A cruel smile curled into his slack withered lips.
“Winterton recognised me instantly. We came face to face on the landing when that slut next door invited him round. Regrettably, I had taken the lenses out by then.”
“Joe,” I mumbled. “Oh my God...”
“Don’t you want to know how I found you?” he taunted.
Taking another step towards me, he lowered himself unsteadily to his knees.
“For the past twenty years, I have never stopped monitoring you, not even when I left the country. I had people assigned to keep an eye on you, told them how special you were and that after meeting you at Orchard Grange, all I wanted to know was how your future would pan out.”
His drawling words made my flesh crawl.
“Stop it,” I gasped, “I don’t want to hear this...”
“Shush,” he interrupted, “I am proud of you, Maisie. Delighted you went to college and pursued a career, and out of all the paths you could have chosen you worked in fostering. How virtuous! Helping vulnerable children. When I think of all those unruly, damaged brats I took in... yet despite your own trauma, you rose above it to help others. I admire that!”
I felt the stab of his eyes as he leaned over me, pale slits in the shadows.
“It’s why I became obsessed with you, my dear girl, so innocent and pure...”
Icicles of dread pounded into me as his words sank in, that final scene in his office replaying itself.
“Imagine my joy when I discovered you had moved away from your foster home to settle in Sussex. Did you know I attended one of your fostering evenings in Chichester? You were probably too preoccupied to notice me...” he gave an unpleasant snigger. “And do you like this house? Alistair bought it! A good investment, don’t you think? Especially when I wanted to move nearer to you.”
A wave of nausea welled up inside me.
No wonder the atmosphere unnerved me at times; that for all its splendour, this house was infiltrated with his evil.
“In January, though, a flat in Annandale Avenue became vacant,” he gloated. “I couldn’t resist, having never imagined I could get so close.”
“January,” I shuddered, “the same time my nightmares came back.”
Everything snapped into place. I thought of the day he had been carted off to hospital. In the weeks that followed, Joe had kept me safe, but it wasn’t so much him moving out that had resurrected those dreams, as Mr Lacey moving back in.
“Oh yes,” he drawled in amusement, “I heard about your nightmares from Duncan here. Very intriguing.”
“My foster parents suggested psychotherapy,” I whispered aloud, “then other memories started to surface. I had flashbacks...”
Maybe his voice had triggered them, some tiny subconscious window opened as if to alert me.
As my eyes rose to meet his, he could barely contain his glee.
“It was your psychotherapy that spurred us on. We had you followed. Read stories in the news about some sex abuse ring linked to children’s homes... I began to fear it was only a matter of time before there’d be an investigation into my homes, and I was right, wasn’t I?”
He narrowed his stare.
“We were primed and ready to move in on you, but that was before someone else reared their ugly head. That meddlesome creature, Joe Winterton.”
“Joe did nothing wrong!” I yelped.
“He was better off on the streets,” he added nastily, “like the vermin he was! But you, ever the Good Samaritan, had to invite him to live with you. Now that did cause a problem, and the only reason I sent for an ambulance, but I needed a decoy. Nobody questioned my so-called collapse, but when you’re as ill as I am, medical attention comes swiftly. It wasn’t difficult.”
“So why threaten him?” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Why did your thug try to run him over? Because that’s what launched the investigation. All Joe was trying to do was turn his life around!”
“Calm down, Maisie,” Mortimer smirked, “you’re beginning to sound quite hysterical. Now let’s forget the investigation, since it’s irrelevant now, what with Joe and Sam dead - and you – well. We did our groundwork and we were already in the process of setting Thomas up...”
“But he was innocent!” I retorted.
“Thomas was a pompous prick,” Mortimer growled, “lecturing me on how to run my homes. Come March, however, we had our own network in place, including those slutty cleaners. Alistair was the one who introduced them to that waitress Thomas liked. Our long term goal to gain access to his home.”
I closed my eyes. As if what they had done wasn’t terrible enough, the sight of his smug face looming over me turned me sick to the core.
“Thomas was an easy scapegoat,” he continued, “and as soon as he was on remand it was time to resurrect ‘Sam’, our pièce de résistance...”
“Sam.” His name froze on my lips, stirring memories.
How could I forget that forlorn figure staring at me bolt-eyed along a dark drizzly road in February? Perhaps he had been a ghost after all, reaching out from the grave to warn me of impending danger...
As I opened my eyes, though, my gaze shifted to Duncan. He met my stare, his expression empty - but the picture that leapt out at me was the moment he and Mr Lacey had shaken hands. The night of our date. Maybe, I thought, they were sealing their own pact, his words from last night flitting back.
‘Sometimes I wonder if you should just live each day as if it’s your last.’
He must have known I would meet my death tonight. Tears filled my eyes as I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Which brings us to you,” Mortimer continued. “So pure and virtuous, you were destined to be our sacrifice. Twenty years may seem like a long time, but the faster my health deteriorated, the greater my obsession grew and now finally here you are. A perfect offering to the Dark Lord, before I finally meet my death...”
I cringed in terror as his bony fingers reached down to stroke my neck.
“Why?” I found the strength to gasp. “What’s in it for you?”
“There is a pattern to rituals, which must be finished,” he said, “and by the time I closed my homes, it had never been completed.”
His cold hand coiled around my throat.
“My life-long ambition was to find you again. With Sam, Joe and you gone, there would be no more traces of our deeds. But it was my dying wish to complete the circle, whereby sacrificing you will grant me supreme power and immortality.”
“You’re insane,” I breathed. “How can you believe in such rubbish?”
“Do not dare mock the power of the Dark Lord,” Mortimer retorted, his voice thick with menace.
His hand tightened around my throat, turning me rigid, and as his face loomed close, I saw the satanic flare in his eyes.
“Nothing you say will stop me, Maisie Bell. I am going to kill you.”
There was a beat of silence as he delved into the folds of his robe.
The next thing I saw was the dagger in his hand. Shock widened my eyes, but even after all I had seen and heard, nothing could prepare me for the horror yet to come, his hand clawing my gown, tearing the delicate fabric.
“Get your hands off me,” I sobbed, although I knew my words held no power.
“I might have made it quick and painless,” he sneered, “but your friend, Joe Winterton, had to get in the way again, didn’t he? I warned him not to go to the police... that if he did, you would die in agony.”
My throat turned dry as he flaunted the dagger before my eyes. He gave a cold, twisted smile.
“I could stab you through the heart, you know,” he added thoughtfully. “End your life in a single blow. But that seems too merciful...”
Frozen in shock, my eyes were fixed to the blade, its razor sharp edge reflecting little glints of light as they bounced off the walls.
Mortimer was still smiling. “Your heart is a precious gift. So precious, in fact, that I would like to ca
rve it from your chest while it is still beating.”
“N-no...” I was shaking so much, I could barely find the breath to stutter the words out. “Please!”
Glancing across the basement, I caught Duncan’s eye again. His face crumpled in despair, a look I had seen before, but it was to him I appealed directly.
“Help me!” I cried out. “You have to stop this!”
“I-I can’t,” he said through shaking lips.
“What’s your problem, Duncan?” Mortimer mocked, twisting his head around. “You knew this was how it would end when you agreed to your pact. Don’t tell me you’ve developed feelings for her.”
“B-but i-it doesn’t have to be messy...” he faltered.
Sadly, it took just one savage glare from his father to weaken him.
“Just kill her, then,” he finished, “and get it over with!”
A slick of fear ran over me, any last hopes fading.
Mortimer released a laugh. He looked dangerously insane now, as he raised the dagger high. The unbearable silence hung for another second and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the worst.
Chapter Seventy-Two
“Tonight, Dark Lord, we present a sacred offering,” Mortimer’s voice whispered from above. “Ridding the world of a woman so virtuous, we serve you well. And in order for evil to triumph, we deliver her to you as our ultimate sacrifice...”
Powerless to fight, my heart crashed so wildly, I thought it was about to explode in my chest. My breaths became shallow, and to my eternal shame, I felt a warm wetness between my legs; but with a horrible death looming over me, I could no longer hold my bladder.
All I could pray for was a swift release. That when death came it would be quick; that it would sever the cord that bound me to life without unmerited pain.
I waited for the slice of cold steel in my heart.
But of all the scenarios that might have delayed this nightmare, I never expected to hear the ring of the doorbell.
“Who the hell is that?” I heard Duncan gasp.
“It doesn’t matter,” his father hissed. “Just ignore it.”
My eyes flew open, drawn to Mortimer’s face. The hatred in his eyes blazed brighter than the torches now, his teeth bared. Yet that tiny seed of hope was crushed in an instant, his knife jabbing into my throat.
“Not a sound, bitch,” he seethed.
The next time the bell rang, it was impossible to ignore, a prolonged and piercing vibration that reverberated across the ceiling like nails down a blackboard. Nobody moved, the air choked with tension.
“Why don’t you let me answer it?” Duncan pleaded, “and whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.”
“Dressed like that?” Alistair sneered. “It could be the police, you imbecile.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Mortimer added, his voice icy with threat.
My mind spun into overdrive, the point of his knife at my throat holding me suspended, as I battled to wonder who could be out there.
My immediate thoughts turned to Connor.
Yet no sooner had the idea struck me, than I caught a movement on the back wall. Staring at Duncan, I read every conflicting emotion as it writhed across his face. Confusion turned to panic, fury and then hate, while on the periphery of my vision flickered the silhouette of another person. The faint glow was enough to reveal his outline, before the shadowy figure froze.
That was when I realised Connor had been hiding here all along.
His eyes met mine across the web of gloom, two familiar glowing orbs dilated into circles of shock. With my gaze anchored to Duncan, I dared not move a muscle for fear I would give the game away... except the game was about change.
Whoever was outside started pounding on the door.
The atmosphere in the basement shifted, the men exchanging glares. The sound was unrelenting. Thump after thump, shaking the house with its intensity.
“Sam!” A muffled voice bellowed. “It’s Joe! What the fuck is going on?”
My breath shook as I stared at Mortimer. A look of insane fury twisted his face as he turned to Duncan.
“Oh, shit,” Duncan groaned in disbelief.
“Joe?” I bleated.
Hearing his voice seemed like an impossibility. Yet as I yanked at my cords, a sense of panic thudded into me.
If they let him in now, he was doomed.
But Duncan was still talking, his words shuddering with hate. “It’s not him, it can’t be. I called the hospital on my way over here and the victim of that knife attack definitely died...”
“But did you find out which victim?” Mortimer whispered.
“Sam!” The voice hollered from above. “Open the fucking door!”
“Best let him in then,” Duncan whispered, a smile folding his lips.
“NO!” I screamed.
Too busy squabbling among themselves, they had failed to spot Connor creeping along the back wall. Flitting in and out of sight like a ghost, he caught my eye for just a moment, and held a finger to his lips. I saw him crouch behind a crate, his hand feeling along the wall. But as my eyes explored further, they picked out the shape of a fusebox; a single row of switches embedded in the brickwork.
And suddenly I knew what he was about to do.
The lights in the basement dimmed, before plunging us into darkness.
I screamed again, and amid the chaos erupting all around me, several things happened at once. The pounding outside had ceased but a violent crash replaced it, an explosion of splintering wood and glass. Various doors clicked open. And even as the confusion rose, I was aware of something else unfurling in the basement.
A loud clang caused me to flinch, the thud of a body hitting the floorboards. The next sound I heard was shuffling.
Mortimer.
He had finally backed off, purging my personal space of his presence. I drew in a deep gulp of air, relieved that I could no longer smell his cologne, nor feel the heat of his foul breath on my face.
“Duncan!” a voice resounded around the basement.
I heard a sob, just as the trapdoor flew open. The fading sun painted a rectangle of amber light onto the floorboards, though its gleam didn’t quite reach me.
The powerful beam of a flashlight was the next thing to divide the gloom, but all I could see was Mortimer, struggling up the stairs. The beam must have startled him, as he froze like a deer in headlights, and that’s when I noticed Connor again. Sneaking up behind Mortimer, his hand coiled around his ankle. The shock caused the older man to topple and he landed heavily on his back with a howl... and that was the last I saw of Connor, his shadow flitting through the aperture.
As far as I could tell, all hell had broken loose, and now there were many men entering the basement. Police, by the sound of it. Torches swept over the floorboards until at last my position was illuminated.
“Sweet Jesus,” one of the men breathed. “What’s going on here?”
Shapes clustered around me. I felt the welcome release of my hands and feet, the cords cut, freeing me from that macabre pentagram. I was trembling so much, though, it took more than one of those officers to help me to my feet.
Yet there was still so much going on.
So much, it was hard to figure out what was real.
“Cornelius Mortimer, you are under arrest for the historic crimes of running a paedophile ring - a satanic cult involving child abuse - and perverting the course of justice...”
But Cornelius Mortimer did not move, and neither did Alistair McFadden. Crouched over his son, he was weeping uncontrollably, and watching him, I spotted an ominous dark pool radiating from Duncan’s head.
I gasped in shock.
The last thing I recalled, before they finally coaxed me out into the daylight, was a heavy brass lamp lying on the floor beside the stricken, bleeding man.
At first I had to squint. Shafts of hazy evening sunlight beamed through the trees but after the claustrophobic darkness of that basement, it took a while for my eyes
to adjust. Creeping into the driveway, however, I slowed to a pause. The first person to greet me was Mark, his face pinched with worry. A female constable accompanied him, and moving to my side, she draped a blanket around my shaking shoulders.
“Thank you,” I babbled, fighting tears.
Glancing at my surroundings, only now did it dawn on me how many police cars were scattered around. Mark said nothing as he led me to his car, but my eyes kept roaming, and nothing delivered more joy than the next man to appear.
Joe, mercifully, still alive.
His face looked ghostly pale, horror buckling his brow as he stared at me. I guessed I must have looked awful, the front of my gown ripped. I was yet to discover the rivulet of blood staining my throat - but that tiny nick beneath my chin was Mortimer’s last legacy, the kiss of his deadly dagger with its razor sharp point.
“Joe,” I sobbed. “Thank God!”
As he inched his way towards me, the smile creeping onto his face was warmer than sunshine. I would have thrown my arms around him if he hadn’t cringed in pain, his arm folded around his lower torso.
“I thought you were involved in a knife attack!”
“I was,” he said, his smile draining away, “took a gash across the gut, but it weren’t life-threatening. I-I was more worried about you.”
I shook my head, at a loss where to begin, but our moment of quiet reconciliation was short-lived, as Mark soon intervened.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he muttered. “It’s time for you to convalesce now, Joe, and as for you, Maisie... you need to be checked over, too.”
Staring back at the house for what I hoped was the last time, I felt a shudder surge down my spine as one more person leapt into my thoughts.
“Where’s Connor?” I gasped.
Joe frowned. “Sarah’s foster son? What’s he got to do with this?”
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