by Matt Drabble
Todd ducked back inside the house as Dixon reached him.
“Hey Adrian,” Dixon called out, “I was just making sure that you were ok. I thought I’d take a quick check of the perimeter, you can’t be too careful.”
Dixon followed his boss into the house, annoyed at being dismissed so easily. He caught a flash of the white hat through the kitchen door and jogged after it. He was in no mood for stupid games.
“Dammit Adrian” he yelled “Wait up.”
He shot through the door and found the hat hanging on the staircase banister rail. He felt the whoosh of air behind him and turned only just in time to see a black caped figure swinging the bat. All he had time to think before the bat struck him was whether or not Tommy had felt the same pain when Dixon had been on the other end of the swinging.
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Tommy floored the SUV. He hadn’t needed an internet search to show where him the address was, it was the Todd farm. It was the largest stretch of land in Denver Mills and was on the outskirts of town. A perfectly secluded setting for what they had to face. A fleeting guilty thought had passed through his mind and he guessed he wouldn’t be human if it hadn’t. He could just leave. Just get in the car and churn up gravel in the opposite direction. By the time that Trotter realised that his grand finale was in tatters Tommy could have a big head start. But it was only a fleeting thought. If he ran then the world would never be big enough to escape his own thoughts. He couldn’t leave God knows how many others to their fates. Dixon? Gaines? Or Ally? How could he really walk away from her? It was better to end this now, regardless of the outcome. He had lived his whole life under a shadow and it was time to shine a light into those dark corners and face the end.
He whipped through town ignoring the facial expressions that ran the gamut between anger and bewilderment. He drove as quickly as he dared. Part of him wanted to delay the inevitable and part just wanted the damn thing over.
He soon reached the long dirt track road that led from the tarmac main road down to the Todd Farm. He pulled to a stop and sat there as the engine and his mind ticked over. Eventually he could see no other alternative than to drive down the track and up to the house. He wasn’t a cop and he wasn’t armed. He didn’t suddenly possess the stealth and tactical skills of a Special Forces soldier. He was still a scared twelve year old boy who had just grown a bigger body. He slipped the SUV into drive and went forward to finish this.
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“These are the medical files on Arnold Trotter,” Warden Leyland Meeks said as he slid the brown folder across the desk.
Sam took the folder and opened it; the white papers inside told testament to the horrific assault that Trotter had suffered in the prison. The files contained photographs of Trotter. His torso was bare and his upper body was a mass of blue and purple bruises. The abrasions were so brutal that Sam was unsurprised to find that the files spoke of several internal injuries. If the torso pictures were bad, the lower body images were even worse. Sam didn’t need to read further than the words “severe rectal insertion trauma” to have an understanding of just what Trotter had been through. “This is horrendous,” he said aloud as his eyes digested further through the pages. “How in God’s name was this allowed to happen?”
“A weak guard,” Meeks answered insufficiently.
Sam merely stared at him hard until the warden continued.
“He wasn’t a bad man, just a young boy with a new family and too many bills to pay. He took some money to turn a blind eye so that Trotter could taste a little justice. I’m sure that he had no idea that what happened was going to happen.”
“What happened to the guard? I take it that he was charged?”
“Ah,” Meeks said refusing to meet Sam’s harsh glare. “That I’m afraid is where my own culpability lies. I took pity on the boy and hid his guilt in this matter.”
“You did what!” Sam exploded.
“He was just a kid for Christ’s sake Mr. Norton, just a kid who made a mistake. Why the hell should he have to pay for it for the rest of his life? What happened to Trotter was despicable. But I was not going to let a decent young guard pay the price for a murderer receiving justice.”
“What if he wasn’t guilty Meeks, did you ever think about that?” Sam snapped angrily. “What if you took an innocent man and helped turn him into a monster? I’ve got a small town living in fear and bodies stacking up to the ceiling and what if that blood is partially on your hands Mr. Meeks?”
Meeks sat back in his chair. His eyes blazed with fire, but his face was set hard as the truth sunk in. “What do you mean not guilty? I read his trial transcripts like I do with every new inmate. His case was cut and dried wasn’t it?”
“Well that remains to be seen I’m afraid,” Sam said, desperately unhappily as tiredness crept over him again. He cursed his age and his winding down engine. What he wouldn’t give for a little more youth and energy. “What was he like when he came here?”
Meeks thought carefully as he tried to pick the face from a thousand others in matching jumpsuits. “He was quiet I think.”
“Was he ever any trouble?”
“You mean fighting? Violence? That sort of thing?”
“Yes.”
“No, not that I remember. I can’t recall him ever really giving us any cause for concern. He kept to himself and didn’t affiliate with any of the gangs that I know of,” Meeks said thoughtfully.
“Great, so nothing that’s of any use,” Sam sighed.
“Oh wait,” Meeks said perking up. “There was one thing. I seem to remember that he did develop quite a close relationship with one of the female therapists that we used to use. It was some governmental think tank idea to try and get to the root cause of murderers. Some kind of preventative measure I think. I do remember that she left quite suddenly. There was some gossip about her and Trotter if I remember rightly, but there’s always gossip in a place like this. Idle hands and all that.”
“Do you remember her name?” Sam asked wondering if this would be anything other than another wild goose chase.
“Not off the top of my head,” Meeks replied, “But she should still be on file somewhere.”
Sam waited patiently as the warden dug through an old and squeaky filing cabinet.
“Sorry,” the warden smiled embarrassedly. “I’m afraid that I’ve never quite cottoned onto the age of modern technology. Ah here we go, yes I remember her now, a pretty little thing, Miranda Yates.”
“Is there an address of any kind?” Sam asked interestedly “Any contact details?”
“Well I’m not sure that I can let you have them Mr. Norton, regardless of any spurious family connection,” Meeks said apologetically.
“Well how about I don’t tell anyone if you do, and I also don’t tell anyone about you covering up for you guard?” Sam replied.
“You old bastard,” Meeks said shocked. “Are you blackmailing me?”
Sam only answered with a grin and a twinkle in his eye.
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Tommy pulled up at the farmhouse and got out of the car. His legs felt shaky and his head throbbed with stress. The house was large and imposing with touches of wealth splashed across the outside. There was a large modern barn off to the side and gentle music drifting across on the wind that tickled his ears. As he walked closer he could see brightly colored balloons tied in bunches securely on the outside. A swaying banner loudly proclaimed “Happy Birthday Tommy” and was stretched across the front of the barn. There were two small doors set inside the larger main doors and one was propped open. The interior looked dark and uninviting despite the banner’s claims. He took a deep breath and walked towards it.
The music grew louder as he grew closer. A jaunty circus jingle piped through the air. A happy tune in stark contrast to what he feared awaited him inside. He stepped through the door and into his nightmare.
The interior of the barn was decorated as though for a child’s birthday. The whole scene seemed eerily famili
ar and it took him a few seconds to realise that it was an exact replica of his 12th birthday party. The tables and cloths that lined the outside were stacked with brightly wrapped presents all labeled “To Tommy”. More brightly colored balloons were tied in bunches and strained against their moorings as they were weighted to the floor. He gasped as he saw the chairs lined neatly facing a makeshift stage and packed with guests all wearing colorfully decorated party hats.
Gaines was shackled presumably with his own handcuffs. Thick tape was stretched across his mouth and his eyes darted around nervously. Dixon sat next to him. Drying blood was seeping down from under his party hat and his hands were tied with rope behind his back on the chair. Ally was the next one along. Her pretty face was contorted with terror as her eyes flicked around until they came to rest in a gaze that held his. Her face seemed to sag with relief and he could only pray that it would be warranted. There were two chairs at the end of the row that held the worst of the scene. Both PJ’s and McEwen’s severed heads had chairs to themselves and both wore the grotesque sight of party hats that sat above their dead eyes. He had been holding onto the hope that McEwen was safely out of harm’s reach, but it was now clear that he had never left the town. Quite how PJ’s head had been taken from the town morgue was just another in a long line of questions that Trotter would have to answer if Tommy had his way.
The barn’s interior suddenly dimmed and the portable spotlights on the small stage at the front came up. The circus theme faded away and soft music began to build underneath. It was tune that had soundtracked his nightmares for most of his life. ELO’s “Oh, Oh, Oh it’s magic” came dancing out over the air. It was Trotter’s music and meant that the show was about to begin.
“If you’d like to take a seat birthday boy,” Trotter’s voice drifted out from backstage.
Tommy knew that he had no choice other than to comply. Trotter would have surely expected him to try and release his friends and planned accordingly. He was sure that he would not get close to untying the restraining ropes before the punishment fell.
And suddenly there he was again. Trotter, The Captivating Cosmo X - Master of the Unknown emerged from the darkness. He was resplendent in what looked like a new costume purchased especially for the occasion. His tuxedo was fresh and jet black. His cape swished around him as though the very thing was alive. His top hat had a pristine white band that positively shone amidst the rest of his blackness.
The magician strode confidently onto the stage and then turned to motion behind him. The atrocities continued as the young Deputy Katy Jacket emerged. She was decked out in an assistant’s sequined and sparking costume that looked two sizes too small for her. Her face was smeared with thick makeup that had been applied without a woman’s touch. Thick black eyeliner and shadow was already running in dark tracks through a glassy eyed stare. Tommy had seen enough drugged up faces to recognise the signs of a heavy doping. Katy was lurching forward pushing the guillotine and locked inside the wooden structure was Adrian Todd. The once commander and chief of Denver Mills was wide eyed and terrified. His head was locked between the two boards that had snapped shut either side of his fragile neck.
Tommy tensed himself to rush the stage and end the sick charade. Trotter seemed to anticipate the attempt and withdrew a police service revolver that probably belonged to Katy from inside his long cape. He raised the gun with a mad gleam in his dark socket eyes.
“Now now young man. We don’t want to spoil the party do we?” Trotter said waving the gun back and forth hypnotically. “Not after I’ve gone to so much planning,” he said pouting. “These are such noisy and vulgar contraptions,” he indicated towards the gun. “It would be so much better if you didn’t make me use it,” with that Trotter swung the gun’s aim towards his spaced out assistant.
Tommy could just about make out the recognition in Katy’s eyes and her frightened expression that registered through the drug induced haze. With no other immediate option he sat down heavily on trembling legs. His mind was spinning, desperately trying to think of any way out of the nightmare, but he was coming up blank. He had no choice but to watch the show unfold.
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Sam followed the warden’s instructions to the last known address of Miranda Yates. His system was in serious danger of shutting down completely by now. He was a million miles away from being a young man and the long drive and night without sleep were taking their toll. The caffeine fix was starting to wear off and all he had left was own personal drive. He couldn’t help but feel that time was running out in his town. The people that he cared deeply about were in mortal danger and his responsibility ran deep.
He pulled into the correct road as indicated by the warden’s directions. The houses were pleasant enough, if a little older than their surrounding contemporaries. The homes were two storey offerings with open front gardens and pretty fences.
The day had barely begun and only those with the longest commutes had already left for the daily trek. Sam pulled up to the curb and heaved his aching bones out of the car. The air was full of the aroma of cooking breakfasts and his stomach rumbled at the reminder. Normally he would be heading down the Nan’s Diner about now for a pancake special. Instead he was an old man playing Nancy Drew.
He scanned the front doors and mailboxes for house numbers until he found 22. He checked his watch and although fearful of banging on someone’s door at this time he knew that time was already running out. Figuring that he was too old and frail to look like a threat to anyone these days he marched confidently up to the front door and rang the bell.
After a few seconds a female voice from inside called softly out. “Yes?”
“Hello,” Sam beamed with what he hoped was his least threatening expression. “I was looking for Miranda Yates?”
“And who’s asking?” The woman replied, her voice heavily laced with suspicion.
“My name is Sam Norton, Dr Sam Norton,” he corrected himself, as people often responded to the word “doctor” with more respect. “I need to speak with Ms Yates as a matter of some urgency.”
“Well then I guess you better grab yourself a Ouija board because she’s been dead three years.”
Sam cursed his luck. He didn’t even know if he was on any track let alone the right one. He had no idea just what the hell he was even looking for. His face must have shown a degree of hopelessness because the woman’s tone softened.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Did you know Ms Yates?” He asked hopefully.
The door unlocked and opened. An elderly woman poked her inquisitive face through the gap as she viewed him up and down carefully. She looked around the same age as he did. Her face was pleasant and suspicious at the same time, but her deep blue eyes sparkled with interest.
“Not really,” she answered. “I mean I bought the house from her, so I certainly met her a few times when I was viewing the place.”
Sam stood momentarily struck dumb. His tired brain hadn’t bothered to plan this far ahead. He was no trained investigator or interrogator, and even if he was, he still didn’t know what he should even be asking about.
“Would you like to come in?” The woman asked kindly, “You’re looking a mite peaky.”
Sam nodded tiredly and followed her in through the front door and along to a sunny kitchen. There was an enticing aroma of percolating coffee that snapped his senses into action. He took the seat that the woman pointed to and sat down heavily.
“Would you like some?” She asked nodding to the brewing pot.
“Please Ms…?
“Clay, Diane Clay.”
“Well Ms Clay, I’ll take it as strong as you can make it.”
“What is your interest in Miranda Yates Dr Norton? And please call me Diane,” she said as she busied herself with mugs.
Sam pondered the question and his tired mind couldn’t think of anything other than the truth. So he told her.
“That’s quite a tale,” Diane said sippi
ng from her coffee mug after Sam had finished. “Quite a tale indeed, only I’m not sure just what you expected to find up here?”
“Nor am I,” Sam agreed. “The more that I think about it, the more I think that my friend just wanted to send me away on a fishing expedition. One to keep the old fart out of the way.”
“I have an old box of her things if that’s any help,” Diane suddenly perked up. “When she moved she left some stuff in the attic. I only found the box after some mail that I’d forwarded to her was returned because she’d passed away. I’m sure that I still have it around here somewhere.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Sam replied. “You never know, this old fart might stumble across something useful.”
“These two old farts,” Diane smiled kindly and laughed.
Tommy felt trapped in a nightmare as he was thrust back through time to the afternoon that had ruined so many lives. Trotter was in full flow as he began to recreate his act with the same words that Tommy had heard a million times before in his dreams.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” The Captivating Cosmo X spoke loudly and his voice became rougher and harsh. “This guillotine is an actual instrument of death as used during the French Revolution. Imagine if you will the noble men and women who marched their way to their doom before this mighty blade.”
Tommy remembered seeing his parents grow concerned over the sudden dark turn in the act, but all of his friends’ attentions had been so keenly focused at this point.
“Just how many souls this old girl has taken, nobody knows. The blood and screams of death are burned into her very wooden bones,” The Captivating Cosmo X hissed theatrically. “But no matter how many lives she has taken, she is always hungry for one more.”
Tommy glanced along the line of seated and restrained guests. Ally looked desperately scared, but to her credit she was still some way from full blown panic. Gaines’ still looked a little dazed but his face was still closer to anger than fear. Dixon’s face was twisted with effort and small beads of sweat ran down his cheeks. Tommy leaned backwards slightly and he could see that Dixon was working hard trying to free himself.