Marie’s voice was strained, almost on the edge of panic. “Come on. There’s not far to go. Run faster.”
John did his best to obey and pushed his aching body harder. More of his wounds tore open, releasing new waves of agony. His entire torso felt slick with blood. The stink of it threatened to overpower the stench of the polluted stream, and somewhere deep in the lowest reaches of his mind, something shifted and stirred.
They broke clear of the trees. The gradient of the slope steepened as it made its way down to the stream. A small metal bridge spanned the water, and beyond that John could see the outlines of houses through the trees. He recognised this place. The housing estate beyond the tree line was where he’d parked his car, when he and Marie had gone to rescue Steven from Malcolm Harrison. He was back in High Moor.
Marie reached the bottom of the slope and sprinted across the bridge, with John right behind her. When she reached the other side she stopped and risked a glance backwards.
Two pairs of green eyes shone from the undergrowth at the top of the embankment. One of the pairs winked out, and a couple of seconds later, Gregorz stepped forward. His body was covered in fresh blood, and there were still some bullet holes that hadn’t yet healed properly. From the expression on his face, he was obviously in a considerable amount of pain, yet when he spoke, his voice was steady.
“Marie, don’t be a fool. No one has to know about this. Give up the moonstruck and come back with us, and I promise you, it will all be okay.”
Marie positioned herself in front of John and raised her assault rifle. “I can’t fucking go back, Gregorz. Did Connie tell you what happened to me?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “Yeah, of course she did. I’d be put to death, no matter what you or Michael say, and you know it.”
The old man shook his head. “You don’t know that. Your condition could be temporary. If it is, then you are throwing away your life and your family for no reason.”
Marie’s shoulders tightened and she pulled the AK−47 into her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, Gregorz. I’m not letting you take me back there, and I’m not letting you take John.”
“For the love of God, think about what you’re doing. Simpson is the most wanted man in the country. His face is all over the news, and the police will be setting up checkpoints by now. You won’t get five miles before they catch you, and then we’ll be back where we started. Think about that. Think about the deaths you will cause by doing this.”
“You know me, Gregorz. You helped train me, and you know what I’m capable of. They won’t find us, and you know that there’s no way you can reach us before we’re out of the trees. I love you like a father, so please, don’t make me shoot you again.”
“Please, I’m begging you. If you do this, then you know what it will mean. You know what Michael will be forced to do. Daniel and I won’t mention what just happened. You have my word on that. Come home with us, Marie, before you make things worse than they already are.”
A tear rolled down Marie’s cheek and, for a second, the barrel of the assault rifle dropped toward the floor. Then she clenched her jaw and her eyes turned cold. “No, it’s already too late. Let us go, Gregorz. We’ll disappear and no−one will ever hear from us again.”
The old man dipped his head, unable to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Marie, but you know that I can’t do that.”
“I know. Goodbye, Gregorz. Tell Michael I’m sorry.”
Marie and John walked backwards to the edge of the woods, never taking their eyes from Gregorz. As they reached the periphery of the trees, where the woods gave way to the neatly mowed lawns of the housing estate, Gregorz stepped back into the woods and out of sight.
Marie took off her jacket and draped it over John’s shoulders, then hurried him to a gold Ford Focus. She cast a nervous glance around, to make sure that they hadn’t been seen, then opened the boot. “Get in and don’t fucking argue.”
John opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly very aware of his naked, bloodstained body, climbed into the boot without any objection. Marie closed the rear hatch behind him, and a few moments later, started the engine and drove away.
John lay in the cramped compartment, wriggling around a heavy steel box in an attempt to get comfortable. It was pitch dark inside, but after searching around he discovered a mobile phone that had fallen down behind the wheel arch, that provided at least a little light.
Marie’s voice called out. “You alright in there, John?”
“Yeah, I’m just great. Is it really you? I saw you dead. The fucking police said you were dead.”
“I know. I was, or at least, pretty damn close to it.”
“Well, what the hell happened?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I got better. I’m a pretty difficult lass to kill, in case you hadn’t noticed. Now, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us. I’ll stop in about twenty minutes so that we can sort your wounds out and get some clothes on you. Until then, I’m going to need you to stay quiet, especially if we get stopped. OK?”
“Okay. Thank you, Marie. I can’t believe you came back for me.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. Just get as comfortable as you can and keep quiet until we get where we’re going.”
“Marie?”
“Yes, John.”
“Did that Russian say something about Michael?”
Marie let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Yes, John, he did. I can see that we are going to have to have a very long talk. I’ll tell you everything, but for now, please, keep your bloody mouth shut and try not to bleed all over the boot.”
***
13th December 2008. Olivia’s House, Bear Park. 10.02.
Olivia wiped her eyes and tried to concentrate on the road. Phil had spent most of the evening trying to simultaneously organise the search for John Simpson and avoid Chief Inspector Franks, with varying degrees of success. She’d been glad for an excuse to get away from the tense atmosphere, so took Rick and his team with her to the hotel where she’d spoken to Connie Hamilton earlier that day. The manager was more than happy to oblige and opened the room for them, but the place was empty. The beds were made and only a wet towel, streaked with black hair dye gave any indication that the room had been occupied. Deflated, she’d called in a forensics team to do a thorough sweep, and then began the laborious task of interviewing the staff. It was there that she got lucky. Despite the twin room only being registered under a single name, one of the maids said that there were actually four people living in the room. The mysterious Connie Hamilton, along with another woman and two men. The men matched the descriptions of the bogus officers last seen with Marie Williams, and apart from the hair colour, the age and appearance of the female occupant was a fair match to Marie herself. She also had a name. Gregorz Pawlac, who’s credit card had been used to pay for the room. All of which was great, except for the fact that no one knew where any of them were.
She’d returned to the office and typed up her report, leaving it on Phil’s desk before heading home. She needed a shower, then about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she left the countryside behind and entered the outskirts of the small town where she and Matt lived. Rows of identical, red brick terraced houses lined the main road through Bear Park. Old colliery worker’s cottages with two bedrooms, one reception room and, in some instances, an outside toilet. Her home was a little further up, on the left hand side. The first house on the end of the terrace, opposite a used car showroom. She loved the little house. They’d bought it a year ago, straight after they were married. At the end of a small block of four, and backing onto open fields, it was her sanctuary where she could hide away from the stresses of her job, watch crappy movies with Matt and lock the world outside. Plus it was only fifteen minutes from the police headquarters, which made her morning commute a doddle.
She parked her car on the pavement and grabbed her bag from the back seat, frowning as she realised that the blinds in the living r
oom were still closed. That meant that Matt was either still in bed, or was playing on his Xbox, probably in nothing but his pants and t−shirt. She didn’t have the energy for an argument. If he wanted to do that all day, then he was welcome to, as long as he didn’t wake her up. She retrieved her keys from her handbag, and let herself into the house.
“Matt, are you up?”
The house was silent. She listened out for any sign of life − Matt’s distinctive snores, or the sound of the shower being used, but the only noises she heard were the cars passing on the road outside. Maybe he’d just gone to the shops or something. She took off her coat, kicked her shoes into the corner behind the front door, and hung her bag from the back of one of the kitchen stools. A cafetière, half−full of coffee, stood on the work surface. She put her hand against the side of the glass container and discovered that it was lukewarm. It was not like Matt to leave his coffee. It was usually the first thing he did when he got up, even before feeding the cat.
She glanced down at the cat bowl, and discovered that it was full. Again, probably nothing, but certainly unusual. Most mornings it was an effort to make it down the stairs without the large animal tripping you up as it wove between your legs. You couldn’t move for him until he’d been fed. Olivia felt the first real stab of concern. Maybe something had happened to the cat, and Matt had taken it to the vets. No, his car was still parked outside, at the same awkward angle that he’d left it the night before. She took out her mobile and called Matt’s number. Within seconds, Matt’s phone started ringing, from somewhere upstairs. Olivia disconnected the call, and put the phone down on the kitchen worktop, before walking to the bottom of the stairs.
“Matt? Are you up there? Is everything alright?”
There was no reply. The upper floor of the house remained silent. Olivia put her foot on the first step, wincing as the old wood creaked beneath her weight. Her heart thumped in her chest and beads of sweat broke out on her brow. This was ridiculous. This was her home, and there was no reason for her to feel anything but safe here, yet her every instinct screamed at her to run. Adrenaline surged through her system and an ice chill ran down her spine.
“For fuck’s sake, this case has got me jumping at shadows,” she said out loud, in an attempt to reassure herself. Pushing through the fear, she started up the stairs, listening for any sound that might be out of place. “Matt? Have you gone back to bed, you lazy tosser?”
She marched to the bedroom, and flung open the door. At first, she could not understand what she was seeing. The entire room dripped red. It covered the walls − sprayed crimson patterns in sharp contrast against the flat white paint. Tattered red streamers hung from the lamp shade and curtain rails. The bed was soaked through, their new white duvet set now a deep burgundy. A red mass of mangled meat lay in a heap at its centre, and at the top of the bed, carefully laid on a pillow, was Matt’s severed head. Olivia put her hand to her mouth and backed away from the terrible sight, until her back touched the wall. “No. No. Matt…oh God, Matt!”
The wave of grief that welled up inside threatened to drown her. Matt was dead. Not just dead, but butchered in their home. Her safe place. He was gone. He’d never see their baby’s first smile, or take it for walks in the park. He hadn’t even known what sex it was, and now he would never know.
The bathroom door creaked open and a naked woman, covered from head to foot in blood stepped out, blocking the corridor. “Ah’m sorry, Olivia. ah made a wee mess in yer bedroom while ah was waiting. Ah didn’t want to wait until Monday to have a chat with ye. Ah thought it best that we do it now.”
Olivia didn’t hesitate. She threw herself at Connie Hamilton, putting all of her grief and rage into the punch. The sudden attack seemed to take the other woman by surprise, connecting squarely with Connie’s jaw. Blood sprayed from her mouth and she stumbled backwards. Olivia pressed her advantage and kicked out at Connie’s stomach, only to feel utter dismay as the blood−soaked woman moved with unbelievable speed and caught her leg.
“Now, Olivia, that wasn’t very nice, or smart of ye.”
Olivia bent the knee of the trapped leg, closing the distance between them, then sent a savage uppercut up beneath her assailant’s chin. Connie’s head snapped back with a sickening crack and she released Olivia’s captive leg, which came straight back in a lightning fast kick, and this time, connected with Connie’s stomach. The naked woman stumbled backwards, until she was against the banister at the top of the stairs, while Olivia surged forward, launching a fusillade of blows. Rage welled within her. All she wanted to do was kill this woman who had defiled her home. Murdered her husband. The law be damned. Her blows became more furious and she readied another kick, this time intending to send the bitch over the banister to her death.
Connie lashed out with a vicious back−handed blow that shattered Olivia’s nose. Her eyes streamed and she took a step backwards in pain and shock. That second of hesitation was all Connie needed. She stepped forward and grabbed Olivia by the throat, then, impossibly, lifted her off the ground.
“Ah, told ye that wasn’t very smart. Now ye’r gonna have tae pay.”
Olivia didn’t see the punch coming, and cried out in surprise when Connie’s fist slammed into her stomach. A warm, wet wave of liquid soaked through her trousers, and she realised in horror that her waters had broken. Connie pulled Olivia close, so that they were face to face. Her breath stank of blood and there was something wrong with her eyes. When she’d spoken to her in the hotel lobby, Connie Hamilton’s eyes had been brown. Now they gleamed a feral yellow. These were not the eyes of a human being. The woman’s face began to shift and warp. Teeth elongated into fangs and thick russet hair sprouted from her pores. Then the hair receded and those terrible teeth sank back into Connie’s gums. “Ah, ye almost made me lose ma temper. Pull that shit again and I’ll do a caesarean on ye with ma teeth. I think it’s time for our wee chat. Ye can start with the names of those coppers that were with ye at the hotel, and the name of that fat, balding tosser.”
Connie’s grip tightened around Olivia’s throat and she kicked out at empty air. Her vision began to fade and she realised that she was about to pass out. Connie’s mouth curled into a snarl. “Ah’ll not be asking ye again. Give me their fucking names.”
Olivia knew that she’d run out of options. She was going to die here, and unless she gave this monstrous woman the information she wanted, then she was going to die right here, right now. Her only chance was to buy more time in the hope that an opportunity for escape would present itself. She barely managed to choke out the words. “Okay…I’ll tell you what you want, just please don’t hurt my baby.”
Connie lowered her to the floor and released her grip. Olivia fell to her knees, sucking air into her lungs. “Ah’m waiting.”
“Alright. The boss is called Phil Fletcher. The others were Rick Grey, Mark Briggs and Paul Patterson. Now, please, I’ve given you what you want. Let me go. I need to get to a hospital.”
Connie smiled. “Ah, see ah knew ye could be co−operative, given the right incentive.”
Olivia crawled back, away from her assailant, towards the bedroom. Connie followed, a smile still on her face. “Where do ye think yer going? Wanna see yer hubby one last time? If it makes ye feel any better, he stayed faithful. I would’a fucked him first, but the soppy twat didn’t wanna know.” She sniffed. “His loss.”
Olivia reached the bedroom door and flung herself inside, slamming the door behind her. She reached up and grabbed the large wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room, using the last of her strength to tip it over. The wardrobe crashed to the ground, wedging itself between the door and bed. Connie pounded against the door, snarling in fury. Olivia stepped around the remains of her husband, to the telephone by the side of the bed. She picked it up and almost cried out with relief when she got a dial tone.
The wooden door began to splinter as Olivia dialled 999. She held the phone in one hand, while she picked up a heavy brass lamp from the si
de of the bed with the other.
The phone rang and an operator answered on the first ring. “Hello, emergency, which service do you require?”
“Police and ambulance. Please, hurry. My…my husband is dead and I’m being attacked.”
One of the wooden panels of the door split open and Connie’s arms tore at the wood, making the hole larger. As she poked her head through the shattered door, Olivia swung the lamp at her, smashing the heavy brass base into her skull. Connie’s forehead collapsed under the blow, leaving a spray of blood and bone fragments across the white paint of the doorframe. She slumped back, out of sight.
The operator spoke again. “Ma’am, are you still there? I need you to give me your telephone number and the address that you are calling from. Help is on the way.”
Olivia blurted out the details, then held the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she grasped the lamp in a two−handed grip, never taking her eyes from the ruined door.
“Ma’am, can you tell me what’s happening?”
“A…a woman. Connie. Connie Hamilton. She broke into my house and murdered my husband, then attacked me. I’m pregnant and she punched me in the stomach and my waters broke and now she’s outside and I don’t know if I killed her or not. She’s not human.”
“Ma’am, you need to calm down. Can you get yourself to a safe place?”
“No, I locked myself in the bedroom, but she’s broken through the door. I….”
Connie’s ruined face appeared in the doorway. As Olivia watched, the terrible wound began to heal. Shattered bone crunched back into place, while torn flesh re−knitted. Connie’s mouth curled up into a snarl. “What did ah tell ye would happen if ye pulled that shite again?”
The blood−soaked woman dropped down, out of sight. A loud ripping sound came from the corridor, as if someone were slowly cracking their knuckles while tearing paper. After a couple of seconds the sound stopped. What replaced it was so much worse. A thick, savage snarl, filled with hatred and fury rang out. Olivia backed away from the door. “No. No, oh God, please, SOMEONE HELP ME!”
High Moor 2: Moonstruck Page 13