Darkness Falls (Blood Hound Book 3)

by J. M. Robinson

  “Is she a fallen Angel as well?” Graham said.

  “No,” Park said.

  He wanted to ask more but Park was not a man to play games. If he was going to tell him who Lucy was then he would have done so.

  They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

  “Well, I should wish you luck,” Graham said.

  Park nodded. Graham turned back in the direction he had come from and started to walk away.

  “Graham wait,” Park said.

  He stopped and turned around. “What is it?” Graham said.

  Park reached into his pocket and took out a faded blue book and a pencil. He opened up the book and flicked through the pages until he was near the back. He scribbled something on the paper, tore it out and handed it to Graham.

  “What’s this?” Graham said.

  “Somebody who might be able to help you.”

  “Help how?” Graham said. The last people who had tried to help him had also been trying to kill Bridget.

  Park stepped closer to him. “You’ve learned the touch, haven’t you?”

  “The touch?”

  Park nodded. “Same as your wife had. Same as your daughter has. This lady can help. I promise.”

  Graham looked down at what Park had written: Rowling Street, 53

  The woman called Lucy appeared on the other side of the hole in the wall. “It’s time to go Arthur,” she said.

  Park nodded and turned back to Graham. “Go and see her,” he said and then he was gone.

  Rowling Street was too far to get to tonight. Whoever he found there was unlikely to appreciate him turning up unannounced in the early hours of the morning. Although, given that it was someone Park knew maybe it would be better to attend after sunset.

  Graham folded the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. He made his own way across the ruined church hall and back out into the world.

  CHAPTER 3

  A FIRE GLOWED WHITE HOT IN THE CORNER of the room but it did little to warm his old bones. Shadows danced across the bare walls. The old man struggled to keep his eyes open while he listened to the droning monotone. He privately wondered how long he could keep doing this. He wasn’t cut out for the life of a gypsy and had never signed up for it. When God willed it, he supposed, he would be set free.

  The younger man seemed unaware of his hosts fatigue. He continued to speak about the events of the day, the exciting developments that meant nothing to the older man.

  “Father Rigby?”

  The old man looked up at the sound of his name. He looked through bleary eyes at the youngster and wondered how he had gotten so old. Twenty years ago he would have been more than a match for these circumstances. Now each day was a trial.

  He nodded to show that he was listening and the young man continued.

  “Kable was at the church on Platt Street.”

  Father Rigby nodded but the significance was lost on him.

  “The church that was attacked.”

  “What was he doing there?” Rigby said. “Do you think it was him who attacked it?”

  The young man shook his head. “Not likely but he was there.”

  Rigby looked at him and wondered what he was getting at. Kable might have been at the church after the attack but so were a lot of people and it was close to where he was living now.

  “He was inside,” the young man said. “During, or at least shortly after, the attack.”

  Rigby shook his head. “I don’t know what you are--“

  “Don’t you see?” the young man said. “He had to be there for a reason.”

  Rigby wondered why the young man didn’t just spit it out. He obviously had something to say.

  “He was looking for his daughter.”

  “We know he’s looking for her,” Rigby said. “We have people watching him.”

  The young man sighed, he looked exasperated but if Rigby was supposed to know what he was getting at he didn’t. “Look around you,” the young man said.

  Obediently Rigby looked around at the gothic architecture, the statues and gargoyles carved into the stonework. When he was done he looked back at the younger man but he didn’t say anything.

  “The church on Platt street is almost identical to this one. If he’s looking for us then he’s got some pretty good inside information.”

  Rigby chewed his cheeks for a moment. It was true that the church on Platt street was of a very similar design to this one. He didn’t think that anyone who worked for him would be feeding Kable information though. “He might have got lucky,” Rigby said. “If he keeps looking then sooner or later he’ll come across similar buildings. There are only so many churches in Lunden.”

  “What about the places he went to earlier in the day?” the younger man said.

  Rigby shook his head. There was a report on Kable’s activities in front of him. The spies updated it daily but it had been weeks since he’d last paid it any attention.

  “They’re all the same,” the younger man said. “All three of them have the same design, the same architecture.”

  Rigby thought about it for a moment but nothing occurred to him. “What are you suggesting?”

  The young man leaned forwards in his chair. “The girl has psychic powers, we know that. The mother did as well.”

  Rigby nodded. It was well documented. While the mother was alive they had taken steps to prevent them communicating. “So?”

  “So what if Kable has them too?”

  “You think it’s the girl who is telling him where to look?”

  “I trust everyone that’s working for us implicitly. They care too much for their immortal soles to betray the cause. It’s too much of a coincidence that he should visit those three churches; they don’t just have similar architecture, they were designed by the same man and they all sit within a hundred metres of the river.” The younger man shook his head. “No, I’d lay money on it being her.”

  Rigby licked his lips. He wasn’t a cruel man and had no desire to lock up a child. But if what the young man was saying was true then what choice did he have? They couldn’t let Kable get her.

  “We still have the casket,” said the younger man.

  “Don’t call it that,” Rigby said.

  “What would you rather I said?”

  Rigby shook his head. It didn’t matter what they called it the result was the same; they were going to put the little girl inside it and lock her away so she couldn’t speak to her last living relative. He didn’t feel proud of himself but he didn’t have a choice.

  Rigby nodded and the younger man understood. He stood up and Rigby watched him walk out of the room and close the door behind him.

  Rigby stood as well. His old bones creaked and cracked as he made his way closer to the fire. They had come a long way, he told himself, much too far to give up. He had to be strong because it was important work. He raised his hands and felt the warmth of the flames against them. If it was easy then anyone would be able to do it. He had been chosen because he was the right man for the job.

  CHAPTER 4

  BRIDGET COULD HEAR FOOTSTEPS. SHE LAY ON HER bed and turned to look at the door. There seemed little reason to get up.

  She heard a key in the door turn and then the creak of old hinges. A man who she hadn’t seen before came in with the two men who guarded her door.

  “Good evening Bridget. My name is Father Acreage.”

  Bridget wondered if she was supposed to know the name. His mouth was turned up in a sneer that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t say anything.

  “Get up please,” Father Acreage said.

  She climbed off the bed and stood before him waiting for further instructions.

  Father Acreage smiled. “Follow me please.”

  The two guards followed them out of the room. She wasn’t often allowed to leave the rooms where they kept her. They brought her food and water and changed her chamber pot. Walking down the long ornate corridor now she was exhausted after just a few st
eps.

  She tried to slow down but they grabbed her arms and pulled her along behind them. Instead of trying to fight she looked around the corridor and tried to remember as many details as she could which she would later be able to pass on to her father.

  They stopped outside a room and she struggled some more but it was just an act. She didn’t have any hope of being able to overpower the men.

  “Hold her still,” Father Acreage said. The two guards held her so tightly and she stopped moving.

  Father Acreage took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. It was dark, solid wood and very big. It went almost to the ceiling which was twice as high as any she had seen before.

  Father Acreage went in first and the two guards followed, dragging Bridget between them. The room was dark and almost completely empty. She didn’t know why they had moved her but she had still expected a room with a bed. The only thing in this room was a small coffin shaped box in the middle of the floor.

  When she realised what it was she started to struggle and this time she really did mean to get away. She pulled her arms in turn until the motion made her shoulders pop and ache. Her feet slid around uselessly on the polished floor.

  Father Acreage lifted the lid on the box. “Bring her here,” he said.

  “No,” Bridget practically screamed. “No I won’t go in there again.”

  The men dragged her across the room. She kicked and she screamed but it didn’t do any good. They lifted her into the air and lowered her into the box.

  It was smaller than she remembered. The walls on either side were close enough that her shoulders touched them.

  Bridget tensed her arms and her legs and did her best to remain rigid and inflexible. But the men didn’t seem to care how much they hurt her. They pushed her down into the box and even then she tried to climb out. She could remember the fear and the loneliness of the last time she had been inside the box and she didn’t think she could stand it again.

  She grabbed the sides and tried to pull herself up. Acreage stamped on her fingers with his heavy boots and she cried out. There was nothing she could do now except send out one last call for help: ‘Help me daddy!’

  The lid came down over her head and snuffed out the last of the light. She was suddenly sure that there wasn’t going to be enough oxygen for her to carry on breathing and she was desperate to get out. She felt as if she was going to die.

  There was no sound and nothing to see. Bridget lay on her back looking at where she thought the ceiling was, panting and feeling her heart pound against her chest. She waited to see if anything else would happen but there was nothing beyond the darkness and no thought other than her own.

  Bridget knew that she wouldn’t be able to do it but she tried anyway. She reached out to try and find her father but all she heard was her own mind. The old fear that it had all been a dream, a fantasy, that maybe she was the only one in the whole world, that this box might actually be the whole world, came back with surprising speed. It was all so easy to believe and yet she had to hold on to the idea that it wasn’t so.

  CHAPTER 5

  GRAHAM WALKED LIKE A GHOST THROUGH THE BUSY street. It was the middle of the afternoon and he wasn’t used to being in public at such an hour. The noise was startling. He walked slowly and tried to take it all in as if it might make some kind of sense, as if what he was seeing was some part of a larger picture, a painting that he could somehow decode and decipher.

  He had grown used to living his life beneath the dark cloak of night and being out now in the daytime left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing.

  For the last few nights he’d tried to contact Bridget without success. As a result he’d found it difficult to sleep and his body had begun to revert to its old daytime routine. He found himself up earlier and earlier until today, when he’d woken before noon.

  He felt like a visitor in the city and, in some ways, he supposed he still was. He had never found an understanding with it in the way he had with Odamere.

  He passed places that he knew should be familiar but didn’t feel it. He had seen the whole street many times in the dark but it seemed different now. Two young boys kicked a ball back and forth. A woman shouted something that he didn’t quite hear. It was all so lively and different to the world that had become familiar to him.

  Graham walked on. He didn’t have any purpose but that was something he was becoming used to. His life was without purpose when he wasn’t looking for Bridget.

  On the corner he saw a man that he recognised. He slowed down, not sure whether it was someone he needed to avoid or not. Whether it was someone from his old life or this new thing that didn’t feel quite like a life at all. It took him a moment but he eventually recognised the broad shoulders and thinning hair of Detective Poleman.

  Graham had no need to avoid the detective but he turned down a narrow alley rather than engage him. He didn’t want to answer a lot of questions and he didn’t know if Poleman could be trusted. His instincts told him that he could but he’d thought the same thing about Hayes and that had proven to be a mistake.

  The new street was narrow and smelled of sewage. The buildings were tightly packed and still there were people out on the street. Little girls in dirty clothes, their hair pulled back off their face. Little boys shouting at each other and playing as if they were older than they were.

  They watched Graham as he passed amongst them. They could tell, he thought, that he didn’t belong there. He wasn’t part of their world and they weren’t part of his.

  He kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead and tried to ignore them. A girl called out behind him and instinctively he turned.

  She wasn’t much older than Bridget would have been. Was still. She had dirty blond hair and a muddy face. She looked as if she’d spent the morning playing in the dirt or maybe up a chimney. She stood in the middle of the road looking at him but he hadn’t heard what she’d said.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t--“ he began but she brushed him off.

  “Never mind mister,” she said. When she turned her bunched hair spun out from her head.

  “I didn’t hear you,” Graham said. He took a step towards her. “What did you say?”

  She turned back around to face him and he could see the red sores across her cheeks and a rheumy sunken look in her eyes. She was just a child but she looked like she was entering old age.

  “Can you spare a penny?” the girl said.

  “I...” Graham reached into his pocket. He didn’t have much money and no source of getting any more, but the little girl looked as if she needed it more than he did. “Here,” Graham said and held out twopence.

  She looked at the coin in his hand and then up at him.

  “Go ahead,” Graham said. “Take it.”

  She nervously reached for the coin and then snatched it out of his hand. She didn’t hang around to thank him and went running back along the street the way he’d come.

  Graham looked at the dirty envious looks of the other children who had seen the exchange. They were all worthy causes for charity but there was only so much to go around.

  He straightened up and carried on walking down the narrow street. He didn’t know where it led but that didn’t seem to matter very much. The important thing was to avoid an encounter with Poleman.

  At the end of the street he came to another road. He eagerly left the narrow residential street behind and rejoined the throng of faceless people going about their daily business.

  He walked for a while marvelling at the fact that houses and businesses of such prosperity could exist so close to the abject poverty in the side street. It was the way of the world, he supposed, but it still made him uncomfortable to see the ladies in their fine dresses walking along the clean paved streets while just a few feet away there were little girls whose parents couldn’t even afford to buy them shoes.

  A woman walked towards him. She had blond hair, blue eyes and an air of familiarity. She h
ad a boy either side of her but there was no familial resemblance. She pulled them along beside her and barely glanced in his direction.

  Graham turned as she passed. He couldn’t make the connection but he was sure that he knew the woman. He watched her walk away and he still didn’t know why she seemed so familiar. The mystery of it made him feel as if he was going to go crazy.

  He walked after her. “Excuse me, Miss,” Graham said.

  She didn’t stop. Graham realised that she didn’t realise that he was calling to her. He began to walk more quickly and caught up. He walked past her and stopped directly in her path.

  “Pardon me,” Graham said.

  “Do you mind sir,” the lady said. She pulled the arm of one unruly boy and then looked at Graham. Her face fell.

  Graham recognised her but he still couldn’t say why. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I thought I... you look very familiar.”

  If she was offended by his forthright speech she did not show it. She simply continued to look at him as though he was a ghost.

  The lady didn’t say anything and Graham began to doubt his original conviction. She looked familiar, certainly, but Lunden was a big place with many thousands of people in it. There were only so many faces to go around. He was ready to apologise and leave her alone but, before he could, she finally spoke.

  “Detective Kable?”

  In that instant, hearing her say his name, he realised who she was. “Carol?”

  They stood in the street staring at each other for more than a minute. Graham had never expected to see her again. He was stunned to see her there now and, in no small way, delighted. They might have stayed locked in that moment for another whole minute if one of the boys Carol was holding hadn’t suddenly broken away and the other one quickly followed.

  “Thomas!” Carol shouted. She leaned forward to try and grab his hand again. “William!”