by Ross Turner
It was the turn of the old Vicar now to hold an unreadable expression, and as Emily looked across the pews at him, she could not decipher even in the slightest the look on his face.
Then Emily went on to tell them how Richard brought her out of her depression, saving her from her terrible downward spiral, and though she had never stopped loving their real father, she had raised Maddie and Johnathan to believe that Richard was their father, hoping to spare them the same pain.
“But then things started to change…” Emily warned, and again her words hung in the air ominously as if the fate of the universe rested upon them. “The money I had been left by your father, I’d never really used. All of a sudden, Richard began asking to borrow some of it. Only small amounts at first, but it wasn’t long before it was much more. I asked him what he was spending it on, but he would never tell me.”
“Why did you keep giving it to him then?” Johnathan asked, and indeed it was the most logical question, but the look on his mother’s face told him that the answer to his query had been on her next breath.
“One day he asked me again, and this time he asked me for more than he’d ever asked for before. I told him no. I told him I wasn’t going to give it to him if he didn’t tell me what he was using it for.”
Silence hung between the four of them then, and Johnathan knew exactly what was coming next. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, preparing for the pain in his chest that he was sure would accompany his mother’s words.
“That was the first time he hit me…” She breathed then, her voice scarcely a whisper, and her hand went to her face instinctively as if the pain of the strike still plagued her.
It most definitely plagued Johnathan however, and the sudden assault at his heart knocked every ounce of breath from his body. He felt as though he had been struck square in the chest by a bucking horse, and he wheezed for breath, though he did his best not to let it show.
He imagined it would have been quite difficult to explain.
“What did you do?” He asked, keeping his voice quiet, barely able to get enough air into his lungs to force the words from his tongue.
“What could I do?” His mother asked, shrugging her shoulders, defeated. “He hit me and then took the money anyway. When he came home that night, I’d recovered, and I confronted him about it. He hit me again, and again, and again…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes glazed slightly as her body physically shuddered at the thought.
Clearly this had been going on for a long time.
“He never asked me for money again.” Emily whispered then. “He just took it. If I ever said a word, he would beat me. If I ever did anything he didn’t like, he would beat me. Before long I learned to keep my mouth shut…”
“Why…?” Johnathan whispered, hit stomach turning at his mother’s sorrowful words.
“You and Maddie were still okay…” Emily replied, as if that explained everything. “If I’d tried to leave…I was afraid of what he might do…” She admitted then, clutching Maddie close to her.
She had only ever been protecting her children, even though that had come at such a hefty cost.
Johnathan sighed deeply and pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he moved. He stepped forward and pulled his mother and his sister both into his arms. They all held on tightly and, for a moment at least, everything was alright again.
It was late into morning by now and, regardless of everything that had happened and all that had been revealed, Johnathan’s natural instincts kicked in.
His stomach rumbled and growled fiercely and they all laughed, for the first time in far too long.
“You must keep your strength up, Johnathan.” Father Peter commented, laughing also, rising to his feet, pleased that their mood was lifting. “I’ll fix breakfast for you all.”
“Thank you Father.” Emily replied gratefully, smiling warmly at him.
The old Vicar was one of the few people who had always been there for her, even if things had grown out of control, and for that she would be eternally grateful.
Suddenly then, jerking and pulling away from her mother and brother, Maddie screamed and pointed with a locked arm across the vast hall and towards the heavy wooden door.
“There!” She screeched, her breaths short and sharp and panicked. “Him! There! He’s there!”
“Maddie…Maddie calm down. What is it!?” Johnathan asked, immediately at her side trying to quiet her.
“It’s him!” She urged, shaking violently, clinging desperately to her big brother. “Richard! He was there!”
Johnathan’s eyes snapped across the room to the doorway. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar, and there was no sign of movement that he could see. But that didn’t matter. Maddie was only very young, but then so was he, and he trusted her implicitly.
“Wait here.” He instructed, not really directing his words at any one of them, but rather at them all.
Rising slowly to his feet, eyes trained on the doorway with an unreadable expression painted upon his face, Johnathan led Maddie over to their mother and then made for the door, his poise purposeful and exact, despite his injuries.
“Johnathan…” Emily barely managed, choking back desperate tears. “No…Please…It’s too dangerous…”
But when Johnathan turned back to his mother then, fixing her gaze with his own, it was not his eyes that she saw, but instead those of her husband, fierce and committed and determined to protect his family, even from beyond the grave.
“Stay safe Em.” Arthur told his wife gently, speaking through his brave son as if they were one and the same person. “I love you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Closing the door slowly and silently behind him, the fresh air of the new day was cool against his face, but stung Johnathan’s skin where it was urgently trying to heal. He could feel even as he broke into a run the blisters that had already formed were splitting and bleeding.
But that didn’t matter for now.
This was something he knew he had to do.
There would not be another chance.
Pain seared through Johnathan’s legs as they churned, pounding ever faster on the hard ground as he crossed grass and stone alike. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was running to, but his body seemed to be guided all by itself.
He knew that wasn’t exactly true, and that it was in fact his father directing him, and it seemed that Arthur knew exactly where to find Richard.
Those he passed followed him with their eyes, shocked at what they saw. One or two of the surprised villagers even called out to the young boy as he burst into view, and then just as quickly vanished again, moving with frightening speed and intensity.
“Johnathan!?” Was all many of them managed before the young Knight was once again out of sight. Nonetheless, his sudden passing filled them with a mixture of curiosity, concern and, admittedly, fear.
Soon enough Johnathan found himself at the water’s edge, beside the river that cut through the village like a knife. Or perhaps it was the village that wrapped around the river like a bandage, holding and binding it, compressing and suffocating it.
There he stopped for a moment, considering that thought, gazing down from the riverbank at the water scurrying and cascading past him, free and uncaring: the way nature should be.
Turning east, Johnathan followed the river. Before long he found himself on the outskirts of Riverbrook.
He kept moving.
Beside him the riverbank grew steeper and steeper until eventually it cut away almost at a right angle from the ground upon which he now stood. The drop to the riverbed down below was not far, but it was sheer, and he glanced over the edge casually, looking down expectantly, knowing somehow inherently exactly what he would find.
Sure enough, he was not disappointed, and his cold, steely gaze met Richard’s with a fresh, pulsing hatred.
Never in his short lifetime had Johnathan ever viewed another human being with such venomous thoughts, and though i
t knew such feelings were not decent or proper, he felt that, considering the situation, they were most certainly justified.
As he clambered down to the edge of the riverbank and dropped into the shallow water below, landing with a splash barely half a dozen feet from where Richard stood, a sudden realisation dawned upon him. His eyes widened in horror and his stomach churned terribly as his mind invented and engineered images right before his eyes.
“This is it…” He managed between furious heartbeats raging against his ribs. “This is where you left him…”
“Finally figured it out have you?” Richard sneered in response, smiling evilly at the young boy, burned and battered and ruined before him.
As if in that moment when Johnathan suddenly realised why Arthur had known this was where Richard would come, it was like a door had been opened in his mind, and a thousand thoughts and realisations came suddenly flooding to him.
They had both known this confrontation was coming, and this was the exact spot where Richard had dumped Arthur’s body, all those years ago.
“What are you going to do, boy?” Richard sneered, watching as Johnathan dropped into the shallow water from the bank above.
His bravado was false, for he remembered all too clearly the force behind Johnathan’s fury that night the boy had confronted him, but he did not want to reveal his fear to a twelve-year-old.
The false father figure had lost too much already to allow that, and now that his attempt on all three of their lives had failed, he was running out of options.
He had only resorted to the fire because he had been backed into a corner. He knew the village would punish him for what he had done, and he couldn’t leave. He had no money. All that he had taken from Emily he had already spent.
Besides, now he wanted to kill them.
It was no longer a necessity, but more of a burning desire.
“Why did you do this?” Johnathan demanded, knowing that he wasn’t asking just because he wanted to know, but also because he wanted answers for his father.
“I haven’t done anything.” Richard replied with feigned innocence, but the smirk on his face made Johnathan sick to his stomach.
“Why did you kill my father? Why did you abuse my mother? Why have you done this to my family!?” Johnathan’s voice rose to a crescendo until it finally peaked, and even he was not sure it was his own voice or his father’s that Richard heard.
“Oh! That!” Richard scoffed. “I thought you were talking about the fire! For you to follow me all this way I thought it would be something serious at least!”
His mocking tone grated at Johnathan’s very core, and the young boy had to force himself with all his will not to lunge at the man and choke the life from him, though he did take two involuntary, albeit wary, steps forward.
“Now now, Johnathan…” Richard taunted, smiling. “That’s no way to behave. I have raised you, after all…”
“You’re a monster.” Johnathan growled through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with malice and coated in hate.
“Me!?” Richard cried, feigning shock. “I’m hurt Johnathan.” He mocked, grinning cruelly. “I’ve not made you what you are.” He continued. “It’s your father’s doing that’s had you rampaging around attacking people!”
That was it.
Johnathan had heard enough.
Without thinking, he launched himself forward with an angry cry, raising his hands to strike.
But that was exactly what Richard had been waiting for, banking on the boy’s inexperience in such matters.
In a flash the cruel man drew a knife from beneath his shirt, smirking, almost laughing even as he did so.
The young boy saw the blade at the last possible moment. It was a large, study kitchen knife, held outstretched and pointing directly at him.
But even as Johnathan saw it, fists raised, body careering forwards, it was too late. He knew he had made a dreadful mistake. His momentum was too great, and he plunged himself on course for the knife to pummel straight into his chest.
‘MOVE!’ A voice suddenly bellowed in his ears, almost deafening him, and Johnathan lurched violently to one side as if somebody had just kicked him in the ribs. Whatever it was he felt, it hit him so harshly that his whole body was flung into the river, and for a moment, as he gasped to regain his breath, he felt himself drowning.
Panic seized the young boy as icy cold water rushed into his mouth and flooded his gasping lungs.
Within a few moments however, he found his footing on the rock strewn riverbed, and rose slowly from the water, dripping and glimmering in the light of the day, as if he had just been reborn.
His lungs filled with huge gulps of air and his eyes settled immediately upon Richard, level and focused.
Where he stood the water came up to his waist and rushed about him in a freezing cold frenzy, but he ignored it.
He stepped forwards, slowly and purposefully, though his legs fought against the strong current as it tried to pull him back under.
“W…Wha…What…?” Richard stammered, blade still in hand, though his face wore an expression of shock and confusion.
“You caught me off guard.” Johnathan warned, his voice slow and controlled, yet still full of anger, though many years of it now. He knew that the words weren’t his.
In fact, he wasn’t in control now at all. He was aware of what he was doing and what he was saying, but he wasn’t actually controlling any of it.
It was as if he was a passenger in his own body.
“I will not allow you to do the same to my son.”
“Arthur…?” Richard blurted then, as if seeing the man for the first time, his eyes widening in fear and disbelief.
He still held the knife out before him, but now it trembled in his terrified hand, and all traces of his false confidence had melted away in the presence of this ghost before him, concealed within the body of a boy.
The water level dropped to Johnathan’s thighs as he moved and his pace quickened. Suddenly, as if sensing the danger he was in for the first time, Richard snapped to his senses and bolted back up the riverbank.
Had Johnathan not been slowed so by the current, Arthur would have had him there and then, but the water rushed about him still, and he had to fight with all the strength he could muster to break free of it.
By the time the ice cold river was down to mere inches about his feet, Richard had scrambled back up the bank and was bolting away for all he was worth, fleeing in terror from the ghost before him.
As Johnathan clambered up the bank behind him, he only glimpsed the terrible man disappear between the cottages in the distance and vanish from sight.
He sighed deeply and felt the veil lift from him.
His thoughts raced and considered his options. He had very nearly got himself killed.
It was only because of his father that he was still alive, again…
But he didn’t have long to think over those thoughts, for after barely even a minute, the young boy gasped suddenly as his muscles seized up as a result of being plunged into the freezing water, and he clutched at his legs in agony.
At least the pain was only temporary, and it was certainly much more convenient than a knife between his ribs would have been.
As if in response to his thoughts, his father’s voice sounded again, and now that Johnathan wasn’t so rage blind, he could tell that the voice wasn’t speaking aloud, but rather speaking directly to him, as if communicating by thought.
‘Be careful, Johnathan.’ Arthur warned him. ‘That man is pure evil. Don’t underestimate his wickedness.’
And then his father’s voice was gone, replaced only by the sound of his own gasping breaths, and a throbbing in his head so heavy that the young boy felt as though he had been viciously clubbed.
Still, only minutes ago his foolish rage had nearly cost him his life, and he thought rather seriously on that notion as he groaned and climbed to his feet. He began to drag his stiff legs forward and trudged back to
wards the church, wondering what on Earth to do now.
Once again though, his wonderings lasted only for a brief while, before the wet dressings plastered all across his body began to pull away and tear at his seared skin beneath, and within what felt like only moments, Johnathan was in agony yet again.
Writhing and squirming in his own skin, unable to escape, it was all the young boy could do to race back to Father Peter’s church, desperate for aid.
Chapter Seventeen
“Johnathan, what were you thinking!?” Emily demanded, her voice laced with panic while her eyes darted wildly and her arms flailed madly.
Her son did not reply.
He could not. For even as she ranted, Father Peter was removing the shrivelled dressings from Johnathan’s arms and legs and torso, and the young boy winced and gritted his teeth against the pain, drawing in deep breaths and exhaling slowly.
The old man peeled back the dressings as carefully as he could. But no matter how cautious he was, they were wet and cold and stuck to Johnathan’s wounds like glue, and as they came away, so did a great deal of his skin, both burned and fresh.
The whole ordeal took the best part of an hour. Once all of his dressings had been removed, the extent of Johnathan’s wounds became clear.
His skin was bubbled with sticky red and yellow liquid, oozing all over with clear and coloured puss. The sea of injury that had surfaced covered almost all of Johnathan’s arms and legs, save the one hand that had been spared, and the vast majority of his back, stomach and chest.
Grimacing as he did so, the old Vicar replaced Johnathan’s dressings with fresh ones, washing them over with cool water in the process, knowing the wounds needed to be kept as clean as possible.
If any of them were to get infected, he knew the young Knight would be in serious trouble.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Johnathan sat up as best he could, smiling ruefully in thanks to Father Peter.
