Beyond the Blood Moon

by Vic Robbie

  ‘What has he there?’ If it was the one they’d been to, it appeared unused.

  ‘Whatever scientists use in their experiments.’

  ‘Live animals?’

  She flashed a twisted look. ‘Why? That’s not his line of work?’

  ‘Are you aware of what he’s working on?’

  ‘Oh, no, whenever he discusses things, it’s mumbo jumbo to me. One thing he talked about was string universes. Can you believe that?’ Bette shook her head and gave a self-deprecatory laugh. ‘But he doesn’t discuss his work at the Directorate.’ She bent forward, clasping her hands and whispered. ‘If you do that, I believe the penalties are severe. I’m a good citizen.’ She leant back in her chair and nodded twice to confirm it.

  ‘Where is he now? At the laboratory?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Perhaps there’s another location.

  ‘Give me the address.’

  The suggestion alarmed Bette. ‘Oh no, I don’t have it. Sorry, now if you don’t mind, I must go to bed. Must get my beauty sleep.’ She touched her cheek for reassurance.

  She rose to leave, and Bette changed her mind and grabbed her by the elbow with a deceptively firm grip. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t have an address, but I can take you there.’

  ‘To his laboratory?’ Adrenaline coursed through her.

  Bette nodded. ‘Wait while I do my face and get dressed. I rarely get out at nights these days.’

  Chapter Forty

  The gate to her cage wasn’t locked. Usually, the man put a padlock on it and secured it with a key from a ring of keys he hung on the wall. A phone call had distracted him and, agitated, he’d gone off in a hurry. She wanted to push it open but was fearful he’d punish her if he found out. She chewed her thumb, and that calmed her even though she was hungry because he’d gone off without feeding her. The food was awful but better than nothing. And she learned if she refused it, she’d get nothing.

  It was dark in the room, and it smelt damp, a stench she couldn’t shake off. Other cages lined the walls but were empty, and she spent her time talking to herself for company. The man said she had to stay here for a short time, and that mommy was happy about it, but she didn’t believe him.

  The gate might open with just a touch. She stuck out a hand but sprang back as if it was a trap. She tried again, and the gate moved a few inches.

  As her heart raced, she experienced guilt like the last time she stole cookies at home despite being warned not to. Again, she risked another push, and the gate swung open, and she eased herself through the opening, glancing around and expecting someone to shout at her. But nothing happened.

  Emboldened, she looked around the room, which wasn’t large. But a door creaked, and she stopped in her tracks, listening for footsteps. She’d look outside, and if he returned, she’d run into her cage and pretend to be asleep.

  She had thought the door led out to a garden, but she was in another room with lights, and another door led to a long flight of stairs going up. Could she climb them, or would she be in more trouble and maybe, if he thought her bad, he wouldn’t give her any food? Her tummy rumbled. Better go back to the cage and pretend it hadn’t happened. Then she breathed fresh air and curiosity took over. She climbed, slowly at first, expecting to be caught, and speeding up as she neared the top. She stepped out and breathed in, filling her lungs, but uncertainty reined in her brief bravado.

  It was getting dark, but she could make out a patch of grass leading to a black and brooding forest. Now she doubted he’d ever let her go home, and he might shout at her for going off like that. But the fear of returning to the cage spurred her on, and she wandered deeper into the trees.

  After only minutes, a car pulled up, and she hesitated. He was coming, and she shivered. Footsteps descended the stairs and came back up.

  She moved on until the foliage blotted out all light from the sky, and she heard him calling, ‘Becky, where are you? No time for hide and seek.’ There was a pause. ‘It’s dark, and you don’t want to be alone in the woods. Monsters are in there.’

  Now terrified, she sobbed but kept moving and stumbled into a mound of wet leaves. She’d hide here and wait until he went away. She burrowed under the leaves and curled up into a ball, holding her breath. And she felt safe.

  The man’s confident footsteps approached and strode past her hiding place before stopping. She imagined him turning and looking around, his eyes peering into the darkness. She strained but couldn’t hear anything. Then a hand swept away her cover and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and dragged her out, crying.

  ‘Got you, Becky,’ the blue rabbit said triumphantly, only the man was no longer wearing his costume. ‘You can’t go running off like that, you must help me with my work.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  It became clear they were heading for the laboratory they visited before, and Solo’s hopes of finding Becky were fading. If it hadn’t been for Bette’s directions, she wouldn’t have been able to find it even in the light from the blood moon. With few landmarks and many of the roads and lanes almost identical, she might have driven for hours and been no closer to it.

  As Ottomon’s goons had taken Skarab, it was unlikely he’d be there and revisiting the derelict building would be fruitless.

  Will Headlock be angry I’ve broken my promise?

  She doubted he’d praise her initiative. Perhaps the mother knew of another location for her son’s lab, and she could use the rest of the journey to prise the information out of her. The drone of the woman’s voice nibbled at her concentration, and she kept yawning. After what had happened, she’d be happy to put her head down and close her eyes. Only the mother’s raucous laughter, recalling events in her son’s life, jerked her out of her torpor.

  ‘Okay, hang a right here.’ Skarab’s mother patted her knee. ‘I’ve never understood why he needed a lab so far out of town. You might want to be on your own, but in the middle of nowhere…’

  As she pulled in at the side of the building, her eyes darted around for signs of Skarab, but it was deserted. And she went around to open the door for the woman.

  ‘Why, thank you,’ Bette said and waved a key at her. ‘I know where he keeps his spare keys. Shows you can’t keep secrets from your mother.’

  She didn’t tell her she wouldn’t need one to access the lab.

  ‘Oh, my,’ Bette shrank back, ‘he’s had a break-in, the door’s hanging off its hinges.’

  They shuffled in, and his mother reached up and switched on a ceiling light. It was as she remembered, and now the light emphasised the emptiness and neglect.

  She affected a concerned look. ‘You said it was his laboratory, and he worked here. But where are all his instruments, his research? There’s nothing here.’

  ‘More here than meets the eye,’ Bette said, making a play of lighting up an illegal cigarette. ‘Who would have done this?’ she mused, watching the smoke spiralling up to the ceiling.

  ‘There’s a lot of land around here, does he have a lab somewhere else?’

  ‘Well, he goes into the Directorate, as I mentioned.’

  ‘Not what I meant. Is there another building close by?’

  Bette appraised her and dragged long and hard on her cigarette. ‘Not a building.’ But she wouldn’t elaborate.

  ‘Has he ever been violent?’

  Stunned that Solo had asked that about her son, she raised an eyebrow. ‘To me?’

  ‘To anyone?’

  ‘You’ve got the wrong impression completely. He’s the gentlest of people. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. He may experiment on animals, but he agonises about it.’

  There must be another place nearby.

  But she was making little progress. The woman was evasive when it came to her son and wouldn’t give up any secrets.

  Has she led me into a trap?

  Although she was woozy and tiredness was catching up on her, she tried to change tack, but her speech was lagging some way behind her thoughts. ‘Wha
t do you enjoy doing when you go out?’

  The woman watched her and flicked a nervous smile. ‘Meeting people.’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘Yes, and sometimes new friends although Dudley doesn’t like it. He worries about me, and he can always find me because of the chip.’ She frowned as she shook her hand.

  ‘Does he ever take women here? Young women?’

  Startled, Bette swung around. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  The voice came from behind. ‘It’s all right, mother, she knows.’

  Bette stepped up, her face in Solo’s and her eyes as sharp as needles. ‘Judge him if you will, but what he does is for me. It keeps me alive.’

  Skarab stepped into the room, and she had an overwhelming desire to sleep.

  ‘Who’s this woman?’ Bette asked but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘She implied she was from StatPol, but they wouldn’t have asked the questions she did.’

  I’m so tired.

  As her knees buckled, the scientist stepped forward to support her. ‘Steady now, don’t want you banging your head and bleeding everywhere.’

  ‘I reckoned she was up to no good, that’s why I brought her here. Slipped a sleeping pill into her coffee just in case.’

  ‘You did well, Bette. When I was with Ottomon my scanner showed she was here, and I realised she knew about us. I’ve been tracking her since she first crossed over and subsequently realised that she’d make an ideal subject for my experiments. Her friend, Headlock Hartington, is also an interesting case to pursue. Ottomon wanted her, but I think I’ve persuaded him to let me have her. Now I’ll put her with the other donor, and we must resume your treatment.’

  Followed by his mother, he carried Solo over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift a hundred yards through the trees before coming upon a small clearing. He placed her carefully on the ground and reached behind a rock to pull a lever. The foliage parted revealing steps down to a metal door, and Bette explained to her that his father had built the nuclear shelter before the War in Asia broke out more than thirty years ago.

  Skarab returned and retrieved Solo who was still awake but paralysed and unable to speak. He carried her down, the lights in the underground bunker switching on automatically as they progressed. Here was a fully equipped laboratory with a range of instruments and machines and fridges and an operating table and other scientific paraphernalia. And another door led to a smaller unlit room.

  She fluttered in and out of consciousness, but in the gloom, she glimpsed something standing against the far wall, whimpering like a wounded animal, before she slipped into the deepest of sleeps.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Dawn crept in like a guilty husband as they arrived in Bridgetown. In the grey light, it seemed different as if Headlock had never been here before, but he was sure it was the road they’d driven along last night. As the three-car convoy turned into the lane, he grew more uneasy.

  Something’s changed, but what?

  ‘The building’s down on the left,’ he instructed the driver.

  The previous night the stark focus of the cars’ headlamps illuminated the dirty grey, one-storey building with a shuttered window, but as they approached, he was overcome by nausea.

  Instead, a two-storey house without shutters and with flowers climbing the walls stood in its place. Set back from the lane, silver dew covered its well-manicured lawns, and a block-paved driveway ran up to the front door. He scanned the property, trying to find something familiar and rubbed his eyes hard. He looked again, but nothing changed.

  An unusual sensation rippled through his brain, and he began to worry for his sanity. Ever since meeting Solo, he’d been in a kind of repeating dream, or a nightmare, and now he was hallucinating and finding it difficult to determine what was real and what wasn’t. He attempted to assemble his thoughts in some order, retracing his movements of the previous night.

  He was convinced it was the same lane. What had he missed? Again, he rubbed his face, trying to wash away the tiredness, but the well-kept house was still there. Maybe he’d misjudged the location in the dark, so he instructed the driver to continue farther along the lane. But they were soon blocked by a forest, and the three cars had to back up.

  The lieutenant scowled in disbelief. With a shake of his head, he got out followed by his colleagues and, disturbed by the early morning visit, the owner of the property strode out to meet them. After a heated exchange, the lieutenant disappeared inside, watched by an excited audience of pyjama-clad children pointing and shrieking with laughter from an upstairs window.

  Ten minutes later his brother returned to the car, pulled open his door and ordered, ‘Get out. Now!’

  Even more confused, he emerged into the crisp morning air. ‘I don’t understand. It was here last night.’

  His brother struggled to control his temper. ‘I don’t understand you. With Becky, God knows where, you lead me here on a wild goose chase, wasting my and my men’s valuable time. It’s unbelievable.’

  The lieutenant glanced at the house and swung back, his balled fist making perfect contact with his chin. Although used to riding punches, the force of the unexpected blow knocked him off his feet, and he ended on his back, his head lying against a wheel.

  ‘Find your own fucking way back,’ his brother shouted with hatred shining out of his eyes.

  As the car turned to leave, the lieutenant wound down a window and beckoned him closer before shouting, ‘I knew there was something phoney about your story. That address you gave me for the suspect’s mother doesn’t exist. And there was no moon last night.’

  Although confused and worried about his mind, he was convinced he’d been here before with Solo.

  Had I imagined it?

  Apart from the house, everything about the environment appeared identical. Yet, no matter how he scrutinised it, this was a two-storey home, not the grubby building he’d seen before. Holding his eyes shut with two fingers, he retraced his steps. The building had been smaller and grey with only one shuttered window. There was no doubt about that. They’d entered and walked around but saw no signs of habitation. And he remembered the crunching of debris under his feet. He opened his eyes gradually, willing it to materialise, but it didn’t. And speaking to the inhabitants of the house would be pointless. They’d get the cops to lock him away.

  He sat on a rock at the side of the road, studying his hands. Good, strong, hard-working hands. And they weren’t trembling. His pulse was steady, far steadier than when facing an opponent in the ring. But now something had replaced the ringing in his head. Constant music. Sometimes loud, other times faint as if playing in a distant room, and he recognised Dinah Washington’s What A Difference A Day Makes, which was apt if not infuriating.

  Was what he was seeing an optical illusion? He grabbed a leaf from a tree and studied it before crushing it in the palm of his hand. Real. But his brother believing he’d lie with Becky in grave danger troubled him most.

  Dispirited, he headed back up the lane to the turning, taking his time, and inspected the signpost. It wasn’t as he remembered, but the name, Bridgetown, was carved in the wood. Searching from side to side, he returned along the lane to the house, taking in his surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, but there was no sign of the single-storey building.

  Without transport, it took several hours to get back to his car at Fisherman’s Quay, and he begrudged every minute wasted in the hunt to find Becky. Perhaps only the slender hope they’d find her alive was saving him from mental collapse. If a dream, and he was still comatose in the hospital, he wished he’d awaken. And, if so, Solo was no more than a wraith taunting him from the depths of his mind. That he could understand.

  He’d left the beetle in its usual spot although another car had parked too close for comfort.

  Barney’s doors were open, and the morning drinkers filed in. At least, this was real. This is my life, he persuaded himself. Sometimes on awakening from a dream, it was so vivid he believed it to be rea
l and felt guilt or joy before acknowledging it was imagined. But this dream persisted. Or had his brain accumulated serious damage from years fighting in the ring? Maybe none of this was real, and the only way to deal with it was to have a cold beer.

  Salivating on the thought, he went over to his car to pick up a change of shirt, but a peripheral movement distracted him. Someone creeping around the car parked too close. He glanced across and in an instant recognised the person before liquid sprayed his face, and he was out before he hit the ground.

  On regaining consciousness, he was aware of the drumming of wheels.

  His body ached, and his head was almost between his knees. Handcuffs shackled his right wrist to his left ankle and his left wrist to his right ankle. And, belted in so tight, he could just about turn his head. In his line of vision was the driver’s leg, a man, and with difficulty, he raised his gaze. This couldn’t be a dream. The man who’d hit him with an iron bar in the alley grinned at him.

  ‘You’re back with us, sorry you’re trussed up like a chicken. But needs must.’

  ‘I know you.’ The accusation came out as a croak. ‘You killed those girls.’

  The man was affronted. ‘You’ve got the wrong person. My name is Dr Skarab, and I’m a scientist, not a killer.’

  ‘Then what’s this about? I’m not your usual victim. You prefer little girls.’

  The scientist refused to rise to the bait. ‘You’re involved in something beyond your understanding, and bluster won’t work.’

  ‘Solo—’

  ‘She’s safe.’

  Briefly elated, his heart sank, wondering what Skarab had planned for her. ’Safe from what?’