Life at the End of the Road

by Rey S Morfin

  I trailed off. Any confidence I had that Rebecca could possibly believe this story had faded from my mind. I’d come this far, though, and she was looking at me expectantly. I quelled these fears of doubt and continued.

  ‘The other person I saw, with the eyes, I saw do things. I saw him do some things I’d never have thought possible.’

  Rebecca said nothing, but waited for me to elaborate.

  ‘The bit that’s relevant is: I saw him conjure fire out of thin air. I’m not sure how much control he has over it, but he can do it. It all comes from the Root, the plant I was talking about? That grows in the woods? It comes from that. Means he can, or anyone could, start a fire at the flick of a wrist. Intentionally or… not.’

  Rebecca said nothing for a few moments, processing.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you? That’s ok, it sounds ridiculous, I know. But it is the truth, I promise.’

  The farm, as far as I was aware, was still up there, in the woods. I’d planned to destroy it, but right now I was thankful that I hadn’t yet.

  ‘I can show you. The Root, it’s in the woods. I’m going to go up there, get rid of it all. You could come with me.’

  I wasn’t entirely sure Rebecca was paying attention.

  ‘So you’re saying that… William… didn’t set the fire on purpose. That he’s a victim?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And that it happened because the Root, or whatever you say it’s called, the thing he was smoking, it gives someone… powers?’

  I gulped, nodded again. Rebecca went silent.

  ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘I think I do, Annie.’

  Whether I had been convincing in my story, or whether Rebecca was just desperate for a version of events in which William was innocent, it didn’t matter. Rebecca believed me, and the pain of thinking her son had done terrible things had lifted from her. There was a noticeable improvement to her mood and demeanor.

  ‘You said you could show me?’

  ‘The Root?’

  ‘Yes. The plant. I’d like to see it for myself. I’d like to help get rid of it, make sure nothing like this happens again.’

  ‘Do you have gardening equipment? Like, shears, shovels?’

  Rebecca nodded.

  ‘Show me.’

  As Rebecca and I strode purposefully through town, each carrying a shovel over our shoulder, we garnered dozens of looks. My companion explained to me that she always gets stared at when she ventures out into the town, but even for her, this was a lot. It was definitely the shovels. I wondered if they were about what we were getting up to. The attention didn’t matter to Rebecca, so it didn’t matter to me either.

  As we approached the beginning of the path into the woods, we heard a cry to our left.

  ‘Rebecca! Anna! Hold up!’ Art cried from the threshold of the church.

  Rebecca shot me a concerned look.

  ‘It’s ok, Rebecca. He’s ok,’ I reassured her.

  She looked down at her feet. ‘I know. I know he is.’

  Art ran over to us as fast as his body would allow him.

  ‘I’m coming with you!’ Art announced as he came within earshot.

  ‘With us? Do you know where we’re going?’

  ‘Not precisely. But I recognise that focussed expression on your face, Miss Tyndall. I’ve noticed it ever since you were a child. You have a mission, and, if it is as I think it is, I feel I ought to be a part of it.’

  He turned to Rebecca, offering her a smile.

  ‘Rebecca. How are you? It’s been a while since we spoke.’

  ‘Art,’ she replied, ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s been… a hard few years.’

  He nodded knowingly. ‘Of course. As long as you know that I am always here if you want to talk.’

  Rebecca nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘Right!’ Art announced. ‘What, precisely, are we doing, then? I see shovels. Does that mean some manual labour is involved? I’m not as young as I used to be, but I still have some muscle left on me.’ He curled his forearm and winked.

  ‘It’s complicated to explain, Art.’

  ‘Then spare me the details. Just point and I’ll go, you order me and I’ll do.’

  He turned to me.

  ‘Look, Anna. I know there’s a certain… darkness which plagues this town. I was there when that…’ Art trailed off, shook his head in lieu of the right word. ‘I was there when it was chasing you, remember. I don’t need to know what it was. I don’t need to know the specifics. My only interest is in fixing all of this. I won’t ask any questions.’

  ‘I think that’s for the best.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He smiled, nodded. ‘Onwards, then! Lead the way.’

  We traipsed along the woodland trail, a motley crew, a bizarre interpretation of The Three Musketeers. We rotated the shovels between us, each lugging one along for a few minutes at a time.

  As we walked, eventually I noticed a house in the distance. I knew exactly which house it was; we’d been taught to avoid it as children. The Witch’s house, however, wasn’t as it once was. It was now crumbling, blackened by fire.

  I knew exactly who was responsible, of course. I never quite understood the relationship that Rey had had with Elizabeth, but it was now apparent that it too had ended.

  Art, when he noticed, ran over to the property, head in hands, face full of despair.

  ‘Art!’ I called after him. ‘This is one of those things you’re going to not want to ask questions about.’

  Art looked at me with incredulity, about to ask something, but when he saw the serious expression on my face, he knew to close his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry, Art. But it’s better this way.’

  Art raised an eyebrow, then took a shovel off Rebecca and continued walking.

  ‘Still this way?’ he asked, more serious than before.

  ‘Yes.’

  Finally we came to it. In front of us stood the barbed wire fence, with the gate still (thankfully) open. As muscular as Art might claim to be, I didn’t fancy his chances at forcing the lock.

  I turned to Rebecca.

  ‘This is it. This is where it grows. We get rid of this, and you never have to worry about it again.’

  ‘Thank fucking God.’

  Art shot Rebecca an unimpressed face behind her back.

  I held the gate open for them to pass through, and followed them into the clearing.

  ‘Where is it, then?’ Rebecca asked.

  The farm had been raided to extinction.

  ‘It’s…,’ I was lost for words.

  ‘It was here?’ Rebecca asked.

  I nodded. Rebecca investigated the clearing, nudging loose soil with her foot.

  ‘Any ideas where it might have gone?’

  ‘There’s some teenagers, Art, you’ll know them. They hang around out the back of your church.’

  Art peered closer at the ground, where the Root had been.

  ‘They did this? I don’t think so.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He pointed at the soil. ‘Look at this. There’s shovel marks. This is too organised.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ I asked.

  Rebecca interjected. ‘Remember, we got several looks walking through town with a couple of shovels. I think if they did it, people would notice, too.’

  Art nodded.

  ‘Who else would it be, then? I was really hoping that we could put an end to this. Today,’ Rebecca continued, voice shaking slightly at the last word.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rebecca. I don’t know. It was here, though. I can promise you that.’

  ‘I know. I believe you.’

  I smiled a further apology at her.

  ‘I’ll find it, though, Rebecca. I will. I’m going to find out who dug it up. I’ll find them if they’re selling it. I’m going to end it all. I promise.’

  23

  The Undying Legend of the Burning Boy

  There’s a very human compulsion to find meaning in
a piece of literature. In any medium wherein there is a story, really. You look for a metaphor, a moral, some sort of learning that you can take from the experience.

  In this story, I ask you, what would the moral be?

  That question isn’t rhetorical; I ask because I myself don’t know the answer. If I’d lived this version of events, and came out of it on the other side with nothing to take from it, I would grow lost. I’d meander through the rest of my life, not knowing how to process the events of these few days. I might recognise this in myself, and seek professional help. But then, I ask, without being able to tell them - or indeed, anyone - the truth without the law coming down upon me, how could they truly help?

  Perhaps I’d then go on to publish this story. I’d call it fiction, of course, to avoid any legal troubles. Then, at the very end of this story, having shared all this information with the readers, I could ask them: what do I do with everything that I’ve learned? How do I go on?

  Please, I implore you, if you have any thoughts on this matter, write to me at the below address.

  4 Charlotte Gardens

  Brixton

  London

  S1 7FX

  Alternatively, once the contents of this work are published, and should my regular disclaimers not be enough to avoid any legal troubles, I may find myself in incarceration. In such an event, my publisher should be able to provide contact details.

  Of course, when the police did eventually arrive in Redbury, with Stephen’s body having been found, there was no way to make sense of it. To someone who wasn’t there, it would have looked like a suicide. While they might have found DNA and fingerprints from three other people, Anna, Sarah and I were not in the system, and there was little else to tie it back to us. When they questioned Joyce, she had nothing to offer them.

  Anna and I had caught up once we were home and settled to make sure that our stories aligned. We knew, back to front, exactly where each of us had “been” at any of the key events from the past few days - and it certainly wasn’t at Stephen’s house, Robert’s house, or Elizabeth’s. It was only a matter of time before the latter two’s deaths were discovered.

  After that, I had to really face up to the fact that Laura wasn’t coming home. Of course, I couldn’t give away any of her belongings, as that would only create suspicion if the police were to stop by. I instead had to live in constant pain, surrounded by objects and mementos that reminded me of her. Every time I saw an item of clothing, a photo of us on the wall, something I’d bought her… I could see visions of her at that campsite.

  I tried to go back to my normal life. I gave it everything I had. If, before, I hadn’t found my job fulfilling, I definitely didn’t now. I went through the motions. I went in, but found myself arriving later and later. I put even less effort into my work, until it resembled little more than meaningless words on a page.

  Eventually, I simply stopped going. I ignored the phone calls that followed, and eventually destroyed my sim card, changing my number.

  I stayed at home, watching old shows over and over, ordering food every meal time, burning slowly through all my savings from the last decade.

  There was little else for me to do. I needed to be given purpose once again. I needed that voice in my mind to talk to me, to tell me what was next, what I was still here for.

  But it didn’t come. Perhaps there really was nothing else for me to do. Or perhaps it was just biding its time.

  I began going to bed earlier and earlier. I didn’t necessarily sleep, and would lay there for hours, staring at the shapes crawling across my ceiling.

  I barely moved, barely showered, barely saw anyone - until a young man knocked at my door.

  He was well dressed, wearing a well ironed shirt and polished shoes.

  ‘Rey Morfin?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Choudhury. I was wondering if I could come in?’

  I stepped aside, gesturing that he could enter.

  I studied his face. Upon crossing the threshold to the flat, he immediately began surveying the room - and the contents thereof.

  ‘And how are you today, sir?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lied.

  ‘I’ve come here today on behalf of the West Mercia Police in line with an enquiry being made in the town of Redbury. I believe you were there recently?’

  ‘That’s right, yeah.’

  ‘And am I right in thinking that your partner went missing in the area around this time? I apologise for the nature of the question.’

  I nodded, face blank, not portraying anything by way of emotion.

  Detective Choudhury paused to try to get a read on my face.

  ‘I’m very sorry that you’re going through such a horrible situation, Mr Morfin.’

  I shrugged. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘That being said, I do need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Is this about Laura?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Morfin. That’s being handled by my colleagues in Worcestershire. I’m here about a different matter.’

  I waited for him to continue.

  ‘I’m here in regards to an investigation into the death of a Mr Stephen Winterbourne. Are you familiar with this man?’

  I thought back to my discussions with Anna, to the version of events that we had concocted. We shouldn’t know the name, we’d decided.

  ‘I haven’t heard of him, no.’

  Detective Choudhury removed a folder from his bag.

  ‘Perhaps if I show you a picture?’

  Sure enough, he opened the folder to show Stephen’s face. It was a younger photo. There were no rings around his eyes, his stare was less intense. Perhaps this is how he’d looked before he’d first come across the Root, before it had begun to consume him as it had me.

  ‘Ah, yes, I know him. We ran into each other in the pub in Redbury.’

  Anna and I had decided that we had to admit to this, because there had been witnesses to the exchange.

  ‘And which pub would that be, sir?’

  ‘There’s only one.’

  ‘If you’ll be so kind as to humour me.’

  ‘It’s called the Black Horse,’ I replied.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The detective paused to scribble this down in an unintelligible scrawl. ‘And did you encounter him at any point after this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ok.’

  The constable withdrew another folder from his bag, opening it to reveal Stephen’s father.

  ‘And have you met this man at all?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. There’d been no witnesses to us meeting, except for the man himself. We’d hoped he was senile enough to not remember our face, or at least be regarded as unreliable.

  ‘And if I were to tell you that he said someone matching your description had visited his house shortly before his son’s death, you would say…?’

  ‘I’d say I don’t know anything about that, I’m afraid.’

  He paused to study my face once again.

  ‘Excellent! Thank you.’

  ‘Is that all?’ I asked.

  ‘Just a couple more questions, if you’ll humour me, please.’

  I nodded again, not wanting to look unwilling to cooperate. ‘Are you asking Anna these questions too?’ I asked.

  The detective looked at me with a furrowed brow. ‘Interesting. Why would you ask that?’

  ‘Just because… just because she was there with me, too,’ I stuttered in reply.

  ‘I’ll say hello from you, shall I?’

  I nodded.

  ‘This next question does relate to Laura, I’m afraid.’

  He paused to watch my reaction. There was none.

  ‘Mr Winterbourne Senior also picked out her photo. He says that he visited the house just a few days before you-’ He caught himself. ‘Just a few days before someone matching your description did. Would you happen to know anything about that at all?’

  I sho
ok my head. ‘I’m afraid not. I don’t know where she is. Or was.’

  Choudhury paused.

  ‘Would you like to ask me how the investigation into her disappearance is going, Rey?’ he prompted.

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘I can tell you that there are a couple of leads that are being investigated. I don’t have any information just yet, but I can come back in a few days if there are any updates, if you like? I may have to return here to ask a few routine follow-up questions anyway.’

  ‘Please. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course, sir. And now, one last question, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I replied, gesturing for him to continue.

  ‘Would you be able to tell me where you were on the 11th October at around 9pm?’

  This was one of the key points of our cover story, of course. Anna, Sarah and I needed to be somewhere where there would be no witnesses, and could feasibly have been at 9pm in the evening.

  ‘We were sitting. There’s a bench. On the north side of town. You can see all across the town, over the valley and the woods. It’s a nice place to be when the sun goes down.’

  ‘And, may I ask, were you with anyone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, he prompted me, ‘Who?’

  ‘Anna. Who I mentioned earlier. And Sarah, Laura’s cousin.’

  ‘And how old is Sarah?’

  ‘She’s thirteen.’

  ‘Isn’t thirteen a little young to be outside, alone?’

  ‘She wasn’t alone, she was with us.’

  ‘I take your point. However, is it not true that a boy only a few years younger than her had gone missing recently? Not to mention…’ he trailed off.

  ‘Laura.’

  ‘Yes. Weren’t her parents worried?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that, I’m afraid, you’d have to ask her.’

  I immediately regretted that answer. I wasn’t sure Sarah was able to convincingly lie, not least to the police - but she’d surprised us before.

  ‘Well, I won’t take up any of your time, Mr Morfin. Thank you for being so… forthcoming.’