Missing Piece

by Emma Snow

  I’d seen it in the kids at the home, I’d seen the behaviour of the parents coming out in the kids. He’s like the worst of that in one person, all the bad things a person can be compacted together to make him evil. There’s no other way of looking at someone like him.

  So what can I do? All I can do is watch them, do what I can to keep them safe, the two that are left. He’ll be hiding under a rock like the worm he is, biding his time. But-

  Jenny stopped reading, the book dropping onto the bed as a hand fell on her shoulder, gripping tightly. She spun round, her mouth open in silent shock.

  “What are you doing reading my book?” her Granddad asked.

  FORTY-ONE

  Martha wasn’t in the room with Ben. Her body was there, sitting on the bed, muttering pointless apologies. Her mind was far away.

  It was in the old classroom, the room she hated. The home was laid out in such a way that to get from her bedroom to there took about three minutes. She used to dread that walk. When he told her to go there, that it was time to play games, she couldn’t not go. He’d threatened not to kill her if she refused, but to kill her friends. He knew who was friends with who, he knew which buttons to push to make them do his bidding. He knew what to say so she went. It worked.

  She walked the eight thousand miles, each footstep taking an eternity, her mind filling with dread, all hope and joy draining out of her. She knew what was coming. The worst part was knowing but being unable to do anything to stop it.

  She was in the classroom, having walked the death march to it. The others were there, sat around the board game, doing their best not to cry. He liked it when they cried.

  It was the day he told her the truth about the gaming pieces, the day when the misery turned into a nightmare from which she was certain she would never escape. Lisa was to her left, reaching into the bag to pull out a piece. He was watching with his tongue sticking out in excitement, breathing heavily.

  The game had finished and the final thing to do was to choose who ‘won.’

  He said the Gods would choose for them. Martha took the decision out of their hands. She held the cloth bag in just the right way, she could see inside. She took the black knight. He noticed. He took her to one side. He made her use the scourge again, warning the others not to look around. They all stood facing the wall.

  He watched her whip her bare back with the scourge, his hands on her nipples, the touch of him far worse than the bitter sting of the scourge cutting into her skin.

  He leaned forwards, his voice no more than a whisper as he took the scourge from her. She could feel his breath on her ear and she recoiled as far as she could, wanting to run, too afraid of what he’d do if she did.

  “Do you know what they’re made of?” he asked, waving the black knight in front of her face.

  She shook her head, not wanting to speak, knowing the tremor in her voice would only excite him further.

  “Bone,” he breathed into her ear, the sound little more than a soft hiss. “The knuckle bones of naughty little girls like you. You cheat again and your pretty fingers will make me a new set of pieces, understand?”

  She was there as if she’d never left. The sheer unadulterated terror she’d felt at that moment was as real as it had been at the time, as pure, as undiluted a fear as she’d ever known, far stronger than anything that came before or since. She knew at that moment that he would kill her. Sooner or later he would kill her and there was nothing she could do about it. She opened her mouth as he loomed over her, his hands on her shoulders, a scream escaping that was so loud, it hurt her ears and made her throat burn.

  FORTY-TWO

  When she screamed, Ben let go of her shoulders. He had thought that he would be able to comfort her. The look in her eyes had scared him. She looked so vacant, as if she wasn’t there, as if her mind had melted away, leaving nothing at all behind. Yet her face continued to twist, to contort with fear as if she was in agony. It had only been a few seconds since she’d pushed him away but it seemed a lot longer.

  He crossed the room slowly towards her, seeing her staring past him, her mouth muttering apologies she had no need to say. All he wanted to do was comfort her. He put his hands on her shoulders but she screamed so loudly, he jolted backwards as if he’d been electrocuted.

  The scream seemed to bring her back. She blinked, her eyes focussing on him for the first time. The noise faded away as she wrapped her knees up under her chin, perching on the edge of the bed and looking utterly miserable. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “You should go. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll go if you want me to,” he replied quietly, risking taking a single step towards her. “But I’d rather stay.”

  “Why? Want to look at the freak a little longer?”

  “No,” he said, frowning slightly at the thought that she could think that way. “I’m worried about you.”

  She didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the floor. He crossed the space between them and sat on the bed, saddened by the way she recoiled from him. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  “I’ve ruined things, haven’t I?” she said into her knees.

  “Not in the slightest.”

  He held her. She let him.

  He thought about what had happened to her. Should he tell her that he knew? Would it help? Or would it look like he’d been sneaking around behind her back? The wine had left his system the moment she pushed him away, the warmth of desire had turned into something deeper. He wanted to look after her. It wasn’t a feeling that he was used to. He’d spent a long time being certain that the only person he wanted to look after was himself. But sitting next to him was another human being and he cared more deeply about her than about people he’d known for far longer.

  He wasn’t sure how it had happened. He didn’t even care that much. The important thing was that it had happened. He wanted to look after her, he wanted to make her feel better. She was in so much pain and he would have given anything to take even the smallest amount from her. He could only hold her. He said nothing, it wasn’t the right time.

  He felt her shivering though the room wasn’t cold. He knew about flashbacks, he’d had enough of his own after Zoë had died, reliving that night many, many times afterwards. It was obvious that something he’d done had brought out a memory of what had happened to her all those years ago and she had lost control of herself while it happened. He couldn’t judge her for that. She was a long way from getting over her past.

  He realised something then, something that scared him. He refused to countenance it for more than the briefest of moments. It was far too soon to think like that. He’d barely gotten to know her. It was madness to think like that. So he put the thought away, he would deal with it some other time. Instead he looked at her.

  He didn’t think about his father. Afterwards, he felt guilty for that forgetfulness. But at the time, his mind was only capable of thinking about her, about what he could do to make her feel better, about hoping that she wouldn’t push him away in her pain. He wasn’t sure he would be able to bear it if she did that.

  FORTY-THREE

  Jenny lay in bed feeling a mixture of guilt and anger. She was furious with herself for not hearing him come home, for reading his diary. If anyone read hers, she would never forgive them. And yet he had simply taken the book from her and then told her, “It’s time for bed.”

  He’d left her cleaning her teeth and when she emerged, his bedroom door was already closed. She called goodnight through the door but got no answer. Climbing into bed, a wave of guilt washed over her. It stopped her from sleeping.

  There had been large parts of the diary she hadn’t understood. He had talked at length about things that meant nothing to her but despite that, she felt she understood him better than before. She had only known him as an old man with a few scars, someone she rarely saw for reasons she didn’t understand. Now she felt a new bond with him and that was why she felt so guilty. There was little shame in sneaking behind the back o
f someone you barely knew, but she saw him as a hero, someone who had saved the lives of two girls little older than she was.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Tea didn’t solve everything, Ben thought as he carried the mugs through to the living room, but it at least took the edge off the worst of things.

  Martha was wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa. A little of the colour had come back to her cheeks, he noticed as he sat down next to her, but she still looked shaken.

  He was glad she’d shared. It had clearly been difficult for her. Upstairs, he’d dressed her, putting her pyjama top back on as she sat as immobile as a statue. Then she’d just begun to talk, so much coming out it was hard to take it all in at first. She told him things he already knew and things he would never have guessed. He found out how she ended up in the care home in the first place, how she wanted to die for a very long time, how long the abuse went on for, why the black knight gaming piece had scared her so much when she’d seen it in the castle grounds. He sat and listened, his heart going out to her. All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and protect her from everything, keep her safe and take all the pain away. Unable to do that, he made tea instead.

  “You’re safe now,” he said after a long silence. He wanted to continue talking but couldn’t think of how to go on.

  “If he died, who put the black knight out in the chapel?”

  “Someone who was trying to scare you away from here. Think about it. Someone finds out about your past, someone who stands to gain if you’re no longer around.”

  “Who?”

  “I think I’ve got a good idea and I’m going to pay him a visit tomorrow morning.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Ben, I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “I’m not some Mafia hitman, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m just going to talk to him.”

  “To who?”

  “I’ll explain everything afterwards, I promise.”

  “But why can’t you tell me now?”

  “Because you’ve got enough to be dealing with and I refuse to throw any extra shit at you.”

  They lapsed into silence. Ben looked at Martha. She’d fallen asleep, her head lolling to one side. He caught her mug just as it slipped from her hand. Looking around, he saw a blanket on the arm of the chair on the far side of the room. Picking it up, he unfolded it before draping it over her. He watched over her, running through his plans in his head, exactly what he was going to do when he went to visit Alex.

  FORTY-FIVE

  D.C.I Gregg reached Helmsley. He parked in the main visitor car park, noting how empty it was, not surprising given it was ten at night. He’d all the information he needed. Lucas had been thorough. Timothy Burleigh had used his credit card to pay for the holiday cottage Gregg was walking towards. He’d bought food in a cafe called imaginatively The Old Police Station. He’d paid for entry to the castle that loomed above the car park amongst numerous other items that placed him firmly in Helmsley.

  D.C.I Gregg didn’t know how heavily Timothy was sleeping. The old man didn’t hear him knocking on the door downstairs. Someone else heard him knocking though, someone Gregg would have been very surprised to meet.

  FORTY-SIX

  Jenny sat up in bed when she heard the knocking downstairs. She could hear her Granddad snoring in the next bedroom. She had not long been asleep herself, her dreams filled with the things she’d read about in the diary. As she sat up, she yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes and hoping he would wake up and deal with whoever it was. She had no intention of going downstairs and opening the door. She was already more scared of the world than she’d been before the start of the holiday. She hadn’t known there could be people like Samuel Lyons in it. She had been lucky enough to not know what people like him did to children like her.

  From the corner of the room was a movement and before she could react, a figure had leapt out, grabbing hold of her and pressing a hand over her mouth.

  She tried to scream but he pressed harder, blocking her nostrils too. Leaning down, the man hissed in her ear. “Make a sound and I will cut your throat. Understand?”

  She nodded slowly, feeling a sudden need to pee so urgent it was painful. She tried to squirm away from him but he was too strong for her, lifting her to his feet. “I’m going to move my hand away,” he whispered. “You are going to be a good little girl and come downstairs with me. Understand?”

  She nodded frantically. He lifted his hand away from her mouth, curling his fingers into a fist. “Make any noise and I use this,” he said, revealing a knife in his other hand. “Now come with me. We're going to write a little note, that's all.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  D.C.I Gregg thought about knocking again but then decided against it. If there was anyone in there, they were asleep. There were no lights on. He was very interested in speaking to Timothy Burleigh but he wasn’t one hundred percent certain the man was in there. Breaking down the door was not a good idea, not when all he was really going on was his instincts.

  Lucas had got back to him about Martha. She had changed her surname to Coalman on the tax forms, enough to make an easy search for her into a surprisingly long winded one. He went to her cottage next but the lights were also out in there. No one answered his knock.

  Something wasn’t right about all this but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The dead body he’d been dragged back to had owned the car that had been found burnt out a few miles north of Helmsley. The number plate information had been given to Lucas by the local bobby up here. It could be a coincidence but he doubted it. The pieces were there, he just had to put them together. Something was missing and until he found it, he was lost.

  He turned away from her door, glancing at the time on his watch. Either everyone in this town went to bed early or something was going on. He knew he had to make a choice, break in and risk his career being thrown in the dustbin if he was wrong, or wait until the morning and try again.

  He made the wrong choice. He decided he was better waiting until the morning. She worked at the castle, she wouldn’t just vanish, the tax office had shown how long she’d been there, long enough to make a career of it. He would walk into the castle tomorrow and find out exactly where she was. Someone would know. Then he’d talk to her, find out what she knew about Timothy Burleigh, if she thought he might be a threat. He’d have to word things carefully so as not to scare her but he could handle that.

  Walking towards the marketplace, he saw that at least the lights were on in the pub by the fountain. He hoped they had some rooms available, he didn’t fancy sleeping in his car.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  On the day the comet was due to appear in the sky, Samuel was in his holiday cottage. The body in the cellar was beginning to smell, the pungency of her decay seeping upwards to where he sat and ate breakfast. It was the day of the offering. He was more excited than he’d ever been in his life. The wheels were turning. There was no stopping it now, not now that he had the little girl in his keeping. To think how happy the Gods would be when he offered them both up instead of just Martha. He looked down at Jenny, seeing the fear in her eyes, tasting the beauty of the pure emotion as if it were a solid thing. She wept. He grinned at her.

  FORTY-NINE

  While Samuel ate the last meal of his stay in Helmsley, Timothy slept, the exertions of the previous few days having caught up with him. Martha slept too, as did Peter, though his sleep had been induced with the help of copious amounts of morphine.

  D.C.I Gregg was finishing his breakfast, preparing to go and knock on Martha’s door again. He planned to speak to Timothy afterwards but ended up spending far longer than he thought with the last surviving victim of the Gamesman.

  Ben had been up the longest. He had awoken with a pain in the back of his neck, the result of sleeping at an awkward angle on the sofa. To his right, Martha was still. He left her, quietly heading out to his hire car. He had a long journey ahead of him if he was going to get to Alex and he wanted it over w
ith as quickly as possible. He knew it was a risk heading so far away with his father seriously ill but he didn’t feel that he had a choice. It wasn’t a conversation he could have over the phone. It needed to be in person.

  It took four hours to get there. Alex had built up his business enough to have two offices. He couldn’t have been in the York one, no, that would have been too simple. He had to be in Edinburgh. A call to his offices had helped establish that, his secretary only too helpful to a potential investor.

  Ben spent the drive thinking about Martha. It was gone noon when he reached the office, getting lost in the maze of Edinburgh streets for some time before finally finding the office. He then had to waste more time finding somewhere to park. Once that was finally achieved, he walked back to the office. There were brochures in the reception. Most were related to projects in Scotland but a few showed pictures of a place Ben hardly recognised.

  It was Helmsley Castle but it wasn’t. Where flat expanses of grass had been, there were stalls and rides, next to reassuring language about guaranteed profits and the chance to get in on the ground floor. The holiday cottages were gone in the aerial photos, replaced by a gleaming glass apartment tower. Next to that was a tarmac expanse twice the size of the current car park, a few trees all that was left of the woodland. Ben was disgusted. Flicking through the pages he couldn’t believe the audacity of the man. The Great Hall reimagined as conference venue. The only thing missing was a zipline from the top of the East Tower. He had to have bribed the planning committee, there was no way they could have signed off on such things without serious amounts of money in their back pockets.

  “Mr Hill will see you now,” the smiling receptionist said. Ben had to concentrate to not let his anger show.