‘Dammit!’ I hissed, frustrated, panicked. My unwanted talent had never failed me before. I was snatched back into the real world with a flash of colour and sudden pain in the back of my head, as I collided with a large, unyielding object.
Grabbing the painful patch on my head, I turned round and my heart leapt into my throat. I suddenly felt giddy with relief.
The car. Now my escape route.
I quickly scrambled to me feet and jumped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed. I began searching for the keys whilst my mind tried to justify the theft I was about to commit. Could it be considered theft if I took from my own would-be assassin? No further hesitation required, I made up my mind that the act was simply a form of self-defence. This man tried to take from me. The fact that he failed was not my problem.
Or was it?
I shook my head, chasing the distracting thoughts from my mind. However, my search for the keys proved fruitless. I grabbed the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white, and slammed my other balled fist against it in frustration.
My mind clouded over again, and fast. I couldn’t focus on anything except my plight. I was god-knows how many miles away from anywhere, and had no idea which direction home was in.
Home. I considered the word again and realised that I never really had a home. Spinwood had simply been another place to rest my head. The very place that slowly ate away at what remained of my father.
I had no way out. I was totally useless.
I grew tired, my breathing dangerously shallow as the anxiety took hold. My head lolled to my right, causing me to peer out of the now-foggy window. I looked again at the sorry lump on the ground, slowly melting into the earth, a victim of whatever that dark ooze was.
I looked at my fingertips; underneath the tips were black. I still had no idea why.
But looking at the remains of the driver one last time, the leather bomber jacket grew brighter as a beacon. Then it occurred to me. There was still a way out of here for me, but I needed to come face to face with that hell once again.
I swallowed hard, covered my mouth and exited the car. As the fine drizzle grew into heavy rain, my knees sank into the softening mud as I knelt next to the slimy remnants of my would-be assassin.
*****
The stench was intolerable. My stomach had pretty much hardened to the sight of the body, but not the smell. It threatened to overwhelm all of my other senses, and I had to fight to keep from vomiting. The makeshift facial mask I had made with my hand over my mouth was not up to the job. The bile burned the back of my throat. I looked away but only for a moment. I had to be quick, and then I could leave that ghastly site and never return.
But first I had to overcome my repulsion; I had to find the car key. I drew in a deep breath, retching again as I took in the sour-tasting particles of decay in the air, and held it. My eyes began to water, blurring my vision slightly. I was finally able to remove the hand from my mouth long enough to fumble around in the driver’s jacket pocket.
Nothing.
I searched quickly again in case I had simply missed it through my rushing, my impulse to breathe growing ever-stronger, my chest burning with the effort.
But still nothing.
It had to be somewhere, dammit. It’s nowhere in the car, I’m sure of it. It’s got to be on him somewhere.
I studied the juicy heap once more, as my eye caught the sight on the man’s jeans. There it was, poking out from the top of one of the pockets; the black plastic key fob that I knew was used to power the car’s remote central locking system. They key would be attached to it.
However, it seemed that my rotting friend would have one last laugh before I let him rest; I would have to get closer than I’d ever want to in order to grab the key. The thought made my stomach turn. I could feel a cold sweat break out across my forehead and the back of my neck.
I had to do it. There were no two ways about it. I’d have the entirety of my drive back to Spinwood to justify what I had done, or to simply put it out of my mind for good. Knowing my ability to do such things, the queasiness lifted. I reached a hand forward, the effort growing as it drew nearer to the steaming carcass.
My fingers touched the protruding fob, but they were too sweaty to gain a grip. Knowing what I then had to do would bring fresh trepidation. I then moved two of my fingers into the man’s pocket. I felt the heat rising from him, but it wasn’t until I heard and felt the squelch of his jellied flesh beneath my touch that I caught a fresh wave of nausea in my mouth. I closed my eyes, saying another silent prayer that I didn’t have to reach any further.
My plea was answered, as I then found the silver loop connecting the fob to the key itself and, hooking a finger through it, I pulled my hand free, the car keys coming with them. I backed myself away along the ground again as the realisation full set in. I looked at the key in my hand, the relief so powerful that my whole body went numb.
No longer able to contain it, I turned away from the corpse and vomited. The release felt good, for a moment or two. But when I had to power my legs to stand up, I found that they were as wobbly as the flesh I had just been forced to touch. I stumbled forward, my body stopped by the car. I let my frame flop against it, momentarily hugging the vehicle that I had now inherited. My ticket away from this place, wherever I was.
A few minutes later, I was pulling away from the driver’s final resting place, following the track in the only direction I felt would take me back to the main road. Ten minutes later, I turned right onto the main carriageway, which was thankfully void of much other traffic. My head was still spinning, not to mention my stomach. I needed an uneventful journey if I was to arrive in one piece.
At the next junction, I took another right turn, following a sign that told me Cheltenham was ten miles away. As I waited for a gap to appear in the traffic, I closed my eyes briefly, calling upon my third eye. I steered out onto the road, now under the power of my hidden sight.
On my way back to Spinwood, finally. But very soon down that road, a disturbing thought returned to me; what if I was already too late?
I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator, hoping to shave as many minutes as possible off of what would surely be my final journey to that place.
*****
The miles fell away nicely beneath the wheels. The first was spent with me trying to get used to the different controls; I had only passed my driving test four months before and had never driven an automatic before. Soon enough, however, the car and I were getting along just fine.
I also managed to find my way without having to rely on my third eye. I was given a couple of minutes to look around whilst sat at a set of particularly lethargic traffic lights, and realised that the buildings seemed familiar. Taking my turning at the traffic lights, I recognised the street, and from there on in I was able to navigate my way back towards Spinwood.
I was less than a mile away from the minor turning that took me down the track towards the estate when I saw it. Above the line of skeletal trees, long since they shed their bushy leaves in time for winter, a plume of thick black smoke scarred the otherwise clear dusk sky. I mistook it for a band of dark clouds at first, an incoming storm that had yet to unload on the unsuspecting world below. But the way it billowed up towards the sky from beneath the line of trees told me otherwise.
The smoke grew taller and thicker as I drew further down the lane towards Spinwood. Denial set in, a thousand voices all telling me at once that my worst fears could not be true, that the sheer density of the cloud made it appear closer than it actually was.
But as I turned to travel down the long gravel drive, I was proven wrong.
So very, very wrong.
*****
It was gone. My last surviving memories of my father, his final home and the closest thing I could consider to be mine, reduced to a mass of burning timber and walls of flame, within a weakening stone shell. As soon as I saw the flash of intense yellow up ahead, I stopped the car. I walked the
rest of the way up the drive, my legs growing heavy with dread, my feet dragging their way down the gravel path.
I had no words. I felt as though at the moment of seeing the house ablaze, I was void of emption. I was numb.
I now officially had nothing.
The wall of heat acted like a force-field, keeping me from going within twenty yards of the mansion. I tried futilely to protect myself by shielding my face with my arm, but it was no use. I remembered a shortcut through the blackberry bushes to my right, which as a kid I pretended would lead to my secret den further into the undergrowth that bordered the estate. The path itself was now overgrown, the brambles’ growth unrestricted over the last couple of years. I traced what I remembered of the old line of bushes, and squeezed through the branches. The thorns scratched at my cheeks and my neck, but soon gave way as I broke through to the clearing I used to use.
The heat was only marginally less intense, but at least I had cover. My only concern now was if the breeze caught an errant spark and sent the fire towards the trees. I didn’t have the option to rationalise or give in to yet another hypothetical problem, so continued to break through. Staying close to the front line of the bush, I made my way around the mansion until I recognise what used to by my other exit out into the courtyard.
I stepped out from beneath my protective canopy, and stopped dead in my tracks. All I could do was stand and stare as my heart broke. It wasn’t just the mansion that was ablaze; my father’s cottage was being decimated too. A sob broke out, a gargled cry of pain but no words.
I was helpless, useless. I could do no more for the property or anything inside it anymore. My father’s past had literally gone up in smoke.
I had no idea what to do. I looked in all directions, wanting to cry for help but knew it was pointless; the nearest neighbour was a couple of miles away and the property was not listed on any local map. Although the smoke would alert locals, no-one would miss the place they never knew existed.
Tears dampened my cheeks, cutting through the layer of soot that was now coating my face. The fire was relentless, taking every inch of the place that it came into contact with and continued on looking for more food, insatiable. It craved more fuel, more memories that it could take from me.
As I turned in a full circle, sweeping my gaze across the entire disaster site, something caught my eye. The front door of the cottage was open.
*****
The weight of the air inside the cottage forced me almost to my knees as soon as I entered. I choked as I gasped for breath, almost ready to leave again straight away. But something was pulling me further inside, something didn’t feel right. I had no time to consider who or what had caused the fire, only that I had to act quickly. I turned my head, scanning my surroundings as quickly as I could. Ahead of me, I could see thick smoke starting to pour down from upstairs, but thankfully the fire hadn’t yet reached the ground floor. It must have been burning from above.
I took a few steps towards the archway leading into the lounge. Then I saw it…
A pair of black shoes came into view, attached to two large legs, the rest of the body hidden from immediate view, curled around the front of my father’s armchair. I knew who it was almost immediately, which probably explains my hesitance to move any further. But I knew I had to.
I took small steps forward, until I saw the upper body. The flicker of the flames burning outside illuminated The Caretaker’s dark skin, accentuating the silver at his temples and chin. He was motionless, unconscious, and maybe even dead. I feared the latter. At first, The Caretaker’s long dark overcoat masked the pool of sticky blood that had formed beneath him.
The man groaned, almost inaudibly. I rushed to his side, placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently to try and rouse him further. He moaned again and his eyes flickered open. They looked heavy, for they closed again just as quickly. I startled as his arms moved, straining to lift his weight, before giving up. His eyes opened once more, his head lolled lazily to the side to face me.
‘Go…’ he whispered, weakly. I caught the sob before it could escape, ignored my stinging eyes. His stare hardened, urging me towards the door.
‘No, come with me,’ I pleaded. However, I doubted whether I could help him out by myself. My body was weakened, crying out for food and sleep. And judging by the amount of blood that I could now see on the floor, now covering the tips and soles of my shoes, I doubted how long he would survive with me his only saviour.
‘Go!’ he demanded, his voice strangled. I could see the effort caused him pain, but he tried not to let it show. ‘This place won’t hold for much longer.’
I looked around the room, which was now covered in a heavier blanket of dark smoke. I could hear the wood splintering and cracking above our heads, a few of the main support beams almost ready to give up. I strained my eyes, stung by un-cried tears and the thickening smoke, to try and determine The Caretaker’s condition. His groans as he let his head fall back to the floor told me that the damage was severe, almost certainly internal, as every small effort caused him obvious pain.
Someone had been here, caused the fire and had attacked The Caretaker. I was sure of it. The guilt rose, sickening me. I should have been there. I should never have left. I had ignored The Caretaker’s advice and it would surely now cost his life, maybe even my own. And I was to blame.
Again.
I shook my head defiantly, tears finally falling free. Through it all, The Caretaker’s face remained emotionless, save for the few fleeting grimaces as another shock of pain racked some part of his broken body. He forced one of his hands up to grab my arm, pulling me closer. I felt his weakness, and it pained me that such a strong man was reduced to this, because of me.
I bent down closer to him, ducking my head more urgently as part of the roof gave way, causing the ceiling to shake. The sound was deafening. A sudden rush of fear shook me. I almost didn’t hear what The Caretaker was to say.
‘You need to return. Back…back…’ The pain was clearly growing, forcing him to stop talking and turn away, not wanting to show his moment of weakness. My admiration for him soared, making my own sorrow even harder to bear.
‘Back where?’ I urged him. I waited, long agonising moments, listening only to the destruction taking place above me as the first floor started to collapse in on itself. ‘Please…’ I couldn’t utter another word, as the sobs took hold of me.
Finally, The Caretaker turned his head weakly to me one last time, his eyes appearing lifeless, staring through me. ‘Home,’ he whispered, as his final breath escaped him. His head fell to the side, his eyes slowly closed and he was gone.
I was left numb for several moments before I could think to move again. Heavy strained sounds emanated above me, closer this time than they had before. I looked up to find spider-web cracks forming in the plaster of the ceiling, increasing by the second. The weight from the collapsing floor above was proving too much. It would be a matter of seconds before it would come tumbling down.
I was wasting time, precious moments slipping away when I should be moving. I gave my fallen protector one last glance, a silent thanks and then I turned and ran. I was only a few feet through the door and back into the courtyard when the decimated structure of the cottage fell down behind me.
The last remnants of my tortured past disappearing in a pile of dust and flame.
Chapter Twelve
The petrol station buzzed with activity, the forecourt steadily filling up with cars as their owners rued having to pull away from the rush-hour traffic queue, familiar with the battle they would face to re-join the hordes once their tanks were full.
‘Pump number seven,’ the tinny assistant’s voice declared over the tannoy, ‘you must select whether you’re paying at pump or kiosk before trying to fill up.’
All eyes turned to the flustered and bewildered elder gentleman at the aforementioned bay, who held up an apologetic hand towards the kiosk window, trying to avert the gaze of the other drivers around
him. The man who stood at pump number nine, behind the shamed customer, rolled his eyes.
Some people, he thought to himself. It’s not like Pay at Pump hasn’t been around for years already!
Callum Laing shook his head a few times and returned his gaze to the numbers rolling ever upwards on his own pump. He lacked patience for other people’s ignorance or mistakes, especially at half-five in the evening. He wanted to be at home but knew that he had one more stop to make before he got there. The thought of seeing his mother should have pleased him, but these days it was simply an inconvenience.
Still, it gets my duty done for another fortnight, I guess.
He found the rolling number display strangely hypnotic, maybe even relaxing. His thoughts turned from his mother to his childhood years, which were becoming ever more distant these days. He thought of his childhood home, the place he had been wrenched from with no warning when he was only seven years old. Nowadays, though, it all seemed like another universe away.
When his mother had fled Wildermoor that day, Callum’s innocence started to die. He was confused for months, unable to rouse himself for any tasks such as school or making new friends, the kind of things that should have come so naturally to a young boy.
He was brought up to hate his father. His mother, having split from him only a matter of months before their exile, had only told Callum the bad things; the times that he had failed to pick him up from school, missed birthdays, many forgotten days when DI Thomas Laing’s work had gotten in the way of everything else in his life.
Or maybe that wasn’t strictly true; Tom Laing’s work was his life. It was Callum that seemed to have gotten in the way of that.
As the years wore on, however, Callum thought of his father less and less, which in a way was healthy as he slowly stopped hating him. However, he only started resenting his mother more. During his later school years, Callum expressed an interest in following in his father’s footsteps and joining the police force. The idea was met with little enthusiasm from his mum; Callum was already starting to look like his father, and the thought of him in the same job turned her stomach.
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