by Amy Cross
As soon as she's close enough, I lunge at her with the knife. She pulls back and I miss by a couple of inches, and then I have to lean against the side of the pen while I catch my breath.
“I'll give you one more chance to leave,” she tells me. “If you walk away, you won't ever be able to come back. Just forget about us. That's all we ever wanted, to be ignored by the rest of the world. Maybe Pa made a mistake by taking people from the road, but I've decided to stop all of that. Pa was a fool in some ways. We just want to exist here, in our little place, and not have to worry about anyone or anything else. Can't you understand that?”
“He's my son,” I reply, limping toward her, “and he's coming home with me. If you think I'm going to let you stop me, you must be even -”
Suddenly I hear a bumping sound, and I turn just in time to see that Hugh has scuttled away from his spot by the wall. He seems to be hurrying behind the truck, and a moment later I hear what sounds like lots of metal objects being tossed to the ground. For a few seconds, I can't help feeling as if the way he moved, the way he's behaving, is barely even human.
“Leave!” Enda says firmly, pushing me from behind. “I don't want to kill you, but I will if you make me!”
Turning, I hold the knife up to keep her away, but she steps toward me as if she's not scared.
“You can come with us!” I tell her.
She shakes her head.
“You can!” I continue, as I hear Hugh scurrying across the far side of the yard. “You don't have to live here!”
“This is my home,” she replies, taking another step closer, “and it's Hugh's home too. We've both been here long enough now that we can't manage anywhere else.”
“That's not -”
She lunges at me, flashing the knives toward my face, but I manage to pull back in time.
“Leave!” she shouts, still coming closer as I back away. “You don't even understand what we have here! You don't have a clue what you're trying to destroy!”
“I know you've got my son,” I tell her, as rain falls harder than ever. Looking at the knives in her hands, I suddenly realize why she hasn't killed me yet. “You don't want him to see, do you?” I whisper. “You don't want him to have the memory of you using those -”
Suddenly I hear a scream, and I turn to see Hugh rushing toward me with a flat-headed shovel raised over his head. I freeze for a moment, too shocked to react, before stepping out of the way just as he swings the shovel at me. The shovel's tip misses by a few inches and slams against the side of the pig pen, but Hugh quickly hurries after me and tries again, this time catching my shoulder and slicing through the flesh.
Pulling away, I feel blood running down my arm, but there's no time to check the injury. Hugh's already swinging the shovel again, and he lets out a furious scream as he tries repeatedly to hit my head and neck. Each time, I pull back a little further, too shocked and horrified to even think about fighting back.
“Hugh, please -”
I duck out of the way as he swings the shovel yet again, and this time I see a few brief sparks in the rain as metal strikes the stone wall.
“Hugh, stop!” I yell, trembling with fear as he comes closer. “I'm your mother, I -”
He attacks again, roaring with anger as he brings the shovel swinging down toward my head. I step out of the way, but I trip and fall into the rain-soaked mud as the shovel hits the wall again. Scrambling to my feet, I run along the edge of the yard for a few meters before turning as Hugh hurries closer. He seems out of breath now, but he still swings the shovel at me a few more times. Finally, he turns and stumbles away, dragging the shovel through the mud as he makes his way to the edge of the pig pen and then slumps down.
All I can do is stare at him, and after a moment I realize he's watching me intently from the shadows, as if he's trying to work out how best to attack me next.
“I'm not scared of you,” I whisper, as I start to realize my mistake. By running from him and screaming, I've made him think that I hate him.
Slowly, forcing myself to focus on the belief that my own son would never hurt me, I step closer. I have to show him that I have faith.
“I'm not scared of you!” I call out, so he can hear me over the sound of rain pounding down all around us. “I'm not, I swear! You're my son, and I love you, and I just want to take you away from here to a better place. Doesn't that sound good?”
Despite the blood running from my mouth and shoulder, I force a smile. I glance around, in case Enda is close, but there's no sign of her. Turning back to Hugh, I see that he's still clutching the shovel as he withdraws a little further into the shadows. His dark, large eyes stare back at me with a hint of fear, before finally he pulls back all the way and his face is lost to the darkness.
“This isn't your home,” I tell him, stepping closer. Looking down at the knife in my trembling right hand, I realize that there's no way I could ever use it against my little boy, so I reach over and set it down on top of the wall. “See?” I continue, turning back to the shadows where Hugh is cowering. “I don't need that. I don't need anything, not with you. I'm your mother, and I'm getting you out of here. I never, ever gave up searching for you.”
I pause, before reaching my trembling hand toward him through the rain. Tears are streaming down my face now.
“Let's go home,” I sob. “I love you. Let's just go home. We can even take Enda with us, I promise.”
“He is home,” Enda says, having come up behind me. “You're the one who's in the wrong place, Penny. He's staying right here with me, where he belongs.”
I shake my head, just as Hugh starts moving in the shadows. A moment later, he crawls out into the mud and gets to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on me and still holding the shovel in his hands, ready to strike.
“Let me take you to the main road,” Enda continues. “Penny, please. Leave us alone.”
“I'm your mother,” I tell Hugh, sensing that maybe for the first time he's starting to understand. My hand is still reaching for him. All he has to do is take it, and then follow me away from this miserable place. “Please, Hugh,” I continue. “Let's go home.”
I wait, hoping against hope that he'll take my trembling hand.
Instead, he's slowly edging toward me with the shovel still raised, as if he's getting ready to strike again.
“You're making a mistake,” Enda says, still standing behind me. “Penny, he'll kill you. To him, you're just a threat to his home. He's not your son, not after all this time. He belongs to the farm now. He belongs to me.”
“You're wrong,” I whisper, forcing myself to hold my ground as Hugh gets closer. “He senses who I am.”
“You're an intruder,” she replies, her voice tinged with anger. “That's all he sees when he looks at you. It's all he'll ever see.”
“I'm not going to run from you anymore,” I tell Hugh, maintaining eye contact with him as he edges closer. “I'm your mother. I love you, and I trust you. I know you won't hurt me.”
He raises the shovel a little higher, but then finally he stops just a couple of meters away.
“You do know who I am,” I continue, feeling a faint rush of relief. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that no matter what he does, I won't run or pull away. I'll show him that I believe in him.
I wait, with my hand still outstretched, hoping against hope that he'll finally drop the shovel and come with me.
“He's going to kill you,” Enda whispers in my ear. “This is your last chance. If you insist on staying, I won't feel bad when I bury you out by the trees. It'll be your fault.”
“He's not going to kill me,” I reply, even though I still see pure hatred in Hugh's eyes. “He knows...”
Again I wait, as rain falls all around us and crashes against the mud, and against the roof of the truck, and against the farmhouse itself. Hissing and singing as it strikes every surface, the rain seems almost to be watching us as it falls.
“Hugh,” I whisper. “Please...”
&nbs
p; Suddenly his face slowly starts to twist into a snarl, and the anger in his eyes becomes more intense, and finally he lets out a cry of fury as he raises the shovel and runs at me through the rain.
I flinch, but I refuse to duck out of the way. Instead, I look straight into his eyes as he charges toward me.
He's my son.
I'll show him that I'm not scared.
He'll realize who I am.
The next few seconds seem to play out in slow-motion. The shovel's blade races toward my chest, and Hugh's cry of anger rings out through the rain. I tell myself to stay strong, to prove to him that I'm his mother and that I believe in him. At the same time, the shovel is just inches away now, hurtling closer to my breastbone, and at the very last moment I start to realize that Hugh isn't going to pull back, that he's truly going to hurt me. In the blink of an eye, my mind races with possibilities, even as I tell myself that I have to stand firm.
And at the very last second, my instincts take control and I duck out of the way.
The shovel's blade slices against my arm but, for the most part, misses my body as I slump down and land hard in the mud. I wince as I feel a sharp pain in my side, and I can still hear Hugh's cry ringing out as I start to sit up in the rain. Shivering and in shock, I turn to see where Hugh is now, and as I do so I realize there's another scream filling the air. Finally I turn just in time to see Hugh stumbling slightly in the mud and falling, and in doing so he crunches the shovel straight into Enda's body, cutting through her chest with such force that the blade slices out through her shoulder-blades. She cries out as she falls back, and the shovel scratches against the stone wall.
Still on the ground, I stare at the horrific sight. Hugh has frozen in his tracks, still holding the shovel's handle, but the other end has run straight through Enda from armpit to armpit, slicing a horizontal line in her chest. Blood is already seeping from the wound and washing down her rainswept shirt, and when I look at her face I see an expression of pure shock in her eyes, as if she can't believe what just happened.
“No,” Hugh stammers after a moment, finally pulling the shovel out and tossing it to the ground.
As he does so, more blood erupts from the wound in Enda's chest and she drops to her knees, almost falling on her face until Hugh grabs her shoulders and manages to hold her up.
“I didn't mean it!” he screams, hugging her tight. “I was trying to get her, not you!”
Trembling as more and more blood flows down her body, Enda puts her hands on Hugh's shoulders and grips him tight. She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, blood rushes down her chin and drips to the ground.
“You'll be okay!” Hugh stammers, struggling to hold her up until finally he starts lowering her down into the mud. “You'll just have to spend a few days in bed, Mama. It'll be like when you cut your hand on one of the nails.”
His trembling hands hold Enda tight, but she's on her back now in the mud and she's starting to shake as yet more blood rushes from the wound in her chest. From the angle the spade entered her body, it's impossible for it to have missed her heart.
“Make her better!” Hugh screams, turning to me. “Make Mama better right now!”
“I...” Too shocked to say anything, I look down at Enda and see that she, in turn, is looking up at me.
Slowly her lips start to move, and although she's too weak to make a sound that can be heard above the pouring rain, I swear I can just about make out the words she's trying to say:
“Look after him.”
She blinks one more time, and then I see the life fade from her eyes.
“Make her better!” Hugh sobs, hugging her corpse even tighter. Blood from Enda's chest is all over his arms now, but still he draws her lifeless body into his embrace as tears stream down his rain-soaked face. “Make her alive again!” he screams, his voice choked with tears. “Make her better! Bring her back!”
“I can't,” I stammer, still too shocked to move. “No-one can...”
“Mama!” he shouts, hugging her tighter and tighter. “Come back to me!”
“She's not your mother,” I whisper, before crawling through the mud and trying to pull him away. “I'm your mother, Hugh! It's me, I'm right here!”
“Bring her back!” he sobs, cradling her in his arms. “You have to bring her back!”
“I'm here,” I tell him again. Reaching out, I try to gently peel his arms away from Enda's dead body, but he simply squeezes her even tighter. “Hugh,” I continue, “I'm your real mother and I'm right here, and I'm going to look after you. One day, you'll forget about this whole place, and you'll live a normal, happy life.”
“Come back, Mama,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes tight shut as he gently rocks Enda's body in his arms. “Don't leave me. I need you.”
“You have me,” I tell him, with tears streaming down my face. “Hugh, you have -”
“Bring her back!” he screams suddenly, letting go of Enda's body and lunging at me, landing on my chest and pushing me back down into the mud as he rains punches down against my face. “It was an accident!” he yells. “I was trying to kill you, but you jumped out of the way! I didn't mean to hurt Mummy, you have to bring her back!”
“Stop -”
“Bring her back!” he shouts, hitting me harder and harder. “Bring Mama back to me!”
Reaching out, I put my arms around his shoulders and twist him around, forcing him off my chest so that I can grab his arms and keep him from hitting me again. He keeps struggling, but there's no way I'm going to let go of him, not again. I'll just wait here in the mud, holding him until he realizes that I'm his mother. Soon we'll get away from this farm and never look back, and once I get him to safety he'll definitely start to recover. I know it won't be easy, but I'm his mother and I know I can look after him. I just need him to stop fighting first, and I need him to stop screaming for Enda.
“Mama!” he sobs, still struggling to get back over to her corpse as rain crashing down all around us. “Mama, don't leave me!”
I've got him back. That's the important thing. I've got my little boy back.
Epilogue
Detective Palmer
Twenty-four hours later
“The kinda face only a mother could love, huh?” Briscoe mutters with a chuckle, as he holds the body-bag open for a moment. “Jesus Christ, look at her!”
“Show some respect,” I tell him, pushing him aside and zipping the bag shut. “What name did you put on the tag?”
“Her real name, obviously,” he replies. “Victoria Williams.”
Grabbing the tag, I check that he hasn't added any comments, and then I take a step back.
“Get her out of here,” I tell the guys from the forensics unit. “Full autopsy, the works.”
“She took a fucking shovel to the chest,” Briscoe points out. “It's pretty fucking clear what -”
“Did you check the pigs?” I ask, turning to him as the body of Victoria Williams, aka Enda Clare, is wheeled toward the waiting ambulance.
He shrugs. “They're pigs. There's four of 'em, they're ugly as sin, and they'd look a lot nicer in a bacon buttie. What more can I tell you?”
“We searched for this place for so long,” I whisper, looking toward the dilapidated old farmhouse. “I kept working the case even when everyone told me I was nuts. Why could we never find it until now? I swear, I personally looked at aerial images of this exact spot, and there was no sign of a building or a yard or anything. How the hell did it stay hidden until Penny Latimer called it in?”
“Maybe there was a magic spell,” Briscoe suggests with a laugh. “You know, like, it couldn't be found until there was no-one living here anymore. Something like that.” He chuckles again. “I dunno, stranger things have happened, right?”
I want to tell him to go to hell, but as I stare at the farmhouse and see members of the forensics team making their way through the rooms, I can't help wondering whether in some way Briscoe might actually be right. After all
, the existence of this farm has been rumored for years, and we certainly weren't the first people to search for it and come up empty-handed. We are, however, the first people to finally set foot in the place, and it can't be a coincidence that our arrival came just a few hours after Enda's death.
“Have you heard from the hospital?” Briscoe asks as he steps past me, heading back toward the farmhouse. “How's the feral little kid doing?”
“Not great,” I reply, bristling slightly as I remember the screams I heard earlier over the phone. I spoke to Penny briefly, too, and I've never heard a human being sound so drained and exhausted. She kept telling me that she's going to help little Hugh recover, but somehow I don't think there's much chance of that. I'll drop by the ward later and offer to help in any way that I can, even though I doubt there's anything I can do. Hugh Latimer spent six years being raised by Enda. I can't imagine the damage will ever be undone.
Stopping to look in at the pigs, I watch as they bump against one another and make their way around the pen. After a moment, I spot a few chunks of white bone mixed in with the mud.
“We have to analyze every speck in this place!” I call out to Briscoe. “We have to run DNA matches on any fragments of bone, and see which victims we can identify. Even if it's just a few of the more recent ones, we have to at least try! Maybe we can find some trace of Peter Latimer.”
When he doesn't reply, I head over to the front door, just as more techs wheel Lindsay Collins' body out on a stretcher. As it bumps over the step, the stretcher rattles slightly and I instinctively reach out, grabbing the rail to keep it steady. Once the body has been taken over toward the waiting ambulance, I make my way into the hallway and then through to the room where the kidnap victims were kept. Roscoe's already taking a look at the tools on one of the nearby tables, but I'm more interested in the metal table in the center of the room.
In the distance, voices can be heard calling to one another as the techs continue their work in the rest of the house. Collecting samples. Taking photos. Ripping this place apart to discover all its secrets.
