With the lock-down upon us I have become more nocturnal and like some fleeting vampire, I now tend to do any business I need to once the sun has gone down. Take for instance a visit to the bank. This is done at the ATM when the streets are deserted and I am left alone in the quiet hush of late evening. As I drive home, I pass two of the major supermarkets and am always aghast at what’s happening. Last night, there were a number of youths gathered around their cars and believe me, there was no sign of social distancing. I actually drove into the car park to observe the comings and goings and sat in stunned silence watching those who emerged from the supermarkets bright innards. There were groups of all sexes carrying beers and pizzas and there was no way they could all be from one family. One woman came out carrying a baby in front of her like some human shield against the virus. No doubt, that was not her intention but seriously!!! All this made me think, as we are cocooning our loved ones and trying our best to take care of our families, is there some ancient, sort of scruffy god that takes care of these people? Because, let’s face it, they somehow survive and thrive with some invisible Armour that protects them against life’s onslaughts. You know the type, they come through plagues, famines and all night parties unscathed and with a dumb resilience to keep going. It’s one of life’s great mysteries, my friends.
Jill sprang up in the bed. Her heart raced so fast she found it hard to breathe. The only light in the room came from the slit at the bottom of the door, and she waited for her eyes to adjust. Looking around the room, she picked out the familiar shapes of the furniture. Deciding it was safe enough; she swung her feet onto the floor and sat a moment to allow the spinning in her head to subside. She didn’t dare turn on the bedside lamp in case it alerted her family. The murmur of their voices had woken her, and she couldn’t face them, not yet.
Her clothes were removed, so she slept in her underwear. The jeans and jumper she had worn were laid out at the bottom of her bed, so she didn’t have to search of something to wear. Once dressed, she crept to the window and looked down to the yard. Even in the darkness, she could pick out the outline of five cars. Her parents owned one of them, Joe another and more than likely, an assortment of aunts and cousins in the other two. No one would want to miss witnessing her misery, and even though she knew her thoughts were uncharitable, they were, she knew, true. She had always been the outsider in her extended family, the one most likely to cock things up, they said, and they were right. After Joe left, they arrived en-masse with suggestions of what she should do next. Despite tight smiles and words of wisdom, there was no mistaking the arched eyebrows, or knowing looks and comments, when they thought she was out of earshot. It came as a complete surprise to all of them when she inherited the house from her grandmother, and even though they warned against trying to go it alone, she ignored their advice. Oh, she proved them wrong, and managed to become self-sufficient, but at what price?
The bedroom door groaned, and she held her breath, waiting for the expected footsteps, but there were none. Tiptoeing to the top of the stairs, she listened as voices drifted up, but she could not make out what they were saying. Bess, who was lying at the bottom of the stairs, got up when she saw her mistress and wagged her tail. Jill brought her finger to her lips, warning her to be quiet, and laughed at the action. She had come to think of the dog as her friend and expected her to understand everything she said or did. To her surprise, Bess lay back down. So far there was no sight of her pups, and Jill was grateful for this, as their frolics would have surely made her presence known to those gathered in the kitchen.
Taking her coat from the rail in the hall, she crept outside, with Bess following at her heels. Her mother’s car was parked closest to the house and she saw in the light from the window, it was gleaming. Six years old and still in showroom condition, her mother always boasted. Jill frowned, recalling the home she had grown up in and the sterile condition of every room. A place for everything and everything in its place, was her mother’s mantra, and her house epitomised the neatness and order of her life. Even her husband, Jill’s father, had a role to play and she sometimes wondered how he bore her mother’s frigid rigidity, but it didn’t seem to bother him, and he remained the jovial and good-natured father she had always known. She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her. The grass was coated with frost and it crackled beneath her feet as she made her way to the orchard. Here she could think without being disturbed. The trees would give her some shelter from the cold, and there was a little wooden bench where she could sit and think. She managed to keep her emotions under control since she had woken, but now, seated under the vast amphitheatre of stars, she broke down and sobbed. The dog seated beside her, moaned and nuzzled her face into Jill’s hands.
“Oh, Bess, what am I going to do?” she stroked the soft fur. “They’ve taken my baby and I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead. Oh God, this is all my fault.”
Above her the heavens glowed brighter than before and she turned her face to the sky. Tears ran down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her jumper, as she silently prayed for help. The cold breeze whipped around the bare trees and carried with it the voice of her loved one.
“The time is right,” it seemed to whisper, and Jill jumped up, when the words reached her.
“Nana,” she called, as her eyes searched the darkness. “Nana, is that you?”
There was no one there, and nothing to answer her cry. Cursing her imagination, she walked through the trees, and could not help but notice the dog’s reaction. She seemed wary, as she sniffed the ground, and once or twice, a low growl started in her throat, but whatever it was she saw out there in the darkness was soon dismissed as non-threatening, and she resumed her foraging. Jill’s body shook from weeping, and she leant against one of the trunks for support. The orchard, that once seemed such a happy place, now hung with the stench of neglect and death. The earth beneath her feet was damp and the fallen leaves, that days before blazed with colour, were now slimy with rot.
“There you are,” her mother’s voice startled her. “We wondered where you had got to.”
Her lips felt like ice when she brushed them on her daughter’s cheek, and Jill made no sign of protest as she linked her arm through hers and guided her back to the house.
“Now you mustn’t blame yourself,” her mother said, and Jill knew what she meant was, there would be many others who would. “I’m sure Toby has just run off and is hiding somewhere. He’ll be home when he gets hungry, boys are like that.”
Jill stopped, and looked at her mother.
“He hasn’t run away; someone has taken him.”
She could hardly believe how flippant her mother was being.
“Well, this has been an upsetting time for both of you, and I have to admit, I wondered how well you were coping, with the split I mean.”
“I know what you mean, mother,” Jill tried to remain calm. “I’m hardly likely to forget, am I?”
“That’s what I mean,” her mother patted her hand. “Toby is feeling the loss of his father too, and probably crying out for attention. What better way to get it, than by running away and causing all this fuss?”
“He did not run away,” Jill gritted her teeth. “And he has all the attention he needs. I spend every waking moment, outside of school, with him.”
“But he needs the company of a man, is all I’m saying.” Her mother started to pull her towards the front door.
Jill no longer trusted herself to speak. If her mother’s nonchalant attitude was anything to go by, what chance did her son have, if the police took the same view?
The warmth of the kitchen stung her cheeks.
“Here she is,” her mother smiled at the sea of anxious faces, as though displaying something she had caught. “I found her wandering in the orchard.”
Jill was right in her assumptions. Two of her aunts, her mother’s sisters, rose to meet her. They were accompanied by their daughters, four of the most repressed creatures the world had ever seen, and they now stood beside their mothers, with the same sad, fixed smile. Jill understood none of them, especially her cousins, felt any pity for her, and they would derive a perverse pleasure from her distress. It was easy to imagine how Jesus felt, when they each placed a Judas kiss on her cheek. Her father stood behind her during their murmured assurances her son would be all right, and she was glad of the strength of his hand, as he stroked her back.
Joe’s face was a mask of worry and pain, and she walked to him and held out her hand. Instead of taking it, he wrapped his arms around her, and she was once again enveloped in the familiar scent of his body.
“We’ll find him,” his voice was hoarse with unshed tears. “I’m going to join in the search as soon as it gets light.”
“Thank you,” she pulled away and looked around at her family. “I had a flat tire; I was only a few minutes late.”
The explanation dissolved in a fit of weeping and her father hurried to take her in his arms.
“It’s not your fault, girl,” he said, hugging her so tight she struggled to breath. “It could have happened to anyone.”
“But it happened to me, Dad,” she pushed him away, sat at the table and buried her face in her hands.
Outside in the yard, Bess howled and scraped at the front door.
“I thought I told you to lock the dogs up!” Her mother glared at her husband.
“I thought I did,” he walked out into the hall and opened the door.
Before he could stop her, Bess ran by him into the kitchen.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Jill heard her mother fussing, as the dog brushed by her, leaving traces of its coat on her expensive wool dress.
“She’s all right,” Jill wiped her eyes and put her arm around the dog’s neck.
“What possessed you to get three dogs?” her mother asked. “One is bad enough, but three?”
“Now, Nora,” Jill looked at her father, surprised by the sternness of his tone. “Jill has enough to contend with, without you going on at her.”
“I’m just saying,” her mother’s eyes blazed with anger. Never had he dared to answer her back, and in front of her sisters! It was too much, and she lost no time in letting him know. If by doing this, she transferred the attention back to her grieving daughter, then so be it. “If Jill had not had her mind on other things, none of this would have happened.”
If her words were intended to shut him up, they had the opposite effect, and he rounded on her.
“Talk sense, woman. If Toby has been kidnapped, it would have happened anyway, and no amount of watching him would have prevented that.”
“Well,” his wife refused to be beaten. “If she,” she pointed at her daughter. “Had spent more time taking care of the things that needed doing, she would not have had a flat tire.”
“You fucking bitch,” Jill jumped up and faced her mother.
Though aware of the gasps from her aunts and cousins, she continued.
“What gives you the right to accuse me? It’s unlikely you would ever be voted mother of the year. Where were you, when I needed you?”
Turning to her father.
“Dad, I asked her if I could move in with you for a while, until I could get myself sorted out, and do you know what she said?”
She knew by his reaction, and the way he looked at his wife, that he was unaware of this.
“She said a child wouldn’t fit in with her lifestyle,” she glared at her mother. “Well, you won’t have to worry about it anymore, will you, mother? Toby might be dead for all we know, and still all you can think of is yourself. You make me sick.”
She ran from the room, out the front door and almost collided with the car pulling up outside. The headlights dazzled her, and she brought a hand to her face, to shield her eyes from the glare.
“Jill,” Paul O’Farrell said anxiously as he climbed out. “Are you, all right?”
Instead of answering, she hurried over to him.
“Is there any news?”
“No, I’m afraid not, but we’re expanding the search. There are over two hundred volunteers, and we’ll start checking the barns and outbuilding at first light,” He looked up at the sky. “It won’t be long now.”
“What time is it?”
“After three, I told everyone to assemble at six a.m.”
The sound of the front door opening made her look around. Her father stood silhouetted in the light from the hall.
“Is everything all right?” He asked.
“Yes, Dad. This is Paul O’Farrell. He’s the detective in charge of the case.”
The two men shook hands.
“No news, I’m afraid,” Paul said to her father.
“It’s early days yet,” he answered, as though hoping the detective would confirm this.
When he did not, her father asked him in, but the offer was refused.
“I have to go home,” Paul said. “I’m just going to have something to eat, before we start back on the search.”
“Keep us informed,” her father shook his hand, before going back inside.
The door closed, and they were once again enveloped in darkness.
“You should try and get some rest,” Paul said to her. “I know it’s not easy.”
“There’s only twenty-four hours left,” she whispered, and unsure of what she meant, he moved closer. She looked up at him, and he could see how she struggled to contain herself. “That’s what they say, isn’t it? If a child is not found in the first thirty-six hours, then it’s usually too late.”
“Ah, that’s just nonsense,” He tried to reassure her. “You watch too many detective shows. I’ve known people who’ve turned up months, and even years, after they have gone missing.”
“Not children though, none of the children have been found.”
Instead of answering, he patted her back, before climbing in his car. His silence told her all she needed to know, and she waited until he was out of sight before going inside, to face the wrath of her mother’s wounded pride.
Despite the danger, I felt it too obvious, if I didn’t appear at the school last night. Now the end is at hand, I seem to get greater satisfaction from the most mundane things. Walking along the deserted avenue muffled up against the biting wind filled me with a new-found awareness of the world. I wonder what my life would’ve been like if fate hadn’t dealt me such a hand. I tried to imagine I was normal, just an ordinary man on his way to take part in the search for a missing child. No secrets, no lies, nothing to distinguish me from the other men who waited, but I’m not a man. I’m a monster.
It thrills me I’m the phantom boogie man they whisper about. I wonder at their reaction when the truth is revealed. I’m not particularly handsome. There’s nothing about my features to draw the eye, no one would say I’m ugly. I blend into the crowd, which is just as well given my leanings.
The tension was at fever pitch when I reached the school. The energy acted like a dynamo sending waves coursing through my body. I joined with the others trying to second guess what happened to the boy and how the act was carried out. None of the ideas put forward came close to what really happened. I stayed well back hidden by the shadows, when the woman appeared with the dog. I told you before she bothers me. I’ve come to think of her as my nemesis; the one that could bring about my downfall. I didn’t follow her when she disappeared around the side of the school and waited for news to filter back. Rumours flew and the school yard buzzed with anxious whispers about what was happening. These were stunned into silence when word reached us blood was found.
I couldn’t suppress a shiver of ecstasy as the word dripped from mouth to mouth and my reaction was mistaken for one of revulsion.
“It’s a terrible thing,” the woman nearest me patted my shoulder.
Paul O’Farrell appeared carrying the woman and I almost wet myself in anticipation. Was she dead? She certainly looked it. Her face appeared ghostly in the light of the full moon, but she’d only fainted. Still I had the pleasure of watching the needle driven into her arm, and I bit down on my lip as the tip pierced the skin. It hurt her; I could see she felt its sting. She opened her eyes in alarm. I voiced my concerns about her health to both Paul and the doctor and was reassured she was strong and would recover. Such a pity, but you can’t have everything. I take pleasure from the suffering of others. I suppose that’s why I stay in our little club. My appetite for such things was piqued at Erebus, where I took delight in bullying and hurting those weaker than I, but then I had the backing of Christy and Freddy.
The barking of the dog is ringing in my ears and I swear I’ll hear it until the day I die. The horror of its pointed teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl and eyes blazing with anger was something to behold. I managed to move back into the crowd, and I hope I was out of range of the accusing gaze of the detective. The dog knew me, knew I was a carrion and lower than its kind. Had the door of the car been open, I’ve no doubt it would’ve torn into me. Such a messy end to an orderly life and not one I’d have chosen.
I doubt I’ll come across the animal again. I excused myself from the search with the rather weak explanation of having a cold. No one expected very much from me, as my health is not good. I was sent away with advice on combating my fake illness. Let the others spend their nights out on the hills in the bitter cold chasing shadows. The boy is hundreds of miles away and not even God could save him.
I spoke to Christy on the land line before leaving the house. He assured me all is well. The boy is stowed away in the cellar and will remain there until we’re ready.
The walk home was lonesome. The traffic was sent away from the village to search the byroads, and the only sound to break the quiet came from my own breathing. The chill wind did little to spoil the pleasure I felt at being part of the secret. The lights were on in the houses I passed, and I smiled aware all the doors would be locked and bolted against the terror stalking the night. Little old me. I can imagine the shudders of revulsion of my dear neighbours and work colleagues when they learn of my deception. I could go up to any of the houses I pass, and I’d be admitted. I’m trusted you see, that’s what makes what I do easier. I’m not the recluse, the unwashed beggar who makes others suspicious. You know me. I pass you daily and there’s nothing about me would make you pull your child closer. That’s the scary bit, isn’t it? I look like you.
If I imagined the night couldn’t get any better, I was wrong and unprepared for the sight I met when I rounded the corner into the avenue where I live. Paul O’Farrell’s car was parked two doors away from my house. We’re neighbours, isn’t that maddening? He’ll kick himself when he realises the man with whom he shared some of his deepest thoughts and worries, was the person he was hunting all along. He may recall the times I managed to steer him off the scent. Do you suppose there is humour in Hell, because if there is, I’ll be laughing?
He parked the car quite a bit away from his house and I wondered at this, until I saw the shadows moving around inside. He’d abandoned his precious cargo, but I never found him to be particularly bright. She lay alone and easy pickings for the predator. The dog wore itself out and was curled up on the back seat. I could creep close enough to watch the easy rise and fall of the woman’s breathing. There is a hedge running along the wall beside the streetlamp. By keeping into the shadow, I could stand unnoticed. There was no one about last night, I remained in this position for a few minutes studying the outline of her face. The blouse she wore was open down to the deep valley between her breasts, and the black lace of her bra showed against the whiteness of her skin. The doctor exposed the flesh in his anxious search for a heartbeat. To my delight he’d forgotten to close the buttons. She turned her head as though sensing my presence and I drew back closer to the hedge. I felt its bare branches piercing my skin, but I didn’t dare move in case she opened her eyes. I held my breath until she turned away and I realised she was tossing in her sleep, trying to break free of the drug’s hold. Mothers are wonderful, or so I am told. It’s hard to imagine someone who seems frail and weak could have the fortitude to fight to regain consciousness. I wonder if my mother would’ve done the same had she known. Would she have come and rescued me from the nightmare of Erebus?
Upstairs in the window of Paul O’Farrell’s house, I saw his shadow moving against the bright backdrop of the bedroom curtains. He was dressing, and I knew I didn’t have much time. Easing myself away from the wall and the treacherous points of the twigs and bare thorns, I stepped towards the car door. The light from the streetlamp made her skin glow and I imagined the way it would feel beneath my fingers. She has such a little throat and despite my frail appearance, my grip can be strong. In the throes of the compulsion, I felt the bones snapping and envisioned the small struggle, as she remained within the grip of the tranquilizer. Slipping my hand under the handle, I eased it up as quietly as I could and found it was locked. Cursing the man who’d done it, I allowed the handle to slip back into place and was about to walk away when a movement in the back of the car caught my eye. I was face to face with the dog, with only the thickness of the glass separating us. In my determination to reach the woman, I’d forgotten about the dog. It happens to me sometimes during the kill, all sound ceases and I’m aware of nothing other than the need and the promise of release.
I stood frozen, hypnotised by the dog’s eyes. I saw, though the interior of the car was half in shadow, the hair on its back standing upright. Once again, its mouth was drawn back exposing sharp, pointed teeth and the throaty growl seemed to rise from the depths of its soul. I felt its voice reverberating on my face. I averted my gaze and moved back from the car. The dog went into a spasm of barking, clawing at the window then howling like some werewolf. The sound caused some nearby houses to turn on their hall lights, and I knew front doors would soon be opening. I reached the shadows of my own front porch before Paul came running along the pavement. I saw from his dishevelled condition he hadn’t finished dressing and his face was flushed with anger. Waving away the concerns of the handful of neighbours who watched his every move, with the assurance there was nothing to worry about; he climbed into the car.
“Will you shut the fuck up?”
I laughed, when he said this to the dog, and heard its low growl of resignation. Though I have never liked animals, I assume from its reaction the dog is clever. I must check out poisons on the web and see how much it’d take to kill an animal that size. Of course, if I don’t find what I am looking for there, Freddy has a supply on hand, and I wouldn’t want anyone, especially not a dog to interfere with our plans. I don’t feel quite as depressed today as I have in the past weeks. Maybe it’s the thrill of the secret. The standing around last night, being part of the drama. It’s not the missed opportunity of killing the woman. But in the cold light of day, I realise what a mistake it would’ve been. It would’ve destroyed everything we have worked for, and through Paul O’Farrell is no Sherlock Holmes; even he couldn’t miss putting two and two together. No, I lost control; this is intolerable and can’t be allowed to happen again. I daren’t mention my little lapse to the others, because I know they’d be annoyed. They question my loyalty to our group, and I don’t want to endure any more of Christy’s smart comments about putting me out of my misery.
The answering machine light was blinking red when I opened the front door. I waited for the car to drive away before stepping out of the shadows. The cold drove the nosiest neighbours back indoors and I slipped inside unnoticed. There was as expected no message to any of the calls and I erased them before dialling. We never let our voices be recorded, and the silent buzz of the dial tone spoke volumes. I rang each of them in turn and became the schoolboy of yesteryear, as I giggled and planned what we’d do over the coming days. I don’t think there was anything in my tone betrayed my intention and I’m sure I appeared normal. If either of them noticed anything, they never said, but then I can’t be sure what they say behind my back. I double checked the window locks and turned on the alarm before going to bed. My sleep was troubled.
Christy is the one I fear most. The life he’s chosen is a constant delight to him and he’d do anything to stop it coming to an end. Freddy is harder to read and though we each know one another weakness, he’s sardonically arrogant. Everything and everyone bores him and he’s the most secretive. He can appear emotionless, but he shares in our perversion and the fact we know his weakness is painful to him. Only in our presence does he lose control, and this is terrifying to witness, as he becomes more animal than man. I take comfort in the fact while all three of us are staring into the abyss, only I have my finger on the trigger.
Time to face another day of drudgery, as outside my window the avenue comes to life and the world continues as normal. Today is the day for rubbish collection and mothers vie with trash cans and flocks of multicoloured children. Each child is guarded by an adult as they pass my window in a wave of sound. Today there will be no scolding and tonight they’ll hold their children a bit closer when they think about the boy. The countdown continues, 127…
The streets that were deserted earlier day now teemed with life. Most of the walkers looked to be making their way towards the school, and before she could ask, Paul explained.
“We’ve set up an incident room in the assembly hall. The station is too small to handle the amount of foot traffic expected.”
Jill never answered, as the memory of the bungalow-type building used as the police station, was still fresh in her mind. The officer on traffic control seemed flustered, and he shrugged his shoulders when he recognised Paul. Cars, jeeps, and the occasional tractor lined either side of the school gates, so they were forced to drive to one of the side streets to park. There came again the usual fuss when Jill leaned into the back seat to gather the dog leads, as the pups vied for her attention. Only Bess stayed still and allowed her to pick up the leather strap without any trouble. Her eyes met those of her mistress, and Jill saw reflected there the hopelessness that mirrored her own.
“Let’s go,” she whispered to the dog, handing the pups’ leads to Paul.
Bess jumped out and dragged Jill along the path. Intent on reaching the school, and ignoring the crowds gathered outside the gates the dog began to sniff the ground. Jill heard none of the mumbled apologies and words of condolence from the assembled throng but concentrated on holding Bess’s lead. The dog pulled her through the gates and round to the back of the school. Paul followed and was soon joined by those too curious to wait for news of the outcome. Pushing and shoving, in case they should miss anything, they knocked him aside, and he was forced to shout at them to keep back.
The light had dimmed, and the side of the building was wreath in shadow, so Jill was glad a couple of uniformed officers appeared waving torches. They soon had the crowds under control and formed a cordon to hold back even the most resilient onlookers.
“The men from the crime scene unit are here,” she heard one say.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Paul touched her elbow.
She nodded intent on watching the dog that sniffed along the wall bordering the back road. More a lane than a road it was just wide enough for a car. She realised it would only be used by the teachers to reach the small parking area. She allowed the dog to guide her out the wooden gate along the dirt track that led to the small, concreted patch. Trees and bushes lined all sides with only a small opening for access. It was impossible to see the school from where she stood. Despite the absence of foliage, skeletal trees spread branches wide blocking prying eyes. Even nature itself seemed to be against her, Jill thought as she circled the lot. Bess now concentrated on one spot, sniffing the ground and pawing at something.
“What is it, girl,” Jill knelt beside her.
The beam of one of the policemen’s torch dazzled her as he shone it over her shoulder.
“Move back,” the order came from some disembodied voice behind her.
She dragged Bess away, and watched as the white-clothed figure surveyed the area. Three more figures, similarly dressed, joined him and hunched down to form a ring of ghosts. The snapping of the locks on their cases sounded like gun shots in the still evening air. Jill shivered as she watched them scrape samples of the dusty ground into test tubes and mix with fluids.
“Bring the torch up,” the command made all three men aim their beams at the test tube.
The liquid inside had turned a murky purple.
“Blood,” came the resigned sigh.
“No,” Jill started to back away, unaware she had spoken.
Beside her Bess moaned in distress and confusion, as she was dragged backwards by her mistress.
“Who are you?” One of the figures walked towards her.
Unable to answer, she shook her head.
“She’s the mother,” Paul came and stood beside her. “Come away,” he took her by the arm.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, love,” the man in the white suit said, then turned to Paul. “I thought she was one of your lot. What the hell are you doing letting her roam around a crime scene?”
Jill watched as an argument raged between the two men, and the remainder of the scene of crime unit joined them. Realising their superior was outnumbered; the uniformed officers came to Paul’s rescue. Paul roared at them all to calm down and order was finally restored. The men looked around shamefaced by their loss of control. All seemed to have forgotten Jill was there.
“Blood, you say,” Paul said to the team leader.
“Yeah, a minute amount. It could have come from anyone,” he shrugged. “This is the teachers parking area, I’m told, so we’ll have to take swabs from all of them to rule them out.”
“They’re all inside,” Paul nodded towards the trees.
“Right. We’ll get on it right away,” he motioned to his men. “We have a mobile lab, so we’ll know the results in an hour. In the meantime, we’ll need a swab from the mother.”
Jill leaned against the wall on one side of the car park, and they all turned to look at her. She knew from their attitude she was now just another specimen needing to be poked and prodded to help their case, and made no protest when they requested, she open her mouth. The dry softness of the cotton bud around her gums made her retch, and she swallowed hard to avoid being sick.
“Let’s get you home.” Paul said, as they followed the group back along the lane.
Darkness had fallen, and a huge moon lit the night sky. She saw the first glistening of frost on the walls leading to the school and shivered, wondering if Toby was warm enough or was, he cold, as cold as the grave? Cursing her morbid thoughts, she tried to concentrate on the search, and then remembered the blood. They said it could belong to anyone, didn’t they? Maybe one of the teachers had a nosebleed or something? But that sheltered spot, with its army of trees blocking the view, made an ideal spot for the kidnapper. It was one of the teachers, it had to be. Before she could ask Paul about this, the fear and panic she so far managed to control became a physical pain within her and she slumped to the ground.
She had no recollection of what happened next and was only woken by the needle sting in her arm. Paul had carried her to the car which was at the front of the school. She lay against the headrest, looking at the kind face of her employer, Bill Williams.
“That should help,” he smiled at her. “I’ll be round to check you later, and you’re not to worry about work. I’ll find someone to fill in. Your job will be waiting when this misunderstanding is sorted out.”
Misunderstanding, Jill fought the drug coursing through her veins. Is that what this is, nothing more than an oversight on God’s part? My child is missing, she wanted to scream at him, but her tongue refused to form the words she needed.
“Her family has arrived,” she heard Paul inform the doctor. “They’re waiting at the house. The boy’s father is there as well.”
Oh Christ, she thought, I’m for it now. The love she once felt for her ex was replaced by a seething hatred, and she could picture his smug face and the accusations he would throw at her. A soft whine from the back seat alerted her to the dogs, as Bess came forward and nuzzled her neck. Jill tried to lift her hand to pat her and offer some comfort, but her limbs seemed lined with lead. The door beside her slammed shut, blocking out the chill night air, and she turned her head to see where Paul had got to. He stood beside the car, speaking to the crowd that came to watch the show. Now and then a familiar face swam into view, and she was forced to narrow her eyes to try and figure out who they were. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Keane bent down and stared at her through the window, and she realised what it must feel like to be a goldfish. The idea made her smile and they nodded at her, thinking this was a greeting of sorts.
Paul ushered the onlookers back towards the school, and it was easier for her to see. The doctor was still there and someone else she recognised, who was he? Her mind searched for the answer, as he turned to meet her gaze. Oh, yes, she remembered, the man who delivered the rubbish skip. She felt drunk; her body weighted down by the effect of the drug. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite remember. Her eyelids drooped and the last thing she was aware of was Paul climbing into the seat beside her.
Leaning across her, Paul pulled the seatbelt and clicked it into place. She looked so young and vulnerable lying there and he shook his head in disgust. Once he was inside the car, the crowds surged back, and now stared in through the side windows. Turning on the engine, he eased the car away from the curb, taking care not to hit anyone standing too close. That’s all I need, he thought, one of them complaining I tried to run them over. Some were running for their own vehicles, determined to get started on the search. He would be back to take control once Jill was safely home and in the care of her family. Placing his hand on the car horn, he gestured at the officer in charge of traffic to let him through small jam and he was forced to wait, as the man cleared the cars that all tried to get out at the same time. The onlookers were still there, watching his efforts to drive away, and he was aware of a low growling from the dog in the back seat.
“Quiet Bess,” he ordered, needing to concentrate on moving out into the stream of traffic, but she refused to listen.
The growling increased; starting low in her throat and rising to the surface in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.
“Will you be quiet?” He spun around in his seat and looked back to where the dog sat.
The two pups were sitting side by side watching their mother, whose nose pressed against the window. Unaware or uncaring of the man’s stern command, she continued to watch those assembled outside. When they saw the dog’s reaction, the curious onlookers once again surged forward, and when they did her growls were replaced by snarling and then furious barking.
“Jesus Christ,” Paul shouted. “Will you shut up?”
There could be no mistaking the dog’s anger as she pawed at the car door, shredding the leather interior with her nails. Needles of ice ran down Paul back as he watched her and spinning around, he looked at the people outside. Their faces were pale in the moonlight and their eyes like saucers. It’s one of you. He knew that instant the dog was right. She sensed what he felt from the start; someone in that small crowd was the murdering paedophile preying on the children of the village.
Beside him, Jill moaned, and the sound quieted the dog. Turning from the window, she looked to where her mistress lay and whined. Realising the traffic was brought to a halt, and everyone waited for him to move, Paul pushed the lever in gear and drove away.
They would pass his house on their way out of the village, and he’d stop for a moment to change. The stench from his perspiration was overpowering. Parking the car under the streetlamp, he turned to the dog.
“Take care of her, Bess.”
The dog whined and looked at the sleeping form in the front seat.
He locked the doors, hurried to the gate of his house and looked back. There was no one about and she would be safe for a few minutes. With no time to switch on the immersion heater, he’d wash in freezing water. Its touch made him shiver, but he scrubbed under his arms until his hands ached. He coughed as the spray from the deodorant can rose around him and was pulling on a clean shirt when the sound of urgent barking sent him running down the stairs.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jill had no recollect of screaming when she recognised the satchel, or the effect the sound had on the assembled men. It was only later that Paul O’Farrell told her about it, and about at the way his uniformed officers jumped with fright. There was much about that first day she chose to forget, and some things she would never quite manage to erase from her memory. The drive home from the school for instance was still a mystery to her, as she could not recall Paul leading her to his car. Later, when she saw her own vehicle being driven down the track to the house, she wondered about this. Had they spoke on the way there and if so, what had they talked about? Her mind was fixed on reaching the house and finding Toby waiting, but she knew even in her numbed state this would not be the case. Paul said his men were scouring the area, and she knew they had searched her small farm. If Toby was found, Paul would have known by now.
She managed by sheer self-control to stop the tears from falling again, but the imprint from her nails was visible in the palms of her hands. Now walking through the door and confronting the small rain jacket hanging on the end of the banister and the wellington boots that lay in wait for their young owner, she broke down. She had to be helped into the kitchen and sat sobbing at the table while Paul put on the kettle. She laughed, when he placed the steaming mug in front of her with the assurance it would make her feel better. How in the name of God was a mug of tea going to make her feel better, when all she wanted to do was curl up and scream? Impotent with fear and rage, she pushed his offering aside and picked up a towel to dry her eyes.
“What do we do next?” She asked, her voice heavy with tears.
“We wait until we hear from my men,” he sat opposite her. “I know how frustrating this must be for you, but we have to explore all avenues. The parents the teachers were unable to reach will all be contacted, and we are doing a house to house search.”
“How many men have you?”
He shuffled, uncomfortably in his seat.
“Well, there’s just the four from the station now, but I’ve called for backup and they should be here by morning.”
“Four men,” she shrieked. “Four men to cover all the roads and do the house to house.”
She rose from her chair, and he motioned at her to sit.
“There are only two roads in and out of the village,” he tried to placate her. “And we have volunteers working with us.”
“And what about the hills? I heard you tell them to search the byroads and tracks. How are you going to do that?”
“Over twenty men were checking them when I last phoned the station, and they will be hundreds more once the news gets out. People around here give their services in a crisis.”
“It’s a pity they didn’t care enough to watch over a small boy until his mother came for him.” She knew this was not fair, but she had to vent her anger in some way.
“Well, they can’t be blamed for that,” he said, and instantly he was aware of what he said and her reaction.
“No,” her eyes blazed. “But I can, that’s what you’re saying isn’t it. That it’s my fault?”
“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “It was the wrong choice of words. I meant it’s nobody’s fault.”
“But it is,” she was sobbing again. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been late none of this would have happened.”
Before he could offer any words of comfort, she ran from the room. He followed and stood listening at the bottom of the stairs as she retched into the toilet bowl. He felt like joining her, as the effects of last night’s drinking bout had not yet worn off. He rubbed his stomach, hoping to quell the burning in his gut, and popped another antacid. Still, he reasoned, it was not just the whiskey making him feel sick, but the feeling of de-ja-vu that started the moment he heard about the boy’s disappearance. He had been here before. While nine years had passed since the little girl had gone missing, the memory was still as fresh as the day it happened.
Once again, he was forced to witness the grief of a mother at the loss of her child, but this time he would find the boy no matter what it took. In the past, he was constrained by orders from his superiors, and the certain knowledge he had a mortgage to pay and a family that depended on him. Now there was nothing to stop him from quitting the force if his hand was stayed.
Many avenues remained unexplored during the last search, and there were one or two people he had chosen to keep an eye on since that time. Now he would descend on them with all the weight his office allowed, and should the need arise, apply more say, unconventional methods to find out what he needed to know. Either way, this was one child who wouldn’t fade away once the usual media frenzy filtered out.
“Feeling better?” He inquired, as she came down the stairs.
Cursing again his choice of words, he stood aside and waited for her to pass. From her ashen face and the black tears-tracks on her cheeks it was obvious she was feeling far from better. Still, she was more in control, and if the sudden calmness she displayed was an act, it was worthy of an Oscar. He watched as she searched around the kitchen, and when she located what she was looking for came back and stood beside him.
“Look,” she spread the yellowing papers out on the table. “I found these when I was cleaning. My grandmother had kept them for a reason.”
His heart spasmed as he looked down at the three faces that were as familiar to him as those of his own children. This time, the nausea that threatened refused to be held back, and he managed to make it to the bathroom before vomiting. A glass of iced water waited for him when he returned to the kitchen, and he accepted it gratefully. Bile burned his throat, and he could smell the whisky’s acidic fumes on his spattered tie and shirt front.
“I’m sorry about that,” he emptied his glass and allowed her to refill it. “It must have been something I ate.”
“Or drank.” The smell of the alcohol was not lost on her.
“Yeah,” he was gracious enough to blush. “I’ve been doing a lot of that of late.”
“I hope you manage to keep off it until you find my son,” her voice broke a little, and even though she knew she sounded like a harridan, she didn’t care.
“A drop won’t pass my lips,” he promised.
“Good.” The small lapse of control was once again replaced by an icy calm.
“Do you mind?” He pointed to the papers.
“No, go ahead,” she pushed them across to him.
For a while there was silence, as he reread words still etched on his brain. He had copies of all the articles written on the disappearances, but he was still looking for some small clue that might have been overlooked. Jill heard the dogs whining. Rushing outside, she followed the sound to one of the outhouses and found Bess and her pups locked inside. One of the police officers probably did this to stop them getting under their feet, she pushed back the rusty bolt and opened the door. She was immediately engulfed in a wave of fur as the three dogs came charging towards her. The pups made straight for the house in search of their master and comrade in mischief. It was only Bess that remained behind, as though sensing something wrong. Kneeling beside her, Jill buried her face in the softness of the dog’s coat and sobbed.
“Someone took Toby,” her tears matted the fur on Bess’s neck. “They’ve taken my baby.”
The dog’s warning growl alerted her to the movement behind her, and she had to put her hand on Bess’s collar to stop her attacking, as Paul came rushing towards her.
“Are you all right,” he looked from Jill to the dog that was straining to break free.
“I’m o.k.” she assured him, and then to the dog. “Down Bess, he’s a friend.”
This quieted the animal and she surveyed him, to make sure what her mistress said was true. Finally satisfied with what she sensed, she sat, and Jill let go of the collar.
“She doesn’t usually behave like that,” Jill apologised for her pet’s behaviour. However, she was suspicious at the same time.
Bess was always so docile and had never reacted to anyone that way. She even allowed the policeman to lock her inside the outhouse without too much fuss, as she would have heard if the dog bit him. So why was she behaving like that? As if to answer her question, Paul said.
“Animals are sensitive to their owners’ feelings. She knows something upset you and she’s trying to protect you,” he bent down and stroked Bess’s head. “Aren’t you girl?”
This time the dog’s reaction was completely different, as she wagged her tail and licked his hand. I’m just being paranoid, Jill thought.
“Your mother rang,” he said. “I told her you would ring back.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes, I had one of my men ring her and the other people you had down as next of kin on Toby’s school application.”
Instead of saying anything Jill watched what Bess was doing. The dog was sniffing the ground and moving towards the main gate.
“What’s she doing?” she asked Paul. “You don’t think she’s trying to find Toby, do you?”
“Stranger things have happened,” he started to follow the dog, but the scent obviously ended at the gate.
“Toby always waits for me to drive out before closing the gate,” Jill said, breathless with excitement. “We could take her to the school; she might be able to track him from there.”
“It’s worth a try,” he agreed.
“I’ll get the leads,” Jill started to walk back to the house. “We’ll take the pups as well.”
She stopped at the front door and looked over to where Bess was standing. The dog was watching something out in the lane, but when they walked over to where she stood neither of them saw anything.
“What is it, girl?” Jill asked.
“It’s probably nothing,” Paul’s eyes searched the landscape. “Just a rabbit or a rat.”
“No,” Jill was watching the dog. “She sees something we can’t. What is it girl, is it Toby?”
In response, the dog threw back her head and howled.
The sound of the dog’s cry was still ringing in their ears as they drove towards the village. Though Paul wouldn’t admit it, the howls unnerved him. Jill became hysterical, and he had to slap her to stop her screams. To her, the dog’s reaction to the mention of her son’s name meant the dog sensed he was dead, but Paul assured her this was not the case.
“She just realised he is lost somewhere,” he said. “You have to believe that, otherwise why would she be tracking his scent?”
It took time to calm her and now she sat beside him unmoving. The dogs, like their mistress, also sat motionless, the pups huddled against their mother, sensing her distress. Cranking the window down a little, he allowed in the sharp evening air. The smell inside the car was overpowering, and he blamed the dogs in the back seat. If Jill smelled it, she gave no sign, but stared straight ahead, not even blinking.
His nose itched and he brought his hand up to scratch it. Only then he found the wet patch under his arms. Blushing furiously that he blamed the dogs, he vowed to wash and change the first chance he got. He promised to stay with Jill until someone from her family arrived to relieve him, and their failure to appear kept him from the case. Still, he could not leave her alone at such a time. Their one female officer was on maternity leave so her job had fallen on him. He could leave one of the junior officers with her, he mused, but decided against it, as their lack of experience in a case such as this might prove a hindrance. For now, he’d try and appease her by using the dogs to attempt to track the boy. If this failed, he’d get back to what he knew best, good old-fashioned policing. He’d try and keep downwind of her and everybody else, as he couldn’t risk anyone detecting the stench of his own fear.
CHAPTER TEN
Everything went according to plan; the boy is ours. It’s easier when the child is unsure and less likely to offer any resistance. Children are so trusting, even if they’ve met someone once, they believe the person is no longer a stranger. Whose fault is that, if not the parents? They should advise their children to be warier, because we are everywhere. It was easy to lure him away, or so I’m told. I wasn’t there. There’s an alibi to establish and I made it my business to be seen by as many people as possible. I haven’t told you how we work, have I?
It’s simple really. I believed once we left Erebus, I’d be free of my tormentors, but that wasn’t the case. We went our separate ways to different universities and out into the world, but there was always a taut, steel thread holding us together. Freddy, I should give him his full title, Dr Fredrick Leeson, psychiatrist, as it doesn’t matter now you know his identity. As I said at the beginning, the trap is closing and by the time anyone reads this, it’ll be too late for him. I sometimes wonder how he deals with the Hippocratic Oath. Isn’t there written somewhere within the pages of mumbo jumbo he must pledge to do no harm? Still, on the surface he appears to be a pillar of his community. Married man with three young children, he is above reproach. I couldn’t carry off a charade like that. I’ve told him so on several occasions, but his retorts were as vicious as when we were boys. I remain the sissy, the coward. I met his wife Lorna once. I remember thinking of her as the ice queen. She was coolly polite. Instinct told her I was nobody, not worthy of her attention; or perhaps she uses this façade to disguise the coldness of her marriage. It was at the christening of their first child, Jack. He’s seven years old now, the same age as the boy. We make a point of not being in one another’s company too often and our yearly reunions are accepted easier than if we were weekly drinking buddies.
Christy Taylor, our dominant leader, is not the enormous success he always boasted he’d be. Outwardly he shows all the signs of wealth. He drives a Porsche and resides in one of the better areas of the city, but it’s all a front. A widower, without children, he’s free to do as he pleases. He calls himself an entrepreneur and has his fingers in several pies, but none of them ever return the dividends he expects. He is ten per cent businessman, ninety per cent crook. His enterprises include a small chocolate factory and party planning company. These provide the access he needs to his victims, and no one suspects what lies behind the clown’s mask at their child’s birthday party.
We live hundreds of miles apart. This is an act of faith and not of our choosing. It makes an ideal cover for our activities. We take it in turns to kidnap a child. The sex of our victim is of no consequence, especially in my case. It’s about the torture and its delicious ending. I’m as much a prisoner as the child and can’t escape from the never-ending horror of what I’ve become. We’ve acquired the skill with which we carry out each attack through years of trial and error. There have been mishaps in the past, but we learned from our mistakes, and now have the process down to a fine art.
In the beginning, we let the child go free, after it served its purpose, but this was a mistake. So now we kill them. I know how cold and unforgivable the act sounds. In a way, we’re doing them a kindness. What they suffer at our hands is too much for anyone to bear and their deaths are quite humane, as Freddy has access to drugs. I imagine you gasped or clenched your teeth in disbelief at what I’ve said, but that’s fine. I was prepared for your scorn and hatred and of course it’s normal you should feel this way. You are not like me. A monster.
We take one child every three years. This requires an enormous amount of self-control on our part. It’s easier this way and doesn’t arouse suspicion of a serial killer. I try not to think of how my friends satisfy their craving during the other arid years, but I abstain. With the disappearances being so far apart, there’s not yet a pattern for the police to go on and as the boy is only our fourth in twelve years, we’ve managed to avoid detection. Once the intended victim is chosen, you see how I call them victims; I’m not totally devoid of conscience, I know what they are, but I must dehumanise them, so all vestige of empathy is gone. If for instance the child is taken from the area in which I live, then it’ll be either Freddy or Christy who kidnaps them and vice-versa. At no time am I missing and common sense excludes me from any inquiry. It’s quite brilliant, don’t you think? No of course you don’t, I’m being flippant, but consider my words as nothing more than the hysteria of the condemned man.
We have a cottage, Freddy refers to it as a fishing lodge, as he thinks it sounds grander. It was bought over ten years ago. We paid cash and used the services of a solicitor for the purchase, pretending to be overseas buyers. There’s no paper trail to lead to us and the contracts were sent to a safety deposit box in another country. We thought of everything. It took us months of shovelling and back-breaking work to dig out the cellar. We’re not gifted builders and the supports we needed to fortify the walls, were a constant worry, but we managed in the end. Now they’re as impregnable as a castle and there’s no need for soundproofing as there’s no one within twenty miles to hear. The cottage is situated in one of the remotest spots in the country. Land blighted by famine has never recovered and the rock-strewn fields repel the stoutest of hearts. There’s a river close by and while we’ve decorated the walls of the cottage with nets and fishing rods, none of us has a clue what to do with them. We’re interested in sport of another kind.
The room in which we keep the child, the cellar, is decorated to suit. There are toys and books for both sexes and a small fridge stocked with enough food and drink to last for a week. Sometimes we can’t get away at the same time, so there is a waiting period and we’ve insured the child doesn’t starve. The room is lit by a small night light that plugs into the wall. It does little to dispel the gloom, but we couldn’t take the chance of leaving a normal sized lamp on, in case its rays cut through timbers. In such a remote area, any form of light would act as a beacon to the lost traveller or foraging animal. The toilet and washing facilities are too crude to mention. If the room remains sealed for more than a few days, the stench is horrendous.
The child is subdued with the aid of chloroform. Freddy taught us how much to administer. Since the journey to the cottage can take up to three hours, the child is always bound and gagged. We’ve converted the space beneath the back seat of our cars, and it’s proved an ideal method for transportation. So now you know how it is done,
I’ll tell you how we choose our victim. Like all predators we pick the weakest and most vulnerable. The ones from broken homes and those who are most needy suit our purpose. Sometimes the child is in the right place at the right time, for us. We befriend them, listen to their worries and share in their anger against those they deem their enemies. Children are innocent and trusting. Sometimes, I regret what I must do, but the compulsion is strong and overrides my sense of right and wrong. It’s a bit like being an addict and the need must be fed.
For the first time ever, I want to back out of what’s about to happen. In the past, I’ve made several attempts to break away from the group, but they’ve refused to release me; though I believe my efforts were half-hearted. The others think they keep me in check by a series of threats and blackmail. Christy for instance, uses me as a bank, and I’ve lost count of the money I’ve loaned him for one failed venture or another. Each request for aid is made with the underlying hint of what will happen if I refuse and he’s not intelligent enough to realise his threats to me would have repercussions on all of us. I’ve little need for money as my parents left me well provided for and I don’t need to work. It gives me pleasure he must come to me cap in hand and I like the hold this gives me over him.
Freddy feels I am an intricate part of the plan and hints at what might happen if I refuse to continue. For a man of learning, he knows very little. I am the glue holding everything together and this will be plain to see over the coming days. I’m finished with killing and there’s no longer the pleasure of the chase for me. Perhaps I’m developing a conscience, or is it I’m weary and want it to be over? Either way, I’m done.
My sleep is restless of late and the dreams that haunt me are more vivid. They torment me during the day. The images of the small dead bodies are etched upon my brain and refuse to be ignored. It’s been arranged we’ll meet in six days’ time at the cottage. Freddy has a seminar he can’t get out of and we must wait. In the past, I’ve never thought of the child, alone in the dark room and crying for its mother, but now I do. Sometimes I think I hear its grief, and I block my ears to its cries. I think others have started to notice my strange behaviour, though no one made any reference to it. I complain of sleepless nights and hope this excuses the dark circles under my eyes, and the reason I have taken to mumbling to myself. My hands tremble more than they used to; I’m constantly dropping things and I’ve stopped driving as my concentration is poorer, I keep seeing things, especially at night. I’ve escaped several accidents by sheer good luck and my car was rear-ended twice, because I braked for small, dark beings running across the road.
I don’t believe in ghosts, but there’s nothing I do believe in. Is there a God? If there was such a being would it allow things such as us to exist? Still I’m haunted. I know now. I’ve tried to ignore the fleeting shadows I see from the corner of my eye and dismiss the whispers I hear at night, as nothing more than the water running through the pipes or the wind whistling in the chimney. Why now, I wonder? It’s been so many years since the first murder. It’s as though they’ve been waiting, gathering strength for the attack. I think I’m going mad. Sounds like it, doesn’t it? I’ve been a constant visitor to the doctor over the past few months and managed to stash away enough tranquilizers and sleeping pills to make sure the job is done correctly. It wouldn’t do to write this and then botch the whole thing up. She’s working there now; did I tell you already? The boy’s mother, she’s working at the doctor’s surgery. Only part time, she says, during the mornings, while Toby is in school. I found it difficult to speak to her once the plan was formed, but the fact she’s politely aloof helps a little. I can’t imagine her distress at this moment and am tempted to tell her where her boy is being kept, but I won’t. I’ve written two letters, one each for Freddy and Christy. They’re safe in the hands of my solicitor with instructions they be posted on my death. You see I’m not such a complete bastard; I’m giving them a heads up. Unlike the children, they can decide their fate. I hope for their sake, they decide to mimic mine and choose the uncomplicated way out. This diary I’ll seal and place where it’ll be found after my death, when the executors of my will come to clear out the house. I’ve no one to whom I’ll leave my money, so I’ve decided it should go to a children’s charity. Only fitting, don’t you think?
The boy, Toby, will be Freddy and Christy’s swan song. They’ll have no idea until the last minute I’m not joining them. I wish I could see their faces when they realise, I’m not coming, and imagine their confusion when I fail to appear. My absence won’t deter them, and they’ll continue without me. It’s the urge you see, the compulsion to destroy the innocent. Nothing can stop it. At least this time I’ll be spared the smell of the earth as they dig the grave. For me that was the most disturbing part, the smell of the raw soil and the blackness of the hole in which we threw the small bodies. Their deaths were quite humane, they wouldn’t have felt anything, but my mind rebelled at placing them in the dank chasm. I don’t know why, it was the finality of it all. I didn’t believe they were dead. Instead they were seeds I was planting and would sprout into fruition. I know now it sounds like the ravings of a lunatic, but that’s how it was. Perhaps it’s part of my sickness and the reason I felt no remorse for my actions. I never questioned the others about how they felt. We were never ones to share anything, other than our lust for those unable to defend themselves.
The flashing blue lights from the police cars are coming closer now. I can see the dark outline of the uniformed officers at the door of the house opposite mine. They’re questioning everyone in the vicinity about the missing boy. It’ll soon be my turn and I’ll be ready to help. The search is well under way and this is the part I enjoyed the most, the confusion of those investigating as they hit another dead end. I’ll be weeks before the fuss dies down and I’m content to wait until then to end my life. I’m perverse enough to enjoy the show and the certain knowledge the boy has only days to live. I’ll count the hours starting now 144…
CHAPTER NINE
The clock on the dashboard screamed eight minutes past three, as she pulled up outside the school. In that short space of time, between the ringing of the bell and flurry of mother collecting children, the playground and the surrounding street had emptied. Eight minutes was all it took for the cars to drive away with their chattering occupants, and for the teachers to lock the windows and doors. A sob caught in Jill’s throat as she climbed from the car. There was no sign of Toby. The last of the autumn leaves scurried across her path as she ran towards the main door. The only thing that marred the surface of its wood was the large letterbox; there was no knocker or bell to push, as the door remained open during school hours and closed the rest of the time. There was never any need for anyone to knock.
Trying to control the sobs, Jill beat her fists on the wood. She heard her raps echoing along the empty corridors inside, but there were no approaching footsteps to answer her summons. Running around the side, to the small area where the teachers parked their cars, she groaned. It too was empty. Her throat hurt as she ran back across the playground and out into the street. She had to remain calm; she did not want to be mistaken for a hysterical mother. Perhaps, there was some simple explanation; maybe one of the other mothers gave him a lift home. Her hands shook as she stuck the key in the ignition, and despite the cutting cold, she was sweating. Deciding to drive along the main street in case he wandered off, she steered the car slowly along the road. The place reminded her of a ghost town. Streets were bare, the shop awnings fluttered under the heavy wind, and the few floor signs advertising various newspapers creaked and groaned on hinges. She gave up hope of seeing anyone and was about to drive to the police station, when the door of the post office opened and Mr Jackson, Toby’s teacher appeared, closely followed by the art teacher, Mr. Keane. She pulled up right beside them and jumped from the car. Walking straight up to Mr Jackson, she said.
“Have you seen Toby? I mean since school finished?”
“No, I afraid I haven’t.”
“I had a flat tire and I was late picking him up. I told him to wait inside the bars of the playground, if that ever happened,” the sobs she managed so far to control escaped and she stumbled back against the car.
“Come now,” Mr Jackson placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he just wandered off. We’ll find him.”
“No, he wouldn’t just wander off. Something has happened to him,” she said, and took the handkerchief he offered.
“Maybe one of the other mothers drove him home?” Mr Keane echoed her thoughts. “I’ll ring around and find out.”
“Yes,” his colleague agreed. “Come with us. I’ll open the school. We can use the phone in my office.”
Jill was aware of his hand on her elbow as he guided her across the street. The short walk to the school took forever, and she wanted to run, to scream at them to hurry up.
The bunch of keys Mr Jackson took from his coat pocket seemed to belong to another time. Each one was huge and more fitting for the doors of a castle or stately home. She heard the clunk of the lock and groan of the wood as he pushed open the door. It was like she was walking in a dream, caught up in some terrible nightmare that she might soon awaken from. There came again the familiar smell of books and chalk dust, as they walked along the corridors.
“I am vice principal,” Mr Jackson explained, as he led her into a small office. “So, I have the rare privilege of having a room of my own.”
“Some of us have to make do with the teachers’ lounge,” Mr Keane lisped.
Even though she knew he was just trying to lighten the mood, his voice grated on her already unravelling nerves.
Jill sank into the offered chair and waited as the computer was turned on. It took an age for the machine to boot up, and she dug her nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself from screaming. Finally, he moved the mouse, searching the screen for Toby’s term. The printer behind him whizzed to life as he selected the right one. Jumping up from his seat, he took the four sheets and handed two to his colleague.
“Go down to the principal’s office,” he held out the bunch of keys. “It will be quicker that way.”
Without a word, Mr Keane did as he was asked. Jill knew there were over thirty boys in Toby’s class, and it would take time to contact all the parents. She listened to the first few calls, but as each one failed to bear fruit, she grew even more anxious. Waiting until had had hung up on his last call, she said. “I’m going to look outside and ask in the shops if anyone has seen him.”
“Promising idea.” His face was pale. “I’ll keep at this and come and find you if I have any news.”
The streets were as deserted as before, and for a moment she laughed, as the situation was surreal. It was as though she was caught up in one of those trashy horror films that played out late at night. The lone woman trapped in a deserted village with the menace of some terrible evil lurking around every corner. But this was not a film, and the evil that lurked was very real.
Her first few inquiries were met with a resounding no, as she asked if any of the shopkeepers had seen her son. A few took the time to explain there were so many children running around after school was out, it was hard to remember one child. She had finished both sides of the main street, when she saw the teachers running to meet her.
“Well?” She asked, hopefully.
“We managed to get in touch with most of the parents,” Mr Jackson was breathless. “None of them drove Toby home. A few remember seeing him waiting inside the playground. Five or six were not in, so we can try them later.”
“We should ring the police,” Mr Keane said. “The few we haven’t been able to contact live in the opposite direction to your house. They would not be passing the door and we’re wasting time.”
At the mention of the word Police, Jill’s knees buckled. If it were not for the restraining hands of the men, she would have sunk to the ground. Between them they helped her back to the school. Once seated in the small office, Mr Keane left to make the dreaded phone call. It was a silent agreement between both men she should not have to listen as they made the missing person’s report. Jill warmed her hands on the mug of steaming coffee handed her, but she didn’t try to drink. She was afraid she might be sick.
“They’re on their way,” she heard the gentle lisp behind her.
“This will be nothing more than a storm in a teacup,” Mr Jackson tried to smile. “Boys go missing all the time. They’re like that, always up to some mischief or other.”
Mr Keane joined in, assuring her what his colleague said was quite true, but she heard very little as the voice inside her head started up. She closed her eyes and listened. It seemed so far away that she had to strain to hear.
“Please,” her voice was higher that she meant it to be. “Can you be quiet?”
“Of course,” the men mumbled, and she was instantly sorry she had sounded so sharp. “We’ll go outside, and let you have a few minutes alone.”
Once they left the office, Jill tried to listen. Never had she experienced such a thing. In the past, she had dreams that came true and she was a dab hand at reading the tarot, but that was just a party game. Now she was either losing her mind or some strange door was opening in her brain. She had heard something, and to her surprise she didn’t have to search very hard to find it again. It was waiting as soon as she had closed her eyes. The terrified cry of her child. Toby. Her mind screamed and in reply there came the whimper, “Mam, help me.”
Paul O Farrell was not prepared for the whirlwind that came through the office door.
“Whoa,” he grabbed the woman, as she charged towards him.
“Someone has taken my son,” Jill screamed. “I heard him.”
“Steady now,” Paul had to use all his strength to hold her. “Come back inside and we’ll sort this out.”
“What don’t you understand?” She struggled to break free. “My child has been kidnapped.”
“Listen to me,” he held her shoulders. “My men are searching as we speak. Come inside and we’ll talk.”
Paul couldn’t believe it was happening again. Jill’s wild-eyed look and clenched jaw was something he’d seen before in another mother.
“I have to find him,” she dissolved into sobs. “I have to get him back, I’m his mother.”
“We’ll find him, don’t worry,” Paul assured her.
His words sobered her, and he thought for a moment she had decided to yield to his suggestions, but that was not the case. The reason she stopped struggling was because she remembered the old newspapers and the face of the detective in charge of the cases. Now she became the lioness fighting for her cub.
“You’ll find him,” she sneered. “The way you did all the other children?”
She didn’t care her words had caused him pain, and ignored how his face turned ashen, but the venom was released, and she now felt drained. They stared at one another, and to break the terrible tension, Mr Jackson intervened.
“Let’s go into the office,” he said. “We can talk there.”
Jill allowed him to lead her back inside. The detective, who introduced himself sat behind the desk.
“I have sent some of my men to your home, to check if Toby has tried to get there by himself.”
“I would have seen him on the road,” her eyes flashed with anger, and she clenched her teeth, trying to stay in control.
“Boys sometimes take shortcuts,” he said. “They know the quickest way through the fields.”
“Perhaps local boys do,” she muttered. “But my son is new to the area and he would not know the way home.”
“Nevertheless, we have to rule it out.”
“I told you someone has taken him.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m his mother, I just know.” She knew it would be useless trying to explain how she knew, and he would dismiss her as some crackpot.
Still, to her dismay, he picked up the phone and dialled.
“I want roadblocks set up on all the roads leading out of village,” he told the voice on the other end of the line. “Have someone check the hills as well. I want nothing left to chance.”
“Can I go now?” Jill asked when he replaced the receiver.
“I have a few more questions I need to ask,” he pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “Are you in contact with Toby’s father?”
“I have his address, if that’s what you’re asking.” She was too angry to be civil.
Somewhere out in the cold, gathering darkness, her child was in danger.
“Are relations between you hostile?” he asked. “Could he have taken your son?”
“No, of course not,” her heart leapt at the question, if only it were that simple. At least she knew Joe would take care of him. “He walked out on us over six months ago. The last thing he would need to spoil his new-found freedom is the burden of a child.”
“He’ll have to be informed,” the detective said. “Would you like me to take care of that?”
“Yes, if you would,” she could not bear to hear his voice, or the accusations he was bound to throw at her when he heard his son was missing. “I have the number here.”
She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and withdrew her mobile. Despite her anger, she had recorded his new number in the memory. Scrolling through the list, she located it and handed the phone to the detective. He added this to the information on his pad before passing it back to her.
A sudden shuffling in the corridor outside made him look towards the door. Nodding to whoever stood behind her, he got up.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
She didn’t acknowledge this, and it was not until he left the room, she became aware Mr. Jackson was still there.
“Can I get you something to drink?” He asked.
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” she said. “Why did the detective leave like that?”
Without waiting for an answer, she slipped from her seat and walked out into the corridor. One of the classroom doors was open, and she followed the drone of the voices inside. The detective and three uniformed officers stood around one of the desks, looking down at something. She edged closer, not wanting them to hear and hide whatever it was they had lying there. A small gap opened between the men, and she saw the familiar red flash of Toby’s school satchel.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next few weeks passed in a blur of activity as Jill settled into her new job. There were two doctors working out of the practise, Bill Williams a no-nonsense, loud, old-fashioned country doctor in his late sixties, whose brash manners did little to disguise his big heart, and who could be called on at any time of the day or night. Rita Fitzsimons was the exact opposite of her colleague. In her early thirties and so soft spoken that Jill had to strain to hear, she brought with her an air of quiet confidence that appealed to those of a sensitive nature. It soon became clear that her patient list was mostly made up of women and children.
Jill’s first day at work was supervised by Claire, who stayed back during the lunch break to explain the filing system. The surgery was busy from the moment the doors opened, and this was the only time they had a chance to talk. Jill was curious to know why she was chosen for the job, considering the other two applicants were local women.
“It’s very simple, my dear,” Claire explained. “One of them is a gossip, and while she might agree to keep the patients’ personal information to herself, the task would be quite beyond her, and she would hardly inspire confidence in those who know her acid tongue. The other woman is flighty and not to be trusted to stay in the job for any length of time. So, I merely suggested to the doctors you were the most fitting candidate to replace me.”
Jill smiled, aware that Claire’s suggestion, as she put it, would have sounded like an order. The few hours she spent with her that day left her in no doubt as to who oversaw the office.
“I’m grateful you did,” Jill said. “I was going out of my mind with boredom and much as I love my son, I find it hard to exist on conversations about superheroes. It’s great to be back in the company of adults.”
“I know what you mean,” Claire agreed. “I was only in my twenties with two small children when my husband died, and I couldn’t wait for them to start school so I could go back to work. Not just for the company, you understand, but for the financial security it gave me. I used to work here full time up to a couple of years ago.”
For the rest of the hour, they settled into a comfortable silence as they worked. Now and then Claire would offer an observation on one file or another, pointing out the patients who were very ill and the assorted malingers, who used the office as a meeting place to catch up with local gossip. Some of the worst cases came from the council estate, where lack of nourishment, coupled with a diet of drink and drugs, made the people susceptible to every virus going.
“There are the odd few who demand home visits when they are perfectly capable of coming in,” Claire said. “But you will soon learn to tell the ones that cry wolf at the first sniffle.”
God, I hope I do, Jill thought, and that I don’t manage to kill someone.
Life at home improved a thousand-fold, especially since the arrival of the dogs. Realising Toby was let down enough during his short life, she kept her promise to take him to look at the puppies, and though she hoped the idea might have worn off, they managed to end up with three dogs instead of one.
Liam, Toby’s friend, had drawn a crude map of how to get to the farm, and it proved surprisingly helpful, as she managed to find the place without too much effort. The old sheepdog was lying in the straw in the barn and surrounded by her litter. She lifted her head and wagged her tail when she saw them approach, and Jill was taken aback by the animal’s look of wide-eyed intelligence when she bent down to stroke her head. The puppies were bundles of black and white fur, and each one vied for attention from the stroking hands. Another dog, probably the father of the litter, came to inspect the visitors, but after sniffing around them, lost interest and wandered off again.
“Those are the bitches,” Liam pointed out two of the puppies. “You can have one of them. My dad has sold the others.”
As if on cue, a jeep pulled up outside the barn. Tom, Liam’s father came in and scooped up the three males.
“These are off to a lovely home,” he said, before carrying the struggling pups away.
Jill watched as the mother stood and followed him to the door of the barn. She couldn’t help but imagine how the dog’s heart must have felt as she watched part of her family being loaded in to the jeep. It was only when it was out of sight that the dog returned to her two daughters, and the look of resignation in her eyes made Jill’s heart ache.
“Well, have you made your choice?” Tom came back in.
Though both pups were identical, Toby made a great show of choosing.
“They really are lovely,” Jill said.
“Aye, Bess was a good breeder,” he knelt and stroked the dog’s head. “But this will be her last.”
“Is she too old?” Jill asked.
“Aye, and a bit lame at the best of times,” Tom shook his head. “She’s not able for the herding anymore.”
“So, she’s going in to retirement,” Jill smiled down at the dog.
“Well, no,” Tom scratched his head. “She’s a working dog and no use to me. She’s going to need some work done on that leg, and I can’t bear the extra expense, not when there are healthy animals to look after.”
“You mean…?” Jill was unable to say out loud what she was thinking. It was beyond her that a beautiful animal such as this should be put down, because she was no longer of use to her owner. “What about the other pup?”
“There’s not many around here that would want a bitch, so…” the words were left hanging.
Jill realised that Toby had stopped playing with the pups and was now looking up at the farmer. He made no attempt to hide his horror at the man’s words, and she knew from his bright eyes that the tears were not far away. Cursing herself for being such a softy, she asked.
“Would it be all right if we took the two pups?”
“Yes,” Toby whooped in delight.
“Please yourself,” Tom shrugged. “I’m just glad to get them off my hands.”
“Thank you,” Jill shook his hand, as Toby struggled to pick up the pups.
He was anxious to put them in the car before his mother had time to come to her senses. He was strapped in the back seat and being licked to death, when Jill climbed in. She turned around and laughed as her son fought off the lapping tongues.
“Thanks, Mam,” he was beaming with happiness.
“You are going to have your hands full,” she said, before turning away.
Liam and his father stood waving them off, and she was at the gate when she looked in to the rear-view mirror. Bess, the puppies’ mother, was standing at the door of the barn watching her babies being taken away.
“Christ,” Jill swore under her breath, before hitting the brake.
Climbing out, she walked to the side of the car and opened the back door. The old dog, sensing her intention, started to hobble towards her.
“Is this okay with you?” She called to Tom, who was watching in amazement.
“It’s your funeral,” he said.
“Mam,” Toby was breathless with excitement. “You’re not, are you? And then as the old dog appeared at the door. “Oh brill, come on girl.”
He was engulfed in a sea of fur as the dog climbed in beside him.
“I must be out of my mind,” Jill mumbled, as she climbed back in to the car.
She had just clicked her seat belt in to place when she felt the touch on her shoulder. A paw as big as a bear’s was resting there, and she looked in to the mirror and saw reflected the dog’s comforting gaze.
Patting the paw, Jill whispered. “I know, girl, we’ll be all right.”
And so, they acquired three dogs, Bess and her newly named pups, Checkers, because she was black and white like a checkerboard, Toby explained, and Dotty, because she had small, white tufts of fur dotted around her legs.
The dogs now resided on an old blanket in the kitchen. Jill had promised herself on the drive home that the dogs would be kept in one of the small outhouses, but it would soon be winter. The nights were getting colder and Bess had not long given birth, so once again she relented. It was obvious from the first night, when Bess had crept into her room and lay down beside the bed that Toby had gone downstairs and brought the pups up to sleep with him. Rather than be cross, she chose to ignore his disobedience, as he needed whatever comfort those bundles of mischief gave him. It became the norm to find the two pups back on their blanket when she came down each morning. It gave him immense pleasure to think he had got one over on her, and he was totally unaware of the hairs vacuumed off his sheets. The vet’s bill, for the vaccinations the dogs needed, had eaten up her first three weeks’ wages, but they were worth it. The nights were not as lonely now, as she fell asleep listening to the old dog’s steady breathing, and the strange creaks and moans the house made no longer frightened her, as the dog ignored them. Their effect on Toby was better than any tonic and his health improved, until he was as red-cheeked and glowing as his classmates.
The only small blot on their new-found happiness, were the weekly letters that started to arrive from Joe. The first one was to let them know his new address and he enclosed a hundred euros. This small olive branch had left her shaking with temper, and brought all her feelings of loss and inadequacy surging back to the surface. At first, she considered keeping them from Toby, but then decided against it, as he had a right to know. His reaction surprised her, as apart from his delight on receiving the money, he seemed to have little interest in what his father had to say. Anxious to be out roaming the fields with the pups, he was chomping at the bit as she read. His days were now filled with chasing rabbits and squirrels and exploring the few acres they owned. The arrival of the neatly written envelopes meant nothing to him, and did not bring with them the same gut- wrenching effect they did to her. Though she would never write back, and burned each one as soon as she had read it, it annoyed her that she even took the time to read them.
On the plus side, she managed during her weekends off and the afternoons when the weather stayed clear, to harvest her small crop. They now had enough apples to last them the rest of their lives, along with rhubarb, turnips and carrots. Some of the crops had rotted in the ground and her grandmother’s diaries warned this would happen if the harvesting was left too late. She even bought some jars for pickling and was determined to learn how this was done. Sometimes, as she worked in the kitchen, it seemed to her that her grandmother was there guiding her hands. The words on the pages echoed the old woman’s voice and as the days passed, Jill became more confident as she blended and stirred her chutneys.
Work was also going great, as she had come to know most of the women from the surrounding farms. Those with children were constant visitors to the surgery, and they passed by her in a sea of runny noses and sore throats. There were the odd few ruffians who made life difficult, from the blousy, red-faced women, who took advantage of a medical system they did not have to pay for, and who arrived at the surgery alone, or with a gang of snivelling children in tow, for the smallest of reasons, to the druggies who sat sniffling, as they waited for prescriptions and eyed the room for something worth stealing. But other than that, she loved her job.
The fact she finished at one, meant she could do her housework before she had to collect Toby from school. At first, she had tried to pass the time by window shopping, not wanting to waste the petrol on driving home and then back again, but it was boring and the freezing weather made it worse. Deciding it was a false economy and her time could be put to better use, she started to go home instead. She thought of continuing her research on the missing children, but decided life was difficult enough and abandoned the idea.
October brought with it the first frosts of the year. To her amazement, the fires in the bedrooms lit without much trouble and she no longer worried about the cold. She had to buy a special guard for the one in Toby’s room, as the pups were fascinated by the flames, and once away from the watchful eye of their mother, were likely to burn themselves. Bess was now her constant companion and followed her from room to room as she worked. She made the ideal listener, as Jill recounted things that had happened during the day or told her about ideas she had for renovating the outbuildings into holiday homes.
Looking in the rear-view mirror, she saw the old dog watching her as she set off for the school. She always allowed at least half an hour to get there and, as the drive only took about fifteen minutes, she arrived in plenty of time, but she had not bargained for what happened next. The small bump heralded the steady thump, thump of a flat tire. Cursing, she got out and surveyed the damage. The road was empty and devoid of any sign of life, so she had no other choice than to change the wheel herself. Her hands were raw from the cold when she was finished, and to her dismay, it took her over twenty minutes to do it. Not having a number for the school in her mobile, she couldn’t warn them she would be late. It would only be by a few minutes, she told her pounding heart and Toby would wait inside the bars of the playground as she had told him to do, if she was ever late. He’ll be fine, she thought, I’m panicking for nothing. He will be waiting just like any other day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was ten years old when we committed our first murder. I say we though I played no part in the actual act, other than do nothing to try and stop it. It was meeting that woman today made me recall it. I knew from the moment I set eyes on her she was going to be trouble. It was nothing she said, but something in the way she looked at me, as though her eyes could see my very soul. If I have a soul. I’ve always imagined people like me are set apart from others. Anyway, back to the murder.
Three years passed since my initiation into Christy’s exclusive club. We’d taken to calling ourselves Shadows. We blended in well when the need arose and there were many such times. Christy was bored, the assaults on our bodies no longer thrilled him and he was hungry for new blood. Tony, a new boy seemed the perfect candidate to join our little band, but we were proven wrong. He resembled me, as I was when I first arrived at the school, lost, frightened. Feeling a little bit abandoned by those he loved. He welcomed Christy’s attention in the same way I had and held onto the hand extended in friendship like a drowning man. But he was different from me.
His initiation didn’t go as smoothly, and Freddy and Christy had no choice but stuff rags into his mouth to stop his cries. They didn’t intend to kill him, but the rags coupled with the pressure of his face being pressed into the filthy bed, cut off his air. They were too intent on what they were doing to realise he wasn’t breathing. When they did, it was too late. I wasn’t there when it happened, though I knew about it. My only involvement was in moving the body.
Freddy came to fetch me, and I knew from the look on his face something was wrong. There was no need for explanation. He came bursting through the door of the room, disturbing my classmates and drawing a stern look from the teacher. This time of the day was a free period, I’d chosen to stay back to attend an additional art class, as I’d no stomach for what was about to happen. Excusing myself, I followed him out to the woods. The memory of that day is so vivid my heart rate increases as I write. Sound and smells assail brain no matter how hard I try to hold them back.
It was close to winter. I remember the cold cutting through the thin cotton of my white shirt sleeves. I’d forgotten to take my jacket, and I cursed my oversight, as I tried to rub life in to my frozen arms. The track leading to our den was leaf-strewn and slippery and I remember kicking aside the clusters of reds and gold. The trees were stripped bare by the biting wind and the branches were empty except for the dark clumps of the crows’ nests dotting them. The noise of the birds’ cries was amplified, and I heard the cawing overhead. I heard the shouts of the boys on the football field and, the swish of car tires on the damp road. I’m forgetting the reason for my story. Oh, yes, the murder.
Christy’s face was wet with sweat when I arrived at the shed. Freddy was moving too fast to ask him what the problem was, and I’d become used to obeying their orders and commands.
“He’s in here,” Christy said, and moved back to let me enter.
I prayed they didn’t want me to take part in the assault on his body and stood looking down at the still, prone figure. I never enjoyed the act and suffered their demands in silence. This made them think I didn’t object to their pawing my skin, but they were wrong. Sad to say their actions blighted my body and I’ve been impotent all my life.
As I waited for the expected slap on the back urging me on, my eyes surveyed the small, white body on the makeshift bed. There were thin streaks of blood on his buttocks. I remember the harshness of its colour in the dim, half-light of the shed’s interior. There was also some on the tail of his shirt and the waistband of his underpants. Strange how a colour can remain with you, as this is how I recall that day, steeped in redness.
“Is he dead?”
The question startled me, and I turned around in alarm and looked at its owner. It never dawned on me the boy was dead. I thought like me, he was too ashamed to move or look up.
“What do you mean is he dead,” I asked Christy, “why would he be dead?”
“Look, then,” he mumbled.
I leant over and shook Tony’s shoulder.
“Come on, it’s o.k.” I said, “You can get up now. No one’s going to hurt you.”
His body turned to stone in the brief time it laid there. I turned him over and jumped back as his, staring eyes came into view. I’d never seen death before well, not this sort of death. I’d seen my mother at the funeral home, when the embalmer’s work was done, and the surroundings were clinical. But there in that unforgiving shed, filled with its tattered array of oddments and reeking of mustiness, it was frightening. It was made more so by the look of terror in Tony’s eyes and the tear- track on his cheeks. The dirty rags protruded from his mouth and spilled down onto the front of his school jumper like filthy swear words tumbling from his lips. I reached over to remove them but was stopped by Christy’s hand on my arm.
“Don’t touch them,” his whisper was urgent.
Freddy came up beside us and we stayed looking down at the body.
“What’re you going to do?” I asked.
“What are we going to do, you mean,” Christy’s voice was a snarl.
I knew better to deny any involvement in the death, as I knew the repercussions would be terrible. I was as much to blame.
“You go outside,” Christy pushed me towards the door. “See if the coast is clear.”
“What’re you going to do?” I asked, again.
“We’ll carry him deeper into the woods.”
I was shivering; more from fright than cold, as I walked out into the watery sunlight. To my heightened senses, it seemed all sound ceased as I looked through the trees in search of life. When I was sure there was no one to witness what was about to happen, I signalled. Christy and Freddy came stumbling out carrying Tony’s body. Neither of them bothered to pull his pants up and his buttocks scraped the floor of the wood every time they grew weary. With me as lookout, we traced a path through the trees until we came within yards of the road.
“Here’s fine,” Christy said, as they threw the body down.
It landed with a soft thud and we gathered leaves and covered it over.
“You should’ve taken the rags out of his mouth,” I said. “The police might trace them back to the shed.”
“You do it,” Christy pushed me towards the mound.
“Why, me?” I stood my ground. “You put them in there, you take them out.”
“Don’t get fuckin’ smart with me,” His eyes blazed, and I grew weak under his stare.
I knelt beside the pile of leaves and tried to remember which way the body was facing. I brushed aside the leaves from where I imagined his head was. My aim was good, and the rags came into view. They were wedged firmly between Tony’s teeth, and I pulled hard to remove them. As they came free so did the air trapped in his lungs, I know that’s what it was, but at the time, it seemed to us he’d taken a breath. I heard the others swearing as I scuttled back on my bottom, and I knew they were standing behind me waiting for the mound to heave. When nothing happened, I gathered my courage and crawled back to the where he lay. Brushing aside some more of the leaves, I placed my hand on his chest, praying I’d feel it move, but there was nothing.
“Come on,” Christy whispered, and by the time I looked around they were running through the trees.
I stayed long enough to cover the body and then followed them. My pants stuck to my legs with sweat, but to my shame I’d wet myself. Christy and Freddy waited for me by the shed.
“We have to get our stories straight,” Christy pointed at my hand. “And get rid of those.”
I became aware that I was holding the bundle of dirty rags. The realisation sent me hurrying to the nearest tree for support, as the terror of what happened spewed from me. In the past, the others would’ve ridiculed my actions and the dark, wet stain on the front of my trousers. Today was different. They were too intent on covering their tracks to pay attention to me. After a hurried and hushed conference in the shed, we made our way back to the school.
“Where have you three been,” the headmaster met us in the hall. “Up to mischief I bet?”
“Gathering conkers, sir,” we chorused in unison and pulled handfuls of the reddy-brown chestnuts from our pockets.
“Very well,” he looked down at our muddy hands. “Go and wash up. It’ll soon be time for supper.”
I admit sharing in the others’ sly smiles of victory as we climbed the stairs. Once I’d changed out of my wet pants, it was easy pretending nothing untoward had happened and everything was as it should be. I didn’t bargain on the restless dreams and the nightmares that continued to haunt me throughout my life.
The arrival of the police next day had the school buzzing. Tony’s absence was noticed at roll call, as he’d no friends’ other than us. The roars of the headmaster at those who shared his dorm, for not noticing his bed hadn’t been slept in were met with indifferent shrugs. We’d been left pretty much unattended as the teachers combed the woods and we watched from the classroom windows as they came back ashen faced. Christy winked at me as we passed in the hall and I remember how my stomach churned with excitement at the thought of being involved in such a secret.
We were confined to our dorms for the rest of the day. For once I was included with the other boys as we speculated what was happening. Some said Tony ran away or was kidnapped, but this was dismissed by those who knew his family as rubbish. They weren’t rich enough for anyone to kidnap him. The sound of sirens sent us rushing out into the corridors as the police arrived. Those not privy to what happened knew it was something serious. I still recall the boys’ faces as the blue light of the car’s beacon cut across them; each one ashen and set in stone. The teachers had their hands full trying to keep over three hundred curious boys in check.
By mid-afternoon an incident room was set up in one of the study halls. Christy, Freddy and I were offered to the investigating officers as the boys closest to Tony, so we were summoned first. I was the last of the three to be called and the way was paved by the other two. The detective in charge was kind and took my trembling hands for nothing more than the fright of a ten-year-old.
“Now, son,” he smiled. “There’s nothing to be frightened about. I just want to ask you a few questions about your friend Tony Quinn.”
“Did he run away?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“No, no,” the man’s face grew serious. “I’m afraid it’s much worse.”
“Did he get knocked down by a car?”
“No, but I’m afraid he was badly hurt.”
“Is he in hospital?” I was enjoying the man’s discomfort.
“Your headmaster will explain it to you later, now back to my questions,” he sat down beside me. “Did Tony ever talk about running away?”
“Yeah, he was always saying he would,” I said.
“Wasn’t he happy here?”
“Naw, he missed his mother,” I giggled behind my hands. “He was a bit of a Mammy’s boy.”
“I see,” the detective shook his head. “You can go now.”
I knew my answers were in keeping with those of my friends, and the picture we painted was one the police suspected all along. Tony was murdered by someone he met in his attempt to hitch a ride home. It didn’t bother us that his body was found so close to the school, as this was before DNA testing and anyway, who’d suspect three young boys not yet in their teens?
Though I’d no stomach for the actual murder, it was the weeks of turmoil gave me a taste for the excitement. Knowing we were cleverer than all the grownups made us cocky, but not to the point of boasting. That was done among us, long after the investigation were called off and we were again allowed to roam through the woods. To this day, that’s what spurs me on. The thrill of the chase.
CHAPTER SIX
Jill scanned the situations vacant column of the local paper. There was usually very little on offer in that area, other than shop assistant or garage cashier and she needed something to fit in with Toby’s school hours. Then she saw an ad for part time doctor’s receptionist, and right in the center of the village. She checked her watch; it was still only three o clock well within the specified hours of the ad, so she keyed the number into her mobile. As she listened to the ringing on the other end, she watched the school yard for sign of the children emerging. Today she was lucky and secured a parking place right outside the gates, so Toby would see her if she was talking on the phone. The voice that answered was soft spoken and welcomed the enquiry. After Jill had listed her qualifications, she was invited for an interview the following morning. Though she held out little hope of getting the job, sure it would go to someone local, she was glad to be going back into the real world for a while. Her existence over the past few months had seemed surreal, as she was used to working, and while the house demanded a lot of her time, it was now in order and she was bored.
Coupled with that, they were both tired of eating the cheap, store-branded products her budget allowed, and even though Toby could live forever on chicken nuggets and burgers, she could not. Deciding she would keep the interview a secret, not wanting to disappoint him, she grinned as he came through the gates of the school.
“Hi, Mam,” he smiled, noticing her good mood.
“Hi, how was school today?”
“Boring,” he sighed, looking out the car window, and then, recognising someone on the opposite side of the street, waved.
Jill leaned forward to see who he was waving at and her smile vanished. Mr Keane, his art teacher stood on the pavement. When he saw her, he nodded, before walking away.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about your teachers,” she tried to make her question sound light. “What are they like?”
She was watching the road for a break in the traffic, and unable to see his face as he answered.
“Mr Jackson’s, o.k.” she could imagine his shrug of indifference.
“Was that him just now?” She pretended not to know.
Toby was with her when she enrolled him in the school, and he thought that she had only met the head teacher.
“Naw, that’s Mr Keane, he does art.”
“Oh, what’s he like?”
“He’s cool, he lets us paint whatever we like, and he never shouts or gets cross. I wish he was my teacher all the time.”
“Do the other children like him?”
“Some do, some say he weird, but I don’t think so. I think he’s just nice. He talks to me, you know, about stuff.”
“Yes,” she felt the familiar knot of fear in her stomach.
She was overreacting, the memory of the old newspapers still fresh. Though the cleaning of the house kept her busy, the disappearance of the children was never far from her mind, and the certain knowledge the time span of their disappearance had come full circle again. If another child was to go missing, then according to the dates on the newspapers, the time was now. I’m being ridiculous, she thought. If there was a paedophile in the area, he could be dead now or have moved somewhere else, and anyway, why did she always imagine her son the target? I’ll have to get my act together. She glanced over at her son, as they drove down the lane to the house.
The doctor’s surgery was bright and airy, with none of the clinical smells associated with such a place. The waiting area was clean and tidy, and she noticed as she waited for the interview, that the magazines were all new and not the usual dog-eared ones she had come to expect. There were two other women before her, and her heart sank when she saw them. Her appointment was for nine thirty and the surgery did not open for business until ten, so they were obviously there for the same reason. Her eyes scanned the pages of the magazine she held, not seeing the words, but hoping to look nonchalant.
The first woman emerged from the doctor’s office and gave her a tight smile, as she left. Once the second candidate entered, Jill was left alone with her thoughts. The interviewer seemed pleasant, a well-groomed woman in her sixties, who smiled at Jill’s anxious, pale face. Jill was wearing what she regarded as her business suit, a black wool jacket and skirt. It had cost her a fortune but had seen her through years of meeting and office receptions, so it was worth it. It was looser now than the last time she’d worn it, the stress of losing Joe and the move was the cause. She hoped the white blouse was not too prissy. Toby questioned her about the outfit that morning, and she pretended she was just signing them on with the local doctor and wanted to look smart. After assuring him for the tenth time she was not sick, he grudgingly climbed out of the car.
“Miss Purcell,” Jill looked up as her name was called.
She was so lost in thought; she didn’t even hear the other candidate leave.
“Yes,” she stood, and followed the woman into the office.
“I’m Claire O’Regan,” the woman held out her hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” Jill shook it, and sank into the chair that was offered.
“I would like to take a quick look at your C.V, if I may?”
Jill handed over the documents and waited as the woman read.
“It seems you are overqualified for our little office,” Claire smiled.
“Yes, I know what you mean, but there has been a change of circumstances.”
Claire listened as Jill outlined what brought her to the area. She told her about Toby, and how the job would fit in with his school, making it ideal for her. When she finished, Claire explained what the job entailed. The surgery was open from ten to one each day, this was the part of the shift that she normally covered, but the ill health of one of her daughters, meant that she would needed someone to stand in for her for at least six months. The afternoon shift, two to four, was covered by Marie Burke. The work was easy enough, taking appointments, filing and typing up notes.
“It sounds ideal,” Jill said, but the memory of the other two candidates made her think she was unlikely to get it.
“I will be speaking to the doctor as soon as he gets here,” Claire said. “The sooner I get someone to take my place the better. I am very anxious to leave, and I need someone to start straight away. Could you start in the morning?”
“Yes, of course,” Jill said, “I drop Toby off a school at ten to nine, so it would be no problem.”
“Well,” the woman rose and held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
Jill smile and shook it, not sure if she was wishing her goodbye forever.
The supermarket was crowded that morning. The next stop was the post office which was also a newsagent, and she searched along the shelves for Toby’s favourite comic. There was a free toy with it that week he said, not really expecting he would get it. It still amazed her how accepting he was when she told him that they could no longer afford the things he had once taken for granted. There were no tantrums or tears just a quiet acceptance that things were no longer the way they used to be. She smiled, as she passed over the money for the comic, and asked that it be wrapped in a paper bag, so he would be surprised when he took it out. The next stop was the butcher. She bought enough meat for three days dinners and was carrying her shopping back to her car, when her mobile rang. Dumping the lot down onto the bonnet, she fumbled in her bag, hoping it wouldn’t ring off before she managed to find it.
“Hello,” she answered, and recognised the voice of the woman who had interviewed her on the other end.
Expecting to hear the excuse she had found someone more suitable for the job, Jill went silent for a moment, thinking she had not heard right.
“Jill, are you still there?” Claire asked.
“Yes, I am, I mean, thank you,” Jill was too surprised to think straight.
“Good,” she heard the smile in the woman voice. “So, I’ll see you at nine in the morning?”
“Yes, oh yes, you will. Thank you again.”
Her hands shook as she hung up, and she was smiling as she retrieved the shopping. The drive home passed in a blur of planning as she imagined the difference the extra money would make to them. The mornings she had come to dread spending alone, would now be filled with activity, and the job would help her to get to know her neighbours better.
The house was cold, as she had not had time to light the fire in the kitchen. Now she set about it with renewed vigour. Walking across the hall, she turned the television on; the noise company as she worked. Changing out of her suit, she made the beds and tidied the two rooms they used. The air was icy up and she shivered, vowing to take a chance on lightening the fires that weekend. If she lit them during the day, at least she could gauge the ventilation, before they went to bed and avoid killing them both from carbon monoxide. She tried to imagine Toby’s face when she told him her news and she was singing along to a jingle as she peeled and chopped the vegetables for the beef stew, an old favourite. God, she realised they are already advertising toys for Christmas.
The coming of the season no longer filled her with dread, as she would be able to afford the toys he was hinting about. She had become quite adept at using the open fire and she hung the pot on a hook and swung the blackened arm over the flame. There was an old bottle gas cooker in one corner of the kitchen, but she was wary of using it, because of the expense. Anyway, it made her feel closer to her grandmother when she cooked like this, and maybe it was just her imagination, but she was sure the food tasted better.
She had the school run down to a fine art now and knew if she arrived fifteen minutes before the bell, she was sure of a good space. Hers was the first car to arrive and after she parked, she ran across to the post office to buy the evening paper. She was just coming out the door when she came face to face with Mr Keane.
“Chilly day, Miss Purcell,” he lisped.
“Yes, indeed, very cold.” She tried to walk past him.
“I was talking to a farmer this morning,” he continued, intent on engaging her in conversation. “He told me that snow was not far off.”
“Really?” She tried to sound interested. “It seems very early in the year for snow.”
“These men are used to the ways of the land,” he tapped the side of his nose, conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if what he says comes true.”
The clanging of the school bell gave her an excuse to walk away. God, he gives me the creeps. She thought of his bony fingers and the flecks of coloured paint buried beneath his nails.
Toby was one of the first at the gates, and to her surprise he had another boy in tow.
“This is Liam,” he introduced him. “His dog had five pups and he said I can have one for free,” he added.
Jill looked at the small boy, who stood beaming back at her.
“What kind of dogs are they?” She asked.
“Collies, black and white. My Dad doesn’t want to keep the bitches.”
Typical, she thought.
“He says we can go and see them at the weekend,” Toby said, and his voice rose to whining plea. “Can we, Mam, please?”
“We’ll see,” she motioned at him to get in.
“All right,” he punched the air, thinking that her lack of refusal meant yes, and she realised, as he did, that it probably did.
All he could talk about on the drive home was the puppy. What he would name it and where it would sleep. She knew the comic she had bought would be poor substitute for a real, live dog, but it pleased her to see him so happy.
“I have some news,” she managed to get in between his chatter. “I got a job.”
She explained what she would be doing and the hours she would work. When she was finished, he was quiet for a moment.
“That’s cool, Mam,” he said. “You got a job and I got a dog. I’m glad things are getting better.” She was relieved that he didn’t add, at last.
gemmamawdsley 