“Don’t leave me,” she cried as the sludgy mixture of earth and water started to pound against her, crying out in pain when tiny stones banged against her body.
Craig led the band of five men clutching spades and ropes, bogged down beneath the weight of their equipment and clothes as they became saturated with rainwater. They scrabbled over slippery rock, Craig in the lead who knew the ruins so well he could make his way through them without a torch. He ran recklessly, thinking only of reaching Freya before the oubliette flooded entirely. The memory of what had happened to the rat returned, Freya’s horror as they’d watched it being battered to death. What if he was wrong and she was somewhere else? It didn’t bear thinking about.
“It’s just up here,” he said, racing into the area that was used as the prison. They sped past more traditional cells, small rooms with barred windows and thick wooden doors that were added at a later date when an oubliette was considered too barbaric. At the end of this passage they turned left into a stinking rock-cut passage, feet sliding on the sharp stones, the torch lights bouncing off the walls, disorientating Craig and making him feel dizzy, lungs burning with the effort of running with all the heavy gear.
“Freya,” he yelled as he flung the equipment down and knelt over the metal grille, peering through it. He pulled his torch from his belt and shone it inside, the light hitting a pale scared face. “Freya, it’s me.”
“Craig, help,” she screamed.
“She’s still alive, thank God,” he breathed. He looked to Steve and Gary. “Keep you torches trained on her. Jimmy, get this open.”
Jimmy nodded and drew his own bolt cutter from his belt, wrenching at the lock with the metal jaws while Bill strapped Craig up with the rope he used in potholing then pulled on a thick pair of gloves.
“Hold on Freya, I’m coming down to get you,” Craig called, not knowing if she could hear him over the deafening rush of water. “Steve, how’s she doing?”
Steve stared at her as she was caught up in a giant whirlpool, swirling round and round, being thrown against the stone walls. The water was thickening up until it resembled treacle, her upturned face the only part of her visible, eyes full of pleading. She was flung into a wall and when she brought her left arm up to take the impact her wrist seemed to collapse. She released a cry of pain and her mouth filled with the thick silt.
“She’s okay,” Steve called back to Craig, praying he wouldn’t pick up on the wobble in his voice. He knew this was one image that would stay with him for the rest of his days, to join the growing gallery of horrors.
The padlock snapped and Jimmy, Bill and Craig heaved back the grille, straining beneath its massive weight. When they released it, it hit the ground with a bang loud enough to be heard over the storm.
Craig stared straight down into a hellish pit of thick noxious earth that was trying to smother Freya, slamming her body against the walls. She was losing consciousness and if she did she was done for. He leapt into the hole, Bill only just managing to grab the end of the rope, the force of Craig’s descent dragging him towards the edge of the pit, Jimmy grabbing his legs and keeping him on terra firma. Gary snatched at the rope too, bringing Craig to a halt just before he landed in the sludge, causing the rope to tighten around his waist. For a second he thought he was going to pass out when pain shot through his ribs but sheer will kept him conscious and he concentrated on finding Freya in the blackness, Steve attempting to keep his torch on her while she swirled round and round.
“Give me your hand,” Craig called to her.
She tried to raise her uninjured hand but the silt was growing so thick and heavy it impeded movement and attempting to lift her arm was impossible. Her left wrist pulsated with pain and she was pretty sure it was broken. She tried to fix on Craig’s face, offering her salvation but the silt started pulling her down and filling her mouth, choking her. When she opened her mouth to cough more dirt rushed in and she gagged, drawing the dirt into her lungs and terror gripped her when she began to suffocate. In her panic she forgot to protect herself from being slammed into the walls and her head bounced off the stone, knocking her out.
“Freya, wake up,” cried Craig when she started to sink deeper into the silt, head disappearing beneath it, only one hand visible, reaching up to him. “Get me lower,” he called back up the tunnel.
The three men dripped with sweat despite the cold as they let a little more rope slide through their gloved hands. This allowed Craig to grab Freya’s hand and lift her head out of the silt. Gritting his teeth, muscles burning, he got his arms under her shoulders and locked them around her chest.
“He’s got her, pull up, pull up,” urged Steve.
Steve threw down his torch and assisted the others to drag them back up as they struggled with the weight of an extra person.
Craig clutched Freya to him tightly as he was pulled upwards, ignoring the pain in his back and ribs. She remained limp in his arms and he desperately wanted to ascertain how she was, but all he could see was the top of her head.
They all fell back onto the ground panting when Craig flipped up over the edge like a stranded fish, Gary helping him pull Freya up.
Craig was exhausted but he hauled himself upright and lay Freya back on the ground. She was coated from head toe in muck and brown water. “She’s not breathing,” he said, attempting to keep calm and remember his training. Tilting back her head he opened her mouth and hooked a finger inside, scooping out globules of mud but still she didn’t breathe. “CPR,” he told Gary, who breathed into her mouth while Craig did the chest compressions.
“Come on Freya, please,” begged Craig as they worked on her, Steve and the other two watching in tense silence. “Freya wake up,” he yelled, voice bouncing off the stone all around them.
Her eyes flew open and she drew in a breath before launching into a violent coughing fit. She rolled onto her side to vomit up a puddle of brown water.
“That’s right, get it all out,” soothed Craig, stroking her sodden hair, lumps of mud and twigs caught up in it.
When the vomiting was over she flopped back onto the cold stone, breathing hard.
Hastily he checked her arms and legs for breaks and she screamed in pain when he touched her left wrist.
“It looks like that’s broken but not to worry, it’s nothing life threatening. Let’s get you into the dry,” he told her. “I’m going to carry you, it might hurt.”
She nodded determinedly, winding her good arm around his neck as he gently lifted her, cradling her to his chest. Freya rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head, not caring what anyone thought because he’d almost lost her. Even in the car he refused to relinquish her, letting Gary drive them down the hill to his mum’s house. While he carried Freya upstairs to the spare bedroom, Steve and Gary ran across the road to the pub to fetch Martin.
“How are you feeling?” Craig asked her once she was settled on the bed.
In response tears slid from the corners of her eyes, creating clear tracks through the dirt on her face.
“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” he said, gently wiping her face with a tissue, cleaning off some of the filth. He dipped his head to kiss her and she clung onto him, shaking. “Did you see who did this?”
She shook her head. “Just black…like a big bat….Logan….”
Tears choked any more words and she was still shaking when Steve and Gary returned with Martin and Nora.
“Oh thank God she’s still alive,” exclaimed his mum when she walked into the room. “Why is she covered in mud?”
“She was in the castle oubliette,” explained Craig, still holding Freya. “It flooded with silt.”
“Buried alive,” whispered Nora.
Martin stepped forwards. “May I examine you?”
Freya looked at Craig. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, promise.”
She managed to raise a small smile for him, gripping onto his hand as Martin checked her over. He
confirmed her left wrist was broken and put it in a sling.
“Apart from the wrist you seem okay. You’re going to be very stiff and sore for a few days. You’ve also got a lovely big lump on the side of your head. Some Paracetamol, sleep and a really good bath and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“That’s good to know. Thanks Martin,” smiled Craig, relieved.
“Would you like me to run you a bath, Hen?” said Nora.
“Please,” replied Freya in a timid voice so unlike herself.
They all listened as there was the thunder of footsteps on the stairs and at first they thought it was the storm reaching new levels, until the door burst open and Bill and Jimmy charged in. Freya gasped and clutched onto Craig.
“It’s alright. They helped get you out of there,” he explained.
“Freya, are you alright?” said Bill, approaching the bed.
She was so afraid she couldn’t reply and started to shake all over again.
“Perhaps you should leave Bill? You’re scaring the life out of the poor girl,” said Nora.
“I’m so sorry, I really thought it was you but now I know…you could have been killed because of me…I’m sorry,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say.
“Please leave, you’re upsetting my patient,” said Martin firmly.
“But...”
“Just go Bill,” said Craig in a cold hard voice. Despite how he’d helped save her, his actions had nearly killed Freya.
“I’m sorry,” said Bill quietly before hanging his head and leaving, Jimmy filing out behind him.
“Right, I’ll get that bath run,” said Nora before leaving the room, the sound of running water following a moment later.
“That’s my cue to leave,” said Martin. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours, I’m concerned about that knock to the head.”
“Thanks Martin,” called Craig as he left the room.
“Shall we go back up to the castle and have a look around, see what we can find?” said Steve, causing Gary to glare at him.
“I admire your spirit but there’ll be nothing to find. The perpetrator will be long gone and if he did leave any evidence behind it’ll be washed away by now. Go across to the pub and interview everyone you can find. I want to know where each and every one of them has been this past couple of hours.”
“Can we...” began Gary.
“No you can’t have a bloody drink, you’re on duty and you’ve an important job to do.”
Wearily they both nodded and left the room, leaving Craig and Freya alone.
“I haven’t said thank you for saving my life,” she said quietly, throat sore.
“You’re welcome. I have to ask you something and I don’t want you to get upset.”
She nodded, indicating that she wouldn’t.
“When you were locked in the cellar did you have a drink? Only I found an open whisky bottle.”
“No I didn’t. I held the bottle, I opened it but I didn’t drink it, even though it was very tempting.”
“You should be proud of yourself.”
“I don’t know if it was my inner strength or the fact that I couldn’t hold the bottle straight because I was shaking so badly.”
“Why did you open it in the first place? Freya?” he said when she refused to meet his eyes.
“To be honest, after I’d been left underground with a dead body I lost it a bit. I thought anything would be better than the situation I was in. But I didn’t do it.”
He took her hand. “And that’s what matters. If you didn’t crack under that pressure then you’ll never crack.”
This thought actually cheered her up. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“Anytime,” he smiled, kissing her.
“Bath’s ready,” said Nora, barging into the room. “Maybe you should wait downstairs Craig?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing I’ve not seen before Mum.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This is women’s business.”
“Since when have baths been women’s business?”
“I’d like him to stay, if you don’t mind Nora?” said Freya. “Besides, I’ve got to give my statement.”
Nora’s lips pursed into a disapproving line. “Alright, if that’s what you want Sweetheart but don’t you dare go mauling the poor girl Craig, she needs her rest.”
“I’ll try to control myself Mum.”
“Fine, I’ll be downstairs having a big drink. Oh bloody hell, me and my enormous gob, I’m sorry Freya.”
“It’s alright. I can’t drink but I don’t begrudge anyone else.”
Nora hesitated before throwing her arms around Freya and kissing her cheek, getting mud all over herself but not caring. “I’m glad you’re back safe.”
“Your son’s the one to thank for that.”
“Aye and he’ll be spoilt rotten for it.”
She patted her son’s cheek before heading downstairs. Craig helped Freya limp into the bathroom and slowly peeled off her clothes, the removal of each item revealing more cuts and bruises, the skin of both elbows practically worn away after being repeatedly banged against the rough stone. Even the tattoo on her back was interspersed with patches of blue and purple. Craig studied the tattoo thoughtfully as he washed her hair, watching the suds trickle down it, washing away the muck.
“So, what can you tell me about your attacker?” he said softly.
“All I saw of him was black. He was wearing robes like Logan’s.”
“Priest’s robes?”
“Yes.”
“His face?”
“He wore a black ski mask.”
“When did he attack?”
“Just a few minutes after I’d been dumped in the cellar. I was sat on the floor with the bottle of whisky, wrestling with myself. The back door opened and I thought someone had come to save me. Then that big bat-like thing walked in.”
Craig could only imagine what she had gone through, thinking she was going to be let out of a nightmare, only to be thrown into an even worse one.
“How tall was he?”
“Hard to say. He seemed enormous, but that was probably just my imagination. But he was strong. We fought. I tried to stab him with a broken whisky bottle but he got it off me and hit me round the back of the head with a cosh. If I hadn’t been so upset about being locked up in the cellar I would have given him a better run for his money, I might have been able to get away but I felt so weak, so tired of it all.”
“I don’t like that phrase. I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything stupid?”
“I had my chance and I didn’t take it.”
“Good because James Pierce isn’t the only one who wants you around.”
Their eyes locked and the left side of her mouth lifted into a smile. It was the best she could manage right then but it meant a lot to him.
“So, what’s the next thing you remember?”
“Waking up in the oubliette. I kept thinking about that rat we saw trapped in there when we were kids. I thought that was going to happen to me, smashed to bits. Then I remembered this time of year it floods with earth. He wanted to bury me alive, like Mum,” she said, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye and rolling down her face. “Why go to so much trouble? Why not just bury me?”
“Fred said this time of year it would have taken hours to dig. He probably saw his chance after Bill put you in the cellar and had to act fast. Unfortunately you were locked up at high tide.”
“He was going to watch me die. I saw him standing over the grille looking down at me. You must have scared him off because he ran away then suddenly you were there.”
Absently he ran the sponge across her shoulders as he lapsed into thought. “He likes to watch them die.” It wasn’t a surprise, most killers did, it was how they got their kicks but how did that tie in with recent events? He felt what Freya had just said was important, that he’d somehow missed something about the murders but he couldn’t quite grasp what that was. He’
d think about it later. He’d learnt that his brain wouldn’t work if forced. Frustratingly he had to wait for it to do things in its own time.
“I think we’re going to have to run more water. This is filthy,” he said.
Craig helped her out of the bath and wrapped her in a big soft pink towel. She perched on the lid of the toilet seat shivering while he ran a second bath, having to scrub out the tub first to remove the stubborn tide mark. Once she was back in the warm water he asked her more gentle encouraging questions about what had happened but she couldn’t tell him anything else.
“That won’t happen again, I promise,” he said.
She lifted one hand out of the water to touch his face. “This guy killed Catriona when five people were due at her house, he got to Brenda in the middle of the street in daylight and he took me from a pub full of people. If he wants someone he’ll get them.”
He didn’t like the resignation in her tone. “Don’t give him supernatural powers. He’s just a man and he’s not going to touch you again.” He said this passionately. After holding her limp in his arms he now appreciated her so much more and realised recent experience had increased his depth of feeling for her. “Anyway, I’m not going to let him take you because I’m kind of hoping that when this is over we can carry on seeing each other.” There, he’d said it. Maybe he’d regret it when the shock of what had just happened wore off but his gut was telling him it was right and in his line of work it was vital he trusted that instinct.
The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) Page 21