Shadowville: Book One of the Shadoweaters

by Paul Taylor

  Kath cried out Ben's name as he stood over her.

  "I'm right here," he said, kneeling beside her.

  She whimpered in pain and fear and rolled away from him, trying to lift her arms to cover her head, but she couldn't, they were broken in four different places.

  "Kath," he said. "It's me, Ben. What happened? What has that bastard done to you?"

  Kath kept trying to shield herself from him, weeping silent tears.

  "Can't you just leave me alone?" she moaned.

  "Kath, what's wrong?" he reached out a hand to touch her. He caressed her shoulder and there was a sickening, crunching noise as the bones were pulverised.

  Kath screamed miserably as her shoulder crumpled into an unrecognisable mess and blood splashed out onto the carpet.

  "Oh God," said Ben, sickened. "Hold on, I'm going to get a doctor."

  He leant down and gave her a peck on the forehead even as she struggled to get away. His lips touched her brow and there was a dull, squelch as her forehead, then her whole head, caved in. Blood and brains sprayed out everywhere like wet, grey confetti, showering across Ben's face. One of her eyeballs blew out and he felt the ruinous mess of it splatter against his chin.

  He was still screaming when he woke up.

  The sheets lay twisted about him like a tornado, hot and moist with his sweat, stained with his fear. His heart beat a tattoo in his chest and his breathing was rapid and shallow. After sitting up in bed for a while with the sheets pooled about him, Ben realised sleep would not return for him that night. He saw it was nearly five, so he got up, made himself a coffee and waited in his armchair for the rest of the world to catch up.

  By eight he was up and about the house, trying to burn off nervous energy. If Kath was okay she would be calling him sometime this morning. Then they could plan her escape. That was assuming she was all right and hadn't been admitted to hospital. Her injuries had looked pretty bad.

  Bad enough to die from, whispered his mind in a kind of horrified glee. Ben told it to shut up, but it wouldn't listen, now that it had brought up the subject his mind was reticent to leave it go. Picking at it like a scab, determined to pry it up and see what delights lurked underneath.

  Yeah, she looked pretty beat up, went on his mind. He must have been hitting her hard. She probably had all sorts of horrible internal injuries that you wouldn't even know about.

  Until she died from them.

  Neil would have come home, found her laying on the lounge apparently asleep and tried to wake her up. Only she wouldn't have moved. He would have gotten scared, shaken her, told her to snap out of it, damn it. When she still didn't move, he'd squat down, listen for her breath.

  If he stayed cool after realising she was dead, he might have messed the house up to make it look like a botched burglary. And who he called first would depend on that. If he went for the burglary scenario he'd call the cops, otherwise he'd go straight for the ambulance.

  "Stop it," Ben muttered. "Just fucking stop it."

  There was a hard knock at the front door and Ben jumped. He froze, staring down the hall like a rabbit in a spot-light, his whole body tensed as he decided whether to stay or flee.

  When the knock came again, a little harder this time, he didn't jump, but the unease still remained, and it only grew as he started walking down the hall. Nobody other than Kath knew he was in town, knew he lived here. He felt like hiding until whoever it was left, but his traitorous feet kept carrying him onwards.

  When he was almost at the door the knock came again. It was louder and even more forceful this time, rattling the door in its frame. Hurry up, the knock said. Hurry up and let me in or I'll knock the door down.

  Ben grabbed the door knob and opened the door. His hand was so slick with sweat it took him a couple of tries to twist the knob.

  When he saw who his caller was, Ben's heart loosened a little in his chest, but not all the way, no. Because the uniform this man usually wore, but which was absent today, signified bad news more often than not. News could be anything from an annoyance, to worse than your worst nightmares about your worst fears.

  He smiled a trifle uneasily and shook his caller's hand.

  "Rich," he said. "How you going, man?"

  Richard, a big bull of a man, let go of Ben's hand and grabbed him in a massive hug.

  "How the hell you been, Ben?" he said, holding him at arm's length. "Kath told me you'd magically reappeared from the black hole and I didn't believe her. You haven't even been to see me yet, you bastard."

  "Sorry," said Ben. "I've meant to. But I've been a bit busy, getting set up here and whatever. And things are halfway to shit and back as well."

  "Nothing serious?" said Rich, giving him that big brother look.

  "Nah," said Ben. "Nothing I can't handle."

  Rich fiddled with his car keys as he stood at the door. His face was drawn and tired.

  "Do you want to come in?" he asked.

  "Uh, yeah," said Rich. "Yeah, I guess I'd better."

  That didn't sound good.

  "Can I get you something?" asked Ben as they went inside. "Tea? Coffee? Beer?"

  "Beer?" said Rich. "It's 9 o'clock in the morning."

  "There's a bar open somewhere in the world."

  "Well, you better make it coffee. Since I am here on a semi-official basis."

  "Ah-hah, the plot thickens," said Ben with a glibness he didn't feel. "So what have you been up to anyway?"

  Ben thought he had a fair idea exactly what Officer Richard Bennett was here for. And if it was what he thought, then Ben certainly wasn't in any hurry to pump him for information. He was, in fact, of half a mind to tell Rich not to worry because he already knew what it was about.

  "Ben," he said carefully. "What I'm here for, well, it's about Kath."

  CHAPTER THIRTY