The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  He recognised his mother’s desk from the framed photograph of himself perched on the top; he did a quick scan of the contents.

  The drawers were unlocked and there was nothing of any great interest inside, just an assortment of papers and stationery supplies.

  He woke the hibernating computer and the screen opened with a picture of the woodlands as a screensaver.

  Thom’s eyes were drawn to the dark trees and he felt himself sink sleepily into the picture.

  His mind rebelled against the alien invasion; the black thoughts washed over him, drowning his mind in their seduction. Perhaps he should just go home. He could lounge by the pool or eat burgers and fries in front of the TV and sleep; sleep beneath the hot sun’s caress and the shade of the trees.

  He shook his head violently to clear the invading thoughts. He felt tired and sleepy and his body felt weighed down by expectation. He was just a kid after all and it wasn’t fair to put all of this pressure on his narrow bony shoulders.

  Sighing, he clicked the mouse to open the password box.

  His mother tended to use the same password for everything and his fingers quickly typed his birth date and the system woke.

  The screen was filled with files, headers, properties, dates, times, appointments, locations, and contracts. Nothing seemed to jump off the screen as meaningful.

  He checked the system settings and found that all the computers were linked on the same network.

  He sat forward, suddenly interested.

  One of the computers on the network must belong to Casper himself.

  The security in the office was practically non-existent and thankfully none of the employees would appear to be particularly computer literate.

  He accessed the system and searched for a sign to direct him towards Casper’s computer. He was engrossed in his search and did not hear the man approach and his heart nearly stopped when a hand fell onto his shoulder.

  He turned around slowly with apprehension and fear, and his eyes fell upon the smiling face of Casper Christian.

  ----------

  Michael sat on the surprisingly comfortable cot.

  The cell was clean and well kept, and even the bars looked polished and gleamed.

  His mind was spinning with worry, and not just for himself; Emily was out there with only Sarah-Jane for protection. There was also Thom to worry about now. If the sheriff had plans for him, then surely the others would all be in danger of the gravest kind.

  The cell was around eleven feet squared; the metal cot was covered with a thick mattress and non-itchy blankets.

  There was a toilet in the corner that was odour free and a small window about two feet wide by one foot high.

  The window wasn’t barred, but the space was obviously too small for anyone to fit through.

  Michael looked up through the glass to the day outside - a day that had begun in the realms of theoretical mysteries and ended in crushing reality.

  The sun was setting and he knew that Emily would be getting worried about him soon.

  Tomorrow was the dawn of the Woodland Festival, and all eyes would be directed towards the annual event, and away from one small writer locked in a jail cell at the mercy of the sheriff.

  He looked out through the cell bars into the Sheriff’s Department; the room beyond was open and empty.

  There were several wooden desks that sat hunkered to the ground beneath sleeping computer screens that hibernated softly. Cheerful open windows let the sunny rays and gentle breezes through.

  The glass fronted door suddenly opened and a large athletic blond man walked through.

  The man wore a deputy’s uniform and his eyes were fixed and hard. His expression was undiluted rage and he walked menacingly towards Michael’s cell.

  Michael took a step away from the bars. He had been intending to shout loudly at his outrageous treatment, but his mouth closed as he saw the pure hatred in the deputy’s cruel smile.

  “You,” the deputy said. His voice barely audible.

  “Hey, easy now,” Michael said, suddenly glad to be behind bars and out of harm’s reach.

  Deputy Tommy Ross walked slowly to the cell; he drew a large set of silver keys from a hook on the side of a desk and gripped them with white knuckles. His face was drained and flint. He reached the cell door and inserted the key slowly and deliberately.

  Up close, Michael could see the tendons straining in the man’s powerful forearms. The deputy was taller and broader than Michael; his frame was toned and dominant, and his shirt bulged over gym-honed muscles. Michael felt waves of fury emanating from the deputy as the key turned and the door pulled open slowly.

  “Easy officer. I don’t know what the sheriff told you,” Michael said, walking backwards until his back was halted by the rear cell wall.

  His heart pounded with fear and he glanced anxiously around the outer office, desperate for an interruption.

  He opened his mouth to offer a civilized explanation when a bone hard fist shattered the notion.

  Blows rained down from high angles with venomous anger. Michael attempted to cover himself with a fruitless protective arm, as he was pummelled in the enclosed space.

  A punch hooked hard from the right and his vision blurred with pain and blood, sending him crashing to the floor.

  He sank to his knees as heavy work boots thudded into his crouching body.

  Suddenly the attack was over; he coughed violently and his insides felt like jelly. He spat a glob of worryingly dark blood onto the cell floor and rolled onto his back.

  He stared up into the hateful eyes of the deputy - eyes that were now weeping softly.

  “So this is how it ends,” Michael managed through a swollen mouth of loose teeth and an acidic copper taste. “You finish me off and dump my body in a shallow grave for the animals to pull apart,”

  “You killed him; you’d deserve it,” Tommy said softly and distantly.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, you dumb prick. Do you really not have brains in this town? Are you all that fucking stupid?” Michael laughed painfully.

  “You murdered him, and that’s the truth.”

  The truth … the fucking truth! According to whom, exactly? Oh, let me guess. Good old Sheriff Quinn no less; did he send you here?”

  “You killed my friend.” Tommy’s voice was now a little confused and unsure.

  “Did he send you here? Did Quinn simply wind you up and turn you loose?” Michael said, sensing the faltering. “He did, didn’t he? He just led you by the nose and sent you here to finish me off, you moron. Did you ever stop to think? Did you ever ask yourself why the hell I would gun down a town deputy in cold blood? In my own house, no less. Don’t you care about motives or is that just for the TV shows?” Michael’s voice rose in anger despite the pain. He dragged himself up onto the cot, holding his sides as though it was the only thing keeping them together. His own fury was building; he was just a man living his own life and looking to care for his family, and now he sat in a jail cell with the crap beaten out of him and his life in grave jeopardy. “Just what the fuck is wrong with you people?” he spat. “How is it that you just turn your rational thoughts on and off like a goddamn radio?”

  “Sheriff Quinn said…”

  ”I don’t give a shit just what Quinn said. I’m asking you what you think.”

  “Yes, Tommy, what exactly do you think?”

  Michael spun around to the new voice as quickly as his battered body would allow.

  Sheriff Quinn’s towering frame filled the room and his face was lined with a smug grin. Michael would have launched himself at the sheriff if he was able, if only to wipe the arrogance from his face.

  “You know, Tommy,” Quinn continued, “I should have known that you wouldn’t have the balls to do what needed to be done. I guess that’s the price we pay for employing one of you,” he said dismissively. He turned to Michael as though Tommy wasn’t there, “Did you know that he was a faggot?” He jerked a thumb disgustedly towar
ds the deputy. “Can you believe that we had to let him wear a uniform.” He shook his head sadly. “You can keep your modern world, Mr. Torrance, you really can.”

  “What happened to Kurt?” Tommy said, addressing Quinn; his voice was low and hard.

  “Oh, I put a large hole in him,” Quinn said casually.

  Suddenly, Tommy threw himself at Quinn.

  Michael watched as the athletic deputy smashed into the larger man; Tommy was strong, but Quinn was a force of nature.

  Tommy’s fists were a blur of swings and connections. Michael saw his chance and limped past the brawling figures and out of the cell.

  Michael’s thoughts were now completely of self-preservation. He had a life and a pregnant wife to consider; the two cops struggled and rolled as he stepped past the mayhem.

  He had reached the door when he chanced a look backwards; he had hoped for a deputy upset victory, but as he looked back Quinn was now sat on Tommy’s back.

  His massive paws had hold of the deputy’s ears; again and again he slammed the head into the stone floor.

  With every sickening wet thud the deputy became more and more unrecognizable. His face disintegrated and his features became obliterated into a bloody pulp as chunks of flesh splattered across the unforgiving floor.

  Michael limped out of the door as quickly as he could manage. His sides burned, and congealed blood crusted over his nose and mouth making breathing difficult.

  He heard the sheriff’s roar as his absence became noticed. He passed through the frosted double doors and out into the world beyond.

  He staggered down the stone steps and onto the street, barely able to keep his balance.

  Out of nowhere, a car weaved its way drunkenly towards him, accompanied by the screech of metal on metal as the vehicle hit the police vehicles in the parking bays.

  The car staggered to an uneven stop opposite him and the passenger door flung open. Michael stared in horror as Casper’s face loomed at him from the backseat, his hands beckoning wildly.

  “Get in,” Thom yelled.

  Michael turned in surprise towards the young boy sitting in the driver seat; he stared at Casper in the back of the car, thinking of the devils that you know, and then he stumbled into the car. Just then, the crash of the sheriff exploded through the double doors behind him; the sound drove him forward through the pain.

  Before he’d even managed to close the car door, the vehicle lurched off down the road, peeling away from the kerb and drawing hard disapproving stares from passers-by.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Michael shouted, indicating angrily towards Casper in the backseat.

  “You want to have a long conversation about that now?” Thom yelled back as the sheriff hit the sidewalk and raised a cannon of a handgun.

  “Just go!” Casper yelled from the back.

  “Watch out!” Michael shouted, as they nearly mounted the kerb, almost hitting an elderly man as he waited to cross the road.

  “Don’t yell at me,” Thom yelled. “I’ve never driven a car before.”

  “Jesus, kid. Pull over before you get us killed,” Michael laughed with borderline hysteria.

  “Hey, I’m starting to get the hang of it now,” Thom said through gritted teeth of concentration. “Where are we heading to?”

  “I’ve got to find Emily and then we get the hell out of here.”

  ----------

  “No one knows just what goes on behind the scenes here Emily,” Mrs. Thirlby said. “We all follow the rules and keep our heads down and the town keeps ticking, and so do we.”

  “Don’t you care?” Emily said.

  “More and more,” Olivia sighed heavily. “As you get older, you find that you have more time to think. When the night comes and you can’t sleep, you sit in the window waiting for the sun to rise again and your stomach sinks with fear and anxiety. I don’t know just what greases the wheels and keeps this town turning, but it can’t be anything good.”

  “So who runs the town? Whose hand is on the crank? Is it Casper?”

  “I would assume so, but whenever anything bad needs to happen, it’s the sheriff that shows up.”

  “That guy gives me the creeps,” Emily shuddered.

  “You’re not alone there, my dear.”

  “What do you think happened to Jessica?” Emily asked softly, her voice strained with worry, as her hands cradled her swell.

  “They wanted her for something.”

  “For what?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Olivia’s eyes dropped. “I wish that I did, so that I could have warned you, but it is one of the closest guarded secrets here.”

  “Well I’m getting my husband, and we’re getting the hell out of here,” Emily said, rising.

  “Where will you go? They’re everywhere, they know everything, and you’ll never get out,” Olivia said with sorrow.

  “Come with us; you can help. You don’t have to be a part of Eden anymore,” Emily said hopefully. “Help me, Olivia,” she said, cradling her unborn child. “Help us.”

  Olivia stood up firmly with a broken heart. “Okay, I’ll do what I can, but we have to be quiet about it.”

  Emily took the headmistress’s hand and they walked to the door. She squeezed the hand gently to express her thanks. Olivia gave a brief squeeze back before letting go to open the door and step out into the hallway.

  “First things first…,” Olivia began.

  Emily had just enough time to scream as the loggers axe swung through the air, whistling with murderous intent.

  The razor sharp blade struck Olivia between her breasts, and blood exploded out of the gaping wound as the honed metal edge struck bone with a clang before being wrenched free.

  Olivia turned to Emily, her face confused, startled, and waning by the second. Her eyes clouded and faded as she fell to the floor face down.

  A dark puddle began spreading out from beneath the body on the hardwood floor as Olivia jerked once, twice, before being still.

  Emily looked up into the assailant's eyes; Sarah-Jane’s once pleasant face was splattered with blood and gore. She hefted the axe expertly in her hands, and her expression was ice.

  “Time to go Emily,” Sarah-Jane said gently. “Time to go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Thom pulled the car over and reluctantly switched places with Michael.

  He felt like he was finally starting to get the hand of driving and Michael looked in no fit shape to be doing anything, other than sitting.

  He glanced over at the writer; Michael’s face was still a puffy mess. They had cleaned him up as best as they could by squirting the windscreen washing liquid onto a top belonging to his mother that they had found on the back seat.

  He quaked at the thought of just what his mother was going to do to him when she saw the damage that he had inflicted on her car.

  Working for Casper, she often had cause to travel beyond Eden’s walls and she was one of the few people in town who bothered to own a car.

  He had taken the keys from his mother’s purse at Casper’s suggestion; apparently, Casper did not drive. Thom had damn near soiled himself when the town manager had crept up on him at the realty office.

  He had turned, expecting to find a knife at his throat only to be greeted with a worried and concerned adult. Thom had immediately gone into denial mode, but Casper had waved away his protestations,

  “Michael’s in trouble,” Casper had simply stated.

  “What’s going on?” Thom had asked.

  “I’m not quite aware of all the facts yet, but suffice to say that Sheriff Quinn’s finally gone off the deep end.”

  The mere mention of Sheriff Quinn had been enough to get Thom moving. He had first-hand experience of looking into the giant cop’s eyes.

  They had taken his mother’s car and headed straight for the Sheriff’s Department.

  They had just turned the corner when Michael had staggered out of the building, seconds before the sheriff charg
ed through the doors.

  Thom had just enough time to see the darkening spread across the sheriff’s broad chest; it looked like blood, but more than would have come from Michael’s wounds.

  They’d barely managed to pull away from the kerb in time; Thom had risked a glance back in the rear-view mirror, only to see the sheriff pulling his gun.

  It was the act of drawing his weapon in broad daylight that worried Thom more than anything.

  Every dark deed in Eden was normally committed exclusively under the cover of darkness. Yet if the sheriff had lost his own self-control then just what would that spell for the rest of them?

  With the car stopped and pulled over on the outskirts of town and carefully secreted behind a large hedgerow, Michael whipped around furiously towards Casper.

  His face was swollen and painful and his top lip was split open and raw, “What the fuck is going on in your town, Casper?” he growled.

  Casper looked as though he wilted under Michael’s anger; he held his hands up in surrender. “Mr. Torrance … Michael … please, we don’t have time for this.”

  “Bullshit,” Michael spat. “I just watched the sheriff - YOUR sheriff - murder two people right in front of me. He shot one in cold blood and smashed the other’s face into the ground until there was nothing left. I’ve got a neighbour who is one minute making plans for the rest of her life, and the next she’s committing suicide. And then her husband disappears off of the face of the earth. I spoke to a man who told me all kinds of juicy shit about you and your freaky ancestors and then he disappears. We’ve got a psycho sheriff on a killing rampage; we’ve got a very disturbing diary from a woman who apparently led our very lives before Emily and I moved here. We’ve got creepy graffiti sprayed all over town from someone who apparently doesn’t agree with the town’s philosophies. Thom’s teacher conveniently commits another suicide. Oh, and a whole back catalogue of town deaths and disappearances stretching back decades.” Michael stopped, exhausted.

  His chest still ached from the heavy work boot kicking that he’d received earlier and his head still spun worryingly.

  “We were supposed to be a perfect haven,” Casper said in a small voice. “A true Eden, secluded away from the outside world and all of their problems. We wanted to keep everything perfect,” he said, longingly staring out of the car window and off into the distance. “We set up an inner council in order to maintain the town, to keep undesirables out … through discouragement,” he added quickly. “We’re not monsters, Michael,” he paused. “At least, most of us aren’t.”