Journey from Darkness

by Gareth Crocker

  Joe laced his fingers behind his neck. ‘Still think we should’ve stayed outside?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘Who the hell does this?’

  When Noah failed to respond, Joe turned and saw that the detective was staring up at the ceiling, his lips peeling apart. Etched high into the wood above them, resembling the Sistine Chapel’s Creation of Adam, was a rendering of a winged man being brought to life by a fissure of lightning. The figure, expertly conceived, was composed entirely of shades of grey and black.

  ‘And what is that?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Not what … who.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The face,’ Noah replied, ‘belongs to the man we’re looking for. It’s a portrait. He must regard himself as some kind of angel.’

  Joe removed his glasses and wiped the sweat from his eyes. ‘Aren’t angels supposed to wear white?’

  Noah thought for a moment. ‘Only the good ones.’

  39

  The swollen skull of the moon, which minutes before had cast its pale searchlight over the land, was now a dull red orb on the horizon. A scarlet glow fanned through the trees bringing an unnatural hush to the bush.

  Derek tilted his head back and watched as the eclipse took full effect, feeling the hairs on his neck all but separate from his skin. For weeks now, he had become accustomed to the constant throng and rhythm of the bush as the animals went about their nightly rituals, apparently oblivious to the heavens. But they were no less aware of the evening sky than they were of the air that sustained them. In the same way as their diurnal counterparts would react to a disappearing sun, the moon’s absence was felt immediately and profoundly by all who moved beneath it. The only sound Derek could now discern was the cadence of his own breathing and the soft sigh of the wind as it swept across the riverbank. It was beyond unsettling, he thought, like wading through an ocean whose waves had suddenly been stolen away.

  Lowering his gaze, he turned to Shawu.

  Heartbroken, she was standing a few yards to his right, the cut of her tusks only barely visible through the gloom. Whether brought on by the loss of the night sun or by something else unseen, Derek could feel her growing agitation – as if her emotions were a fine dust in the air. The curvature of her head swayed and rolled while the clouds of her shoulders shifted and rumbled like a gathering storm.

  ‘Take it easy, girl,’ he offered, knowing how meek and useless his words were.

  There was no question now, Shawu was in serious trouble. Having lost the remaining members of her family, she appeared to be teetering on the edge of something. But what was it? Derek wondered. And where would it take her? Take them? Feeling her mounting distress through the darkness, he slowly moved towards her. But just as he did, Shawu stepped away and then reared up onto her back legs. Surprised, Derek lost his balance and nearly fell over. He watched, astonished, as she hovered above the horizon for a moment before driving her front legs hard into the ground. The impact was that of a tree being felled. But its force was soon paled by what she did next.

  She lifted her head to the stars, appeared to take a breath, and then finally gave voice to her devastation. It was the sound of a mother trumpeting against the despair and anguish of having her family taken from her again, a ferocious outpouring of grief. Of all the tortured screams Derek had endured over the years – from the howls of new orphans arriving at the reformatory to the shouts of dying soldiers in the trenches – none would reverberate louder, or endure longer in his memory.

  40

  ‘Anyone got the time?’ Joe asked, as they pulled up outside the ramshackle bar.

  Morgan turned off the engine and reached for his watch. His pale hand resembled a soldier’s glove in the dull light. ‘Almost midnight.’

  ‘Sure that’s their truck?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  As Joe reached for the door, Noah clamped a hand around his arm. ‘Remember, we’re just talking to them, Joe. Nice and friendly. That’s all this is. Officially there’s nothing else we can do for now. All right?’

  ‘All right,’ he agreed.

  The three men filed out of the truck and headed for the entrance. Mindful that he was still a guest in their world, Joe brought up the rear.

  ‘I know I don’t have to tell you this, but watch yourselves,’ Noah said, pausing in front of the door. ‘This isn’t high tea at the palace.’

  As they stepped inside, the first thing that struck Joe was how dark the place was. Fistfuls of blue light glowed through a dozen small lanterns dotted arbitrarily on tables. The old wooden bar, yellowed by years of tobacco smoke, leaned precariously forward. Somewhere behind the counter, through the reverberating mesh of an old wireless, a distraught woman sang of her love for a young soldier who had died in the war. The room was deserted save for the barman and two stone-like figures sitting at the end of the bar. One far more imposing than the other.

  Sensing a presence in the room, the barman lifted his head and quickly put down the glass he was drying. A wary look rumpled his brow. It was the well-worn expression of a man who knew when trouble had arrived. ‘We’ve already served the last round.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Noah said, his gaze fixed on the men at the bar. ‘We’re not here to drink.’

  The man slowly lifted his hands. ‘Take it easy, please. I don’t want any rough stuff. Take it somewhere else.’

  Noah reached into his pocket and flashed the man his badge. ‘Neither do we.’

  The two men at the end of the bar had clearly heard the exchange, yet neither had even glanced in their direction.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ Noah said, striding up behind them. ‘We would like to talk to you for a minute.’

  There was a moment’s hesitation before the men casually turned around. Joe was immediately taken aback by how much the larger man resembled his black-winged self-portrait. He certainly did not fit the mould of a sun-hardened poacher and could easily have passed for a man of more gentle persuasion but for the scar on his face and the thick tattoos on his arms and neck. Etchings that Joe also recognised from the walls of his hut. The smaller man seemed to be cut from more obvious poacher material – naturally bowed in posture and leathery in complexion – and suffered from a vague facial deformity that was difficult to put a finger on in the soft light.

  ‘I’m Detective Noah Wright. This is–’

  ‘You can save your introductions, Detective. We already know who you are,’ the large man replied, a French accent drawn over his words. He traced his finger around the top of his whisky glass. ‘Tell me something, though. Are the police here allowed to invade people’s homes without the necessary authority?’

  Noah tried to mask his surprise. ‘That depends on their reason for entry.’

  ‘And what was yours? I’m curious.’

  ‘Fire,’ Joe cut in, his face a picture of mock concern. ‘We thought there was a fire.’

  ‘Really? And what gave you that impression?’

  ‘Well, everything was bright red,’ he replied. ‘You can imagine our relief when we discovered it was just the way you painted the place. An easy mistake to make, I’m sure you agree.’

  Sensing that something was about to happen, the barman took a step back, his eyes searching for his rifle.

  The large man clapped his hands together in mock applause. ‘Then we owe you our thanks. How very fortunate for us that you just happened to be in the area.’

  ‘What business do you have in town?’ Noah asked, cutting short the charade.

  ‘No business. Only pleasure. Sightseeing mostly.’

  ‘How long have you been in the country?’

  ‘A few months.’

  ‘And where were you before that?’

  The man’s eyes glanced to the ceiling as he considered his answer. ‘We were out killing for our country.’

  ‘Legionnaires?’

  ‘For a time.’

  The smaller man was growing impatient wit
h the conversation. ‘What do you want?’

  Noah turned and, for the first time, noticed his wild spray of teeth. ‘How long are you planning on staying here?’

  ‘Don’t know yet.’

  ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘Don’t have any.’

  ‘How about names? You got any of those?’

  The larger man rejoined the conversation. ‘And why do you wish to know our names?’

  ‘Just answer the question,’ Joe insisted.

  The smaller man stared back at him and blinked. ‘No.’

  ‘Really? No?’

  ‘No … and fuck you,’ he added.

  Unable to contain himself, Joe reached out and grabbed him by his throat. He lifted him clean off his chair and launched him backwards over a small table.

  ‘What the hell!’ the man spat back at him, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

  The larger man eased up from his chair and turned to face Joe. ‘That was a mistake.’

  ‘Tell me who you are, Legionnaire.’

  ‘My name is none of your business, ghost.’

  ‘Ghost?’ Joe repeated, his brow lifting. ‘You planning on killing me?’

  The man’s eyes registered nothing.

  ‘Makes sense,’ he continued. ‘We already know you’re a poacher and a rapist. Why not a murderer as well?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he smiled, spreading out his arms in a show of innocence. ‘We’re just two men having a quiet drink … minding our own business, as you people say. Being harassed by a group of fools.’

  Sensing that Joe was close to taking a swing at the man, Noah put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Is that your truck outside?’

  ‘You already know it is.’

  ‘Can you explain how it came to be parked next to a herd of dead elephants?’

  ‘I imagine it was driven there,’ he said, looking at Morgan and winking at him.

  Noah took a breath and waited.

  ‘Coincidence. The bush is a tough place, Detective. Death is everywhere,’ he then turned and stared specifically at Joe. ‘Everywhere you look.’

  Joe had heard enough. He lunged forward and twisted his fist in the man’s shirt. ‘What about young girls? Do they also … die everywhere?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ he smiled again.

  ‘Do you know what I’m looking forward to?’

  The man shrugged, his grin slipping a fraction.

  ‘The next time we meet. Because I’ll be there to arrest you and you’re going to resist.’

  ‘You think you can take me on?’ the man asked, yanking Joe’s hand away from his shirt. He straightened up to show his superior size. ‘You’re a long way from home, ghost.’

  ‘How do you know where I come–’

  Noah stepped in between them and pulled Joe away. ‘That’s enough. We’re leaving. Just know that we’ll be watching you. Maybe you should think about returning to France.’

  Joe’s gaze remained pinned on the man. ‘We’ll be seeing each other soon, Legionnaire.’

  ‘Maybe sooner than you think.’

  As they headed for the door, the man patted down his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘You ghosts don’t have daughters, do you? My brother and I … we get bored at night.’

  Joe stopped walking, but did not turn around.

  ‘My name is Xavier,’ the man called out, louder now, suddenly eager for them to know who they were dealing with. ‘In the Legion they called me L’Ange de la Mort. You would do well to find out what that means.’

  ‘As of right now,’ Joe warned, still not turning around, ‘you have my word.’

  ‘On what, ghost? I want to hear this.’

  ‘That the next time we meet,’ he said quietly, ‘you will be pleading for your life.’

  With that, Joe pushed through the door and stepped out into the night.

  41

  ‘Just what the hell was that?’ Noah demanded, slamming the truck’s door.

  ‘He’s guilty. Probably of everything. He practically admitted it to us,’ Joe replied. ‘They’re both guilty.’

  ‘Look, Joe, I can appreciate how strongly you feel about all this, but this isn’t how we do things around here. You can’t go around throwing suspects off their bar stools.’

  ‘I was just trying to apply some pressure. Push them into making a mistake.’

  ‘And it worked,’ Morgan said, offering some support.

  Noah prickled and turned to his partner. ‘How?’

  ‘He told us who he is.’

  ‘He fed us a name. That doesn’t mean it’s real.’

  ‘With respect, Noah, I disagree. I think it is real,’ Joe said, mindful of his tone. ‘In the end, he was itching for us to know his name. He wanted us to understand who we were crossing. And now we know where the Xs on the bullets come from – Xavier. It’s his initial. His signature. Has to be.’

  Noah hesitated as his mind made the connection. ‘Even if you’re right, you let yourself get too carried away. You were out of control. The ends never justify the means.’

  ‘Fine. I take your point. I may have overdone things and lost control of my temper. I’m sorry about that,’ he admitted, his tone genuinely contrite. ‘How do you want to handle things from here?’

  The apology appeared to douse some of Noah’s annoyance and he eased back into his seat. ‘We start watching them as best we can. Let them see us from time to time. Make them know that we’re a part of their lives now. Sooner or later they’re bound to put a foot wrong.’

  Morgan fired up the engine and the truck spluttered to life. ‘If they know we’re watching them, don’t you think they’ll keep their noses clean?’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll matter. This man – if it is Xavier – clearly believes he’s some kind of god … all but untouchable. It won’t be long before he does something he shouldn’t. We just have to be patient and wait for our opportunity.’

  ‘By the way, did you get a decent look at the other guy’s face?’ Morgan asked, his voice tinged with revulsion. ‘He could bite off your finger with his mouth closed.’

  A smile threatened Noah’s resolve, but did not break through. Very few did.

  They were quiet for a while as the bar disappeared into the night and the truck meandered slowly through the bush. Scanning the tall grass for rogue animals, they each took a few minutes to digest the encounter.

  ‘If they are guilty of murder, you have to wonder how many more victims there are out there,’ Joe said after a while. ‘If they’ve been taking women back to their hut it would be very easy to get rid of the bodies. Nothing cleans better than the bush.’

  ‘I know,’ Noah sighed, weary now. ‘If they targeted prostitutes, not too many people would report them missing. There’s really no way of knowing how many other victims there might be. Many of the flesh traders here have travelled all the way up from the Cape. Most of them are alone. Some are young runaways.’

  Morgan slowed the truck to avoid a pair of owl eyes floating on the shoulder of the road.

  ‘Do you think they really are legionnaires? Come down from the war?’

  ‘Given their apparent ability with a rifle, I’d say it’s more than possible,’ Joe suggested.

  ‘They certainly fit the profile.’

  They fell silent again until Morgan remembered something. ‘And what the hell does L’Ange de la Mort mean anyway?’

  Joe turned to Noah and saw that he also knew the answer. A flash of the black-winged portrait echoed in his mind. ‘The Angel of Death.’

  42

  Shawu was now barely eating. She was also drinking less than normal, taking in only enough water to keep her going. Even her sleeping patterns were different. But of all the perplexing changes Derek had witnessed in her, one stood out above all the rest: Her pace had lifted dramatically. For some reason, there now seemed to be a deadline attached to their journey. She also appeared more agitated than ever, almost desper
ate in her movements. Something was happening to her that Derek did not understand. There was now an undercurrent to her passage that he was neither able to see nor make sense of.

  What, he kept thinking, was going on?

  It was already late afternoon when he spotted the distinctive St George’s cross smeared across a pile of four large boulders in the distance. It was a welcome sight and, despite his exhaustion, it lifted his mood. Ignoring the throbbing in his feet, he broke into a run. Despite Shawu’s erratic behaviour, he was relieved that she had so far chosen not to stray from the river and that, for now at least, he would still be able to receive Edward’s letters.

  Sweating profusely and straining for air, he half-crawled up the embankment. He knelt down beside the rocks and quickly scooped up handfuls of dirt. Feeling the side of the case, he manoeuvred his fingers underneath it and hoisted it to the surface. He peeled open the lid and set aside the sack of provisions – the food was now only of secondary interest to him.

  A bright white envelope waited in the belly of the tin.

  As he reached down for it, his pocket watch slipped from his shirt and fell onto the rock at his feet. A feeling of dread flashed through him as he saw the back panel separate from its hinge. Cursing himself, he carefully retrieved the damaged timepiece and held it up to the sun.