The Forgotten Cottage

by Helen Phifer

  ‘Yes, Henry, I do.’

  She squeezed him back. He wanted nothing more than to pick her up and take her into her bedroom with the queen size bed but he knew that he couldn’t. Instead, he pulled away from her and picked his sandwich up.

  ‘I don’t know how I would actually survive without you, but I’m sure I would manage. Can you live off seaweed?’

  He turned away so she couldn’t see the erection that was poking through the front of his pants.

  ‘Henry, what happened to your mother?’

  ‘She died, Megan, she was old.’

  He wasn’t sure if this was a trick question because he would have thought that Megan knew exactly what had happened to her but he decided it was best not to tell her that he’d strangled her and put her body into the chest freezer.

  They both sat at the small table and finished their breakfast. Megan went to get dressed and returned five minutes later. She looked so young, her face fresh, with not a scrap of the heavy make-up she used to wear back at the hospital. In fact she looked like a completely different person, which was just as well considering they were both at the top of England’s Most Wanted list.

  ‘I’m just nipping to get some papers, see if there’s anything about us in them. I’m surprised there hasn’t been up until now.’

  ‘Ah, I know why; they don’t want the scandal of having one of the country’s most important visitors at the hospital whilst a serial killer escapes, but I can imagine that the story will have broken this morning. There is no way they can contain it much longer; if the local paper had a small byline in it then the nationals will be all over it. You will have your fifteen minutes of fame, Megan; how do you feel about that? Do you regret throwing your life away for a monster?’

  She looked at him. ‘No, Henry, not for one minute. I worship the ground that you walk on and I want to be just like you.’

  With that, she opened the caravan door and ran down the steps, letting it slam shut behind her. He watched her through the small window as she walked towards the clubhouse where she had left the car and then drove away without so much as a glance back.

  ***

  Kav, who had been drumming his nails on his desk for the last thirty minutes, looked as if he was ready to commit a murder. He had sent everyone who had been hanging around the parade room trying to look busy whilst waiting for some gossip out on foot patrol, except Jake, who was sitting opposite him, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. Kav picked up the phone and rang Detective Nick Tyler, who answered on the first ring.

  ‘What have you got, Nick?’

  ‘We have an address for Amelia Watts and task force are on their way as we speak but I’m not holding my breath. I seriously don’t think she would be so stupid as to put her real address down on her employment form if she had been planning to kidnap a police officer. I’ve requested a cell site analysis on Will’s phone and that’s being looked into as we speak but even though it’s been rushed through you and me both know how long it takes and again it’s tenuous.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because in all probability they would have got rid of his phone straight away; they aren’t going to leave it with him so he can phone a friend to come and help him.’

  ‘Bollocks. Anything else you can do? Anything we can do?’

  ‘I’m afraid not; we’re doing everything at this end. It’s going to be a case of waiting for her to get in touch again with details of the drop. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything, Kav, I promise.’

  ‘I know you will, son, because if you don’t I’ll come and find you and plant my size eleven boots up your arse.’

  ‘Now there’s an experience I’d rather not have.’

  Kav put the phone down.

  1782

  Joss was working in the fields. He was hot and sweaty and wanted nothing more than to sit down in a cold bath and freshen up. Then he was going to the village pub for a cold drink of ale to numb the pain inside his chest. It had been four weeks now since his boys and family had been killed and Betsy had been hanged from his front porch.

  He was in the process of moving into his parents’ farmhouse because he could not bear to live in his house; it was full of despair and when he lay alone in the bed at night he could hear noises from other parts of the house. One night he had dreamt that his boys were in their room, playing with their toys, and he had run to them and held them tight. Tears falling down his cheeks, he could smell the soap in their hair. Then a high-pitched noise of something being scraped along the glass had woken him and he’d found himself clutching a pillow that was damp from his tears. Lighting the candle by the bed, he’d shouted, ‘Who’s there?’ But there was no reply, only dead silence. Joss had forced himself from his bed, the room so cold he had shivered so hard he’d almost dropped the candle to the floor. He’d gone from room to room, checking to see if there was anyone in the house with him, but there hadn’t been. The rest of the house had been much warmer than his room and he’d gone to sleep in his sons’ room, making himself feel as close to them as possible. He didn’t believe in ghosts or witches or such like but he had felt disturbed at the dream and the noises.

  He wiped his brow with his sleeve and was about to jump up onto the horse and cart that he’d laden with hay when he saw a figure in the distance running towards him. Whoever it was had their arms in the air as they waved them frantically at him. Joss stood his ground and crossed his arms over his chest, wondering what the hell was going on. As the figure got closer he could see it was Seth. His face was red and he was panting. As he reached Joss he doubled over to catch his breath.

  ‘Now, then, Seth, what has you so excited that you almost gave yourself a heart attack running all this way in the sun?’

  ‘Marcus…’ Seth shook his head and took some deep breaths.

  ‘Calm yourself down, lad; whatever it is can wait. No need to go getting all worked up over it.’

  ‘It’s Marcus…he’s dead. Fell down the stairs and broke his neck, by the look of it.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Because I seen him; I was supposed to go and help him this morning. He said in the tavern last night he had a job I could help him with and he’d pay me. Well, I was on time, not a minute late; you know how he hates it when you’re late. I hammered on his door but there was no answer so I hammered again. Then I peered through the windows and could just see him lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs. So I ran around to the back door, thinking he was drunk. I kicked it open then I went inside and shouted his name but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even groan or tell me to go away like he does when he gets in that state. So I walked across to him and kicked him with my shoe, not hard like, just sort of nudged him, but he felt as stiff as a board. I bent down and looked at his head, which was lying at a funny angle to his body, and it’s then that I realised he was dead. His face was white and his lips were blue, his eyes were wide open, staring at something, but he wasn’t breathing. Joss, his face was horrible, I’ve never seen a grown man with such a look of terror on his face. He was staring at a book which had fallen to the floor. I looked at it myself and it was the Bible. What page do you think it was left open at?’

  Joss couldn’t speak; the words wouldn’t come out.

  ‘Joss, it was on the page that said, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”. His house was so cold, he was cold and he was scared. Do you think it was Betsy Baker? She said she would come back for each and every one of us. It would make sense she would kill Marcus first; he was the one who wanted to hang her more than any of the rest of us.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Seth. Betsy’s dead. We killed her with our own hands and buried her in my garden. How could she come back and kill him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Joss, but I’m scared. I don’t want to die of terror like that…he looks horrible.’

  ‘Marcus always looks horrible. I bet he was drunk and fell down the stairs of his own doin., I would look scared if I was falling to my death
and I think you would, Seth. Who is there now?’

  ‘Dr Johnson and the priest when I left to come and tell you.’

  Joss jumped up onto the cart and held his hand out for Seth. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what the good doctor has to say about it all. Seth, you do know you mustn’t tell anyone about what happened to Betsy, don’t you? You could get the rest of us hanged for what we did.’

  ‘I know, Joss, I’m not a fool, but I really am scared. To tell the truth, I’ve been scared since the day it happened. I go to bed and think about Betsy’s face as she was choking to death and I dream about her then I wake up and think about her. Only time I forget is when I’m working for you or at the inn.’

  Joss agreed with Seth; he was the same—he couldn’t get her out of his head. When he closed his eyes to picture his beloved children it was always Betsy’s face that appeared. He turned the horse and cart around and headed towards the village. He had to see for himself or he’d lose another full night’s sleep.

  He stopped at the trough and jumped down to tie the reins to the metal bar so the horse wouldn’t wander off. Seth jumped down and they both began the short walk to Marcus King’s house. There was quite a crowd outside and the builder who doubled as the undertaker had already arrived with his wooden handcart to take Marcus away until they could bury him. Seth stayed where he was, his hands clasped together and his lips moving in silent prayer. Dr Johnson was coming out of the front door and Joss pushed his way through the crowd of people to reach him. The doctor nodded at him and when he turned to go back inside, Joss followed. He retched at the repugnant smell, which was beginning to fill the room. He walked across to where Marcus was lying in a heap, his white face tinged green. His terrified eyes were staring at something that only he could see.

  Joss turned towards the doctor. ‘Did he die of a broken neck or fright? Because to me he looks scared to death and I want to know if I’m going to die of anything similar and so does Seth.’

  ‘What do you mean, Joss? The man clearly died from falling down the stairs. Why would he die of fright?’

  ‘You know as well as I do. Because of…’ Joss looked around to make sure no one was in hearing distance ‘…because of what we did to Betsy Baker. She said she was coming back for all of us, one by one. Marcus was the one shouting the loudest, he was the one who put the rope around her neck and pulled it tight, so it would make sense she would come for him first.’

  ‘Now, I don’t know where you’re getting this from, Joss, and I think perhaps you’ve suffered so much misery the last few months you know nothing but sadness. But come on, man, a dead woman cannot come back and kill a fully grown man. Especially not one as big as Marcus King. Do you know what you’re saying? Do you realise how much strength she would need to push that big lump down the stairs?’

  ‘Believe what you will, Doctor, but I’m telling you now we all need to watch our backs. Or she will catch us off guard, then we’ll all be done for and end up looking like that.’

  Joss pointed at his friend’s corpse then turned and left, crossing himself as he went out of the house and back to the cart and Seth, who was almost the same colour as Marcus.

  ‘Well, then, Joss, was it bad? What did you think he looked like—just as I’d said? What did the doctor say?’

  Joss took a moment. He didn’t want to scare Seth too much but he needed to know the truth, otherwise he would be left open to – open to what? he asked himself.

  ‘Bad, he looked bad. You were right, he looked as if he died of fright. His eyes were locked open and I don’t know what the last thing was he saw but it wasn’t an angel of mercy from the good Lord. I’ve never seen a man look so horrified.’

  Seth buried his head in his hands and began to sob quietly. Joss untied the horse and got back on the cart, taking them back to his parents’ farmhouse. Neither of them spoke a word to each other. He stopped outside and unfastened the horse from the cart. Leading it to the nearest field, he opened the gate and watched it run for a while. It dropped to the ground and rolled in the grass, relieved to be free once more. Joss wished his life was so simple. He turned and marched back to Seth.

  ‘Come on inside; we’ll have something to drink and then we need to talk this through like men. We should tell the others to come as well and see if they have anything they would like to tell us.’

  No sooner had he finished speaking than he turned to see a group of men walking down the lane towards him and he nodded to himself. They already knew; the only man missing was Dr Johnson but he was busy. Joss had a feeling that as soon as he finished with Marcus King’s body he too would be on his way here. Six grown men and every single one of them looked scared of their own shadow. He waited for them to reach his gate.

  ‘So I see you have all been thinking the same as me and Seth here. Marcus King is dead and who do you think may be next? We need to go inside and talk about this like men.’

  There was a group murmur and Joss led the way into his parents’ huge kitchen. They all took seats around the pine table which filled the middle of the room, the table where his mother would feed all the men who helped out during hay time. He had seen up to fifteen grown men seated around this table laughing, eating and drinking ale. He had never seen a group of men with faces so solemn and he felt responsible for it all. If he’d never fallen for her – it pained him to say her name –none of this would have happened; he would be sitting here with his family, not a group of strangers worrying about a woman they had killed coming back for her revenge.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The caravan door opened and Henry, who was dozing off, jumped up and, not for the first time, wondered where he was but then Megan breezed in with some daily papers stuffed under her arms and a carrier bag full of groceries.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Henry.’

  ‘Yes, Megan?’

  ‘Well, you know how you’re a bit of a legend?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind being a bit of a legend myself.’

  ‘You already are, Megan; the police are going to be searching for your body and when they finally convince themselves that sweet little Megan wasn’t forced to help Henry Smith escape they will realise that sweet little Megan is one dangerous woman. You will forever be known as the nurse who threw her life away to help a serial killer.’

  ‘I know that, Henry, and it’s all very good but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I want to be known as Nurse Megan who turned from a saint to a sinner; I don’t just want to be the bit on the side who helped you to escape.’

  Henry began to laugh, really laugh. He hadn’t chuckled so long in years and Megan threw a newspaper at his head.

  ‘I’m serious, stop laughing. I want to be just like you.’

  Henry managed to contain himself and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. ‘Why, Megan? What’s so good about being labelled a serial killer?’

  ‘There’s something inside me that I’m finding harder and harder to control; it’s like a red mist. Every time someone pisses me off I want to stab them and not just once… I want to stab and cut them over and over. Now I’m going to make us a coffee and I want you to tell me exactly how it was before you killed Jenna White; I want to know how you felt. What you did and how you felt when it was done. I need to know everything.’

  Henry sat up straight. This sounded all too familiar because it was exactly how he’d felt in the hours before he would go and kill. It was bizarre that he had met Megan, who felt exactly the same; he had never really believed in fate but he was beginning to think that they had been destined to meet. Look at the other infamous couples who killed: Brady and Hindley, Bonnie and Clyde, the Wests; there was some strange chemistry between them, just like Henry and Megan. There was no denying it would be extremely difficult—they were both in the public domain now—but he thought that it might be possible.

  ‘I need to think about it, I mean really think about it. What you’re asking is a big, big thing
. We’ll both be taking a huge risk and it would take some serious planning on our part to ensure we didn’t get caught straight away.’

  Megan smiled and walked back down the caravan to the small kitchen, where she began to fill the kettle and put away the bread and biscuits she’d just bought. Henry watched her a little bit in awe and even more worried that she might be too hard to control. He didn’t want to jeopardise his revenge on Annie Graham and he didn’t really want to share it with Megan either, but Annie had proved herself once over and if he had some help she wouldn’t be able to do anything to escape the next time, but the deal would be that Annie was his—she always had been and always would be—and he wouldn’t settle until he’d slit her throat and held her in his arms while she bled to death. He knew that once she was dead he would kill himself; he would not go back to the mental hospital and his life would have no value once she was dead. He wanted to kill Will first but his would be a swift kill; he supposed he could let Megan have him because it would be Annie that he spent his time on. He would finally get his finale but until then he had to think of a way to keep Megan happy, otherwise she might go off the rails before he got the chance and that would be dangerous for them both.

  ***

  Will had managed to rub the skin on his wrists until it was red and chafed, trying to get out of the rope that was tying him to the metal rings on the wall. He had heard a lot of shouting and arguing upstairs hours ago when Amelia had first come home and then it had gone quiet. He’d dozed off a couple of times, all the exhaustion and worry from the last few days catching up with him. He wasn’t scared of Amelia even though her boyfriend clearly was, judging by what he’d said, but he was really pissed off with her. In fact, he didn’t think he would have a problem smacking her a couple of times if he had to and Will didn’t hit women full stop. But she had taken him away from Annie and his family when they needed him the most and he couldn’t let that go. Annie would be so worried about him and he knew that by now she would have discharged herself from the hospital when she should be there taking it easy.