The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  Monroe seemed like a decent enough chap from what he had seen and heard.

  He was an outsider sent to them after Father Dougray had retired. But most of the suspicions about a new priest and his new age way of doing things had been unfounded.

  Monroe was a traditionalist which suited the more reserved members of his flock.

  Donald had never been much for religion, but he knew that it served a great purpose amongst the elderly. He supposed that perhaps as his own life grew shorter it would take on more relevance.

  The 4x4 sashayed its way along the icy road, its wheels churning up snow and slush as it went.

  He rounded a corner and had to swerve hard to avoid the woman walking in the middle of the road.

  For a moment, despite his slow and careful speed, he felt the truck begin to lose its footing.

  The back started to swing out and he turned into the skid and pumped the brakes gently.

  Suddenly he was drifting sideways and he could only pray that another vehicle didn’t come around the corner at that second.

  The wheels caught on the grass verge and the mud underneath acted as a more adhesive surface. The 4x4 straightened out and slid to a halt.

  He was out of the truck in a flash and was grateful for the spikes under his boots as they bit into the icy road as he made his way to the woman.

  When he reached her she seemed oblivious to the near miss and was whistling merrily along her way.

  “Mrs. Merryweather?” he asked, recognising her up close. “Are you alright?”

  “Oh yes thank you, officer,” she beamed. “It is a most joyous day.”

  She started to move past him again when he noticed that her coat was hanging open and as she moved he could see faint splatters of red against her shirt.

  “Are you sure that you’re alright?” he asked, leaning in for a closer look. “You seem to have hurt yourself.”

  She paused and looked down as if trying to remember where the red stains had come from. “Oh not to worry, it’s not my blood, it’s only Colin’s.”

  “Your husband Colin? Is he hurt? Has there been an accident?” he asked, wondering about her state of mind.

  “Oh no, it was no accident, I killed him,” she smiled.

  Donald tried to process the information.

  He knew that Colin had a drink problem that had only gotten worse since his retirement.

  He was a big man with a bad temper whenever he was drinking heavily and The Royal Swan pub had called the station a few times when Colin had been aggressive with staff or other punters.

  “Why don’t you come and have a little sit down in my truck, Mrs. Merryweather?” he said soothingly.

  “And you’ll take me to him?” she asked with glassy eyes.

  “Yes, I’ll take you to Colin.”

  “No, not to Colin. I have to get to the school, he’s calling me you see,” she smiled happily.

  Donald was now sure that the woman had suffered through something traumatic. “Yes of course,” he said, as he gently took her arm to guide her to the truck. “I’ll take you anywhere that you want to go.”

  He led her to the 4x4 and placed her in the back before shutting the door that only opened from the outside.

  He climbed in and thought about whether to take her straight to the station and leave her with Paterson whilst he checked her house or to drive straight to the house first.

  Paterson’s dopey face fluttered before his eyes and he decided that the young PC could best be of use by staying out of it.

  He turned the truck around and headed back towards the Merryweather house, afraid of what he might find there.

  ----------

  Stuart pushed himself harder. The swim was supposed to be a way of relaxing, but now it was fast becoming a contest of endurance with only himself to compete against.

  Ravenhill had many fantastic facilities, one of which was the large covered swimming pool.

  One of the out buildings within the school grounds had been converted into the sports hall.

  There was a single large indoor pitch that was marked out for football, basketball, tennis, badminton, and even had room for cricket nets.

  The weather in the area was never the most reliable and apparently Stuart was grateful that Barnaby shared his passion for sport and the positive influence that it could exert over impressionable minds. The sports hall facility came complete with changing rooms and showers and the large indoor pool took up roughly half of the space.

  Stuart pushed himself harder and smashed his way through the water losing his smooth strokes.

  The water became choppy and uneven as the chlorine waves fought against his passage.

  His mind was as muddled as the water. He had only ever wanted to get closer to Sarah, but the harder he tried, the more he seemed to lose his footing.

  They had barely spoken since she had kissed him at the lighthouse and now he was eventually growing exhausted at the chase. Perhaps it was time that he salvaged a little self-respect.

  He swam harder, pushing his aching muscles as they protested at the increased pace. His head flipped from side to side as his arms smashed powerfully into the water.

  The swimming pool was dark and the lighting was low. He liked to swim in the gloom as it left him alone with his thoughts after a day full of questions from growing minds.

  There were a few small windows along the top of the walls which let in small beams of narrow light but mainly it was dimly lit.

  Stuart ducked under the water as he made yet another turn. For some reason he glanced upwards and saw a silhouette standing poolside.

  He kicked hard for the surface and broke through, only to find that he was alone. He bobbed around taking in his surroundings for a moment.

  There was nowhere that anyone could have reached for cover in the short time.

  A tall lifeguard chair was set by the side of the pool and various lifesaver rings were hung on hooks on the walls.

  A snaking line of collared lane separators was lying pooled in a corner. The only sound that he could hear was the thumping of his exhausted heartbeat.

  Eventually, he decided to stop scaring himself and he swam slowly for the edge.

  He pulled himself up and out of the pool on shaky legs. His fingers were pruned and he hugged himself against the cold.

  Large spider egg-sized goosebumps had broken out on his skin and he knew that someone was there.

  “HELLO?” he called into the shadows and flinched at the loudness of his own voice.

  Predictably there was no answer.

  He stood there dripping and shivering and feeling increasingly foolish.

  He was not a man prone to outbreaks of fantasy or imagination, but he could feel someone’s presence just the same.

  He strode purposefully towards the showers, showing far more confidence than he felt.

  His first thought was that some kid was playing silly buggers. Perhaps they had been watching one too many horror movies and wanted to try and freak him out. Someone like Alex Thompson would no doubt be at the head of the queue when it came to handing out pranks.

  His feet slapped on the tiled floor. He walked quickly to the changing rooms, eager to cover his almost naked physique clad only in rather small Speedos. He suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed regardless of the situation.

  He had taken one step inside the changing rooms when one of the showers sprung into life.

  The water jet pounded hard on the floor and the steam soon started to rise into the air.

  The single shower was suddenly joined by another and another as the whole row leapt into action.

  Stuart stood there frozen to the spot as the steam cloud grew in size and intensity. It was just running water, and yet it wasn’t.

  He knew that he should walk towards the showers and put an end to this nonsense, but his feet wouldn’t move. One of the benefits of having a practical mind, was knowing a bad idea when he heard one.

  He grabbed his clothes from th
e peg and struggled into them as he hopped backwards, never taking his eyes away from the shower entrance.

  His trousers were unbuckled and his shirt unbuttoned as he stumbled out into the corridor.

  As soon as his feet touched the carpet outside, he heard the showers snap off.

  He stood there with a part of him wanting to go back inside and reclaim a piece of sanity. But a larger part more concerned with self-preservation made him turn and walk quickly away as the whole scene was slowly dismissed in his pragmatic mind.

  ----------

  Sergeant Donald Ross pulled up outside the Merryweather house. Mavis had grown anxious and impatient in the back of the police 4x4 and he was glad to climb out and shut the door on her ravings.

  He looked back and saw the usually quiet and reserved woman positively frothing at the mouth as she clawed desperately at the door trying to get free.

  He shook his head and wondered just what on earth had gotten into the woman as she pounded on the window with a clenched bony fist.

  He left her and crunched his way up the garden path. He wasn’t surprised to find that Colin Merryweather hadn’t bothered to clear the path as he reached the door. He knocked hard but the door swung open, unlocked.

  “Hello?” he called into the dead house. “Colin? Are you in there?”

  There was no answer and his foot hovered across the doorway. The last thing in the world he currently wanted to do was to walk into that house.

  His senses were screaming for him to turn and run, to call in reinforcements, but the trouble was that he was it. There was no one else to call except young PC Paterson and he couldn’t envisage the lad being anything other than a liability.

  It had been well over 20 years since he had attended an actual crime scene, not since he had paid his dues during his provisional days in the city.

  He tried to wrack his brains for the appropriate protocols, but came up dry save for the mantra to “not touch anything”.

  He pushed the door further open with his foot and stepped inside. The thick acrid smell assaulted his nostrils and he felt the taste of copper in his throat.

  “COLIN?” he shouted loudly as his voice’s volume was augmented by the rising tide of panic in his guts.

  Again there was no answer and he wasn’t surprised.

  He made his way along the narrow hallway, carefully stepping over the drips of blood on the carpet that were already darkly drying. He pulled his sleeve over his hand and pushed open the lounge door.

  There was an armchair with its back to him facing the dying flames of the fire.

  A man’s hand hung limply over the armrest and running red droplets had frozen on the paling flesh as they dried. The stench was immediately overwhelming.

  It was unmistakably blood mingled with something far fouler. He knew what happened to a man’s bowels when faced with absolute horror and he had no wish to look upon Colin’s limp corpse, but he did his duty just the same.

  He edged carefully around the chair being sure to avoid stepping in any of the mess.

  There was a glinting silver-bladed axe lying on the floor; its razor’s edge was stained a murderous red.

  He moved around to face what was left of Colin and had to throw a hand quickly up to his mouth to stop the vomit from spewing out and contaminating the scene.

  The bloody mess in front of him had once been Colin Merryweather; despite the lack of a face or even a head, he could still tell the man from his clothes and build.

  He suddenly grew very scared. Surely Mavis must have either discovered the body, or even witnessed the murder? Both scenarios would account for her current state of confusion and detachment.

  He had no idea just who might have carried out such a heinous act, but they might still be in the house.

  He backed out quickly and carefully; all the while, his ears were attuned to the house and its noises in case he was being observed or even stalked.

  After what seemed like an age he was outside in the freezing cold again, but his skin still felt hot and sweaty. Someone had taken an axe to Colin Merryweather’s face, and not even he deserved that.

  CHAPTER 11

  Jemima dragged herself out of bed with a head full of fuzzy warm dreams.

  The night had been filled with strange flashing images. Sometimes they were of peace and contentment somewhere far away.

  The sun beat down hot upon her body under a crystal blue sky and all was quiet and serene. The fields were stocked full of bountiful crops and the wheat swayed in the gentle breeze.

  This was a town of perfection where anything was possible and the bitter bile of crime never dared to rear its ugly head. They were untouched by the outside world here and protected against the fickle fingers of fate.

  But there was a dark side here too. The woods beyond the town borders were dark and full of hidden dangers. In spite of it only being a dream, she knew that there was always a price to be paid, a price that demanded blood and sacrifice.

  She woke with contrasting emotions that something was desperately wrong with her. But as her senses rallied and strengthened, the feeling of unease began to fade along with the dream.

  She stood trembling slightly with the cold and the waning images and sensations.

  Her mind seemed oddly fogged these days and she found it hard to concentrate. The hours slipped by sometimes without her even noticing and she found it difficult to keep a grip on her own thoughts.

  She caught a scent of something, something that flashed through her mind at breakneck speed so fast that she barely caught a glimpse. A face or a voice, something that loomed over her free will and invaded…, the thought was cut off abruptly as she rushed to the bathroom barely in time before she threw up into the bowl.

  ----------

  Sarah stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend the words that had just come out of the Headmaster’s mouth. “Are you serious?” she asked – unnecessarily, judging by Barnaby’s stern expression.

  They were gathered in his office: Sarah, Jemima - who looked a little green around the gills -, Stuart, Hannah and Maurice.

  It was breakfast time and the kids were all in the dining hall being supervised by Rosa Marsh and the kitchen staff.

  “I’m afraid so. The line isn’t all that clear but Sergeant Ross was able to tell me enough. Mrs. Merryweather’s husband was found dead yesterday afternoon. Ross needed a little information on Mrs. Merryweather, and well, this is a small area after all and rumours are sure to spread quickly. I thought it best to pass on some clear information untainted by ghoulish gossip.”

  “What did she do, chop the old bastard’s head off with an axe?” Maurice joked with bad taste humour.

  Sarah stared in horror as Barnaby’s face paled and the room fell silent and awkward. She’d had enough experience with axes to last her a lifetime.

  “Holy shit, you’re not serious?” Jemima remarked with wide eyes.

  “The details of the situation are unclear at this point,” Barnaby replied coolly. “Sergeant Ross wasn’t ringing to offer information, rather to gain it.”

  “What do we tell the children?” Sarah asked with concern.

  “Nothing for the time being,” Barnaby said firmly. “Fortunately we only have a dozen pupils in-house, so for the time being we can afford to say nothing. The weather is supposed to worsen this afternoon so I can’t see any information leaking out from the village. After the holidays I would imagine that the facts will become clearer.”

  “Did she really do it?” Jemima mused aloud to no one in particular.

  “I called this meeting to quash rumours Ms King, not to start them,” Barnaby said warningly.

  “I was only asking,” she replied in a low embarrassed voice.

  “I’m sure that it’s all in God’s plan,” Hannah Marks said through a beaming smile.

  “God’s plan?” Sarah snapped. “Let me tell you, I’ve seen an awful lot of what some people would describe as God’s plan and you can stick it, sister.”
<
br />   She realised that they were staring at her again, like they had when she started yelling at the police sergeant the night that she thought one of the children was missing and she had pulled the alarm.

  She had tucked away her hip flask that night in the back of her wardrobe and it was still there untouched.

  She had enough loose marbles rolling around after Eden Gardens without greasing the gears with vodka. That night had scared her as she had realised that her ghosts were not buried as deeply as she had hoped.

  “It’s alright, dear,” Hannah said soothingly as she touched Sarah’s arm lightly. “Everything is going to be perfect, even better than it was before, a true paradise.”

  Sarah stared at the school nurse. Her pudgy hand was stroking her arm and she pushed the hand away in disgust.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about Hannah, or what you’re on, but I ain’t buying it.”

  She had never known the woman to speak of religion before, but now her eyes were bright and sparkling.

  There was a local priest who came into Ravenhill on occasion to hold services at special times of the year.

  He held a memorial in November on Remembrance Day, as well as services in September and July to commemorate the terror attacks.

  She couldn’t remember Hannah ever showing much interest in religion, let alone use God’s name in a sentence.

  “That’s as maybe, Ms Marks,” Barnaby interjected, “but for now we follow my plan. This matter is not to be discussed with any of the children, especially when they are short on numbers and with too much time on their hands for idle chatter.”

  Sarah was standing at the back of the room as they all trooped out.

  They were supposed to head for the dining hall for breakfast but Barnaby’s revelation had left her with little appetite.

  Once upon a time, in a dim and distant past, Tolan Christian had held an entire small town under his spell, including her, and she had slain the only man that she had ever loved with an axe.

  It was only through her dreams that she saw Samuel’s kind and gentle face before she swung the blade.

  She remembering swinging that axe a second time and indeed saving her friends, if a little late. She remembered Tolan’s face as it crumpled in shock at her treachery and she remembered the feelings of rage that she still held for the monster.