Missing Piece

by Emma Snow

  “Duh!” she said, giving him a shove. “Of course I want to go. Where are we going?”

  “That’s a surprise.”

  “Does Mummy know?”

  “She was the one who suggested it. Now we need to head to yours and pack. You’ll need things for a few days.”

  “Can I bring some books?”

  “I suppose so.” As he talked, he walked towards the car and she skipped alongside him. “How was homework club?”

  “We found out about the life cycle of the frog. And I got to practise on the piano too.”

  “Have you been learning piano?” he asked as he opened the passenger door for her. The child’s seat was still there. He’d never had the heart to take it out.

  “For about a year. Didn’t Mummy tell you?”

  “She probably did. My memory’s not as good as it used to be. Come on then, you can tell me about frogs playing piano on the way.”

  FOURTEEN

  Ben looked up at the castle. He had checked on his father a few minutes earlier, finding him fast asleep. He had tried to sit downstairs and read but found himself unable to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. In the end, he’d stood up and walked outside, stopping only to pick up his jacket. He was drawn towards the castle and he walked across the courtyard to the wall that backed onto the site. Leaning on it, he was able to see the East Tower looming over him. Silhouetted below it was a shape, moving slowly across the grass.

  Intrigued, he climbed over the wall and dropped down onto the ground on the other side. Walking quietly, he felt strangely younger than he was, as if he was sneaking in, about to be told off for doing so by his father when he was found out as he always had been when he was little. He could keep nothing from Peter back then.

  He stopped by the chapel. The figure was coming towards him. Another few steps and he recognised who it was. “Trespassing on private property?” he asked, allowing himself a smile.

  “I suppose so,” Martha replied. “Although so are you.”

  “Ah, well my father owns the place so I thought it was allowed.”

  “And I work for him so I thought it was allowed.”

  “I guess that’s that sorted then.”

  Martha sat on the bench next to her and looked up at him. Even in the darkness, he could see the sparkling of her eyes. He sat down next to her, looking at the silhouetted great hall, silent and still.

  “Do you often walk around here at night?” he asked after a minute’s silence.

  “Sometimes.” She paused as if waiting for him to answer before continuing. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “I’m guessing it’s because you like the peace and quiet.”

  She answered quietly. “That’s right.”

  She was lying. That was interesting. Ben found himself wondering why. He felt a spot of rain hit his cheek as he looked up at the sky, the stars nowhere to be seen.

  “Do you like working here?” he asked.

  “I do,” she replied. “What about you? How’s it feel to be back?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I should head back and check on Dad.”

  “You did the right thing,” she called after him as he began to walk away. He stopped and turned back to her.

  “About what?”

  “Staying the night. Peter can be stubborn but I know he loves you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  She stood up and joined him, angling towards the visitor centre. Pulling a set of keys from her pocket, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Wait there a second,” she said as a box on the wall by the office began to beep slowly. She hit four buttons on its keypad and it let out a long tone in response before falling silent. “In here.”

  He followed her into the office. She pointed at the wall and he followed her finger, spying the portrait of him, the one that had been on the wall for as long as he could remember. “He kept it,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

  “I know he’s angry and I know it’s none of my business but life is very short, Mr Robertson. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to run away this time.”

  He grunted. “I better get back.”

  “Sure, I’ll let you out the front if you like, save you climbing back over the wall.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “I might walk around a little longer. Goodnight, Mr Robertson.” She unlocked the front door and held it open for him.

  “Ben,” he replied as he stepped out, placing his hand on top of hers, hoping to reassure her. She looked frightened all of a sudden and he didn’t know why. “Call me Ben.”

  “Goodnight, Ben,” she said as she pulled the door closed.

  He heard the key jangling in the lock as he walked back around to the courtyard. He was about to head into his father’s house when he returned to the wall, looking over it once again. He wasn’t looking to see her again, he was just looking. He leaned on the wall, his head on his elbows, thinking about when he was too small to even see over this wall, how he used to think the knights might come back any time, come bursting out of the castle on horseback, swords at the ready.

  He had nightmares sometimes in which a red knight, horse’s nostrils flaring, would burst into his room, swing a sword down at him as he slept.

  He hadn’t thought about that dream for twenty years. What had brought that back?

  He shook his head, standing up straight, suddenly feeling very tired. He was about to turn and head inside when he heard the scream. It was loud, piercing, a woman’s scream. His head jolted upright. He was wide awake in an instant. The scream was coming from inside the castle grounds.

  FIFTEEN

  Martha hadn’t been able to tell Ben the truth. It would have led to a question she didn’t want to answer. Why?

  She walked around the castle at night sometimes not to clear the air, or to enjoy the peace. She did it to test herself, to prove to herself that the fear wouldn’t win, that he hadn’t beaten her.

  She didn’t like to see herself as victim or survivor of what had happened to her as a child. She preferred to see herself as separate to both of those things. They were part of her past and she was a different person in the past. As an adult she was in charge of herself and her emotions.

  That was why she sometimes walked onto the site long after nightfall. Around every dark corner, she expected someone to leap out, to dive on her. Her unconscious whispered to her that she was being stupid, that fear was a helpful emotion, it was there to keep her safe, to keep her away from dangerous situations.

  She did it anyway. Walking across the grass in the dead of night was her way of proving she could overcome fear, that she could handle the terror that bubbled up in her. She would tell herself she was safe as she walked and her strolls took the same pattern every time. For the first couple of minutes, she would feel stricken by gut wrenching terror, her bladder seemingly full to bursting, her hands shaking, nausea washing over her.

  That would slowly subside the longer she walked. After about ten minutes, it would reduce to a low hum and she would start to feel better. Her fingers wouldn’t dig into her palms any longer, her heart would start to slow until by twenty minutes in she would feel good, feel that she had once again conquered the fear of the dark, of what might lurk out there.

  It was embedded in her to be scared of the dark. It wasn’t just because Samuel would take her into the cleaning cupboard for the worst of what he did to her, leaving the light off. It was because in the bedroom with the lights out was worse. She would lay and relive what he’d done, disgusted with herself for letting it happen. When he was physically touching her, there was at least a time limit. He began. He stopped. But in bed, he did it again and again, her mind forcing her to relive it whether she wanted to or not.

  The fear of the dark had remained with her since then. When she began working at the castle, she made a decision. She was tired of feeling frightened. He was dead. Nothing out there could ever be
as big a threat as he had been.

  She had taken to evening strolls, deliberately taking them after work. At first, she had barely lasted a minute before sprinting for her house, switching on all the lights before leaning back against the front door and sobbing quietly, the way she had learned to do it, so as not to draw any attention to herself.

  She refused to give up. As time went by, it became easier until by the night Ben returned, she was able to walk around the grounds for any length of time she chose. The initial fear was still there, overwhelming as ever. It ebbed and flowed in receding waves, each one smaller the longer she was out there. But all in all, she had come to enjoy her walks, proof that she was winning against all the odds. Imagining the castle was hers alone helped with that, allowing her to dream of a life in a world long since vanished.

  She had watched Ben walking away from the visitor centre, unsure why he had put his hand on top of hers. She was also confused as to why the touch had calmed her, the warmth of his skin on hers making her feel something she didn’t recognise or understand. Perhaps it was because he was connected to the castle, a place to which she had already developed a great affinity.

  Walking back onto the site, she had lingered on the thought of his hand on hers, somehow it kept the worst of the growing terror at bay. She crossed the drawbridge over the earthworks, walking slowly, breathing as calmly as she could, the dark enveloping her as if it was thick and solid, like treacle, penetrating her lungs and her bloodstream, doing its best to crush her, to squeeze the life out of her.

  “There’s nothing here that can hurt you,” she said out loud, thinking of the scourge sitting in the office drawer.

  Finding that had made her want to hide away, refuse to do anything but lock the doors and close the curtains. That was why she was more determined than ever not to give into the fear. It was like walking across hot coals, it wasn’t done because it was easy, it was done because it was difficult, because it proved she wasn’t the scared child of her past. No longer was she beholden to others and what they wanted her to do, she was in charge of her life, in charge of her emotions.

  He appeared from behind the chapel wall just as her fear was starting to fade away.

  It came roaring back in an instant. She was twelve again, alone with him, terrified, her heart trying to leap out of her chest, her feet fixed to the floor. In a minute he’d have her out of her clothes, his hands sliding up her thighs, shoving her knees apart.

  She staggered back as the figure loomed over her with a sword held high above his head. Tripping over her own feet, she fell to the ground. The sword moved down towards her and the scream that had been stuck in her throat since he’d first appeared finally escaped into the night air. The sound pierced the silence as she scrambled backwards, trying to get away from him.

  This all took place in just a couple of seconds. From a great distance, she heard someone saying something but she was still screaming, her hands flailing, knowing what would happen if the sword swung downwards.

  There was the sound of sprinting footsteps rushing through the grass and then a second figure was by her side. “I’m sorry,” the figure in front of her said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She blinked, not hearing the words as a hand fell onto her shoulder, forcing her to look to her right.

  A man was there, kneeling next to her, putting his around her. “Martha,” he was saying from a very long way away. “Are you all right?”

  She screwed up her eyes, coming back to herself as she realised it was Ben knelt there, looking anxiously across at her.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said again. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  Martha looked up at the figure standing over her. He was shorter than he had been a moment ago, stooped over. He was wearing a long white robe, hood low over his face, and she realised as he turned away from her that it wasn’t a sword held over his head, it was a long staff. In her panic, she had seen something that wasn’t there.

  Her heart was still racing as the man walked away, picking up the pace as Ben called for him to stop. “Should I go after him?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “There’s no point.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Pagan,” she said, a slightly hysterical giggle bubbling out from between her lips.

  “What?”

  “A Pagan,” she said, taking his offered hand and getting slowly to her feet. “They sneak in sometimes. He probably came back to get his scourge.”

  “His what?”

  “Never mind. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

  Ben smiled, his eyes lighting up in the darkness. “You’re apologising to me? That’s very British.”

  “I suppose it is.” She fell into silence, feeling awkward all of a sudden. She also felt more than a little embarrassed. It had been a long time since she’d screamed about anything and it was only her imagination. She realised she still had a long way to go in overcoming her fear. For a moment, she had been sure it was Samuel.

  “I’ll walk you home,” Ben said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m going to anyway. I want to be sure you’re all right. What if that guy turns out to be a weirdo?”

  “A Pagan in a white robe with a staff conducting some bizarre ritual in a castle chapel in the middle of the night? You think he might turn out to be weird?”

  She was glad of the joke, it took the edge off the tension she was feeling. At least you can still joke, she thought as she let Ben lead the way across to the visitor centre.

  She unlocked the door, dealing with the alarm once again whilst Ben waited in the doorway. Once it was switched off, she crossed towards the front door just as someone knocked on the outside of it. “What now?” she muttered as Ben appeared next to her.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “No idea,” she replied, unlocking the door and leaning out. “We’re closed until the morning.”

  “I know,” the man replied. “I just wanted to pick up the key for the holiday cottage. I’m supposed to be staying in it for the week. I’m bringing my girlfriend up, you see. Don’t tell her but I’m going to propose.”

  “Oh, right,” Martha said in her politest voice. “How lovely for you. Was the key not in the box by the front door?”

  “I forgot the combination,” the man said sheepishly. “I know it was on the letter that got sent out but I managed to lose that. Well done me.”

  “Never mind. It’s 1 - 1 - 3 - 2.”

  “Oh, the year the castle was founded,” the man said with a smile. “That’s clever. Well, thanks very much. I’ll maybe see you in the morning.”

  “Maybe,” Martha said, pulling the door closed once again. She turned to Ben and lowered her voice. “We’ll give him a minute to go. I’ve had enough of making small talk for one day.”

  “Fine by me,” Ben said, reaching for a book on the shelf next to him, flicking through it by the light of the drinks cabinet.

  “I think he’s gone,” Martha said a few seconds later. She hadn’t wanted to admit being too scared to leave yet. Nor did she want to admit how glad she was that Ben walked her all the way to her front door, seeing her inside before bidding her goodnight and turning to head to his own house.

  She locked the door before calming down. There’s nothing to worry about, she told herself, walking through to the kitchen and flicking on the kettle.

  While waiting for it to boil, she opened the bread bin and pushed two slices into the toaster, collecting the margarine and jam from the fridge in time for them to pop back up.

  She didn’t feel hungry, the adrenaline yet to fully fade from her body. She knew she had to eat something though which was why she sat at the table with the toast and tea, loading the Internet on her phone. She checked her email, nothing from Lisa.

  She wondered if Lisa was going to come and visit her. It had been a while since she’d sent her the email and she’d on
ly had a non-committal response back. It wasn’t like it was a thousand miles from Chester to Helmsley. She missed her friend, not something she would ever have admitted to anyone but she did. Much as she liked to think she needed only herself to get by in the world, she missed her company. Theirs was a shared pain, no one else could possibly know what it was like to have survived contact with the Gamesman after all. Only her and Lisa.

  Done with her email, she loaded one of her books on the Kindle app and continued reading.

  She thought about Lisa and about the game he’d made them play, rereading the same sentence again and again, her mind back in the past. The last time she’d felt as scared as she had tonight was when he’d told them it would be their final game.

  For a while there was a cultural cache attached to having the board game he’d used. The Knights of Yore. Four knights, black, red, white, green. The game was out of print but copies did the rounds on Ebay, normally snapped up by fans of the Gamesman. People idolised him in a love/hate way as they had Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy. That was because they hadn’t lived with it. They could never know what it was like to be handed the canvas with the four knights inside.

  Martha had learned that if you angled the bag, you could just make out the colour of the knights before you brought them out. Whoever found the black knight was the ‘winner.’ She would choose the black knight to make sure she won. It was the only way to protect the others. She couldn’t make him stop but at least she could control who he did it to. It was the only power she had and she learned to use it to protect the other girls as best she could.

  He would always pick one extra girl, make her watch. Lisa had to watch what he did to her on too many occasions. He must have known he was taking a risk, doing it with a witness present. But he didn’t seem to care, pointing out that they would be dead long before he was arrested if they dared tell anyone.

  “I’ll find out and it’ll be far worse for you. Think anyone will believe you? Go ahead and try it but remember I have the keys to your bedrooms.”

  In theory, the bedrooms were private. In reality, copies of the keys were easily available, held in the central office in case an evacuation needed to be carried out. Martha was not surprised to find out Samuel had keys. She’d often found gifts on her pillow, unwanted gifts designed to remind her just how much control he had over her.