Edward showed signs of wear and tear himself. His hands were rough and knotted from years of manual labour on the moorlands that had afforded him the chance to settle into retirement, the revenue from the Traveller helping to keep money trickling in. Edward too had experienced loss over the years, but he emitted a strength and reserve that Franklin did not, and had undertaken the role as chief of Evelyn’s search party. Edward stood in his thick sheepskin coat and heavy boots, his shoulders lightly dusted from the beginning of another snow shower. His eyes were rimmed with black, heavy bags underneath highlighting the lack of rest from the last few nights.
Franklin raised his eyebrows as a greeting but Edward returned it with a solemn shake of his head. This had become a silent code between the two at the end of each day. Franklin clung on to the hope that Edward would finally offer him a nod.
Edward removed his boots and brushed off his coat and laid them down on a stool at the side of the door. He sat in the other armchair opposite Franklin. This chair had previously belonged to Christina-Rose, Evelyn’s mother. She and Franklin had spent many an evening sitting opposite each other, looking into each other’s eyes as the night drew in. Franklin couldn’t seem to pull himself away from this tradition, even now, and his eyes always showed a hint of disappointment when their gaze met Edward’s.
Edward broke the silence.
‘The frost has already started to set in across much of the ground.’
Franklin nodded slowly in reply, his eyes fixed on the cold floor. It was debatable whether he even listened to anybody when they spoke these days.
‘There’s more in the air, and the snow is beginning to fall,’ continued Edward, ‘It is going to make it hard for us to find any tracks come dawn.’ This time there was no response, not even a cursory nod from Franklin.
‘Frank, you must really start to consider-‘
‘No.’ Franklin snapped, ‘Just don’t.’
Edward sat in wait, considering the best choice of words.
‘It’s been four days, that’s all.’
‘Then we are one day closer. She is still out there, Ed.’
Edward, feeling that this was not a conversation that was best pressed at the current time, stood up, gave Franklin a loving pat on the shoulder and nodded. He then walked over to the canteen on the sideboard, popped the stopper on the crystal decanter and poured himself a swig of brandy. He downed the measure in one, exhaling sharply as it stung his throat. He was not as accustomed to the taste as Franklin. After another hard day in the scathing wind, scouring every inch of the plantation and surrounding woodland, he needed it to soften the edges. Edward placed the glass on the sideboard once more and poured himself another.
‘I can’t give up on her. You know I can’t,’ Franklin said behind him. ‘I made a promise,’ he referred to the dying wish he had granted his beloved Christina, that he would always protect their daughter.
‘I know you can’t, and none of us are going to. I loved-‘ Ed started, before catching and correcting himself, ‘I still love her like she is my own daughter, Frank.’
Franklin gave a knowing nod and felt the tears sting as they welled up again. He brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle his cry. His unkempt stubble scratched against his fingers, reminding him how little he had managed to look after himself. Edward could see for himself that Franklin was a shell of the strong figure he used to be and felt a sadness overcome him. He had once been a pillar of the community. Now it seemed he was merely clinging to existence.
The two friends sat mostly in silence well into the night, fighting sleep in front of the radiating warmth. Franklin hadn’t slept in days – not well, anyway. Edward assumed the role of his protector too, and gave him the security he needed, if only brief, so that Franklin could let his body submit to the darkness for a little while. He slept now, as Edward gently reached over and removed the tankard from the old man’s hand. It had served its purpose well once again. This was another of the rituals Edward had become accustomed over the last few days. Then Edward sat back into his chair and closed his eyes.
Chapter Three
Franklin reached the doorway and wearily clung to the dilapidated frame to steady himself. He dared not look outside from fear. Edward stepped into the snow without his sheepskin coat and sheepskin lined boots. The rider halted the horse in the courtyard at the front of the house. It was then that Franklin’s heart sank back into its cave. The voice that greeted them was not that of his daughter.
The rider climbed down off of the horse and Edward embraced him immediately, with each giving the other hard pats on the back like long-lost brothers. It was not Evelyn. It was Ewan, Edward’s middle son. With his arrival came more apprehension for Franklin. Edward had appointed Ewan his main foot soldier in the search for Evelyn. He would not have come back from his post without good reason… or harnessing bad news.
Edward hugged his son close as if it had been years since they last met.
‘I was certain I had sent you to your death in this storm,’ Edward said, the relief blossoming with his words. Then once again aware that it was not the right time to show this emotion for his son’s return, he released Ewan from his grip. The young man’s eyes then met the gaze of the pleading old man in the doorway.
Franklin stood with expectation written over his face, his eyes searching Ewan’s for any hint of hope he could muster. Ewan took a sharp breath in preparation for the inevitable questioning. He had ridden for so many miles, playing this moment over and over in his mind. Not once had he convinced himself it was going to be easy.
‘Please don’t make me ask. Save me from any more uncertainty,’ Franklin pleaded.
Ewan’s gaze stayed strong. He did not want to betray Franklin’s trust nor dash his hopes with a harsh truth.
‘We have found a trail,’ he said finally, ‘something which we believe can lead us to her.’
Franklin could hardly feel the air in his lungs and his heart pounded in his ears as the blood rushed trying to keep him from passing out in the cold.
‘We found this.’ Ewan handed over a silver locket on a slender chain that had been broken in two. Franklin’s hands trembled as he took hold of the locket. He clenched his fist around it with the little strength he could muster. He knew it well. It was the gift he had given to Evelyn on her sixteenth birthday; the day after her mother had died. He dared not open it but needed to know for certain.
Finally Franklin prised it open. There staring back at him were those enchanting eyes and sultry black hair tied up on the back of the woman’s head and cascading down to the nape of her neck. The image of Christina-Rose never ceased to bring a chill to his bones as well as warming his very soul. A tear welled in his eye as memories and fears came flooding back in a torrent.
‘Where?’ Franklin asked struggling to make his voice resonate.
‘About twenty miles west. There’s a track through the woodland leading to Harper Falls,’ Ewan seceded. ‘We were more than fortunate to have found anything before the snow set in.’
‘We must go,’ Franklin offered immediately.
‘Not tonight.’ Knowing his old friend would not listen, Edward spoke with authority. ‘We all must rest before making such a trek. You have barely slept and are not strong enough to stand more than a few minutes in these conditions.’
‘No, we have wasted too much time already,’ Franklin shot back. ‘I have been kept here for so long just waiting for one of you to come back to tell me the worst and now you are telling me not to go?’
‘My father is right, Mr. James,’ Ewan interjected. ‘A few more hours will not hinder our search. The track will already be covered by snow. We will need the morning sun to chase it away so that we do not die in the cold trying to retrace my steps. We can set off at dawn.’
‘Then dawn it is,’ Franklin relented, ‘But no later. And don’t expect me to sleep.’
Chapter Four
February 18th 2002
The rattle and splutter of the
coffee machine did little to please Dr. Lorraine Thacker. The pathetic drip-drip of the black liquid into her Brookdale University mug do nothing but test her patience. It had been a long, late night and she was in no mood to be tested by the office equipment. Patience was the one thing that she could not afford to leave the house without, since this was the one quality she needed to offer to her other kind of patients; the ones that paid her what many of them probably felt was an extortionate amount of money for an hour of her time. In this case it was the ones that Wildermoor Brook Psychiatric Unit could not deal with or figure out on their shoe-string budget so passed on to her.
With a final gasp and strain, the last of her coffee filtered through to its receptacle and Dr. Thacker retrieved the mug and took her first gulp. It burned her throat but warmed her senses and relaxed her a little, enough to provide the current patient with her undivided attention.
Colin Dexler had been a particularly complex case. Forty-three years old, no job, no family of any recent record. Found one night, locked in his one-bedroom dwelling in the centre of Wildermoor town, screaming maniacally about a phantom, his hands covered in blood that traced from where he stood in the lounge back through to the kitchen, smeared across the floor and walls and ending at the kitchen sink.
Within minutes Dexler was face down on his tattered and stained shagpile carpet as his hands were manacled behind his back and he was hauled away. Despite three intensive days searching, the police could find nothing. No weapon. No body. No victim. No missing persons reported. No motive. No case. So Dexler was freed but ordered to live his days under psychiatric observation.
That was when Dr. Thacker had been introduced to him. Wildermoor Brook was deemed to not have the manpower to commit itself to the care of Colin Dexler, which was another way of saying that they wanted no part of his case. Henceforth there would be no blood on their hands if they could not control him or cure him. Nobody wanted to shoulder that responsibility.
Dexler had been put into Dr. Thacker’s care five months previous. There had been very little in the way of recent criminal activity on his part but his ramblings were causing concern for the medical staff and law enforcers alike; concerns for his safety and ultimately, their own. Lorraine had been tasked with trying to crack the origins of his paranoia. Some had suggested trying to lure him into committing a violent or abusive act so that they would have enough evidence to elevate his case to the point where he could be incarcerated.
Lorraine had been horrified by this suggestion, for fear of putting herself in danger and also because she believed that Colin Dexler was not the monster others perceived him as. He was scared, she could see that. She believed the act of possessing a fear should not be exploited or manipulated. Colin had started to open up lately and she believed that whichever Colin Dexler the police had found that night, was not the one who sat before her today.
Colin sat on the edge of the padded chair, his feet crossed, hanging down and both hands clasped together, his arms hanging limp into his lap. He had lost weight in recent weeks; she could tell. His eyes looked to be receding into his skull and his skin appeared to be hanging from his face. She had never seen him smile and wondered how dramatically his appearance would be alter if he simply raised the corners of his mouth. The hair on his head was closer-cut than before, and greying.
Lorraine grasped her coffee mug as she turned and walked back to her chair opposite the one in which Colin slumped. She looked at him with pity. He reminded her of a wounded pet that she felt unable to offer help.
‘I would offer you some coffee,’ she offered, ‘but I believe the caffeine would interfere with your medication.’
Since his arrest Colin had been on a course of antipsychotics. Colin looked up to meet Dr Thacker’s face, his eyes drooping at the sides before sinking once more towards the floor.
‘How do you feel today?’
Colin shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something which Lorraine couldn’t decipher. ‘Are you sleeping well?’
‘Sleep?’ Colin replied surprising himself as much as he did the doctor. His voice was slow and his speech slurred. ‘No.’ He concluded.
‘You’re having problems sleeping?’
‘It never comes.’
‘Why is that?’
‘He tells me that I can’t sleep. I’m not allowed to.’
‘Who’s He?’ Lorraine prompted knowing that she was making ground as she had done in the early stages of their first meetings. She also knew who He was but it was a sure-fire way of enticing Colin to talk. He was like a clam that would only open with encouragement. Once he left her office the shell locked tight again and the cycle would repeat in a week’s time. She had been trying to secure a daily or even bi-weekly programme for Colin. She believed it vital to his treatment that he not be given a chance to descend back into himself.
‘You know,’ he replied curtly. Colin did not like to be asked to repeat himself nor did he enjoy having to discuss the horrors that visited him every night.
‘I want you to tell me.’
‘No.’
Lorraine could see Colin was beginning to become agitated at the questioning. She wasn’t sure if he even remembered what they discussed in their previous sessions from one week to the next, but she knew it was definitely a sensitive area.
‘Are you afraid, Colin?’
He looked at Lorraine, his eyes parting wider to reveal the bloodshot whites, showing how little rest he receiving. The medication cannot be working, she thought. The man is constantly on edge and is at risk of a heart attack or stroke if he does not calm down. He looked frail as he stared at her, as if he might crumble to ashes at any moment.
Colin was looking past Lorraine, over her right shoulder, staring into the far corner of the room. Lorraine felt eyes boring into the back of her head; she was being watched. She turned her head over her left shoulder but saw nothing but the empty space between the two tall grey filing cabinets in the corner of her office.
Apprehensive but now convinced that nothing was lurking behind her, she turned back to Colin, but jumped with a start to find that he was now sat mere inches from her, on the pine coffee table. His eyes were drawn wide into an unnerving stare as if they were drilling a hole through into her head.
She felt a warmth surge through her, up from her legs to her fingertips, travelling up her arms until she could feel burning in her head behind her eyes. Colin stared still, without as much as a sound that would suggest he was breathing. Not moving his eyes, he spoke once more.
‘I shouldn’t be here. He says I shouldn’t be here,’ he uttered slowly, calmly.
Feeling her breath catch in her throat she asked again.
‘Who?’
The question seemed to bounce off of him like a rubber bullet. Colin did not appear to acknowledge that Lorraine had spoken. She was scared now too; his eyes were wild and his body rigid, a coiled cobra ready to strike. Lorraine instinctively reached out her hand to try and calm him. She had worried about him these last few weeks and went into every meeting not knowing if he would make it through the following days alive. Now he was scaring her to the point where she could not breathe. The warmth in her head was becoming unbearable and beads of sweat now formed on her brow. Was she now the one at risk of her body shutting down from fear?
Lorraine’s hand carried on reaching for Colin resting on his left shoulder. As soon as she touched him his eyes came back to life as if she had flicked an invisible switch. Colin shook his head twice as if awakening from a dream and looked around the room frantically trying to regain his bearings. He started to pant and whimper, his eyes glistening as the tears formed.
Lorraine had suffered another start herself when the mannequin figure before her came back to life. She placed her hand once more on Colin’s shoulder, with more force this time, in an attempt to comfort him.
‘Shhh-shhh, it’s okay, Colin,’ she said calmly, ‘It’s only me.’ But it was no use. His breathing was out of control and his head was thr
ashing from side to side with such force she worried his neck would snap. His eyes were clenched shut as he started to sob.
‘Colin, it’s Dr. Thacker, you’re in my surgery and you are safe…’ she pleaded with the authority of a pre-school teacher trying to calm a distressed boy.
‘Just go away,’ he pleaded, ‘Leave me alone. What do you want from me?’ His voice started to break into a scream as he struggled for breath through the tears. ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!’
Dr. Thacker started to shake him gently to snap him from his trance and within seconds the light faded as Colin opened his eyes. He looked around the room once more but it had changed. He was no longer sitting or standing. His duvet cover lay crumpled on the floor and his bed sheets were torn from the mattress at one end. The light was straining in through a crack between his bedroom curtains. He did not want to face the light of another day but was terrified of spending another second in the darkness.
Dr. Thacker had brought The Reaper back to him. And now, in order to save himself, she had to go.
Chapter Five
As Thomas Laing unlocked his car, he knew he would regret opting to spend yet another lunchtime in what had become a portable diner over the last few weeks. As he opened the door to his trusty 1992 Vauxhall Astra, the warm, stale air rushed out and embraced him. As tradition required, Laing quickly grasped the handles on the inside of the doors and wound the windows down. A year of police training meant that he could not afford himself a new steed, with automatic windows and decent seals to prevent the damp or air conditioning. This new-fangled technology was beyond his reach for now, but he vowed that he would press on and ruthlessly clamber to the top of the ladder, or even a few rungs from the bottom in order to kit himself out with these luxuries.
Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) Page 2