by Ryan Casey
Hannah and Marie would scream as their vocal cords were severed.
No. Brian tensed his fist. He couldn’t think that way. He couldn’t afford to let himself admit defeat. No—he might’ve been sat on the porch of his house after midnight without a car or bus to get out of here, but he needed a plan. A truly productive plan.
Taking a deep breath, he opened up his phone again and scrolled down to the direct line to Preston Police Station. Nausea welled up in his chest as he hovered over it. He knew that by calling them, he’d be admitting defeat. His involvement in these discoveries would be over. Might even get punished for withholding information.
But fuck. Involvement in the discoveries. What did that matter when his family was involved?
And hell. Was he really withholding information or just coming up with theories?
Regardless, he scrolled away from the police and moved over to “Dickhead Dave”. A sinister smirk came from nowhere to occupy his face. When he was at his wit’s end, he’d turn to a fucking scumbag journalist. Typical.
All he needed was a ride. A trip down there. He didn’t need to call the police, not yet. He just needed to see that Hannah was okay. That Marie was okay. Then he’d call the police when he had more to go on.
Hitting David Wallson’s name with his thumb, he pulled his phone back to his ear and waited. His jaw tensed even further as he waited and waited. Seriously, not another person gone AWOL?
“Brian? Why are you calling at this time?”
“David,” Brian said, the relief evident as he spoke. He’d never been so relieved to hear David Wallson’s voice, that was for certain, as tired and raspy as it sounded. “I need your help. There’s something I’ve found out. My girlfriend, she’s—she’s staying right by the third killing site. She’s staying there and she’s—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” David said, yawning between the second and third “whoa”. “Slow down, old boy. What are you talking about?”
Brian closed his eyes and took another deep breath of the October air as a car sped down his road. “It’s not the archeologists the killer is targeting, David. It’s the people in the locations. And there’s a very real chance my girlfriend is in one of those locations right now.”
There was a pause on the line. Brian heard David mutter something to somebody, before returning. “Look, what happened earlier shit me up. Big time. It’s time we took a step back. My…my wife wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, you’re wrong. The killer was targeting the archeologists. He paid them £160,120 to do a job, for fuck’s sake.”
David was right. Brian was stunned to silence. The killer had paid the archeologists. There was no denying he’d set them up some way or another.
“You need to let it go. Your girlfriend will be okay. But we…we need to take a step back. Like I said, can’t have it any other way.”
Just at that point, an interesting thought entered Brian’s head. It was a thought that he hadn’t even considered before, and yet when it struck him, he couldn’t actually believe his detective brain hadn’t yet pondered it.
“Sleep well, Brian. I’ll—”
“Maybe the ‘Harold Harvey’ character and the killer are two different people.”
David stopped in the middle of his closing remarks. “Come again?”
The idea was still raw in Brian’s head, so he was piecing it together as he spoke. But he sensed he was onto something. He really did. “The killer and the hirer of the two archeological groups. Maybe they are different people.”
“That’s insane,” David said. Brian heard more murmuring in the background. “Look, Brian, I really do have to go. It’s bloody late. The police are probably way ahead of us with this investigation, too. Get some rest.”
“It’s not insane. Not at all. Think about it. A person using the ‘Harold Harvey’ alias hires two archeological groups to dig up two locations. Both groups are killed and left in some ritualistic fashion similar to the patterns of 17th Century witches. Now tell me, why would a killer going by the name of ‘Harold Harvey’—a well-known witch killer—use witch-like methods to display his victims?”
David Wallson was speechless for a few moments. “I…I don’t know. Shit, he—sorry, darling—he’s a nutter. He’s killing people, for fuck’s sake—sorry, again.”
“Perhaps,” Brian said, without believing it one bit. “Or this person going by the ‘Harold Harvey’ alias is setting people up. Dropping them in respected lands and forcing them to dig. Unearthing treasures that…that descendants of these witches aren’t happy about. Say, did we ever check the family lines of these witches?”
After a few more moments of bickering with his wife, David returned to the phone and sighed. “I…No. We didn’t get that far. Didn’t think much of it. But as far as I know, the entire family lines were killed. Which means there were no descendants. And besides, I didn’t think you believed in witches?”
Damn. If all of the witches and their families had been killed, then the chances of a vengeful descendant were unlikely. “I still think that somebody is provoking somebody else into killing. And I think they’re using the Harold Harvey name as a decoy. To…to metaphorically ‘kill’, of sorts.”
“What about your girlfriend, then? Where does she come into things?”
Shit. Brian’s body filled with dread. All this hypothesizing and he’d actually managed to forget why he was on the phone in the first place. He needed to get to Hannah and Marie and check they were okay. But judging by his new thoughts, they would be.
Just as long as they weren’t digging for some reason.
Or letting Marie’s dog shit on the park.
“Seeing as I’m up and out of bed and, quite frankly, the wife is giving me a hell of a lot of grief, I’ll take you to this wife of yours—”
“Girlfriend,” Brian said.
“Well, girlfriend. Whatever. But fuck, Brian. Just don’t make a habit of this. I’ll be down there in twenty or so.”
Without saying anything else, the phone cut to silence.
Brian lowered his phone and stared out at the street. A couple of lights in the semidetached house across the road had flicked on, as a pair of kids peeked out of their curtains at Brian, standing there in the darkness.
Hannah would be okay. But he’d go check on her just to make sure.
And then he’d offer his research to the police. It was the only legitimate way of going about this situation with his morals still intact.
As he sat on his porch and waited for David to arrive, chewing at his nails, his mind couldn’t help but race at the thought that “Harold Harvey” and the killer might just be two different people after all.
But why?
Chapter Fourteen
“I can’t believe how fast he’s grown in such a short space of time.”
Hannah tickled Rocky’s stomach as they sat on the white leather sofa of her sister’s house. The sun had set a short while back, and if it wasn’t for the imitation fireplace underneath Marie’s 50-inch television, it would’ve been one of the coolest nights of the year by a mile.
“That’s what dogs do,” Marie said, as she took the plates away from the table. “Grow quicker than fucking hair. Speaking of which, I need an appointment. This mop is getting on my rag.”
As Marie moved from the dining table that she had set up in the living room to the small kitchen, Rocky—her border terrier—hopped to his feet and followed her, jumping up at her legs, scouting for any potential fallen scraps.
“Sweet to finally see you settling down with someone,” Hannah said.
Marie rolled her eyes. She had a piercing in her nose, and her hair was short, blonde at the tips. She’d lost a fair bit of weight since Hannah last saw her, which was surprisingly recent. “He gets me out of the house. That’s more than any bloke has ever managed.”
“Tell me about it,” Hannah muttered under her breath as she stre
tched her legs across the cool leather of the sofa and took a sip on her red wine.
“I always warned you about those detective types,” Marie called. Plates clattered in the dishwasher as she loaded it up. Rocky’s sharp nails tapped against the floor. “I told you, you little devil. There’s no food. We cleaned it out.”
“He’s alright most of the time,” Hannah said. “Great, in fact. Just when he puts his mind on something, he becomes…obsessive.”
Marie brushed her hands together as she returned to the room. “And what is it he’s putting his mind to, eh?”
Hannah thought about responding but took another sip on her wine instead. The Pendle Hill and Longridge Fell killings. She couldn’t start moping about those to her sister. She’d be convinced Brian was some kind of lunatic for certain. Besides, look at the pair of them, chatting about men. Talk about a living, breathing stereotype.
“Well, whatever. Between the two of you. But—Oh. Here he is again. Your phone’s buzzing. Want me to answer and give him a barrel of grief?”
Hannah’s cheeks flushed. She wanted to answer her boyfriend’s call. As cosy as her sister’s lounge was, there’s nothing more she really desired than a return home and some rough make-up sex with Brian. He might not have looked all that special to the majority of women, but Hannah liked his type. Rough. Rugged. And experienced in the sack, too. In fact, even she hadn’t been totally enamoured with him until she got a grip of his fat cock that first time. It really was a swayer, that’s for sure.
She wasn’t shallow. Honest.
“Too late. Chance gone begging.”
Hannah noticed that the vibration of her phone had stopped.
“So what’s the plan now then? Kip here for a few days? I’m sure Rocky wouldn’t mind the company.”
Hannah sighed. “I suppose I’ll give him ‘til the morning. He’s a dick at times, but a night on his own should be enough to make him see the error of his…”
Before she could finish, Hannah was interrupted by the sound of Marie’s landline.
“Cheeky bastard,” Marie said, marching towards the phone. She had her large hands curled into fists and her nostrils were twitching. The blonde tips in her short hair made her look like some kind of furious dragon.
“Leave it,” Hannah said. Rocky turned around and looked at her in confusion, growling at the landline phone as it rang and rang and rang.
Marie frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “You for real? My house, my rules, surely?”
“Just, please,” Hannah said. Her tone was a little more harsh than she’d intended. “Just let it go. Like I say, I’ll speak to him in the morning. Anyway, shouldn’t you be taking him for a walk or something?”
Right on cue with the word “walk”, Rocky turned to his owner and started yelping at her, mounting her leg.
“Alright, alright,” Marie said, reaching down and scooping Rocky up underneath her chunky arm. “Look what you’ve gone and done. Dropped me right in it. Suppose I should take him though. What time is it?”
Hannah looked at her watch. A gold-rimmed watch that Brian had bought her for her birthday last year. A twinge of guilt flickered inside her. She felt dirty for looking at a gesture of goodwill, like she was no longer entitled to even interact with anything Brian-related while he was in this forced exile. “It’s just gone…oh. Eleven. Look, are you sure you’re alright, actually? It’s getting late.”
Marie shrugged and struggled to attach a lead to Rocky’s collar; he wouldn’t stop fidgeting. “What’s gotta be done has gotta be done. I’ll just take him around the outskirts of the field. Nobody ever comes round here anyway that isn’t, well, a sheep. Besides, if anybody tries anything on me, I’ll make fucking sure it’s them reaching for their rape alarm, that’s for sure.” She winked at Hannah with a cheeky half-smile on her face as she rose back up and walked towards the back door with Rocky. “Come on, you. Not that you need telling twice. You alright keeping yourself company?”
Hannah brushed her fingers through her hair and nodded, eyes closed partly. “I’m fine. Just stay safe.”
Hannah’s phone started rattling on the kitchen worktop again. Marie looked at it, then peered at Hannah. “As long as you’re true to your word and don’t answer that, okay? Show some balls.”
As much as Hannah wanted to go over and pick up that vibrating phone, her sister was right. Brian had been a prick with her. Forcing him into a solitary exile was the only way he ever saw any kind of sense. It’d only happened a handful of times since they’d been together, but it always worked. A reset button on their relationship, almost, no matter how shitty it made her feel.
Marie grabbed the door handle and opened it, Rocky pulling himself forward, yanking at the lead as the cold air worked its way through the kitchen and tickled Hannah’s bare toes.
“Inabit, sis,” Marie said.
“Stay safe,” Hannah replied.
The door slammed shut. The cold air that had crept in receded.
And once again, the landline started to ring.
Almost instinctively, Hannah lifted herself from the sofa. But then she remembered her sister’s words. “Grow some balls.” Although it wasn’t the most elegant piece of advice, she had a point. She needed to be tough. She couldn’t cave, no matter how desperately her boyfriend needed her.
And if it got that bad, then he could always just come over here. As bad as his ex-wife had hinted at in their conversation, anyway. But he seemed past all that. It wouldn’t come to that.
She hoped.
She lay back on the sofa as the landline rang a final few times then cut away to silence. Thank God her sister had disabled voicemail. Hearing his apologetic voice might just have tipped her over the edge.
As she closed her eyes and the warmth of the fire started to engulf her again, she heard a sudden tapping on the window. She jolted upright and her eyes opened wide.
Marie made a claw-like gesture with her hand as she stood at the window, visibly growling as she stared through into her lounge.
Hannah raised a middle finger as she sighed a breath of relief, and Marie shook her head, laughing as she disappeared into the darkness of the tree-lined street. It looked spooky as hell out there. Her sister always had been the one blessed with the daredevil genes. One day, it’d catch up with her no doubt. But until it did, Marie seemed pretty set in her ways.
Hannah’s phone started to vibrate again.
“Grow some balls,” she muttered, before closing her eyes and getting comfy on the sofa, as her sister made her way towards the field.
“How fucking far is it we’re going? I wish you’d told me you were bringing me to the frigging middle of nowhere—fuck.”
Brian ignored David as they drove down the long country lane, completely free of streetlamps and pavements. His heart was thumping faster than usual. He hoped and prayed that Hannah was okay. She should be. After all, there was no reason why she would be digging. There was no reason why she’d be out walking her sister’s stupid mutt at half midnight either.
Unless they’d gone out earlier. The killer had got them then. Kicked the dog’s teeth in. Buried them both and surrounded them with bones.
“Come on, Brian,” David said. He was still in his dressing gown and slippers as he ramped the car heater up to full blast. “Are we nearly—”
“Just up here on the right. Pull up in front.”
David slowed the car down as they approached Marie’s house. The porch light was lit, which was a good sign. He thought he could see the television through the window too. Another positive sign of life.
“Right,” David said. “Make this as quick as possible. I know I’m supposed to be a heartless bastard, but heartless bastards have wives and kids to look out for, too, so—”
Brian opened the passenger door and climbed out, half-jogging towards the front door of the semidetached cottage-style house Marie rented. “Five minutes,” he said. “That’s all it’ll take.”
<
br /> He was already halfway up the driveway before David could respond. He held his breath as he approached the window. Hannah and Brian’s red Fiesta was parked up, as was Marie’s black Land Rover. He squinted through the window. The main guest chair was empty. The lights were dim. He couldn’t see the sofa from this angle. Fuck. Where were they? They must’ve been in the kitchen, or upstairs.
Or on the field. Decapitated. Bodies desecrated.
No. Snap out of it. It didn’t have to be like that.
Brian battered his hand against the glass of the window. “Hannah,” he shouted. “Marie. Hannah. It’s…I know this sounds crazy, but I need to know you’re okay.”
“Even I’d be running away from you if you were speaking like that to me,” David shouted, his car window wound down.
Brian bashed against the heavy wooden door and pushed the doorbell repeatedly. “I need to know you’re in there. I need to know you’re okay. Please. I—”
The weight of the door receded beneath Brian’s fist.
At the door, in her slippers and dressing gown, Hannah looked on with a wide-eyed, bewildered expression.
“Oh, Hannah,” Brian said. He threw himself at her and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank God you’re okay. I was so worried. So worried.”
Hannah’s body was limp in his arms, but he was just so relieved to hold her. Sure, she might not understand what the hell was going on yet, but she was here. She was alive. That’s the main thing. Thank fuck.
“Brian, I don’t…What are you…”
“Now you’ve had your nice little reunion and we know all’s okay, can we get the hell out of here, please? It’s fucking freezing, excuse my French.” David blew hot air into his hands as the engine of his car rumbled in the background.
Hannah looked over at David. She had a small crinkle in-between her eyebrows which she always had when she was confused. She looked like she wanted to be angry with him, but was just too bewildered to even try. “Brian, what’s going on? You shouldn’t be here. Why are you here? And why is he here?”
