by Dan Clark
The envelope is sitting on the bedside table, next to her mobile. She reaches for it and pulls out the note inside.
Meet me at the car park of the old steelworks factory at 5:30 pm.
I have information that can help you.
COME ALONE!
Carolyn had completely forgotten about it. Last night, after changing from her mud-scraped jeans, she must have read the note and fallen into bed. The party is a blur. She holds a hand to her head. Did she argue with Richard Williams about how to do his job? She really can’t remember. Maybe that’s why her mother is banging pans about. As far as Carolyn can remember, last night was fine. The only thing out of the ordinary was the werewolf. The person who had been wearing that costume was definitely watching her, but why, and for how long, and why take off in a hurry like that?
She reaches for her phone and unlocks it. The recent call list shows that she hasn’t been in touch with Barry since yesterday afternoon, when he’d confirmed he was still up for a drink.
“Hello?” Barry answers. She can hear the TV volume in the background being lowered. Barry’s voice, however, sounds fresh and awake. Is she the only one feeling the aftermath of alcohol?
“Hi, how are you feeling?” she asks, clearing her throat. She wishes she had a glass of water on her bedside table.
“I’m fine. I’ve been up since seven. What about you?”
“Yeah, me too,” she lies. “Listen, after I got home last night and walked my mum to her room, I found an envelope on the mat by the front door. It had been posted through the letterbox.”
Barry stays silent, waiting for Carolyn to continue with her story. When she doesn’t, he says, “So?”
Carolyn tuts and rubs at her forehead. “It’s not just a letter. It has no stamp, and no proper address. It’s addressed to me, with my name across the middle of the envelope. Anyway, inside there’s a note asking me to meet someone at the old steelworks. Do you know it?”
“The old steelworks? That’s strange. There’s nothing there any more; the place closed down about fifteen years ago. It’s just a pile of concrete now. The construction firm working on it went bust. Why would they want to meet there?” Carolyn can hear him sip at his coffee over the low mumble of the applause on the TV.
“Whoever posted it wrote that they have information that could help me… us. What do you think it means?”
Barry blows out his cheeks; the noise is loud down the phone. You do that a lot, Carolyn thinks.
“I don’t know,” Barry says. “But I don’t like the sound of it. It’s weird. Kids use it now to hang out, light fires, throw parties and get drunk. The police are always there, chasing them off.” He slurps more coffee before continuing. “It’s probably somebody trying to waste your time. Forget about it.”
“But what if it’s not a waste of time?” Carolyn says. “Suppose whoever it is does have information, and for whatever reason they are either too scared to come forward, or they can’t speak to the police? Or they’ve tried and the police have shown no interest? I know how that feels.”
She decides not to mention the part of the note telling her to come alone. She knows how nervous Barry gets. He’d want to take it straight to the police, and they would laugh in their faces before tossing it into the bin.
They hang up after Barry agrees to go with her. Carolyn reluctantly kicks the duvet off and heads for the kitchen. She swallows two ibuprofen, and Jeanette apologises for the noise, saying she hadn’t realised how noisy she was being. Carolyn heads back to bed for another hour.
By the time the two of them are in the van on their way to the steelworks, Carolyn’s headache has eased.
Barry is wearing paint-stained overalls after finishing a job before collecting Carolyn. She is wearing a pullover hoodie, jeans and her comfortable boots. The rain had stopped a couple of hours ago and now the sky is thick with fog.
Carolyn’s nerves are beginning to kick in. She wishes she could forget about the missing boys and let someone else deal with it. She has enough on her plate as it is.
What she wishes for most right now is that the note hadn’t told her to come alone.
“What the matter?” Barry asks.
She shakes her head and pulls out Simon’s stress ball. “The…” she begins. This is stupid, she thinks. Nothing good ever happens when you’re prompted to come alone. “The note had said to come alone.”
“What!?” Barry shouts, slowing the van down. “We need to take it to the police. That isn’t right.”
“Don’t stop. I went to the police before. I told them about the body I saw, remember? They’re not interested in helping me.”
Barry’s hand is up and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Carolyn, this is different. Something is wrong if they’re telling you to come alone.”
Carolyn shakes her head and squeezes the stress ball again.
“Maybe this person does have information that could help and they don’t feel comfortable talking to the police. The police didn’t take me seriously about what I saw in the well. I know they think I’m crazy. They didn’t take Sophie the shop girl seriously either, did they?”
“Yeah, and with good cause. That story she gave you was bollocks… Sorry for the language, but it was.”
“I’d still like to go,” Carolyn says. “I need this to be over.”
“Well then, it’s a good job I’m here, isn’t it? If this person doesn’t mean to cause you any harm, then there shouldn’t be a problem with you bringing a friend.” He steps on the accelerator, bringing the van back up to speed.
Carolyn feels less anxious that it’s off her chest, now that she’s not keeping anything from Barry. And, of course, Barry is right. If this person doesn’t mean her any harm, then it shouldn’t be a problem who she brings.
But why the creepy place out in the middle of nowhere, Carolyn? the internal voice asks.
“What is that thing?” Barry asks, looking towards the stress ball in Carolyn’s hand.
“Oh, it was Simon’s. He was going through a stressful time at work once. The company he worked for thought they might have been going into liquidation. I saw it when I was out shopping and picked it up for him.” Carolyn looks at the stress ball and smiles, remembering the day. “He told me months later that he still used it when speaking with some arrogant clients. It lived on his desk for years.” She hands it over. Barry squeezes it and hands it back.
“I think you need it now yourself. You know, with everything that’s going on.”
Barry is right about the steelworks. It is nothing more than a pile of concrete and a hangout for kids to party. A huge metal sign above the car park entrance, now faded and weather-worn, reads MYERS STEEL. They drive under and pull into the car park. The van bounces from side to side as they hit cracks and holes on the tarmac, causing Barry’s work tools to jolt about.
He pulls to the corner of the car park, the tyres crunching over the broken glass of empty bottles. The skeletal remains of a burned-out sofa, a few bin bags and a dismantled wooden bed lie around the small car park, but there are no other vehicles.
“You see, I told you it’ll be people wasting your time,” he says, and slips the gear into reverse, ready to back out.
“Wait, what’s that entrance over there?” Carolyn says, pointing to an opening between some bushes.
“I’ve been here a few years back. If I remember correctly, it should be a path that used to lead up to the factory.”
Carolyn climbs out of the van and walks over. He quickly follows, and they both peer down a winding path. There’s a huge rock at the bottom, closing off the entrance.
Carolyn takes a step forward.
Barry grabs hold of her arm. “What are you doing?” he asks nervously.
“I’m going down there. I’m not coming all this way to turn back now,” she replies, trying her best to keep a stern face and not show fear. She can feel her stomach twist with nerves.
“I think we should go.”
“Look,
whoever posted that note knows who I am. They know where I’m living and that I’m looking into those missing boys. If they have information, I want it.” She looks down the fog-filled path and back to Barry. “If they want me to come alone, I will do. I’m not having whoever it is make a run for it because I’ve brought a friend who happens to be at least six foot four and built like a nightclub doorman!” Carolyn smiles, and this seems to ease Barry’s nerves a little. “I don’t imagine it goes much further past that first bend. If I need you, I’ll scream, okay?”
He’s clearly reluctant to let her go alone, but accepts.
“I’m six-six, actually,” Barry mutters back and releases his grip on Carolyn’s arm.
She proceeds down the grassy slope.
Rusty beer cans, empty wine bottles and small black dog-poo bags are scattered throughout the bushes and hanging loosely from the tree branches. Her boots squelch on the wet grass next to some freshly-made footprints.
What am I doing? she asks herself, not expecting an answer but getting one anyway: You’re going to die, Carolyn. It’s a trap.
“Shut up,” Carolyn whispers back.
The path curves, and before she enters the bend, she takes a look at Barry’s face. It shows a sickening, worried expression. Carolyn walks further around, losing sight of him completely. The path does indeed end a couple yards in front of her. She can now see, sitting on a fallen log, is a figure wearing a coat with the hood up.
She approaches slowly, bracing herself and straightening. Her breathing is heavy, and she prepares to scream at the top of her lungs if anything doesn’t seem right.
None of this is right, the internal voice says. Are you really this stupid?
***
Up the path, Barry steps from foot to foot, his own internal voice shouting at him that something is wrong. What kind of man is he to allow her to go down there alone, especially as daylight is only half hour away from ending? His father was an old-school gentleman, and he imagines what he’d have to say about this situation. “You let a woman go alone?”
Barry watches carefully, waiting for Carolyn to reappear and shake her head that they’ve been pranked. “You were right, it was a prank,” she’d say with a frown, but then show a smile. Barry has become fond of Carolyn. He already knows he’s going to be devastated when she heads back to Leeds.
It’s been long enough, he tells himself, and takes a step down before stopping. He turns and goes back to the van for a crowbar, just in case. As he opens the van’s side door and reaches for it, he stops as he hears the distinctive sound of glass breaking underneath a shoe.
Expecting to see Carolyn, he turns round.
***
She steps closer to the figure sitting on the log. Now that she’s close enough and through the thick fog, she can see the coat is green.
“Hello?” she says, her voice breaking a little. She watches carefully, waiting for the head to turn, or the shoulders to rise and fall as the person breathes.
Nothing. There’s no reply or movement at all.
Carolyn steps closer with legs that feel numb.
“Hello?” she says, this time raising her voice to sound more in control. She heads around the front and soon realises why there was no movement to the figure. The dirty, tacky coat, torn in places, is held up by branches which are sticking out of the fallen tree log. She turns and sighs.
Great.
She takes a seat on the log and examines the small forest, waiting to see laughing faces hidden behind trees: the pranksters recording it on their phones, ready to show Llanbedr what a fool Carolyn Hill is. Out of anger she snatches the old coat from the branch and throws it to the ground. It lands in front of her, the sleeve resting in a puddle of muddy rainwater. The ground is littered with bottle caps, cigarette butts and used condoms. She watches the coat for a moment, lost in thought, before gathering herself together. She stands and heads for the path, to tell Barry he was right: that someone has wasted their time.
Something on the coat catches her eye. She stoops to retrieve it and stands.
She uses the last of the daylight to make out the name tag on the inside, under the hood. The ink has faded, but the name can still be made out if she strains her eyes enough.
Dylan Lloyd.
Carolyn gasps. She hears a movement to her left and spins round. The bushes rattle and a raven flutters out, cawing and eyeing her warily before taking flight. She watches it fly away and breathes, bringing her attention back to the name tag on the coat.
Now this I can show to the police.
Carolyn rushes up the litter-filled path.
“Barry… Barry… I’ve found something,” she shouts excitedly.
She stops dead. Barry is lying on the cold ground in a dark puddle of blood.
She rushes over to him, dropping to her knees and taking hold of his hand. His thick fingers are shaking and feel like ice. His shoulders are shivering and his teeth jitter loudly.
“C… Carolyn… I don’t know what happened… I… I… heard something but I didn’t turn around quick enough—”
“Shhh,” Carolyn says, squeezing his hand.
“… Then… then I was on the floor…”
Carolyn presses a hand underneath his ribs in a bid to stop the bleeding. The blood looks as though it’s never going to stop. For a moment, Carolyn thinks she is going to vomit or faint, or both. But she doesn’t. She fights to keep it together. With a shaking hand she reaches into her pocket and grabs her phone and dials for an ambulance.
“I… didn’t see them. I… I’m sorry,” Barry stutters.
“Don’t be silly. This is my doing. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I should have listened to you. We should have gone to the police. I’m so sorry.” She cries louder, pulling off her hoodie and placing it against Barry’s wound. The gushing blood makes her feel nauseous. The bitter air nips at her arms, sending goose bumps along her flesh. The tears on her cheeks feel like ice.
It then crosses her mind that the attacker could still be out there, sitting in the bushes and watching as his victim fights for his life.
Carolyn searches around her, looking left to right for the attacker.
She wants to stand and turn fully, but she can’t let go of the hoodie pressed against Barry’s side. She can’t risk letting go until the paramedics arrive.
The longer the ambulance takes, the darker the sky grows.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The first to arrive on scene is a police patrol car driven by PC Martin, who is accompanied by his partner, PC Young. They run over to where Carolyn is waiting, shortly followed by the ambulance.
Barry is rushed to the hospital, and the two officers leave Carolyn in the waiting area.
A little later, she looks up to see DS Hughes and DC Dixon approaching.
“Mrs Hill?” DS Hughes says, taking a seat next to her. “Are you ok?”
Carolyn lifts her head without looking at them and forces a nod. She clenches the end of her vest top and twists it between her fingers.
“Let’s go to the canteen. It’s a little more private there,” DS Hughes suggests. “You look like you could do with a coffee, if I’m being honest.” Although the detective attempts a sympathetic smile, it’s clear this kind of compassionate behaviour doesn’t come naturally to her.
In the canteen, DS Hughes and DC Dixon walk Carolyn over to a table at the back. They pass a table to their left where two nurses, in the middle of their shift break, are sitting. To the right of them is a mother wearing a dressing gown and slippers while she bounces a toddler on her lap. The husband sits with his arm around her shoulders, speaking words of reassurance in her ear.
The only other noise comes from the staff cooking in the kitchen. The smell of cooked meats makes Carolyn’s stomach growl, reminding her she hasn’t eaten all day. After waking up late to Barry being outside, she’d dressed and rushed out to the van, not wanting to keep him waiting. She didn’t realise she’d be out this long.
; “Dixon, go get the coffee in, would you?” DS Hughes says, pulling out a chair. Carolyn sits on the bench against the back wall, her bare arms shivering in the cold.
“I understand this must be difficult for you, Mrs Hill,” DS Hughes begins. “But the statement that you gave to the officers is quite confusing. DC Dixon and I are hoping to make things a little clearer.” DS Hughes shows another one of those unnatural smiles.
Carolyn isn’t sure if DS Hughes, this tough cage-fighter-looking woman, is genuinely sympathising with her or if this is one of the detective’s tactics to get people to speak. Carolyn assumes she probably doesn’t give a toss what happened to Barry. She seems to have completely changed her approach since that night at the well, when she looked as if she wanted to chew Carolyn up and spit her out.
It only took Barry being attacked, Carolyn thinks.
Carolyn places her hands on the cold table, trying to steady the shaking.
“Calm yourself… okay,” DS Hughes says. “You’re safe here.”
Carolyn wonders whether she is safe, and looks at DS Hughes with tired and heavy eyes. She knows that they could burst with tears at any second. She gives the detective the slightest of smiles.
“In your statement, Mrs Hill, Carolyn, you mentioned that a werewolf stabbed your friend, Mr Cookson?” DS Hughes says with confusion in her eyes.
Carolyn shakes her head. Her throat is so dry that it makes her voice sound hoarse.
“Start from the beginning, Mrs Hill,” DS Hughes instructs, resting her hands on the table.
“Last night… at The Red Fox, it was the Halloween party,” she starts. DS Hughes nods. “I noticed this person in a werewolf costume. They were watching me.”
“Watching you? How do you mean exactly?”
“I don’t know. The person had a mask on. But I could tell that whoever it was, they were staring at me.”