“Help me,” came a young voice.
Billy still didn’t move, his eyes fixated on the trees in front of him. “I am a police officer,” he stated, his voice holding the same authority she’d heard moments earlier in the car.
A young lad, naked from the waist up, stepped out from the bushes. Bruising swelled the bridge of his nose, and his voice was nasally when he spoke again. “Thank God, the police.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Stephen.”
“Stephen what?”
“Banks. Some dude stole my clothes and my car.”
Billy glared at Eliza, a knowing look spread across his face. Without looking at the lad, he asked, “And what did this dude look like?”
“Tall, dark hair. I didn’t really take much notice. Said a deer ran out in front of him.”
“You always stop for strangers?”
“No.”
Billy’s hand lowered from his belt and he stepped forward, helping the young lad to the passenger seat of the Aston. “You got a broken nose there, Stephen.”
“He whacked my head against the steering wheel.”
“What car’d you say he stole?”
“A Mini.”
“Number plate?”
“OLM…” A frown creased the boy’s forehead. “383L”
“An old one, eh? Done up, or a rust bucket?”
“Mint condition until he smashed the window.”
“What colour?”
“Orange.”
Billy patted the boy’s shoulder and waved Eliza down to join them. “Stay with him,” he said, pausing for a second to push Eliza’s hair back from her face. He wet his thumb and wiped what she presumed to be dried blood from her face, once again reminding her that the Shadow would come for her if she didn’t clean herself up.
“Where are you going?”
“To call it in. The guy needs an ambulance.”
Eliza watched him climb the bank. He disappeared from sight, and suddenly she wished she’d stayed in the car when first ordered to.
“Are you a police officer?” the lad asked.
Eliza glanced down at him. Although only five or six years seemed to separate their ages, he looked like a young son needing comfort from a mother. She knelt. “No.”
“Why don’t you have any shoes on your feet?”
Eliza studied her feet, skin hardened and covered in dirt and mud. She’d forgotten all about her lack of footwear. “It’s been a long day.”
“As crazy as mine?”
Well, let’s see. I’ve been drugged, kidnapped, fought zombies, and told I have to kill my father’s murderous butler using only the power of my mind before he sacrifices me to open the Gateway to Heaven. “No, it’s been nothing like your day.”
Billy appeared at the top of the mound. The dirt crumbled like a mini avalanche beneath his feet, and he slid the last couple of feet down the bank. “George and an ambulance are on their way. The ambulance will take you both to the hospital in Liskeard.”
“I’m not going back to any hospital, never mind Liskeard. Not after the last time.”
“Eliza, don’t argue with me.”
“I’m not going to any hospital, Billy.”
Billy cursed under his breath. “Fine. Then George will take you back to the station.”
“I need to go home. Get a change of clothes and clean myself up.”
“Do I look as though I’m in the mood for an argument? Go with George to the station. I’ll meet you there once I know this chap is on his way to hospital.”
“Then why can’t I wait with you?”
“Because you have no shoes on your feet, you’re a victim yourself, and it’s safer back at the station with George.”
“But—”
“It’s not up for negotiation. George will take you back, you will give him a full statement, and you will wait for me there.”
Billy turned his back on her, and Eliza heard him ask the young man if there was any family he wanted to call. The young man shook his head. Eliza waited for Billy to face her again so she could further argue her case to stay with him, but he didn’t.
CHAPTER FORTY
Roman didn’t bother hiding the car this time when he arrived at Eliza’s house.
His head ached enough to irritate the hell out of him, and he didn’t plan on being around long enough for anyone to catch him. He entered through the front door, bold as brass, and headed upstairs towards the attic. The notes he’d seen on James’ desk in the library showed the attic as the resting place for the fourth and final piece of the True Cross. Careless for such important papers to be left out for all and sundry to see, and ironic that it had been under Eliza’s nose the whole time, but it had saved Roman immense time and aggravation having to search for them. Getting to this last piece before Davis was his only hope of ever seeing Jane again.
Considering the day he’d had, the climb wasn’t an easy one. Yet, Roman still managed to reach the attic in record time. Daylight filtered through the open doorway and lit the top of the landing. Inside, footprints disturbed dust-covered floorboards, and broken cobwebs left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He walked to the far side of the room, where daylight barely touched the walls, and saw the broken bricks prised from their lime surroundings and smashed on the floor. He kicked a path clear and peered in through the hole. Visibility was almost non-existent, but he could still see there was nothing in the small cubbyhole on the other side.
Roman punched the wall. A lone brick fell and missed his foot by inches. Without that last piece of wood, Roman had nothing to bargain with. He’d lost Eliza, he’d lost the wood, and he’d lost his last chance to find Jane and apologise for everything he’d done to her. He just could not see what his next move should be.
He turned from the hole and left the room, annoyed that he’d arrived too late, and doubly annoyed that Davis had outsmarted him. Two options now faced him: give in and let the old man win, or kill him. Whichever he chose, the outcome was the same. He’d never get to Heaven. This scenario did not sit well with him.
The stairs down to the hall seemed longer now that he had no interest in rushing. Everything had gone to shit, just as it had after he’d walked away from Jane and his unborn child. It had taken days leading up to that abandonment to convince himself it was for her own good; that her husband – his brother – was best suited to care for them both. And he’d spent every day since trying to wash their blood from his hands. Jane had been everything he desired, but he’d left her, and she’d ultimately died.
Is that what was happening now? Was history repeating itself?
Eliza certainly awoke a yearning inside him, but whether it was one of genuine emotion or just plain lust, he didn’t know. Whichever, he intended on leaving her for Jane, and would probably never know if she died at the hands of Davis. Could he honestly live with another’s blood on his hands because of his own selfishness?
The front door remained open just as he’d left it, and he stepped out onto the porch, casting an eye at the few houses scattered in the hills around him. At the top end of the lane a neighbour fussed with the flowers that bordered his lawn and, two houses down, a harassed blonde packed her four kids into a grey 4x4, moaning that they were late for karate.
Roman stood and watched her, bemused that she’d allow her simple life to cause so much aggravation. What he wouldn’t give to have her kind of worries. He turned to close the door and an open packing box caught his eye – or, more accurately, the contents that lay on top of it. He stepped back inside the hall. Various trinkets and photo frames crammed the box, half wrapped in paper and bubble wrap. One picture in particular held his attention. He picked it up and grinned with conceited satisfaction. In front of him he held the answer. In the picture, a smiling Eliza stood beside a handsome dark-haired man in a smart-looking police uniform. Of course. Davis didn’t have Eliza… The cop did.
The g
ame was back on. Roman could still get Eliza back, although what he did with her now, he wasn’t sure. With a newfound spring in his step, he turned for the door.
Mrs. McKenzie stood in the entrance, a flash of something across her face he took to be concern at seeing him inside. “Can I help you?”
“I was just leaving.” Roman sidestepped her, but Mrs. McKenzie leaned against the doorframe and blocked his exit, seemingly unbothered that her low-cut blouse revealed way more than he wanted to see.
He stepped back and surveyed the woman. He would have expected more anxiety from a woman finding a strange man in her neighbour’s house. She didn’t even seem intimidated, considering her dumpy frame barely reached his breast bone.
Mrs. McKenzie pushed herself from the doorframe, patted her over-styled hair, and walked into the hall. Her hips swayed, a display of sensuality obviously emphasised for Roman’s benefit. It didn’t work. “What you came for has gone.”
Roman glanced towards the stairs. Did she mean the Cross or Eliza? He decided to go with the Cross. “You took it?”
“No.” Mrs. McKenzie laughed, and kicked the door shut behind her. With the sunlight blocked, the room took on the same cold and dismal feel it had the other evening when the Shadow had come for Eliza.
“But you know who did?”
Mrs. McKenzie smiled, and it was obvious she wasn’t going to dignify his question with an answer.
“So, if there’s nothing of any importance left in this house, why are you here?”
“Maybe I’m just looking out for my neighbour.”
“Then you would have called the police.”
Mrs. McKenzie laughed again, clearly enjoying herself. “There sure ain’t any flies on you, is there, sugar?”
Roman drummed his hand against the side of his thigh. He didn’t have time for idle chitchat. “Question is, do you know anything that my torturing you would unveil?”
The corners of Mrs. McKenzie’s mouth turned, and the look of fear he sought replaced her overconfident demeanour. She glanced to the left. “I don’t know anything. I was told to keep an eye on this place and that’s what I’m doing.”
Her transition from survivor to victim was good. Almost believable, in fact. But Roman had been around enough liars in his time to know when someone was playing him. “You looked to the left.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When you spoke, you glanced to your left. You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not.” Mrs. McKenzie opened the door. “Look, just go. I won’t tell them you were here.”
“Tell who? Davis?”
Now her eyes rapidly searched off to the left.
“Don’t say a word unless you are going to speak the truth.” Roman reached past her and pushed the door shut again. “Now. Do you know where Eliza is?”
Mrs. McKenzie stared at him, eyes wide like a cornered wild animal.
Maybe she was nothing but a pawn in a dangerous game, but she knew alright. Still, it was a game Roman didn’t have time to play. His hand still drummed against his leg, and he leaned in closer towards her. “Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“My hand tapping against my leg.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a sign I’m growing impatient. Now, you have exactly thirty seconds to tell me where Eliza is.”
“Then what?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Mrs. McKenzie swallowed, and fished through her jeans pockets. She brought out a folded piece of paper and handed it to him. “Please don’t kill me. I have it here, written down. I’m supposed to meet—”
Roman snatched the information and opened it. Handwritten in a scrawl he thought only doctors used, was a list. He read the first four items: washing powder, bleach, fruit cake, beef. “What the hell is this? A shopping list?”
He glanced up, but Mrs. McKenzie already had the knife in her hand. She plunged it deep into Roman’s stomach, and before he had time to react, she withdrew and stabbed him a second time. “You should never underestimate a woman,” she said, knifing him a third time.
Roman stumbled back towards the kitchen. Lunge after lunge, Mrs. McKenzie came for him. All around, light reflected off the blade: above, to the left, to the right. Roman blocked every frenzied attack the tiny woman made to finish him off. Renegade jabs carved his arms and chest. His clothes sliced apart, and blood soon soaked them. He felt his legs weaken and knew he couldn’t hold her off much longer. The knife came at him again and he raised his hand to block it. The blade speared clear through the back of his hand, the point exiting his palm and stopping inches from his heart.
Mrs. McKenzie didn’t pull it free. Instead, she laughed and pushed harder. Roman held her off, his arm shaking with pain. He had little strength left. He was losing.
“Why don’t you just die?” Mrs. McKenzie said.
“I already did that today.” Roman grabbed her hair at the roots, and kneed her in the stomach.
Mrs. McKenzie’s hand released the knife. She doubled over but Roman yanked her head back up and slammed the knife into the side of her neck. The steel penetrated her jugular and embedded deep in her throat. Only then did he pull it free. Blood followed, spurting out like the Bellagio fountains in Vegas.
Roman shook her. “Where’s Eliza?”
Life had all but drained from Mrs. McKenzie’s eyes. Her arms fell to her sides and she stared vacantly at Roman.
“Tell me.”
Mrs. McKenzie dropped to the floor and Roman collapsed beside her. “Tell me where Eliza is.” He grabbed her head and banged it against the floor.
For a second, Mrs. McKenzie eyes widened and focused on him.
“Is Eliza at the police station?”
A slight smile from the woman revealed bloodstained teeth, and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
Roman collapsed back, his breathing growing heavier by the minute, and examined his arms. The wounds were already healing, and given he was still alive, he assumed the stab wounds to his abdomen had miraculously missed every vital organ. Lucky bastard. He didn’t have time to die again. He grabbed a tea towel and pressed it against his side. The blood would soon stop flowing, and he just prayed it was before he passed out. To lose more time now while his body healed was something he couldn’t afford. He climbed to his feet, his body begging for a longer rest, and staggered to the door. Outside, the woman with the kids had already left, and the man tending his garden now mowed the lawn.
Yards from where Roman stood, the Mini Cooper sat in the driveway…with two slashed tyres.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
George pulled the police car to a stop and switched off the engine.
He unclicked his seatbelt and opened the driver’s door. It whacked against the wheelchair ramp, leaving himself little more than a couple of feet to squeeze out through.
Eliza made no attempt to move.
George noticed, and said, “You’re safer here, you know that?”
“Since when do you take orders from Billy?”
“I happen to agree with him.”
By Eliza’s reckoning, George spent a full three minutes trying to exit the car. He twisted this way and that, removed the torch and Asp from his belt, wiggled, sucked in as much of his stomach as he could, and when he finally stood, his shirt was untucked, his tie skew-whiff, and he was missing his hat. Was this really the best protection the police could offer until Billy returned?
George waddled around to Eliza’s side of the car and tapped on the window. “Come on, I’ll make you a really bad cup of tea.”
Eliza watched him disappear inside the police station. How easy it would be to run in the opposite direction. To head to Scotland, or Wales, or America…or anywhere that wasn’t here, and start a new life away from all this horror. Probably not as easy as she thought. She didn’t have a penny on her, her clothes were ripped and bloodstained, and the soles of her filthy feet were
sore and in no shape to flee anywhere. Begrudgingly, she slid off her seatbelt and opened the car door.
George reappeared at the door and held it open, encouraging her to hurry inside. Eliza trudged past him, opting not to look at him until she’d entered the office.
She glanced at the same chair she’d occupied less than a few hours before, and said, “I really need to clean up.”
“Sure, the toilet’s through there.” He pointed to the back room, then grabbed a shirt off the coat stand. “Here, Billy’s spare.”
Eliza took it and hurried to the toilet at the end of the corridor. Inside, she filled the small basin with water and removed Roman’s jacket. The wax had flaked away from her arm and although dried blood covered her skin, the wound no longer bled. She soaked some paper towels, cleaned herself before washing as much of the blood from her top as she could, and flushed them away. Slipping on Billy’s shirt, she prayed to God she’d done enough to stop the Shadow finding her.
By the time Eliza returned to the office, George had kept his promise and made her an awful cup of tea.
He sat at his desk and took some papers from his drawer. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew where the car was?”
“Billy just drove around the area until something looked familiar, and then we found the car,” she lied.
“Uh huh.” George didn’t believe her, she could see that. He scribbled some notes, noticed the pencil was blunt, and sharpened it.
Eliza remained quiet, feeling guilty she’d kept things from George in the first place.
He must have read her mind because he said, “You could have saved us a lot of time if you’d told me what had happened straight away. We may have even caught the guy who took you.”
“I wasn’t sure—”
George held up a hand. “Let’s just fill out this paperwork, shall we? That’s if you’re going to tell me the truth this time.”
The Sacrifice Page 19