Sufferer's Song

by Savile, Steve

  He padded downstairs barefoot, looking for a pair of trainers.

  The only pair he could find were a pair of battered baseball boots and they were split between two rooms; one shoe buried beneath the pile of coats in the family room, the other lost in the detritus of the hall. By the time he had got himself scrubbed up, dressed and found something suitable to wear on his feet, an hour had wandered by and the printer was all but done with his first draft.

  He gave it a very cursory skim read through the first and last ten pages, checking the spellchecker had been doing its job while he did his, then pulled out an A4 envelope, scribbled a one line note to Taryn Heyward saying nothing more than, “Here it is, hope you like. Very Best, Ben,” and put the two inside, binding up the envelope with sellotape to make sure it didn't burst open on its way down to London. Then he copied Taryn's address across and put the envelope on the desk to deal with later.

  And then he was at a loss for what to do for the next four hours. His day was mapped out from twelve onwards, when he needed to be making his way into the university for his first seminar. He felt like writing, but knew if he started he would never get around to doing anything else and it would be another morning lost to the big black hole that was rapidly swallowing up his life. He turned the television on, and then back off again almost as quickly when he saw the garbage they were trying to pass off as breakfast entertainment.

  In the end, Ben decided he was going to have to get out of the house before he went stir-crazy staring at the same four walls. He pushed himself up out of the chair and went looking for Scooby.

  He didn't have to look far. Scooby had hunkered down behind the settee and was snoozing away quite contentedly. Ben didn’t have the heart to wake him just because he wanted some company. He picked up a jacket, checked he had his keys, and collected the envelope on the way out. When he opened the door the mid-summer warmth settled comfortably around him. He leaned back inside and dumped his coat on the stairs.

  The flowers in the garden were dusted with dew, the cobwebs on the wall turned to webs of spun glass. It was as if nature had played her trump hand and made the summer itself visible for anyone who cared to see. He felt unexpectedly vulnerable as he walked away from the familiarity of the house.

  He walked down through the park and along past the jetty before going back into the village to post the letter. Ben had fallen in love with the countryside around Westbrooke when his folks had first moved into the village in 1974, some things about it were given constants; the sun, Devil's Water, the trees and the park; but some things were new, and he fervently hoped, transitory, like the Constabulary Convoy that was still very much in evidence, parked along both sides of the High Street for nigh on its entire length, and the trouble that seemed to be hanging over the village like a heavy shroud.

  Daniel Tanner had phoned him last night, on the off chance that he might have seen Graeme Lockewood's girl, Annie.

  Ben said he hadn't, which was true, but it set him to thinking anyway, tallying up the troubles that had been racking up to the village's name since Johnny Lisker had stabbed the biker in The Railway House and Daniel's girls had found the body in the woods.

  He came up with a long list. About the only good thing he could come up with to balance it had been meeting Kristy French, and even that had been tempered by the unpleasant circumstances. He didn't suppose he would ever see her again.

  Just ships that pass on a manhunt? Very poetic.

  The sun, one of the few constants Ben felt safe relying upon, was up and shining unnaturally brightly for the time of morning, picking out the vegetation and giving it an extra lease of life, the colours shining so richly the metallic sheen of the rocky slopes seemed dulled and deadened by comparison.

  He was coming up to the Arches at the base of Moses Hill before he realized where he was heading. Give Mike a surprise, he thought, picking up his pace. When he reached the leafy tunnel of Garretts Lane he stopped to listen to the silence. No cars, no trains, no children or adults bickering. Nothing to spoil the silence. As he set out up the gravel road he found he was instinctively trying to make as little noise as possible. He had only taken a few steps and already he felt as if he were deep in the heart of the wood, the trees cutting off even the sounds of the wind, a refuge from the noise and the wind and the summer heat.

  He could see why Mike had wanted to come back here; it was so perfectly at peace with itself. He walked on, letting the world recede in his wake, walking steadily faster and faster until he was running up the hill, certain that if he slowed the world would catch him by the heels and drag him back down to earth with an almighty crash.

  And then he was out of the trees and slowing, his legs tying themselves in knots as he came into sight of the caravan.

  The next half-minute was the longest of his life. He knew something was wrong immediately. He didn't need to see the broken window or the door open and banging in the breeze. The second part of his mind, where all of the story telling came into being, had already latched on to the fact that something was very wrong and was screaming it loudly inside his head.

  He sprinted, his heart thumping madly and threatening to burst, and staggered into the caravan. The reek was incredible. All he could hear were the flies. All he could see, Mike toppled onto his side, the pool of dried rust, the knife on the floor between the beer cans and the vodka bottles. His dark pupils shrank against the light, and struggled to focus on his brother's body.

  “Mike. . .” he moaned, kneeling down beside his brother, pressing on his chest, trying to force him into coming back. Blood bubbled deep in his throat. Ben pumped the area over Mike’s heart, and then felt to see if the heart was beating. It wasn’t. Touched his cheek and snatched his hand back, scared by the chill he felt there.

  “Mike!” Ben screamed, a cold, numb terror spreading through him as paralysis settled over him. He didn't want to be kneeling here, holding Mike. Not Mike. Not dead. Not like this. It couldn't be happening! It couldn't be real! He kept telling himself it couldn't be real, even though it couldn't be anything other, kept telling himself it was nightmare, that he had fallen asleep over the computer and he was going to wake up any moment; all he had to do was keep Mike warm and they would both wake up together. Both wake up and laugh about his stupid imagination.

  So he sat there, helplessly massaging Mike’s hands, crying and waiting for him to wake up, the certainty that waking up wasn't an honest answer growing with that chilly paralysis. After that breathing took all the strength he had to give it.

  In his head, if not his heart, Ben knew he couldn't breathe life into Mike; knew by looking at him that even if he could, the four-minute deadline for brain damage had passed by hours ago, probably while he was preoccupied with his bloody book instead of being here with his brother when he needed him to be here, when he needed his strength; but that grim knowledge didn't stop Ben from leaning over, breathing into Mike's mouth and trying to force the life back into his brother whether he wanted it or not.

  He pushed on his chest, massaged his heart, finding a rhythm and keeping it going for maybe a full minute before he broke, pounding his clenched fists into Mike's chest again and again, crying and screaming and hating himself more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

  “YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU CAN'T BE DEAD! YOU CAN'T BE DEAD! YOU CAN'T BE DEAD! I WON'T LET YOU BE DEAD!”

  He couldn't see through the tears. Everything inside the caravan was a blur. Ben pushed himself to his feet, pulled Mike up, lifting him into his arms as if he weighed less than a child, and lumbered outside.

  Tears streaming down his cheeks, Ben carried his brother’s body down through the trees of Moses Hill and all the way back into the village, not knowing why, only that he couldn’t leave him up there alone.

  When he reached the door to the police house he was shuddering, and he couldn’t stop.

  - 58 -

  Daniel Tanner had taken the day off work and cancelled school for Ellen and Sarah, not w
anting to let them out of his sight if he could help it. He had spent most of the night driving the streets of Westbrooke and the surrounding countryside in the old Subaru, looking for Annie and all the while hoping he wasn't going to be the one who found her if she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

  Graeme, Barney Doyle and two young Police Constables had done much the same on foot, walking over the same paths again and again, in case they had missed something the first time. It had been gone four when they finally decided to call it a day.

  He had stopped by to see how Jenny was holding up, and found her sat on the floor wiping her tears on an old teddy bear. Dim light drifting in through the curtains. He had sat for the good part of an hour comforting her, all the while switching the nightmare around in his head until he was confronted with his own worst case scenario: it being Ellen who was out there alone and maybe lying in a ditch. Just imagining it had his insides churning with anguish. Daniel had left Jenny at getting on for five in the morning, when Graeme still hadn't come home, and gone looking for him.

  He found Graeme at the school gates across the street from his own house, holding onto the railings, breaking his heart. Together they stared at the hulking edifice with its dark windows, talking about the good times. Talking about their little girls. Graeme had asked Daniel to do one thing for him. Daniel promised, and stood there then, looking up at Ellen's window, not knowing what to do but making a thousand resolutions to place Kathleen, Ellen and Sarah above everything else in his life, and keep them there for as long as he was in a position to love them and look after them.

  “Listen to your kids, Dan. Spend time with Ellen and Sarah. Get to know them before they grow up and it’s too late. . .” Underneath that thought was another “too late”. Reading between the lines, Daniel knew he was watching his friend steeling himself for the worst, and crushed his heart with grief to see it.

  He made one more promise to Graeme, helping him back into the car. It was a promise he had no real hopes of keeping, he knew that much even as he made it, but he made it, and he believed it just the same.

  “We'll find her, Graeme. I promise. I'll take you home, Jenny needs you. I'll stay out here and carry on looking until I find Annie.”

  Graeme gave no indication that he had heard. In the passenger seat, his arms wrapped around his stomach, he sat watching the sun come, trying to keep himself from coming apart.

  Daniel had done just that, pausing twice outside his own house to look up the girls’ windows, feeling achingly empty, only to carry on looking.

  Carry on chasing ghosts.

  - ELLEN'S FALL -

  Daniel and Kathleen walked hand in hand, Ellen and Sarah, carrying the hamper and picnic blanket between them, ten paces in front.

  The one good thing about the summer, Daniel mused, kicking a stone along the kerb, was the lake. People paid a small fortune to the tourist industry for a week in Amble, Grassmere, Windermere or Thirlmere, to enjoy what they had on their doorstep. It would be impossible to keep this little fragment of Eden to themselves indefinitely. Unfortunately, the tourists would begin arriving in their droves, and Westbrooke's little secret would be out. He had agreed with Kathleen that, until they knew about Annie one way or another, it was probably best not to let on to Ellen or Sarah. No point in upsetting them unnecessarily. But that didn't mean that he could think about anything else, because he couldn't. Every time he stopped talking he started thinking about the hell Graeme and Jenny must be going through.

  Being a Monday, they had no problem finding a spot close to the water’s edge. By the time they caught up the girls had already spread the blanket and were busy emptying the hamper of cheese and onion and meat-paste sandwiches, Hula Hoops, cold sausages, oranges, apples and bottles of Coke.

  Kathleen had bought a copy of More! Magazine for something to read while the kids played with the Frisbee. Daniel, being Daniel, couldn’t resist joining in, throwing the Frisbee outrageously high and running and diving crazily as it came back like a boomerang, arrowing almost every time for his neck. Sitting with her chin on her knees, she sat and watched them play and wished she could force herself to join in, make a real family thing of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything more energetic than stare out at the water and think about reading her magazine.

  The Frisbee came her way, crash landing in plate of meat-paste sandwiches. Daniel came loping up and rolled onto his back.

  “Christ, I'm knackered.”

  ”Having fun?”

  “Oh, yes. Now pass me that Frisbee before the girls decide to start chucking poor old dad about instead.”

  He hurled the Frisbee into the air above Ellen's head and watched her back-peddle, struggling to pick it out for the sun.

  “Drop it and you have to buy the ice creams!”

  He fully expected Ellen to miss it by miles, but she didn't. Tripping over her heels, she crashed onto her backside and caught the Frisbee above her head. She was laughing so hard she was very nearly in tears. Daniel wanted to run over and hug her so tightly she split in two, and had to force himself to stand still and laugh as he would have laughed on any other day when Ellen took it upon herself to play the clown.

  After that he left them to it, settling down beside Kathleen with one of the bottles of Coke to quench his worked up thirst.

  “That pair have got too much energy for me,” Daniel said, watching Ellen tag Sarah and go dashing off, lapping it up like a loon.

  “A Duracell battery’s got more energy than you,” Kathleen said, lying back on the blanket.

  “Thanks. I just can't stop thinking about what Graeme and Jenny must be going through. I don't know, Kathy, I just feel. . .”

  “I know, scoot over here and give me a cuddle.”

  They had run out of words and were lying back on the blankets with their eyes closed, enjoying the sunshine, when Ellen came back to ask if it was okay to go for a paddle.

  “I don't see why not, as long as you don't go too deep,” Daniel agreed, watching a couple of gulls circle low over the restaurant along the shoreline. Evie's place was as good as a baited trap for those scavengers. “I might come in and join you in a bit. A splash sounds like fun.”

  “Last one in the water's a fish-face,” Ellen squealed, pulling her pumps and socks off and starting to roll the legs of her jeans up before Sarah had had time to catch her breath from running back to the blanket.

  Ellen didn't even hesitate at the water’s edge; she plunged straight in, splashing and giggling, oblivious to the water soaking up through her jeans as high already as her waistband.

  Sarah wasn't exactly right behind her. The older girl took her time getting ready for the deep, penetrating cold of the water compared with the air and the day. Daniel smiled to himself, remembering exactly what he was like at Sarah's age, always playing it cool and disinterested.

  Good looks and style must run in the genes.

  “Come on, slowpoke!” Ellen coaxed, splashing around. “It’s dead warm in here!”

  “Don't go too far,” Kathleen called after Ellen, watching her, ten yards in, sculling along on her back as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She came close then to envying her daughter’s innocence as she clowned about spraying water and splashing.

  Ellen swarm a few more yards, kicking her legs to agitate the water into stormy ripples, then kicked back and waited, treading water, then struck out for the water around the jetty, Sarah swimming hard to catch up.

  Daniel closed his eyes again and let them get on with it. He couldn’t sleep because he couldn't turn his mind off, but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. Starting with his toes and working his way up, Daniel consciously relaxed different parts of his body, not moving on from one spot until he felt it unwind; trying to lull his mind into forgetfulness and trick it into sleep that way.

  He could hear the gulls circling overhead, taking a big interest in something down below. Probably an open rubbish bag, he thought lazily, enjoying the feel of the sun on his f
ace and the wind in his hair.

  * * * * *

  “Daaad! DAAAAAAAAADDD!”

  Daniel sat up and opened his eyes, blinking out the twenty minutes worth of sleep. Since he had dozed off, the sky looked as if it had been bleached by a manic housewife determined to get the colour out of just about everything. Colour wise, everything looked slightly off kilter. His heart was hammering in his chest, his first thought: Oh, God help me. Something's happening to my girls!

  He pushed himself to his feet, looking around frantically for either Ellen or Sarah.

  It was Sarah, running up the grass, yelling. He couldn't see Ellen anywhere. What's happened to Ellen? Oh Christ, where is she? He shaded his eyes to look out across the lake. No sign of Ellen.

  Oh, dear God, where is she? The wind cut right through the cotton of his shirtsleeves, chilling him more than it ought to. He didn’t wait for Sarah to reach him. He ran to meet her halfway; running to meet his own worst nightmare head on.

  Sarah's face was red with tears and exhaustion. She was gasping for breath, trying to force words out of her mouth but her tongue felt as if it had bloated and swollen to the size of her throat. She couldn't speak and she couldn't breathe. Daniel couldn't help himself. He grabbed her by the arms and started shaking her.

  “What's happened, honey? Where's Ellen? Is she okay?” There was an edge to his voice he hated, but he couldn't shift it, and it refused to be watered down. It was infused with his own rising panic. “WHERE'S ELLEN?”