The HUM: The complete novel

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Carys thought about it. That couldn’t be right. Why would her memory block out Stephen walking away with nothing worse than hurt pride, but keep intact his disgusting conduct moments before? It didn’t make sense.

  What made a lot more sense was that whatever had happened after he abused her had been terrible. She had zero recollection of anything after the bright light shone through the window.

  “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us, bach?” Geraint intimated and regretted instantly with the glares he received from his daughter and wife.

  “I’ve said what must’ve happened,” Diane reproached. “I’m right, just you wait and see.”

  “And if you’re not?” Geraint persisted.

  “I am!”

  Diane had spoken, and that was that. But there was another possibility Carys hadn’t wanted to admit, even to herself. Friday wasn’t the first time she’d seen bright lights accompanied by that horrible humming noise, was it? Where was he? Where was Stephen? She couldn’t bear to continue the thought. Doing so would unravel all the convincing herself, over the past dozen years, that it had just been a nightmare.

  Geraint, ashamed of his accusation but unable to keep from thinking with his policeman’s head, cuddled his precious daughter. She pressed herself into him and a huge sob released from deep within her chest. She pulled back and looked up at her adoring father.

  “We need to be practical,” she said, bravely. “We can’t have you losing your job over this.

  “I won’t leave with this up in the air,” Geraint interrupted

  “No,” Carys insisted. “This might not be settled for a while. I haven’t done anything, so everything will be okay.”

  “I’ll stay,” encouraged Diane. “If we need you, you can come back up, can’t you? It doesn’t take that long.”

  Geraint nodded slowly and agreed to head back in the morning so as not to miss any work.

  “I’ll try to keep abreast with inside developments. Put your mind at rest as soon as possible, eh?” None of them were greatly comforted. They would need to be strong and hope Diane’s theory proved correct.

  Takeaway food gave comfort again. Having spent years in a tiny village, the temptations of this small town were surprisingly alluring

  So with an Indian feast and Sunday night cable TV to entertain them, they put out of mind the troubles which on a metaphorical flip of a coin would prove to be a storm in a tea cup, or a complete disaster. Nothing they could do would influence the outcome. Stephen was either okay, or he wasn’t.

  Stella, perhaps being less attached compared to Carys and her parents, had an idea.

  “What if he’s deliberately staying away? He might be afraid of being in trouble, which of course he probably will be.”

  Geraint leapt to his feet. “You’re a genius! Why didn’t we think of that? We should put out an appeal, or his mum could. Promising he won’t be in any trouble if he just makes contact. Carys will be home and dry. It would mean him getting away with it though,” Geraint winced at the thought

  “I disagree,” argued Diane. “If he’s staying away deliberately then maybe he’s learned a valuable lesson. I’m sure he’ll have a lot more respect for girls in his company in future. Carys has protected any future girls from going through the same thing. That’s the most important thing, now.”

  Carys agreed wholeheartedly. She just wanted to put it all behind her and move to Wales. Recounting the whole ordeal with Sergeant Freeman had been difficult enough. It would be so much harder in court.

  Geraint had no choice but to go along with it. He telephoned and left a message at Royston Police Station for Collin to call him first thing. Putting his plan into action straight away, with radio broadcasts and television appeals assuring his pardon, they could only hope Stephen might make contact soon.

  They awoke early to see Geraint off, back to Wales. Diane and Carys wiped tears from their eyes as they hugged him goodbye. As the car disappeared round the corner of London Road, Diane turned to her daughter.

  “What are we gonna do today then, sweetheart?” she asked

  Carys shrugged. “I was expecting to move house.” She grimaced dramatically. “How about helping me pack my stuff. I haven’t done anything, what with everything going on.”

  Whilst making piles of washing, packing and throw-away, Diane gave several pensive glances toward her daughter before finally speaking.

  “Are you keeping something from us, Carys bach?”

  Carys clutched onto the stack of CD’s in her hand and stared in disbelief. “No! Why?”

  “The lack of explanation for the lights you say you saw. You seemed so certain about Stephen and his…” she hesitated, searching for a palatable word. Giving up, she continued her point. “But you don’t seem bothered by what might have happened after…”

  Carys looked down. Why did she feel guilty? Her cheeks burned and she couldn’t look back at her mum.

  “You just let it go. It’s not like you.” Diane paused and placed a hand on Carys’s knee, gazing into her eyes. “I think I know the reason, my precious.” Carys’s heart stopped. Her mind whirred at what her mum might be about to suggest.

  “When Collin told you about the footprints and the inconsistency of your story with the facts, you remembered what happened but you didn’t want to say.”

  “That’s not true at all,” Carys objected. “I don’t remember. I saw people in the spotlight but I’d been drugged,” she said with a frown. “And sexually assaulted if you recall!”

  It was harsh. Diane was trying to help, but what was she getting at? Amid wondering what to make of it and questioning her own memories she caught sight of her mother and her blood drained. She sat motionless with ‘that look’ on her face. Carys’s mind raced back through the brief conversation to what might have upset her.

  It took only a second for her to wonder if Diane had considered her worst nightmare too: the footprints came from nowhere because they weren’t farmers, or anyone else’s. They were… those creatures’. She shuddered. Pushing thoughts of them aside, her mind raced to make things better.

  “Beth syn bod, Mam? What’s wrong?” she used Welsh to placate her. To remind her of Geraint and her new home. Diane, as was her custom in these black moods, failed to respond in any way. Carys’s dry mouth withered with her ideas, as she attempted a facade of normality.

  “I didn’t mean aliens, Mam,” she said with a cough. “I’m sure the figures were people with floodlights. Maybe not the farmers, but someone else, defo!” The cogs of her jaw ground to a halt and allowed no more sound. Her train of thought bumped up behind, buffering against the colliding words.

  It was in slow-motion, the film of regret played on the screen in her mind. Grey-skinned, naked aliens running around a field in a comical Benny Hill montage. What if Diane hadn’t thought of aliens? What if Carys had completely misread her mood and had just put the idea in her head?

  “Where are you going, Mam?” Carys probed as Diane stood and walked from the bedroom staring blankly ahead. She gave no answer and none had been expected. When the sickening sound of stomped stairs and the front door slamming reached Carys’s ears, she knew things were serious.

  Clenching her fists, she pounded them into the mattress. How could she be expected to cope with this? Why couldn’t she have a normal mum? She should have fucked off to Wales with her dad if she was going to be like this. She was no support.

  Guilt at her angry outburst washed over her like a barrel of freezing water. Smoothing back the covers, rubbing away her rancour, she frowned and raised her eyes to the scheming sky. She was supposed to be enjoying a scenic drive to her new home today. How could things get any worse?

  At that moment, Stella made her fortuitous arrival from the pottery. Wiping clay stained palms on her striped pinny she, spoke without looking up. “Just going in the shower before dinner. I thought I heard you go out?” Glancing at Carys for the first time, she gasped, hurrying into the bedroom and scoopi
ng Carys’s hands into hers. “Whatever’s the matter?”

  Carys choked out the words, “It’s Mum… She’s… upset” Stella needed no more information. She’d gathered enough about Diane’s episodes over the years to appreciate the magnitude. “I’ll go and find her.”

  “No, No!” Carys pleaded. “She won’t let you!”

  Stella gazed at the terrified look on her lovely face and wondered what damage a childhood with a mentally ill mother had done.

  “It’s my house! She’ll do it my way,” Stella pronounced. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. Carys, both reassured and surprisingly hopeful, watched as she disappeared from view. With relief, she slumped onto the bed and fell asleep.

  When she awoke she was surprised at the sight greeting her. Her mother. Back from the abyss and smiling down at her, arms outstretched.

  “Sorry, cariad. Mummy’s back now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Are all boys

  like that?

  Stella stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised in answer to Carys’s unvoiced question: ‘How did you do that?’ Shrugging and shaking her head slowly, it was clear she didn’t know. It was one of the rare occasions where the gravity of the situation had thankfully brought Diane round. Carys smiled.

  “What’s gonna happen to me, Mam? If he has been... You know?”

  “I don’t think they can charge you with anything. It’s all a bit circumstantial, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. But too incriminating for comfort.”

  She understood with today’s forensic techniques they didn’t even need a body to get a murder conviction. Murder! Is that ultimately what they were alluding? She shuddered. The weight of it threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘Please, God. Make him be just lying low,’ she mouthed, hands together in customary fashion. ‘What about Stephen’s blood?’ the voice in her head refused to be silenced with a feeble prayer. Everything pointed to her, she was sure. She was the last known person to be seen with Stephen, a fact she had signed a statement to attest. She had motive to kill him, another fact she’d confirmed with her signature. If he didn’t show up soon, things would be bleak indeed.

  Forensics would verify his last appearance in his car in the field. Carys’s best hope was if whoever had hurt Stephen had left forensic evidence too. Unless that person was her. She winced

  Another fact gnawed away at her. There was no blood away from the car. It was too easy to imagine some extra-terrestrial device whisking him into the sky. Heart racing, her eyes squinted, as though a rational explanation might be perceived if only she could focus on it.

  But then it came. Stephen could have injured himself before going into hiding, couldn’t he? Of course! He could’ve fashioned a tourniquet, hence no blood away from the car. Yes! That made sense. More sense than Carys having killed him, then somehow moving his heavy body without spilling any more blood. And, thankfully, more sense than her other outlandish notion. For the first time since yesterday’s accusation, she felt genuine hope.

  Smiling, she suggested the rest of the packing could wait, and the three went downstairs. Stella left to cook, leaving mother and daughter to talk.

  “Me and your dad have been going to church in Pembrokeshire,” she began. A revelation that raised Carys’s eyebrows. The family had dabbled with religion before. When they lived in Wales before Carys was four, they’d gone to chapel every Sunday. And when they first arrived in Nuthampstead, they went to church to ingratiate themselves with the locals.

  Although well attended, people came from further afield than the village. Without the benefit of getting to know their neighbours, and considering Diane’s poor mental health, their attendance dwindled until they’d stopped going completely. The family always made the effort for Christmas and Easter to be about more than trees and eggs though.

  “We’re involved with a lovely contemporary church who congregate in the town hall. It’s a bit ‘happy-clappy,’ if you know what I mean,” Diane explained.

  Carys had seen modern Christian worship on television. She liked how laid back it seemed, and the music was much more fun than the usual hymns, using a proper band with guitars and drums.

  “I was planning to tell you after the move. No pressure of course. You don’t have to come if you don’t want, but I thought you might enjoy it.” There was an edge to her tone, Carys picked up on. “I’m just saying now because... I wondered if you might want to pray..? What do you think?”

  “Okay,” Carys agreed with a grin, pleased to see her mum’s enthusiasm after her earlier wobble from sanity. “If you reckon it’ll help,” she encouraged. “Stella? Do you want to come and pray with us?”

  Stella pushed aside her natural reluctance and joined them for a prayer led by Diane. The three sat on the edge of their seats, eyes closed and hands clasped together. It was a while before Diane spoke and Carys wondered if she was supposed to be silently praying.

  “Almighty God,” she began at last. “Please help Carys in her time of need. Shine your light of truth onto her, and everyone involved, so that Your Peace and Truth can reign supreme. Help Stephen to be found safe and well, and for Justice to be done for Carys. We give you our love, oh Lord and trust that you will make it so... Amen.”

  “Amen,” Carys and Stella joined in appropriately.

  “I haven’t done that before” Diane apologised, embarrassment raging in her flushed cheeks and neck.

  “Well I thought you sounded very ministerly,” Stella offered. Diane blushed more.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’d better get back to dinner,” Stella said, already at the door.

  “Tell me more about this church then, Mam,” Carys suggested. Keeping her mum happy her main motivation, but she was strangely intrigued.

  “I’ve told you, really,” she said, “But well, the Pastor is so nice. He’s from Italian descent, I believe. A lot of people in South Wales are. He’s just come back from doing missionary work in Malawi and taking over from the old Pastor who is retiring.”

  “What’s his name?” Carys asked.

  “Dan. Dan Paulo.”

  “Are you sure he’s Italian? That sounds more Brazilian or something.” Diane shrugged

  “They have a band and everybody sings. They do healings and communion. It feels like a real community. Dan’s son saw pictures of you and I think he likes you!” Noticing Carys’s look of horror, she added, “Sorry. That was insensitive. I thought because he’s the Pastor’s son... ”

  Carys nodded and the subject was promptly dropped.

  “I haven’t left the house since Saturday,” she remembered, a sudden resentment of the fact surfacing. “I could go to the shops. Is there anything we need?”

  “Check with Stella. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

  Stella had a well-stocked and organised larder, but impressed with Carys’s progress, she made a list anyway.

  Carys put her shoes on, gauged the weather and debated changing. Outside looked warm. Wanting to just get going before the anxiety set in again, she went as she was in jeans and T-shirt. It was nice to be out. People were again playing Tennis in the park’s courts like they had been when her only worries had been how bad her A-level results might be.

  She walked through the park and past the library to get to the shops, despite the crowds. As she made her way, she passed a mob of teenage boys; a gang with a few token girls. She thought she might recognise them, probably from the year below her at school.

  As she walked past, they nudged each other laughing and jeering. Carys stumbled, glowing with self-conscious heat.

  “Heyyy. You is ffiiit!!, innit.” Whoever was speaking began to jog after her, thrilling the rest of the gang. “Hey, don’t be walkin’ away from me, innit. Not without a kiss!”

  He jumped in front of her waggling a lewd tongue in a grotesque fashion. “Come on baby!! You know you wanna.” He grabbed his crutch in vulgar gyration.

  Several of the pack joined in, cheering and imitating t
he first. Carys tried to keep on walking, but the boys blocked her path.

  The first boy barred her way, grabbed her shoulders and moved in to kiss her. Tearing her head away, she couldn’t believe this thug expected her to yield to such boorish advances. But he was fast and his lips brushed hers. It was a mistake he would regret

  Fuelled by the bubbling rage from Stephen’s abuse of her, she kneed him violently in the place he’d been so keen on promoting to her moments before. He fell in agony to the floor.

  “Oi! There’s no need for that!” one of the others yelled, grasping for her and missing as she sidestepped. The punch she threw caught him full in the face whilst she screamed a blood curdling yell. Whether it was the swiftness she dealt with them, or the attention her shout had attracted, the gang moved away, mumbling vile language under their breath.

  Carys glared back, resuming her walk. The boys scuttled off like kicked puppies, and the girls glowered their judgement that she’d seriously over-reacted. Carys was breathing heavily, fists clenched tight, ready to fell anyone who got in her way. Were all boys just complete jerks?! She had preferred it when no-one noticed her.

  She strode on through the market square and car-park, past the restaurants and takeaways. Trudging up the gentle hill to the high street, she intended fulfilling Stella’s list.

  As she reached the top and prepared to turn left, she stopped dead. On a newspaper headline display stand outside the newsagents, she saw two familiar faces prominently exhibited on the front page: Stephen Holmes, and her own.

  The newspaper, a national tabloid, seemed set on the possibility that Stephen had come to a sticky end, and that Carys was responsible.

  She paused to read more. Her story of self-defence against a sexual attack was held in scant regard by whoever the journalist had interviewed. But the ‘source’s’ opinion that she was a frigid recluse who overreacted to Stephen’s perfectly normal, respectful advances, received full editorial support.