by Luca Veste
He kept moving.
Louise limped slowly to her car, then bent over and pretended to fix her shoe as someone else passed by. Once they were out of sight, she reached behind the back tyre and removed the small fob and attached key.
Within moments she was inside the car. She wondered for a brief second if her foot was going to be in any state to drive – and then the reality of her situation hit her.
She couldn’t breathe properly, gasping for air, her heart hammering against her chest. She could feel his weight on top of her once more, choking her, stopping her moving. It was as if her entire body had been placed in a vice that was slowly being tightened until she couldn’t be squeezed anymore.
Louise screwed her eyes shut, gripping hold of the steering wheel and allowing the voice to soothe her.
Just breathe. You’re okay. Just remember to breathe slowly. In, out. In, out.
Hands clawing at her skin, ripping into it, burning flesh. Lying in the ground, a hole, dirt shovelled on top of her, coming too quickly for her to avoid. Being swallowed by the earth, wrapping itself around her, enveloping her, becoming a second skin.
You can do this.
There was only darkness in her vision and the sound of her laboured breathing surrounding her. Yet, she knew that was preferable to the unconsciousness that it could have been. She held onto those sounds, feeling reality slipping back into sync with her mind.
Louise opened her eyes and they were immediately drawn to the clock on the dashboard.
Just under ninety minutes. That was the entire length of time in which she had arrived, parked up, walked into the woods, then escaped them.
It felt much longer than that.
Anger took hold then. Bubbling and then boiling away inside her, until she couldn’t hold it back any longer. It came out in a scream, which echoed around the inside of her car. Her fists pounded the steering wheel, then she leant forward and smacked the dashboard. Moved her clenched hands and struck the door to the side of her, hair falling around her face as she breathed in and started pounding the dashboard again.
Ringing. She could hear ringing, coming from the outside world.
She wanted to kill him. Wrap her hands around his throat and choke every last scrap of pathetic life out of him. Slide a knife into his chest, his stomach. Cut every artery she could find. Take an axe to him.
When she was done, her breath came in short pants, her heart hammering against her chest.
The ringing continued.
She moved the rear-view mirror, examining her face and neck. Apart from dirt marks, new lines, smudged black make-up around her eyes, she didn’t look too far from normal. Even paler than before maybe, but she didn’t think she would draw many looks on the way back.
Her neck was bright red, marked, but she didn’t think it had been bruised or anything that would last too long.
‘The day’s looking up,’ Louise said to herself, a sad smirk appearing on her reflection’s face.
The ringing kept on.
She blinked, finally realising it was real, and reached across to the passenger footwell, where she’d chucked her work phone. Brought it to her face, expecting to see Shipley’s name on the screen. Instead, it was a number she didn’t recognise.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me.’
It took Louise a moment to place the voice, then it came to her. ‘Caroline?’
‘Please, you have to come. He’s here.’
‘Where are you?’ Louise said, cradling her phone into her shoulder and turning the key in the car.
‘I’m at my mum’s house, please, you have to come now.’
‘Where is it?’ Louise could hear something in the background crashing, a scream. Then the line went dead. She took the phone away from her ear, redialling the number that had called her, but it rang for a few seconds before cutting to voicemail.
‘No . . .’
She ended the call, looking out at the road, trying to work out what she should do. On her phone screen, numerous notifications.
Missed calls and a text message from Shipley.
Louise pressed on his name and waited for him to pick up. ‘Paul . . .’ she said quietly, hoping her voice didn’t betray her now.
‘Where are you?’
Louise shook her head at the gruff response, yet it allowed her to shift into professional mode one final time. ‘Listen, it’s not important. We need to get to her.’
‘Where are you?’
She sat forward in her seat, looking around the car to make sure there was still no one watching her.
Tell him.
She couldn’t tell him.
‘It’s Caroline, she’s in danger,’ she said, ignoring his repeated question. ‘You have to find her.’
‘We’ve already done that, that’s why I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’
‘Great, she’s just called me and she needs someone there now.’
‘You’ll never believe who she is. Remember that kid who went missing in the woods over the water, about twenty years ago? She’s his sister.’
Louise didn’t remember, but couldn’t interrupt Shipley.
‘Anyway, we think there’s a link between that disappearance and why she was in those woods.’
‘Okay, so you’ll go over to her mum’s house?’
‘Yeah, no problem. Need to find her and work out why she lied to us anyway. Are you coming?’
Louise looked over her shoulder, back into the darkness there. Then at the road ahead of her.
‘Not right now,’ she said, then ended the call before Shipley could argue with her. She looked at the house she had parked near, all that time ago. Memories now flooding back, as if all along the key had been those woods.
Him.
She made a decision.
Let the handbrake down and started driving away.
Forty-Eight
Caroline dropped the phone to the floor as the man came into the house, moving alongside the dining room table, his elbow knocking into a bowl and sending it crashing to the ground. Caroline screamed, but he showed no reaction, continuing his path towards her mum. A cold rush of air came in, bringing with it the smell of death. She gagged on it, bending over as it hit her, sending her back to those woods. The thing above her, hurting her.
The pain.
‘I can’t believe you’re home. You’ve come back.’
Caroline reached out, but was too far away. Way too far. She had to get herself together, forget the memories, the pain. She had to save her mum from the monster.
It wasn’t her son.
‘Mum, come back here,’ Caroline said, too quietly. Her mum didn’t react, only cocking her head slightly, as she stared at the stranger in her dining room. ‘Mum, that’s not him. It’s not Matty.’
She moved across the room, ignoring the cries of her body to stop. The dining table was between them as she reached the back of the room, the man now coming into full view.
‘Look, Caroline,’ her mum said, turning to her, her face bright, smiling for the first time she could remember. ‘He’s come home.’
‘Get away from my mum,’ Caroline said, ignoring her mother and looking at the thing that had entered their home.
‘What are you saying, Caroline?’ her mum said, confusion sweeping over her face. She stepped towards her still, glancing at the thing in her house, before turning back to Caroline. ‘It’s Matthew. He’s come back to us.’
‘That’s not him. It never was. Matty has gone. Get away from him, Mum.’
‘No, it’s him. Why are you doing this?’
He was now standing close to her mum, looking at Caroline, the same sick smile playing across his face when he’d held her in those woods. The overpowering aroma of him, seeping into her every pore. Her mum was still looking up at him, a frown crossing her face, then disappearing as fast as it had appeared.
‘Get away from her,’ Caroline said, her voice a hiss now. She wasn’t going to let this happen. Not now
. Not here.
‘Caroline, stop it,’ her mum said, cold as ice towards her. She could see her searching his face, looking for familiarity and seemingly finding it. ‘Where have you been, son?’
The thing reached out a gnarled hand, her mum mirroring him. Caroline slipped around the dining room table, but she wasn’t quick enough. He gripped her mum’s hand, softly at first, but she could see the grasp getting tighter. His other hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm, pushing her back on the other side of the table and towards the living room.
‘No, don’t,’ Caroline screamed, as she watched the thing lift her mum off her feet and throw her to the floor. She moved quickly, rushing towards it, before stopping as she saw what was in its hand.
‘Stop,’ Caroline tried, pain shooting through her again.
She watched, helpless, as her mum looked towards Rhys Durham, tears in her eyes. Then the knife appeared, seemed to leap forward and into her mum’s chest.
‘No . . .’
She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Buckled underneath her, as she tried to cross the room and stop him.
Caroline watched the knife come back again and screamed as the man turned towards her. He came forward, smiling. Lifted her off the ground and smashed her head into the wall. She fell to the ground again, seeing his boots move back towards her mum as her vision turned to black.
Shipley pulled the car to a stop outside the house. A normal-looking semi-detached house, in a quiet street. The front garden was overgrown, but it didn’t look that bad. He’d been to worse places. He’d tried calling Louise back numerous times, but she wouldn’t answer. He’d sworn at his phone, then phoned through to the station to find out Caroline Edwards’s address. Her mum’s address as well, just to be sure. Louise had told him to go there and when it turned out he was only a few minutes away, he decided to just go round.
She was going to be the death of him, he thought. He’d learned more about her in the past few days than he had in the three years previous. Still, he knew, there were things she wasn’t telling him. About her past.
He knew this case had brought up memories she’d wanted to keep hidden inside her. There were stories about her, always told when she was out of earshot. How she was prone to ‘snap’, as they put it. He hadn’t seen it himself, but knew it was possible. The job can do that to anyone.
And then there was the fire. He’d looked it up, unable to help himself. She’d been found almost dead, outside her family home, the only survivor.
Shipley got out of the car, walked up the path and then stopped in his tracks at the door. He listened for anything unusual, but couldn’t hear anything at all.
At first.
He began pounding on the door with a closed fist, shouting as he did so. He could hear noise from inside now, furniture crashing, a woman’s cries, the thud of bodies on the ground. He looked around, wondering how on earth he could get into the house. Pulled his radio from his pocket and shouted into it.
‘DS Paul Shipley, requesting backup immediately.’ He reeled off the address and then looked back towards the window.
They didn’t have time.
There was another crash inside. He stepped back and flung his boot at the door. It didn’t move. He tried again, swinging with all his strength, landing his foot against the bottom half. It buckled a little, but not enough. He was panting already, still shouting to the people inside.
‘Police, open the door.’
His hand slipped to his belt, removing the baton there, then extended it out. Took a step back and swung it at the small pane of glass next to the door. It cracked, splintering in a spider web. He didn’t pause, swinging again and smashing the glass, the shards flying into the house. He thrust his hand inside, searching for the lock; he found it and grasped the key. He twisted it and pulled down the door handle.
He didn’t think, simply pushed his way inside and started in the direction of the noise. The living room was to his right, the door closed, the sounds louder now. Shipley stepped forward and opened the door, taking in the scene. It was only a small room, but it felt like a black hole, drawing him in and swallowing him whole.
Two women. One older than the other. The younger one at first glance seemed to be simply sitting on the floor, but when Shipley took another step forward, he could see the blood running down her face. He recognised her. Caroline. The woman from the hospital, her face still bruised and yellowed. Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the wall – where it had hit it, Shipley guessed.
The older woman was lying on her back, a man in black crouching over her, a knife in his hand. Shipley saw the blood, pooling on the ground around her, and he didn’t blink. Didn’t pause. He threw himself forward as the knife plunged again into the woman’s body.
Shipley stopped and swung the baton over his head, faintly aware of his own cry as he crashed it into the head of the figure holding the knife. He felt the impact throughout the entirety of his arm, a shockwave of pain travelling up and into his shoulder. He ignored it, swinging again and hitting him in the shoulder this time.
The man rocked on his feet, listing to the side, grunting as he did so. The woman beneath him groaned, tried to move but didn’t seem able to. Shipley fixed his eyes on the man anew, watching as he fell to the side and then tried to lift himself up.
‘Can you move?’ Shipley said to the woman, still keeping his eyes on the man as he moaned and shook his head. He crouched down next to the woman, laying a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at his touch, but shifted a little.
Shipley grabbed hold of the woman’s shoulder, tried moving her away, but she was like a dead weight. He moved his eyes to the other end of the room, where Caroline still sat, eyes closed.
Then back to the figure in black.
The man had his back to Shipley, but he could see he was struggling to his feet. Shipley moved around the woman, closer to him, ready to strike again. The man got up on one knee, then collapsed to the floor again. He could see the wound he’d inflicted on the side of the man’s head, the hair there matted with blood. More blood rolled down and onto the black of his clothes, mixing with the blood spray from the woman’s wounds.
Shipley lifted the baton above his head, waiting, wanting to see the man’s face.
‘Come on,’ he cried, his breath slow and heavy. ‘It’s over. Lie down on the ground.’
The man shifted again, turning to face Shipley, who cocked his head to one side, studying the other’s face.
Rhys Durham stared glassy-eyed up at Shipley, his face clouded with a growing stain of blood. Hair sprouted out in odd ways from his face, not the full beard Shipley had been expecting. His hair was long, dark, dank. He was older, of course, than in the photographs Shipley had seen, but he was still recognisable.
Shipley got to his feet and stood over the man, breathing heavily. Rhys Durham lay at his feet, the blood from his head wound pooling around him. His eyes opened and closed. His breath was still coming out in rasps.
‘I bloody caught him,’ Shipley whispered, almost laughing at the idea.
He turned to where Caroline was still slumped against the wall, and kneeled down in front of her.
‘Caroline, wake up, it’s Paul. Detective Sergeant Shipley. You have to wake up. It’s over.’
Shipley placed a hand on Caroline’s shoulder just as she opened her eyes slowly. Her pupils widened as she recognised the man kneeling in front of her. Shipley guessed that he was the last person Caroline had been expecting to see.
‘Wha— where’s Mum?’
‘She’s over here, she’s hurt. I need you to stay calm, okay? Police are on their way. I’ll get an ambulance as well.’
‘What about . . .’
Caroline couldn’t finish her question. She was looking at the broken figure in black lying close by. He was still moaning and making guttural noises, but was clearly unable to move.
‘It’s okay, he’s not going to hurt you,’ Shipley said, standing back up and mov
ing towards Rhys Durham as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
His hands were still shaking, adrenaline still rushing through his veins. He could feel it inside him, spreading through every part of his body. It was intensely satisfying.
‘Ambulance . . . Same place . . .’
Shipley jumped at Caroline’s scream, then turned to find Rhys Durham on his feet, stumbling, almost bent over at the waist, towards him. His heartbeat came to a stop, as time seemed to slow down.
Rhys roared as he threw himself at him. Shipley stepped to one side, bringing the baton down across the back of his shoulders as Rhys crashed into a coffee table that had been upended and shoved aside.
This time, he didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
Shipley felt his heart start beating madly against his chest once more. He shook his head, looked up at Caroline, who was still.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Shipley said, looking around for something, anything, that might tell him what to do next. ‘Get out of the room.’
He bent down and lifted Val Edwards, dragging her into the hallway. Tried to work out how to keep Rhys Durham incapacitated without inflicting any further damage.
Shipley wanted to sit across from him in an interview room.
‘Make sure your mum is okay,’ Shipley said, stepping away from the women and leaving them in the hallway. In the distance, he could hear approaching sirens.
He stepped back into the living room, half-expecting Rhys Durham to have escaped out of the back door. A horror movie villain, with one last scare in him.
Instead, he lay on the floor where Shipley had left him. Blood on the floor, mixing in with the older woman’s, coalescing into one large pool.
Shipley gripped Rhys Durham’s arms and held on tight.
It was only human. He was only a man. Not a monster. Not a myth.
Just human.
He wanted to call Louise. Put her mind at rest. It would have to wait. Instead, he tightened his grip.
And waited for the cavalry to arrive.
Forty-Nine
Louise was on the road north when her phone rang again. She glanced at the screen, knowing it would be Shipley’s name that showed. She considered throwing the damn thing out of the window, but decided she wanted to hear his voice one more time.
