‘Will do. Don’t worry, Will. She’s perfectly safe on the campsite. There are only so many places she can go to.’
‘Thanks, George,’ Will said. He set off towards the beach and soon reached the stone wall separating the camp from the sea. Walking through the open gate, he looked out at the crashing waves.
There was enough light from the moon to see the shingly beach ahead and the waves crashing onto the stones and debris before retreating again. What a beach it was, but not quite a holiday-maker’s paradise.
He spotted something ahead, motionless, just beyond the reach of the waves. At first, he thought it was a branch or part of a tree trunk, but then he realised it looked human.
Will ran out to investigate.
‘Charlotte? Charlotte, is that you?’
As he got closer, he could see it wasn’t her. It was a man, lying face down, a bloody gash at the side of his head. Bruce.
‘Bruce, what the hell happened? Are you alright?’
Bruce was stirring now, putting his hand to his head, touching the wound to assess the damage. He looked up at Will and his face changed from confused to hostile.
‘What happened, Bruce? Do you need help?’
Bruce began to stand up, slow and menacing.
‘Your damn girlfriend, that’s what’s up,’ he said. ‘Stupid bitch hit me on the head. We were only fooling around. I wanted to remind her what fucking a real man is like.’
Will watched as Bruce clenched his fist, not making the connection fast enough. His arm came around and slammed Will in the stomach, completely winding him.
‘Why did you have to stick your interfering student nose in where it isn’t wanted? Me and Charlotte were getting along fine until you came along.’
‘She was scared of you, it’s your own fault,’ Will began, struggling to snatch a breath after the shock of being punched.
‘Shut up!’ Bruce growled, pushing Will so that he stumbled onto the hard stones and worn, half bricks that lined the beach.
Will knew he was no match for Bruce. He couldn’t fight; his best bet was to run and hope that he found George. They’d have to report Bruce. With this level of violence, it was assault. They couldn’t put it off anymore - Bruce had to be dealt with.
Will stood up and started to run towards the gated wall. If he made it that far, he’d be in the grounds of the camp, and George would help him.
Behind him, the sound of stones crunching underfoot told him that Bruce was coming after him. As Will reached the mudbank leading to the boundary wall, his ankle caught the ground at a bad angle, sending the sharp sting of a twist through his foot. He could sense Bruce getting closer. It was no good; he’d have to run through the pain, find a place to hide and get out of Bruce’s way. And where was Charlotte? Where the hell was Charlotte?
He ran through the wooden gate, down the grassy bank and back onto the camp footpaths at last. He was into arcades and entertainments areas now, all locked up for the night and no sign of George on his rounds. He’d been heading out in the opposite direction when they ran into each other. Maybe he was back at the porter’s lodge already.
Will was struggling for breath. He reached the fencing which enclosed the new pool, and decided he had to pause for a rest. He turned to look behind him, assessing how much of a lead he had on his pursuer, but Bruce had been faster than he thought, and was running directly at him. Will flinched as he braced himself for the impact.
In one deft move, Bruce flipped him over the fencing and he rolled down the bank, falling awkwardly on the rubble that had been set for the foundations. Bruce leapt over the fence, coming straight at him.
Will had no time to recover, only just getting back on his feet when Bruce crashed into him once again, sending him flying onto the hard rubble, landing on his back. Bruce knelt over him, pinning him down, his weight squeezing the breath out of his lungs. His arms were securely held; all he could do was to thrash his feet around, but it made no difference. He was powerless - Bruce had him now.
Will looked into Bruce’s eyes, terrified at what he was about to do. He’d never seen flames of anger like that. Assured of his complete power, Bruce moved his right hand to Will’s throat. Bruce’s fingers were strong and deadly around his neck, squeezing, crushing his windpipe, no air… Bruce was trying to kill him.
Will thrust his right arm towards Bruce’s neck, pushing upwards, trying to get a grip under his chin, doing anything he could to end the vicious attack.
‘Charlotte is done with me when I say so, you smart-arsed little prick!’ Bruce seethed.
Will was fading now, dizziness overwhelming him, desperate for air as he thrashed about helplessly, trying to find any way to stop the assault, to stay alive. He made one final squeeze on Bruce’s neck, pushing his fingers as hard as he could.
Then, suddenly, he found air as Bruce released him. Not for long - there was a crushing weight as Bruce collapsed on top of him. Gasping for breath, he manoeuvred himself from underneath his assailant’s still body.
In shock, Will tried to roll him over, seeking signs of life, terrified that Bruce might rouse himself and attack again.
‘Bruce? Bruce?’
His body was silent and still. In a panic, Will scrambled to his feet and stumbled over the pool foundations, climbing up the bank and over the fence to safety. What had he done? Had he killed Bruce? He’d been attacked - it wasn’t his fault. Terrified at what might happen next, Will ran through the night back to his chalet, all thoughts now focused on his own crisis.
He sat in the corner of his room, shaking, scared out of his mind, until early morning when the first rays of sunshine from the new day broke through his window. He would have to tell someone. Before he did anything, he would go to the admin block and tell them what had happened.
Chapter Forty
Present Day - Morecambe
‘I’m sorry Isla, but I have to find Lucia,’ Charlotte said, bending down to kiss her on her head. She checked Isla once again to see if there was anything she could do to make her more comfortable. The laundry had been returned tightly wrapped in cellophane covering and it was sitting on the far worktop. She tore it open, taking out a couple of pure white sheets and laying them over Isla.
In the distance she could hear the sound of a siren. It was time to leave; she couldn’t risk getting caught up in all the questions and investigating, not until she knew that Lucia was safe.
Checking Isla one last time, tears of frustration flowing down her cheeks, Charlotte ran outside, leaving the doors wide open to give the ambulance crew easy access. The moped that she’d been using was still left abandoned on the pavement, its sides scraped, the key in the ignition. She ran over to it, pulling it upright and climbing onto its seat.
This time, she knew the routine to get it started. She paused for a moment, the engine idling, the flashes from the ambulance now visible behind her as the emergency vehicles hurtled up the promenade towards the guest house.
If you want too see them both, go back to were it all began.
It had to mean Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp. That’s where it all began. The nightmare with Bruce, daring to think it was all over, then finding out Will was also involved. And now, after all these years, Bruce had come back to get his revenge. Who knew why? What could his motivation possibly be after all those years?
Charlotte revved the engine and took off along the promenade, in the opposite direction of the sirens, towards Heysham and the Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp. She thanked her luck that the local police presence had become so depleted in recent years that the chances of her being stopped for riding the vehicle like a maniac and without a helmet were minimal. Besides, even with the throttle full back, she reckoned she couldn’t be too much over the speed limit. As the strong wind off the bay blew her hair all over her face, she cursed that she hadn’t thought to secure it with a hairband. Soon, she was at the end of the promenade, heading into the West End, moving steadily towards Heysham.
What did Bruce
want? Was he here to scare her? Did he want money? Justice? He’d attacked her, and she’d hurt him - not killed him. So why the hell had he now taken her daughter?
And how had he found them after those years? Was it the newspaper article, maybe popping up in some internet alert that he’d set up, hellbent on ruining their lives? How pleased he must have been to see that she and Will were still together, that he could still make both their lives hell.
But how dare he involve Lucia in this? If she had to finish what she’d started in 1984, if he dared lay a hand on Lucia, she’d kill him. This time she wouldn’t leave him for dead. If he harmed her daughter, she’d finish him with her own hands and take the punishment if she had to. It was long overdue. Bruce Craven had haunted their lives for more than three decades. This had to end.
Charlotte was about to enter a stretch of road without streetlights. It would be complete darkness once she left Middleton and started making her way along the winding country road which led to the holiday camp. She fumbled with her left hand, trying to find the switches for the headlamps. As she did so, she swerved across the road, narrowly missing a white car on the opposite side. The driver sounded the car horn, slamming on the brakes and winding down the window. Charlotte clipped the front bumper with the moped, bringing it to a dead stop and steadying herself on the car’s bonnet to prevent herself from falling into the road.
The driver was furious, winding down his window and cursing her.
‘You silly bitch!’ he screamed. ‘You’re not even wearing a helmet. What the hell were you thinking?’
‘Sorry!’ Charlotte said, pulling up the moped from its tilted position and pulling back the throttle to make sure the engine was still running. ‘I’ll sort it out with you later, I promise!’
She pulled the moped fully across the front of the car, drove past it and veered out onto the correct side of the road. ‘Sorry!’ she shouted, as the thrashed engine buzzed like an insect on speed and she drove away into the distance.
Soon she was at Middleton, passing the turn to the pub at Overton. So many fun nights had been spent there with Will. Could they rescue their relationship once again? Would it ever be the same after this?
The road to the camp was pitch black. She was suddenly fearful as the streetlights disappeared behind her and she drove into darkness, or whatever awaited her ahead. She focused on Lucia with her eyes half-closed, wincing as she saw the silhouettes of bats overhead, hunting insects around the coarse bushes which lined the narrow road.
There was no traffic now and no signs of life. As the light diminished, her sense of isolation and vulnerability increased. Why hadn’t she taken a kitchen knife? Bruce used his hands to harm. If she’d brought a knife, she could save Lucia, make their escape and alert the police. She hadn’t thought it through. It was too late now; she was almost at the holiday camp. This was it. She was saving her daughter, whatever it took.
The holiday camp had already been transformed since she’d last visited. The demolition vehicles and diggers had moved in. Portable cabins had been delivered already, an area cleared for contractor parking, and two of the nearest chalet blocks had been knocked down.
Charlotte pulled up the moped outside the ruin of the porter’s lodge. The only light in the entire area came from a dual lamp unit powered by a generator. It had been left running within the boundary created by the perimeter fencing, throwing a startling light out into the small section of road which led to what had once been the entrance to the holiday camp.
Charlotte remembered her first day at the camp, arriving with Jenna on the bus, nervous at what they’d find there, and not entirely sure how she’d cope with the work. She felt that same sense of trepidation now, but tenfold, as well as fury at the danger that her daughter had been placed in.
She stopped the moped, attempted to find its stand with her foot, gave up and let it drop to the ground. An old car was parked up on the grass in the darkness, well away from the beam of the lamps. Was this Bruce?
Her phone pinged.
Your here. I see you. I want to be certain nobody else is coming. Come inside the site, wait by the new pool.
The new pool. Only somebody who worked at the camp back then would call it that. It was almost forty years old now and hadn’t been used for years. It was most likely about to become filled with rubble. Charlotte tried to avoid stereotypes as a general rule, but Bruce wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box. He kept screwing up his spellings. It had to be him.
She made her way to the section of fence where she and Will had entered the site previously. Although it looked like the fencing had been fortified since her last visit, she was still able to negotiate her way through the gap that they’d found last time. There was a muddy puddle there now; there was no way of avoiding the wet mess that splashed over her jeans.
The camp was completely still. There was no light other than that given off by the generator-powered unit at the front. The sky was dark and grey, the moon concealed behind ominous clouds. She felt like she was entering a ghost town as she cautiously made her way over to the main road that ran through the centre of the camp. At least she’d be able to navigate by memory that way. With so much of the entrance area a demolition site now, she had to take care. The fencing surrounding the old camp warned of the dangers, but this was one night where health and safety would have to get stuffed.
Charlotte held her phone in her hand, its screen giving off some small amount of light to her immediate surrounding area. It gave her a sense of some safety and security, even though she knew that was ridiculous.
Her mind returned to that night, when she’d followed this road, knowing that Bruce was following her, trying to loop around him so that she could return to the safety of her room. Was this what he wanted? To scare her like he’d scared her that night? If that’s what he wanted, he’d succeeded.
She continued walking and flinched as an owl flew overhead, a predator hunting for its prey in the stillness of the night. The symbolism was not lost on her.
Charlotte looked at her phone. At the far end of the camp, she’d lose her signal. It was patchy at best on the site - she’d found that out already. As she inched forward, she felt a sense of somebody being there, watching in the darkness. She couldn’t see them; perhaps she was imagining it. Feeling more vulnerable now, she looked straight ahead.
She arrived at the pool. It was overgrown with shrubs which hadn’t been tended for years. Once, this would have been a joyous place for hundreds of holiday-makers. Now it was a place of fear.
Her phone pinged again. It was the anonymous Facebook account. Bruce Craven.
Look towards the pool. Do not scream and do not cross the fence.
She did as she was told.
The pool had been drained; she’d seen that on her previous visit. All that was left now was a filthy, concrete base, with a small pool of rainwater in its centre.
A bright beam appeared from the far end of the pool. She couldn’t see who was controlling it, but it seemed to be a torch or something similar. Illuminated by the light, on her knees, with her hands tied behind her back was her daughter. Her mouth was bound with grey tape. Although she could only see the back of her head from where she was standing, Charlotte could see everything she needed to know. Lucia was terrified. She was scared for her life.
Chapter Forty-One
Present Day - Morecambe
The torch beam was extinguished, plunging the pool into darkness once again. Charlotte began to shake, picturing Lucia there, alone, terrified, thinking that it was all over. Why had they come back to this cursed place? What had they been thinking of, believing they could patch things up by returning to the area where they’d once been happy?
She had to control her fear. If she didn’t get a grip, she’d let Lucia down, and wouldn’t be there to help her when the time came. If it came.
Charlotte looked at her phone, her hand now shaking. She typed in a message.
What do you want?
; She saw the dots appear, letting her know that a reply was being written. It seemed to take an age to come. Should she message Will or Olli? She daren’t, not until she knew the lay of the land. For all she knew, Bruce might be armed. She couldn’t risk it, not until she knew.
Make your way back to your old room. There’s an envelope in the sink. Read it. Tell me when you’re ready. No false moves. No police or she gets it.
All Charlotte could focus on was the spelling. The use of you’re and your three times in one message and no mistakes. Had Bruce suddenly learned to spell correctly?
She made her way around the far side of the pool, not the most direct route, but one that would give her another glimpse of Lucia. If she was able to, she had to let her know that she was not on her own.
Without the torch beam, it was almost impossible to make her out. Once upon a time this pool would have been frequented by hundreds of shrieking children splashing in the water, filling buckets and playing games. Now her own daughter was there somewhere, scared out of her mind, and she couldn’t help her.
Her phone pinged.
Don’t think about it. One wrong move and Lucia gets it.
Charlotte knew she was reaching the point at which her phone signal would be disappearing soon, as she got closer to the tower and the wall which separated the camp from the beach. This was just like that night. The fear, the tension, the sense that she’d somehow done something wrong.
This is not my fault.
She kept imagining movement, to her side, ahead, behind her. Was he watching her? Of course he was - he knew that she’d walked along the far edge of the pool, rather than going directly to the chalets. Then she realised. Bruce could see her phone. It was a complete giveaway. It was like waving at him in the darkness.
Charlotte turned off her screen and the sound on her device. There were messages from Will and Olli. She was desperate to speak to them, but she had to focus on Lucia. There would be time for them when her daughter was safe.
Left for Dead Page 21
