Hinton Hollow Death Trip

by Will Carver

  He was a couple of feet away and the kids were still in a waking reverie. Rachel Hadley was looking straight ahead. She was wondering what to tell her husband. She was worried that she had made her family unsafe by acting on the dark impulses she had never experienced before. She was picturing Charles Ablett when the metal touched the back of her neck and a voice said, ‘Don’t scream. Don’t you dare. You don’t have to die today, miss.’ He was delivering the lines in exactly the same way he had to Faith Brady.

  Otherwise what he was doing wouldn’t be fair.

  He didn’t even have the opportunity to ask her to decide which of her children she loved the most, which one she would like to keep alive. Because he was not speaking to Rachel Hadley of yesterday, he was threatening the Rachel Hadley of today. The Rachel Hadley who impetuously scratched a fifteen-year itch she never knew that she had. The Rachel Hadley who gave her husband a spontaneous, pre-lunch blow job in his back office. The fiery Rachel Hadley. The aggressive, pro-active Rachel Hadley.

  She ignored him.

  She did not allow the man with the gun to put her or her children in jeopardy. And, ultimately, that is exactly what she did.

  She’d had enough of bullies.

  The Rachel Hadley of that day spun around and lashed out. She swung her right arm forward, trying to hit the gun out of the man’s hand. She only had the opportunity to say one word.

  ‘You.’

  Then he panicked and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole through her face at close range that obliterated her perfect triangle of a nose and sent splinters of enamel down her throat and embedded themselves in the lining of her cheeks. She hit the floor with a thump. Her hair blew around to the front of her formerly beautiful face and stuck in the mess that was left.

  This is not how it is supposed to be.

  Jess was the first to turn around. Just her eyes were enough to flip the man with the gun. He could see the woman who had just attacked him in those eyes. And that same triangular nose that promised the girl would grow up to be as beautiful as her mother.

  Then he shot her in the face to ensure that she never grew up beyond that day on Stanhope Road.

  The only saving grace to the speed of events was that Aaron, who would never hear his father tell him that he absolutely had been a hero that day, did not have enough time to see the mess that had been made of his mother’s and sister’s faces. The third bullet penetrated his skin and pushed through his soft, spongey, growing bones, ripping open his heart before his eyes could see the carnage and inform his brain that it should break in half anyway.

  He almost dropped the gun. There were three dead bodies on the floor beneath the spot where he stood, itching, anxious. The only saving grace of this fucked-up situation was that it was confusing. For everyone.

  The man with the gun had not received the answer he had been looking for, but the police would be equally mystified. It was clear that it was the same killer at work, the location and method were too similar to be discounted. It was the motive that eluded. Why kill Jacob Brady one day then take out an entire family the next?

  All he could do was run, and that is exactly what he did. He sprinted back across the road, this time not bothering to check both ways, then disappeared into Oakmead, eventually passing through the other end of the avenue, up the hill past the train station and back into the woods. The only sound was the wind brushing past his ears as he ran until he arrived back at the car and all was a hush but the whispering of the trees.

  HERE’S SOMETHING TO CHEW ON

  Evil can get it wrong.

  ON THE CARDS

  There’s a theory posited by scientists and thinkers that suggests the possibility of alternate realities or different dimensions. An idea that this particular situation with the Hadleys could have been occurring at exactly the same time in another galaxy or realm or whatever and the outcome would have been completely different.

  In fact, they say that there may even be an infinite number of possibilities.

  So, here, Rachel Hadley retaliated to protect her children and they all ended up perishing. Perhaps, somewhere else, she gave in and took the bullet. In another place, she takes down the ordinary man and performs a citizen’s arrest and is hailed as a hero. Or the ordinary man doesn’t look as he crosses the road and is mowed down by a learner driver. Maybe Evil doesn’t exist. Or never visited Hinton Hollow.

  The notion is all a little cosy, don’t you think?

  LET ME TELL YOU THIS

  It’s another l i e.

  Another invented concept that humans tell themselves so they can continue behaving in the way they do. With apathy and self-interest at heart. They can’t change what is happening. It is up to fate.

  THE WORST LIE THAT HUMANS

  TELL THEMSELVES

  Everything happens for a reason.

  The problem with this is that they put that reason down to destiny, when, in fact, they are the reason.

  They are the reason their planet is dying and they don’t care that there is no back-up.

  They are the reason they feel so disconnected and disenchanted and disenfranchised. And they have lost the ability to empathise.

  And they are the reason the Hadleys are dead. And that I have to exist and demonstrate to them just how awful they can be.

  They are the reason that Evil has to be so evil.

  TOO DARK TO SEE

  Oz heard the car door slam then everything went silent.

  He could hear himself breathing and he tried to hug himself to keep warm, his right hand stretching around to hold his left shoulder and his left hand on his right shoulder. He rocked. He thought about calling out. Or screaming. But nobody was there to help him.

  It was so dark. Too dark to see.

  All he had to get him through were thoughts of Liv Dunham and how he wanted to marry her that coming weekend. It was still possible. It could still happen. In his head, the ending was clear.

  If he could just get out of this situation.

  If he could let her know that he was all right, he was alive – hungry, but alive – not to worry.

  If he could only hear her voice.

  WHISPERS

  She was not locked in the boot of a car but Maeve Beauman felt the same as Oz.

  Trapped. Longing. Wanting to hear the person she loved.

  The late-night conversation she’d had with Pace had meant everything. He’d been thinking about her, too. He wanted her. Maybe he even needed her. But, instead of fulfilling Maeve, instead of pacifying her own paranoia and settling her, she wanted it more. She wanted it now. She wanted it all the time. And this started a spiral.

  How can they go from that talk to nothing?

  Why can’t he just send her a message?

  A kiss.

  Some emotion.

  Who is he with in that town?

  What is he doing?

  She didn’t like the way she was feeling. She knew it was because of Pace. Maybe he was no good for her. But people have trouble letting go of the things that hurt them.

  Detective Sergeant Pace was her habit.

  Detective Sergeant Pace was heroin.

  Her weakness.

  She spirals. Maybe I need to show him more love.

  She spirals. Why is it always up to me?

  Maeve does not message him, she does not say that she loves him. She says nothing.

  And she spirals. It must be over.

  SEVERE GALE

  ‘Michael. I know that this is difficult for you. What happened was not right and very unfair.’ Pace could wait no longer to move forward with the investigation. The doctors and psychiatrists could say not to push the boy but that was not helping to catch this guy. The man with the gun. The ordinary man. ‘My job is to make sure that this doesn’t happen to anyone else. I want to catch the man that did this and I think you could help me to do that.’

  Michael just looked at the detective, through him, in fact. He glimpsed his father in the background sat on the sofa
next to that woman that wasn’t his mother.

  Why does she have to sit so close to him? he asked himself inside, but his gaze did not falter or show that he wasn’t functioning properly. Trying to be strong while hurting inside.

  Owen Brady was sat forward on the sofa, constantly shifting himself nervously. Andrea wanted to put a hand on his leg to steady him. She shouldn’t really do that in her position but she was doing lots of things that went against her better judgement that day. He put his left hand down and gripped the sofa cushion. Andrea Day put her hand on his and spoke softly, ‘He’ll be fine. He’s doing great. Try to relax.’ She took her hand away eventually but it loitered longer than it should have.

  Michael blinked then made eye contact with Pace.

  He was back in the room.

  He nodded.

  ‘Okay. Thank you, Michael. Now you said that the man looked ordinary. Can you tell me a little bit more about what he looked like?’

  Michael screwed his face as though he was thinking but said nothing.

  ‘Was he as tall as me? As tall as your dad?’ Pace offered, to get him going.

  ‘You. He was as tall as you.’

  ‘Excellent. That’s a good start.’

  Pace was worried about leading the boy too much. Kids found it easier to agree with an adult because they wanted to please, they wanted to help. But false information was no help at all.

  ‘Did you hear his voice at all?’

  Nothing from the boy.

  ‘What about your mum?’ This was risky ground and Owen Brady was becoming more agitated in the background. ‘You told me that she called your name. Did she say anything else? Anything before that? Was she talking with the man?’

  He could see Michael breaking. It was the last thing he wanted to do to a seven-year-old, but whatever this kid was holding back could be the key to breaking the case wide open and settling Hinton Hollow back into its sleepy existence.

  His pocket started to vibrate. It was Anderson. Probably calling to inform him that Mrs Beaufort was fine and had checked out of the hospital. Something Pace already knew because the old woman was waiting in the back of his car. He hit the reject button and sent his inspector straight through to voicemail.

  ‘Sorry about that, Michael. Now, do you remember? Was your mum talking to the man before she called your name?’

  Michael looked around the broad frame of the detective sat opposite him at the dining table. His eyes were glazing. Owen wanted to stand up and stop this torture but held himself back.

  His mother was dead. If he had heard something, what was the use in saying now? He didn’t want to make his mum look bad. He didn’t really understand what had happened to her. He had heard the word dead and he’d even used it in games with friends at school and with his brother, Jacob. But he’d never thought about what it meant. Where people went when they died. His family never went to the Good Shepherd so his understanding of heaven was limited to what was mentioned at school. And when his father had stated that Jacob had gone there like his gran had.

  Pace’s pocket vibrated again. He didn’t even look at his phone, just squeezed the button on the top to hang up the call.

  He does know something, Pace told himself. The fucking kid knows something and has been holding it back.

  Pace was trying not to become annoyed but it was difficult with Owen twitching behind him and Mrs Beaufort no doubt becoming ever more frustrated on his back seat and Anderson incessantly pestering him with information that he already had and the boy who knew something.

  He waited. Trying a new approach where he said nothing, hoping the boy would fill the silence with useful information.

  But his goddamn phone began to buzz inside his right trouser pocket again.

  He took it out this time. Anderson. Again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Michael, I just have to take this.’ Pace stood up from the table and gave Owen Brady a nod that said you can get up and comfort your boy now. Then he hit the green button.

  ‘Pace!’ His answer was barely one syllable in length. ‘I’m in the middle of talking to a witness, sir. What’s so important?’

  ‘You were right, Pace. We should’ve kept the schools shut.’

  Outside, Mrs Beaufort was lying on her side on the pavement.

  ANOTHER HOLE IN THE HEART

  Roger Ablett saw the blur of an ambulance whizz past the window of RD’s Diner while he picked the tomatoes from his cheeseburger. And his first thought was: What have you done now, Charles?

  He was five years older than his brother and ten stone heavier. That morning, while his brother was screwing Rachel Hadley, Roger had been showing a couple around a riverfront property in Twaincroft Hill – some middle-aged abrasive Yorkshireman who had made a lot of money doing something incredibly boring with barcodes but had bagged himself a not-so-middle-aged trophy who wanted to dock a boat on the Thames and fuck the arrogant idiot into a heart attack.

  Barcode Man was not going to say that he wanted the two-million pound property right there and then but Roger could see in the young climber’s eyes that she would convince him. That was the reason Roger was sat in RD’s place when the paramedics drove through an empty Hinton Hollow crossroads, he was sucking down on his traditional reward – fat, calories, and lots of them.

  He ordered the double burger with cheese, bacon, portobello mushroom, avocado and soured cream. RD’s wife always put lettuce and tomato in Roger’s burger and he always picked them out, leaving them displayed on his empty plate once he had finished. She knew he didn’t eat them and she knew it was a waste, but it eased her conscience a little to give the dangerously overweight man something healthy to chew on. She was no merchant of death.

  Roger slurped down a large milkshake between mouthfuls of sweet-potato fries. He was eating too quickly and his chest was hurting.

  A NOTE

  Acid reflux is not a diagnosis.

  It is a symptom of something much larger.

  He hit it with the fleshy part of his right hand, coughing after two punches. The other patrons of the diner went quiet. Maybe this was the day that Roger Ablett would finally keel over and die like Dorothy Reilly.

  He was an intimidating figure. Large though not particularly tall, he was known for his temper or, more precisely, the way in which he seemed to lose it so easily. He had money and influence and a shrewd political mind.

  He also had a younger brother who was not overweight, was good-looking and not as ambitious about his career as he was about fucking every woman in town. Roger had been known to muscle his way towards a decision that would be beneficial to him but he did not agree with using that muscle on women like Charles did.

  But Charles was his little brother and he loved him in spite of these faults. And he looked after him. So, when the ambulance drove past, something was telling Roger Ablett that he was going to have to get his brother out of trouble. Again.

  He coughed once more then slurped at the melted dregs of his banana milkshake. The other customers breathed. He was okay.

  Maybe next time.

  BURST APPENDIX

  It was eerie.

  There was nobody outside.

  The paramedics drove up to the scene just beyond the primary school. Three bodies were lying on the pathway and the headmistress – who had made the emergency call – was sat on the low wall next to the school gates weeping into her hands. She had made all the remaining teachers wait inside until everything was cleared up. She did not want anyone else to witness the horror.

  Thank God the kids had left.

  ‘Mrs Blake?’ The female paramedic approached the headmistress cautiously while her male counterpart moved towards the Hadleys. They were all lying on their backs. Two with holes in their faces and one with a hole in the chest. He checked the boy first; there was no way the other two could still be alive, that much was clear. He had to play the percentages.

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Mrs Blake paused for a moment then said, ‘Yes?’ Her head was shaking from
side to side very slightly, her body was saying no.

  ‘Mrs Blake, are you okay? Did you see what happened here?’

  ‘I’m … I’m fine. I wasn’t out here when it happened. I heard the shots, though. Three shots. I expected them to be louder, you know? But I guess the wind muffled them, or something. I don’t really know about that kind of thing…’ She trailed off. Her eyes were wandering to the side as if she wanted to look at the dead family but every time they got close to glimpsing them, they shot back in the other direction.

  ‘I need you to take a deep breath.’ And the paramedic took one herself to demonstrate.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be looking at them? I’m fine here. You should see to them. Do you think they’ll be all right?’ She knew it was a stupid question but could not stop herself from asking it.

  ‘My partner has that under control, Mrs Blake. The police will be here at any moment and they are going to want to talk to you. I’m not going to allow that if you are not up to the task. So you tell me how you are feeling. Is anything hurting? Do you feel dizzy?’

  ‘No. I’m not in pain. I feel a little disorientated but not dizzy.’

  ‘Do you think you could stand up? The police will want to seal this area off as quickly as possible. Perhaps we could get you inside.’

  ‘I am a little cold. There was no time to pick up my jacket.’ Her head flicked to the side once more and she caught sight of one of Rachel Hadley’s smooth, shiny shins. ‘I wanted to move her, you know?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ The paramedic did not know where this was going.

  ‘Mrs Hadley. Her dress is, well, it’s less than flattering in the position it’s in. A little undignified. I thought about moving it down and straightening it out a little but I’ve seen those police shows and it’s all evidence, isn’t it? You shouldn’t tamper with the crime scene.’ Mrs Blake was speaking but not aiming her thoughts at anything in particular. She didn’t know where to look and she was starting to spew words that were unnecessary.