by Matt Drabble
Suddenly, there was a huge ripping sound as the stone floor beneath them split open. The last of the children were past it and only Stuart remained. Tolan was staring up into the air in shock and disbelief and she knew that before he went, he wouldn’t go quietly.
The crack in the stone floor widened, cutting her and Stuart off from Tolan and the baby. Stuart teetered on the edge of the abyss and she just grabbed him in time before he fell into the black pit beneath their feet. Something told her that the fall downwards would be a lot further than Ravenhill’s basement level.
She caught Stuart by the lapels and held onto him tightly as the chasm expanded.
“We have to get the baby,” he shouted in her ear over the noise.
She looked over his shoulder and saw that Tolan was now looking defeated at the altar and caring not that the whole world was falling down around his ears. The baby was still wrapped in the sweater but she couldn’t see how they were going to reach it before Tolan killed the child out of pure spite.
Ravenhill shook again with another explosion and this one showered them with brickwork that had stood for centuries. Sarah knew that they were out of time; some of them could live or all of them could die.
“We can’t reach him,” she cried desperately.
Just then, she saw movement behind Tolan. Out of the crack in the ground, someone emerged. The figure took a chunk of fallen masonry and smashed Tolan in the back of the head. The figure grabbed the baby and ran towards them. The split down the centre of the chapel’s floor widened again but the figure didn’t stop and even ran faster. At the last possible minute, it leapt high in the air and Sarah saw two things: firstly, that it was Alex Thompson and secondly, that he wasn’t going to make it.
“Hold onto me!” she screamed at Stuart as she leant forward out into the gaping chasm. For one horrible moment she thought that he hadn’t heard her and she was about to topple into the blackness below. But then his strong fingers snagged her belt and he held her. She reached out as far as she could, straining every sinew in her body. Her fingers grasped in mid air as Alex crashed into her. She heard the baby cry out as it was squashed between them but she held firm. She felt Stuart start to reel her in and she clamped onto Alex as hard as she could. Stuart dragged them all back from the edge of the abyss with a strength that should have been impossible to muster, but somehow he did.
They fell in a heap and had to kick and scramble backwards as most of the chapel ceiling caved inwards.
“Holy shit, we did it,” Stuart exclaimed as he checked them all over.
She dragged herself up on shaky legs and looked at Alex. The last time that she had seen him he had been sacrificing himself to save them in the offices. His face was bloody with multiple wounds but none looked too serious.
“Are you ok?” she asked him over the noise.
“I’ll live,” he muttered.
“Then go,” she replied, kissing him lightly on the forehead.
“Oh Jesus, no!” Stuart suddenly exclaimed and she turned to face his fear.
Tolan was somehow hovering above the torn earth and moving towards them with murder in his eyes. His face was contorted into one of extreme pain and concentration and she knew that he was using whatever vestige of power he had left coupled with pure hate to achieve the feat.
“You have to go,” she said to Stuart, leaning in and speaking into his ear.
“I won’t leave you,” he yelled back. “Alex, take the baby and get him out of here,” he commanded the young man.
“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head sadly. “You have to go; it’s ok, Stuart, it really is.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head violently and grabbing her firmly by the arms. “I can’t, I won’t.”
“It has to be this way,” she said and kissed him gently on the cheek.
His eyes filled with tearful sorrow. “Please don’t make me leave you here,” he begged.
“It was always going to end this way,” she said kindly, “It had to.”
Ravenhill shook with another huge ripple that threatened to engulf them all.
“Now,” she said and hugged him one last time.
“It could never be me, could it?” he asked her as he hugged her fiercely back.
“I’m sorry,” she answered honestly. “Maybe another time, another life,” she said as she pushed him away firmly.
She didn’t dare watch them leave as she knew that there was a chance she would follow them out; instead, she turned to face Tolan as he inched his way floating across the room. A massive crash behind her sealed them in the chapel and she was grateful for the escape route to be closed.
“Which of the prophets have not your fathers persecuted? And they have slain them which shewed before of the coming of the Just One; of whom ye have been now the betrayers and murderers,” he quoted as he drew near.
“It’s over Tolan and it’s time for both of us to pay the price, one that’s long overdue,” she smiled coldly.
He held the sacrificial knife out in front of him as she leapt across the chasm to meet him. The blade plunged deep into her chest as she wrapped her body around his and drove them both into the darkness below, falling into eternity.
As they fell, the last thing that she heard was the piped music and sweet smells of the carnival and she knew that she was going home and that Samuel was waiting, and she smiled.
epilogue
The disaster took the front page on every newspaper and was the lead story on every news channel and media outlet. Ravenhill was after all the school used by the most influential power mongers in the UK.
It was considered a minor miracle that not only had the gas explosion happened over the Christmas period when there were only a handful of staff and pupils on site, but also that the storm had eased in time for rescuers to reach the scene. In truth, the emergency services were on their way due to the alert placed by Sergeant Donald Ross in relation to the deaths in Bexley Cross. This fact was quickly hushed up as those with influence didn’t care to have their children’s school associated with the terrible events in the nearby village.
It was deemed to be a natural disaster. An underground sinkhole beneath the ancient building of Ravenhill had collapsed under a small earthquake that had barely registered on the Richter scale, but had been sufficient to shift the foundations of the school and rupture the gas lines.
Heavens were praised that no children had been lost although several of the pupils did speak of an American student, but there was no record of his transfer and the words of the traumatized children were soon dismissed.
A local priest, along with one of the teachers, had led the remaining children to safety and they were rightly praised as heroes. A confused and disorientated young local policeman was led away and was currently at a local psychiatric hospital receiving treatment. The poor young constable was diagnosed as suffering from post traumatic disorder.
It was decided amongst the power broker parents that what really mattered was for the whole thing to be put to bed as quickly as possible. Ravenhill was swiftly fenced off while the next of kin was tracked down. It was assumed that the remaining shell of the building would be demolished and the land leveled.
One of the things to be swept under the carpet was the fact that the body of Sergeant Donald Ross, when recovered from the scene and autopsied, was found to have suffered a fatal gunshot wound.
Father Brendon Monroe held a service for the dead a few weeks after, but despite much cajoling he refused to hold the memorial anywhere on the grounds of Ravenhill.
When the thaw arrived, the residents found another grisly discovery when they came across a car crash victim in one of the farmer’s fields. Inside the vehicle they found the body of the school’s PE teacher. Behind the scene tests concluded that Dora Tibbs had been run off the road and a dotted line was joined to the police 4x4 whose damage had so far been unexplained. It was getting crowded under the carpet as yet more secrets were swept underneath.
They had lost several members of staff including a much beloved American teacher, the school’s caretaker and the Headmaster. It had also been a terrible time for the whole surrounding area. In all, 11 people had died over the Christmas break, but this was upgraded to an even 12 after the body of Dora Tibbs was discovered.
----------
Fiona Davies finished her inspection by dragging a finger along the last surface checking for dust. She was a proud and conscientious woman who ran her small guest house with military precision.
It was still off-season in Newquay but the Easter holidays were rapidly approaching and the summer would not be far behind.
She was an officious woman who had never married and had never discovered her maternal instincts. She was in her late forties now but still an attractive and trim woman whose affections were much sought after in the small town.
She stared out of the kitchen window at the sandy beach below. The weather was mild for this time of year but the rain was mercifully scarce. There were only two occupants on the sand and she felt an uncharacteristic smile rise to her lips. The man was warm and friendly, if a little quiet and withdrawn, but it was his companion that she found herself fussing over. Despite never finding her own maternal nature, she couldn’t help but feel entranced by the infant.
The couple had been staying with her for a little over a week now and she found herself more and more drawn to them. She had been shopping in the town early that morning to make sure that the father had everything that he needed for his young son.
The man’s face had at first seemed vaguely familiar as though she had seen him before or at least his picture. He had been fuzzy about his past but her father had been a teacher and she recognised the trait in Stuart, especially when he was speaking to his son.
She felt an uncharacteristic rush of pleasure when she saw them approaching the house back from their early morning walk. She had asked Stuart the boy’s age and he had merely looked confused and said that he was a baby; however, the boy was large and looked to be at least 3 years old. She knew that it must be her imagination, but the boy looked to have undergone some kind of dramatic growth spurt in the few days that they had been staying.
The front door opened with the key that she had given them; for some reason, she had felt compelled to offer the key despite never even entertaining the idea before Stuart and his son.
She felt a momentary stab of fear and unease as they entered the hallway. If the child had looked to be around three years old at breakfast, he now looked to be at least six or so. But all of her disquiet melted away in the child’s presence. She felt a wave of love wash over her when he smiled and she felt that there was nothing that she wouldn’t do for him.
“Good morning,” she said as she stood before the boy, wanting to serve.
“Don’t be rude,” Stuart said absently as the child didn’t speak.
“Good morning to you, Fiona,” the boy said with perfect diction.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked, desperately wanting to be of use if only to stay in the child’s aura for a moment longer.
“We’re fine thank you, dear lady,” the boy smiled. “Come along, father.”
She watched them head back up to their room where they spent most of their day. She stood at the foot of the stairs and wondered about the two new men in her life and prayed that they would never leave. She was yet to even charge them rent but it mattered not - she was overjoyed to be of service.
It was such an unusual name for a boy, she thought as she ran her tongue over the child’s glorious name that conjured images of glory and peace: Tolan.
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