The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  She was lost in her guilt when a hand touched her shoulder.

  “He sees you,” Hannah Marks whispered in her ear as they were the last ones to leave the office. “He sees you and he’s coming; he’s coming back to deal with his betrayer.”

  Sarah stepped back from the nurse and stared incredulously at the smiling round face before her.

  “What did you say?” she asked, shocked as she felt a strange alien presence in her thoughts and mind - strange fingers probing around private territory and peeking into her dark corners.

  Hannah merely walked soundlessly out into the corridor to join the others.

  “What did you say?” Sarah demanded as she reached out and grabbed the nurse’s arm in a painful pinch.

  “Ow, Ms Mears, you’re hurting me,” Hannah said loudly and the others turned their heads.

  “Who’s coming? What the hell did you mean by that?” Sarah demanded, tightening her grip.

  “Ms Mears, what on earth are you doing?” Barnaby snapped. “Unhand her at once.”

  Sarah ignored the Headmaster and pulled the pudgy nurse in closer.

  She suddenly felt a strong hand on hers and looked up to see Stuart’s concerned face.

  She realised in a flash that they were all staring at her and she was acting irrationally again.

  She began to doubt what she had heard in the nurse’s whisper, if there had even been one. She had been lost in her thoughts of guilt and anger and it wasn’t impossible that Hannah might not have said anything at all.

  She let go and tried to find a smile. “Sorry,” she said lightly. “I guess I don’t know my own strength,” she laughed falsely, letting go. “Sorry I thought that you said something is all.”

  The others wandered off down the hallway with varying degrees of distrust in their eyes, all except for Stuart.

  She saw the worried look in his eyes and tried to reassure him. For a second he leaned in closely and she thought that he was going to try and kiss her again; she also didn’t know if she would try and stop him.

  It was then she realised that he was smelling her breath, presumably to see if she’d been drinking.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she said haughtily and his cheeks reddened when he noticed that he’d been caught in the act.

  “I was just making sure,” he shrugged, embarrassed.

  “Oh wonderful, is that what everyone thinks of me around here? That I’m some kind of lush?”

  “No of course not,” he replied, not entirely convincingly. “You have to admit that you’ve been behaving a little oddly lately.”

  “Well, Mr. Keaton, that’s not really any of your concern now, is it?” she said coldly, turning on her heels.

  “Apparently not,” she heard him say sadly as she walked away.

  ----------

  Father Brendon Monroe watched the heavy snowfall with mixed emotions.

  On the one hand, the white curtain was hugely impressive as a show of Mother Nature’s forceful will but on the other, the roads were becoming drowned under the white weight.

  The sight was intensely relaxing and peaceful. As far as he could see out across the stretching fields the world was covered under a thick blanket of perfect precision.

  The blizzard might have caught the TV weather people with their pants down, but the wily old heads in the village had been preparing for weeks.

  Country folk and their superstitions had proven far superior to all of the orbiting satellites. It was comforting in a way to know that man still had a thing or two to teach the technological world.

  Fortunately he had no other duties in any of the surrounding villages for the next week or so. So there would be no need to risk the wrath of the weather by trying to reach them.

  The Beast was safely locked away in the garage and the monster 4x4 shouldn’t be required, or at least he hoped not.

  He heard the clinking crockery from the kitchen as Edna Bailey busied herself.

  The elderly housekeeper had been a woman possessed lately. The small cottage surfaces seemed to scream for mercy under her hard polishing hands.

  His freezer was packed to the gunnels with meals that she had stockpiled, presumably for an upcoming apocalypse.

  He only prayed that she wasn’t making yet another pot of tea; he wasn’t sure that his system could stand another brew.

  His prayers went unanswered as she suddenly appeared through the door pushing the trolley stacked with tea and cakes. He was a big man with a large appetite, but even he was wilting under her attentions.

  Just then the phone rang and he gave a slight nod upwards, better late than never, he thought as the interruption was most welcome.

  “Hello?” he answered happily.

  “Father Monroe?” a man’s voice replied.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Sergeant Ross; I’m afraid that we have a bit of a situation here Father and I could use your help.”

  “Of course, Sergeant, whatever you need.”

  “This is a little bit delicate and I was wondering if you could pop round to the station?”

  “Of course, Sergeant,” Brendon replied looking over at the tea tray and thinking that nothing could be worse, especially in a sleepy village like Bexley Cross. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

  ----------

  Sergeant Donald Ross hung up the phone and turned pensively towards the maintenance closet.

  There was no such thing as a cell in the small station and he’d had to improvise.

  He’d called the main city desk yesterday to report the dead body of Colin Merryweather and the fact that he’d taken the man’s wife Mavis into custody.

  He’d been assured down the patchy connection that help was on the way, only for the weather to worsen and the roads become impassable.

  He needed the crime scene processing and the victim autopsied. He also had a school secretary who had stopped speaking and now only sat making soft moans and rocking herself back and forth like a junkie with her supply cut off.

  His first thoughts had been that Colin had been murdered and his wife was either a witness or had merely stumbled upon the scene and been sent into shock.

  He’d also been concerned that there was a maniac killer loose in the sleepy village. But when he’d returned to the truck to call for help she had calmly told him that in fact it was her hands that had slain the man in such a brutal manner.

  He still shuddered at the sound of her serene and quiet voice as she’d confessed.

  Apparently, Colin had tried stopping his wife from going to see a “him”.

  If they had both been 20 years younger, then Donald would have assumed that this was the consequence of an illicit triangle. But he found it hard to picture Mavis Merryweather carrying on with some kind of “fancy man”. And yet she had taken an axe to her husband’s face and obliterated it.

  He would have found a defence of a battered woman being pushed too far easier to believe than what he had in front of him.

  He had called PC Paterson in for help, but the young lad seemed only interested in taking peeks at the woman in the closet.

  Donald had never processed a murder scene before and he didn’t know how to proceed now. Freyford was the nearest large city to them and the Superintendant there had told him to lock the house up and stay the hell out.

  The SOCO team should have been with him within the hour, but the snow had quickly put paid to that.

  There was going to be a helicopter dispatched, but the winds had increased dramatically and that was soon abandoned as well.

  All he could do now was to wait for the weather to break and for the professionals to arrive and take charge.

  Mavis had refused to effectively communicate ever since he had moved a cot into the closet and placed her on it.

  The woman now sat rocking back and forth with a glazed expression frozen on her face.

  He could hear her reciting prayers over and over again under her breath. It had been a long time since he had attend
ed a church service, but they didn’t sound like any prayers that he recognised.

  The door knocked and he watched as Paterson got up to answer it without being told for once, a minor miracle in itself. The cold wind rushed in through the open doorway as the local priest stepped inside.

  ----------

  Alex Thompson tried to steer the conversation around to one of his own choosing for the umpteenth time. Joshua was holding court as per usual and all faces were trained upon his serene expression.

  They were gathered in the computer lab but their supervisor, Ms King, was vacantly staring out of the window.

  Ever since he had left Joshua alone with the young teacher she had been acting differently and he was worried.

  Joshua seemed to have an ability to alter the moods of those around him and he was like a magnet for the other kids.

  He gave sermons about the evils of the modern world that tapped directly into the minds of those who felt abandoned by their parents here at Ravenhill.

  For some reason, Alex had yet to succumb to the American’s charms completely. It was as though Joshua required him to stay above the sycophantic robots that he was surrounding himself with.

  Eventually Joshua finished his talk and the others began to drift away dismissed.

  Several of the girls couldn’t help but throw lingering looks back at Joshua. Starry eyes full of dreams reluctantly left the room until they were alone with only the teacher for company.

  “You’re concerned Alex, what’s troubling you?” Joshua asked.

  “It’s just…,” he nodded towards Ms King who was staring blankly out of the window.

  “Oh have no fear; Jemima here has no interest in our conversation, do you dear?” Joshua said towards the teacher.

  Ms King only continued to stare out of the window as though she was the only creature on the planet.

  “You may speak freely,” Joshua urged gently.

  “Is she ok?” Alex asked, concerned.

  “Oh quite so, in fact she’s happier than ever.”

  “What did you do to her?” Alex couldn’t help but ask, despite his better judgment.

  “I have shown her happiness Alex, the true happiness that only exists in the word of God. The vast majority of the world seeks the same Alex, to simply live in peace and to find contentment. But I know that you seek something different, my friend. I know that you are part of the rare minority that wish, no, deserve to sit by the throne and wield the power. There must always be the shield, Alex, and there must always be the sword. There will always be those who will seek to destroy what we can create; believe me I know of what I speak.”

  Alex found himself lost in the words as Joshua spoke. They had discussed matters deep into the night as they had started sharing a room since the end of term.

  He had expected that one of the teachers would have separated them by now, but no one had.

  Every night he fell asleep listening to Joshua’s soothing words as they flowed over him, sending him off gently into a night full of wild and exciting dreams from which he never wanted to awake.

  His dreams were dark and lustful with thoughts and emotions that he didn’t quite understand and yet wanted to explore.

  “I can show you the world, Alex,” Joshua whispered seductively. “I can give you everything that your heart has ever desired; all I ever ask is loyalty from my followers. Loyalty Alex, loyalty above all else. In return I can give you the world.”

  Alex couldn’t help but turn towards Ms King as though his head read his mind.

  The young teacher arched her back and stretched her arms above her head.

  Alex followed the contours of her body as her shape was silhouetted through the glare of the window. He could see the outline of her bra through her shirt and his mouth went dry and his trousers felt a little too tight. His eyes roamed down her figure stopping where her jeans hugged her hips and the dark and scary secrets that lay hidden in between.

  Joshua suddenly slapped his hands together hard in a single clap and Ms King broke from her spell. She looked around the room and smiled towards the two boys.

  “Think I’ll get a coffee if you boys will be ok on your own for five minutes,” she said, in a normal tone of voice as she left the room.

  Alex couldn’t help but watch her as she left.

  “Loyalty, Alex,” Joshua whispered in his ear. “Loyalty, and I can give you the world.”

  ----------

  Father Brendon Monroe walked into the small village police station; in reality, it was little more than a shop front with a long counter and an office setup.

  “This is all very mysterious, Sergeant Ross,” he said grinning. One look at the policeman’s face wiped the grin from his own.

  “It’s a sad business I’m afraid, Father; I was wondering if you might offer a little spiritual guidance to the poor woman,” Donald said gravely.

  “I don’t understand, Sergeant.”

  “Please, it’s Donald, Father.”

  “Then it’s also Brendon, Donald. Now, suppose you tell me what you require of me.”

  “Old lady went nuts and damn near chopped her old man’s head off,” PC Paterson said indelicately from his seated position at one of the back desks.

  Brendon saw the sergeant flinch at the young PC’s choice of words.

  “I’m afraid that we’ve had somewhat of an incident,” Donald said more diplomatically.

  “Incident my arse,” Paterson laughed.

  “Why don’t you be a good lad and make the Father some tea?” Donald ordered sternly.

  Brendon watched as the young man took his feet off the desk and sulked his way through to the small kitchen at the rear of the station. “Coffee if you’ve got it,” he called quickly, as his insides rebelled at the over saturation of tea already sloshing around his system.

  He waited silently as the sergeant moved closer to him.

  “The Merryweathers,” Donald started.

  “Mavis and Colin, I know them reasonably well,” he answered honestly.

  “Well first off, I need your absolute discretion here Father... Brendon,” he corrected himself. “This is not information to be shared outside of this station, not with anyone, is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” Brendon said succinctly.

  “At some point this morning, for reasons thus far unknown, Mavis Merryweather killed her husband, Colin,” Donald whispered as though his words might carry on the wind through the station walls and into ears beyond.

  “My God,” Brendon said, hushed. “Was it in self-defence?”

  “You have to understand, Brendon, that I’m just a village bobby. I don’t know how to read a crime scene or even really how to interview a murder suspect. But from the brief look I got, Colin was sitting in his armchair and Mavis came at him with an axe. The real coppers have been delayed by the weather and I’m just holding onto her in the meantime.”

  “She told you that she did it?”

  “Yes,” the sergeant replied as his face visibly paled. “She came out with it like she was telling me a recipe for apple pie, all calm like.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Well the thing is that she’s been in there,” Donald said, pointing to the maintenance closet, “praying away like there’s no tomorrow; I understand she is quiet a religious woman and I just thought that you might have a word with her, maybe get her to drink or eat something. Whatever has happened, I am responsible for her well-being until the city cops show up and take her off my hands.”

  “Is she dangerous?”

  Donald looked like he had to stop and think about the possibility for the first time. “I can’t see how.”

  “But I doubt that you would have imagined her capable of butchering her husband before you saw the scene.”

  “Aye, that’s only too true,” Donald sighed. “I’m afraid that this whole thing is a little beyond me to be perfectly honest.”

  “How do you take it?” PC Paterson yelled from the kitchen and Bre
ndon saw how the sergeant jumped at the sudden loud voice.

  “Black will be fine, thank you,” Brendon called back. “She’s in here?” he asked Donald, pointing to the closet.

  “Yeah, we don’t have a cell here so I had to make do,” he shrugged.

  “Well ok then, open up,” Brendon said calmly.

  “Are you sure, Father? I mean, I hadn’t really thought about her being dangerous until you brought it up,” Donald said, concerned, as his hand rested on the door handle.

  “Trust me Sergeant, I’ve faced a lot worse than an old woman who’s been smacked around one too many times before finding the courage to finally hit back. I’m sure that whatever violence Mrs. Merryweather had in her has long gone.”

  Donald unlocked the door and opened it.

  Brendon stepped forward to meet the ageing school secretary, summoning up words from one of the many courses that he had attended on domestic abuse.

  The sergeant stood back and he looked inside.

  Mrs. Merryweather was sitting on a small but comfortable looking cot. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her lips were moving as she whispered softly to herself.

  He got as far as opening his mouth to speak when she looked up. Later, he would become convinced that her gentle eyes had fixed upon his collar before turning to fire.

  She leapt off the bed and flew out through the door before any of them had time to move.

  Brendon outweighed the small woman several times over, but yet he was driven backwards under her furious assault.

  Her brittle hands became talons as they scratched and clawed at his face.

  He managed to get one meaty hand up under her chin and push her head backwards but she still swung viciously at him. Impossible as it was to believe, she was driving him backwards and his boots slipped on the melting snow upon the floor.

  He fell heavily and she landed on top of him like a wild animal. Her eyes were full of pure hatred and her mouth hung open loosely as spittle flew from her lips and her teeth snapped together.

  She was spitting words of pure abhorrence at him in a language that he didn’t understand or even properly hear. Her mouth moved up and down with the words and with a desire to tear his flesh from his bones with their ivory strength.