Desperation Point

by Malcolm Richards

  No. Aaron Black didn’t deserve her help. Aaron Black deserved every piece of shitty luck that was flung at him.

  In fact, she decided, as she turned and stomped toward her home, her one remaining beer nestled safely in her jacket pocket, if she saw Aaron Black lying battered and bloody in front of her right now, she would spit in his face and carry on walking.

  As Nat turned onto her road, she stared up at Grady Spencer’s house. Someone should knock it down, she thought. Its existence was like a cancer metastasizing through the whole damn town.

  No one could escape its poison. No one.

  She hurried past and pushed open her garden gate, barely aware of the black van that was moving down the hill like a shadow, its headlights switched off as it cruised into town.

  42

  AARON HAD WATCHED THE man get dragged into the centre of the circle. He’d watched him get tied down. And then he’d watched Cal stab him to death in an animalistic frenzy. Now, he realised he’d done more than watched it; he’d done nothing to stop it. What’s more, he’d filmed the entire horrific scene.

  And now Cal was staring directly at him.

  Aaron couldn’t move. Worse still, a painful spasm had gripped his ankle and was travelling up his leg.

  Now the leader of the Dawn Children was pointing at him and barking orders. Cal was brandishing the knife and turning in the direction of the barn doors.

  Run, you idiot!

  Aaron spun around and jumped down from the crate. He hit the ground running, dashing from the shadows, past the barn doors, and across the yard.

  Behind him, he heard the smash of feet on concrete. He shot a glance over his shoulder. Cal was racing toward him, a look of murder in his eyes, the bloody knife gripped in his hand. Terrified, Aaron raced forward, plunging into the mouth of the dirt track. He could hear Cal closing the gap, his footfalls tearing up the ground.

  As he raced through the dark, one thought screamed in his mind: get to the road and get to the car, start the engine, and get the hell out of here.

  He pushed his body harder, faster. His chest was on fire. His lungs grew tighter and tighter as he pumped his arms like pistons.

  Get to the road. Get to the car.

  He chanted the words in his head like a mantra, over and over, timing the words with each swing of his arms, each slam of his racing feet. Cal’s footfalls were louder in his ears. He didn’t need to turn around to know what that meant.

  Aaron ran on. Terror gripped him. Sweat beaded his brow. His blood was rushing so quickly he thought his heart might explode.

  He felt Cal’s fingers at the back of his neck.

  Then they were gone again as Aaron hurled himself forward with a cry.

  He was almost at the road, his car maybe thirty metres away.

  Get to the road. Get to the car. Drive and keep on driving.

  The road was closer now. Ten metres. Seven metres. Six. Five.

  And then the unthinkable happened. Aaron stumbled in a pothole. His ankle twisted a hundred and eighty degrees. With a scream, he went down hard.

  The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

  Gasping for air, Aaron flipped over onto his back. He swung his legs around and pushed himself up on his hands.

  He was on the road. His car was just up ahead.

  He got to his knees.

  He glanced up and saw Cal leaping toward him.

  Instinctively, Aaron lifted his hands. Cal landed on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

  He raised the knife.

  Aaron wrapped fingers around Cal’s wrists, pushing the blade away from him with all his strength.

  There was a frenzy in Cal’s eyes, like a shark mid-attack. His teeth were exposed and clenched together. Spittle frothed at the edges of his mouth. The smell of blood—of man and pig—reeked from every pore.

  Cal pushed down harder.

  Aaron’s arms buckled. The blade came down, dangerously close to his throat. Aaron pushed back again. The blade moved away.

  Cal raised his free hand, bunched it into a fist, and drove it down. Pain splintered Aaron’s temple. He saw a flash of white.

  Cal raised the knife again, the blade glimmering in moonlight.

  Aaron’s vision cleared and he saw Cal’s eyes. There was nothing human there. He was an animal. Primal. A predator in the throes of bloodlust.

  Cal raised the knife higher.

  Aaron’s hand scrabbled furiously at his side. His fingers found a chunk of rock that had fallen from one of the stone hedges.

  Cal drove the knife down.

  Aaron smashed the rock into the side of his head.

  Cal toppled forward. His body went limp.

  Aaron lay still, gasping for air. Cal was a dead weight on his chest, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d killed him. Then he felt the boy’s breath against his neck. Cal was unconscious.

  But for how long?

  Channelling his energy, Aaron pushed up with his hands. As he tipped Cal onto the tarmac, indescribable pain ripped through his gut. Aaron screamed. He heard the knife slip from Cal’s hand and clatter on the ground. He placed a trembling hand against his abdomen. When he raised it again, it was wet with blood.

  “Fuck!”

  Panicking, he pressed his hand to his belly again, this time harder. He shrieked in agony. He felt blood seeping through his shirt and soaking into the legs of his jeans.

  He’d been stabbed.

  That little bastard had got him after all.

  Shock began to take hold. But he couldn’t allow it. If he did, he was going to bleed out and die right here on the road.

  Adrenaline pulsing through Aaron’s veins, he pulled himself onto his elbows then rolled on to his side. Burning agony blazed through his abdomen. He got to his knees, found the knife, and picked it up. Clenching his jaw, he staggered to his feet and over to the car.

  By some miracle, his bag was still attached to his shoulders. He winced as he grabbed the car keys from inside, then he turned to see Cal’s hand twitch on the ground.

  Aaron unlocked the door and climbed inside.

  He could feel his blood trickling down his skin as he slipped the key into the ignition. He got the engine going and switched on the headlights.

  Cal’s body was illuminated on the road. He was waking up, slowly shaking his head, touching his bloody temple.

  Aaron’s hands tightened on the wheel. The temptation to slam his foot on the accelerator and drive over Cal overwhelmed his mind.

  Horrified by the thought, he shook it from his head. He was no killer. This was not a horror film.

  But he needed to go. Now. Because Cal was getting to his feet.

  Aaron rolled the vehicle forward, swerved around Cal, then sped away from Burnt House Farm.

  Suddenly the book meant nothing to him. He had watched a man get slaughtered like an animal in front of a circle of wide-eyed children, and he had done nothing to stop it.

  And now he’d been stabbed and was losing blood.

  Now, he was probably going to die unless he could get to the nearest hospital.

  He needed to call an ambulance. He needed to call the police so they could put a stop to whatever the fuck was going on at that—

  My phone! Where is it?

  One hand on the wheel, Aaron slapped the pockets of his jacket. Relief overrode his pain as he pulled out the phone.

  There was no signal.

  Perhaps he’d still be able to get through to the emergency services and call for help. Or perhaps he should just keep driving and head straight for the hospital in Truro.

  But now, something was screaming at him from inside his mind. Something about Cal, about the way he’d refused to kill that man at first.

  The cult leader had whispered something in his ear. Something that had made Cal afraid and look around the barn, as if he was searching for someone. Something that had made him change his mind and drive the knife straight into that man’s chest. What had the cult leader said? Why was
it so damn important right now?

  Aaron glanced in the rear-view mirror. To his horror, he saw a Land Rover pull up next to Cal. He watched as Cal climbed in. Then the vehicle was racing along the road, quickly closing the gap between them.

  Aaron floored the accelerator, swerving around a bend in the road. Suddenly he knew. Suddenly it all made sense. He had seen that van leave the farm just before the ceremony had started. Now, it was obvious where it was going.

  And he had to do something about it. Because if he didn’t, more people would die.

  The other vehicle was closing in. Whoever was behind the wheel was determined to catch up. And now that Aaron knew he’d been stabbed, now that his blood was pouring from his body like water from a tap, all he could feel was pain.

  He tried to make the car go faster as it shot along the country road with the Land Rover close behind.

  His phone slid about on the passenger seat. But there was no way he could make a phone call. Because right now, he was either going to bleed to death or die in a car crash. He would not save Carrie if either of those things happened.

  Aaron spun the wheel. Pain ripped through his abdomen. He was coming up to a T-junction. One direction would take him to Truro and the hospital. The other would take him to Porth an Jowl.

  He slowed the car. Behind him, the Land Rover was coming up fast. He had to decide.

  Now.

  43

  CARRIE SAT IN THE SHADOWS feeling dazed and exhausted. She had no idea what time it was. Just that it was late. Very late. It felt as if this day had gone on forever. But her mother was safe. She was going to live. And that was nearly all that mattered.

  She hadn’t seen her yet. The doctors had said it would be a while before she woke from the surgery. Carrie found herself relieved that she didn’t have to face her mother for a few more hours. Their relationship was already strained, and now she was scared it was about to be tipped over the edge. Because her mother had almost died. Because Cal had almost killed her.

  Because this was all Carrie’s fault.

  She should have gone to the police earlier, should have told them what she knew. Even if she hadn’t even really believed it herself.

  Now everything was a mess.

  She still hadn’t called her father to tell him what had happened to his wife. She still hadn’t talked to Dylan, to try and explain things.

  And now Dylan was gone.

  Gary and Joy had turned up at the hospital and taken him and Melissa away. He’d called them himself. He’d told Carrie they were going to a hotel in Truro, and that they were going to stay there until they knew Cal had been caught.

  He’d told Carrie to stay away until he was ready for a serious conversation about their future. Because right now, he told her, he wasn’t even sure if it was safe for Melissa to be around her.

  Carrie had sat silently as Dylan spoke, staring at the floor, nodding and agreeing, because she knew Melissa deserved so much more than she could give her. She deserved so much more than watching her grandmother bleed out on her bedroom floor.

  And now, sitting in the back of the police car, her face pressed against the window as she focused on the soothing drone of the engine, Carrie couldn’t stop thinking about her other child.

  Everything was her fault. All because she’d taken her eyes off him just for those few seconds all those years ago. It’s funny, she thought, how just a few lapsed moments could turn into a lifetime of hell.

  She wondered where her son was right at this moment, if he was still in the cove, or if he’d run back to wherever he’d been hiding all this time.

  Carrie had told the police everything she knew, everything that she and Aaron Black had worked out together. Now the police knew that someone had been helping Cal. Perhaps when they spoke to Aaron, he’d be able to fill in some of the missing pieces. Perhaps by now he’d worked out which farm Cal was hiding at.

  She wondered what would happen to him when he was caught. She was no longer expecting a miracle. She was no longer expecting him to suddenly transform into a normal boy, to be her son once more. But Cal deserved safety. He deserved to be protected because none of what had happened to him was his fault.

  Her only hope now was that somewhere, in the months and years to come, in the right facility and with the right treatment, Cal would eventually be able to lead a normal life. Become an integrated member of society. She wished for that more than anything, even if it meant he never wanted to see her again, because anything would be better than living his life as an animal in the wilderness, or as a fugitive on the run.

  As the police car turned onto Clarence Row and pulled into a parking space just down from her home, Carrie suddenly realised that it didn’t matter if Dylan left her, or if Melissa never wanted to speak to her again. All that mattered was that both her children were kept safe from harm.

  Police Constable Evans got out of the driver’s seat, then she opened the back door. Carrie climbed out, the cold waking her from her hypnotised state. As they walked through the gate, she looked up at the house. A chill numbed the back of her neck. She didn’t want to go in there. Her house had been violated. It was now a crime scene, no longer a home.

  Another uniformed officer was stationed outside the front door. He was young, Carrie thought. Perhaps recently graduated.

  She waited as PC Evans spoke to him, explaining that Carrie had been permitted to come back and pick up some of Sally’s things.

  “You here on your own?” she asked the younger officer.

  “CSI finished up a few minutes ago. They pulled everyone else.” His eyes wandered over to Carrie, who looked down at the ground. “I guess we’re having a busy night. . .”

  PC Evans turned to Carrie. “Ready?”

  Carrie nodded. Together, they went inside.

  The younger police officer closed the door behind them and returned his gaze to the road. It was cold, his police issue jacket not quite warm enough to keep off the chill. He stamped his feet then rubbed his hands together. Just as he thought about doing a quick sweep of the backyard, a young girl appeared under the streetlight.

  The police officer watched her, his senses growing alert as she stumbled toward the house.

  “Please,” the girl called. She staggered through the garden gate, heading straight for him. “Please, can you help me?”

  The officer stepped onto the path.

  “This is a crime scene,” he said. “You need to keep back.”

  But the girl came closer. She was young, maybe late teens, he noted. And she looked terrified.

  “Please,” she begged. “There’s been an accident. My sister, she’s still out there. Can you help me?”

  She came closer still.

  The officer saw the blood-matted hair at her temple. Then he saw the cold curve of her lips. She was no longer terrified. She was smiling. Somewhere to the side of him, the shadows moved.

  44

  HIS VISION WAS BLURRING. He was getting dizzy. Aaron squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again. The car drifted into the opposite lane. He turned the wheel, bringing it back.

  For the first time since he’d sped away from Burnt House Farm, he realised he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Slowly, carefully, he removed one hand from the wheel and reached for the strap.

  He braced himself, waiting for the pain to tear through his body as he brought the seatbelt across and fastened the catch. But all he felt was a cold, tingling sensation. He shivered. He didn't know how much blood he'd lost but judging by the wetness of his clothes and the growing numbness in his extremities, he imagined it was a lot. He'd managed to put some distance between him and the Land Rover, but the way he was driving now, it wouldn't be long before they caught up to him.

  The road turned around a bend. Aaron hit the brake pedal too hard. He spun the wheel, almost losing control. The road straightened out again. Aaron pressed down on the accelerator, grateful for the late hour. He hadn’t seen a single car pass him since making his escape from Bu
rnt House Farm. It was just as well.

  He checked the rear-view mirror. There was still no sign of the Land Rover, but he knew they were not too far behind. He didn't know how much longer he could keep driving. His hands felt very far away. His leg muscles were turning to jelly.

  But he’d just passed a sign for Porth an Jowl.

  He was close.

  He’d almost gone in the other direction, almost saved himself. But then he would have had to live his life knowing he'd let Carrie die. Maybe a week ago he would have let her. He would have saved himself and taken a chance on the police getting to her in time.

  But there was no time.

  That van had almost certainly arrived at the cove already. And ever since witnessing the murder of that man, Aaron couldn't help but feel in some way responsible.

  He hadn't killed anyone. He hadn’t brainwashed a child or blackmailed them into committing murder. But he had come swanning down here with self-serving intentions, without a thought for the feelings of the people of this town, without caring at all about the already troubled lives he was going to make so much worse.

  And for what?

  To save a flagging career. For money. To prove to himself he wasn’t a failure. To redeem himself for being a liar, a drunk, and a thief.

  But there was no redemption in hurting other people. And now that he had a hole in his gut, now that he was bleeding out slowly and painfully, now that he'd seen terrible things happen at Burnt House Farm, he had a new perspective.

  If he’d gone to the hospital, if he’d let Carrie die so that he could live, then he would have been no better than Grady Spencer.

  So maybe he was going to die. But at least now he would be remembered for doing something good. For being more than a miserable failure.

  A flash of light pulled his focus back to the road. Aaron glanced at the rear-view mirror. The Land Rover was back. And now they were on a straight stretch of road, it was coming up fast.

  Aaron slammed his foot on the accelerator pedal. Just a few more minutes and he’d be there.