The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One).

by Andrew M Stafford

  Chapter fifty

  Maria’s flat

  10am

  Friday 30th September

  Esther Hall arrived at Maria’s flat bang on ten o’clock. Esther was a rotund lady in her mid-forties, with a rosy face and a beaming smile.

  They shook hands and Maria liked her straight away. She invited Esther into the lounge where Christopher was in his high chair. Esther said hello to Christopher and he responded with his normal chatter and cooing.

  “He’s a beautiful boy,” said Esther as she gave him a tickle under his chin.

  “Thank you, he’s my pride and joy.”

  Esther sat on the settee and looked serious.

  “I’ve read the notes on Christopher so I am familiar with his situation, but I would be grateful if you could tell me in your own words about his head banging.”

  Maria explained in detail how it had recently started and had got worse over the past few weeks. Then she remembered the video clip on her phone. She pulled the phone from her bag and gave it to Esther to watch.

  Maria watched Esther’s face as she played the video of Christopher. Her serious face looked even more sombre as she got to the part of the clip which showed his bleeding nose. She replayed it twice before handing the phone back to Maria.

  “What your son suffers from is called Rhythmic Movement Disorder or RMD, and believe it or not, it is fairly common, especially amongst toddlers and small children.”

  “Rhythmic Movement Disorder,” repeated Maria

  “Yes RMD. It’s worse for you than it is for Christopher. He probably has no idea he’s doing it”.

  Maria listened intently as Esther continued.

  “He’s doing it when he’s sleeping so he won’t be aware of what’s going on.”

  “What causes it to happen?”

  “Doctors aren’t one hundred percent sure why it happens, but one theory is that it is a self-stimulating behaviour to alleviate tension and induce relaxation, a bit like thumb sucking.”

  Maria nodded her head as she listened.

  “Another theory is that rhythmic movements help develop the vestibular system in young children.”

  “Vestibular system? Sorry I don’t know what that is,” said Maria.

  “Sorry, it’s the system that deals with motion and balance.”

  Maria stood up, walked over to Christopher and picked him up. She hugged and kissed him and held him close.

  She turned to Esther with Christopher in her arms.

  “So all of this is normal?”

  “It’s not unheard of, about six percent of young children develop it.”

  “Is there a cure for RMD?”

  “No cure, he should grow out of it by the time he’s three.”

  “So I will have to put up with another two years of bang, bang, bang?”

  “Well there are some things you could try.”

  Maria went to the kitchen and came back with a notepad and pen.

  “There won’t be much for you to write down, but here are two suggestions you may like to try.”

  Maria put the notepad down while Esther continued.

  “You could try playing continuous music on loop quietly in his bedroom, or, and this seems to be the more successful option, letting a loud clock or a metronome tick away in his room at night. It seems the rhythmic sound helps some children settle without banging their head.”

  Maria looked despondent. She had hoped for much more than this. At least there seemed to be nothing particularly wrong with Christopher, it was just one of those things that he was unlucky to have, and as Esther pointed out, it is worse for the parents than it is for the children who have RMD.

  They continued to discuss Christopher for a while longer, when Esther brought something up.

  “There is one thing I should mention, and I don’t mean to worry you.”

  “What’s that?” asked Maria, obviously looking worried.

  “I’ve been dealing with children’s health issues for over fifteen years and in that time I’ve seen lots of children with RMD, but I’ve never seen a child react in such a way as your son does.”

  Esther was referring to the video clip Maria had shown her.

  “The children I have encountered over the years gently rock from side to side, or nod their head onto the pillow, but what Christopher is doing is extreme.”

  “So do you think he may have something other than RMD?” asked Maria.

  “I am pretty certain it’s RMD and nothing else, but with your permission I would be grateful if I could show the video clip you have on your phone to a colleague of mine in London. He is an expert and has being doing a lot of research into Rhythmic Movement Disorder and I would like his opinion.”

  Maria agreed to email the video clip and said she would look out for a metronome for Christopher to help him sleep.

  She saw Esther to the door and thanked her for her time.

  Maria sat in her lounge feeling low and helpless. She had really expected Esther Hall to have an instant answer.

  At least Maria could put a name to what was affecting Christopher. Rhythmic Movement Disorder. It sounded horrible.

  She looked at Christopher who was standing up and holding onto the book case whilst trying to pull out a wad of envelopes Maria had stuffed between two books. He looked at his mother and smiled. She picked him up, held him close and kissed his head again.

  Maria called her mother who was desperate to know the outcome of the health visitor’s appointment.

  “He’s got what?”

  “I know mum, it sounds strange doesn’t it? Rhythmic Movement Disorder.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is she sure she knows what she’s talking about?”

  Maria explained that Esther was going to pass the video clip to her colleague in London for a second opinion.

  They agreed to meet over the weekend and Maria ended the call.

  By now it was eleven fifteen and Christopher was ready for a nap. Maria placed him in his cot and returned to the lounge. She switched on her computer, loaded the video clip from her phone onto her computer and emailed it to Esther.

  She spent the next hour, while Christopher was taking his nap, searching for information on Rhythmic Movement Disorder. There was lots available and all of it backed up what Esther had told her.

  There were even videos on Youtube of children in their cots and beds banging their heads just like her son. This made her feel better. She no longer felt alone, or that she was the only parent going through this.

  She found five video clips which had been uploaded to the internet of children with RMD and although they were all doing the same as Christopher, none were as violent or as noisy as him. The children on her computer were almost graceful in their movements and made little ‘huffing’ noises as they banged their heads or rocked from side to side. None of them were making the ‘ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh’ grunt that Christopher did.

  Maria was deep in thought when her phone rang. She quickly grabbed it from the table and looked to see who was calling. It was Campbell.

  “Hi Campbell, how are you?” asked Maria, she immediately regretted asking the question considering he’d only just lost his father.

  “I’m not too bad, thanks for asking.”

  Maria found it difficult to talk to him on the phone. She hardly knew him and felt awkward asking questions about the recent bereavement. Campbell sensed her apprehension.

  “My father’s funeral is next Tuesday and I am planning on returning to Bristol the following weekend, which means I’ll be home on Saturday 8th October. I’ll call you again when I’m back and perhaps we can arrange that date?”

  Maria agreed and said she was looking forward to seeing him. They wished each other well and ended the call.

  Maria’s thoughts returned to Christopher. He was quietly sleeping in his cot. What she’d read about RMD seemed to indicate that children would bang their heads every time when put to bed. It was something they did regularly wh
ich had resulted in a habitual thing. Christopher wasn’t like that. He would go weeks without showing any signs of RMD and then have the most violent outburst. This was something that troubled her.

  The more Maria thought about things, the more she knew there was something else causing her son to act the way he did. She didn’t know what it could be, it was just mother’s intuition.

  Chapter fifty one

  Jarrett’s Builders Merchant

  9am

  Monday 3rd October

  Daniel Boyd was busy loading the Hiab lorry at the Builders Merchant where he had been working since January.

  Colin Jarrett, the sales director, had secured a profitable order to provide building blocks to a house in the stylish Sneyd Park area of Bristol. The owner of the house was having a downstairs extension built to make life more comfortable for his daughter who had been unwell for a long time.

  Daniel had been trained to use the crane attached to the back of the lorry to carefully load breezeblocks on and off the vehicle. It was tough work but he enjoyed it. His days of living outside the law and drug taking were behind him.

  He was working with an older man called Stanley Brown. Stanley was in his sixties and was close to retirement. He hated the job, but was hanging in there until it was time to give up work, sit back and watch the flowers grow. He’d paid into a pension all of his working life and was looking forward to a comfortable and well-earned retirement.

  Boyd looked up to Stanley as if he was a second father. He hadn’t seen or spoken to his own parents in years and found a friendship in Stanley which had flourished over the past months. Stanley didn’t know much about Boyd other than he had a chequered past and had recently stopped taking drugs. He was willing to put up with Boyd’s odd ways and in doing so had developed an unlikely friendship. Stanley had encouraged Boyd to work hard and aim high. He told Boyd that he was a young man with the rest of his life ahead of him and there was plenty of time for him to do well and achieve something with his life.

  Stanley drove the Hiab full of breezeblocks out of the yard and headed to Sneyd Park. Sitting between Stanley and Boyd was Geoff Perks. It would take all three of them to unload the lorry and three deliveries would be needed to complete the day’s work.

  Twenty minutes later the Hiab pulled into the driveway of the large house. The drive was long and was surrounded by immaculately kept lawns and trees.

  “Look at the size of this place, rich bastards,” exclaimed Boyd.

  “If you work hard enough Daniel perhaps one day you’ll have a place like this, in fact my son, if you work really hard you can have whatever you want. It’s up to you choose your own destiny,” replied Stanley.

  Stanley steered the Hiab around to the side of the house where a man in his early fifties, wearing a blue shirt and jeans, was waiting for them.

  Stanley jumped out of the cab and walked over to the man.

  “Mr Mason I presume?” said Stanley as he approached the man.

  Mr Mason walked around the side of the Hiab and examined the load of breezeblocks.

  “Don’t worry, there’s another two deliveries on the way. It’s a big order sir and we’re grateful for your business.”

  Mr Mason smiled. He was a business man and appreciated that the driver of the Hiab was thanking him for the order. Few people seemed to do that these days.

  Mr Mason told Stanley where to put the blocks. Boyd, Geoff and Stanley started to unload the delivery which took forty five minutes.

  By three o’clock the final delivery was being unloaded and Stanley was preparing the paperwork for Mr Mason to sign.

  Mr Mason checked the delivery note and counted every block that had been unloaded. Once he was happy he signed.

  “Are you building anything nice sir?” asked Stanley.

  “A downstairs bedroom for my daughter.”

  Boyd and Geoff were securing the Hiab’s crane. Boyd was doing an impression of Mr Mason behind his back and Stanley was doing his best to ignore him.

  “That’s nice, I hope your daughter will like her new bedroom, don’t tell me she’s already outgrown her old one?” said Stanley attempting to be humorous.

  “I only wish she had,” replied Mr Mason sounding serious.

  Stanley knew he had said the wrong thing and looked sheepish.

  Mr Mason felt bad for the old man as he knew that he was only trying to be pleasant.

  “Unfortunately my daughter is not very well and she requires around the clock care, so this new extension will include sleeping quarters for the medical staff who look after her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that sir, I hadn’t realised,” replied Stanley in a soft voice.

  “Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your daughter?”

  “She’s in a coma and has been for over a year.”

  “Was she in some kind of accident?” asked Stanley.

  “You could say that. She was badly beaten up by a group of thugs last autumn, you may have heard about it, she was all over the news last year.”

  “Sorry sir, I can’t say I remember,” replied Stanley.

  “If you don’t remember my daughter, you would probably remember her friend who was there. Unfortunately for him he came off worse than my Liz. He was murdered. It happened in the woods near Southmead.”

  Stanley cast his mind back.

  “Yes I do remember, Badock’s Wood and if I remember they never found who did it. I am sorry sir, I had no idea.”

  Boyd had heard the last bit of the conversation and had turned white. He started to feel queasy and dizzy. All of a sudden he was sick over Terry Mason’s drive and could hardly stand up.

  Stanley ran over to Boyd to see what the matter was and saw that he was barely conscious.

  Stanley turned to Terry Mason and apologised for what had happened and offered to clear up the mess on the drive.

  Terry Mason waved them on saying that he would take care of it, and suggested he took the boy straight home.

  Stanley parked the Hiab at the end of Boyd’s road. The lorry was too wide to negotiate the narrow road where he lived.

  “What’s wrong with you Daniel, you look awful. You’re not back on those stupid drugs are you?”

  Daniel shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was a pale looking boy at the best of times but now he looked positively ghost-like.

  He was reeling with shock after finding out who Mr Mason was. For the first time the gravity of what he had instigated hit him. Over the past year he had put the murder of Ben Walker to the dark depths of the back of his mind and he’d not given the girl a second thought. But now things were different. He could see how sad her father was and the trouble he was going through to make life for his daughter bearable. For the first time Boyd felt ridden with guilt.

  Stanley was concerned for him. He couldn’t work out why one minute Daniel was fit and well and the next minute he was retching all over Mr Mason’s immaculate driveway like a sick dog.

  “Was it something you ate?” asked Stanley.

  “Probably,” murmured Boyd in a faint reply.

  Boyd was having difficulty finding the strength to open the door of the cab. Geoff sat perfectly still between Boyd and Stanley. He was petrified that Boyd was going to be sick again. Stanley climbed down from the cab, walked round to the passenger side and opened the door for Boyd. His legs were shaking and he could hardly stand. Stanley helped him slowly climb down the step of the cab and walked him to his flat.

  Boyd struggled to find his keys and eventually opened the door. Stanley helped him in and dropped him down onto his settee. He watched Boyd land like a sack of potatoes.

  “You look ghastly, why don’t I call the doctor?”

  Boyd shook his head and said nothing, Stanley was reluctant to leave him but needed to get back to work, there were more deliveries to be made and with his wing man down it would be just him and Geoff taking care of things for the rest of the day.

  “OK Daniel, I’ll make you a sugary mug of tea
and then I’m going to have to get back to work.”

  Boyd nodded as Stanley went to the kitchen and made a brew.

  He returned a few minutes later with the milky sweet drink and handed it to Boyd.

  Stanley waited until Boyd had finished the mug, and saw that some colour had returned to his face. Boyd seemed a little brighter.

  “I suggest you get yourself to bed and see how you are in the morning. I’ll warn Mr Jarrett that you may not be in work tomorrow.”

  Boyd nodded and made his way to his bedroom.

  Stanley left Boyd to sleep and made his way back to the Hiab. He wondered what had come over the young man. He’d not made the connection between Terry Mason’s mention of the murder in the woods and Boyd’s sudden and violent reaction.

  The past was beginning to catch up with Daniel Boyd.

  Chapter fifty two

  Maria’s flat

  7.15pm

  Sunday 9th October

  Maria had enjoyed a relaxing weekend. She’d spent time with a few of her new mum friends she’d made at Joe Jingles. Christopher had played with his little mates and was interacting well with other children.

  He was picking up new words quickly and Maria was surprised how much he could say. It was far too early for him to string words together to make any sense, but he was learning the names of his friends, he had words for some of his toys, plus half a dozen other things

  He had shown no signs of RMD for over a week.

  Maria had bought a second hand metronome and set it ticking every night when Christopher slept. It seemed to be doing the trick.

  Christopher was asleep in his cot and Maria could hear the ticking of the metronome over his baby monitor. There was something about the rhythmic ‘tick – tick – tick’ that she found comforting and could appreciate how it could help him get a good night’s sleep.

  The gentle ticking was beginning to make her feel sleepy, almost as if she was being hypnotised. She was tired after a busy weekend and the ‘tick – tick – tick’ was so relaxing. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, her thoughts were drifting elsewhere and she began to dream.

  In her dream she could hear a drilling noise. The noise was getting louder and was becoming shrill. Suddenly she woke up to the sound of her phone which was ringing and vibrating on the lounge table. The vibration of the ringing phone was amplified as it resonated through the wooden table.