. Andrew stumbled but his momentum kept him going, and he staggered on toward Crawford.
Crawford shook his head and forced himself to concentrate. He breathed out slowly and corrected his aim. His finger tightened on the Taser’s trigger.
Andrew’s hands were a hair’s breadth from clutching Crawford’s clothes. He launched himself at Crawford and closed his eyes.
But before the men made contact, a flare of pure, white light erupted from Cally, cocooning her in a whirling cloak of crackling energy. Crawford dropped his flashlight and raised his hand to shield his eyes against the blazing light. He couldn’t fire his Taser, couldn’t see a thing.
Cally blinks slowly. A maelstrom of vivid blue beams spirals around her. It is intensely bright, but it doesn’t dazzle her. It’s keeping me safe. She purses her lips. Safety is not enough. It is time to deal with the interloper. She glances at her hands and a cascade of swirling sparks flies from her fingertips and surges through the air, hurtling toward the two men.
Andrew was in mid-air, leaping toward Crawford, when the shockwave slammed into him. It threw him backward, tossing his body aside like a dry leaf in a gale. He flew across the tunnel and landed heavily on his back. The impact drove the breath from his chest and he gasped for air.
But Crawford remained standing, rooted to the spot. The blast of raw energy tore at his clothes, his hair, but he could not move. Every muscle in his body was taut, every joint rigid. He could only watch as the jagged streams of light wrapped themselves around him, blinding him, squeezing the life from him. In seconds, he was shrouded in a web of freezing light. It crackled across his skin, leaching the heat from his body, piercing his flesh like a hundred hypodermic needles. Sparks curled along his arm, racing toward the Taser. The weapon grew hot in Crawford’s hand, but he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t even uncurl his fingers. The Taser whined and fizzed as its handle blistered and burned, spattering his fingers with molten plastic. A harsh, rasping cry of agony escaped through his clenched teeth, and with a final outburst of light and sound, the smouldering Taser exploded in his hand.
Cally lowered her arms and the streams of light dimmed and curled away from her, fading into the darkness, sliding back to the black stone beneath the water. But the voices remained with her, whispering into her thoughts: It’s all right, we only did what had to be done. Then suddenly, the sense of energy, of connection, was gone. The silence hissed in her ears. She was alone again. What the hell just happened? She put her hands up to cover her mouth. Her arms were heavy and her fingers trembled. There was sweat on her cheeks, and her hands were rough, encrusted with a layer of grime and grit.
The darkness closed in on her, and there was only one thought in her mind: I’ve got to get out of here. She took a breath, and tried to hold it, but her chest shook, and she couldn’t help but let out a low moan of despair.
Andrew picked himself up off the ground and stood, although his legs were unsteady. He’d seen Crawford wrapped in writhing light, seen the Taser explode in his hand, seen the older man crumple as the bright beams unfurled from his body and flew across the tunnel, fizzing along the damp stone walls to disappear in the distance. Now, the acrid stench of burning plastic filled the tunnel and caught in Andrew’s throat. He coughed, took a breath, and almost gagged. There was another smell in the air, even more pungent: singed flesh. Crawford must’ve been badly burned. Andrew swallowed hard. I should fetch help, or get him to a doctor. A grunt. Then suddenly, Crawford’s voice hissed and whispered in the chill, dank air. His furious muttering echoed from the stone walls, amplified by the emptiness of the tunnel. Andrew shuddered. He’s still alive. But was he still a threat? Andrew moved his head from side to side, trying to pinpoint Crawford’s position. But another sound grabbed his attention—Cally! She was whimpering, sobbing, alone in the dark. The hell with Crawford. He had to get to Cally and take her to safety. He took a step forward and opened his mouth to call to her.
A light flared in the darkness. Andrew flinched, raised his hands to protect himself, but it was only Crawford’s flashlight, its beam weak and unsteady. And Crawford was pointing it directly at Cally.
“You bitch,” Crawford snarled, his voice hoarse with rage. “You’ll pay for this.” He staggered toward the pit and aimed his flashlight down at the water, searching out the pit’s edge. “I’ll deal with you properly this time.” He leaned forward, ready to step down into the pit.
Andrew scowled and strode forward. “You stay away from her,” he growled. Crawford hesitated. He turned, the beam of his flashlight slicing through the darkness, but he didn’t see Andrew until it was too late. Andrew grabbed Crawford’s arm and spun him around, pushing him away from the pit. But despite the older man’s injuries, there was nothing wrong with his reactions. Crawford lashed out with his good hand, the metal flashlight held tightly in his fist. He threw his shoulder into the punch and his fist caught Andrew squarely on his right eye. Andrew reeled back, shaking his head. A burst of red light blurred his vision and the pain arced across his skull. Crawford seized his advantage and charged at Andrew.
Andrew’s eyesight returned—just in time. As Crawford barrelled into him, Andrew grabbed hold of Crawford’s jacket with both hands and turned on his heel, using the older man’s momentum against him. He swung Crawford across the tunnel, hurling him toward the stone wall. But Crawford was quick on his feet. He stumbled but recovered quickly, shifting his weight to regain his balance. He spun around and sprang forward, then kicked out hard at Andrew’s kneecap. But thanks to the flashlight, Andrew saw him coming. He threw himself back into the shadows, and Crawford’s kick missed its target by a millimetre.
Andrew swallowed hard. He’d thought that Crawford would be beaten by his injuries. He hadn’t expected him to fight back, but now the older man was already stalking toward him, moving with a deadly purpose, like a demon in the dark, his good hand raised in a fist.
Andrew glanced nervously from left to right, but there was no favourable ground here, no refuge. Every nerve fibre, every muscle in his body told him to run, to get as far away from Crawford as he could. But that was out of the question. I’ve got to keep Cally safe. Andrew flexed his fingers, tensed his shoulders. There was no way around it. He had to put Crawford out of action, and for that, he needed to get in close.
“Crawford!” he yelled. “You’ve ruined everything. I was playing her until you barged in.”
Crawford hesitated, missed his step.
Andrew licked his lips nervously. Good. He was getting through to him. “Come on, let’s go and get her. We’ll take her out together.”
Crawford halted in front of him and shone his flashlight into Andrew’s eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered.
Andrew didn’t blink. He needed to keep him talking. As long as the older man was focused on his face, he wouldn’t see what Andrew was doing, wouldn’t notice him slipping his hand into his jacket pocket, and couldn’t know what he was holding in his fist. “You’re hurt,” Andrew said. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
Crawford shook his head, a grim smile on his lips, and stepped to one side. Andrew turned to face him and immediately realised his mistake. Now the tunnel wall was directly behind him. The next time Crawford came at him, he couldn’t dodge back to stay out of reach. He didn’t buy it. But it didn’t matter. He’d gained himself a little time. It’s now or never, he told himself. Come on, you bastard.
He didn’t have to wait long. Crawford dropped his flashlight and lunged toward him, faster than Andrew could’ve anticipated, reaching for Andrew’s throat with both hands. Crawford was a horror of burned and bloody flesh, a monstrous creature, consumed with a frenzy of rabid rage. Andrew’s stomach turned. The ground shifted beneath his feet. But he had to let the man come at him. Crawford crashed into Andrew, pinning him against the wall. But this was exactly what Andrew needed. He waited until Crawford’s hands were closing around his throat, and then he struck. With his left hand, he grabbed Crawford’s injured wrist and twisted it outwards with all his strength. At the same time, he drove his right hand into Crawford’s thigh, stabbing the drug-filled injector firmly into the older man’s muscle.
Crawford let out a strangled cry as his wrist was wrenched beyond its limits. But he wasn’t in pain for long. The anaesthetic worked quickly, and Crawford collapsed, falling against Andrew like a sack of wet sand. Andrew staggered for a second as he took Crawford’s weight on his arms, then he lowered him to the ground, laying him on his side. He moved Crawford’s arm so he’d stay in something like the recovery position, then he stepped back.
“Bloody hell,” Andrew muttered. He leaned his hands on his knees and hung his head, breathing hard. His heart was racing, his mind a whirl. But surely, the worst was over—it had to be. He closed his eyes. The only sounds in the tunnel were his heavy breathing and the gentle lapping of water against the edges of the pit.
“Oh my god,” Cally whispered, her voice strained. “Oh my god.”
Andrew opened his eyes and stood up straight, looking toward the sound of Cally’s voice. He couldn’t see her, but it sounded as if she was backing away from him, moving farther into the tunnel. “It’s all right,” he said. “He can’t hurt you now. I’ve put him out of action.”
Cally gasped. “You’ve…you’ve killed him.”
“No. Listen, Cally, he’s fine. He’s just drugged. Honestly. He’ll be fine.”
But Cally continued to retreat, her legs splashing through the water as she backed away. “Who are you? You said…I thought you…”
Andrew shook his head. This would be easier if they could just see each other. He scanned the ground, searching for Crawford’s flashlight, but there was no sign of it. He looked back toward the sound of Cally’s voice and, straining his eyes against the darkness, he took a single step toward her. “Cally, I had to stop him. He was going to hurt you.”
“But you were going to help him. I heard you. Bring her in together—that’s what you said.”
Andrew ran a hand over his face. “That was a lie. I was trying to confuse him, trying to get him close.”
“I don’t believe you,” Cally said. “I don’t trust you. I want you to go. Just go.”
“I can’t do that, Cally. It’s not safe to leave you. I don’t even know what happened to you. It was…I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if you’re all right. Are you? Are you all right?”
“No. I’m not bloody well all right. And I’m not going to be all right as long as I’m anywhere near you.”
Andrew took a breath. “Fine. Let’s just get you out of here, and then I’ll go back to London. You’ll never see me again—I promise. But I can’t leave you down here. It isn’t safe. Crawford wouldn’t have come here alone.”
“Oh no,” Cally moaned. “It never ends.”
“Come on,” Andrew said. “We have to ge
t moving—right now. They could be here any second.”
Cally sniffed loudly as though fighting back her tears. “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you people come here? What do you want from me?”
“I can’t explain that now. But it was all Crawford. He sent me here. But I’m not on his side. I want to get you away. I want to get you home.”
“I don’t believe you,” Cally said.
Andrew shook his head slowly. “I don’t blame you. But listen, Cally, there will be other people, just like Crawford, on their way right now. ” He paused. “Do you really want to face them on your own?”
Cally hesitated. “No.”
“So how about this?” Andrew said. “I’ll lead the way, and make sure it’s safe. You just follow along. You can keep your distance.”
“But…what if they’re waiting for us?”
“I’ll think of something. I’ll tell them I’m bringing you in and say that Crawford needs them down here. As soon as they’re out of the way, we’ll run for it.”
Cally took a breath. “All right,” she said, trying to keep her voice strong. “But you’ve got to keep well in front—I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“Sure,” Andrew said. He backed away. “I’ll give you some space.”
“Stay back then. I’m coming out.”
Andrew tilted his head and listened as Cally waded slowly through the dark water. The splashing sounds grew louder, and then he could just make out her outline in the gloom. “Do you want a hand?”
“No. I’m fine.” She slipped a little on the damp stone floor as she clambered out of the hole, and cursed under her breath, but she saved herself from falling.
Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Page 29