Preternatural: Carter Bailey Book 1

by Matt Hilton

  I lurched forward.

  Janet and Bethany screamed.

  It took me a second or so to realise they weren’t screaming in agony. It was to halt my mad rush.

  “Don’t come any nearer, Carter,” Janet pleaded.

  “Not unless you want me to kick loose this plank,” said a voice I didn’t recognise. Guttural and wheezy it asked, “Do you want them to die?”

  Then I saw him. The Skeklar. He appeared out of the shadows like some great simian. He balanced on the same crossbeam that separated Janet and Bethany from a neck-snapping drop. He gave a little hop and the beam bounced beneath him. Janet and Bethany swayed precariously as they fought for balance. The Skeklar laughed.

  “You bastard,” I yelled at him. “Let them go.”

  The Skeklar laughed again. He placed a finger against Bethany’s chest. “All it takes is a tiny little nudge and that would be it. She’d fall and her neck would stretch; maybe her head would pull all the way off. I think that would make a pretty image.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Most probably,” the Skeklar agreed. “So you’d best believe that I would do it.”

  Clenching my fists, feeling totally futile, I stared up at the nightmare creature.

  The darkness still disguised his true form. But this was my first opportunity to study him.

  He had the malformed head, the weirdly glowing green eyes, the spikes and knobs on his torso, the claws on his hands that I’d sensed from those previous encounters. But I could see now that the Skeklar was just a man.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  The Skeklar didn’t answer immediately. He pressed by Bethany, situating himself between his two captives. Standing with a hand on each of their heads he said, “I am vengeance.”

  “You are mad,” I told him.

  The man wore some sort of weird Halloween costume. It was constructed mainly of woven straw, giving the trousers and shoulders a spiky look, almost like quills or rough hairs. Some of it, particularly across the chest and back was covered in black fur. But the costume also consisted of equipment gleaned from military sources. He was wearing a Kevlar vest. His head was swathed in a hood and respirator, and over his eyes were faintly glowing night vision goggles. His claws were those ridiculous climbing claws I’d seen during the Ninja movie boom of the 1980’s, though the addition of longer blades welded onto the metal wristbands enhance their cutting ability.

  Realising my enemy was only a man in a suit didn’t lessen any of the menace. Crazy fucker in a makeshift costume or not, he was a killer and - as my previous run-ins with him attested to - a very capable and dangerous fighter.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  He’d said he was vengeance. Vengeance for what: the defilement of an ancient burial ground? Or was his need for vengeance more obvious than that? More mundane? It didn’t matter. Mad men didn’t need a cause to justify their actions.

  “I do what I do because I choose to do so.” The Skeklar turned to regard Janet through his goggles. Directly to her, he repeated, “What I choose to do.”

  “It’s over now. This is at an end. Let them go.” My words strung together as I hurried to get them out. “Killing them won’t achieve anything.”

  The Skeklar laughed at my pitiful argument.

  Then he said, “The haugbonde demands nine sacrifices. It is not over until I have given back the blood of nine to the mound-dweller.”

  “The haugbonde is nothing but a myth,” I shouted at him, though I knew differently. “A fairy tale told to children. You’re fucking delusional, man. Your vengeance is nothing but a sham.”

  The Skeklar shook his large head, turning once more to Janet. “What do you say, Professor Hale? Is my vengeance a sham? I don’t think so.”

  “You murdered them for nothing,” Janet whispered.

  “No…every last one of them deserved to die. The boy. He harmed a messenger of the haugbonde. He was evil and spiteful. I did only to him what he did to the bird. The policeman? Entwhistle, was it? He tried to stop me from taking what was rightfully mine. As did Pete Johnston.”

  “Pete took nothing from you.”

  “Oh, but he did, Professor Hale.”

  “What about Toni? His girlfriend,” Janet cried. “She did nothing wrong. Why kill her?”

  The Skeklar shrugged. “I had to kill her. I used her death to punish Johnston before he died. It made the entire torture so much sweeter.”

  Whilst they conversed I stood watching the interaction with dawning comprehension. As I watched, the light emanating from the Skeklar’s night vision goggles appeared to brighten, then flare in a putrid green cloud that surrounded his entire head.

  It took me a moment to realise that it wasn’t light from the goggles but a brightening of his auric field. Green with jealousy took on a whole new meaning.

  To confirm my suspicions, Shelly McCusker chose that moment to come bursting into the room.

  “Jonathon Connery,” she yelled. “You’re under arrest.”

  Jonathon Connery.

  Janet’s estranged husband?

  FIFTYFOUR

  The old tannery

  Moments earlier Inspector Marsh’s words were spurred more by urgency than they were by anger. Broom finally grabbed at Shelly, and said, “Maybe you should listen to this, Sergeant McCusker.”

  Taking the radio back from him, she keyed the button. “Sir, no disrespect intended, but unless I do something immediately then innocent people are going to die.”

  “The firearms team are still at least ten minutes away from you,” the inspector agreed with a note of resignation to his tone. “Attempt to contain the situation if possible. Initiate a rapport with the suspect until we arrive on scene. If that is not possible then you must dynamically risk assess the situation and take appropriate action as you see fit. Do not - I repeat DO NOT - engage the suspect unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Of course, Sir,” Shelly said.

  Dynamically risk assess. That was police speak for using your common sense. Well, her common sense told her that unless she got her arse in gear a small child and woman were going to die horribly. Obviously engaging the suspect was absolutely necessary.

  “Sir, you said earlier that you have identified the suspect. Who is it I’m dealing with? Why is it he’s so dangerous?”

  “At Trowhaem,” he said, “Professor Bishop discovered a second body concealed beneath the first. It was a female we have identified as Toni McNabb. Both she and her boyfriend Pete Johnston went missing. This was shortly after Johnston and Janet Hale were briefly romantically involved. It seems that Janet’s estranged husband was enraged at Johnston’s closeness to his wife and he murdered the couple. We suspect this whole Skeklar madness is a scam invented to cover the crime. He was trying to scare off the archaeological team so that their corpses lay undiscovered.” He paused. “Sergeant, Jonathon Connery is more than just an insane ex-husband, he is also ex-military. Be very, very careful.”

  “Roger, noted,” Shelly said. She clipped her radio back to her jacket. Now she understood what Janet had meant when she sobbed that it was her fault the murders had happened. The professor had come to the same conclusion about whom was responsible for the murders, and had been about to say so just before their car had been rammed off the road.

  Subsequently, their run had taken them to the raised platform, and Broom was already making his way up the stairs. In this urgency his limp was barely noticeable. Shelly had to spur herself up the stairs to catch him as he entered the dilapidated office space. From the open door opposite she heard Janet Hale sob, “What about Toni? His girlfriend. She did nothing wrong. Why kill her?”

  The next voice was human, though forced as though through a gas mask. “I had to kill her. I used her death to punish Johnston before he died. It made the entire torture so much sweeter.”

  Janet sobbed again. Beyond her deeper sobs came the whimpering of a terrified child.

  Dynamic risk assessmen
t time, Shelly told herself.

  She glanced down at the gun in her hand. Never in her life had she fired a gun, let alone a semi-automatic handgun. Couldn’t be too difficult she thought. Point and squeeze: what more could there be to it?

  Okay, she thought, I’m to develop a rapport with the suspect. Contain the situation. Act only if absolutely necessary.

  She stepped through the door with no real idea what she might find.

  Momentarily the absurdity - and the desperation - of the scene made her falter. But then she was swinging up the SIG Sauer and pointing it at the monstrous thing threatening the two captives.

  “Jonathon Connery,” she yelled. “You’re under arrest.”

  And even as she did so, she realised she’d made one hell of a mistake.

  FIFTYFIVE

  At the gibbet

  I’d shared only the briefest of intimate moments with Janet, but I had to wonder if the Skeklar - her estranged husband, Jonathon - had witnessed us together, which would explain his reason for attacking me. Made me wonder if it was his overwhelming jealousy that was driving him or if there was an outside force compelling him, driving him, to commit these horrific killings. Why the Skeklar charade? Why the Grand Guignol settings to his crimes? If he was jealous of Janet, why hadn’t he simply acted out his madness on her, away from this island, without all the other murders and depravity he’d committed along the way?

  Recalling the thin grey man who’d sent us to this out of the way killing ground, I had to wonder what weird powers were guiding not only the killer, but also the rest of us that had been drawn into the plot. Maybe there was more to this haugbonde curse than any of us suspected.

  Were the rest of us agents of the haugbonde as much as was Jonathon Connery?

  Those thoughts went spinning through my mind, even as I lurched forward. As Jonathon reacted to Sergeant McCusker’s sudden appearance, I acted, or Bethany would be dead.

  Jonathon, the Skeklar, didn’t put up his clawed hands in surrender. He did as he’d promised only seconds ago. He gave Bethany a shove. As the girl swayed, then toppled from the board, he spun so that he was balanced precariously, his feet bracing those of Janet, one arm encircling her throat. He glared beyond me at where Sergeant McCusker and Paul Broom stood.

  The small girl fell. Her wrists were bound before her, her hands clasped as though praying. A second rope was around her tiny throat. The slack didn’t equal the space left beneath her feet.

  Slow motion enveloped me, as though I was running against deep water. Bright auric colours exploded from Bethany even as she cried out for her mother. She was quickly approaching the extent of the rope noose, and I couldn’t see how I’d reach her in time.

  The slow motion effect imploded in on itself, and I hurtled across the last few feet, my arms snatching at her tiny body. I felt Bethany convulse, and I let out a shout of dismay. Then I hauled the girl high in my arms and stared into her fully lucid eyes as she blinked back at me in astonishment. I’d grabbed her out of the air just at that precise moment before the noose jerked tight. Bethany was still alive. But I didn’t know for how long.

  I felt the tug of the rope.

  Snatching my gaze upward, I saw that the Skeklar had snared the rope with one of his clawed fists and was hauling on it. Around Bethany’s neck the noose cinched tight. She gagged, eyes going round. I grabbed at the rope, too. Tried to pull it away from the beast but he had more vantage, and cared not for the girl’s life.

  “Let her go,” he growled down at me. “Let her go or let Janet die.”

  He grabbed Janet by her ponytail, pulling her head backwards. One of her heels skidded off the board.

  So there it was at last.

  The test my brother had taunted me with so long.

  “What’s it gonna be, Carter?” Cash gloated. “Are you man enough? Do you sacrifice the woman you love for the sake of a child?”

  “I’m man enough,” I croaked, “to save them both!”

  Shelly McCusker saw my searching glance. My short nod. She new instantly what she had to do. Her aim was true.

  I lifted Bethany high into the air, lessening the pressure of the noose round her throat, even as with my other hand I snatched the thrown SIG out of the air. It was a desperate move, but I was about as desperate as anyone could be. Raising the gun, I fired.

  Blood vapour misted the air where my bullet struck Janet’s shoulder. Then more blood splashed from the Skeklar’s throat as the bullet continued its almost unchecked flight and found flesh above the protection of his Kevlar vest.

  The Skeklar staggered. Then his feet slipped off the board and he went over backwards. He landed with terrific, body numbing force on the floor just beyond me, and I saw a putrescent haze of auric light cloud around him as though his entire being had self-destructed.

  There was no time for satisfaction.

  Shot through, Janet had no way of fighting off the wave of nausea and pain spilling through her. She was swooning with agony, her balance truly gone this time. I quickly dropped the gun, snatching an arm around the back of both her knees and toppling her over my shoulder.

  “I could do with some help over here!”

  My scream was answered by running footsteps, then Shelly McCusker tugged the rope from Bethany’s throat, even as Paul Broom helped me support Janet’s sagging body.

  Bethany coughed and gasped, but she was going to be all right. Shelly enfolded her in an embrace, moving quickly away, hushing her, consoling her. The little girl cried, but that was a good sign.

  My concern was for Janet.

  To stop the monster killing her, I’d shot her. What if I’d inadvertently struck a major blood vessel and had killed her myself?

  Broom and I laid her on the floor and I leaned over her. I searched for the wound, dreading what my fingers would find. Going in a bullet makes a tiny hole but coming out was different. Worst case scenario would be that half her back was missing.

  Tugging open her jacket I saw blood. It was rich and bright in colour. But not spurting, just a slow seeping. I pulled open her blouse and my heart did a little skip.

  The bullet had barely scored the flesh above her right collarbone. The wound would hurt like a bitch, but Janet would be okay. Even as I formed the thought, Janet’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocussed for a second, but then the colours sharpened, her pupils dilated, and Janet asked, “Is Bethany safe?”

  “Bethany is going to be okay,” I told her. “What about you, Janet? I’m sorry I shot you. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but then lapsed again into a deep unconscious sleep.

  I hung my head. But it wasn’t in shame.

  “You are one lucky mother fucker, Bro,” Cash’s voice impeded in my thoughts.

  “You think so?” I asked him. “I’m still stuck with you.”

  “Mmm, yes,” he said. “But maybe not for long.”

  FIFTYSIX

  At the place of death

  Jonathon Connery wasn’t dead.

  He was shot through the throat, was spurting blood from a severed artery, but he still retained enough strength to rise up behind me. It was awkward staunching the blood with his clawed hand, but he was managing to hold on to enough of it that he thought he could still win the day.

  A breathy roar came through the filters of his mask, and then he leaped towards me. Caught while crouched over Janet, I wasn’t in the best position to defend myself. So instead I protected Janet from her estranged husband’s vengeance. I felt the steel claws rake my back.

  “She is mine!”

  I don’t know if Jonathon screamed those words. More than likely it was me. Striking backwards with a clenched fist, I contacted with the night vision goggles, knocking them loose. I caught a momentary glimpse of his seething eyes and they appeared to be burning with witch-fires, but then Broom had hold of Jonathon and had lifted him bodily. Broom caught him in a bear hug and his arms crushed ruthlessly.

  The blood jetted from Jon
athon’s neck as he released his hold on the wound. He clawed backwards at Broom but his attempt at gutting my friend was ineffective. Broom squeezed harder. The jetting blood lessened.

  Lessened.

  Stopped.

  Broom let the cadaver drop to the floor.

  I spied up at my big friend, thankful for more than one reason that he’d chosen to champion me.

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “W.W.V.H.D?”

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Cash wheezed.

  I ignored my brother. Instead I stared at the dead man lying at Broom’s feet. I knew the face: instantly recalling where I’d seen it before. When I’d visited the murder scene near Ura Taing, the man had been standing in the crowd. Ironically I’d thought he was an undercover cop, observing the crowd for possible murder suspects. Right then I should have known, but at the time I wasn’t confident in my abilities. Now I was. I’d found the evil one. Stopped him. For the briefest of moments I expected him to rear up again like the killer from a slasher movie. But this time he was dead. The cataract stare of the eyes told me. So did his rapidly diminishing aura that dissipated like river mist in the sunlight.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cash muttered.

  “Not now, Cash,” I said. I wasn’t in any mood for his opinion. There were two dead men in this room, and now neither of them mattered. I was more interested in the living.

  Picking Janet up I cradled her in my arms. She mewled like a kitten and her eyes fluttered open again.

  “I’m going get you out of here,” I said.

  “You heard me,” Janet said. “You heard me and you came for me.”

  “I’ll always be there for you.”

  After

  We took a drive up to Burra Ness in Broom’s Subaru. Broom was his usual reckless self, but I didn’t mind. I was too cozy, snuggled in the back with Janet to worry about crashing and burning on the desolate road. After the horror of the Skeklar, nothing as mundane as a car wreck would worry me again. Not now that Janet was safe in my arms and Cash had resided in a sulk to a very deep corner of my subconscious.