by Sam Short
“No wonder you couldn’t find it,” said Barney. “It’s overgrown.”
Gladys and the girls had made a cursory search for the entrance while Barney was in town looking for the man, but had failed to find any sign of it.
“I’d have found it eventually,” said Gladys. “We didn’t have much time, that was all.”
Gladys watched as the man fumbled with something at his feet. A creaking sound gave away the fact he’d opened a door of some kind, and he stood up and beckoned his dog. “Come on, Bonnie. It’s time for me to have a drink, and for you to have some kidneys and liver,” he said.
He disappeared into the ground, his movement suggesting he was descending stairs, and his dog followed, letting out an excited yap. The door creaked again as he closed it behind himself, and the clearing fell silent.
“Told you,” said Gladys. “Kidneys and liver.” She felt a rush of guilt. She hoped the dog had been okay while its master had not been able to find his way back to the chapel. It looked healthy enough, and with numerous farms dotted around the area and boats moored along the canal, Gladys was sure it would have found food.
She stood up, her knee aching. It was nice being in Wickford, but she missed the health benefits of The Haven. She’d forgotten how many aches and twinges of pain she’d suffered from before making her home in Huang Towers, her health bolstered by magic. “Let’s go,” she said. “Follow me, and let me do the talking. I’ve already spoken with him, we’ve got a bond, plus — I’ve got a way with words that none of you have.”
Gladys led the way towards the chapel, wincing as her knee spasmed in pain. She used the same gap in the rails that Rupert had used, and waited as the others squeezed through the fence behind her. She moved slowly through the grass, pausing as she reached the bushes that grew tight alongside the chapel wall. “No wonder we couldn’t find it,” she said, parting the foliage. “It’s completely hidden.”
The only sign of an entrance were the iron hinges and a raised concrete lip. The rest of the entrance was disguised by thick ivy and moss. Two metal handles jutted from the centre of the doorway, and Gladys realised it was a entrance much the same as the ones that pubs used to fill their cellars with fresh barrels of beer. She grabbed one of the handles, and gave it a tug. “It’s stuck,” she said. “Or very heavy. Rupert must be stronger than the average drunk.”
Barney stepped past Gladys. “Let me open it,” he said.
Gladys wiggled her fingers. “I can manage.”
“No, not with magic,” said Barney. “I suspect the spell you’d use to open a heavy wooden door would be as subtle as a SWAT team kicking the door in. We don’t want to alarm him — frightened people don’t react well.”
“Quickly then,” said Gladys. “I want this over with. I need him in custody and I need my chapel back to normal ASAP.”
Barney grabbed a handle with both hands and pulled. A vein in his neck bulged angrily beneath his skin as he straightened his back, but the door moved — slowly at first, the musty stench of damp greeting their noses as the entrance widened. Barney lifted it to an almost upright position, and held it in place. “The hinges have rusted,” he whispered. “This is as far as it will open. You three will have to hold it, and I’ll go in.”
“Nonsense,” said Gladys. “I’m going first. It’s my chapel, and I’ve got magic to protect myself with. You follow me, Barney. The girls can hold the door open for us.”
“No,” hissed Barney. “Let me go in.”
Gladys ignored him. She stepped into the hole and peered down the steps. Orange light danced over the rock walls of the staircase, the flickering of the light suggesting the source was a flame. She placed her foot carefully on the next step and lowered her head to avoid the low ceiling as she began to descend. The rock hewn steps were home to a layer of damp moss, and Gladys placed her feet carefully, the soles of her shoes struggling to find purchase on the ice-like surface.
Gladys sniffed the air. Kerosene. She was familiar with the smell — it was the same sweet aroma which had filled her tomato glasshouse on winter nights, when a heater was required to save the plants from frost damage. She looked up at Barney, who was preparing to follow her. “Be careful,” she whispered. “The steps are slippery.”
Gladys dropped her eyes back to the steps, and gave a frightened gasp. She instinctively tried to move backwards — away from the looming shape of a man which came at her with speed, but the combination of slippery steps and her aching knee was too much. Both feet flew from beneath her, and she prepared herself for the fall which she knew was coming. With no time to even think of a spell, let alone cast one, Gladys tried to relax her body as much as possible, hoping that looser muscles would cause less pain when they collided with rock.
Time slowed in her mind, and Gladys was aware that the man was pushing past her, breaking her fall a little, but reaching for the door which Barney still held open.
Gladys heard the door slam shut, and she heard Barney shouting, but as her body thudded into the steps, the base of her back taking the brunt of the force and winding her, she heard the tell-tale sound of a locking bolt sliding into place.
As her head slammed into the hard cave floor, and the sound of a dog’s frantic barking bounced off the walls, Gladys realised that not only was she hurt, but she was trapped in a cave — with a man who was quite capable of violence.
She concentrated on the ball in her chest, attempting to take control of her magic, but without being able to take proper breaths, she didn’t have the ability. Her vision wobbled, and her back hurt, and as footsteps descended the stairs behind her, she swallowed.
She was at Rupert Green’s mercy. She closed her eyes and regretted not allowing Barney to enter the cave before her.
Chapter Seventeen
Gladys opened her eyes. It was hard to see — not because of the dim lighting, but because her glasses were no longer perched on her nose. She attempted to get to her feet, the floor damp and cold beneath her hands, but a large booted foot pressed down hard on her wrist, making her gasp as her bones met unforgiving rock.
The thuds on the door, and the frantic shouts of Barney and her granddaughters, told Gladys that they were attempting to get to her, but the door was thick, and she doubted the man who’d built the chapel to hide stolen goods beneath had skimped on the quality of the lock. Penny or Willow would open it with magic eventually, but the stress they must be under would make it harder for them to find the appropriate spell and make it work correctly. She needed to buy time.
“Rupert,” said Gladys, her ribs stinging as she spoke. “I only came here to talk to you.”
“What are you?” shouted Rupert, bending over Gladys. “I knew there was something about you when you were bothering me in town. What are you? A ghost like the one upstairs, in the chapel?” He moved his face closer to hers. “No – you’re worse than that, you’re a vampire aren’t you? Look at the blood on your face — you’ve fed recently, haven’t you? You’ve sucked the blood from some poor soul and cast their drained carcass aside like an empty cider can! Well, you won’t be feeding on me!”
“What are you talking about?” said Gladys. “I’m not a vampire!” Realisation dawned on her. “It’s blackberry juice! The stuff on my lips and chin! I was eating blackberries! It’s not blood!”
Rupert took a step away from her. “Quiet, Bonnie!” he snapped at the little dog. “Let me get the lantern, we’ll have a proper look at her.”
The little dog stopped barking, and Gladys’s cheek warmed as the little animal sniffed at her face, its breath hot and its nose wet.
Gladys searched the floor around her, using both hands to feel for her glasses. Puddles of moisture cooled her hands as her fingertips crisscrossed the hard floor, and she ignored the pain in her ribs as she forced her arms further from her body. Bonnie sniffed at Gladys’s hand as she dragged it in a search arc around her body, and then she felt it — one of the welcoming plastic arms of her cheap spectacles.
Rupert’s footsteps approached, and the dancing lights on the walls grew brighter. Gladys fumbled with her glasses, managing to get them on her face just as Rupert swung the lantern over her and bent down to study her face.
With her eyes fully functional, Gladys’s fear intensified. She was looking into the face of a man who couldn’t be bargained with. He was too high on drugs or drink to listen to reason, and Gladys hoped that Barney and the girls would be able to open the door soon. The thuds on the wood had become desperate, and Gladys could hear the stress in Penny and Willow’s voices as they shouted. The girls needed to calm down — Gladys could feel her control over magic slowly returning, but the girls would find it hard to cast a spell if they remained so panicked.
“Hmmm,” said Rupert, the alcohol on his acrid breath flooding Gladys’s nostrils. “It’s not blood after all. Maybe you’re not a vampire, but there’s something about you that I don’t like. I can’t risk keeping you alive, not with those other people, or things, trying to get into my cave. Maybe they’ll go away when their queen is dead.”
“You’re mad,” said Gladys. “I just came here to talk to you, Rupert. You have to open the door — there’s a policeman outside.”
Rupert’s face twisted with rage and his pupils darkened. The light cast by the lantern picked out the hard edges of his face, and his words came in a guttural roar. “I am not mad!” he shouted, flecks of his spittle wetting Gladys’s face. “Don’t call me mad!” Rupert balled his free hand into a fist, the bandage draped around it filthy and tattered, and took aim at Gladys’s face, a foot on either side of her prone body, and the lantern swinging erratically in his other hand.
“No!’ shouted Gladys, her magic refusing to cooperate, and her blood running cold as fear took its grip on her.
Rupert was beyond listening to an elderly woman’s pleas, and as his fist began the journey towards Gladys’s face, she knew she must act.
The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach — Gladys was fully onboard with that concept, but it wasn’t Rupert’s heart she wanted to reach — it was the pain receptors in his brain, and the target which would allow her to access to those, was a few inches lower than his stomach.
Gladys brought her foot up with as much force as she could muster, ignoring the pain in her back, and aiming the hard toe of her shoe at the soft baggage hidden by Rupert’s trousers.
Rupert’s fist closed in on Gladys quickly, and as her foot made contact with its target, she slid her head to the side. The sound which Rupert made was more of a squeal than a yell of pain, and Gladys wondered if he’d even felt his fist slam into the cave floor next to her head. He bent at the waist and fell to the ground, both hands instinctively reaching for his groin, the lantern clattering to the floor next to him, the glass breaking and releasing a river of kerosene fuelled flames.
Bonnie yelped as flames spread across the floor, and Gladys moved her leg as the heat brushed the outside of her ankle. The flowing stream of fire rushed towards Rupert, and he screamed louder as his trousers began to melt, the cheap material igniting immediately, the flames quickly working their way along his writhing legs.
Gladys knew what it was like to be burned to death, and the flames scared her, she wasn’t afraid to admit it. There was no way she was going to allow a fellow human to endure the pain she’d suffered, though. No way. Whatever he’d done, Rupert did not deserve to feel the very blood in his veins boiling as he struggled to hold onto life.
Gladys dug deep for her magic, aware that the banging on the door was getting louder, and that Bonnie was running in frightened circles as the flaming pool of kerosene spread across the cave floor. She coughed as smoke filled her airways, but composed herself enough to be able to close her eyes and focus on her magical essence.
The ball in her chest grew hotter as flames warmed the air around her, and Gladys took a deep breath, her mind’s eye already picturing the spell she wanted to cast. She imagined ice-bergs, and she imagined glaciers, and as the magic ran through her limbs, her fingertips ejected ice-blue sparks of pure energy.
Gladys took a final breath and cast her spell, the sparks at her fingertips transforming into a cold blast of freezing magic which twisted in the air, searching out heat, wrapping it in cold and smothering it wherever it was found.
When the flames were smothered, Gladys used another spell, a spell which hovered above her head, casting the cave in an amber light.
Rupert moaned and groaned, his legs a mess of burnt flesh and globules of melted polyester. Bonnie licked her master’s face, her whines of fear breaking Gladys’s heart. The cave was large, spanning almost the full length of the chapel above it, but it was fast becoming too smoke clogged to allow normal breathing. Even with no fire, smoke continued to rise.
Gladys coughed, and mustered her energy again. Her pain could wait. Now the flames were extinguished, Rupert required a healing spell before she did, and she couldn’t bear to watch the little dog so anxious about her owner’s health. Rupert’s welfare had to come first.
The spell came easily, and Rupert’s groans became gentle whimpers as his flesh knitted itself together, expelling the fragments of material from the charred blisters as they grew new skin and hair. She made sure to leave the wound she guessed was beneath the bandage on his hand intact. She suspected it was evidence, and healing it would not help her case.
A crashing sound behind her made her jump, and Bonnie gave a warning bark as the broken door smashed into the steps, the residual sparks of magic in the air giving away the fact that magic had broken through the thick wood, and not brute force.
“Granny!” shouted Penny, taking the steps in two long bounds, her feet slipping on the moss. “Granny!”
Gladys cast a healing spell over her body, sighing as the agonising pain in her ribs and back ceased, replaced with the welcome warmth of fresh vigour. “I’m okay, dear,” she said. “We should get Rupert and Bonnie out of here, though. They both need fresh air.”
“What happened?” said Barney, his night-stick in his hand and his brow furrowed with deep concern.
“Did he hurt you?” said Willow.
Gladys held out a hand. “Help me up. Let’s get Rupert into the chapel and wake him up. I didn’t get around to speaking to him about Ethel after all. There are still a lot of questions that need an answer.”
Chapter Eighteen
“How did you know he was Rupert Green, Granny?” said Willow, staring at the half conscious groaning man.
Barney had propped him up on a pew, and his wrists were secured with handcuffs. Gladys had cast a spell over his trousers, repairing them, and nobody would have been any the wiser about the fact that he’d almost met his death in a fire.
Bonnie eagerly lapped at the water which Willow had collected from the canal, and Gladys had brought the paper bag of liver and kidneys from the cave. The dog seemed unharmed by its ordeal, and Gladys had already decided she was going to take it back to The Haven with her. Living in a cave with a drunkard was no life for the little dog, especially a drunkard who was soon to be in prison.
Ethel’s body remained in position at the organ, but Barney had covered it with a sheet from his police car. Her body remained in stasis, and when Gladys finally released her body from the spell, no pathologist in the land would be able to tell that the woman had been dead for days and not minutes or hours.
Gladys clasped her hands behind her back. It was her moment. Her moment to shine. She began pacing — walking left and right as she studied the man in handcuffs. “A few things dropped into place when we visited Lady Green,” she explained, answering Willow’s question. “When I first met Rupert, he introduced himself as The Bear— a name that meant nothing to me until Lady Green informed us of her son’s name. I quickly deduced it was a nickname foisted upon him by his fellow lags in prison — a crude reference to his name — Rupert.”
“Are you pretending to be a TV detective again, Gladys?” said Barney. “Because if you are, you’re wasting time
. Just give us the facts.”
Gladys ignored him. She had plenty of time. When Gladys had finished presenting her case, she was going to ask Barney to report the discovery of Ethel’s body. With the murderer present at the scene it wouldn’t take long until all evidence had been collected and Ethel’s body had been removed.
Gladys had plenty of time to wrap the case up in the style she’d imagined herself doing it in. She continued pacing. “Of course, there was more to it than that. A simple name wouldn’t have allowed me to break this case open like a particularly tough brazil nut. No, I needed to fit the pieces together — like a flat packed table, if you will.”
“Or a jigsaw puzzle?” suggested Penny.
Gladys sighed. “A jigsaw has a picture on the box. You know the answer before you even begin the puzzle. A flat packed table has instructions written in Chinglish, and diagrams which appear to be drawn by a blind fellow with no experience of DIY. My analogy stands!”
“Okay, Granny,” said Willow, “we’re listening.”
“When I first met Rupert,” continued Gladys, peering at the prisoner over her spectacles, “I told him to crawl back under his stone. His answer puzzled me. He replied that it wasn’t a stone — it was more of a rock. To the casual observer that may have come across as a boast, but with my keen mind I was able to see past his throwaway statement. My suspicions were first aroused when Brian mentioned that Ethel called the chapel her rock — as in a place of solace. When Lady Green used the same terminology to describe how Rupert had thought of the chapel, the pieces slipped into place like a well oiled… mechanism of some description.”
“Machine?” said Barney. “A well oiled machine?”
“Precisely,” said Gladys. “You’ll go far, Barney. Add into the mix that Rupert complained he couldn’t find his way home — not a reference to how drunk or disorientated he was, but a tantalising clue that perhaps my spell was keeping him away from his home. Of course, none of it made sense until Lady Green informed us about the cave beneath the chapel, but I’d have got there eventually. The wheels in my brain were already in full forward motion.”
