Thorn In My Side

by Sheila Quigley

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  'Danny. Danny.' Shelly’s voice echoed in his head, as his eyelids flickered and he swam back up to the reality of his world.

  Groaning loudly, he sat up and clutched his right side. 'Ow! The bastards, I think one of my ribs is broken.' He groaned again. 'Maybes all of them.'

  'Careful,' Shelly urged, trying to get him to lie back down.

  But Danny stubbornly refused. Resting his back against the wall, he looked around. 'Jesus Christ almighty, we’re in a bloody cell… What the hell?'

  Shelly nodded. 'We’re at the monastery near Holy Island.'

  She looked at his face and could see the pain he was going through, the struggle to understand what was happening. She’d bathed his head with a small towel beside the equally small sink in the corner, but there was still blood trickling from behind his ear. She guessed that he should have a couple of stitches in there. Most of the other cuts were superficial. She thought, he might be right about the broken ribs, the way the frenzied bastards went at him.

  She wasn’t prepared when he grabbed her wrist and squeezed tightly. 'What’s going on. Shelly? And I want the truth. Are these swine likely to kill us?'

  'Let go, Danny, that hurts.'

  But Danny had crossed the line hours ago. This was the second cell he’d been in, in the last twenty-four hours. He had been interrogated by a duo of cops from Hell. A very good friend had been murdered, a murder that he’d practically been accused of. He’d been threatened by Shelly’s brothers with a fate worse than death if any harm had come to her, whether he was responsible or not. And now he’d had the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of bastard morons, and he had a very strong hunch that he might well not get out of here alive. Enough is enough.

  'Not until you tell me exactly what’s going on. And I mean it, Shelly.' He glared at her.

  'OK. All right.' She tried to pull her wrist back. Reluctantly Danny let go, but instead of speaking, she stared at the stone floor.

  'Shelly,' he urged.

  Finally she looked at him, deciding to tell him half the truth, because all of it, she knew, he wouldn’t be able to cope with. Taking a deep breath, she said, 'This place is used as a storage place for kids. Mostly teenagers who are gathered from cities and towns up and down the A1 and sold world-wide. That is, the ones who are deemed good-looking enough. The rest are kept here to work the drug farms.'

  'What?' Danny’s jaw hung open for a moment, before he blurted, 'How the hell did you find that out?'

  'You know I’ve always wanted to be an investigative journalist?'

  'Friggin’ well get on with it.'

  'I am.' She narrowed her eyes. 'Just listen, will you?'

  Danny stared stubbornly at the far wall, wondering what web of lies she’d concocted for this escapade.

  'Well, I heard a story so crazy…' She shook her head. 'Didn’t believe it at first. Anyhow, with Alicia’s help, well, we did what you might call a little digging.'

  'So these people, and your meddling, are the reason Alicia is dead?' Danny interrupted.

  Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. 'I didn’t know, honest, Danny. I heard they were after me. That’s why I ran. I never dreamed Alicia was in any danger.'

  'So you think they might have made a mistake…' He snapped his fingers. 'That’s why she was found in my bed, isn’t? You do look a little like each other, especially since you both dyed your hair black. So what’s the story? ' He winced and gently massaged his right side, muttering, 'Fucking murdering bastards.'

  Shelly wiped her eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever get over Alicia’s death. She shuddered as a sob escaped. 'I’m sorry, Danny. I’m so sorry.'

  Gently Danny patted her arm. 'Just tell me what it's all about, and just what the hell we’re up against here.' He touched her hair. 'And why? I loved your hair the way it was.'

  'That’s part of it. He likes long black hair. He… he entices young girls, tells them he’ll make them famous, star of their own show, all that crap. Only he doesn’t tell them it’s a pornographic show. Then when he gets them here he changes, dresses like a monk.'

  'Christ, what sort of creep is he? Dressing like a monk? Some sort of perve, eh?'

  She gave a small hollow laugh. 'There’s more Danny… A whole lot more. He----'

  'Hang on,' Danny interrupted her. 'Why did you have to dye your hair? Why did Alicia? No.' He pushed her away. Suspicion in his eyes, he went on, 'Don’t tell me you slept with him… Please don’t tell me that, just for a fucking newspaper story. No way.'

  Unable to meet his eyes, Shelly hung her head.

  'You did, didn’t you!' Danny shouted. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he laid his left hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin up with his right hand.

  She kept her eyes closed and gave a barely perceptible nod. 'Sorry,' she whispered.

  'Sorry?' he yelled, pushing her away. 'Sorry doesn’t cut it. Alicia died because of you and these fucking creeps… What about Evan, eh? What do you think this’ll do to him when he finds out?'

  Shaking her head, she begged, 'Please don’t tell him Alicia was involved. It’ll kill him.'

  'You bet it will.' He was quiet for a moment, watching her, his mind in a whirl. 'I wont tell him,' he finally said, to Shelly’s immense relief. 'He’ll ask, I know he will, but I’ll say that she wasn’t involved and it was a case of mistaken identity. That’s if we ever get out of here alive.'

  She hung her head. 'I’m sorry, Danny, I… I needed the story. It was the only way.'

  She reached for him, but Danny pushed her away. 'You fucking selfish cow… Tell you what, kiddo, it’s over.' He shook his head in disgust.

  'Please, Danny, I’m sorry. Please don’t say it’s over. Please,' Shelly begged, reaching for him again.

  Danny stood up. Listing to one side and holding his ribs, he moved as far away from her as he could. With his back against the wall, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to control his emotions, he stared at the woman he had one day hoped to marry. 'You said there was more?'

  'Yes…'

  The door banged open. Two of the men from the car came in and made a beeline for Danny. He pressed his back against the wall. Yet again there was nowhere to run.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  An hour later, Brother Josh looked over the rim of his glasses at Brother David. Slowly he gave a barely noticeable shake of his head. Seeing this negative, Brother David’s lips set in a firm line.

  'Brother Josh,' he hissed over the body of the young man, 'if you wont help me, I’ll do it myself. Can’t you see it has to stop now? We can’t go on any longer. This might be the only chance we’ll ever get. At the very least…' Pausing for a moment, he looked down at the body. He sighed. Covering his mouth with his hand, he looked at Brother Josh, his blue eyes brimming with tears. 'I can’t go on any longer. We have to help ourselves. The outside world will never find out what’s happening unless we do something now, before we have to bury any more of the young.'

  'If we take action now, and they find out about it, how many will they kill, eh, Brother David? Think about it. The Leader has no conscience at all. He cares about no one. And certainly not his own soul.'

  'How many will they kill if we don’t?' Brother David leaned on his shovel and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked across the graveyard. In the last year there had been eighteen deaths, seven brothers and eleven teenagers. Two of the brothers had been murdered. The rest had committed suicide, unable to live with the hurt and destruction they had to deal out every day. Of the eleven teenagers, three had been flogged to death, five had died from drug abuse, a couple from sheer exhaustion, and one had managed an ingenious suicide by climbing to the roof and throwing herself off.

  The graveyard was lit by the light coming from the two drug sheds which were joined to the great hall, where children as young as twelve were still working at this late hour. They would work until they dropped. Then a brother would pick them up and carry them to a corner, and wake
one of the others to take his or her place. The manufacturing process never stopped.

  Brother David couldn’t work out if these were the lucky ones or not. Those who were considered pretty enough, boys as well as girls, were shipped out to God knows where. He’d overheard one of the Leader’s men saying that the next shipment bound for Africa must have only blue-eyed blondes. His heart ached for them, an actual physical pain. It had lodged there the night The Leader had arrived and murdered two brothers by his own hand. He shuddered at the thought of where these children were going, and what sort of life they were destined for.

  There were only six true brothers left. The rest were The Leader’s men, a dozen, sometimes more. These masqueraded as brothers, and saw to the daily running of the place. They dealt with the odd necessary visits from the outside world with alarming skill, which led Brother David to assume they had done this kind of thing before.

  'It’s got to be now, tonight. Who knows what might happen tomorrow? You or I could be dead on a whim of that madman, then there will be no one to warn the outside world. It will go on and on with no end.'

  Brother Josh sighed. Resigned to the fact that Brother David would go ahead without him, and with the knowledge that it would be impossible for one man to carry out the plan, he nodded.

  Slowly, grim-faced, Brother David prised open the dead man’s hand. He tucked the folded piece of paper inside and gently, as if the dead man could feel, closed his fingers around it.

  'Are you sure he’ll understand it?' Brother Josh watched the dead man's fingers being curled around the note. 'It just looks like a load of gibberish to me.'

  Brother David nodded. 'He’ll understand. He’ll come.'

  Moving to the man’s shoulders, he lifted them as Brother Josh lifted the feet. Together they carried the body over to the wall, and hid it amongst the thick ivy that climbed up and over, tumbling to the grass verge on the other side.

  They hurried back to the shallow grave and began to fill it in, shoring up the inside with rocks to make it look like someone was buried in there, and covering the top with soil. After they were finished, they carried the spades into the garden shed. They waited for a while until one of the many clouds passed over the full moon, then, leaving the shed, they crept silently back to the body. They picked him up, Brother Josh in the lead, with the man’s legs round his waist, and Brother David bringing up the rear, again carrying the dead youth’s shoulders. Reaching a gate in the wall, hidden by the years of thick overgrown ivy, they passed through, pausing only to rearrange the ivy behind them.

  They had a good few miles to carry the body. Walking on the road would be no good. Even at this hour there would be cars passing. They’d thought of putting the body over a bike, but dismissed the idea. Pushing a heavy-laden bike through field after field would be practically impossible. They would have to do it the hard way, and carry him.

  Brother David was still young and strong, but Brother Josh knew he was way out of condition, too many pies and far too much mead. They managed, with frequent stops, to pass over three large fields. When they laid the body down for the fourth time, Brother Josh, after stretching and getting the kinks out of his neck, caught a breath and said. 'It’s no good, Brother David. We aren’t going to make it back before someone realises we’re missing.'

  'Of course we are, Brother Josh. Take heart in the fact that we are crossing the very ground that St Cuthbert walked on, from Lindisfarne to Durham. The very cave he rested in isn’t so far from here. Remember the monks who, two hundred years later, carried his body over the same ground. For seven years, they wandered. We don’t even have to carry this poor young man for seven hours.'

  Brother Josh hung his head. 'You’re right, brother. I’m sorry, it… it’s just that...'

  Brother David rested his hand on Brother Josh’s shoulder. 'You’re weary, Brother Josh. It’s to be expected, after all that has happened. Not many would have the strength to go on… But we must see this through, too many young lives depend on us.'

  'You’re right, as usual. But if we don’t make it back, the madman will flog the children as a lesson to the others. In fact, if he thinks he may be in danger, he’ll probably kill them all.'

  'We’ll make it.'

  Brother David looked so confident that it gave Brother Josh new heart and the strength to carry on. 'So… you’re absolutely sure the message will be understood by him only?'

  'Certain. The man it’s intended for is a very good man, with a strong heart, and an even stronger back. He will understand that everything has to be kept quiet. He’ll come, I swear he will. And he’ll bring help. Then all this will be over. I promise you, by everything I believe in. He won’t let us down.'

  Brother Josh smiled as he bent to the task. 'What are we waiting for?'

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  The Patterson household were up early. Mike noticed the lights, upstairs and in the kitchen, as he passed the house with Tiny. He thought of Jill as he and the dog walked along the beach. She certainly was a good-looking woman, but it seemed as if she hated him. Of course, this made him all the more determined to make her like him.

  'But how?' he muttered, throwing a stick for Tiny. The dog caught it just before it entered the water. Bringing it back, he dropped the stick at Mike’s feet. This went on for a good five minutes, until the last time Tiny dropped the stick, Mike didn’t pick it up. Tiny waited, wagging his tail, then gave a bark to remind Mike that the stick was there. Mike, though, was busy, his hand up to shade his eyes from the rising sun. He was watching a helicopter coming into land.

  'Now that doesn’t look good,' he muttered, as the helicopter headed towards the field between Aunt May’s house and the castle. 'Come on, boy. Home.'

  Quickly he strode off. He was nearly there when the helicopter landed. He watched as Jill Patterson ran out of her house, making a straight line for the helicopter. A policeman he recognised jumped out of the helicopter. Passing Jill, he gave her a brief nod, and headed towards Aunt May’s.

  'Oh-oh.' Mike broke into a run. 'I’m here, Jim,' he shouted, just as the policeman raised his fist to bang on the back door. Hearing him, the policeman dropped his fist and waited, grim-faced, until Mike reached him.

  'What’s up?’ Mike asked, his eyes on Jill, who obviously knew what was going on by the way she quickly scrambled up the helicopter ladder. Then he realised he’d left the house without his mobile.

  'There’s been another body found, same state as the last one, Mike,' Jim said. He was deeply tanned from his holidays. Mike remembered him saying he and the wife were taking their first trip abroad.

  'What, another scourging?'

  'Yup… Only this time, he has a note in his hand.'

  'Male!'

  The officer nodded. 'Aye, and the note's addressed to you.'

  'Me?' Mike felt a shiver rush up his spine. 'What does it say?'

  'Nobody can understand it.'

  'OK, give me a minute.' As the officer nodded, Mike quickly went into the house. It looked like Aunt May and Smiler were still in bed. Mike hurried up the stairs, struggled out of his joggers and T-shirt at the door, and threw them into the laundry basket so as not to incur Aunt May’s wrath if she saw them on the floor. He was never so tidy at home.

  After splashing water over his face, he dressed in a dark suit and white shirt, grabbed his mobile off the dresser, slipped it in his pocket, put on his watch – a present from Aunt May that he was never without -- and ran back downstairs. Hastily he got pen and paper from the sideboard, and left a letter propped up on the mantelpiece telling them he’d left early. Locking the door behind him, he hurried to the helicopter.

  He sat next to Jill, who gave him the briefest of smiles. Even that seemed an effort Mike thought. He could smell her perfume, tried guessing which one it was for future reference. Women like it if you give them a bottle of their favourite. But he couldn’t quite place it. If needed, he would ask Aunt May.

  He liked the way she had her hair done in a Fren
ch plait, which suited her. He noticed that tiny hairs on the back of her neck were still damp from the shower.

  She must have felt his eyes on her. Turning to look at him, she said, 'What?'

  'Nothing,' Mike replied innocently. 'Just looking at the view over your shoulder.'

  'Huh.' she said, facing away from him.

  'So, what’s all this about then?'

  'You know as much as I do. The body of a young man has been found in the back yard of the police station.'

  Hmm, Mike thought, that’s more than I know. 'So, it’s been dumped overnight?'

  'I guess so.'

  He sat back, 'Has anyone read the note?'

  'Aye,' Jim said from the front seat. 'But like I told you, nobody can make any sense of it at all.'

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Smiler sat at the table, a knife in one fist and a fork in the other. His hands rested on either side of a plate of bacon and eggs. He stared forlornly at the wall in front of him.

  'Eat up, sunshine,' Aunt May said. 'They’ll get cold. And there’s nothing more disgusting than a bloody cold fried egg.'

  Smiler turned his blank expression towards Aunt May. She hesitated on her way to the table, carrying her own plate of bacon and eggs in one hand and a teapot in the other. She’d seen the same expression many a time when she’d nursed during the Falklands War, dealing with shell-shocked soldiers and sailors, and then later, when she’d dealt with abused children. She knew that it didn’t always need a loud bomb to shellshock the human spirit, be it young or old.

  She put everything on the table and said gently, 'What’s up, son? You look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost.'

  Smiler’s expression changed to one of total panic as he blurted quickly, 'She can’t go.'

  'Who can’t?'

  'She can’t go.' Agitatedly, he began popping his knuckles over and over, so fast that his hands couldn’t deal with the speed at which his brain was working. Out of synch, they dropped to his side as he repeated, 'She can’t go. It… it’s day two.'