by Conrad Jones
CHAPTER 24
Pipe Bomb
If you want to learn how to do something, the Internet is a wonderful tool. You can find out how to make anything you like. I wanted to build some grenades and I found several sites on how to manufacture pipe bombs. I found a very useful video, which explained the process in idiot-proof fashion. I’m not very good with tools and my abysmal record of failed DIY projects serves as witness to the fact. A local plumbers’ merchant sold me a length of lead pipe and I bought two boxes of display fireworks from a garden centre. Using a hacksaw, I cut the pipe into ten-inch lengths and then hammered one of the ends closed. I then filled the pipe with gunpowder from the rockets and stuffed tampons into the open end as fuses. I made six in total. I didn’t think that I would need any more than six and I didn’t think I would live long enough to wish that I had made seven.
When I had finished making my pipe bombs, I bought two bottles of merlot and a large portion of fish, chips and mushy peas from the bridge chip shop in Betws. Evie Jones ate a full lamb’s liver, cooked chicken mixed with a tin of tuna fish and a bag of doggy chocolate buttons. It was our version of the last supper. I took her for a long walk around Miners’ Bridge and thought about dying. Somethings were worth dying for. I felt terribly guilty about taking Evie with me to find them. I had a choice to put my life in danger, but she didn’t; she would fight to protect me and die without thinking about it. My conscience was wrestling with the idea, but the alternatives seemed worse.
There is a footpath which circles the river and the scenery around it is stunning. The mountains in the distance merge with the skyline and the views are breathtaking in the winter and summer. Walking around there in the peace and quiet with the Staffie trotting beside me made everything that was happening seem like a bad dream. I still feel like it’s a nightmare now, and I want to wake up, but I can’t because it’s real.
Evie Jones shattered the peace and quiet and brought me back to reality when she spotted a duck on the water and launched herself off the path in a valiant attempt to savage it. I learnt three things about mallards that evening. Number one, they’re open to aerial attack from the bank; number two, they cannot outswim a Staffie over five yards; and number three, they’re really crap at fighting. By the time I had pulled her extended lead in, there were blood and feathers everywhere. As much as I love her, she is nuts; the duck was another casualty to account for.
It was Friday and the full moon was due in four days. If the dust had settled at the farm, then the satanic order would be meeting the next night at Brunt Boggart and we would be there to greet them. I had no idea if they would take Constance there or not, but I had to start somewhere. If there were any Niners there and I got the better of them, I would make them talk. If they knew anything about Constance’s disappearance, they would tell me. I packed up the Land Rover and changed the letters on the number plate using black vinyl tape. I decided to leave the caravan where it was in the unlikely event that we survived. I guzzled the wine from a plastic cup and the alcohol numbed my muddled mind and allowed me to sleep for a while. It’s strange to think that my tortured dreams are not as bad as my living nightmares.
CHAPTER 25
Brunt Boggart
The journey back to the island was uneventful. We avoided the expressway and stuck to the back roads, so progress was slow. We didn’t encounter any police cars, bad ones or otherwise. It was a two-hour journey that took three. When we arrived, we found that Brunt Boggart was set in a leafy greenbelt, comprised of farmland, woodland and sleepy livery stables. I used Google Earth to study the area around the farm and spotted an acre of woodland, which offered an elevated view over the farmhouse and its outbuildings. It wasn’t far from the farm and it offered perfect cover. I could watch the farm unnoticed.
We drove by the entrance to the farm and I spotted something that hadn’t appeared on Google Earth: the owners had erected a high perimeter fence made from corrugated iron sheets and there were padlocked gates across the entrance. The extra security reinforced my suspicions that they would return. I parked the Landy in a derelict petrol station on the edge of the woods. Opposite, there was an old pub called the Pilot Boat. The once white facia was tinged with green and slates were missing from the roof. It was boarded up and the wooden sign outside was blistered and peeling. It reminded me of the dream I had the night before Peter died. There was something about the village which felt wrong. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could smell decay on the wind.
With the Landy hidden from the road, I put the Remington into its case and hung it from my shoulder. This was farming land, and if I did encounter anyone in the woods, then I would fit right in with my shotgun and my dog. With a terrible sense of foreboding, we headed off through the woods to find a secluded spot where I could watch the farm. From the aerial maps I had viewed, I gathered that we would have to walk a mile or so. I kept Evie Jones on a tight lead as we followed a badger trail through the trees. The wood was comprised of oak and sycamore trees, and like the rest of the surrounding area, it had succumbed to subsidence caused by the mines. It was pitted with deep ravines and flooded sinkholes. We picked our way through the natural assault course disturbing the grey squirrels and rabbits that inhabited it. The closer we got to the farm, the less wildlife there was. That definitely wasn’t my imagination. When we reached the edge of the woods, I crouched down in the long grass and watched the farm as the sun went down and the night closed in. The darker it became, the tighter I held the shotgun.
Two hours went by and nothing moved. It was getting cold and the air started to bite. Evie Jones was edgy. Every creaking branch or rustling pile of leaves made her stand to attention ready for action. She was prepared to fight anything that came near me. Her fearlessness made me feel humble. I’d explained to her the night before as we walked around the river that it might be our last day on this earth. She didn’t seem bothered by the news and she licked my face.
It was nearly midnight when headlights weaved along the narrow lane to the farm. I looked through my binoculars and watched as a dark Mercedes pulled to a stop at the gates. I watched someone climb out. He pulled the collars of his black overcoat up to shade him from the cold. I watched him looking around furtively before unlocking the gates so his colleague could drive through. The vehicle stopped again on the other side while he closed the gates behind him, then fastened the lock. The track led about five hundred yards away from the road. I could hear the engine noise drifting across the field as they pulled the vehicle into the farmyard. As they stopped in the yard, the vehicle triggered a security light and the halogen glow illuminated the scene. The buildings hid the car from the road and the driver steered it under a lean-to built onto the side of a barn.
Four men climbed out of the Mercedes. They didn’t look like farmers to me. They were smartly dressed and looked to be in their fifties. Their long winter coats gave them the look of undertakers. They walked to the back of the car and exchanged words before opening the boot. My heart was in my mouth. Every nerve ending in my body was tingling. I wanted to see them lifting Constance out of the boot alive. Whether she was my daughter or not, I wanted her to be alive. If she was in the boot of that car, then I would get her out and take her to the police myself. If the four men wanted to get in my way, then I would introduce them to the shotgun.
I watched them reach inside and struggle to remove something heavy. They were blocking my view of the boot and I held my breath as they fumbled about with their load. Whatever it was, it appeared to be bigger than your average six-year-old girl. One of them stepped back, his arms wrapped around something bulky. He lowered his end to the floor as his colleague struggled with his end of the bundle. Whatever it was that they were lifting, it was moving.
I focused the binoculars slightly, trying to get a clearer view. I realised that it was a woman. Her hands were bound, and she was gagged. Anger rose in my throat and I could feel my heartbeat quickening. The bastards had a woman in the boot of the car, and they we
re going to take her into the farm and do God knows what to her. I was pissed off that it wasn’t Constance, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t going to rape that woman that night or any other night. My hands were shaking so much that I dropped the binoculars. I reached into the soggy leaves and grass for them and wiped them on my sleeve before looking again. I refocused on the woman and gasped at who it was.
I had to look away and then look again as they bundled out the woman. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or if I was mistaken, but my body turned cold and a shiver ran down my spine. I simply couldn’t be seeing what I thought I was seeing. I looked again and swore under my breath. There was no way I could be seeing this. It was late and I was tired, but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind who it was. She twisted her head towards the woods and looked at me as if she knew I was there. I could see her eyes as clear as day. Fabienne Wilder looked right back at me.
CHAPTER 26
The Ceremony
I was in shock. I’d come here looking for Constance and found Fabienne instead. All thoughts about blowing the place up with her inside dissipated as I watched her being dragged into the door. She was alive. My heart skipped a beat, but my brain was telling me that it couldn’t be her. Maybe she had another sister. The doctor at Denbigh told me that Fabienne had committed suicide and there were police officers all over the hospital. Was the doctor one of them? Why else would he lie? My mind went into overdrive. That’s why he showed me the fire door when the police officer came in to speak to me. He wanted me to believe she was dead. They wanted me to believe that she was dead. They wanted me out of the way. I was beginning to think that I’d been stupid. The Niners spread far and wide and I couldn’t fathom who was who. Had the entire thing been an elaborate hoax to throw me off the scent?
Why did they want me to think she was dead? So, they could take her to the farm to sacrifice her? Were they just waiting for her release so that they could shut her up? Maybe; I had no way of knowing the truth. They might try to convert her again in order to use her powers for their own benefit. Whatever they were up to, I was going to help her. I couldn’t stand there while they hurt her. She’d been through enough abuse at their hands. I waited for the security light to go out, and then we set off across the field towards the farmhouse. I felt like a condemned man walking to the gallows. I knew that I could turn and walk in the opposite direction, but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to choose that option. Fabienne was in dire trouble and I had to help her. I thought about calling the police, but my trust in them had gone. It was up to me and the Staffie.
My pulse was racing, and cold sweat coated every inch of my body. Evie Jones was panting and pulling like a shire horse; she wanted to be off the lead, but I couldn’t let her go yet. She was about as subtle as a lump hammer in the teeth. Stealth was not her forte. We reached the perimeter fence and walked along it for twenty yards before I found a section where the panels overlapped. A few strong tugs bent the corner up enough for us to crawl underneath. There was a dull renting sound as the metal bent and I froze for a few seconds in case it had carried inside the house. I bent double and peered through the gap. There was nothing moving on the other side. The farmyard was in darkness now; the security light had automatically switched off. I wriggled under the fence, my chest and face flattened against the damp soil. The grass was wet and smelled of my childhood. Camping with the scouts and playing Cowboys and Indians flashed into my mind. Evie Jones made things difficult as she tried to wriggle through the narrow gap at the same time. She’s loyal but she’s impatient too.
We surfaced at the rear of the farmhouse and I ducked low as we skirted the building, keeping to the shadows. I didn’t want to activate the sensor in the security light. There was a solitary light on inside the house. It appeared to be in the hallway or maybe the stairwell. The curtains were drawn, but the light seeped out around the edges of the material. We crept towards the window and I peered through a gap at the edge of the curtains. There was no sign of life. The house was empty of furniture and the room I was looking at had a door which led into the hallway.
Suddenly, two of the men walked past the door. They’d taken off their coats and were bundling Fabienne towards the rear of the house. They had stripped her to her underwear and tied her hands behind her back. The gag had been removed, but she wasn’t shouting or screaming for help. She went by in an instant, but I swear she glanced at the window. I felt a prickle of electricity in my mind as I saw her eyes. I wondered why she wasn’t screaming. In truth, the farm was too remote for anyone to hear her and her energy would be put to better use trying to fight them off. The other two men followed them a few seconds later. I could see them unfastening their collars as they walked. It was obvious what they had in mind.
I couldn’t hang around any longer. It was obvious that they were going to gang rape Fabienne, but that couldn’t happen. Not tonight, Josephine; while I had breath in my body, it wasn’t happening, but I needed to act quickly. I let the Staffie off the lead and she disappeared around the corner into the darkness. I decided to take the direct route into the house. I had no idea who was inside, but I didn’t care. I was going to get Fabienne out and then call the police. The fact that she was still alive would back up my crazy story; they would have to believe me. The Niners had brought her to the farm. I’d told them they met there and they’d obviously done fuck all about it. The Press had gone bananas for a while, but now the attention had shifted off the farm, they were back.
I used the butt of the shotgun to smash the window and then reached inside and ripped one of the curtains from its rail. I used it to knock out the large shards so that I could climb in without lacerating myself. I vaulted over the windowsill and landed heavily on the other side, aiming the shotgun at the open doorway. I was expecting the men to come running in, but they didn’t. Wiping sweat from my eyes, I sprinted to the door and ducked into the hallway. It was empty.
The hallway was dimly lit by a low wattage bulb. Its glow couldn’t illuminate the kitchen at the back of the house, but I could sense that there was nobody in there. A strong gust of wind blew through the broken window and chilled me to the bone. The draft opened a door beneath the staircase, and it creaked noisily before stopping against the frame. I froze and listened intently for the sound of footsteps coming, but none came. With my back to the wall, I slid along the hallway, keeping the gun trained on the doorway. As I peered into it, I saw a narrow wooden staircase leading down into the cellar. There was no way that I could creep down there unnoticed. I toyed with the idea of chucking a couple of pipe bombs down there and shutting the door, but Fabienne was there, too. Constance may be there. I was still debating my next move when a high-pitched scream echoed through the house. It was Fabienne.
I took a deep breath and ran down the stairs at full pelt. I had no idea what I was running into, but it was shit or bust time. I jumped the last three steps swinging the gun in a wide arc, searching for a target. I was looking at a dimly lit cellar. It was cavernous, but there was no one there. I peered into the dark corners, looking for anyone who was hiding from the light, but there was nothing there except shadows and cobwebs. I took a few deep breaths and walked to the far wall. From there I could see a narrow door at the one end of the cellar. It was fitted with two deadbolts and a padlock, which were all open. I realised that the men must have taken Fabienne through that door, which would explain why they hadn’t heard me breaking the window.
I tiptoed to the door and put my ear against it. I could hear the low murmur of men’s voices chanting. Fabienne was crying. I could hear her sobbing. I had no choice but to open the door and take my chances with whatever was on the other side. I swapped the shotgun to my right hand and stood back as I twisted the handle with my left. The handle turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. I swore silently and looked at the doorframe again. There was a mortise lock fitted to it. The bastards had locked it behind them. I was at a loss. The door opened outwards towards me, so I couldn’t kick it open. I
had three shots in the Remington before it would need to be reloaded. All I could do was hope that the door was weak. Another piercing scream forced me to act.
Taking a few steps back, I fired three times. The gun roared, and in the confines of the cellar it sounded like a howitzer. I slotted three new shells into the breach before I’d assessed the damage to the door. Reloading the shotgun was my number one priority. Without a weapon, I had no chance. I needn’t have worried; the blasts had blown a hole in the door the size of a dustbin lid. I bent low and looked through the hole. My stomach turned at the scene before me.
Fabienne had her back to me and she couldn’t turn around. She was tied face down over an altar of some kind. A second narrow staircase climbed up the left-hand wall. I wasn’t sure, but from the distance I’d travelled through the cellars, it probably led to the barn. Thick black candles flickered and cast an eerie amber glow on the bizarre gathering. Her underwear had been ripped, but it still hung from her body. The four men were positioned either side of the altar; two behind her and two in front of her. Their ridiculous chanting had ceased. One of them was trying to force her thighs apart with his hips. She was squirming and screaming, but there was nothing that she could have done. A few minutes later he would have penetrated her.
One of the men near her head was holding a boleen knife with a curved blade like a scythe. The blade was coated with dried blood. He was holding her by the hair and pressing the blade to the back of her neck, near the spine. The sick grin on his face disappeared instantly. The other two were still in the process of undressing, and despite the noisy entrance that I’d made, they looked genuinely surprised to see me. They looked shocked and pathetic in their socks and white Y-fronts. They were podgy, middle-aged men with saggy bellies and man boobs. Their milky white skin was almost translucent in the candlelight. They looked at me with hatred in their eyes, but I wasn’t scared of them. I could have ripped them apart with my bare hands. That’s what I wanted to do.
