by M B Vincent
‘Oi!’
It worked. Neil stared. Theresa stood. Helena was up like a gazelle unexpectedly spared by a lion. She staggered though and was easily caught. Neil pulled back his fist and caught her on the side of the head with a piston punch.
The woman fell as if she had no bones. She fell against Theresa. The knife Theresa held fell too. It made a silver noise on the tiles.
A pool separated Jess from the action, both too wide to cross and not wide enough to protect her.
This was it. The red-hot centre of it all.
Chapter 33
HIEROS GAMOS
Still Thursday 2 June
‘I’ve been expecting you,’ said Theresa.
‘That’s a corny line, and no you haven’t.’ The knife by Theresa’s foot seemed to glow like kryptonite. ‘There’re two of you, then?’ She looked from Theresa to Neil and back again. ‘Two psycho dipsticks for the price of one. Lucky old Castle Kidbury.’
The muted slapping of the disturbed water was a wormhole straight to Jess’s nightmares. The shallow round pool was still there. So were the pearly tiles. The changing room. Why hadn’t this place been knocked down?
‘Little Miss Know-it-all. Or is it Ms? You look the kind who’d be bothered.’
‘Call me what you want,’ said Jess. ‘As long as you call me.’ One eye on Helena. The woman was a damp, motionless shape in the shifting light show made by the water. A dark flower blossomed on the tiles around her fair head. Jess had been guilty at times of putting the puzzle before the people; that mustn’t happen here. ‘Why involve Neil, Theresa? I’m assuming this was all your idea.’
Neil looked from one woman to the other, then down at Helena.
‘Of course it was my idea,’ said Theresa. ‘Neil doesn’t think. I rescued him. This town has done nothing for him. Or me. There are two Castle Kidburys. Our one doesn’t have window boxes and indoor swimming pools. We don’t matter. Until suddenly . . .’ Theresa took a bow. ‘We do.’
‘She’s Hecate.’ Neil blurted it out. ‘She knows everything and she sees everything. She caused that storm after we done Shane Harper. Tonight we’re going to really, you know, do it, hieros gamos, and I’ll be a king.’
‘So she controls you with the promise of sex,’ said Jess. She was inching around the pool towards Neil. Despite the tough talk, his body language was reticent. As if he wanted to be elsewhere. Away from this glimmering glass tank with the shadow of a cross against the back wall.
‘Poor Neil was untouched by human hand until he met me.’
‘She saved me,’ said Neil. When he looked at Theresa, there was something pure. In amongst the craziness and the violence and the mind games, Neil had managed to fall in love.
‘It was the end of market day in the square,’ said Theresa. ‘Kids were pelting him with rotten food. That scene never makes it into the tourism brochures, does it?’
‘She took me down the woods,’ said Neil. ‘She kissed me. It was right lovely.’
‘Don’t forget the blow job,’ cackled Theresa. ‘I blew his mind while he burbled on about little green men.’
‘The Green Man,’ mumbled Neil.
‘Hey, you, bitch face!’ yelled Theresa. ‘Get back where you was! Keep an eye on her, Neil. Do I have to do everything?’
‘I recognised you in Neil’s Polaroids.’ If Jess could keep Theresa talking, if she could undermine Neil . . . If. If. If.
‘Liar. I never let him get my face in them.’
‘I saw your scar, Theresa. A little crescent shape from when you slipped on broken glass at Gavin’s seventh birthday party and fell into the water. I saved you.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t in that much trouble, and besides, all the grown-ups came running. It was Becky you should have saved.’
‘Shut up!’ That was torn out of Jess.
‘We’re all killers here,’ laughed Theresa.
‘I hated that party,’ said Neil.
‘I was only there because my mum cleaned for the Blakes,’ said Theresa. ‘As you kindly reminded me at Gavin’s last concert, Jess. I fell in love with Gavin that day.’
Over a four-year-old’s dead body, thought Jess. She began her slow progress again. Edging towards Helena.
‘Neil!’ Theresa’s voice was a lash. ‘Can’t you see that whore trying to get to Helena?’
‘Less of the whore, if you don’t mind. I am, in fact, a modern female in charge of my sexuality.’
The crucifix loomed in the corner of Jess’s eye.
Neil gave a whimper. ‘It’s all gone wrong, goddess. What do we do now?’
‘Think, Neil,’ said Jess. If she could get Neil onside, he might help her when it came to the crunch. ‘You can get back from this.’
‘Neil’s mine,’ snapped Theresa.
‘Hear that, Neil? She reckons she owns you.’
‘Tell her,’ said Theresa. ‘I own you, body and soul. What do we do, stupid? That’s obvious. We make two martyrs instead of one.’
‘Theresa’s no goddess. It’s you, Neil, who has the knowledge and the sensitivity, who respects the old ways.’
‘Don’t talk about her like that.’
‘You do her dirty work,’ said Jess. ‘You drive the van. You make the crosses in your grandfather’s workshop. You supplied the boxes. They’re works of art, Neil.’
‘Yada yada yada,’ said Theresa.
‘Theresa makes out she’s the brains of the operation, but it’s you who knows the real traditions. It’s you who listens to your grandparents. You added all those little tributes to Hecate. Attacking Mary by the signpost. The crucifix at the crossroads. The market cross. Those boxes have a voice, Neil, but Theresa can’t hear them. Your granddad made those boxes with such care. She didn’t know his initials were on that first one, did she? Wouldn’t Hecate be able to read Ogham?’ She felt the weight of all the death. She felt the sadness of it all. ‘Come with me, now, and we’ll stop all this.’
‘Why would he go with you?’ said Theresa. ‘What can Castle Kidbury offer him?’
Jess was stymied. She couldn’t say respect; Neil had been bullied from childhood. Neither could she say a normal life; he was, she feared, beyond one. ‘Neil,’ she said, calm and flat, ‘you have a choice to make. Make the right one.’
He wouldn’t look at her.
‘I could just leave.’ Jess motioned behind her. ‘You couldn’t catch me, Neil.’ She lifted a foot. ‘Doc Martens. Nothing better for running away in.’
Theresa swatted that away. ‘But you won’t run away, will you, you bleeding heart? The moment you leave, we crucify this hedge-pig.’ She poked Helena with the tip of her boot. Something about Jess’s reaction must have pleased her, because she did it again. Harder.
‘Bodies. Mutilation. Fear. Why?’ asked Jess. ‘Seriously, why?’
‘Because it’s time somebody stopped the straight white men,’ yelled Theresa. ‘They’re allowed to be shit at their jobs, be mean to everybody and still have all the money and all the power. They think they run the world.’
‘Keith Dike didn’t run the world,’ said Jess.
‘‘No, but he stole the parish Christmas Club fund and spent it on scratch cards. The whole town turned a blind eye. Instead of putting him in jail, they put him in the paper. They rewarded him.’
‘Are you referring to his prize marrow in the Castle Kidbury show?’
‘He took up half a page! Look at Shane Harper. Left his wife and his kids and ran off with somebody half his age. Said it would rain for the last royal wedding. Wrong. Said it would snow on Christmas Day. Wrong. But he gets to be on telly every weekend.’
‘You really do need to get out more, Theresa.’ Jess would have laughed at the parochial nature of the men’s sins if they hadn’t died for them. ‘Helena isn’t a straight white male.’
‘This one’s personal,’ said Theresa.
‘And Mary?’
‘Your tarty friend wasn’t my idea. Believe me, she’d be dead if I’d
been involved. Ask him.’
Neil looked ashamed. ‘I did it on my own, for Hecate, because Mary stole Gavin from her.’
‘Jesus, Neil, you tried to murder Mary because the woman you love was jealous of her getting off with the man she loved.’ Layer upon layer of dysfunction; the pair were an onion of ugliness.
‘But you couldn’t finish the job,’ said Theresa. ‘Idiot.’
It was time to close the space between them. Jess began to move with purpose. One foot in front of the other. A confrontation was unavoidable. She had to gamble that Neil would help her – or at least hold back – when the moment came.
‘It was an offering to you, goddess.’ Neil was close to tears. He turned to Jess. ‘She is Hecate.’ He began to shout. Shake. ‘She talks to my grandparents. They tell her they’re proud of me. She caused that thunderstorm.’
‘Did she tell you she was going to make a storm, Neil? Or did she simply claim it afterwards?’
‘She . . .’ Neil’s mouth quivered. ‘Don’t ruin it, please. This is sacred. This is important!’
‘Neil, it’s just murder.’
‘It’s Deiphon. We’re going to have hieros gamos and I’m going to be different and—’
‘Theresa has no idea what Deiphon is. Do you think she’s going to stop killing? Where does it all end?’
‘It ends in destruction,’ said Theresa.
‘Neil, you don’t look happy about that.’
Theresa sighed. As if nobody got it. ‘Neil has no need of happiness. His reason for living is to do my bidding.’
‘So, let’s say you kill everybody in Castle Kidbury.’ Jess addressed them both. ‘Then what? Do you blow up the world one picturesque market town at a time? This can only end badly for you, Neil. She’ll throw you under the bus when the time comes.’
‘Neil,’ said Theresa imperiously, ‘would follow me into the gaping jaws of Hell.’
‘Why should he follow you into the gaping jaws of Hell?’ Jess took a step along the edge of the pool. Helena had been motionless for too long.
‘Theresa loves me.’ Neil managed defiance.
‘Jesus, Neil, wake up! Theresa doesn’t love anybody. She gets her kicks putting hate into people.’
‘She’s a goddess!’
‘She works in Poundland, but let’s not quibble. Humour me, Theresa.’ Jess gabbled as she drew closer to Helena. ‘Why the band logo on Keith’s body?’
‘Don’t you know love and hate are married, Jess?’
‘I prefer to think of them as estranged.’
‘My love for Gavin was the mirror of my hatred for everybody else. The logo was pure.’
‘Like the rest of this, that logo meant nothing.’
‘I’m going to enjoy crucifying you.’
Jess was six feet from Neil.
Incongruously clad in soft grey pyjamas, Helena could almost be asleep. Jess was now near enough for Theresa to fly at her. ‘Why kill Helena, or me, for that matter? It’s over, Theresa.’
A slow shake of the head from Theresa. She was enjoying herself.
‘Theresa, I called Eden from my car. He’s on his way.’
‘You didn’t call anybody.’ Theresa was composed. ‘They’d be here by now.’
‘Okay, say you do kill us both,’ said Jess. ‘You’re rumbled, anyway. I solved the puzzle on the box. The trees spoke to me.’ That was true. The truth had floated to the surface. Now came a lie. ‘It’s all written down for the police to find.’ In fact, the revelation was only in Jess’s mind. A mind that might soon be making a pattern on the tiles.
Theresa twitched, staccato, like a pigeon. ‘The boxes can’t lead the police to me.’
‘Not you, maybe.’
Theresa’s shoulders came up to her ears. ‘What the fuck did you do, Neil?’
Jess answered for him. ‘His name is on them.’
‘No, no, she’s lying.’ Neil backtracked. Literally. Putting space between himself and his goddess.
‘It was subtle. Took me forever to work it out.’ Jess burnt with the exhilaration of cracking the code. ‘The trees, Neil. I’ve been focusing on their meanings, but I forgot that the Ogham alphabet is based on trees.’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘First was the ash, which is nion, or N, in Ogham. Then the poplar, which translates as edad. That gives us an E. The yew is idad, and lastly, we get an L from the rowan tree which, in Ogham, is luis. The trees spell out a name. Neil.’
He gaped at her.
‘You want to be caught, Neil.’ Jess understood at last. ‘You want to be stopped.’
The silence was bulky. Theresa filled the pool room with her animus.
‘Hecate, I’m sorry,’ managed Neil.
‘Show me how sorry you are. Kill them both.’
Neil didn’t move.
‘Looks like your boyfriend has finally—’
Theresa launched herself at Jess like a cat.
The heaviness of Theresa’s body landing on her own was an affront that Jess felt in every inch of her. Sharp joints found soft parts. Fingernails found skin.
Having only ever fought with words, Jess wasn’t prepared for the all-consuming nature of physical combat.
The floor that met her back was hard. Her skull filled with pain. Beneath Theresa, Jess became pure instinct. A palm under Theresa’s chin kept her at bay. A knee thrust upwards found Theresa’s groin.
Their scrap was frantic.
Jess learnt fast. She tried to hurt, after a lifetime of trying to do the opposite. A bang on the side of her head blinded her for a moment. A punch to her stomach, although smothered by their closeness, brought vomit to her lips.
‘The knife, Neil!’ yelled Theresa.
He was looking into the water. Motionless as a daguerreotype.
Jess called, ‘Help me.’ She wondered if she’d actually spoken. All of her was intent on the struggle. Theresa was as heavy as a bag of cement. A bag of cement that squirmed and jumped.
Until there was no heaviness.
Theresa was off her, and scrambling towards the knife.
Jess made an unforced error. One she regretted in the split second she made it. Instead of scuttling away, she got to her feet and followed Theresa.
The edge of the pool was slick. Jess came down on her knee. No time for the pain to register because Theresa was upon her again. Her speed seemed diabolical.
Squatting on Jess’s chest, Theresa was alive with dirty electricity.
Theresa was, Jess realised, enjoying herself.
‘Did you ever wonder whether we took out the eyes before the sacrificial lambs died or after? Congratulations, Prof, you’re about to find out.’
Jess exploited the time Theresa took to gloat by shooting out both hands to grab her wrist.
With no idea where such strength came from, Jess was holding back the knife. It wavered close to her face. ‘Neil! Please!’
The knife a blurred silvery point above her eyeball.
Sweat.
Blood rushing through her like a bullet.
Then Jess felt it. The inevitable falling away of her stamina.
Theresa felt it too. She was plugged into Jess, their battle every bit as intimate as sex. A curdled pleasure spread over her face. Jess read her own death sentence in Theresa’s eyes.
The shadow of the cross disappeared. The back wall of the pool flashed blue. The expected stab didn’t come.
Alert, ears pricked, Theresa sat back on her heels.
Absurdly, Jess heard Rupert. He was shouting. ‘Theresa! Put the knife down!’
Shrinking, fearful of the blade, Jess turned her head. He was on the far side of the swimming pool.
A hand moved to Jess’s throat. The hand closed.
‘Rupert,’ gasped Jess.
‘The police are here, Theresa.’ Rupert held both his gloved hands out in front of him. ‘Be sensible, Theresa. Drop—’
A splash. A shout. Female, this time.
‘Jaysus! Shut up, Rupert.’
Through
failing vision, Jess saw a figure hurtle past Rupert, knock him into the water and keep coming. At speed.
Jess could breathe. The hand had gone. She could move. The knee on her chest was gone.
A blur beside her. Mary on top. Theresa on top. Mary with her fists raised. Theresa’s fingers finding Mary’s eyes.
The knife was by Jess. With revulsion, she shoved it into the water.
On hands and knees she was groggy, able only to watch. Mary had skill; Theresa had fanaticism. It was an even match. Jess regretted drowning the knife.
A shape in the pool like a huge bat. The bat spoke. ‘I’m coming, Mary!’
Rupert pulled himself out of the water. The bat wings were revealed to be his coat, which now clung to him, sopping wet.
He staggered.
Mary threw Theresa face down onto the tiles with such force that Jess felt the impact in her own bones.
Panting, Mary sat astride Theresa. She pulled her opponent’s arms back, holding her fists like a posy.
The clatter of police. Eden’s face, concerned, focused. He was as glorious as Zeus. Or Jupiter. Or Amen-Ra.
Behind him, Knott fell on her arse in a puddle.
Jess’s throat burnt. Her brain teemed. Rupert’s face appeared as he got down on his knees in front of her. His ebullient hair was smarmed down. He stank of chlorine. He didn’t seem able to speak.
So Jess spoke instead.
‘You took your bloody time.’
Chapter 34
TIT FOR TAT
Friday 3 June
Deiphon was over. The sun would rise soon, exposing and cleaning every dark nook and cranny of Castle Kidbury.
The drugs could only do so much. Jess limped, her bad knee singing, down the hospital corridor. Her head was sore. The cast on her wrist chafed already.
Hospitals never sleep. Even though it was the uncertain hour before dawn, Jess heard the clink of trolley wheels and the squeak of soft-soled shoes. She slipped into a small room. One survivor visiting another.
‘Helena?’ she asked softly.
‘Yes. Come.’ Helena was groggy. Even propped up against stiff crackling pillows, she exuded a talcum femininity which transformed the practical private room into a boudoir.