The Third Skull (Book one - The Discovery): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller
Page 20
The woman writhed with agony. Her eyes met with Heather’s and gazed at her with a sad and tired look.
She can see me, she can actually see me.
The woman relaxed as if she accepted her circumstances and was at peace. And then she spoke.
“Heather, I’m sorry that you have to see this. I’m sorry that you witnessed my horrible death. I can assure you it happened a long long time ago and since then, I have found happiness because I did the right thing. I needed you to see what you are up against. You need to prepare yourself for the worst possible evil.”
“Who are you?” asked Heather.
“My name was Alice, Alice Donaldson. And I died whilst doing my best to keep two special and extraordinary children from that man.”
“Children? What children? And that man? He’s Finn Maynard, my brother-in-law.”
Alice shook her head. “It may have looked like someone you know, but I can assure you it isn’t.”
The heat became too much for Heather to bear. The smoke was getting to her. She turned to the door, longing for the cool air of the hallway from where she’d entered the strange stone building. She pulled at the door, but it wouldn't open. It wasn’t her kitchen door, but the dilapidated wooden door of the farm building in which Alice was losing her fight with death. A smouldering wooden beam fell from above, trapping her behind the door.
The smoke took Heather’s breath. Each gasp for air choked her. Over the crackling sound of the flames she could make out a repetitive thud. Her eyes stung, and she tried to focus on the door.
Heather phased in and out of awareness. The smoke and heat robbed her of consciousness.
The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the door crashing down and two tall figures wearing yellow helmets and a masks.
Chapter 43
Gabriel Butler left Finn’s house just after three am. He’d spent the last nine hours explaining to a very confused, and at times angry Finn Maynard what was happening around him. Occasionally during the long meeting, Butler talked to his old friend Alexander Drake, and Drake spoke with Joseph Morris, but for most of the time Butler was trying to reason with Maynard and found it hard to pull Drake through Maynard’s strong willed personality.
When Finn opened the door a stranger confronted him. But as soon as Butler mentioned the ring and referred to the raven as it flew above the rooftops, Finn connected with him. And as the initial short-lived connection happened, he saw a different person. Gone was the tall debonair gentleman sporting a Panama hat, and instead stood a short, squat, ugly man with a blue ink tattoo across his cheek. When he smiled Finn was shocked by his lack of teeth. As hideous as the man appeared, Finn warmed to him. There was something about him that gave him an overwhelming feeling of confidence, almost as if they could be brothers. He resisted the urge to throw his arms around the man and hug him. Instead, he’d invited the visitor into his home.
Finn closed the door and faced the stranger. The short ugly man with the tattoo was no longer there and instead stood the tall silver haired man from across the road.
“Take a seat in your lounge, I’ll make us both a drink. What’s your poison? Coffee or tea?”
Finn didn’t answer. He sat in his lounge and tried to make sense of what was happening.
Butler stood in Finn’s kitchen and watched the kettle come to the boil. Beneath the kitchen table lay a scattering of upturned sheets of paper. He closed his eyes and sensed the surrounding atmosphere. His long search was nearly over. He could almost smell the decay of the children’s bodies as they lay over ten feet below. He’d taken a big chance when his short-lived construction company bought the land and built 11a Whitcombe Fields Road in the early eighties. It had been a leap of faith. But now, as he stood over the well in which lay the two hundred-year-old skeletons of William and Louisa, he was certain he’d been right. This was the reason he existed.
Butler placed the mug of tea on the table next to Finn and looked at his expressionless face. Part of him felt sorry for the pathetic man and part of him appreciated the strange transition he was experiencing. He understood that Finn was going through a period of confusion and doubt. He’d quickly transformed from the person he used to be to who he was now. Most of Finn Maynard’s original character no longer existed, other than brief lapses when he fleetingly reverted to the man he once was…… the man who would do anything for his family. But now, the Finn Maynard who perched uneasily on the settee was mostly a confident and outspoken man who would think nothing of treading over his fellow men to achieve his personal goals. Butler’s first job was to rid Finn of the wretched vulnerable man he used to be, and make sure the new Maynard was here to stay. And after, he would work hard at transforming Maynard into his old friend and associate Alexander Drake. Then the fun would begin.
Butler had been close to giving up over the past thirty years as each male who’d lived in 11a proved not to be the chosen one, despite the connection by way of their suicides.
Each male who’d lived in that house needed to have connected by way of their death to the next occupant of the home.
Butler’s wait was over. Finn Maynard was the one. Although, in fairness to those before him, Finn had had a head start. He’d seen Buxton’s drawings of the first two patterns which had been confirmed as correct because they matched his ring, and the drawings made by his daughter. But, he had done what none of those before him had achieved. He’d been able to work out the mysterious third pattern. Finn wasn’t aware it was he who’d drawn it, he had no memory of doing so. He’d subconsciously clicked away on his computer mouse whilst in a deep trance like state, when he should have been in a taxi on his way to the airport.
But it hadn’t just been Finn, Buxton, Gosling and Morrison. There were two hundred years of men obsessed by figuring the patterns. Everyone had been chosen by either the present day Butler, or one of his earlier incarnations, and each had been a victim of their own self-inflicted demise.
“What’s going through your mind? I expect you have many questions for me?” said Butler.
Finn looked up.
“As a matter of fact I do. I have one big fat question for you. What the fuck is going on?”
“Well, I guess that is the sixty four thousand dollar question isn’t it? And it’s one which I can’t answer, well at least not in full, and not to you.”
Finn looked at Butler with complete bewilderment.
“What’s that supposed to mean.”
Butler sighed and shook his head.
“Do you remember the person you were recently?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“It wasn’t very long ago you were a typical family man with no great ambition. And now look at you. You were about to bag a deal in States for your company.”
Finn sat bolt upright.
“Shit, the Goldman account in Washington.” He checked his watch, “I should be there right now.”
Finn stood up and became erratic, pacing around the lounge.
“I need to get to the States.”
Butler raised his hands and gently lowered them, signalling Finn to calm down and take a breath.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure Tomlinson will find a way of covering your ass.”
“How do you know Tomlinson?” asked Finn suspiciously.
“As I said when you opened the door, there are many things about you which I know. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. I’ve been doing my homework. You see Mr. Maynard, you’re like an investment. I’ve invested a fair bit of money and an awful lot of time in you.”
Finn was agitated. He wanted answers, and he wouldn't be pissed around by a pensioner wearing a ludicrous hat.
“I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t start talking I’ll pick you up by your throat and throw you out of my home.”
Butler stared at him and appeared completely nonplussed.
Finn took two paces towards Butler and started to count.
“One, two, three……”
Finn lay crumpled on the floor.
“Don’t fuck with me Maynard. You’ve no idea who or what you’re dealing with.”
Finn rubbed his head and looked at Butler.
“Now get up, sit over there and drink you tea.”
Finn did as he was told.
Butler unbuttoned the top of his shirt and showed a gold medallion.
“It looks familiar doesn’t it!” said Butler.
Finn squinted his eyes.
Butler took a couple of paces closer.
“It’s the same as my ring, it has the same two patterns,” answered Finn in a weary voice.
“That’s right. There are only four pieces of jewellery with these patterns. The ring you wear, this around my neck and two other medallions identical to mine.”
Butler looked at his medallion as he held it in the palm of his hand. Finn watched him transfixed by the two ruby red circular patterns.
“They’re archetypa,” said Butler
Finn looked at him with a frown.
“We refer to them as archetypa, not patterns.”
“We? Who are we?”
“Questions, questions, questions, Mr. Maynard. You are so full of questions. But I guess you have every right.”
Butler sat opposite Finn and picked up his drink.
“Why don’t you start by telling me a few things? I’d like to know what’s been happening to you over the past few months,” said Butler.
Finn nodded.
“Okay, but before I do, tell me about you. Who are you, I mean who are you really?”
Butler nodded.
“I’ve told you who I am, but in case you’ve forgotten within the last ten minutes, my name is Gabriel Butler and my company built this house.”
“Drake-Butler,” whispered Finn as he recalled the conversation he’d had with Kieran Tempest.
“Yes, Drake-Butler. That was my construction company. We didn’t last long. In fact we only built one house,” said Butler gesturing with his hand to suggest he was referring to Finn’s home.
“You went out of your way to build this house?”
Butler nodded
“So you are aware of the things that happened on this plot when the original builders were constructing here, and I assume you also know of the suicides of those who lived here before me?”
Butler nodded again.
“And Mr. Maynard, I know that you were on the train that separated Robert Buxton’s head from his body.”
Finn rubbed his face. He had many questions but didn’t know where to begin. He knew that Butler wouldn’t be answering many of them today.
“Now, tell me what’s been happening to you. I reckon you have your own story to tell,” said Butler.
Finn let out a long sigh after he’d explained how he came by the ring, his daughter’s drawings, the ghost of Robert Buxton and the young boy, William, he’d seen in the kitchen. He didn’t mention the vision of the young woman in the bathroom. He kept that story close to his chest.
“One thing I’d like to know, which has been plaguing me for almost a year, …… how did I come by this?” asked Finn as he outstretched the middle finger of his left hand to show the ring.
“It’s my understanding the owner of an antique shop on the High Street gave it to you. I believe it was a gift.”
“But I seem to be the only one who remembers that shop. I’ve asked around town and no one can recall it ever being there.”
“Oh it was there. The reason no one else saw it was because they’re weren’t tuned in like you,” explained Butler.
“Tuned in?”
“Think of it like a radio signal. Do you remember when you had to tune in a radio by twiddling a little knob?”
Finn nodded apprehensively.
“Well think of it this way. When you visited the antique shop, you were a little 'out of tune' with the world. It was like you were between two radio stations. Imagine being able to hear Radio Three fairly clearly, but you can also hear a ghost of another radio station. If that happened, what would you do?”
“I’d turn the tuning dial, to get rid of the other station.”
“Correct! And what happened to you on that day was a little like being tuned in between two radio stations, but instead of two stations, you were tuned between two very close universes.”
“Like parallel universes?”
“Yes, compare it to what you know of parallel universes, if it makes it easier for you.”
Finn nodded, but wasn’t sure where Butler was heading.
“You see, the antique shop was there, but only for you. The shop was out of phase with everyone else, so only you could call in that day.”
“What of the shopkeeper, was he real?”
“Yes, and he still is. He’s my good friend Mr. Snow. He’s another who has one of these,” said Butler as he gestured to the medallion around his neck.
“So whatever is happening is some kind of set up, some kind of conspiracy.”
“Oh, Mr. Maynard, conspiracy is such a nasty word. Think of it not as a conspiracy. Think of it more that we are pleased to have you aboard. There's something you have which my friends and I need.”
Before Finn could open his mouth, Butler raised his hands to silence him.
“Let me show you something.”
Butler pulled his wallet from his pocket and shuffled through a large wad of money. He muttered and cursed until he found what he was looking for.
He handed over a small picture which was a copy of an old oil painting.
Finn held the picture and took a while to understand.
“Familiar isn’t it?” said Butler.
“It’s me, where did you get it?”
“It isn't you. It’s a copy of a painting almost two hundred years old.”
Finn stood up and walked to the mirror in the lounge. He looked at the picture, then his reflection and back to the picture. He ran his finger along the scar on his face and looked at the scar on the cheek of the man in the painting. His chiselled jawbone was almost identical to Finn’s. Finn had only recently discovered he had such a handsome appearance since he’d joined the gym and had trimmed his body by losing almost two stone. Finn’s long dark hair with a streak of grey above his temple matched the image of the man.
“Are you saying that this isn’t me?” asked Finn.
“Come come Mr. Maynard. You’re an intelligent man, I’m sure you can work out who this is. I heard you refer to him earlier this week when speaking with your wife.”
Finn thought hard about what happened. He struggled to remember.
Butler would have liked to help Finn remember the conversation he had with Sophie, but knew it was up to Finn to work it out for himself.
Slowly Finn recalled her calling through the letter box. She had been concerned for his wellbeing. He remembered how the sight of her repelled him. He’d been irritated by her being there. The clouds fogging his memory lifted and the recollection of their heated conversation became clearer. He remembered standing on the door step telling her he wasn’t Finn. He recalled what she’d said
‘If you’re not Finn, then tell me who you are?’
He looked at the picture and concentrated. Then he remembered what he’d said.
‘My name is Alexander. Alexander Drake. Now fuck off …….’
“This is Alexander Drake!” said Finn in an agitated tone of voice.
“Bingo!” said Butler accompanied by a slow patronising handclap.
“And he must be the father of William and Louisa, the children my daughter talks about.”
“Wow, Finn. You’re cooking on gas now.”
Finn slouched on the settee and stared at the picture. He thought of the incident in the bathroom with the young girl who’d spoken of Drake’s children. The more he thought, the wearier he became.
Butler was happy for Finn to take a rest. The evening had taken the wind out of the confused man’s sails. Butler grinned as Finn’s head dropped and he began to snore. He lit a cigar and watched the blue grey smoke fill the room. He chuckled as Finn twitched and fidgeted whilst he slept.
I wonder what strange dreams are filling your head right now? thought Butler.
Just over an hour later Finn stirred. Butler sat upright and straightened his collar.
Finn’s eyes opened and he looked at Butler.
“Wakey wakey young man.”
It took Finn a few seconds to remember what had happened before he’d fallen asleep.
Butler gave him a few minutes to come around and then he spoke.
“You’ve something for me, something I’d like to see.”
Finn looked at him blankly.
“I’ve something for you?” he replied sounding vague.
“Yes. You have the third archetypon. You have two of them on your ring, and now you have the third.”
Finn sounded groggy.
“Archetypon?”
“Yes, the third pattern. I know you’ve worked it out, otherwise I wouldn’t be here talking with you.”
“I remember working on patterns, but I don’t recall……..”
Finn didn’t finish what he was saying. He watched Butler jump up and move to the door of the lounge.
“Don’t worry, I may have found it,” said Butler, remembering the messy pile of A4 paper on the floor under the kitchen table.
Butler knelt beneath the table, scooped up the sheets of paper, turned them over and lay them on the kitchen table.
“This isn’t right,” he muttered to himself.
Each sheet had an attempt of the third archetypon, and each attempt had a cross. Just as Robert Buxton, David Gosling, Shaun Morrison and the others before them had done.
He stormed back to the lounge and dropped the papers on the floor.
“What’s the meaning of this?” shouted Butler.
“Meaning of what?” asked Finn.
“These, they’re wrong. You’ve not worked out the third archetypon.”