The Boy in the Well

by Dan Clark

  Carolyn stomps on the brakes, but they do nothing. The car collides with a small brick wall, flips over and rolls onto its roof as the windows shatter and implode. Carolyn screams, but her voice is drowned by the sound of crunching metal.

  The car slides down further before coming to a stop. Luckily, Carolyn is strapped in by the seatbelt. Her ribs ache, she can feel thick blood running down the side of her face and across her nose, and there’s a loud ringing in her ears. She looks around, shocked and dazed. The headlights flicker. The car is facing a hill of mud, and she watches the radiator hiss white smoke. The malfunctioning beep, beep, beep is coming from the dashboard. She closes her eyes.

  “Simon!” she calls. She needs him now more than ever.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The wind whistles loudly, blowing the rain at Jeanette as she runs across the road to her bungalow. She turns and waves goodnight to Father Joseph as he closes his door and locks up. Jeanette steps indoors and shouts for Carolyn, though she knows she isn’t in. The car is gone… again.

  She isn’t in the mood for cooking tonight. Her back and feet hurt, and the last thing she wants is to be standing at the stove. She decides on having a Pot Noodle and a cup of tea before taking her seat. She leaves Carolyn’s Pot Noodle on the counter next to the kettle for whenever she decides to come home, then kicks off her shoes and gets comfortable on the recliner, just in time for her nightly TV shows.

  Jeanette looks at the clock and sighs. 6:35 pm. She hates Carolyn being out of her sight, especially when it’s dark and when the weather outside is so bad.

  And Jeanette isn’t as stupid as Carolyn appears to think. She knows she isn’t at the shops, or out for a drive to clear her head, or any of the other many excuses she’s told her. When Carolyn has been showering, Jeanette has read the notebook Carolyn keeps in her handbag. Of course, she isn’t proud of going through her daughter’s things, but she has to keep an eye on her.

  She knows Carolyn is out watching and mixing with people she should be staying far away from, such as the Lloyds. Jeanette has seen for herself many times that Frank Lloyd is a bully who enjoys watching other people quiver. She also hears a lot of what happens around Llanbedr, and especially of what happens in the only decent supermarket in over twenty miles. She understands that she can’t have Carolyn under a watchful eye every minute of the day as though she’s still a child. But the idea of Carolyn coming here had been for her to treat Jeanette’s bungalow as a sort of retreat, to take baths and to pamper herself, even to try out some new cake recipes if she’s feeling up to it. At least it would give Jeanette a rest from worrying about her whenever she leaves the front door.

  She reaches for her phone and calls Carolyn. The call goes straight to voicemail. Phone reception in some parts of Llanbedr is very poor, so she messages her, hoping the text will get through.

  Where are you? It’s getting very dark. Emmerdale is starting soon, hurry home. x

  She places her mobile back on the side table and watches the rest of her show, keeping an ear open for the sound of her car making its way up the path.

  It isn’t long before Jeanette is falling asleep in the comfortable reclining chair.

  Chapter Twenty

  Carolyn doesn’t know what else to do other than to close her eyes. She hopes that, by closing them for a moment, when she reopens them, everything will be fine, that she’ll be in her bed and that this whole thing would be nothing but a nightmare.

  Of course, that isn’t the case.

  Her shoulder and neck are now in agonising pain. Her breathing is harsh, and the seatbelt is still strapped across her waist. The engine has cut out. She looks around to assess the damage. There is broken glass and bent metal. The airbags had deployed, probably saving her from breaking her neck. She wonders if the car will explode, like they normally do in films. That thought sends panic rushing through her. She shouts at herself to stop being ridiculous.

  She pushes the button on the seatbelt clip and it releases her body. She drops to the roof of the upturned car, groaning in pain. Lying in a shallow puddle of muddy water, she feels around her aching body for any damage. Apart from the cut on her forehead – which she flinches as she touches it – she’s confident she isn’t bleeding anywhere else. From what she can feel, nothing appears to be broken.

  Her hands are in the muddy puddle as she searches for her phone. She begins pulling out clunks of squishy earth and drops them behind her. A ping noise sounds and a dim light flashes above. Miraculously, her phone is safe – when the car turned over, it had landed in the space between the passenger seat and the car floor. She reaches up and grabs hold of it.

  A message from Sara appears across the broken screen. The first lines of the message can be seen on the lock screen.

  HI HUN. HOUSE IS FINE. JUST CHECKING IN. HOPE YOU’RE ALL RIGHT. SPEAK SOON X

  Carolyn wants to reply that she isn’t all right: that she’s seen the corpse of a young boy down a well and nobody believes her, not even her own mother. Oh, and she is currently fearing for her life in an overturned car.

  Of course, she doesn’t reply. She will at a later date. If she’s still alive.

  Right now, she needs to call the police. She begins pressing 999, then her phone freezes. A white light fills the screen before returning to the home screen and showing no signal.

  It’s that mountain of a man, Barry, the internal voice tells her. He’s going to snap your spine without even breaking into a sweat… And if it’s Frank Lloyd, he’s going to feed you to his dog. Then her thoughts are interrupted as a vehicle approaches from above the ditch and comes to a halt. The loud engine shuts off with a rattle as it cools.

  Time to die, Carolyn.

  She struggles to lift her neck as ferocious pain stabs at her legs and back. She holds onto her side as if her guts will flop out into the muddy rainwater. She hears a door opening, then slammed shut again. Boots kick at the wet road surface as the person walks over to the top of the ditch.

  Carolyn opens her mouth to shout for help, but then closes it again. What if it’s the person in the van that was chasing her? They wanted to hurt her, and push her off the road. What if they’ve come back to check if she’s still breathing? So she stays quiet, and looks up from the shattered window.

  She can see boots and dark jeans, and she cautiously edges closer so she can see the top half. The car creaks and shifts slightly. She holds a hand over her mouth and shuts her eyes, fighting back a scream. She opens them again and looks up. The person turns and heads back to their vehicle. A slight spell of relief warms her. She silently exhales, thinking she will wait until she hears the motor start and the person take off before even attempting to escape from the wreckage. She hopes the person thinks she’s dead.

  She hears the sound of the door opening and closing again, then the sound of metal being scraped along the road.

  “I know you can hear me down there. Get out of the car!” It’s a man’s voice. The grass squelches under the man’s boot as he reaches the top of the embankment.

  “GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!” the man screams, his voice echoing around the quiet night air.

  Her heart is beating so fast that she can hear the thudding in her ears. She taps at her phone again, almost dropping it in the muddy water. The screen still shows no signal. Her head feels faint, and for a second she thinks she is going to pass out from the nausea.

  “If I come down there and get myself dirty, you’re not going to like the consequences. So do yourself a favour and get out of the car,” the man orders.

  Carolyn coughs, clearing her dry throat. “Ok… ok. I’m coming. Don’t hurt me.” She pushes the phone into her back pocket before lying down on her front, then knocks the remaining glass from the window using her elbow, and begins climbing through on her belly.

  Outside, she stands up and leans against the car. It’s still raining, but not as heavily, and it cleans the blood from her face. The bitter night air nips at her wet cheeks. She wipes her mudd
y hands on her jeans and holds them up to her eyes. The headlights from the van are on full beam, hiding the figure in front like the silhouette of an alien descending from a spacecraft. The figure lifts a bar and rest it on his shoulders. Carolyn can now see it’s a crowbar. Her knees begin to lose their strength as she imagines being beaten to a pulp, then left out on this quiet country lane to be discovered by a dog-walker some time tomorrow morning.

  “Get up here. Start climbing this ramp. Come on,” the man orders, condensation leaving his mouth like a cloud of smoke.

  Carolyn is reluctant. She stares at the shadow on top of the ramp, not knowing what awaits her. She slides her hand into her pocket and clutches hold of her phone. She knows there’s no point in trying it again. Even if she can get a signal, she knows the police wouldn’t get here in time – and in any case she isn’t entirely certain what road she’s on. She wonders, for a split second, if she could get hold of her mother and listen to her voice, for one last time. She’d tell her how sorry she is for all the trouble she’s caused her, for not listening to her, and how she wishes she’d forgotten all about this silly thing.

  “Get your hands out of your pockets and start climbing.”

  “I know your voice. Who are you?”

  “I’m the one holding a crowbar and telling you to get up here!”

  Carolyn staggers towards the bottom of the embankment, but her foot is immediately swallowed by the sloppy mud. She falls to her hands and digs them in too. Her legs are shaking, and she isn’t sure whether it’s the cold of the night and the wet clothes clinging to her skin, or the fear of what’s going to happen once she reaches the top. Probably both. Her elbows buckle, and she falls flat on her face. The man standing above laughs an evil hyena giggle. Carolyn wipes the thick mud away from her eyes, nostrils and mouth, before carrying on.

  Her first attempt is pathetic. Her foot slips and she slides back to the bottom. Her shirt catches on a branch and tears open, exposing her black bra.

  The man laughs again.

  The pain in her leg fills her with anger and determination. She stands and digs her foot in deep and tries again.

  Eventually, with a lot of effort, she reaches the top, panting for air. Her head is lowered, and she’s on her hands and knees. She looks up to face the man who has caused all of this.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The smirk on Owen Lloyd’s face grows even wider as Carolyn stands upright, his eyes instantly falling to her breasts, now visible through the torn shirt. She covers herself with an arm.

  “You!” Carolyn says.

  She wants to pounce at him, wrap her hands around his throat and throttle the bastard, but the pain at the top of her leg and across her back argues otherwise. Plus, Owen Lloyd has a weapon.

  “I bet you want to play footsie with me now, don’t ya, bitch?” Owen chuckles, exposing yellow teeth as he steps closer to the edge. He places his free hand into the pocket of his tatty hoodie and peers down at the battered car.

  “If I’m honest, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I only wanted to scare ya a little. Shake ya up, that’s all.”

  “You… you wanted to shake me up? Why? I told you, I was trying to find your missing brother.” Carolyn shakes her head, trying to make sense of it all. “Why on earth would you try to stop me?”

  Owen circles her slowly, unfazed by the rain that showers his face.

  “You won’t find him. All you’re going to do is to cause trouble around here for my family.”

  “Trouble? In what way? I’m trying to help—”

  “The rumours will start again!” he barks, his eyebrows furrowed. “After you went round telling people how you saw a body last week… my mum… she… she went straight back to locking herself away again. Staying in her room and drinking herself to death… And then my dad, he’ll take it out on me, again.”

  Carolyn knows how Owen’s mother, Gwen, must be feeling. It’s all she wanted to do after Simon and Ryan’s death. She still wishes that she could just lock herself away, not face the world and the responsibilities that come with it.

  She attempts to speak, but decides not to. Owen seems to have picked up his pacing with angrier steps. The crowbar drops to his side and is brought back up to his shoulder again.

  He goes on. “It’s old news. He probably ran away after we argued, and I… I really can’t blame him for not wanting to come back here. To all this shit. It’s probably my fault he went…” he tails off.

  Carolyn speaks softly, but tries not to sound patronising. “What do you mean, it’s your fault? I’m sure that’s not true.”

  Owen spits and goes to answer, but stops and watches in the distance behind her.

  Headlights are approaching.

  Carolyn and Owen look at each other. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other to ease the pain. He stands still, frozen. The vehicle in the distance is approaching too fast for either of them to make a decision.

  It reaches them within the minute and screeches to a halt on the wet road, a couple of feet behind Owen’s van. The driver steps out and rushes over, leaving the engine running, blowing smoke from its exhaust.

  “Barry?” Owen says, examining the man’s face.

  Before he replies, Barry is in front of Owen and swinging a fist to his face. Carolyn hears the whack echoing in the quiet night. Owen drops the crowbar and it hits the road with a ringing noise, followed then by the sound of him hitting the ground while holding his nose. Blood gushes down his face and on to the front of his hoodie.

  “You all right?” the big man asks Carolyn.

  She doesn’t respond. It’s all happening too fast. She’s watching the blood leave Owen’s face, and her stomach turns a little.

  “Hello… Are you ok?” Barry asks again, waving a hand across her vision.

  She just nods, still speechless.

  Owen groans on the ground. He rests on his hands and knees and attempts to stand.

  “What the fuck… wh—” He breaks off as Barry grabs at the hood on the back of his top and pushes him back down.

  Carolyn watches as Barry handles Owen with ease.

  “W-why… H-how did you know?” Carolyn asks.

  Barry squats, resting a thick, heavy knee on Owen’s back, and Owen cries out, struggling to breathe from under Barry’s weight. Carolyn guesses he is twenty stone at least, though with the physique of a rugby player rather than just overweight.

  “I watched you leave my flat,” Barry explains. “A few seconds later, I saw his van follow behind you. I just had a bad feeling, I guess. I knew you’d be heading this way.”

  “How did you know I’d be heading this way?” Carolyn asks.

  “Your mum lives facing the church, right?” he asks over Owen’s cries of pain.

  She nods again, and clears her throat. “Yes, she does,” she says. “Thanks. I don’t—”

  “Do you have your phone?” Barry interrupts.

  Carolyn pulls it from her pocket. It now has signal as she’s above the ditch, though the home screen is dull with a horizontal orange line across the faces of Simon and Ryan. She unlocks it. It’s still usable through the damaged screen.

  Owen begs to be let go. Carolyn walks away to use the phone, so not to hear Owen’s yells of pain.

  “What’s the name of this road we’re on?” Carolyn asks.

  “Wilson Drive,” Barry shouts back, keeping his eyes on Owen.

  “Ple… please, I can’t breathe. I think you’ve broken my nose,” Owen says.

  Barry looks over to Carolyn. She shrugs. “Maybe let him sit up a little.”

  Barry lifts his knee from Owen’s back and stands behind him. Owen sits up and uses the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the blood from his nose.

  “You said it was your fault,” Carolyn says, returning from making her phone call and stooping down to Owen’s height.

  “What?” Owen replies, his voice sounding nasal.

  “About your brother. You said it was your fault. What did you mean b
y that?”

  Owen looks from Carolyn to Barry. He pulls his sleeve away from his nose and checks to see if the bleeding has stopped.

  “The day he went missing,” Owen begins, turning his head away to spit. “My mum and dad were at a party, a christening… I think. Or an engagement, I don’t really remember. Anyway, Dylan’s heard the rumours going around, people in school joking about how our mum is a slut.” Owen spits out a mouthful of blood and saliva. He goes on. “The rumours stopped a few years back, but when kids learn it from their friends or overhear other people speaking, they bring it to school. They started calling him a bastard and other names. Anyway, our parents were at that party, and Dylan and me were fighting. We’d always fight. Dylan said something about my teeth, that they looked dirty or horrible… Something stupid like that. I shouted that Dad wasn’t his real father, and he went berserk, kept asking me was it true. I realised I was being a twat and told him I was just saying it to make him mad. I don’t think he believed me though.”

  “That’s it?” Carolyn asks.

  “Yeah, he stormed out. If we hadn’t argued, he’d have been at home, safe,” Owen says, tears starting down his cheeks.

  Carolyn nods. “What were you going to do tonight if Barry hadn’t turned up?” she asks.

  Barry looks from her to Owen, then into the distance, as if waiting for the blue flashing lights to appear.

  “I just wanted to scare ya off. I told ya I didn’t mean for your car to go over like that. I just wanted to give ya a little bang and hope that you’ll leave looking into Dylan. I… I’m sick of the rumours. I hear them around town. All sniggering behind my back. All because somebody started a rumour that my mum had an affair with that queer-looking fella in town.” Owen sniffs with one clear nostril; the other is still blocked with blood.

  Carolyn and Barry stand for the next fifteen minutes as Owen is ordered numerous times to stay on the ground. Carolyn can’t stop watching Barry, this mountain of a man who has saved her. She’s grateful it wasn’t the other way around, that Barry had been the attacker and Owen had turned up to save her. The two of them wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. But Carolyn thinks Barry doesn’t look the aggressive type; when he speaks, his voice is low and gentle. His eyes meet Carolyn’s and he gives a warm, shy smile before fixing his gaze back down to Owen. She’s still curious about why he hadn’t answered the door to her earlier, and why, in The Coffee Shack, he’d picked up and taken off without finishing his lunch. But these questions can wait until Owen’s prying ears aren’t listening in. She hugs herself and shivers as her wet, torn clothes cling to her skin. Barry takes off his checked fleece and hands it to her. Underneath he’s wearing a worn t-shirt, the type you only wear to lounge around the house.