From the Dark

by K. A. Richardson

  He knew the route off by heart – no light or map was required. He’d been there far too often for that to be an issue.

  Normally once he reached the bottom he veered to the left – this was where his peaceful place was – but what he was intending to do tonight wasn’t peaceful. So instead, he went right.

  The concrete beneath his feet grew uneven and he stumbled at one point. Deciding now was the time for light, he pulled his torch from the holder on his belt and hit the on button.

  The beam of light was bright and filled what used to be an old side street. He entered the third room on the right – the damp down there had increased overnight and the place had a somewhat foisty smell to it. He heard scratching – the pitter-patter of little rat claws on the concrete. He ignored it, though – rats didn’t bother him at all.

  Making his way to the back of the room, he used his upper-body strength to push the rug onto the hidden shelf in the corner. Nobody knew this place existed. A person couldn’t see the shelf even if they shined a light directly at it – it looked like a rocky outcrop. He’d found it completely by chance when he was younger and discovered exactly where it led.

  Pulling himself up was easy – he crouched on the shelf almost doubled in two and pushed the rug into the crevice behind. Another groan sounded from inside the rug – his masterpiece was waking up.

  There was nobody there to see his white teeth glint in the darkness as he smiled.

  Giving the rug a firm push, he rocked back on his heels, grinning widely as there was a scraping noise and another loud thud. He landed easily on his feet at the other side.

  His shoulders ached now so he picked up one circled end of the rug, and walked forward, dragging it behind him.

  A small splash sounded as the bottom end of the rug dragged into a puddle – the smell of mould and wet concrete intensified and he passed through another room and into another street.

  He twisted and turned his way to his location, finally stopping at a room with a large stone circle set in the middle. He knew the legends – an evil spirit was thought to dwell inside the circle and if you entered you risked being consumed and overtaken by it. He didn’t believe such codswallop of course, but the legend would make a great headline in the papers when they found a dead body inside the circle during the next tour.

  The vault he was in now was owned by one of the rival tourist companies to the vault he’d left the last body in. He didn’t mind who owned it – everyone deserved the privilege of his art.

  Leaving the bodies in the vaults was his little salute to Burke and Hare. The same as the cards he left behind.

  He let the rug drop just outside of the stone circle and unwrapped the present inside. He was pleased to see the young man had dropped back into unconsciousness again.

  Moving to one side, he pressed the button on the lantern he’d stored in the room last time he’d been in this particular vault. A dull glow illuminated the room – shadows danced on the walls making the uneven concrete come to life. And he smiled widely.

  God, I love this so much.

  He picked his victim up by his tied hands and practically threw him inside the stone circle. A chill descended into the cavernous room and for a minute he paused, cocking his head to one side and concentrating. Shaking off the unease, he stepped into the circle with his victim. Pulling up the young man into a sitting position, he leaned him back on his own legs just like he did last time.

  He grimaced as the lad’s head touched his dick. Fuck, I’m so hard that hurt. A lot.

  Pulling the knife from its sheath, he wasted no time and drew the blade across the lad’s throat. Streams of red burst from the laceration – he knew he’d gone deep this time – he’d felt the texture change from the jugular to the trachea.

  Fffuuuucccckkkkk.

  His groan was so loud inside his head – without him even touching himself he’d ejaculated inside his jeans. Even now he felt the warm wet liquid seep through the material and drip further down his thigh.

  Shit – I need to go. Can’t leave any evidence for the pigs to find.

  He cut the cable ties from the lad’s hands and feet and threw them on top of the rug. Stepping out of the circle he scanned his torch over the area, checking for anything else he might have left behind. There was a partial shoe print in one of the pools of blood, and leaning over, he swiped his hands over it, obscuring any detail that had been visible. He used the rug to clean his now bloody hand and the excess blood off his knife. He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and sprinkled the red fibres on the body, positioned the Burke and Hare postcard, and said ‘You died for medical science. They will come and take you to the medical examiner soon. You did not die in vain.’ It had become his mantra.

  Grabbing the lantern, he shoved that inside the rug with everything else he’d brought with him, and folded it to secure the items inside, before flinging it over his shoulder. He used the torch for one last sweep of the room, satisfied that he’d left nothing behind, and then came away.

  Chapter 13

  20th December, 0525 hours – Mark’s house, South Gyle Mains

  Mark glanced at the clock on his bedside table for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He’d barely slept. The panic attack had eventually eased but had left the thoughts that initially triggered it running marathons round his brain. He hadn’t been able to settle at all, grabbing a few minutes of sleep here and there.

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes and face and realised there was four days’ worth of stubble on his chin – he needed a shave. Sighing, he pushed himself up from the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

  The shower was powerful and the hot water felt good on his skin. It didn’t take the tiredness away but it eased some of it back, letting him believe just for a second, that today might be an okay day.

  While washing himself, he planned his day out in his head. He knew he had his check-up with occupational health at ten – it had been suggested by McPhee when he’d been insistent a couple of months back that Wright was a killer and had got off scot-free. McPhee plainly thought his mental health was cause for concern. Even though he’d seen the damn footage himself. Self-serving hypocrite. Occupational health were always understaffed which was why the appointment had taken a couple of months – not that Mark minded the delay. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to go. Not that McPhee had left him much of a choice.

  It was, in his opinion, damning evidence and not the circumstantial stuff that CPS had spouted nonsense about.

  Mark didn’t really know what to expect from occ health – he’d had counselling after his dad had died but that had been years ago. Maybe it’s not counselling. McPhee has me in his sights now. Maybe he’s getting me evaluated to get me off the team.

  He grimaced and put that thought to the back of his mind. That was paranoia – he knew that. McPhee had no sway over the medical professionals at work. They’d offer him support through the company the force used externally if they thought counselling was required.

  And he wasn’t wrong – Wright had got off scot-free – a technicality had allowed the judge to throw the case from court. One of his colleagues hadn’t filled out a label correctly and had left the evidence bag unsealed, which in turn had broken the chain of custody, rendering that particular piece of evidence – the recorded footage of Wright asphyxiating his victim for sexual gratification – defunct and not allowed to be used. The film had shown Wright’s face – up close and personal as he’d ravished the young man’s body before releasing him from his restraints. The lad in the video had seemed half-asleep throughout and the prosecution were intending to argue lack of knowledge and ability to comply willingly. They’d also planned to argue that this video showed Wright had a penchant for weird sexual conduct.

  Bastard. I’ll get him dead to rights if it’s the last thing I do.

  Mark hadn’t been able to get that image out of his head for a moment. Just because the courts had deemed it inadmissible didn’t dete
r from the fact it had happened.

  He drew in a shaky breath – thinking about that footage always got him riled up. There’d been no justice for the family of Steven Connelly. All they’d earned was the knowledge their son had been used for sexual gratification and the knowledge that the person who killed him was walking the streets as if nothing had happened.

  Turning his attention to the almost-beard on his face, he slowly drew the razor over his cheek. It was a smooth action – the blade cutting away the bristly stubble easily. He wished he could remove dark memories swirling in his head so easily.

  He knew he should go to the gym again before work, even just to work some weights. His looming physical was the overwhelming reason to get back into shape. But he suddenly felt the need to see his family. Annie was off today and had stayed at their mam’s the night before, entertaining Mary’s kids no doubt. Any minute now his mum would be getting up to make a hearty breakfast – she always did when there was family staying over. There would be bacon, eggs, haggis, beans, potato scones and lashings of buttered toast. His tummy grumbled in response and he felt himself salivate at the thought.

  Bugger the gym – I’m going home.

  It was funny how his mam’s always felt like home even though he technically had his own.

  20th December, 0900 hours – Mason’s Tea Room, Rose Street, Edinburgh

  Toni was sitting in Mason’s, having an Earl Grey with a sweet mince pastry. It was what she did once a week when she had a late start at the museum. Though normally her pastry choice was a cinnamon roll, she’d gone with the season and opted for sweet mince today.

  She loved Mason’s Tea Room. It was kitsch and quirky – tea cups and pots hung all around the walls from little hooks embedded into the plaster. There were pictures of ladies having afternoon tea, cakes and coffee all over the walls. There were also two white porcelain stag heads with glitzy twinkle lights hanging off each antler – these were there all year round and not just because Christmas was approaching.

  Christmas fever had gripped the city – it always happened as soon as the Christmas markets arrived at the back end of November, and was present all the way past Hogmanay and into the new year. She always found the air held a sense of anticipation and magic. Not the magician and trick kind of magic, but that sense of belief and community spirit that accompanied the season.

  She took a bite of the pastry and almost groaned as the spices and icing hit her taste buds. This was worth getting out of bed for.

  Sam, her guide, had been particularly quiet for a couple of days. It happened that way sometimes. There hadn’t been an inkling of dread since she’d spoken to Mark the day before. Maybe things are starting to settle down. Wonder what I should get Mark for Christmas.

  That thought had her putting her pastry back down on the plate and sitting back in contemplation. Do I get him a Christmas present? Are we in that place where gifts are exchanged?

  She’d found it really comforting that he’d stayed over when her window had been smashed – it was easy to fall back into the same feeling of attraction she’d felt when she was young, even though they were both adults now with history. In reality, however, they barely knew each other as people now. The circumstances that had brought them together were anything but simple.

  So, ask him out on a date. Then decide if that’s really what you’re thinking or whether it’s a friendship thing.

  Nodding to herself, she decided that made sense. She did feel attracted to him, but that could just be because of everything that had happened and their history. She picked her pastry up and took another bite, chewing slowly as her mind drifted.

  The pastry caught in her throat as she suddenly found her mind thrust into darkness. It was freezing – the damp in the air hit her like an arctic blast and she felt nauseated. Fear permeated her pores and the hairs on her arms and neck stood to attention. Something evil was with her in the darkness, she felt its presence, thick and curling round her like smoke. Gasping sharply at the harsh grip of the presence, she felt her air supply being cut off as the pastry lodged deep in her throat. It was a strange feeling – her body knew she was choking on pastry but her mind was somewhere else entirely. Almost like being in two places at once.

  Toni started to panic. I can’t breathe.

  She desperately tried to draw air into her lungs whilst the lurking, sinister presence tried to force her to ignore her body. Whoever he was, he wanted her. All of her.

  A voice invaded the darkness – Sam. Trying to reassure her while urgently telling her to pull away from the drag of the vision.

  Blinking, the café came back into focus, as did the fact that the pastry was still lodged in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears as she tried again to draw in breath but failed.

  ‘Drink,’ whispered Sam. ‘You’ll be okay.’

  She took a large gulp of scalding tea, and it washed the pastry down, allowing her to gasp in much needed air. Toni was shaking – she’d never felt anything like that in all her years of having visions. Sometimes she had empathy and could feel certain feelings or pain being experienced by the person in her vision, but never had she felt such unadulterated, pure evil. Just thinking about its depth made her shudder.

  That was in another vault. The smell was the same before that thing arrived. That presence. Whoever that was he was evil. Pure unadulterated evil. She closed her eyes and focussed her attention back on the smell. Behind the mould and damp, she knew she’d caught the unmistakable scent of fresh blood. There’s been another victim.

  Not waiting a second more, she grabbed her mobile and rang Mark as she ran for her car.

  20th December, 1115 hours – vaults under South Bridge, Edinburgh

  Mark had known from the second he took the call off Toni that somebody would be ringing the control room to report another murder. It still surprised him how little persuasion he’d needed to believe in Toni’s gift after only days before being so adamant that such things didn’t exist.

  More of a curse I’d say. How can it be a gift to see and feel things like she does?

  He couldn’t grasp it in its entirety, but he knew it wasn’t a gift he’d ever want.

  He’d managed to cancel his occupational health appointment without incident – the clerk saying she’d reissue another one but that it wouldn’t be until after Christmas. Which suited him fine.

  The steps down to the vault curved round, reminiscent of a spiral staircase, though carved in stone and with deep steps. He kept his hand firmly on the wall beside him, not wanting to slip or fall. The tour company had lit as many lights as they could so the way was illuminated as he followed PC Donaghue down to the scene.

  Mark was already on edge, anticipating either another panic attack to start, or the claustrophobia to grab hold and drag him down. Without the lights the darkness would have been all encompassing and he silently said thanks to Thomas Edison for inventing the lowly light bulb. Having the way lit meant he could see where he was going – maybe that would keep the claustrophobia at bay.

  He frowned a little as he reached the bottom of the staircase, remembering the warning Toni had given him.

  ‘When you get so deep into the darkness that you know the gates of hell are close, don’t acknowledge the devil and let him in. Because he’s there watching. I felt him.’

  A shudder passed through his shoulders and down his spine. What the hell did that mean? He hadn’t been able to ask her to elaborate as the call from the control room had come in straight afterwards.

  Turning his thoughts to the case, he knew this had to be the same person who’d killed Aaron Trannet. There couldn’t be two people killing men and leaving them in the vaults for the tour guides to find. Today’s guide had been taken to hospital before Mark had arrived – she’d been in her fifties and had suffered chest pains from the stress of what she’d seen. Word was the shock had given her a heart attack.

  The incline got steeper as they went deeper. There was a steady dripping noise coming from som
ewhere in one of the rooms off to the side. The deeper they got, the less lights there were and eventually PC Donaghue turned his torch on and started scanning it from side to side as they descended.

  A flicker of fear settled in Mark’s stomach. These vaults felt even more ominous than the last ones. He turned his own torch on, lighting the way a little brighter, but the more they twisted and turned, the more intense the fear became. By the time they reached the next set of stairs, Mark’s top lip was coated in a sheen of cold sweat, and his body felt clammy.

  The vault walls felt as if they were drawing closer – moving of their own accord to trap him down there and never let him go. He knew Annie wasn’t waiting at the scene and he had to fight to put one foot in front of the other.

  His breathing grew fast and his heartbeat pounded in his ears as he followed the cop in front of him, staring at his back as a point of focus. He lost count of how many steps he’d taken and the tunnel narrowed as they descended again. Mark focussed on his breathing. Inhale… one two three… exhale… one two three. He kept repeating it like a mantra as his vision remained locked on the police insignia on the back of Donaghue’s jacket.

  There were no more electric lights installed now – the only light in the tunnel the dancing torches of him and his colleague.

  Inhale… one two three… exhale… one two three.

  They turned to the left at a junction and Mark could finally see the glow of lights ahead. Even though he knew Annie was off today, it still gave him a sliver of comfort knowing he wasn’t alone in the vaults.

  He focussed his attention on what he knew would be ahead. He’d read brief details on the log about the murder – he knew already it seemed to be the same modus operandi as the last vaults murder. That didn’t mean exclusively that it was the same killer, but it definitely seemed likely.