by Wes Markin
Twins separated at birth. One a deranged cannibal like the grandfather he’d never met. And the other? Well, what was Robert Bennett? He wasn’t a killer, just someone who feared for his wife’s life and supported this monster in these unthinkable acts.
Robert Bennett’s childhood had not exactly been a barrel of laughs, so what was different for you, Christopher? What triggered you to become what you became? How did your path diverge from that of your brother’s?
There was an odour which intensified the further he was led into the house. He swatted away a few flies that crossed his path. Eventually, Yorke and the officer stopped by a door under the stairs.
‘The basement,’ the officer said. ‘I don’t think I can go down there again.’
Yorke nodded and opened the door.
The stench was overwhelming. He put his hand over his nose and desperately tried to seek out the fragrance of the last bar of soap he’d washed with. He failed and gagged. Things had died down there. And then rotted.
The flies rose in a wave from the basement. He brushed more out of his face with the hand that wasn’t pinned to his mouth.
The officer reached over Yorke’s shoulder and switched the basement light on. ‘Sorry.’
She turned and left Yorke to descend the steps.
And what happened after your parents died, Christopher? Going through their belongings did you find some truths? A diary, perhaps? A letter from Father William asking if all was well? Something that told you about your illegal adoption? How did you feel when you discovered the truth of where and who you came from? Did you find yourself inspired by your evil heritage? That you were directly descended from the most notorious monster this part of the world had ever seen …
Yorke neared the bottom of the stairs. He tried to hold the vomit in. He was literally breathing through the palm of his hand and feeling rather lightheaded for it.
And your brother? How did you find out about him? Was he in these diaries or was it a chance sighting?
On the final step, Yorke looked around the room. He gripped the bannister to steady himself.
There was a large oak table, not unlike the one at the McCall Farm, except this one heaved under the weight of meat and bones. There were smashed rib cages and punctured skulls; and mounds of rotten offal that appeared to pulsate as hundreds of flies fed on it.
Around the sides of the room were chains coming out of the stone walls. Some empty, some still gripping on to a rotten animal. There was a lamb which had had its two hind legs sawn off; a piglet which had been disembowelled, and a foal, missing an entire head.
So, Christopher, is this where you spent your last ten years? What the hell were you doing?
There were only two possible answers to this question. Either, he was trying to satiate his desires without committing the unthinkable like his grandfather had done; or, he was practising.
Yorke turned away. He could feel something inside himself splinter.
The chains.
Holding something against its will, as it was fed on.
So many chains.
No one had paid Reginald a blind bit of notice on his journey to Sarah and Paul Ray’s house. That was one of the only advantages of being old, people found it too awkward to stop and pay you any attention, and they were happy to let you blend into the background. Even with his face!
He smiled. With this face, there’d have been a time that he could have scored a fantastic job with a travelling freakshow and people would have paid money to behold him. But that era of exploitation had long since passed.
Reginald had been careful to avoid getting blood on his clothes by removing them before feeding. After, he had towelled himself down with dishcloths from behind the bar; there’d been a tap so he’d been able to scrub the blood from his hands and rinse his lesion-covered face until most of the blood was gone. Some of the dishcloths stank of beer, but that didn’t matter; it helped mask the scent of Steve’s innards.
After dressing, he’d looked in a mirror and was pleased that his clean clothes hid most of the bloodstains on his body. He’d also treated himself to five minutes so he could examine his face. It was working. Slowly but surely. His skin seemed to be healing.
He cursed all those wasted years feasting on live, youthful animals, trying to absorb as much of their freshness into him as possible. The process had been too slow. Why had he delayed for so long? Samuel, and now Steve, had shown him what was truly possible. His grandfather had been right.
He felt truly wonderful. He really was Reginald, now. No question. Let them all deny it. He knew the truth.
It took him over an hour to reach Paul’s house in Wilton. During that time, the day had died, and darkness had spread its inky talons over the sky. Now, standing around the back of the house, he considered the impact of taking Paul as his next victim.
He was a Ray, and one not affected by the affliction that had plagued his own existence. Could consuming him bring an even greater boost to the rejuvenation process?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
He tried the back door and was relieved to find it unlocked. His second option had been to draw them out of the house by knocking over the bins and creating a racket. A far riskier play.
He stepped into the dark kitchen. There was light breaking under the kitchen door and he could hear muffled voices. The air was tarnished with the smell of curry, and Reginald curled up his top lip. Disgusting. Yes, he was bloated from Steve, but curry had always repulsed him anyway.
He could hear the muffled voices gaining some clarity.
Were they coming now?
He reached for the nearest weapon he could find. He took hold of a corkscrew with the cork still attached. Bit early for a drink now, isn’t it?
He looked around the kitchen for somewhere to hide. He could duck behind the island in the centre and spring out. Alternatively, he could slide himself behind the kitchen door when it opened and wait for them to spot him before pouncing. Or …
He looked down and opened the cupboard beneath the sink. There was certainly space for a diminutive old man such as himself alongside the water pipes. He clambered inside, pushing aside some bleach and spare bin bags.
He closed the cupboard door, unscrewed the cork from his weapon of opportunity, and waited for the Ray family to make an appearance.
He would kill Sarah first. She was unnecessary, and then he would ask Paul to join him again. Unlike last time, he would be lying. Reginald did not give second chances. While Paul was mulling over his limited options, Reginald would wing the little fucker …
And then … and then …
Fuckity-fuck – I’m so excited!
Jake’s phone was buzzing on the passenger seat, but he couldn’t be bothered looking at the screen. He knew it was Gardner because her mouth had been hanging open as he’d nodded a farewell at her through the car window.
As he approached his home, he killed his lights. He wasn’t about to announce his arrival by flying into his driveaway, so he opted to park near the bus stop over the road from his house. He took a quick look at his semi-detached newbuild. The outside light was on, the front door was closed, and the living room window glowed. Everything looked normal. Jake knew it was anything but.
Lacey had sent him a text message: Young is here. He has me. He’s taking me to yours to get Tobias. Where are you?
Why would Simon Young allow her to text? Were they working together? And if they weren’t, what had possessed her to lead him directly to Tobias?
What the hell was she playing at?
He took another deep breath, left the car and retrieved a tyre-iron from the boot. The road was well-lit by streetlamps, so he didn’t bother seeking out shadows, he just moved as quickly as he could.
He darted over the small garden at the front of his house, weaving around some gnomes that Frank had relocated from the edges to the centre, and slipped through the gate at the side. When he hit the back garden, the outside light flared in
to life. He’d expected this. Every option carried a risk but going through the back gave him more of a chance than going through the front door.
At the patio door, he took some hope from the fact that the lights in the back room were off. The kitchen light was also off. The intruders may still be none the wiser to his presence.
He pulled out his keys and thumbed through to the patio door key. Due to his shaking hands, it took him a moment to get it into the lock. After turning it, he slid the door aside as quietly as he could and slipped past a red curtain into the darkness.
16
‘DIDN’T YOU HEAR that?’ Sarah muted the television, stood up and wandered over to the window.
‘What?’ Paul said from the sofa. He felt out of it on pain killers and wasn’t about to jump up and join her.
‘That tapping?’
‘No.’ Paul watched his mother surveying the garden for a minute. ‘Can we just put the television back on—’
‘There! Look!’
Despite his grogginess, Paul rose from the sofa and joined her at the window.
Sarah was pointing out of the window. ‘Our garden wall … look at it … it was tapping on our window … I’m bloody sure of it.’
Paul’s eyes widened. His mind spiralled back to a moment in his dreams, and the moment he was knocked unconscious outside the Ray farmhouse.
Was that a raven standing on the garden wall?
For DI Michael Yorke the world was constantly in flux.
Every time he dared to believe that he had a handle on everything and that he could move forward, another curveball was thrown, and he’d be standing there with an empty hand, as the ball spiralled off into the night behind him.
Something he had seen in that animal slaughterhouse had really bothered him. It had caused a seismic shift in everything he thought he’d understood up until this moment. Everything.
It wasn’t so much the blood and violence. That was part and parcel of the world Yorke inhabited, and had been for a long time.
It was something buried much deeper than that. And it was something he didn’t want to face head on, not just yet. Simply because he didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.
He phoned Collette Willows at HQ.
‘You sound shaken up, sir.’
‘I am, Collette, more than you could ever imagine.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Yes, but I want you to tell me what I want to hear, rather than what I know you’re going to tell me.’
‘Sir? You’re not making any sense.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Yorke said. ‘Can you pull up the Samuel Mitchell crime scene report? Could you also get Paul Ray’s witness statement?’
‘Of course. Why? What are we looking for?’
Yorke looked out of the window at the farmhouse where Christopher Steele had orchestrated a catalogue of atrocities.
‘Chains, Collette. That’s where I think the truth lies. With the chains.’
‘YOU STAY THE FUCK BACK!’
Jake didn’t spend long in the back room. His wife’s shouting brought him quickly out of the darkness.
Despite his quick movement, he was careful not to blow his cover just yet. The door to the front room was ajar. Still holding the tyre iron, Jake peered in through the crack between the door and its frame.
Sheila was pressed up against the fireplace; one of her hands was on Tobias’s shoulder, and the other was on his son’s. Frank was pale and curled himself tightly against his mother; whereas, Tobias hung loosely, and his eyes were lowered and appeared unfocused.
The two people that Sheila was screaming at were nearer to the door where he stood. Even though Jake saw them from behind, he recognised Lacey’s shaved head and tattoos immediately. The smaller man standing to her left wasn’t familiar, but he assumed this was Simon Young, if Lacey’s text from earlier was to be believed. Young had an axe over one shoulder. Jake felt everything inside him tighten.
‘They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ Young said. ‘But that is nothing compared to a father having his son stolen.’
‘I didn’t take your son,’ Sheila said. ‘He was delivered to us by Millie. That woman next to you.’
Jake recognised the tone in Sheila’s voice because he was often on the receiving end of it. It was sharp and showed no weakness. Despite this terrifying situation, Jake felt pride and love for this woman. She was a fighter.
‘Millie? Is that what she told you?’ Young said. ‘She’s a good liar. She told me my son was buried alive in a black box. Unless you have just dug him up, I guess you’re not the only one not being led on a merry dance around here.’
‘Who is she then?’ Sheila lifted her hand from Tobias, who didn’t seem to notice and moved it slowly behind her back towards the fireplace.
The fire poker, Jake thought. No, no, Sheila … slow down. If he sees …
‘Lacey Ray,’ Young said.
Sheila’s eyes widened. ‘Jesus, really? … not again … Lacey … do you ever fuck off?’
‘Watch your language in front of the children,’ Lacey said.
Jake watched Sheila’s strong veneer splinter.
Young laughed. ‘Tell me about it! She really is on a different planet, isn’t she? If she wasn’t due to die before the hour was up, I might have reemployed her.’
Lacey tutted. ‘Now, now, Simon, we’ve discussed this already. That’s a non-starter.’
Young looked to his right at Lacey. He had beady eyes that darted about while the rest of his face remained stony and still. ‘Listen bitch. You are still alive simply because I do not want my boy to witness the things that I am going to do to you.’
‘He’s seen worse … I can assure you of that.’
‘Do not tempt me! The good-humour and relief I feel over finding Tobias alive has a short shelf life.’
Any suspicions that Jake had regarding Lacey working with Young evaporated. Why had she brought the gangster here and put herself and Tobias in danger? And then invited Jake along too? Surely, she hadn’t expected him to march in and arrest Young on his own? And she would have known he couldn’t bring his colleagues as that would have been a one-way ticket to jail. So, what was her play? Why had she orchestrated—
And then it hit him like a bullet. She wanted Jake to overthrow Young with her.
A long time ago, Jake had accused Lacey of being emotionally stunted. Every time she came back, she reminded him of this criticism – threatened him with death. But death wasn’t the ultimate revenge, was it? The ultimate display of power and revenge would be to control him and turn him into her fucking puppet.
Lacey was playing them all.
Sheila lifted the fire poker and pointed it at the two intruders. ‘Get out of my house.’
Young said, ‘Give me my son, and I’ll do just that.’
‘I’m not going to let a little boy walk out of here with an axe-wielding maniac now, am I?’
‘Suit yourself.’ Young brought the axe down off his shoulder. ‘Let the fun and games begin.’ He tapped the axe-head against his hand.
Then something surprising happened. As Jake turned into the room, holding his tyre iron, Tobias suddenly awoke from his stupor, charged forward and threw his arms around his father.
Lacey looked at Jake and smiled. ‘Hiya lover.’
Sarah banged on the window. The black bird stood its ground. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a raven around here before, have you?’
Paul shook his head.
‘You’re pale again, son. Are you okay?’
‘The painkillers are wearing off.’ He held his bandaged stump up to his mother. ‘And it’s starting to throb like a—’
‘Don’t even!’ Sarah said. She already had her palm in the air.
‘Not just the once? I mean if losing your hand isn’t reason enough for a profanity or two then I don’t know what is!’
Sarah hugged her son and then held him by the shoulders. He looked up at her, and then brushed away
a tear which was running down her face. ‘Not again, Mum. Keep looking at the raven. I’m going to the kitchen to get some more painkillers.’
In the kitchen, he switched the light on.
His mother was right about the raven – he didn’t remember seeing any around here before. He’d seen one the night he was knocked unconscious, staring at him as he knelt before the hooded figure. He’d also seen many in that dream, picking at Reginald’s face …
He went over to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. He held it up in the air. The water was cloudy, so he placed it on the draining board to settle. He noticed that the outside light was on. He looked through the kitchen window at their tiny back garden and saw that one of the bags in the bin was torn open. Cats.
Following that dream, and since returning from hospital, he had Googled ravens. He’d discovered that ravens could operate in teams and had been known to hunt down game too large for a single bird.
‘You best be careful out there, cats.’ Paul picked up the glass of now-clear water. ‘It seems the ravens are about.’
He turned away from the sink and took a couple of steps to the island. He smiled over the memory of the “easy-to-assemble” island they had bought from Ikea only a few months ago.
Easy to assemble, he thought, over an entire day!
His smile turned to a grimace when he recalled his stump. He wouldn’t need to worry about DIY anymore. Nobody would be asking for his help. With his left hand, he opened the drawer and reached in for his painkillers—
He heard a noise behind him.
He turned quickly and saw that the cat was back, burrowing into the bin liner. He stepped forward and knocked heavily on the window. The cat scarpered. ‘And after I told you about the ravens too!’
Feeling the door of the cupboard under the sink pressing against his leg, he looked down and saw that it was ajar. He pushed it closed with his knee.
And it came ajar again.
This time, he tried with his remaining hand. No luck. He considered rearranging the contents of the cupboard, so it closed easier, but he decided he was too tired, and his stump throbbed like a motherfucker. He grinned over the profanity his mum wouldn’t let him use.
