Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  “What would the church have to do with these killings?”

  “All the victims were sinners, Father. I thought maybe a man of God would take offence to their behaviour, and seek retribution.”

  “I can see why you came to this conclusion,” the priest nodded. “I am aware of the victims’ shortcomings, and may they burn in hell for the rest of eternity, but I did not kill them. Nay, I would not have had the strength, nor the stomach for it.”

  “What about those working for you? The groundskeeper? Have they been acting suspiciously in any way?”

  The priest considered the question but then shook his head. He abruptly looked tired. “I have been listening to confessions all my life, Patrick, and I have heard some things no person should ever hear. But, in all that I have heard, and seen, nothing even points to a clue as to who the killer might be.”

  Patrick sighed; his one lead gone cold. He had hoped to find something here; it had made so much sense. It had felt right.

  “I apologise for the interruption, Father. I shall leave you now.”

  “I wish you God’s speed, Patrick,” the priest said, unlocking the door for Patrick to leave.

  “Father,” Patrick stopped half-way through the door, “what are you working on so late at night?”

  “My sheep come to me at all hours. The same as you did tonight. I must be ready for them when they call.”

  “Goodnight, Father.”

  “Goodnight, Patrick.”

  The horses snorted in the fresh morning air as they reined them to a halt.

  “He has been here,” Lawson Lowell told his cousin.

  Dorien looked towards the church in the grey light of morning. He knew Patrick would be long gone by now, and there would be no point in looking for him.

  “I wonder what drew him here?” Dorien mused. “What was his reasoning?”

  “The same as ours, cousin. The murders are connected. Patrick is trying to prove his innocence, and he is leaving no stone unturned.”

  “Let’s keep this information to ourselves. I do not want Alaric’s men harassing the priest.”

  “Aye, agreed.”

  The men turned their horses and rode back towards the centre of town. Lord Alaric demanded reports of every patrol, and Dorien had to deliver his before he could give his men the day off.

  Night after night they rode out, patrolling the western parts of the forests around Ashford. There had been no incident after what happened to Sender, but the men were on edge every night.

  Knowing Patrick was not the killer only made it worse. If it were Patrick, they would know what they were fighting. As it was, they knew not what to expect. Dorien wished he could speak with Patrick to find out what he knew. Maybe it could help them with their investigation. If only Alaric could see reason.

  After handing in his report, Dorien and Lawson rode out to Blakesley Manor. Edward greeted them and led them through to his study.

  “Patrick was at the church last night,” Dorien told Edward. “Would you know why he would go there?”

  Edward shook his head. “No, but I am sure he has good reason. Did you speak with Father Peter?”

  “We did not. He would not have told us anything, even if we had asked.”

  “You are right, of course.”

  “Edward, the longer the hunt continues, the more Alaric incites the people. The town is looking for someone to blame, and they are ready to string Patrick up for every atrocity ever committed in this town.”

  Patrick’s father put his head in his hands. “What else can we do, Dorien?”

  “Is there no way you can reach your son? We think he may know something and might be able to help us.”

  Edward looked up. “If Patrick does not want to be found, you will not find him.”

  “It is as it is, then,” Dorien sighed. “We will continue as we have, but it is becoming harder every day to convince folk that Patrick is not the killer. They don’t listen anymore. Alaric’s accusations are too easy to believe.”

  Edward ground his teeth. “Thank you for everything you are doing for us, Dorien.”

  “We are not just doing it for you, Edward. There is something out there far worse than a werewolf, and we need to stop it before it kills again. Keep up your patrols, and keep the rest of your family safe.”

  “Aye.”

  “We will see you again next week. Hopefully, with better news.”

  The days after Patrick found the note on his blanket moved agonisingly slowly. He read it every night before he went to sleep, to be close to Angelica.

  “I will not be able to see you for a few days. Keep me close to your heart while we are apart, and think of me often. I will hurry back to you as soon as the opportunity arises for me to leave again.”

  Patrick was sure the reason she could not leave was her father, but hating the man changed little about the situation.

  Every evening, Patrick crept to the boundary wall of Ashford Manor and looked for the candle in the window. Without fail, it burned there for him, letting him know Angelica was well.

  Knowing she was in no danger, he spent his days and nights either hunting prey or hunting clues. Both were dangerous pastimes given his circumstances.

  Alaric’s men had set up camps within the forests around the town and rode patrols from there in shifts - some during the day, and some at night. Alaric had men in the town, too, and it was especially difficult for Patrick to move around the streets without being recognised. The town, however, was where Patrick picked up most of the gossip.

  The people in the streets liked to talk, and although most of it was nonsense, he picked up valuable information, such as patrol routes, the weapons the men carried, and other such tidbits.

  This morning a drizzle fell over the town, and Patrick pulled up his hood over his head and walked down Main Street. He threw the grocer a copper, and took an apple off the cart, eating it while he walked. It was easier to hide in weather like this. Everyone hid underneath their hats and hoods, and no one would question it.

  When Patrick came to the barbershop, he heard a commotion around the corner. He stopped to listen.

  “I am telling you, five of them.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “They are at the doctor’s house. They weren’t hurt, or anything, but they aren’t talking.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “The mayor thinks they may have seen what happened, and are in too much shock to speak. The mayor hopes the doctor can make them talk.”

  “And the dead. What happened to them?”

  “Lord Alaric’s men have brought them into town. The doctor will see them later. From what I’ve heard, the men are not pretty to look at.”

  Patrick did not recognise the voice of the man who offered the information, nor did he know the voices of those around him. Pulling his hood deeper over his face, he stepped around the corner and crossed the road, ignoring the little crowd gathered in front of the barbershop. They paid Patrick no attention, and let him pass unmolested. He heard them carry on their conversation, but he had heard enough.

  There had been another murder - five if the man was to be believed. This time, however, there were witnesses. Patrick needed to speak to these survivors and find out what they knew.

  “Are you not a doctor?” Lord Alaric bellowed. “If they are sick, heal them. I need to speak with them, so we can finally end this.”

  “They are not sick, my Lord,” Milton Roy said. “These men are in shock, and they need rest. I have given them a sedative, and you will not be able to speak to them for the rest of the day.”

  Alaric glowered at the doctor, and Dorien thought it would come to blows.

  “Thank you, Milton. Please, will you inform Lord Alaric as soon as they wake up?”

  “Yes, Mr Mayor, of course, I will.”

  “Albert, Doctor Roy has done what he can for these men. We will be able to speak to them soon enough. I think the best course of action now would be to i
nvestigate the area of the attack before the rain gets through the canopy of the trees and ruins any signs there might be.”

  Albert sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, and Dorien wondered if he had gone too far. Albert Alaric might be the most powerful man in Ashford, but he was still the mayor. Dorien lifted his chin and looked Albert in the eyes.

  “Very well, I will dispatch a patrol out to the area,” Albert finally said, glancing around at the other men assembled in the doctor’s rooms. Turning to Milton Roy, he said, “I want a full report on the deceased by this evening, and I wish to be informed immediately when the others wake. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  With a brisk nod of his head, Alaric summoned his men, and then left, leaving Milton, Dorien, Lawson and Richard behind.

  The floorboards creaked as Milton walked over to his desk to retrieve his bag. From the shelf behind it, the doctor took some tools and added them to the bag.

  “We can go,” he said.

  “We are lucky it is a cool day today,” Dorien said, “for else the dead would not keep for long in Shaw’s barn. Let us get there, and get this over with.”

  Dorien and Lawson exchanged a look; Lawson tapping his foot on the creaking floorboards. Richard escorted Milton out of the room ahead of them.

  Patrick waited for them to leave, before crawling backwards out of the tight space beneath the floorboards. He had dust in his eyes from the pacing above him, and he wiped it out before he followed the men to Shaw’s barn.

  Keeping well behind, and out of sight, Patrick waited for them to enter before he approached the barn. He eventually found a ladder leaning against the back wall, leading to a window at the top.

  The window was broken, and it looked like someone had been trying to fix it - unsuccessfully. Patrick slipped in and crawled between the bales of hay to the edge, where he could look down into the rest of the space.

  Shaw’s barn had not seen animals in years, as the man now only traded in grain. Instead, the pens now held those who had perished in last night’s attack. From Patrick’s vantage point, he could look into three of the pens; the other two were obscured by their walls.

  Doctor Roy knelt in the first pen, cutting open the man’s clothing - what was left of it. Dorien, Lawson and Richard stood by, watching, but it was soon apparent they had no stomach for it as Roy revealed what lay beyond the tattered clothes.

  The doctor diligently made his notes before moving on to the next victim. Patrick expected this man to have the same type of wounds as the first, but he was wrong.

  This man’s body was covered in burns, with most of his clothes seared off his body. It was hard to tell from where Patrick lay hidden, but he thought it looked like the man’s eyes had melted.

  There was little talk between the four men as Milton Roy conducted his examinations and compiled his report for Lord Alaric. At one point, Richard went to stand at the barn door, taking deep breaths of the fresh air.

  “I am done,” Milton said, standing and wiping his hands on his apron.

  “Thank you, Milton. Could you give us a moment in private, please? I will see you in your rooms after.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  The doctor left, but Patrick did not stay to find out what private matters Dorien had to discuss with his men. Although he did not know the fellow that travelled with Dorien, he knew him to be an exceptional tracker. All three men below him were equally good hunters; almost as good as Patrick himself. He would not take the chance of discovery, not even by Dorien.

  “He’s gone.”

  Dorien sighed. “I wish we could speak with him. Is there a chance you can still follow him, Lawson?”

  “A chance, yes.”

  “Go.”

  His cousin left without another word, leaving Dorien and Richard alone in the barn.

  “He is smart,” Richard said. “It would be advantageous if we could combine what we have learned so far.”

  Dorien turned towards the pens, glancing over the mutilated dead men. “I wonder what these men did to deserve this.”

  “I am more concerned with what kind of beast is capable of doing this to five strong men. Think about it, Dorien. There were twelve men at the camp. What attacked them so that they could not defend themselves?”

  Dorien hardly ever felt fear, but Richard’s words terrified him. Before, it had been one man at a time. Any strong man, or beast, could have committed those murders. This, however, spoke of the supernatural. He had heard stories of witches, and other magical folk. Although Dorien had always prayed that these were, indeed, just stories, he could not deny that there was possibly some kind of magic involved in what was going on in Ashford.

  “I think it is time, Richard. This cannot continue any longer. I will set a meeting at the town hall for this coming Saturday. Call all our people to attend.”

  Richard nodded gravely. “Aye, it is time.”

  Patrick struggled with the visions of the mutilated men as he made his way back to the boatshed. The only other time he had seen such horror was during the war.

  Who, or what could have done this? It was no wonder, then, that Lord Alaric now invested all his time and money into hunting him; even if Patrick wasn’t the killer.

  Patrick wasn’t so much concerned about his safety, but he now feared for Angelica’s. He would have to put a stop to her coming to see him at the boat shed, no matter how she argued against him. Especially given the killer only attacked those who had sinned. Would he consider Patrick and Angelica’s affair a sin because they were not married? Patrick shuddered at the thought.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Angelica’s perfect, pale body splayed open, her skin torn from her flesh, and her heart ripped from its chest. Her dark hair stood aflame around her head, and her eyes melted like candle wax down her pallid cheeks.

  Patrick stopped alongside the river, heaving until he brought up the sparse breakfast he had eaten earlier. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, hoping to wipe away the vision of his dead love as well.

  No, he would not let that happen to her. They had already discovered a pattern to the victims; now if they could only find out when the killings occurred.

  Patrick thought back to when Abbott was killed. As he walked the rest of the way, Patrick ran through the events of the past couple of weeks, trying to place where he was whenever one of the murders happened.

  At first, he could find no connection at all. Patrick had been out running when he found Abbott; he had been camping out in the rain with the patrol the night Smythe was killed; and he had run through the storm on the night Sender was slain. Last night, when the five were murdered, Patrick had been sleeping in the boat shed, as Angelica was still not able to leave Ashford Manor.

  With his hand on the railing of the dock, Patrick paused; a gear clicked into place in his mind. A shiver passed over him as the first hint of a connection came to him.

  Chapter 10

  “I have missed you, my love.”

  “As I have missed you,” Patrick said, taking Angelica in his arms. “What has kept you?”

  “I have not been feeling well,” Angelica said, looking up at him, “and my mother hovers around me with her teas and powders. I swear, she does me more harm than good.”

  Patrick narrowed his eyes and took a good look at Angelica. He could not say she was paler than usual, for he didn’t think that was possible, but she did have dark circles under her eyes.

  “Are you feeling stronger now? Should you be out already?”

  “Yes, yes, I will be fine,” she laughed at him. “I could not bear another day without you. Or another day in that stifling house.”

  Taking Angelica by the hand, and picking up the bag she brought from the dock, Patrick led her up the stairs to his room.

  “I have brought you fresh fruit,” she said, unpacking the bag onto his blankets, “and bread baked this morning.”

  Patrick watched her as she laid out the goods and talked to him, telling him abo
ut the past few days she had spent at home, the books she’d read, the dress her mother had made for her, the necklace her father had bought her.

  Angelica no longer wore black, and the pale blue dress she wore highlighted her narrow waist, and her rear moved temptingly as she arranged the items from the bag around his small space.

  He wanted nothing more than to put his hands around her slender form and pull her towards him, but he had promised himself to speak with her first.

  “Angelica, are you aware of the new killings?”

  She paused, and then set down the hunk of cheese next to the loaf of bread, before turning to face him. “I overheard my father tell my mother. There were five victims, I heard.”

  “Do you still believe it wasn’t me, even though you were not with me last night?”

  “Oh, Patrick, of course, I do.” She came to him. “Why would you even ask?”

  He took her hands. “Are you aware of why these people are being killed? Has your father ever mentioned it to you?”

  She looked at him with wide eyes - so blue today - shaking her head.

  “All of these men were sinners, Angelica. In a way, they deserved to die.”

  “What are you saying, Patrick?” She drew away from him.

  “The attacks happen to people who have sinned in one manner or another. Angelica, we are sinners. We sin every time we are together.”

  “Do you mean because we are not married? Patrick,” she laughed, coming back to him, “it is only a sin in my father’s eyes. Many couples are living in cohabitation and are not married, and we do not call them sinners.”

  “What about before the eyes of God? Is it not a sin to lay with someone out of wedlock?”

  A shiver passed over him as he watched her eyes darken at his words. He had always attributed it to the light, but now he saw it for the first time. Angelica’s eyes changed from blue to black.