The Borderlands (Book One): Journey

by Aderyn Wood

  Dale looked to the sky. The stars were coming out in full now. It reminded her of the party when she had looked at the stars with Rhys. He had spoken about the mystery of the world. How people didn’t know. He was so nice. Why did he betray her? And where was he today? Would he have laughed with all the others? You don’t belong here. The mystic’s words came back to her.

  “I’m not going back to school this week. I’m going to start work on the boat. Then we can leave sooner,” Dale said.

  Gareth nodded. “Very good. Let’s do that.” He looked up and smiled, and so did Dale. It felt good to smile.

  “Want a cup of tea?” she asked.

  “You have read my mind.”

  She ambled back up the path, feeling much better. The deep well of hurt was lifting. Thank god for Gareth! Maybe I’ll stay the night here with Gareth and Joan. Dale had never stayed overnight before, but she didn’t want to go back home.

  The path that led back to the old hospital was really a small track, made by Gareth and Joan on their frequent treks to the river. It was very dark amongst the trees. Night had arrived, but she could see the path easily enough.

  In Gareth’s room she lit the candles and put the kettle on the gas cooker. Gareth kept his shopping trolley at the back of the room, near the tendrils of vines that took up that half of the old wing. She walked toward it. There was an old piece of foam that looked as though it would make a good mattress for the night. Yes, I’ll stay, she decided.

  With two steaming cups, she made her way back down the familiar path. She stepped carefully as it was even darker than before. As she got closer to the river she heard voices. A chill snapped through her. Instinct rather than thought made her crouch and drop the tea.

  Two men stood by the river. The shorter one held a gun. Dale’s breath quickened. Adrenalin shot through her body like a thousand comets. She wanted to act. To run. To do something. But she froze, paralysed by indecision and fear. What the fuck was going on?

  “Tell us and you won’t die.” The taller man spoke. His voice cut through the still night. Dale’s breathing grew harder. Would they hear it?

  Gareth appeared calm – as usual. She knew he had been drinking. There had been a smell of whiskey about him. But he wasn’t drunk.

  “I won’t tell you. Not now.” Gareth continued sorting the ropes and the sails as he spoke. “Not ever.”

  The tall man nodded to his counterpart who pointed the gun at Gareth and cocked it.

  It was too much for Dale. She stood and yelled, “Don’t!”

  The tall man turned and Dale saw his distinct widow’s peak and gold-flecked eyes. Pastor Richard? What is he doing?

  He smiled. “There she is.”

  Dale didn’t understand. “Pastor Richard?”

  Her eyes focused on the familiar figure of the church pastor who now walked slowly toward her. Gareth made some obscure movements in the background, uttering odd murmurings. But her vision locked on the pastor. Why is he here? Why is he threatening Gareth?

  She did not fully understand what was about to happen when Gareth stood suddenly in the boat and flung his arms toward her. A flash of light came at her and she ducked.

  The pastor’s voice boomed. “You damn fool! You think you can play this game with me?”

  The pastor turned back toward her. He seemed to be searching for her, as though she were invisible.

  “Where is she, damn it?” He looked harder and grabbed a stick to beat the grass. She stepped back.

  The pastor stopped his thrashing and stood. He rolled his head on his shoulders as if to release some tension. Then he looked straight ahead. Was he staring at her? Dale shivered. A crooked smile developed on the pastor’s face and he turned back to Gareth.

  “I can play at this game too, old man. She can’t be seen, but she can be heard.” He nodded to his accomplice again and the shorter man stepped toward Gareth and shoved the gun under his chin.

  “Girl, I know you’re out there,” the pastor shouted. “Answer me and your friend will not die.”

  “No, don’t do it, lass!” Gareth yelled. Dale had never heard him yell before.

  The man with the gun punched him. The boat rocked violently in the water as Gareth hit the gunwale. A deep red gash now marked the bridge of his nose.

  “I wouldn’t do that again.” Pastor Richard’s voice took on the usual soft tone of his Sunday sermons. “Listen carefully, young ‘lass’,” he hissed. “You can either answer me or your friend here will receive a shot to the head. And at this range I believe it would be most fatal.”

  Dale trembled. She had to answer. She had to stop them. Gareth couldn’t die. She wouldn’t let them kill him. Gareth was murmuring something again. Was he in pain? Had they broken his nose? There was blood all over his face and it was turning his beard red. Blood lined his shirt too, and amongst the blood was a glowing light. It looked like his crystal was glowing in its cotton pouch.

  She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to yell, but nothing came out. Her voice stalled. She tried again, but still nothing. Panic seized her. She had no voice. She couldn’t help Gareth. She tried to step forward but some invisible barrier prevented her.

  The pastor looked back at Gareth. “You are a fool, old man. In saving her you have sacrificed yourself.” He nodded at the shorter man who took aim. “But I guess that has always been your purpose, no?”

  Dale tried to yell ‘stop’ but while her mouth formed the words, nothing came out. The gun fired – two shots. Dale could only watch as Gareth sprawled over the boat. Blood poured from two wounds – one in his head, the other from his heart. It stained his old shirt, like a wilting red flower in his top pocket.

  Dale put her head in her hands. Hot tears filled her palms.

  “What about the girl?”

  Dale looked up. The man with the gun glanced around, as though suddenly nervous.

  The pastor was facing her. He scanned the trees the way he searched the congregation at church. Dale held her breath.

  “I saw her face. I looked into her eyes. I will find her; it’s only a matter of time.” He strode along the path, and paused at the boat. “Get rid of him.”

  The shorter man lifted Gareth over the gunwale. His body eased into the water and sunk into its depths. Dale could just make out the air bubbles that rose to the surface.

  “Come, let’s go,” the pastor said.

  Then they were gone and Dale was alone.

  7

  The moon had risen higher in the night sky, washing everything in silent silver light. An owl hooted in the distance. Dale got to her feet. The boat bobbed in the river. Inky patches were splashed across the new white sail – Gareth’s blood.

  A deep ache clutched her heart and her breath shuddered when she inhaled.

  Gareth was dead.

  Her lips curled downward as hot tears blurred her vision, making the ache sharper. Her loud sobs echoed through the cool night air.

  “He was my friend. He was my friend!”

  Loneliness engulfed her like a dark cloak as realisation took hold. The only person she’d ever trusted, ever loved, was gone. She crouched to the ground and cried, and the ache in her heart expanded to her throat, her mouth, her abdomen – until she could feel the pain of her loss through her entire being.

  With time the crying stopped and the emotional cloud lifted a little. What should she do? Get the police? Would they believe her?

  She thought about going down to the boat, but the sight of all that blood, even from this distance – it was too upsetting. Finally she moved, placing one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to make it back to the old hospital.

  The familiar courtyard brought fresh tears. She had many fond memories of this place. Memories of Gareth and Joan, and the meals they shared together. And now Gareth was gone. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Wiping her eyes and nose she stumbled through the courtyard. What about Joan? Did she hear the gun shots? Her door was shut. No doubt the old woman was fast
asleep. Joan’s fire had burned down; the red coals pulsed dimly. Dale put her hands over them and the warmth felt good.

  She looked up at the moon. How long had she sat in the woodland? It must be past midnight. She had to do something, but she couldn’t think straight. Pastor Richard had wanted her. Why?

  When she thought about the pastor, fear clutched her heart. Dale frowned as she looked back at the fire. She had never actually met him before. Surely he’d mistaken her for someone else. And what did he want from Gareth? Tell me and you won’t die. His cold words ran through her mind. Gareth didn’t know anything. He was just a homeless old man. Whatever it was, Gareth had refused to tell him. He had protected her.

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear the confusion that muddled her thoughts. A dreaded feeling, deep down, told her Pastor Richard had sought her, but she didn’t want to believe it. Why now? She had attended his weekly service for months, ever since his arrival. Why search for her in the middle of the night?

  Dale heard the hoot again, closer. To her right a large ash tree grew, and there perched the owl, watching her. The bird’s dark eyes stared in that way of owls, unmoving.

  “What should I do?” she asked it. “Should I go to the police? Will they even care? Gareth was just a homeless bum to them.” She kicked a lump of dirt. The owl flapped and flew off.

  “Fly away. I wish I could fly away,” she whispered.

  As the bird blended with the dark shadows of the trees Dale thought about disappearing. The more she considered it, the more the idea took shape. I could go right now. Home first. Pack some things. Essentials, then – then.

  She licked her lips as the seed of a plan took root.

  “That’s what I’ll do!” She started walking. But as she walked the fear grew and quickened her pace. Then she ran.

  The house was silent. Dale tiptoed into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. She switched on the stove light and blinked. The clock read three. The witching hour. Dale moved quickly, quietly, taking a shopping bag and filling it with supplies: cans of tuna, packets of pasta, salt, tea, fruit. By the time she finished, she had two bags filled with food. It would be a slow walk back to the river, and she needed to hurry. She took a deep breath to quell the sense of panic that reached for her. I need to think.

  She went to the fridge and picked up the pen to leave a note where her mother kept shopping lists. With a shaking hand she scrawled a message saying she was going to stay with her father and that she would make contact soon.

  The stairs squeaked as Dale crept to her room. Benny cried out. Dale froze on the landing, her heart pounding. Benny often cried during the night, just one or two whimpers. Probably dreams. She bit her lip, and waited. But there were no more sounds from his room. She stepped toward her door.

  She turned on her bedside lamp to pack some clothes. Grabbing her school bag, she took out all of her books and piled them neatly on her desk. It looked as though she would return to study at any moment. Her mother would be easily fooled.

  She put clothes into her bag. Some warm jumpers for the cold northern winds, and t-shirts for warmer weather. Then she changed into jeans and a grey hoodie. It hid her red hair.

  Finally she glanced at the sketches and paintings that decorated her room. She might want to draw something on the trip, a sketch pad and some pencils went in last. She looked to her painting. The sprite on the easel, now finished, returned her stare. She seemed to be smiling and Dale remembered the dream she had the night of the party.

  “Will you protect me?” she whispered. The sprite stared back.

  Dale flicked off the lamp and went to the window. The necropolis was clearly visible in the moonlight. Its ancient headstones stood in silent observance. Dale wondered if she should do this thing. Is it crazy? But the pounding of her heart screamed at her to move. Biting her lip, she walked down the stairs and out the front door, into the night.

  The little boat swayed gently in the river. Night still reigned, but a pale grey light now glowed in the east. Dale squinted; she could just make out the blood on the sails.

  A gentle pre-dawn breeze caused ripples on the river’s surface. When she reached the boat, she sucked in her breath. The thick stench of blood filled the air and she dropped her bags, bringing her hands to her mouth.

  With shaking arms she picked up the sails to hoist them over the gunwale. They were heavy with clotted pools of blood. The acrid smell filled her lungs and she coughed.

  Just do it, Dale.

  Drawing on some strength deep within, she hurled the sails into the river.

  Her hands were slick with blood, as she scrubbed the sails with river water. Despite the darkness, she could make out the blood as it came away and billowed in the water. Her eyes blurred again, but she clenched her teeth as she worked and shook the new sails until they were white again, before dragging them back into the boat. They were heavier now. Her arms and back ached from the effort and she wanted to stretch and rest. But, catching her breath, she thought about Pastor Richard. Her pulse quickened as fear took hold again. I must not let him find me. I’ve got to get going.

  Her hands fumbled with the sails but she managed to pull the halyard until the mainsail filled the mast, waving gently in the breeze. Next, she threaded the mainsheet and considered leaving the jib till later, but then decided she needed to be as far away as possible. She was working on the jib when she heard a noise behind her, a thud in the boat. She jumped but calmed when Cat nudged her arm.

  “Where have you been?” she asked the feline.

  Cat meowed loudly.

  “He’s gone, my friend. It’s just us now.” Dale sniffed and patted Cat before returning her focus to the sails.

  By the time she had the boat ready, the grey light in the east had brightened. She got out of the boat and unlooped the mooring rope, then jumped back in and pushed off with her leg.

  The breeze caught the sail and it billowed like a soft pillow. In an hour they would be far enough away. If Pastor Richard returned, she should be safe. She set the sails and the boat moved forward, at a slow but steady pace. Cat bobbed his head, sniffing the air.

  “Goodbye.” A shout came from the shore. Dale tensed and spun. She could just make out a shape in the grey light. Rhys?

  He jogged along the path, following her.

  It was Rhys. She recognized his athletic form.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  “I’m sorry about the party; I didn’t realise.” His voice echoed across the river.

  Dale frowned, and the sails flapped softly as she shifted her focus. Why apologies now?

  “Are you going away?” he shouted again.

  “Shhh,” she hissed, “don’t tell anyone, please, just forget about me!”

  He stopped jogging. “I won’t tell.”

  Dale turned her head and returned her focus to the sails and the wind. He better not tell anyone. The boat sped up. When she looked back to the shore Rhys was gone.

  Part II

  The Journey

  8

  The wind picked up as the sun rose in the sky. Dale passed the city by noon. Now, with an easy downwind, she let the main and the jib out and tried to rest as the boat streamed along. She was well away from the murder scene now and her shoulders relaxed a little.

  She munched on a banana and stroked Cat. “I have some canned tuna for you. I guess I’ll have to buy you food eventually.” Dale had a total of sixty five pounds in her pocket, which would have to do until – until what? All her energy had gone into escaping, getting away from that scene, and Pastor Richard. At some point she knew she’d have to make a plan, but she was too exhausted to think. For the moment they simply drifted.

  Cat purred and jumped to the bow where he pawed at a canvas and circled.

  “Yes get some sleep; I wouldn’t mind a nap myself.” Dale shook her head. She hadn’t slept at all. Not that she could if she tried. The events of the last twenty-four hours kept replaying themselves in her mind �
�� particularly the shooting. She’d tried to block it out. The image of Gareth’s body thrown into the river brought fresh tears every time she imagined it. And the vision of Pastor Richard looking at her with his unnerving stare made her shiver. Why did he do it?

  She had asked herself a thousand times why the pastor would have done such a terrible act. But she was no closer to understanding it. There was one thing she was growing more certain of – the pastor would look for her. “I saw her face. I will find her; it’s only a matter of time.” His words had been clear and they repeated in Dale’s mind. She creased her brow. Was it me he was after? She shook her head. What would he want with me?

  As Joy sailed on, Cat slept and Dale continued her musing, alternating between the grief of losing Gareth, the questions raised by Pastor Richards, and other things, like the cruelty of Prudence, the mystery of Rhys and the strange encounter with the mystic in the book shop. ”You don’t belong here,” she’d said.

  Dale was probably still in shock. After the shooting, she’d spent countless hours in the woodland. The moonlight had been strong. She recalled the sound of the owl and she briefly wondered if it had witnessed the murder.

  It was a snap decision to run away. Was it the right one? Where was she going anyway?

  Dale remembered the woman she had met only the week before – Ness. She lived in the Hebrides to the west. As far west as this little boat could go. Would it be far enough to hide from Pastor Richard?

  “Yes, that’s where I’ll go.” She spoke the words and Cat looked up from his sleep as if to acknowledge her decision, before returning to his slumber.

  It was late. The sun sat on the horizon and insects enjoyed the last of its rays. Dale slapped at them.

  The wind had been steady and she had covered a fair distance. But sailing at night was dangerous. She knew she had to stop and bank the boat. Her eyes were heavy, she needed to rest. Cat, now awake, swished his tail. He wants us to stop too.