The blackness wasn’t static though, it swirled and shifted. Occasionally he caught a blur of color or movement as he fought to regain consciousness. Small sounds filtered through, a car door slamming, the low hum of an engine, the roar of the wind through huge canopies of trees.
He slowly began to swim up through layers of sensory input. Although his vision was blurred he could make out half bare branches above him, as he gradually fought his way back to consciousness. The first thing to jerk him toward the surface was the screaming pain in his shoulders. The damp smell of leaves and loam filled his nostrils and he could feel himself moving, being pulled along the ground. Now he understood why his shoulders hurt, his wrists were bound tightly and he was being dragged along by his hands. The whole back of his body felt wet. The ground, for the most part, was soft except for the odd sharp dig, which felt like a twig or a sharp stick. He must be in the woods he realized. Swallowing tightly he opened his eyes. Through the swaying dancing branches he caught snatches of the moon shining cold and bright, as if it were watching him impassively.
Suddenly the momentum came to a halt and his hands were dropped unceremoniously to the mossy ground, with a muted thud. Adam fought through the fog in his mind, his vision swam in and out of focus but it was too dark to make anything out, except for the dark figure looming over him. He tried to wriggle away but a foot appeared above his face and then the blackness took him again.
The next time as he came to, gradually clawing his way through the layers of disorientation, he found himself bathed in very low, pale light. A fine mist dampened his swollen face; he tried to swallow through parched lips, but only tasted the metallic tang of blood. He tried to move his arms and legs but a searing pain shot through his limbs.
He lifted his head weakly and his eyes began to adjust to the dim light which, he realized, was a circle of fat black candles whose flames coughed and spluttered in the fine misty rain. His gaze moved to his immobile body and he found to his horror that, not only were his wrists and ankles bound tightly with rope and staked to the damp muddy ground, but that four evil looking meat hooks had been speared through his biceps and calves and planted into the ground, pinning him into place by his own hooked flesh.
Bile rose in his throat as he tried to cry out, but his voice was too hoarse to carry through the deserted woods. The figure he had seen earlier stepped into the small circle of light, but it was still not enough for him to identify his captor.
‘Please,’ his voice was half plea, half whisper.
The figure ignored him and began to murmur. Adam couldn’t understand the words being spoken. It must have been the trauma or the shock, but he could have sworn that his captor’s voice seemed strangely choral, as if more than one voice spoke at once. But another glance around the clearing proved that there was no one else present.
Suddenly he felt wet, rancid smelling fur brush against the side of his face and a faint growl, but when he turned there was nothing there. The stranger stepped closer still, murmuring, hands outstretched over his body.
The pain when it came was fast and bright and like nothing he could describe. The scream that tore from his throat was almost silent. The pain started at his forehead and ran in a vertical line down his face, throat and torso, a continuous unbroken line until it hit his groin. A similar pain ran simultaneously along his arms and legs, a burning, searing agony that felt as if his skin was splitting open with surgical precision. He could feel the warmth of his blood pooling and saturating his torn clothes.
His eyes dimmed as they locked onto a dog standing over him. It was much larger than any dog he’d even seen, standing nearly as tall as a man. Its ears were long and pointed, standing up straight and Egyptian-like. Its black fur was matted and filthy, revealing raw patches of flesh hanging from its skeletal ribcage. It had dead looking white eyes and its razor like teeth pulled back into a snarl. The face was gaunt and corpse-like as it growled low, with a thread of drool handing from its bony jaw.
Suddenly Adam screamed, a horrible wet gurgling sound as the blood forced its way up his throat and flooded his mouth. He felt a tearing wrench and an awful splintering sound, as his bones cracked and gave way, and this time when the darkness took him, he welcomed it.
3.
The morning dawned crisp and clear, despite the rain the night before leaving an oppressive dampness on the cool air. Olivia stepped out of her car, pulled on her hat and slipped her hands into her gloves. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she locked the car and headed along the sidewalk. She could see the pub a block down and shook her head to dismiss whatever thoughts were swirling around her busy mind.
In the cool light of day she felt a bit stupid for overreacting the night before. Sure the guy outside the pub had looked a bit creepy but there had been no reason to freak out the way she had. Maybe her agent Mags was right and she was turning into a recluse. An unconscious frown marred her brow as she tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. It was just that the nature of her work meant she often spent long stretches of time on her own, writing and researching.
She was starting to get paranoid, first at the house feeling like she was being watched, then the night before when the guy outside the pub had done nothing more than stare at her. She really needed to get out and socialize more she sighed, or maybe get a pet.
Olivia was startled out of her thoughts as she neared the pub parking lot. The first thing she noticed was the police tape and the chief’s car parked next to a crappy old red Jetta with its door open. Jackson was outside talking with a deputy, who was scribbling something down in a black notebook. While they talked he ran his hands through his black hair, seemingly in frustration, but as his eyes connected with Olivia’s he lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
Olivia raised her hand slightly in return, but didn’t stop. Whatever was going on was certainly none of her business. Shaking off the shroud of unease that had settled firmly across her shoulder blades, she crossed the street and headed for the local store.
Pushing open the door to the chirpy jingling of the bell, she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pockets. Whatever was going on across at the Salted Bone might have been none of her business, but she couldn’t deny the sly little fingers of curiosity which tickled the back of her neck. Okay, so maybe she’d just stop by later for a drink.
Grabbing a basket as she mused on the mystery, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Pulling her phone out she scrolled through to the newest message.
You said to give you a couple of days but I can’t go any longer so this is your official warning. I’m coming up to the stick house later with a couple of bottles of wine and a surprise, Louisa xxx
Smiling, she began to type back.
Okay, make it about seven and I’ll cook, Olivia x
Dropping her phone back into her pocket, she felt a weight lifting. This was exactly what she needed. A bit of company and a chance to catch up with an old friend. Humming absently to herself she wandered the aisles, picking up what she would need for dinner. She was in the mood for Italian, her favorite, and she hoped Louisa’s tastes hadn’t changed too much. When they were kids they both loved her mom’s spaghetti.
She headed up to the cash register and dropped her basket down. A matronly looking woman with her back to her, was looking out of the window, her nose almost pressed against the cold glass as she tried to see what was going on at the pub. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d had a pair of binoculars in her hand.
Olivia smiled in amusement; some things never changed. She’d spent so much time living in big cities, enjoying the solitude and anonymity, she’d forgotten a small town’s capacity and thirst for gossip.
As the older woman turned Olivia’s amusement dissolved into something harder and more guarded.
Mrs Eustacia Bailey had not changed one bit in the twenty years Olivia had been gone, well, except for aging considerably. Some things could not be hidden, despite the thick layer
of pressed powder on the woman’s face, which had just settled into the deep lines around her eyes and her mouth. Her perfectly coiffed ash blond hair was now liberally streaked with grey and she wore her trademark expression of disapproval, as she hurried back to the counter and began to ring up Olivia’s purchases.
‘Dreadful business that,’ she muttered.
‘What is?’ Olivia couldn’t help it; the question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
‘That young bartender, the drifter, Adam something.’
‘Did something happen to him?’ Olivia asked casually.
‘Disappeared last night,’ she answered primly. ‘Drugs, I imagine. Apparently his car was left in the parking lot but there’s no sign of him anywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if he robbed the place blind and then lit out. His kind never come to any good.’
‘Now dear, that’s not a very charitable thing to say,’ a soft voice spoke.
Olivia turned to look behind her and found Mr Bailey re-stocking one of the shelves. A genuine smile graced her lips as she looked at the old guy, who was now almost completely bald, with a very obvious paunch.
She’d always been extremely fond of Mr Bailey; he owned the store along with his wife, the terrifying gossip and self proclaimed pillar of the community, Eustacia Bailey. She’d often wondered how those two had ended up together. They were complete polar opposites, as different as night and day.
Mr Bailey was such a sweetheart. He used to sneak candy to her and Louisa, whenever his wife wasn’t looking. Mrs Bailey, on the other hand, would shoo them out of the store, accusing them of being grubby little heathens. How little she really knew, Olivia thought with a smile.
‘I’m just saying,’ Mrs Bailey continued to pack Olivia’s items into a bag. ‘It’s not Christian, a boy like that taking off from his home, cutting himself off from his family and moving from town to town. It isn’t right; I’ll bet he has a criminal record too. I told Chief Walcott six months ago when the boy blew into town with nothing but his backpack, that he was a bad egg and that he should run a check on him. But he didn’t and now look what’s happened. He probably robbed poor Jackson Murphy blind, maybe even vandalized the place too.’
‘Now I’m sure that’s not the case love,’ Mr Bailey smiled indulgently.
‘You mark my words Jonathan Bailey, that boy will come to no good and he will have no one to blame but himself. He has tattoos! Tattoos Jonathan! I mean what is the world coming to, right on his neck too where everyone can see it and did you notice he doesn’t wear a cross like any good Christian boy.’
Her eyes dropped momentarily to Olivia’s throat but she couldn’t see anything under the collar of her coat, which was buttoned up to her chin.
‘He wore a St Christopher,’ she huffed, continuing her tirade.
‘He is the Christian patron saint of travellers,’ Mr Bailey reminded her gently. ‘He must have had some faith.’
‘Travellers,’ she scoffed. ‘I know no good when I see it.’
She took Olivia’s card when it was offered and put the payment through. She was about to hand it back when her eagle eye caught the name on the front of the card.
‘West?’ Her eyes lit up in a slightly disturbing way. ‘Olivia West?’
‘Yes,’ Olivia replied carefully. She’d known people would figure out who she was sooner or later, she’d just been hoping it would be much later.
‘Well, as I live and breathe,’ Mrs Bailey crowed delightedly. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when you would walk back into town. After all, the memories must be so painful, what with you witnessing what your daddy did to your mama and your grandmamma.’
She leaned forward across the counter, still holding onto the card and receipt.
‘You did witness it, didn’t you?’
The woman didn’t pull any punches Olivia thought grimly as her face hardened.
‘Murder, after all it’s so ugly and you being so young. All that blood and the fire must have been so traumatic for you, poor little lamb. I expect you needed expert help after that, didn’t you? With your daddy being locked up it was probably too much for you to cope with poor thing. I expect that’s why Evelyn didn’t take custody of you. You were probably more than she knew how to deal with and what with it being her sister and niece who were murdered.’
The woman was relentless. She barely paused to draw in a breath. No doubt she wanted to hear all the gory details, not that Olivia could have obliged her even if she’d wanted to. Her memories of that night and the days that followed were disjointed and unclear. In fact Mrs Bailey probably would have been delighted to hear that. It would have confirmed in her mind that Olivia should have been locked up in an asylum.
Olivia reached out to take her card and stuffed it back in her purse, without answering.
‘Stop pecking at the poor girl,’ Mr Bailey rose from his crouched position, his knees creaking as he struggled to straighten his spine.
‘Dear little Olivia,’ he smiled, as he put his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.
It was so unexpected, and so warm and sincere. Olivia found she didn’t pull away but breathed in the scent of him, old spice and tobacco.
‘I’m so glad that you are okay,’ he smiled as he released her. ‘I expect you inherited the house from Evelyn.’
‘That’s right,’ Olivia replied softly.
‘I had wondered if it would come to you or if you’d even want it. There has been some talk on whether or not you’d sell it.’
‘I don’t know,’ Olivia answered honestly. ‘I’m here for the moment, so we’ll just see how it goes.’
‘Seems sensible,’ he beamed. ‘Wait one moment.’
Olivia watched as the little man darted off towards a different display and returned with a plant in a pretty blue and yellow pot. All in all it looked like a very cheerful plant, Olivia decided.
‘Here, this is for you. A little housewarming and welcome home gift,’ he smiled, handing it to her.
‘Thank you,’ she returned his smile, swallowing the little knot of sentiment which caught at the back of her throat. She refused to look at the sour look on Mrs Bailey’s face.
‘Now you don’t be a stranger,’ he winked.
‘I won’t,’ Olivia tucked the little plant under one arm and scooped up her bags. With a nod of her head she headed back out into the cold, back towards her car. After depositing the bags into the trunk she slipped into the driver’s seat and picking up the plant from the passenger seat, she noticed something tucked into the pot. Reaching in, her fingertips curled around something. As she pulled it out her face broke into a smile and a small laugh escaped her lips, even as her eyes filled with tears.
A tootsie roll lay in the palm of her hand. It was what he always used to give her and Louisa when they snuck into his store. She couldn’t believe he’d remembered after all these years.
Smiling as she shook her head, she dropped it into her purse and started the engine. Reversing out more carefully than she had the night before, she headed out of town back towards her house. Despite Mrs Bailey and her poking all of Olivia’s most sensitive spots, she felt lighter and almost content.
When she arrived back home she headed straight into the kitchen. Perhaps she should get a pet she mused, flicking on the lights as she moved through the house. Just as she’d arrived home the rain had started to come down hard and heavy, she’d barely made it to the covered porch in time before the heavens opened.
The house had been quiet as she’d entered; it might be nice she thought to have a dog or maybe a cat who would be pleased to see her come home. She made a mental note to enquire if there were any new litters close by.
Stepping into the kitchen she flipped the light on and dropped the grocery bags down on the center island. She began to pull out the mushrooms, onions and tomatoes as her gaze moved around thoughtfully. She hadn’t really spent any serious time in the kitchen since she arrived exce
pt to make coffee or have a bowl of cereal but now that she was looking closely, she realized just how dirty it was after months of the house standing empty.
Making a swift decision she rolled up her sleeves and bundled her long hair on top of her head in a scruffy knot. She pulled the loose strands of hair back from her face with a red bandana and got to work, scrubbing layers of dust and dirt from every inch of the kitchen. It took hours but it was worth the sense of satisfaction she felt when, although her arms and back ached, her kitchen gleamed. It was funny she thought to herself, that was the first time she’d thought of it as her kitchen, not her grandmother’s or her Aunt Evie’s.
By the time the knock came at the door, Olivia had managed to shower and change. As she padded through the hall towards the door, the house had a welcoming clean smell of citrus and the fragrant waft of red sauce simmering on the freshly scrubbed stove.
Pulling open the door she tugged her sweater tighter at the sudden rush of cold air and rain.
‘God, you gotta love Massachusetts in the autumn,’ Louisa laughed as she stepped in and pulled back the hood of her raincoat, shaking loose her hair.
‘Uh huh,’ Olivia replied as she watched the water pool at Louisa’s feet on her freshly polished floor.
Louisa laughed as she followed Olivia’s gaze.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. Anyway, these are for you,’ she held up two bottles of wine. ‘I wasn’t sure what you liked so I brought red and white.’
She inhaled deeply and her eyes rolled in pleasure. ‘Is that spaghetti I smell?’
‘Yes,’ Olivia smiled, ‘it used to be your favorite.’
‘Still is,’ Louisa replied. ‘Okay so red it is. I’ll just go get the top off this bad boy and let it breathe before dinner.’
The Guardians Complete Series 1 Box Set: Contains Mercy, The Ferryman, Crossroads, Witchfinder, Infernum Page 4