by Matt Drabble
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Brendon freed himself from his seatbelt inside the upturned truck and put his hands out to catch his fall as he landed on the ceiling. The side window had smashed under the impact as “The Beast” had rolled several times before finally settling on its roof. He looked around the cab and saw Donald unmoving and hanging by the seatbelt that still held him despite his precarious position. There was blood on the cracked windscreen and a nasty looking scalp wound that was leaking. PC Paterson was starting to come around slowly and with his usual dull expression it was hard to tell if he was injured or not.
“Paterson? Can you hear me? Are you ok?” Brendon shouted as the wind whistled through the broken glass.
“Yeah, think so,” the young PC replied a little groggily.
“Donald can you hear me?” he called, shaking the elderly sergeant gently.
The policeman moaned drunkenly as he started to stir. There really was too much blood for Brendon to be comfortable with coming from the sergeant’s head and he could only hope that it was a flesh wound.
“What about the old man in the pajamas?” Paterson asked as he used his sleeve to wipe some blood from the inside of the windscreen. “Did we hit him?”
Brendon’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered the old man’s face as it passed by them by what could have only been centimeters. He knew that some guy wandering across the field in his night attire would have been crushed beneath the truck and they might very well be sitting on top of him now. He looked over as Paterson was helping Donald free himself from the entanglement of the seatbelt.
He crawled out into the storm and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The bitter wind whipped painfully into his face and the snow was falling so thick and fast that he could barely see a hand in front of his face. He stumbled forwards as he got to his feet, walking with his head bowed down low to keep the snow from stinging his eyes.
He completed a very slow and careful circle around the crash site, but could find no trace of the pajama wearing pensioner that had caused them to crash. Paterson’s reflexes had been far quicker and sharper than he would have given the boy credit for and they were the only thing that had stopped him from hitting the old man square on.
He started to widen his search as he staggered against the force of the wind. He had to find some trace of the man either being struck or walking away but the snow was falling so quickly that even his own prints were soon obscured beneath a blanket of white.
“Anything?” Paterson yelled over the wind.
“No,” he shouted back. “I can’t see a damn thing.”
“Maybe we missed him?” Paterson said hopefully.
“Maybe,” Brendon said but not convinced. “We’ve got to get him to safety,” he said pointing at Donald.
“How far back to the village?” the young PC bellowed.
Brendon turned back to face the way that they’d driven. Off in the distance he could see Bexley Cross and for some reason the weather seemed clearer in that direction. His mind suddenly wanted very badly to turn around and walk back; somehow he just knew that they would make it without any trouble and it was exceedingly enticing. He turned back to face the way that they had been travelling. Ravenhill lay at the bottom of the valley and was completely hidden by the storm. He could feel fear and trepidation washing over him in waves and the decision was clear.
He marched up to Paterson and took Sergeant Ross from the struggling boy and started down the hill and into the eye of the storm.
CHAPTER 18
Stuart felt tender hands addressing his wounds and thanked God that he was in a hospital. The medicinal smells were a clear giveaway and he slowly opened his eyes. His heart sank when he recognised the school infirmary.
He looked up at his nurse, remembering with revulsion that he had, at least in part, been responsible for the death of the previous incumbent of the job.
Jemima King’s face was of a woman deep in concentration; her eyes were narrowed and her tongue poked out between her lips. There were medical books behind her sprawled across the tables, open with instructions as she cleaned and dressed his wounds. He reached up a hand and felt the thick bandage tightly applied around his head. He winced as his fingers brushed the egg sized lump underneath.
“Jemima?” he asked uncertainly as he stared up into her blank face.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“What?”
“Tell me where are we?” she repeated firmly.
“In the infirmary; what the hell’s going on?”
“Can you repeat the months of the year in reverse order?”
“Can I what?” he asked confused.
“It’s a concussion test, Stuart; it says in the books that after a head injury we have to make sure that you’re not concussed.”
“I think that I’d struggle to name the months backwards without being hit on the head,” he joked, but to no avail as she remained still and silent.
“December, November, October, September, August, etcetera, happy?” he snapped, a little harsher than he’d intended to. His head was starting to bang and he still had no idea just what the hell was going on.
“Well you seem to be fine,” she smiled warmly. “I’m no nurse but I think that I did an ok job,” she said, standing back to look over her work.
As she moved away from him he suddenly saw her whole body and could only stare in shock. “What the fuck is that?” he said pointing at her stomach.
“That’s our baby, silly,” she cooed, wrapping her arms gently around the swell which looked to Stuart’s - admittedly inexperienced eye - to be at least 7 or 8 months worth of pregnancy.
He stared at her, wondering if he was still unconscious and dreaming. “Jem, we slept together once, a few days ago and you look ready to burst,” he said incredulously. “How the hell is that possible?”
“It’s a miracle,” she whispered with awe. “We have been blessed to bring about the dawn of the new world. A new Garden of Eden will be born and ours will be the gift of the greatest offering,” she said with her eyes closed. “We are truly blessed, Stuart, for we are the chosen ones and it will be our honour to serve his word.”
Stuart staggered off the table and stumbled backwards as his head spun nauseatingly from his injury. He could only stare at the young teacher who only days before had been concerned with some television talent show results and the thoughts of Christmas. Now she stood before him exuding a strange serene grace with a face that was full of peace and bliss.
“Where’s Sarah?” he said, suddenly remembering that he wasn’t the only one who apparently hadn’t gone nuts around here.
“She is no longer of your concern,” Jemima answered softly.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“She is with him now; he has plans for her, plans that are not meant for our understanding, Stuart.”
“What? Whose plans, for Christ’s sake? What the hell are you talking about Jemima because you’re really starting to scare me now?”
“You shouldn’t keep using such words,” she replied in low whispers. “It’s forbidden Stuart; there are rules in paradise after all.”
He rushed across the room and grabbed her hard by the arms. “I don’t understand what’s going on here Jemima, but right now I want to see Sarah; where the bloody hell is she?”
“Please,” she said in pain and with worry in her eyes. “You can’t use such language.”
“Fuck, shit, bugger, bollocks, bastard,” he spat. “There! See? Nothing happened,” he shouted as he shook her. “Now I want to see Sarah and I want to see her now,” he demanded, letting her arms go.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jemima wept softly as she reached up and stroked his cheek with love and affection in her eyes.
“Why?” he asked.
The only answer he received was a hard blow across the back of his already damaged head from something hard that clanged off his skull. He staggered forward and turned to see Alex Thompson
wielding a hockey stick. “Thompson?” he said, raising his hand to the back of his already damaged head. “Oh for fuck’s sa…,” he managed before the stocky boy swung again with menace and his world turned black again.
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Sarah waited patiently where Alex Thompson had left her. She was sitting in the dining hall alone but was feeling strangely calm. She had realised that when your deepest darkest nightmares came true, what else did you truly have to fear? She had lived for 10 years under the shadow of her past and now here he was, somehow confined within the slender frame of a blue-eyed, blonde 13 year old boy. She had no idea just how any of this was possible, but when she considered his achievements in Eden she could believe anything of the man.
The large hall was dark and foreboding but she was not guarded by anyone. Back in Eden Tolan had procured willing and unknowing accomplices to avoid sullying his own hands whenever necessary. She shuddered to think about the children that he had seemingly corrupted to his cause. There were 12 other children staying at Ravenhill over the holidays and she knew every last one of them.
Echoing footsteps interrupted her thoughts as the stride grew louder and closer from the long shadows approaching the doorway. The echoes bounced off the high ceiling and she could do nothing but wait for him to make his grand entrance. She remembered him as a vain man obsessed with his own importance and standing.
She steeled herself for the confrontation and tried to still the myriad of questions rolling around her head at dizzying speed. Why was he here? What did he want? Were Michael and Emily still safe? Was she?
“I’d imagine that you have many questions,” he said as he entered the dining hall and read her mind.
“I always somehow knew that you’d be back,” she said firmly, determined to hide the terror in her voice.
“Like a bad penny,” the teenage boy smiled.
As he walked closer she could catch subtle glimpses of Tolan behind Joshua’s mask. From the first day that she had laid eyes on Joshua Bradley she had felt a familiarity that went beyond his blonde slender appearance. Outwardly he did not resemble anyone that she knew, but she had felt a small tug of recognition nevertheless.
“I saw you die,” she stated. “I watched as Michael cut you into pieces with an axe and the town burned around you.”
“Ah, these are such fragile forms, are they not?” he said, looking down at his new body. “Delicate flesh so very easily broken, but did you really think that it would be that easy? All the lifetimes that I have lived, I am beyond the pale of death, my dear.”
She stared at him and wished that she had the luxury of believing him to be full of shit, but she knew better and maybe that knowledge might just save her.
“So are we talking resurrection, is that it?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“Why not? I am, after all the hand and the word of God, am I not?” He smiled warmly as he sat down opposite her across the table.
“What kind of a God would allow such monstrosity?” she spat.
“A God of ancient wisdom far beyond the comprehension of your fairy tales, my dear. Your understanding of your precious bible is really rather naive; it is a pale reflection and interpretation of his true word, SJ.”
“It’s just Sarah now,” she interrupted him. “Sarah.”
“Ah, a woman seeking to leave her past behind her; too many bad memories I’d wager. I don’t blame you for wanting to forget your betrayal,” he said as his mouth tightened.
“My betrayal?” she exclaimed incredulously. “You were a monster.”
“I gave you paradise,” he said, his voice rising.
“And you never told us the cost,” she shouted back. She didn’t want to lose her temper or have him lose his, but she couldn’t help it. “You made us kill, you made me kill!” she choked, thinking of her doctor.
“I gave you an Eden on earth and YOU BETRAYED ME!” he screamed as his young frame shook with anger. “You pathetic creatures had no comprehension of what you had until you tore it all down with your damn monkey paws!” he yelled as he slammed his small fists down hard on the table.
“You blame me,” she stated rather than asked.
“Yes,” he snarled. “Michael and Emily were interlopers, brought into our happy community.”
“By you,” she couldn’t help but point out.
He smiled, this time a little more good naturedly. “Yes, by me. I suppose that I’m not infallible after all, Sarah. Perhaps over the generations I’d grown complacent. They were my choices and they were a mistake. But you Sarah, oh you were a town girl, a child of Eden and you should never have turned your back on us, on me.”
“You killed Samuel; even worse, you used my hands to do it,” she sobbed.
“I gave you perfection,” he sighed.
“You gave us nothing but a poor man’s copy of perfection, we had no free will, no decisions in our own futures; you stole our lives.”
“I gave you everything that anyone could possibly want,” he said, shaking his head.
“We weren’t ants in your farm, we weren’t yours to play with and sit in judgment over. You were once human; has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten what that even means?”
“Yes I was once human, but now I’m a God,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I thought that you served God?”
He stared at her long and hard and she thought that maybe she had pushed him too far. His eyes burned with hate and undeniable power. She still had no idea how any of this was possible but she instinctively knew that understanding the practicalities would somehow be the key to stopping him again.
“I suppose that if you’ve been resurrected that kind of makes you a God,” she conceded, hopefully in an appeasing tone.
His crystal blue eyes roamed over her face checking for scorn or derision. “Did you know that the Aztecs spread their culture at one point into North America? They were a fascinating race of people with great power. They had elaborate mythical traditions and rituals, and their knowledge about architecture and the arts was quite simply astounding.”
“Is this where your power comes from?”
“They believed that their Gods wanted sacrifices in return for favors that would be granted to them. So the scale of the sacrifice often depended on the favor required, and for really important favors they would cut off their own ears, tongues, and sometimes even their own genitals if you can believe that?” He grinned. “Did you know that women were allowed to become priests as long as they didn't get married? The Aztecs were a modern race with modern ideas.”
“Oh yeah, apart from the whole human sacrifice thing,” she scoffed.
“Hey, nobody’s perfect,” he shrugged.
“Why now? Why wait so long to come back? Was it just to torture me?”
“Hey now pretty lady, I hate to burst your bubble but not everything revolves around you. You think that it’s easy coming back from the dead? It takes time and will and a lot of both. The planets have to align just right and everything has to tumble into place; it might take a year, it might take a millennium, but I was always coming back.”
“And Ravenhill?”
“Ah yes, Ravenhill. This place was integral; even on the other side of the world this place’s power drew us. Ravenhill has such a well of untapped potential; can’t you feel it? The air is positively brimming with electricity. Such dark history down through the ages; only a place like Ravenhill would be enough for me to start again and build a new utopia, a new Garden of Eden. Think about it Sarah, think about these children and their futures, think about their families and the sort of bloodlines that they come from. These children will grow into the future leaders and shapers of tomorrow and they will be all mine.”
“I won’t let you,” Sarah said coldly.
“Oh child, I’m afraid that it’s already almost done. Think about your current in-house roster, 12 children. That’s 12 new disciples to follow me and all I need to finish are 12 deaths to sacrifice to my ma
sters and I have it all,” Tolan said blissfully.
“Then I’ll stop you from killing 12 people,” she said with more certainty than she felt.
“Well you’re a little late to the party, young Sarah” he smiled gleefully. “Now let’s see, there was young Danny Haim - he died unbeknownst to you at that rugby match you attended. Then there was James Corner - he took a flyer off the roof here after the end of term party. Next came Dora Tibbs, not a particularly pleasant woman, she died out in the storm. Good old wife beating Colin Merryweather had his head split open by an axe - always a personal favourite of mine,” he winked obscenely. “Next up, Edna Bailey was hung out in the woods and she was swiftly followed by Mavis Merryweather who choked herself to death inside a closet. Rosa Marsh gave herself up to me willingly and then your friend Stuart killed Hannah Marks, accidently of course, but hey they all count.”
“Oh my God,” Sarah whispered in horror as her hands covered her face.
“I get the feeling that I’m forgetting someone,” Tolan mused. “Oh yes, your employer, Mr. Barnaby. I had the children hack him to pieces,” he smiled. “Now that makes nine by my count; nine down and just three to go.”
“And then what?”
“And then I am free of this place and the world belongs to me,” Tolan crowed.
She felt that he had just made a crucial slip, free of this place, he’d said, did that mean that he wasn’t yet?
“And I take it that I make up one of the remaining three?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“You were always special to me, Sarah; maybe I’ll just keep you around to watch the show; after all, not everyone is made of the right material. But I have other cards that I’m keeping close to my chest this time; after all, I always learn my lessons.”
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Brendon saw the small cottage and staggered towards it. The sergeant was hanging heavily on his shoulder and his lungs were burning with the effort. Donald had barely spoken and from the way that he had to be dragged, Brendon was worried. His own body felt like it had been through the washing machine and the cut on the sergeant’s head had at least stopped bleeding.