The Sacrifice

by Donna Collins

  Eliza was back at square one. The truth couldn’t possibly be written down, especially on official paperwork that would be filed. She sat in the spare chair. George knew she was holding back. She had to give him something.

  “Okay, name?”

  “What?”

  “Your name.” George pointed to the form.

  “Eliza Hamilton.”

  “Address.”

  “George, you know my address.”

  George glanced up. “I also know your date of birth and that you’re a female, but I’m still going to ask seeing as you’re not telling me much else.”

  Eliza reached for the drink, changed her mind, and looked George straight in the eye. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Good. Now, let’s start with what happened at the hospital.”

  Eliza shifted position. “I woke up and went looking for a phone.”

  “Who were you going to call?”

  “Billy, but I couldn’t remember his number. He’s changed it since...”

  “And did you find one?”

  Eliza shook her head. “I even checked the morgue, but I must’ve passed out or something because the next thing I knew, I woke up in the boot of a car.”

  George finished writing, noticed her silence, and said, “And?”

  “And what? You know the rest after that. I got out of the boot and ran. A postman brought me here.”

  George seemed to consider her for a moment. “Did you see who took you from the hospital?”

  Answering ‘no’ wasn’t going to cut it. Eliza had to give George something else. “It was a man.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I came to at the hospital, after I fainted. He was carrying me up some stairs, but I didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “Black? White?”

  “White.”

  “Dark-haired? Fair? Ginger?”

  “Brown. I think. It could have been darker.”

  “Any distinguishing marks…?”

  Eliza thought about the scar that curved the side of Roman’s mouth, but shook her head. George looked up when he didn’t hear her answer, saw her movement, and jotted the motion down on the paper. “Did he speak to you?”

  Again, Eliza shook her head, causing George to glance up again. He seemed annoyed she wasn’t using her voice, and placed his pencil down on the desk, interlocking his fingers. “It’s been more than a few hours since you went missing from the hospital. What was he doing all that time? Just driving around?”

  Eliza shrugged. “All I know is that I woke up in the boot. When I got out, I flagged down the postman and came here.”

  A tap on the security window startled her.

  “Ah, finally.” George got up and pressed the door release. “Where have you been?”

  Eliza twisted in her seat. Her throat tightened when she saw Mr. McKenzie enter the office.

  “Halfway to Bodmin Moor,” he said, scanning the room. “Where’s the brother?”

  “At the accident site, although I don’t know for how much longer.”

  Mr. McKenzie grunted and brushed past George. He strode up to Eliza, clasped her chin, and tilted her face from left to right. “Didn’t you give her the sedative?”

  “Of course I did, in her tea, but she needs to drink the thing for it to work.”

  “Whose blood is that?” Mr. McKenzie glanced at the bloodied tissue used earlier to wipe Eliza’s head.

  “The girl’s. Why?”

  “Burn it.”

  Eliza pulled from Mr. McKenzie’s grip. “What’s going on?”

  Mr. McKenzie smiled. “I’m taking you home.”

  Eliza stood, and backed away. “I’m waiting here for Billy.”

  Mr. McKenzie grabbed her arm, his callused fingers digging into her skin. She turned to George for help but he just glanced at the station doorway, as though scared Billy would walk in and catch them.

  “Let go of me.”

  Mr. McKenzie laughed, his head tilting back to reveal a mouthful of fillings. Gone was the warm and friendly neighbour Eliza had grown up around. He turned to George. “Get the door.”

  “George, don’t let him take me. They’re going to kill me.”

  George walked to the station door and opened it. “I’m sorry, Eliza.”

  “You’re in on this?” But the sergeant turned his head away. “George, please.”

  Mr. McKenzie pushed Eliza towards the door, and she stopped struggling. She turned, complying with her neighbour’s command.

  “Good girl.” Mr. McKenzie loosened his hold. “We’ll have you home in no time.”

  Eliza stepped forward, then pivoted suddenly. Without warning, she raised her knee and planted it firmly in McKenzie’s groin.

  Mr. McKenzie released her and doubled over. “My fucking balls.”

  Eliza fled to the back room and pulled the door shut behind her. The old lock didn’t look as if it would hold up under attack, but she bolted it regardless. From the office, she heard Mr. McKenzie scream for George to get her, and then footsteps hurried to the door. She had to get out of here.

  The narrow hall gave access to one cell and the toilet. As the cell was nothing but a small space surrounded by three thick walls and a row of bars, she opted for the toilet, and the tiny, cobweb-covered window.

  Eliza climbed up onto the toilet seat and yanked at the latch, but years of over-painting had long since sealed it shut. She heard the locked door smash open, and heavy boots thud towards her.

  “Eliza, get down,” George said.

  Eliza let go of the latch and faced him. George had a Taser pointed towards her.

  “Don’t make me use this.”

  “George, what is going on?”

  “I said get down!”

  Eliza jumped down, and George stepped back into the hallway, keeping a healthy distance. “Now, I want you to walk back into the office. If you try anything, I will Taser you.”

  Eliza stared at the gun. Would George seriously use it? She stepped out of the toilet, George backing up into the corner of the hallway to let her pass.

  “Put your hands on your head, Eliza.”

  Eliza did as he asked. “George—”

  “Don’t talk.” He motioned her towards the office.

  Mr. McKenzie waited, bent over and massaging his groin. “You little bitch,” he said when she entered, then to George, “Why didn’t you Taser her?”

  “She came willingly.”

  “Fuck willingly.” Mr. McKenzie snatched the gun from George’s hands and pointed it towards Eliza. He leered at her for a second, and fired.

  A small dart punctured just below Eliza’s breast. Fifty thousand volts of electricity zapped her insides, and her body involuntarily tightened. She dropped to the floor, spasms her only movement until the sensation stopped and her muscles relaxed, leaving her unable to move.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Billy watched the ambulance disappear over the hill and out of sight.

  He slammed the Aston’s car door shut, having found nothing to help him track that bastard Roman down, and waved to the breakdown recovery driver that he was finished.

  “You sure? I’m paid by the hour, so can wait as long as you need.”

  “I’m sure.”

  The driver looked put out. He folded his newspaper and threw it on the dash. “Suit yourself.” The truck roared to life. Without another word he pulled away, towing Roman’s car behind.

  Billy didn’t watch it leave. Instead, he hurried back to his own car, grabbed the radio, and called George. When his sergeant failed to answer, Billy dropped the radio on the seat and started the engine, tyres spitting gravel as he screeched away.

  He’d travelled no more than a mile when darkness suddenly descended. He switched on the lights, the beams cutting through the dense surroundings, and eased his foot off the accelerator. Outside, high in the sky, the sun was eclipsed. At
least Billy assumed the circle of green light, like a lone Olympic ring, was an eclipse. He’d seen this before – the night Eliza had been attacked at the train station, and nothing good had happened that night. He accelerated again, even more desperate to get back to the station. Outside, trees swayed in the growing gale, and fallen leaves swept across the lit tarmac, swirling and fighting each other as if unsure of which direction to go. Billy sped up. Although he believed very little of what Eliza had earlier told him, he knew one thing for sure: something strange had been happening in Cornwall these last forty-eight hours, and if he were a betting man, he would bet his apartment that something bad was brewing now.

  The steering wheel gyrated in his hands. At first Billy thought he had a flat tyre, but beneath him, the ground rumbled again. The car rocked one way, then the other. Fight as he might, he struggled to keep the vehicle on the road. Ahead of him, the tarmac cracked apart like an eggshell. Fences tilted, some sections severing apart for the gales to thrust into Billy’s path. Branches snapped from trees and fell to the ground while others hit the car roof with deafening thuds.

  Shit. It’s a fucking earthquake.

  Billy swerved the car, first to miss the gaps in the road and then to miss the falling debris that showered his vehicle. But the winds picked up, ferociously hammering the side of the car. Soon, his control over the steering was lost. Blow by blow, the storm nudged the car across the road, but Billy didn’t ease off the accelerator. The speedometer hit sixty. Broken tarmac rose from the ground like speed bumps, and several times the tyres hit them and sent the car through the air. Wind battered the vehicle. The back end swerved out, and Billy wrestled to keep the steering straight. Lightning cut through the dark, lighting the debris-littered, tree-lined road ahead of him. Thunder grumbled somewhere over the hills, and rogue raindrops began to splash upon the windscreen.

  A second bolt of lightning splintered across the sky, and somewhere in the distance Billy saw an explosion of fire. Rain turned to hail, and lightning stabbed down from above once more, its target a tree some fifty metres ahead. An orb of light burst from within like a fireball. Branches fizzed like gunpowder and the trunk divided in two, the severed parts splitting before they crashed across the road.

  Billy slammed his foot on the brake. The tyres locked, and the car skidded across the wet surface. He panicked, everything taught to him at police driving school forgotten. He turned the steering wheel, but the erratic action sent the car into an uncontrollable spin. It hit the tree now blocking the road, and the bonnet crumpled around it. A branch pierced the windscreen, broken glass showering the dash and the occupant.

  The last thing Billy felt was the seatbelt cut into his chest as he was catapulted forward.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Bang… Bang… Bang...

  The noise pounded through Billy’s head, wind rushing across his face. Opening his eyes, dull light blurred somewhere off to the side. Where in the hell was he?

  Slowly, familiar objects became clear: the gearstick, the radio, the empty seat beside him. The passenger door swung open and whacked against a broken fence.

  Bang… Bang… Bang…

  Billy lifted his head from the steering wheel. Pain surged through his spine and exploded behind his eyes, and for a moment his vision blurred again. I’m inside the car? What was he doing inside the car? Something warm trickled down the side of his face and, without looking, he knew it was blood. He fumbled with the button on his seatbelt, and agitation turned to desperation when it didn’t release. He gripped and tugged the strap, but it only tightened across his chest and further restricted his breathing. Adrenaline flooded his veins, and his heart raced. Outside, a tree burned, its leaves shrivelled, the bark charred. Inches from Billy’s head, its branch clipped the headrest and pierced the back seat.

  Pausing, Billy took a deep breath but calm eluded him. His eyelids drooped, and his head lolled back against the headrest. Once again he reached for the seatbelt clip. A composed push on the button, and the belt sprang across him. Within seconds, he’d opened the car door and fallen out.

  The wind hadn’t let up, and attacked him from all angles. Wearily, he got up and stumbled unsteadily to the front of the car. Hail stung his arms and face, and the wind howled louder than he’d ever known. He raised his arm to block what he could, and examined the vehicle. The bonnet curled around the tree trunk like a blanket wrapping a new-born baby. The front wheel buckled outwards, clearly no longer attached to the axle. This car wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Shit.” Billy football-kicked the tyre. It wobbled free, and found peace on the muddy verge. Blood trickled into his eye. He wiped it away, and pulled his mobile from his pocket. No signal.

  “Shit.” He threw the phone down on the passenger seat.

  For a split second, lightning lit the night, and through the torrent of rain he thought he saw movement on the road ahead. He shielded his eyes, trying to see through the day’s premature darkness. It was impossible. A second burst of lightning brightened the sky again, illuminating several people some fifty yards away. Billy’s shoulders relaxed. Thank God. Help had arrived.

  He ran into the middle of the road and waved his arms. “Hello. I need some help here.”

  The flash of light disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and Billy lost the group to the darkness once more. He waited for a response. None came.

  The tree’s burning embers gave off very little light, and his car’s smashed headlights were worse. He spotted the police siren on the roof and hurried back to the vehicle. Flicking a button on the dash, red and blue lights started to rotate wildly, causing every object around him to shimmer under the purple glow.

  Billy scurried back to the centre of the road and waited. It seemed an age before he heard the first groan. Hairs spiked on the back of his aching neck, warning him of danger. He stepped backwards. The wet tarmac glistened in the siren’s light, but he still couldn’t see anything beyond the fallen tree.

  “Hello?”

  Another bolt of lightning blazed across the skyline. Fifteen or so people, all mesmerised by the florescent lights, staggered towards him. Billy reached for his holster, but his Taser wasn’t there. “Shit,” he said again, stepping back towards his car. He had a shotgun in the boot, and patted down his shirt pocket. Shit. The key hung on the fob. The fob hung from the ignition...which was inside the car.

  An older gentleman dressed in a grubby black suit and tie reached the car. He held out a bruised and bloody hand. Only two fingers and a thumb remained, each nail blackened with dirt. Decaying skin hung in tattered shreds, and when he curled his finger and motioned for Billy to approach, whitened bone jutted out just above his elbow.

  Billy flicked his Asp towards the floor and it sprang free, extending a good three feet. The action momentarily stunned the man. Rot had eaten away half his face, and his eyes bulged from sunken sockets. A young woman moved alongside him, the same gaunt look on her face, the ragged hem of her dirty cream dress trailing the ground behind her. Thin, matted hair barely covered her scalp, remnants of eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes, and cheekbones pushed through barely deceased skin. Billy knew this woman. He’d attended her funeral weeks earlier.

  Something touched Billy’s arm and he screamed, whirling the Asp behind him like an uncoordinated athlete. A little boy, one arm hugged tight around the neck of a brown teddy bear, stared up. He tilted his head, his one remaining blue eye watching the stick in amazement.

  Billy turned on his heel and ran for the fields.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The lights in Looe Harbour dotted the darkness like flicked paint across a canvass.

  Without the aid of moonlight, the uneven fields made it almost impossible to navigate. Tree trunks lay fallen on their sides, and several times their deracinated roots caught Billy’s clothes and face. Finally, the grainy tarmac touched the soles of his shoes, and he quickened his pace across the stony arch of Looe Bridge.

 
; The police station doors burst open and Billy barged inside, gripping the Asp and ready to swing at anything he encountered. The small waiting room was empty. Fast, shallow breaths had little time to slow, and rainwater dripped from his soaked clothes and puddled around his muddy boots. He slammed shut the main doors and, wiping the sweat from his eyes, stole a cautious glance through the window. Outside, the car park appeared vacant, and in the distance all that could be heard was a mixture of sirens, house alarms, and people screaming.

  What in the hell was going on?

  On the other side of the partitioning, telephones rang while their message lights randomly flashed. Billy rushed to the security door and punched in the code. The digital screen flashed red, not green, and the door remained locked.

  “Shit.” Billy banged on the partition glass. “Eliza? George?”

  Then, for the second time in as many minutes, the station doors burst open, and Billy came face to face with the dead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  James Hamilton stepped from his private jet.

  Like a loyal dog, Davis stood by the open door of his limo. No doubt, inside a poured whiskey would be waiting in one of the four crystal-cut tumblers. James greeted him with a nod, waited for his coat to be removed from his shoulders, and then climbed into the car. The anticipation that soon he’d be home felt good after his long flight, and instead of opening his briefcase to continue unfinished work, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and relax.

  “Did you have a good trip, sir?”

  James opened his eyes. Davis looked back from the passenger seat, and as much as James needed to talk to him, it could wait the ten minutes to home. He closed his eyes again. “Yes, Davis. Everything went well.” And raised the blackout screen between them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Eliza cowered where she sat.

  Her wrists were tied in front of her, and thick cloth covered her head and face, letting in little air and no light. She struggled to shake the hood free, but some kind of tape wrapped her neck and held the fabric tight against her throat. She drew her knees to her chest, the clatter of chains scraping the hard floor, its clamps cold and heavy around her ankles. Maybe five minutes ago she’d heard voices. Not in this room, wherever this room was, but somewhere outside. She tried again to shake the cloth from her face so she could inhale anything other than her own breath. Nausea whirled in the pit of her stomach and drowsiness clouded her mind, and although the hood created complete darkness, she felt as though the room on the other side was spinning.