Vengeance Child

by Simon Clark

  ‘I’m warning you.’ The man’s face turned white with fury.

  ‘I see it now.’ Victor picked up the thread. ‘All along you’ve been a problem child in a man’s suit. It adds up. You crave your own way all the time. When you can’t get it, you plot revenge.’

  ‘Enough of the pseudo-psychology.’ Wilkes stepped down into the vault. ‘It’s time to negotiate a deal, Brodman. You want these two to live. I want you to take the blame for Ghorlan’s death.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Deadly serious. You want something. I want something. We can do a deal here. All that’s required is to agree the fee.’

  Victor’s hand tightened around the hammer shaft. All he needed was for the man to be distracted, then he’d slam the hammer through the murderer’s skull.

  ‘What kind of fee?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Coming to your senses, eh, Brodman? It’s about time. You will write a short confession: “Poor me, in a fit of jealousy I killed my wife. All my fault. I confess. Nobody else to blame.” You know the kind of thing. You sign it, then I’ll let these friends of yours go.’

  ‘What about me?’ Victor tensed, ready to deliver a fatal blow with the hammer. All he needed was Wilkes to move a few steps closer. ‘Why don’t you think I’d retract the confession?’

  ‘Because,’ Wilkes said slyly, ‘a good contract always contains watertight clauses to protect the strongest party to the agreement. You’ve got this disease, Brodman. In a few hours you’ll be dead. Detectives will surmise that knowing you’re on your deathbed you made the tragic confession that you killed Ghorlan. Of course, the remorse will be too much. With the last of your strength you manage to reach your shotgun. Bang. A merciful end.’

  ‘If I agree,’ Victor began, ‘then you promise to release Laura and Archer?’

  ‘Victor,’ Laura shouted, ‘don’t trust him. He’ll never let us go. Once you’ve signed the confession he’ll kill us all.’

  Victor played for time. ‘Laura,’ he said, ‘he’s got the gun. What can we do?’

  ‘Not trust that creep for a start.’ She glared at Wilkes. ‘You know, I’ve just realized something. This virus that’s sweeping the island. It started here first. The ferrymen took it back to the mainland. Somewhere in the river there’s another empty phial and a dart gun.’

  Victor blinked. ‘You tried to infect the deer again?’

  ‘And successfully this time, now there’s been no interference from the Brodman clan.’

  ‘If you used a virus that infects common species of deer then you’ve screwed up.’

  ‘How come?’ Wilkes’ air of confidence weakened.

  ‘How long have you lived here, Wilkes? You know the stories.’

  ‘That children were magically transformed into the animals when the island sank out in the river? Dear God, man, that’s just a fairy tale.’

  ‘The legend indicates they are different to other deer. They’re not only a unique species but there are key biological differences. Saban eat kelp as well as grass. Their stomachs have developed differently, and so have their immune systems. They don’t catch the same kind of illnesses as other deer types, like certain forms of TB and lungworm. When that virus of yours went into their blood it didn’t make the herd sick. Instead the germ mutated. Eventually people picked it up from contact with kelp and grasses that the animals have touched.’ Despite the fact that Wilkes held the gun on them Victor couldn’t stop himself. ‘You idiot, Wilkes. This epidemic is your fault. You tried to infect the deer herd, but you infected us.’

  There was silence as Wilkes digested the facts. ‘OK,’ he hissed, ‘it looks as if it will be a case of third time lucky. Next time I’ll poison the damn things with cyanide. Then I’ll have the forest ripped down. Just imagine the lovely, valuable building plots I can get out of that. Then if . . .’ Wilkes stopped talking. Something had distracted him, yet he appeared uncertain what it was. Taking another step, he peered into the shadows. Victor noticed that Archer had stiffened. He sensed something, too. Laura’s eyes roved about the vault. A change had occurred in the place. Victor couldn’t identify it, either. Just a suggestion that it wasn’t the same place it was five minutes ago. He turned to the car. Had something stirred inside of it? His mouth went dry. Any second he expected the door to creak open.

  Dazed, Archer suddenly spoke. ‘He’s here . . . he’s here.’

  Wilkes spun round, shotgun at the ready. ‘Who’s there?’ He aimed into the darkness where the light of the lantern couldn’t penetrate. ‘Show yourselves.’

  A figure emerged slowly . . . step by step.

  ‘Jay.’ Laura sounded more shocked than relieved that she’d found the boy.

  Victor held up his hand. ‘Wilkes, don’t shoot. He’s only a child.’

  Wilkes aimed at Jay’s face. ‘Only a child?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve seen him before. This is the creature that terrifies the children, isn’t it? He scares them witless.’

  Jay stared at Wilkes without a trace of emotion. ‘Mayor Wilkes,’ he murmured.

  ‘Ha, one of your smarter orphans.’ Wilkes tightened his finger on the trigger. ‘Maybe I should blow his head off to prove I mean business.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that, Wilkes,’ Victor told him. ‘I’ll sign the confession. Just promise me these three can leave.’

  Jay’s almond-shaped eyes burned in the light of the lamps. A sheen of perspiration appeared on his face. As if only half-conscious he moved his lips. No sound came out.

  ‘Nurse Parris,’ Wilkes snapped, ‘it seems as if another of your brood have lost their wits. God alone knows what you do to those brats at the orphanage.’

  Before she could speak Jay took another step forward. His lips moved again.

  Wilkes kept the gun’s muzzle level with the child’s face. ‘Speak up boy, I can’t hear you. What’s that you’re saying?’

  Jay began to speak. ‘Wilkes . . . Mayor Wilkes . . . Wilkes, Wilkes.’

  Archer’s voice rang out in a squeal that combined excitement with pure fear, ‘He’s saying your name! That means bad things are going to happen to you. You’re going to die!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Wilkes swung the gun to Archer. ‘Make him be quiet, or I’ll blast the little worm to kingdom come.’

  ‘You’re insane, Wilkes,’ Victor told him. ‘Don’t you realize that you can’t go round killing people? Have you really lost touch with reality to that extent?’

  Meanwhile, Jay continued to repeat, ‘Wilkes, Wilkes, Mayor Wilkes.’

  ‘You can shut up, too. Little witch? Isn’t that what the others taunted you with? Little witch, little witch, little witch!’ He barked out a laugh but it sounded strained now. ‘See, I’m repeating what they called you!’

  ‘You’re too late, Wilkes.’ Laura spoke with rock solid certainty. ‘Jay’s not like any other boy I’ve met. He’s put a curse on you.’

  ‘Curse?’ The man’s eyes darted from face to face. ‘I can do better than curse. I’ve got this.’ He fired the shotgun at the car’s rear window; glass shattered in a spray of white. In the confined space of the vault the detonation was colossal. When Victor made a move toward him, Wilkes spun back to aim the muzzle at his chest. ‘Don’t you dare.’ The man’s composure had begun to disintegrate. His hands shook. Sweat dripped down his face. He barked at Laura, ‘Stop that child saying my name!’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Make him stop!’

  At that moment Jay did stop. He focused on Wilkes. ‘I’m going to show you something.’

  ‘Yes, yes! Show me some obedience. And shut your mouth.’ A tremor ran through Wilkes’ voice.

  Jay sighed. ‘It’s something bad.’

  Daylight burst through the wall, even though Victor knew it to be dusk outside. Through the light a large object rumbled. A moment later a car drove across the stone floor. From the car scrambled a younger looking Mayor Wilkes. He raced round to the passenger door, yanked it open, then dragged out the lifeless body of Ghorla
n. The gold bracelet twinkled on the wrist. Clumsily, he managed to open the back door, bundled the body on to the back seat, then dragged a blanket over the corpse to hide it from view.

  Present day Wilkes laughed. ‘Is this the worst you can do? Well, do you want to see the worst I can do?’ He swung the gun toward Jay.

  Instantly the scene of Wilkes hiding the body vanished. In the corner of the vault a brilliant radiance appeared. This came from a light shining down on to a steel table. The floor around it was covered in white tiles – a stark, clinical appearance. There, a middle-aged woman in scrubs, and plastic apron, placed bloody organs on to a weighing scale. In a professional manner she crisply read off the readings into a microphone that hung from the ceiling. ‘Spleen: one nine eight grams. Heart: three zero nine grams.’

  Wilkes noticed that a naked figure lay on the steel table. ‘This is an autopsy.’ His once thunderous voice became a whisper. ‘Who’s that on the table? Who is it?’ As if he had no control over his movements, the sight of the supine figure drew him a step toward it. He pointed the shotgun at Jay. ‘He’s doing this. Make him stop!’

  With the man distracted, Victor took his chance. He swung a massive punch at Wilkes’ head where it connected with a satisfying smack. With a grunt he crashed back to the floor. The gun clattered at his side. Laura was there in a second to grab the weapon.

  Victor held out his hand. ‘Laura, give it to me.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, you’re not going to shoot Wilkes. This is going to be far worse for him than an easy death.’

  Wilkes scrambled to his feet. A cut in the shape of a crescent moon opened the skin above his left eyebrow. But the man was too frightened to notice the pain. He held up both hands to block his view of the post-mortem.

  ‘I’m not going to look – I’m not,’ he yelled. ‘You can’t make me. If I don’t see it then it can’t be real.’ Saliva flew from his lips. The man disintegrated into sheer panic. His hands shook, tears streamed down his face. ‘I know you’re trying to trick me. This is a projection. You’ve hidden the equipment! But it won’t work, because I’m not going to look at it.’ He began to shuffle away in the direction of the steps.

  Jay intoned, ‘Wilkes, you must look. I’ve brought this here specially for you.’

  ‘No!’ Again the force exerted itself. Wilkes lowered his hands. Try as he might to stop himself, his foot slithered across a stone slab, then he took another step. And another. By the fourth step he stood on the white tiles of the mortuary.

  When his eyes snapped open he screamed. For there, lying on the coroner’s table, lay the body of a man. Flesh wounds covered it. An angry graze denuded one elbow of skin. But, significantly, Victor saw the crescent-shaped wound he’d inflicted when he punched Wilkes.

  Wilkes had gone to pieces. He squealed in absolute terror. ‘It’s me! How can it be me? I’m here. I’m alive!’ Sobbing, he stared at his own naked corpse. A strangely pathetic and vulnerable figure on the cutting table. Its grey limbs were weak looking, lifeless. A pair of sad eyes had sunk into the sockets, while a huge cavity yawned in the chest, this made by the coroner in order to remove the organs.

  ‘You’ve done this,’ he screamed. ‘It’s a – a projection, a dummy. It’s not real!’

  Yet it could be seen by the way the man howled and wept that he knew it was true. He’d seen himself as he would be just hours from now. What lay ahead after the autopsy was the all-consuming fire of a crematorium furnace. Nothing more.

  Laura’s voice was measured. ‘You’ve been thwarted again. That’s what kills you inside, isn’t it? To be thwarted. To be stopped in your tracks.’ She nodded at the eviscerated corpse that dripped blood into a sluice. ‘So now you will be thwarted for ever.’

  The mayor screamed so hard that his legs buckled. In blind panic he fled up the stairs and out into the storm.

  Forty-Seven

  Wilkes ran. The only time he paused was to unlock the door in the castle wall. Then he raced pell-mell through the forest. By now a deep gloom had been cast over the island. Nightfall was drawing down fast. As winds roared through the branches so memories of what he’d just witnessed in the vault whirled through his mind. The pathetic, grey body lying on the steel table. The coroner intoning the weight of the heart. On the corpse had been his face. How was that possible? Then he remembered how Jay, repeating the name of the teenager, Max, had reduced the youth to panic. He’d leapt into the river in sheer terror. Moments ago, Jay had repeated Wilkes’ name. Now Wilkes, too, ran in blind terror. A pain above his right eye nagged where Victor had punched him. The corpse had displayed an identical wound just above the right eye. Other injuries, too, had covered the naked body. Puncture wounds. And there had been a visible graze on the right elbow.

  Wilkes panted, ‘Get home . . . and stay there . . . I won’t get those other injuries. Then it won’t come true . . . I’ll have won.’ So far, the only wound he’d suffered was the cut above his eye. All he need do was avoid being hurt again.

  Soon Wilkes joined the path that would take him back to the village. The Severn had the blackness of a river flowing right out of hell. Angry waves rose in jagged peaks. Turbulence ripped up the surface as if hungry beasts swam from the depths in search of fresh meat. Even though exhaustion made every limb ache Wilkes pushed homeward. Cloud broke on the horizon. The sun had almost sunk behind the hills but a splinter of it still burned brightly. Clouds racing across its face made it flash like a beacon. The light it pulsed out across Siluria was blood red. For all the world it looked as if a beating heart of gigantic proportions had been perched on the distant hilltop. Wilkes found himself distracted by the uncanny sight.

  Shapes rushed him. He tried to stop, but his feet slithered on the wet path. When he hit the ground the pain flashing up his arm told him he’d taken the force of the fall to his right arm. He remembered the corpse on the cutting table. As well as the wound above the eye there’d been the graze on the elbow. Grunting, he pulled himself to his feet. So intense was the sting in his elbow he felt sick. Two down, one to go. He had to avoid those puncture wounds.

  Then he saw what had caused him to fall. A dozen Saban Deer, after bursting from the bushes to startle him, now trotted along nearby. He searched the ground for what he needed. When he found a thick branch that would serve as a club he pursued the animals, screaming abuse. They were the cause of his woes, too. If it hadn’t been for them he could have torn down the stinking forest and built houses there. The money he’d have made would have been phenomenal.

  Cursing the animals, he chased them. However, they seemed strangely unperturbed. Without any fuss they cantered down the beach toward the water’s edge. Wilkes followed. ‘I’ll kill you. I’m going to break your bloody heads!’

  Shingle gave way to soft mud as he reached the water’s edge. More than once he slithered on it, lost his balance and fell forward on to all fours. Sometimes it was so slippery he had to scramble on his hands and knees. Then, when he could get to his feet to run like a man, the yielding, sucking mud pulled off one of his shoes.

  Right then, it seemed as if the beach was full of Saban. They trotted through the surf, or weaved round uprooted trees. In the light of the dying sun Wilkes saw the big root clusters still dripping with water; the branches were covered with seaweed, making them appear shaggy, like they’d sprouted green pelts. As he ran after the deer he aimed blows at them with the branch. Each time he missed. Fear and rage made his heart race madly. Exertion caused phantom bursts of purple light to flash along his retina. At times he was sure he saw the witch child. At every turn Jay stared at him. Those huge almond-shaped eyes. The uncanny gleam of his face. Wilkes yelled torrents of abuse. This time it was more fear than anger. Wildly, he ran toward the boy. An uprooted tree lay in his path. Being so eager to reach his victim, Wilkes scrambled through the branches rather than waste time by going round.

  He found something snagged at his leg. Carelessly, he jerked his leg to free it. Instantly, a sharp pain flared
up above his knee. Glancing down, he saw something in the blood red light that made him howl. A fish hook, still attached to a line, had embedded itself in his shin. Without thinking, he simply tried to drag his leg from it. But the line, entangled round a branch, pulled taut and the barbed hook slipped deeper into his skin. Desperately, he tried again. This time he lost his balance.

  The instant he fell it seemed as if dozens of bees stung him all at once. From where he lay, face down on sopping branches, he saw fishing lines on which maybe a hundred fish hooks had been strung. Each hook was more than an inch long. And they were armed with wickedly sharp barbs of steel.

  The pain made Wilkes thrash about wildly. This made each hook that embedded itself into his flesh sink deeper. The barbs held tight under his skin. Quickly, he explored his face with his fingertips. A hook had embedded into the soft flesh at the side of his nose. One had gone through his chin; two had speared his left cheek; at least half a dozen had gone through the skin on his throat. To his horror he realized that the full length of his body harboured more of the sharp hooks. None pierced deeply enough to be lethal. But they held him there. Held him securely. Irrevocably. Into his head flashed a childhood memory of a picture of Gulliver lashed to the ground by the little people of Lilliput. Only this time Wilkes lay face down. Instead of lines criss-crossing the body, he was secured to the fallen tree by hooks that were in turn fastened to strong fishing lines that were hopelessly knotted and tangled around the branches. Each fish hook was agony. In turn, the agony made him thrash, when he writhed the hooks worked ever deeper into his body.

  Panting, he looked up. On the beach Saban Deer placidly regarded him. For a moment, he imagined Jay was there, too. Just standing. Watching. Knowing what would happen next to the man who’d once lorded his power over the island. When the strain of holding his head up grew too much he let it drop. In the last rays of the sun he saw that the pebble beach had vanished. Instead, water crept up the shore. The tide had turned.