The Boy in the Well

by Dan Clark

  “I’m sorry. Try to stay calm, ok?” Carolyn says, resting a hand on the boy’s skinny knee.

  “Do my family miss me?” Dylan asks. Carolyn can hear the pain in his voice.

  “Of course, they miss you. They miss you very much. Your brother, Owen, he really misses you.”

  “You’ve spoken to Owen?” Dylan asks, more excitement in his voice.

  “Yes, not so long ago.” She won’t tell him the circumstances of their latest encounter.

  “I miss them. I miss them so much, and my friends. He tells me that he’s waiting for the right time.”

  “What do you mean, the right time?” Carolyn asks, intrigued.

  “I don’t know. He keeps promising me that Mum will eventually see that Dad, my real Dad at home, is scum… a loser, and when she eventually realises it, he’ll have enough money saved to take us somewhere far away. But I don’t want to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “I don’t know. I told him once that I don’t want to go away from here with him, and that I think he’s crazy. He beat me really bad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He didn’t feed me for days. I thought I was going to die.”

  Carolyn can hear the fear as he speaks. She wonders if she’s the first person that this poor boy has been in contact with in the last two years, other than that crazy bastard Mark Buckles.

  “Has Dad still got that grey moustache? He was trying to grow it before… before I was taken,” Dylan says.

  Carolyn thinks of the last time she saw Frank Lloyd, probably when he came to rescue her mother’s car from the ditch after the mess Owen had made, almost killing her.

  “Yes… Yes, he has,” Carolyn replies. She can now sense he’s smiling, or at least trying to. “Try to stay calm, okay? I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon…” She tails off, thinking that somebody out there will be looking for her, or at least for Jeanette and Father Joseph. They’ll see Father Joseph’s Volvo at the B&B and investigate, finding their bodies.

  Her trail of thought is interrupted; a beam of light from a torch bounces off the east side wall. Carolyn feels Dylan stiffen and his cold bony fingers grab onto her wrist, digging in.

  “It’ll be okay, Dylan,” Carolyn says, standing and heading over to the door. Outside, the silhouette of a man is approaching, keeping a hand up to the hood of his coat to shield his face from the heavy rain. She knows there is no point in screaming for help. There wouldn’t be anybody else around, not in this weather. No sane person, anyway.

  Of course it’s him, Mark Buckles, the deluded kidnapping murderer. Carolyn backs away from the door, trying to steady her breathing, waiting for a key to be inserted and the door to swing open. Then she can take her shot, scratch at his eyes, and kick him in the balls with everything she’s got. Her boots are heavy, and he’d made a mistake not taking them away from her. The image of Mark Buckles approaching, the events of the last twenty-four hours, and the thought of her beloved mother’s corpse lying on the floor of that old B&B, causes the anger to build up inside her. Carolyn’s ready to use all that anger to get her and Dylan out of here. After attacking Buckles, she’ll then fight him for the key to the chains that are keeping Dylan locked up like an animal.

  Not that Carolyn’s a fighter. The only fight she had been in was with Carly Anderson during the first year of uni. Carly had made a mum joke about Jeanette being overweight, something silly like that. Carolyn knew there was malice behind it; girls don’t do banter like boys do. Boys joke and give it back, and then all is forgotten. Carolyn had lost the fight and come away with a swollen lip, but at least she’d stood her ground and defended her mother’s honour. And that’s what will happen now. Only this is different; lives are at stake. Mark Buckles just has to open the door.

  His face appears at the hole, but no key is inserted.

  Carolyn runs for it and sticks her hand out to grab at his hair, to hurt him, maybe take out an eye if she can reach. Mark moves away too quickly and then manoeuvres back in and takes hold of Carolyn’s arm at the elbow, twisting it backwards. She cries out in pain.

  “Get off her... Leave her alone,” Dylan pleads from the corner, his voice filled with fear.

  “Now you know what I meant when I said you’ve ruined everything for me,” Mark says. “You just couldn’t leave it, could you? You had to keep digging, playing detective. Now your mother is dead and so is Father Joseph... killer or not. They’re both dead and it’s because of you!” Mark’s breath is warm in her ear as he holds her against the freezing steel door, and the stale scent of whisky reaches her nostrils.

  “Please... please let go… please,” Carolyn begs. He pushes her arm through and away. She falls back against the wall and cradles herself alongside Dylan. Mark shines the torch through the gap, studying Dylan’s face and then Carolyn’s. The bright light burns their eyes. He then puts the torch under his chin, as if preparing to tell a ghost story to a group of children around a campfire.

  “How do you like this little bunker?” Mark asks. Carolyn doesn’t answer. “You know, Gwen and I used to come up here, now and then, anyway. We couldn’t risk going to my place in case Frank had caught on. We used to meet at the car park down below and we’d wander up here. We’d even hold hands… on occasion… like we were free. A free happy couple without a care in the world.”

  “I don’t care, Mark. Now let us go!” Carolyn shouts.

  “I had a plan for us, for me, for him,” Mark says, shining the torch at Dylan’s face again. “And for his mother. It wasn’t just a one-night stand we had. Our affair went on for years, even after Dylan was born. Gwen loved me. Then one day she came to me and told me it was over... just like that.” Mark Buckles expression turns to sadness. “But I know it was him; that bastard Frank talking about me and telling Gwen lies and forcing her to hate me.” His eyes are fixated on something in front of him, and he appears unconcerned by the rain beating against his face. Now Carolyn can see him clearly. He looks as if he’s had more than just a glass or two of Scotch.

  “Mark, let us go. This has gone on for long enough,” Carolyn says.

  But he doesn’t seem to hear, or chooses not to listen.

  “She loved being with me, you know. I loved being with her. We completed each other. That’s what she’d tell me,” Mark chuckles, smiling. The smile has no evil in it; it’s a smile fuelled by happy memories. “And she used to tell me how unhappy she was with him. That man pretending to be my son’s real father.” Mark stares at Dylan. Carolyn holds a hand over Dylan’s. “Bringing up my kid because she was too afraid to come out and tell him the truth. I guess I can’t blame her, though; he’s a drunk, and he’d get abusive and argue with her over the littlest of things.”

  “That’s no reason to kidnap Dylan. This isn’t right, what you’re doing.” Carolyn tries again, but Mark carries on as though he hasn’t heard her.

  “Even after I stabbed your friend, you still couldn’t leave it. I brought Dylan’s coat with me. He’s grown out of it anyway, and I thought it’d be fun to see your face as you read the name tag. That was a mistake, I admit. I did tell you to come alone, but you didn’t. You brought somebody else into this mess you’ve caused,” Mark snarls, wiping the rain from his eyes. “I don’t know how you did it. But you got the police interested in Patrick and Julio. Well done you.”

  “Please, just let us go!” Dylan says. At this, Mark snaps out of his delusional daydream. He looks from Dylan to Carolyn, then back to Dylan, his cheeks twitching as he frowns.

  “No. She isn’t here to keep you company, my son. Oh no, no, no. It isn’t to keep you warm at night. She isn’t a bunk-buddy for you to share your secrets with. This is the bitch’s punishment for poking her nose in other people’s business!” Mark looks towards Carolyn, and although she can’t see his face properly after he lowers the torch, she can see the creases at the side of his eyes, indicating that he’s smiling.

  This smile is different from before. This smile is evil. “She’s
here so that when you’re dying of hypothermia, or starving to death chained to that wall, when you’re at your last breath, you can ask her why. You can blame her for doing this to you!”

  Carolyn squeezes Dylan’s trembling hand, and they both stare at Mark Buckles as he bursts into laughter.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  5th November 20:30

  Barry races to Llanbedr Convenience as Sophie, the cashier, is heading out of the side door towards her car and taking long drags of a cigarette. Sophie almost screams and swallows the cigarette whole as Barry steps out in front of her.

  He welcomes her with his kindest smile; he’s got it perfected. A man of his size needs to know when to put on a warm and trusting smile in certain situations. This was definitely one of them.

  Sophie laughs. She tells Barry that she hears all of these stories about people being taken, or attacked or raped as they walk to their car after work and how a friend of hers almost fell victim to a rapist. Barry has to interrupt her mid-sentence as she has a tendency to ramble on.

  “I’m sorry, love. But listen, this is very important,” he says, and the girl goes quiet. “You remember my friend Carolyn coming here? A brunette woman asking you about that time you went camping?” Sophie nods. “Where exactly was that place? Could you explain to me how I’d get there?”

  “Do you know where Sandle Moor is?” Sophie asks.

  “Yes.”

  “You head up towards the top, and by the car park there’s a section of that path that isn’t used. There should be a metal fence blocking off the access with a sign warning of the crumbling rocks. We’d camp up there.”

  Barry thinks about asking her to come with him, to show him the way. But he decides not to as it would sound way too creepy, and he doesn’t need any more trouble going off a hunch. He thanks her, and with the map drawn in his head, heads for the lookout point.

  Barry’s van races across town as amateur fireworks explode in the distance. The strong wind rocks his van side to side as Barry dodges rogue bin bags and other debris that has found its way on to the road. The drive over to Sandle Moor takes him fifteen minutes. Nobody wants to be out in this weather unless they have to be. He calls Williams back and explains why he thinks it might be worth checking out. Williams agrees to meet him at the entrance.

  The entrance has a wooden barrier across the road saying CLOSED, DANGER OF FLOODING, which is usually put out in severe weather like this. Barry’s tempted to drive through it and send splinters flying out from the front of his bonnet like in the action films, though he knows Williams would have something to say to that, plus he needs all the power from the old engine as he can get. The gravel ramp at the bottom of Sandle Moor is steep, and it’ll be even trickier wet. Barry climbs from his van and lifts the barrier out of the way. His lower side sends a bolt of pain as he strains under the weight. Back in the van, he reverses twenty feet, slides the gear into first and builds up the revs before lifting up the clutch. He moves into second just before the van reaches the start of the slope. It bounces up upon impact. Tools, ladders and tubs of paint dance in the back. The engine screams as the speed drops.

  “COME ON… COME ON, PLEASE!” he yells, rocking back and forth in his seat as if riding a racehorse. Slowly, the old van carries on up the slope, sending mud and stones flicking behind before finally reaching the top. He spins the van into the car park. Here, amid the many empty spaces, is the only other vehicle.

  The black Mercedes is covered in loose tree branches from the wild wind. Mark Buckles must have had to walk back up the ramp after replacing the barrier.

  Barry parks his van next to the Mercedes and checks both wing mirrors carefully before stepping out. He doesn’t want a repeat of the attack.

  He runs his hand over the bonnet of the Mercedes. The engine has cooled a little, but it’s still warm.

  He watches around him before opening the side door of his van and reaching for the crowbar from the back, before pushing his scattered tools to the side. The crowbar is for his protection and he hopes he won’t need to use it.

  He pulls his phone from his pocket to call Williams. Headlights appear up the steep ramp and he hears the roar of the engines. Placing his phone back inside his pocket, he walks over to them.

  “I told you to meet us at the entrance!” Williams shouts, leaving his car. The whipping wind takes the volume from his voice.

  “Black Mercedes over there,” Barry says “Is it the candle shop owner’s?”

  Williams pulls up the hood of his police waterproof. DS Hughes and DC Dixon get out of their car and join them, turning on their torches.

  “Yeah, it is. It’s Mark Buckles’ car,” DS Hughes confirms.

  “All right then. Barry, where did you say he could be heading?” Williams asks.

  “I didn’t say he was heading anywhere. But Sophie, the girl who works in Llanbedr Convenience, said she was out here one night and saw someone up here. She and her boyfriend were apparently camping and she said it was early, like really early in the morning. Sophie thought it was strange…” Barry begins looking around the dark trees, then asks DC Dixon for his torch and walks to the top of the ramp. He shines the torch around the woodland until he finds the footpath Sophie had described. Further up, he finds a break in the bushes. Then he sees the rusted, metal sign ordering people to stay out due to danger of falling rocks. Barry shines the torch towards the metal fencing, and Williams, Hughes and DC Dixon head over. The rusted gate is open, and the padlock has been left hanging on the side.

  “Okay, stick together you hear me?” Williams says, catching his breath and wheezing loudly. “I don’t want us getting lost out here and falling to our death… Oh and wait for us two, okay?”

  “Sir,” Hughes says with a nod. Dixon copies.

  Williams steps aside, allowing Hughes and Dixon to take the lead.

  Just past the metal gate are concrete steps, now overgrown with weeds. The dark sky and heavy rain makes it hard to see how many steps there are. This causes Barry and Inspector Williams to feel uneasy. Barry hesitates for a second, then thinks of Carolyn, and her braveness to find out the truth of the missing boys. With that he decides to grin and bear the pain in his lower back a little longer.

  DS Hughes and DC Dixon are staying ahead by two steps and shining their torches to lead the way. Barry shares Inspector Williams’ torch as they follow behind, panting as they hold onto the handrail.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  5th November, 20:40

  “You would have enjoyed your life with us, you know, Dylan,” Mark says. “Away from that fraudster, the loser you call a father.”

  Dylan protests, but Mark ignores him and goes on. “Away from that weird brother of yours, and away from this shithole of a town.”

  Mark’s hair is now drenched after the wind blew down his hood and he gave up trying to fix it. His face shines in the moonlight as the rain trickles down his forehead. He pulls a miniature of Scotch from his coat pocket and swallows it in two gulps.

  Carolyn watches him. “It was you who burned down my mother’s home, wasn’t it?”

  Mark nods.

  “She didn’t do anything to you, it was all me. Why burn down her bungalow?”

  Mark pulls out another miniature and unscrews the top before answering. “To hurt you, to destroy your home like you’ve destroyed mine,” he says, pouring the whisky into his mouth. “Now I have to leave my home behind. Yes, this town is a shithole, but Gwen, my Gwen, is still here, and now I have to leave, because of you. So, it seemed fair,” he says, with a smirk that Carolyn wishes she could punch until he’s no longer breathing.

  “Gwen… She doesn’t want you, Mark. This is silly. At least let Dylan go. He’s done nothing in all of this,” Carolyn pleads. Her plan is for him to release Dylan, unlock him from his chains and send him home to his mother. But he’s never going to let Dylan go, not after all this time, she thinks.

  Mark chuckles at her comment.

  New plan: if Mark opens
the door, she’ll fight like she has never fought before, dig her fingers into his eye sockets, even bite at his throat if that’s what it comes down to.

  “Shur… shurrup… stupid bitch,” Mark mumbles. “You don’t… get to ask ques—” He stops, turns and looks behind him. Carolyn can see he’s straining his ears. She stands and walks slowly over to the gap in the door. Mark’s attentively watching the woods behind him. Then a flicker of light shines between the trees.

  Carolyn almost faints with hope. They’ve found us.

  “HELLO… HEY, OVER HERE!” she screams. “WE’RE OVER HERE!”

  “SSHH!” Mark orders her with a look of panic on his face.

  “WE’RE OVER HERE…” Carolyn turns to Dylan. “Get up and shout as loud as you can.”

  Dylan stands, and the chains scrape along the floor as he comes as close to the steel door as they’ll allow. Both of them begin to shout together, though it feels as if their words are lifted out of the bunker and taken by the wind. Mark Buckles scans the area, waiting for whoever it is holding the torch to hopefully stay on the path and keep walking. The lights approach closer and closer, and he’s clearly not prepared to risk sticking around any longer. He turns to Carolyn and gives her one last look that says If I come back and you’re still here, I’m going to kill you!

  He runs off into the trees, in the opposite direction to the torches and up towards the cliff top of Sandle Moor.

  Carolyn and Dylan continue to shout at the top of their lungs. Their voices echo round the inside of the bunker, hurting their ears. But they don’t care; their freedom is more important. Carolyn kicks and punches at the steel door. The cold has turned her hands fragile. She carries on anyway.

  ***

  “Wait, can you hear that?” DC Dixon asks, and they all stand silently still, apart from Williams, who is sweating and panting uncontrollably as he struggles to breathe.