Twelve Days

by Paul Williams

  ‘You solved it?’ said Suzanne.

  ‘Yes. The affair with Glen. He never let you go. He was obsessed. Stephen loved you. Never got over you. Danny, Mike, obsessed. I too.’ I paced the room to avoid her stare. I felt my own face redden. ‘I fell in love with an image, kept that ghost alive for twenty years. Not anymore.’

  She looked red in the face. ‘No!’

  ‘Danny asked to meet with you.’

  ‘But I never wrote that letter.’

  ‘Mike was a puppy dog whenever you were around.’

  ‘What are you saying? He killed them because of me?’

  I nodded. ‘You saw the shrine. This was all because of you.’

  ‘Then why kill the women?’ said Emily.

  ‘They were all sworn enemies. Suzanne, they were jealous of you. Linda hated you. Ali hated you. Cloaked their hate in pious Christian judgement. You were the whore of Babylon.’

  Suzanne shuddered. ‘But the concierge didn’t even know me.’

  ‘Think carefully. It was one of us.’

  ‘You still think that?’ said Emily. ‘But we didn’t have the means. And we can rule out the dead as suspects.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘Glen died conveniently. So did Stephen. And Reverend James admitted he and Stephen did plan this to flush out our secrets, our sins.’

  ‘But he didn’t plan the murders,’ said Emily.

  ‘Died conveniently,’ repeated Inspector Tivoli. ‘Why conveniently?’

  ‘Did anyone see Glen’s dead body?’

  ‘We all did.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Inspector, please tell us what you found, and what I have suspected for some time but was not sure. And then when Suzanne reminded me of the school play Twelfth Night, it all came together.’

  The inspector stepped forward. ‘My men have retrieved the body that had fallen off the balcony. The body has been identified, as you suggested, as the man missing from the village for the past twelve days, Signor Rafe, that of the concierge, Antonio Alfieri.’

  Both Suzanne and Emily leaped to their feet. ‘What?’

  I nodded. ‘I assumed it was Glen’s body. We all did. But later, after I began to suspect that all was not as it should be, I returned to the scene of the crime and had another look. And I discovered that the hand with a ring on it also showed a birthmark, shaped like a lady. I saw this very birthmark when the concierge dropped me off on that first day.’

  ‘So Glen–’

  ‘Was not killed. The person I saw with him before he “died” I mistook for a woman. I was so primed to think it was some nocturnal affair, but it was the small frame of the concierge I saw going into his room. There followed an argument. Then Glen must have killed the concierge and planted his body for us to find, therefore eliminating himself as a suspect. Glen’s warning to me was to throw me off the scent and point blame at the Reverend.’

  ‘I see. No one would accuse a dead man of murder,’ said Emily.

  ‘I later found the concierge’s car hidden behind the castle in a carport. He never left the premises.’

  ‘You never told me this,’ said Emily.

  ‘I’m sorry, Em. We were being monitored. I couldn’t afford to let him hear I had found him out.’

  Suzanne sat down again, hugged her stomach. ‘I feel sick. It’s all because of me.’

  ‘So what happened to Glen?’ said Emily.

  ‘He took Reverend James’ plan and ran with it. All those sermon notes were real, but the murders were not part of the Reverend’s plan. Or Stephen’s. No wonder Reverend James thought Satan had come to haunt him.’

  ‘So if Glen did all this, he’s still–’

  I nodded. ‘And his clever engineering feats were designed to frame all of you, to make you panic, to make you suffer fear.’

  Suzanne wrung her hands. ‘Why? Why?’

  ‘He hated Reverend James, he hated Ali, religious bigots who condemned him, drove him out of the Church. And Linda turned her back on him. He was jealous of me, hated the men who were in love with you, Suzanne. Wanted you for himself. Revenge, murder, hate, bitterness. Reverend James created a path for him to follow.’

  Emily pressed herself against her seat. ‘And where is he now? Glen?’

  ‘He’s watching us. As we speak. Listening to me.’

  ‘In the control room?’

  I shook my head. ‘But something still puzzles me. Why he let me and Emily go? And Emily twice. We were his friends, his allies. Maybe he showed mercy. Maybe he relented. Maybe he was having second thoughts. Shall I ask him? Glen?’

  Next to me, a paratrooper held an enforcer in his hands, a bright red manual battering ram used for gaining forcible entry. ‘Permesso?’ I took it from him and in one swift movement I smashed the huge mirror that took up the whole wall behind me.

  The police aimed their weapons, first at me then at the hidden room behind the mirror. As the glass shattered and fell to the floor, a gaunt figure stood before us, dishevelled, unshaven, but not shocked at being discovered.

  Glen looked as if he had been expecting it. He raised his hands and stepped forward calmly at the prompting of the paratroopers’ weapons.

  Behind him we could see a room, bedsit, fridge, computer, settee. His secret camp, where he had been living all this time. The mirror was one-way glass, so he could see everything that happened in the living room. From the very beginning, he had been watching our every move through the mirror. I had inklings all along, intuitions based on strange feelings. One-way glass is not always one way. In the night. In the silence, I had heard strange sounds. When I turned off the Christmas tree lights, a reflection of light still glowed in the mirror. But it wasn’t a reflection. ‘Was I right, Glen? Did I get it all right?’

  ‘How did you know?’ Glen stepped forward into the room.

  ‘Your Malvolio clue. In the school play, you played Malvolio. I knew that it was you – I guessed that when I saw the lady birthmark on what was supposed to be your hand. And the mirror? We’ve been staring at you all this time. Only at the end did I realise that mirrors can also stare back. Or, as in The Wizard of Oz, there can be people hiding behind screens. Or one-way glass.’

  Glen nodded. His smile was crooked. ‘You’re so smart.’

  The cancerous tissue on his arm seemed worse. His face was a blotchy map of grafted skin and coloured patches. He looked haunted, his eyes sunken and with black rings under them. Or as Reverend James would say, he looked demonic, possessed.

  Suzanne pressed back against the mantelpiece. ‘Rafe, you were right. Glen, we thought you were dead. We were heartbroken. We–’

  ‘It was you,’ said Emily. ‘All those murders.’

  Glen folded his arms. Did not flinch.

  ‘We didn’t deserve this,’ said Suzanne. ‘What did we do to make you hate us so?’

  Glen shook his head. ‘To even have to ask that question means you deserve everything I threw at you. You have no idea what anguish I have been in all these years. The definition of true evil is that you do not even know the pain you are causing.’

  ‘What pain did I cause?’ said Suzanne. ‘I never did anything to you.’

  Glen flashed a macabre smile. ‘You destroyed my life. You played with me, teased me, led me on; and when I was hopelessly in love with you, you dropped me. I was a game to flatter your ego. You played men, you destroyed lives. Don’t tell me you don’t even know what you did.’

  Suzanne paled. ‘You stalked me for years. I tried to make friends with you, but it made it worse.’

  ‘You made me suffer. I could not get over you. Ever.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Suzanne,’ said Emily. ‘You can’t be held responsible for a man’s obsession with you. He’s the predator. You didn’t do anything.’

  Suzanne bit her lip.

  ‘And those others,’ said Glen. ‘They destroyed me too. Your so-called Reverend James may as well have taken a mallet and smashed my legs. His poisonous sermons, he destroyed my self-
confidence, condemned my youth, made me sit Sunday after Sunday purging my desires, my own impulses. Destroyed my mind, made me feel like scum for any impure thoughts. All while he was being so holier-than-thou, having it off with Emily! And who knows who else. So I decided to teach him a lesson. Linda was my first vengeance. It felt good. But he smeared my name, him and Stephen. And Alison and Linda turned on me.’

  ‘You had an affair with his wife!’ said Suzanne.

  ‘You lot made sure my reputation in that little town was ruined. I couldn’t get a job. No one would hire me, so I left the area and signed up with the army. The only way I could purge myself of the Church of the Joyful Resurrection’s vile shit and Suzanne’s treachery.’

  ‘I did not–’

  ‘It was good, so good. I became fit, transformed myself, and on my first tour, I learned to kill. How to torture enemies of the state. I liked the feeling it gave me. And so I began to fantasise about revenge. About how to get you back, all of you smug little Christians. I learned about booby traps. I learned a lot about myself and who I am.’

  The inspector moved forward to silence him, but I held out my hand. ‘Let him speak. We need to know all this. It’s a confession. Go ahead, Glen.’

  He nodded. ‘So when the Reverend began talking of a reunion, I made my plans.’

  ‘But why me?’ said Emily. ‘I was a victim of this Church too. Much more so.’

  Glen’s eyes were cold and steady on her. ‘I was going to kill you, Emily, but I couldn’t do it. I did feel you were also a victim. You two were my allies. The dissenters. But the rest of them, I wanted them all to suffer. Even you, Rafe. You were all so smug about death, about everlasting life. The Twelve was all so pious and uppity. “Death hath no sting,” Reverend James used to preach. Well, it does now. My lesson – what death is really like.’

  ‘So you had to kill all of The Twelve,’ I said. ‘What about Sean and Jack?’

  He turned to me. ‘No, I didn’t kill them. When I heard of their deaths, that’s what set me thinking. What if there was a curse on The Twelve, and they all got bumped off one by one? Then the Reverend came up with this retreat idea and I ran with it, found this castle, planned my revenge.’

  ‘And me?’ said Suzanne. She could not look at him, but stood her ground, arms folded, tossing her hair back.

  ‘I was in total control. I would never harm you, Suzanne. Never. This was all for you. This whole thing. I wanted you to feel fear, yes, but I would never hurt you. You know that.’ His look was tender, disarming.

  ‘Did you think this would impress me?’

  Glen walked forward to her, arms out. ‘Suzanne, I came to rescue you!’

  She shrank back.

  ‘Get against the wall,’ called out the inspector. Glen complied. He was smiling, calm, not at all perturbed.

  ‘So you orchestrated the whole thing?’ I said. ‘You used Reverend James’ sermons, you set up the castle, rigged up the cameras, all those torture instruments.’

  ‘The castle was already set up with cameras and secret rooms,’ said Glen. ‘That’s what gave me the idea. I visited a number of venues months before, scouted this one out and found it ideal. The owner was quite mad. Used to spy on his guests and watch orgies from behind the mirror. Bondage S&M parties. And his fascination with torture instruments was most educational. He showed me how each was used. And so the idea blossomed. This is how I would take my revenge. How I would wake you up to the terror of what you had done to me. I planned everything, and listened to your every counter-plan, used them against you.’

  ‘You’re sick,’ said Suzanne.

  The police held his arms as he strained towards her. ‘Love is a disease that eats and eats you if it’s not reciprocated. Like cancer, it burrows into your soul, into your heart. Until you have to do something. Cut yourself. Cut others. Burn it away. But you have no idea, do you, what you have done to people? No idea.’

  Suzanne cowered away from him. ‘You monster.’

  ‘Enough,’ said the inspector.

  I stayed him with my hand. I wanted to hear everything. The police moved back and Glen walked to the middle of the room again, centre stage. Suzanne stood two metres away, arms folded. Defiant. I admired her now. She was standing strong, confronting him. We stood in a circle around them, as if we were watching a play, some tragedy.

  ‘You made me out to be the monster! You, Emily. You, Suzanne. And you, Rafe, you always had all the girls eating out of your hand. Rafe this, Rafe that. Suzanne dancing around you. And those vile men, Danny, Mike, and their disgusting thoughts about you, Suzanne. And Alison, the pious puritan. The Twelve spat me out, and so I spit you out, all of you.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ said Suzanne. ‘If you thought that this would fix things up–’

  Glen smiled. ‘But it will. I will have my revenge on the whole pack of you. You’ve read your Shakespeare. You mocked me like Malvolio. You teased me, played silly games with my heart.’

  ‘No, Glen, I never–’

  ‘You did. You all did. But on the twelfth night of Christmas, the fool becomes the king and the king becomes a fool.’ In one deft move, he launched at Suzanne, grabbed her around the neck, pulled out a slim pistol from his sock and aimed it at her head. ‘No one moves or she dies.’ Using her as a shield, he broke through the circle and dragged her towards the front door. The police raised their weapons again, but he was too quick. He lunged into the door frame, pulling Suzanne behind him to block any clean shot from a weapon.

  ‘Oh, and Nurse Emily,’ he called, ‘it was fentanyl I used, injectable solution. But it does come in other forms too, such as a gas. Lethal if used in a confined space. Good luck!’

  He slammed the door and locked it from the outside.

  ‘Stop him!’ called the inspector.

  I heard a hissing sound from the room behind the now-broken mirror and then the clicking of the internal doors as they locked. He had the system operational again. He had planned even this!

  The endgame.

  ‘Shoot!’ shouted the inspector. The police ran to the window, weapons raised.

  ‘No!’ I shouted back. ‘He has a hostage.’

  ‘He can’t go anywhere,’ said Emily. ‘He’s stuck here. There’s no way out.’

  The hissing gas, invisible, odourless, was filling the room. ‘We have to get out of this room,’ I said. The doors were locked – to the kitchen, to the living and dining room, to the passageway.

  ‘Cover your mouth and eyes,’ ordered the inspector.

  Coughing and spluttering, we all bottle-necked at the door. I felt itching, burning, all over my face.

  Then Emily called out, her mouth covered with a scarf, ‘Listen.’

  A drumming outside the window. A slow thudding. Slow at first then faster and faster. I knew immediately what it was. So did the pilot. ‘Madre mia.’

  ‘He’s taking the chopper!’

  ‘Stand back.’ One officer fired at the lock, and the bullet ricocheted dangerously in the hallway. Wood splintered into the air. He fired again and the lock shattered. The door sprang open.

  We swarmed outside, taking huge gulps of cold, fresh air and grateful to get away from the gas.

  The scene was dismaying, surreal. Glen in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter, its blades rotating, faster, faster, and Suzanne in the front seat. He had tied her up and now was navigating the controls of the aircraft.

  ‘Quale idiota ha lasciato l’elicottero incustodito?’ shouted the inspector. ‘Pazzo.’

  ‘He must have learnt to fly a chopper in the army,’ said Emily.

  ‘Damn,’ I said. ‘He planned this to the last detail. Even his escape should we find him out.’

  The police raised their weapons.

  The chopper rose slowly then nosed up into the air.

  ‘Sparare! Sparare!’

  ‘No, don’t shoot!’ I called out.

  The police fired but missed wide, then fired again. A blade twanged and a bullet ricocheted into the cour
tyard. The helicopter lurched but continued to rise six metres or so off the ground. I could see his plan now – to escape into the valley below.

  ‘No!’ Emily screamed.

  ‘Stop firing!’ I yelled. ‘The hostage!’

  ‘We can’t let him escape,’ replied the inspector.

  Either the chopper was damaged or Glen wasn’t an expert pilot. He lurched towards one of the walls of the castle, regained control and surged away into the centre of the courtyard again. He then yawed horribly before climbing a few more metres.

  I watched Suzanne wriggle out of the passenger seat and push herself out of the open cockpit door. Glen was busy trying to regain control of the aircraft, but he grabbed her with one hand as she leaned out of the chopper. She screamed. I saw her open mouth but heard nothing above the throb of the engine.

  ‘Jump, Suzanne,’ I called, seeing her plan. Of course she could not hear me, but she knew what to do. Although the chopper was now ten metres in the air, below was the same deep snowdrift I had landed in. It would cushion her fall. I pointed to it, signalled wildly to her. I didn’t know if she saw me, but it looked as if she was going to make the attempt. She struggled out of his grasp, but he held on to her hair as she pushed herself out the door.

  I saw my moment. ‘Give me that.’

  I grabbed the weapon from the nearby policeman and aimed at the right-hand side of the chopper, high at the blade, and fired.

  It was a distraction more than a direct hit, and the chopper lurched to the right. Glen let Suzanne go in his effort to right the chopper, and she used that second of freedom to jump far and clear of the door. She floated like an angel for a few seconds, her hair spreading like fairy floss, then she disappeared into the expanse of white snow below.

  The chopper rose and spun as the blade could no longer keep the aircraft going straight ahead. Over the tower and into the valley it went. I knew Glen’s intention now, to fly high above the Enza Valley. But the chopper was damaged. It spun and then dropped fast down the slope.

  He tried to right it, but it veered, could not correct itself and smashed against the side of the mountain, bouncing up again before it succumbed to gravity and hurtled at speed into the valley below.