by Wes Markin
Her heart rate increasing slightly, Gardner looked around the office. A desk, computer, a long sofa and blank walls. The décor revealed little. ‘Does your father work in here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just thinking some pictures might be nice.’
‘He hates distraction.’
‘Okay, can we go and talk to him, we really need to press—’
There was a loud whine from somewhere in the house. ‘What was that?’
‘Our dog.’
‘It didn’t sound like a dog.’
‘It was.’
Gardner’s heart beat even faster now. ‘What breed?’
‘Not sure, a big dog. You’ll have to ask my father.’
‘You don’t know the breed of your own dog?’
Matt shook his head but didn’t respond.
She heard the whine again. She felt a surge of adrenaline. It wasn’t a dog.
Gardner opened the door to the office.
‘You can wait in here …’ Matt said from behind her.
She ignored him and walked into the hallway. More non-descript décor. Where were the Christmas decorations? Had the reindeer in the garden been a ruse?
Again, the whine …
Tasting bile in her mouth, she headed towards the sound and opened the door barring her way.
For a moment, everything looked normal. The kitchen had a boisterous Christmas tree in the corner; a large dinner table in the centre of the room with placemats and a pepper grinder; a TV mounted on the wall playing a Toy Story movie; and a large man with his back to her, down on his knees, petting his dog.
But she couldn’t yet see the dog, and then came that whine again.
A human arm slipped around the big man’s waist. Her breath caught in a throat. The man’s head turned to look at her, a large smile dripping from his face. He looked so different without a moustache, but it was him. She desperately looked around for a weapon as he rose to his feet. She dived for the pepper grinder. Her hand closed around it as Mayers stepped to one side to reveal what he’d been petting.
She felt her world burning.
Curled on the floor, naked, with the arm that had embraced Mayers’ waist still stretched out in front of him, was what was left of her friend, Mark Topham. His hair was gone, and he’d lost over half his body weight. To others, he may have been unrecognisable, but not to Gardner. When you had shared so many of your sorrows with one person, who in turn had shared so many of their sorrows with you, there was no mistake. A bond was forged out of emotion, which could not be disguised by any physical appearance.
Too stunned to cry, Gardner emitted a single gasp, which seemed to die even before it left her mouth. She wanted to go to him, hold him, comfort him, protect him, help him … but now, Matt’s hands were holding her back. The pepper grinder smashed on the floor.
‘Leave her,’ Mayers said. ‘Let her go to her friend. Let her see.’
Unconcerned with her own safety, Gardner went to Mark and knelt in front of him. His face was lined with scar tissue, and his shaved head was covered in white dints. He didn’t look afraid of her, but neither was there any recognition in his eyes. There was only curiosity.
For fear of hurting him further with her pity, she held back her tears. She showed him her hand, and moved it slowly towards him, so he could see that she meant no harm, and only wanted to touch him.
Her palm settled on his cheek, and she felt her insides melt.
He whimpered again, and she worried he may pull back. But she persisted, and held her hand there until he calmed, closed his eyes and sighed.
And then, despite her best efforts, the tears came. ‘Mark … I’m sorry … I’m so sorry …’ I’m too late … I’m too late. I failed you.
She looked down over his mangled body.
Apart from despair, a newer emotion began to rise within her when she saw the twisted lumps of flesh where his genitalia should have been. Rage.
She glared back at Mayers and Matt. ‘You monsters!’
‘He’s happier now than when he came to me,’ Mayers said.
‘I’m going to kill you. Both of you.’ She bared her teeth and started to rise to her feet.
She noticed, too late, the extended pruning saw in Matt’s hands. He swung and everything dissolved …
… on that small bridge between consciousness and unconsciousness, Gardner listened to her captors talk. They spoke of violence and death. They spoke of a place called the Old Bar, and the tide of blood that would wash in a new age of discovery. She listened to the monsters talk, and realised that here, in the heart of darkness, true evil and true depravity, found a pedestal. And from this pedestal, the voices took on a form of sensical clarity that did not exist outside this black heart. She wished so much to be outside of it, but feared that when you were truly inside it, as she was right now, you could never again leave it …
The hand slipped from her mouth.
‘Glad you could join us again, DI Emma Gardner,’ Mayers said. ‘I’m not overly surprised by your presence here. I suspected Lacey would betray me at some point. You could say it’s the nature of the beast. Fortunately, once I’d realised my error in revealing too much to her in my earlier letters, I put a contingency plan in place. I expected an army, Emma. I thought I’d have to run again. But it seems lady luck is all mine. You came alone.’
Gardner narrowed her eyes. ‘But more will come. You’re insane. Nothing you’ve done, or will do, makes any sense. What you’ve done to Mark is senseless, what you did in Rose Hill is senseless, what you plan to do is senseless. You’re imprisoned somewhere dark, Mayers. So dark, it takes on a light of its own. But outside of that prison, you’re simply crazy—’
Mayers held up the palm of his hand. ‘Please stop there, Emma. I’ve given you a particularly high dose of lysergic acid, so you are making little sense. I want you to conserve your energy, so you are able to act when I need you to act. In much the same way, I had Susie Long act when she met Mark’s lover, Neil.’
‘You bastard. You absolute fucking bastard.’
‘Experiments are the name of the game, Emma. And today, I wish to put you at the heart of a new one. So, are you ready?’
‘No.’
‘Exactly as I thought, but I do need your compliance. Alan?’
The young man who had called himself Matt came into the room. He was holding a gun and, beside him, Topham crawled on all fours.
‘Put the gun to his head, Alan.’
The gaunt young man put the gun against the back of Topham’s head.
‘Now, Emma, are you ready?’
‘Yes …. you bastard …’
‘Good. My name is the Conduit. I am a channel. I become the piece that is missing from inside people, and I allow the thoughts, feelings and behaviours to move fluidly through me and within them. Do you understand?’
Gardner didn’t respond.
‘Alan, are you ready to pull that trigger?’
‘Yes, Conduit.’
‘Do you understand, Emma?’
‘Yes! Fuck you … I understand!’
‘Okay. Your darkest memory. Let’s go.’
Seeing a seventeen-year-old hooked to machines was never a welcome sight. It was even less so when the person involved was someone you were extremely close to. Yorke really struggled to fight back tears, but did so because his adopted son, Ewan, was broken, and needed a pillar of strength, not a crumbling adult.
During the entire time Yorke was in the room, he stood behind his son with his hands on his shoulders. A few times, Ewan reached up to put a hand on one of Yorke’s.
The doctors had been positive. Surgery to relieve swelling seemed to have gone well. It hadn’t been as bad as they first thought. There was reason to be optimistic, but seeing a young lady with her head bandaged, completely out for the count, did little to alleviate Yorke’s anxieties.
His mind constantly flicked between three concerns. The first was the religious nut, and Lexi’s father, Art Franco
. He hoped his Salisbury colleagues were doing enough to build a case that would lock this bastard up. His second concern was his response to Ewan and Lexi’s announcement. It had been immature and was now twisting him up inside. He’d vowed to always be there for Ewan, and now, by extension, Lexi. During that announcement, he’d not been there for anyone. His third concern was the investigation in Leeds. What had Gardner found out? He’d checked his phone a few times but was yet to receive an update. It was also getting very late.
When evening arrived, they were ushered out of Lexi’s room. Patricia walked together with Ewan to the carpark. As he followed, Yorke texted Gardner.
Alan tapped the Conduit on the shoulder, forcing him to pause his treatment.
‘You need to see this,’ Alan said, pushing the detective’s phone into his hands. Part of a text message from Michael Yorke was on the lock screen. Lexi out of the woods. How did …
The Conduit took Gardner’s hand. He’d already induced hypnosis, so she offered no resistance. He pressed her thumb against the home button on the phone. It recognised her print and opened.
The Conduit read the message in its entirety.
Lexi out of the woods. How did it go at Swan café? Update?
Michael Yorke. The detective who stopped Christian Severance. Was it him that Lacey contacted? Why then did he not come? Was this Lexi important to him?
The Conduit read a few of Gardner’s sent messages to pick up a feel for her style. He then replied.
So glad to hear about Lexi. Disappointing on investigation front. Café owners overseas for New Year, and staff do not recall seeing Mayers. I’ve left messages for owners to contact, and I will let you know when I hear something. Rest now.
He read it back carefully. He added a kiss at the end as the detective did on all her other messages, and he hit send.
The Conduit knew that his time in Leeds was coming to an end now. He could never return to the university, and it was only a matter of time before they found this house. Before, when Emma Gardner was unconscious, he’d contacted his source in Southampton. They were processing another new identity. They were quick, and they were thorough, but they charged a fortune. They had access to his money because they would move his finances from one identity to another and take their cut during the transference. Dr Alexander Harris, just like Dr Louis Mayers before him, would simply disappear. But not before he went out with a bang …
Hopefully, this message to Michael Yorke would buy him more time. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and both he and Alan had prepared extensively for the celebrations.
He turned his attention back to Gardner.
‘So, tell me Emma, what do you see in Tezcacoatl’s temple?’
Gardner stood alongside Mayers in the old barn. The interior was lit by a hearth at the back. Black smoke billowed out, but a hole had been cut out in the roof just above it to allow most of the smoke to escape.
‘Why have you brought me back here?’ Gardner looked at Mayers.
He pointed at the carnage before them. ‘To see the Repenting Serpent.’
The serial killer, Terrence Lock, who believed himself to be an Aztec priest, had erected six stone steps in his makeshift temple. They rose to an altar presided over by a metre-high golden statue of a man dancing. Lock knelt over twelve-year-old Ewan. The killer had already carved open the boy’s chest.
Gardner started to move forward. Mayers took her by the shoulder. ‘Watch … wait …’
Gardner’s eyes fell to DI Iain Brookes, Ewan’s natural father, who was dead in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of the steps. ‘Ah, Iain.’
Next to Iain, Michelle Miller, mother of one of Lock’s victims was in a wheelchair. She was conscious but wore the glazed expression of dementia.
Gardner again tried to move, and Mayers again held her back. ‘Patience, Emma. Here you come.’
A younger, weightier version of herself, was the first through the barn door. A younger-looking Yorke, following closely behind her, announced their arrival. ‘Police! Terrence. It’s over. Step away from Ewan.’
Lock held up a scalpel. It glinted as it reflected the fire burning in the hearth.
Yorke said, ‘Armed response is approaching, Terrence. If you do not put the weapon down, and step away, you will be shot.’
Lock leaned closer to Ewan.
Gardner glared at Mayers beside her. ‘I don’t know why you’ve brought me here you prick! I made peace with what I did a long time ago.’
‘But I didn’t choose this memory, Emma. You did.’
Yorke raised his voice. ‘This is your last warning, Terrence. I’m telling you to put that down and step away …’
‘It’s your memory,’ Mayers said. ‘Tell me, Emma, what’s this Lock doing?’
‘He’s about to cut out Ewan’s heart.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of his beliefs. He thinks he can appease deities. Bring change …’
‘Interesting approach.’ Mayers smiled. ‘And who’s the old woman in the wheelchair?’
‘Michelle. She has dementia. He has brought her here to represent his late mother. He believes he betrayed his mother and is now repenting for his betrayal. He wants her to watch the repentance.’
Gardner turned back. While Yorke continued to reason with Lock, her younger self knelt over Iain’s body. She recalled the cold touch of his skin, his dead eyes, his blood, and the gun she found in his hands.
‘I’ve seen enough,’ Gardner said to Mayers. ‘I remember everything, I can—’
‘But why, Emma? These are the experiences that define us. This one defined you.’
Yorke was shouting up at the killer. ‘You watched your mother die, Terrence. Someone who brought you into this world, loved you and you sat there, and you watched her die.’
Lock stood up. His eyes were so wide he could have torn all the muscles in his face. ‘Shut up!’
‘Are we close, Emma?’ Mayers said to her. ‘Does your defining moment come as a result of that gun I see in your hand? Is that what changed you?’
‘Fuck you!’ Gardner said.
‘I am not the enemy, Emma, merely the channel …’
A hideous loud moan tore through the barn. Ewan’s back arched. He smashed his head from side to side as froth spewed from the corners of his mouth and his eyes rolled back. Yorke had made it to the first step, but he was still too far away.
There was a loud series of thuds.
‘It’s Michelle, the mother substitute,’ Gardner said. ‘She’s stamping her foot, distracting the prick.’
‘And where’re you going?’ Mayers said, pointing at her younger self, now moving towards Yorke and the foot of the stairs.
‘Ah God,’ Gardner said, ‘Please … not again …’
Michelle opened her mouth. ‘Stoooooop!’
Lock’s eyes were wide and unflinching as they looked at the woman whom he considered his mother.
‘Stop!’ This time Michelle’s use of the word was short and sharp.
Lock looked down at Ewan and then up at Michelle again. He pulled his hands from Ewan’s chest and said, ‘But mother, I’m doing this for you.’
Gardner wanted to close her eyes but was unable to.
‘The price of admission I’m afraid,’ Mayers said. ‘You’re here for the whole—’
There was a loud bang and Lock seized his throat in both hands; the scalpel slipped from his grip and clattered against the top step. He stood up as blood squirted out from the cracks between his fingers. Still looking confused, and unable to take his eyes from the woman he believed to be his mother, he reached out to her with one of his bloody hands. There he lingered on the sixth step, until he couldn’t stand any longer, and then he plunged. His bones cracked as he bounced from one unforgiving step to the next before his head finally burst on the bottom one.
‘Good shot, Emma,’ Mayers said.
Gardner didn’t speak, feeling again the force of the moment. She watched Lock’s twitching form grow
still underneath a snake-embraced urn. It was the only time that she’d ever killed anyone.
‘I’ve made peace with it,’ she said.
‘I believe you.’
‘Accepted it.’
‘I’ve no doubt.’
She turned to face him. ‘So, why are we here?’
‘Because of the energy here … can you feel it?’
‘You are insane.’
‘The air practically crackles with it!’
‘What do you want?’
‘To use it. To harness that power. To make you do what I want you to do.’
‘You are deluded. It doesn’t matter how many drugs you give me. I’ll will never do a single thing you say.’
‘By the time this night is through, I won’t have to say anything. Are you ready to hit rewind, so we can go again?’
20
DECEMBER 31st
WHEN YORKE WOKE on the sofa, he cursed and fumbled around for his mobile phone. He’d passed out ridiculously early. He wasn’t surprised to see that Rosset had tried to call him three times last night. He’d knocked his phone onto silent in the hospital and then forgotten to switch it back on.
He was also disappointed to see no contact from Gardner. He reread her message from last night. She’d obviously not heard from the holidaying café owners yet. He tried ringing her. No answer.
He texted her: Bloody hell, Emma. I can’t usually get shot of you. Don’t go AWOL on me now. Ring.
He then phoned Rosset. He began with an apology for knocking his phone on silent.
‘Don’t apologise, Mike. You sound like you went through hell yesterday.’
‘Where’re you up to?’
‘When you rushed back south, we got the contact details of the café owners, Lydia and Malcolm Cross.’
Yorke stood up and stretched. He was expecting to hear the same as he’d heard from Gardner, that the owners were overseas for a New Year break …
‘We went around to speak to them.’
‘Sorry?’ Yorke’s blood ran cold.
‘Yes, but they couldn’t identify Harris, unfortunately. So, then, we went to the café and spoke to the daughter, Lyra Cross, who works in the café several hours every day when she’s not attending the University of Leeds. And, believe it or not, despite studying psychology, she didn’t recognise him either. She said the name was familiar, but he wasn’t lecturing on any of her modules.’
