The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  She couldn’t let his reign last any longer; she couldn’t let any more innocents suffer by his hand.

  She kicked hard against the drowning ocean of malaise and broke for the surface.

  She knew that her motions and actions were all in her mind, but her arms pumped furiously fuelled now by hate. Love had brought her peace, but hate would get her home; as soon as she realised that, she was free.

  She could feel Maurice’s presence up ahead and she swam hard towards him.

  She found him sitting under a tree with a look of happiness on his face. The grassy bank was lush and green and a babbling brook passed by beneath his feet.

  There was a picnic basket laid out for two people and she felt like she could smell a faint musky scent on the air.

  A very human thought flashed through her mind that she should leave him here; it seemed so inhumane to drag him from such peace, but she knew that she must.

  The tree wasn’t real and neither was Maurice’s form but it was a representation of him and how he saw himself inside his own paradise. Apparently, Maurice’s happiest time was as a small boy - this was where he most longed to be.

  She reached out towards him with her mind rather than her voice. She probed gently around the corners of his thoughts and managed to snag a grip.

  “Maurice,” she whispered, “you have to come with me; we have to leave this place now.”

  “Five more minutes, Dad,” he replied sleepily. “I’m having such a wonderful dream; no school today, no school.”

  “Maurice, please,” she implored. “We don’t have much time left, we have to go, and we have to leave now.”

  “No,” he said sulkily in a small boy’s voice. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here.”

  “Maurice Duncan!” she commanded in her sternest teacher’s voice. She felt his mind buck hard to shack her off and she had to bite down hard to secure her tenuous grip.

  “I will not tolerate such rudeness in my classroom. This is not how a young man behaves; whatever would your father say?”

  She felt him crack at the mention of his father and she could feel him walk towards her, confused but eager to please.

  “What?” he asked moodily.

  “I need you to take charge here, Maurice. I need you to take the reins and become the man that your father wanted you to be.”

  “I don’t wanna,” he pouted.

  “I know that it’s difficult, Maurice; I know that it’s hard,” she said gently. “But I also know that your father would be proud of you. All he ever wanted was for you to assume his mantle and now it’s time, Maurice. It’s time for you to grow up and be a man. Ravenhill is yours now by right and you have to fulfil your position and assume your duties. Do you think that you can do that? Do you think that you can make your father proud?”

  She waited as the small boy in front of her digested her idea. His face desperately wanted to be brave despite his fears.

  She knew that they had no time left and that Maurice was the key. He was the true owner now of Ravenhill and they needed him to take control.

  “I just wanna sleep,” he said tiredly.

  “I know, sweetie,” she said kindly. “I know that it’s difficult, but you have to be brave now, ok? Do you think that you can do that for me? For your dad?”

  “Ok,” he said in a tiny voice.

  “Then take my hand and close your eyes,” she whispered.

  He did as she asked and she led him towards a doorway of light that appeared.

  As they reached it she stopped and bent down to speak softly in his ear.

  He started to buck against her but she held him firmly and continued to speak.

  Eventually, he stopped struggling and listened and promised to remember.

  ----------

  Sarah cracked her eyes open and looked around what seemed to be a chapel of some kind.

  It wasn’t a surprise to find Tolan within religious surroundings and standing behind an altar.

  She could feel Stuart, Maurice and the priest arranged on the floor around her and together they made up a cross shape.

  She risked a look at Tolan and saw that he had the baby on the altar and a knife in his hand; it was a scene that was depressingly familiar.

  She looked across at Stuart and the priest, but both were soundly unconscious.

  Their lids fluttered with the movement of darting eyeballs beneath the skin.

  Both of their faces looked serene and peaceful and she knew that either of them could be lost at any minute.

  If either of them fell then Tolan would have his twelve and then God only knew what damage he would set forth upon the world.

  Maurice was starting to slowly twitch and she hoped that he understood his part in this.

  He had to reach the other two and bring them out before it was too late. She knew that it wouldn’t be easy, but he had to find a way and she had to buy him time.

  The children sat along the old wooden benches on either side of the room with blank faces like robots in standby mode. And Paterson, the young constable, sat motionless - still with the revolver that he had used to shoot his sergeant dead with stuck in his belt.

  Tolan was waiting, presumably for the twelfth to fade away and succumb before he could seal his own deal with Ravenhill by taking the life of Jemima and Stuart’s baby.

  The monster seemed lost in his own thoughts and she risked sitting up.

  Tolan sank deeply into the void. The time was close at hand now and his prize was ready to be bestowed upon his eager shoulders. The twelfth would soon fall and he would then rise beyond these narrow borders and assume his rightful place.

  The plains of the ancient Aztec people stretched out long and wide.

  He stood atop the Templo Mayor. This Aztec temple was the main temple of their religion and was also the capital of Tenochititlan, which was the modern day Mexico City.

  The great pyramid rose 197 feet towards the sky and dominated the horizon. Like all Aztec temples, it contained stairways leading to shrines, but these shrines were built specifically in order to pay tribute to the Aztec god of war and the sun – Huitzilopochtli, and the god of rain and fertility - Tlaloc.

  Below him, the people bowed down in their thousands ready to acclaim their new god – Tolan. He would soon sit astride the modern world and transform it in his own image. He had little time anymore for being told what to do; as soon as he was free of this place, he would be his own man, and his own god for that matter.

  The sun was reaching its apex and the moment was close at hand as the huge crowd began to chant his name.

  ----------

  Sarah didn’t know how she could stop Tolan or even what the depths of his abilities were, but the young cop had a gun and Tolan’s current form was that of a slender young boy.

  Paterson was sitting like a wound down windup toy. His body was slumped as he sat awaiting his orders. She moved slowly and carefully towards him, praying that he wouldn’t move for just as long as Tolan stayed wherever he currently was in his head.

  She inched her way along the bench, past the children that she had taught and cared for. These were no monsters, only pawns made to do monstrous things and she didn’t envy them the memories if they ever made it out of here alive.

  She leaned in close and held her breath as she reached out with a trembling hand.

  Her fingers brushed against the cool wooden grip and she started to pull the gun slowly from his belt.

  She inched the revolver out millimetre by millimetre as the young cop sat oblivious.

  “NOOO!” a voice suddenly roared and every pair of bench-sat eyes turned in her direction.

  Paterson’s hands clamped down on hers with a painful strength and his face awoke and twisted into an angry snarl.

  Their faces were almost touching as she had moved in so close to take his weapon. She could feel his warm breath tickle her nose and his eyes burned with hatred.

  She drove her head forward hard and felt h
is nose crumple beneath the impact. She shut her feelings of disgust away and slammed the door hard on them; this was no time for the squeamish.

  Tolan was back in the room and not happy; she needed that gun.

  Paterson let out a roar of rage and pain and suddenly she was lifted into the air as he stood with his hands clamped around her throat.

  The cop was young and strong and full of Tolan’s anger. His hands started to tighten and her breath grew short as she fought. She kicked out, striking him in the chest and thighs - desperately aiming for his vulnerable groin.

  The light started to fade as the blackness threatened to take her; she swung her foot again and felt satisfied as Paterson let out a long whoosh of air as she connected with his stomach.

  His grip loosened slightly and she dug her nails into his hands as hard as she could, tearing the flesh down to the bone.

  He staggered backwards and tried to release her but now she was hanging onto him as they fell.

  His head struck the ground hard and she drove her knee into his groin as she lay on top of him - once, twice and then a third time for good measure.

  She scrabbled for the gun and pulled it free just as tiny hands began to grasp her hair and twist it painfully.

  The children dragged her backwards and she fought to keep her grip on the weapon.

  She tried to stand but the eleven children had piled on top of her in a mad scrum and, despite their relatively small size, she was suffocating under their combined weight.

  She summoned whatever failing strength she had left and threw elbows into fragile faces. Luckily, the children didn’t cry out as she struck them; they only fell aside like lifeless sacks of meat.

  Eventually, she struggled free but found to her horror that the gun had slipped from her grasp and now lay on the ground between her and the slowly rising Paterson.

  The young cop stood on shaky legs and lurched to one side holding his groin; good, she thought savagely.

  “You never cease to amaze me, SJ,” Tolan said from his raised position. “You never stop fighting these days, do you? So different to how you used to be - a snivelling child so full of doubt and self-loathing. Maybe you should be thanking me for such an improvement in your character?” He smiled.

  She held her tongue, knowing that he would twist any response to his advantage.

  Instead, her eyes stayed firmly focused on the gun that lay between her and Paterson.

  She could hear the gurgling sounds of the baby lying under Tolan’s knife on the altar and she couldn’t stand to see another innocent lost to the monster.

  She looked around as the children began to gather themselves; Paterson moved menacingly forwards and he and all of the children stood between her and Tolan.

  Paterson’s eyes looked down at the revolver and then back to her; a small smile crept across his face and in that moment she wondered just how far under Tolan’s control he was and how much of his behaviour was voluntary.

  “Stand down, Mr. Paterson,” Tolan commanded as he sensed the young PC’s intentions. “William?” he said, unsure as to why his command seemed to go unnoticed.

  Sarah saw the flash of hunger in the cop’s eyes and immediately thought of Sherriff Quinn back in Eden: a huge bear of a man who had followed Tolan without question and without coercion, and all for the simple love of violence.

  “William, no,” Tolan said loudly. “It doesn’t work this way; I want her alive, or at least not to die in this manner.”

  Sarah had several children between her and the gun and Paterson was closer.

  Suddenly, the cop leapt towards the revolver and Sarah could plainly see that she wasn’t going to even get close.

  A flash of movement caught her eye as Stuart made his move. Apparently, the maths teacher had been playing possum after Maurice had been able to bring him back.

  The two men landed on the gun at the exact same time and Tolan and Sarah both cried out, “Don’t shoot him.” She said to Stuart, as she didn’t want Tolan to have his twelfth victim, and Tolan said to Paterson, as he knew that this way wouldn’t count.

  “Damn you, child,” Tolan raged towards her. “Must you always stand in my way? You are like a buzzing fly in a hurricane that just won’t die,” he said exasperatedly.

  Distantly, she heard a gunshot and a groan of pain and knew that either Stuart or Paterson had been hit, but she couldn’t worry about that now. She locked eyes with Tolan and walked towards him.

  “Stay where you are,” he ordered, “or I’ll kill this child,” he said, holding the knife high above the baby.

  “No you won’t,” she replied as she grew surer. “You can’t, not yet.”

  “You stay back!” he barked, but his voice came out high pitched and broken from his 13 year old chest.

  ----------

  Maurice headed towards the centre of Ravenhill.

  It was the heart of the place and the beacon of its power. He knew that there was a chance that he’d never come back, but he also finally understood that he couldn’t avoid his responsibilities anymore.

  Sarah had told him that Ravenhill had been left to him by Barnaby in his will. Now he was the caretaker and the owner, if only he could find the strength to assume the mantle.

  He saw the faces of those who had walked these halls over the centuries. There were strange outfits and uniforms that he didn’t recognise and all walked in various states of decay. Necks were stretched and wrists lay open as those who had taken their own lives were unable to leave.

  He saw his grandfather wearing the same pyjamas that he had died in, standing at the end of a long hallway blocking his path.

  The narrow corridor had only two doors, one at either end of the hallway.

  The old man’s eyes were bright and alive with triumph but Maurice knew in that instant that he was his father’s heir and not his grandfather’s. The old man’s face twisted into a mask of bitter anger as he read Maurice’s thoughts.

  Maurice turned away and walked towards the door at the opposite end of the corridor. He felt a screaming wail begin to rush towards his back but he kept on walking. He gripped the door handle and felt the cool metal under his hand despite all of this being a metaphorical handle on a metaphoric door.

  His hand shook as he pulled the door towards him.

  A blinding light began to burst forth and he heard his grandfather’s running footsteps rushing towards him.

  He knew that it wasn’t really his grandfather; the old man just represented one possible side of his tenure at Ravenhill, and it was not the pleasant side of him.

  He fought to open the door faster and to run from the long black shadows of the hallway and into the light.

  It was the light that would save him; he knew this now to be empirically true. Beyond this door bathed in radiance was the path that he wanted to take.

  Shadowy long fingers clawed into his shoulders as he fought to walk through the door as the darkness still struggled to own him. Nails burned icy cold into his flesh and he felt himself slipping backwards.

  The darkness was strong and would not be denied, no matter how hard he fought.

  He started to slip; his hands flailed hopelessly as more and more hands grasped him, tearing his clothing and flesh beneath.

  The foul shadows wormed their way into his mouth and twisted in his hair, tightening their grip, and he started to fall.

  Suddenly, a pink handmade of flesh and blood shot out from the light and caught him.

  His father’s face leaned out of the blinding light and was pulling him forwards and then the dark shadows were gone and there was only peace and light.

  He bathed in the warmth and love of this place and he understood. Ravenhill was neutral in all things; she was a powerful tool to be utilized, but she took no sides. Whilst she may have attracted black hearts, she was not evil in herself.

  There was a power here, but it was one that could be used on either side of the moral scale depending on the current owner.

  M
aurice caught the musky aroma of his father and his lungs were full of scents and memories.

  There were no physical forms here, only senses and light and before he knew it he was being propelled forwards at an increasing rate of knots and he was going home.

  Pulling Stuart and Brendon back from the edge had been easier than he’d feared.

  Both men were essentially decent at heart and remarkably undamaged. Their paradises had been by and large superficial and Stuart had only needed to know that Sarah was in trouble to turn his back on his daydream.

  Brendon had seemed to know that his dream was only that; he envied the priest’s conviction and inner strength.

  He was Ravenhill now and she was him. He reached out with both hands and took a firm grip on her inner soul with all that’s he was.

  Before she could realise what her new master was doing, he had already started to pull with everything he had.

  He pulled her down for every lost soul that she had taken and for every evil man that she had attracted. He pulled and ignored her fight against him and the voices of his grandfather, father and everyone else that Ravenhill threw at him to detract him from his path; he just kept pulling until she started to fall.

  ----------

  Sarah sensed more movement on the floor and saw happily that the priest was coming around; now only Maurice was still under and hopefully she knew where he was heading. Tolan saw the priest move and his expression turned to one of pure fury.

  “You’re going to lose Tolan, don’t you get that? Has it really been so long?” she said gleefully.

  “I don’t lose, I DON’T!” he shrieked.

  “You lost back in Eden, don’t you remember that?” She laughed, trying to draw his rage away from the baby. “Because I do; a writer and his wife that you took for granted got the best of you that day.” His response was an inarticulate shriek of pure animalistic frenzy.

  She risked a look over at the scuffling figures and saw that the priest and Stuart had subdued the cop and had wrestled the gun away from him.

  “No, I can still have everything, I can still win!” Tolan shouted.

  Sarah began to understand his need for an excessive volume.

  There was a low but growing rumble that sounded like it was coming from the bowels of the earth beneath their feet.