by Amy Cross
"The Devil," Sam replies.
"Is that what he's told you?"
"Isn't it true?"
"Maybe." Pausing, Fenroc cuts into his steak and eats a chunk. "This is good food," he says after a moment. "Do you know the key to a successful dinner date? It's not the conversation or the company. It's the food. And the drink, I suppose, but mainly the food. A good, succulent steak goes a long way to keeping the situation flowing easily, don't you think? Without good food, it's impossible to really relax."
"I wasn't aware this was a date," Sam replies firmly.
"Forgive me. I'm getting ahead of myself."
"You said you could tell me about the cemetery," Sam continues. "You said this would be an exchange of information. Is there any chance you might follow through, or were you just shooting your mouth off in the hope of scoring a dinner companion? So far, you just seem to be hinting at all these things you know, but you haven't really told me anything. Nothing I can use, anyway."
"I just want you to understand that you can't always trust Faraday," Fenroc replies. "I'm not saying you should automatically trust me, because I know a smart young lady such as yourself would never be so easily fooled. But I'm trying very hard to get you to understand the danger posed by Faraday. He's not necessarily who, or what, he claims to be. He'll use you if he thinks it'll help him, but once he's done with you, he'll toss you aside. Or, worse, he'll push you right over the edge. I'm sure he's already taken you below the cottage."
"I can look after myself," Sam says as she finishes her glass of wine. Seconds later, as if he's been watching the whole time, the waiter appears and refills the glass, before stepping away again. Staring at her glass, Sam starts to worry that she's being lured into a trap.
"You look like you're doing rather well so far," Fenroc says with a smile.
"Don't worry about me," Sam continues, taking another sip. "I'm not some dumb kid. I can handle things." She takes yet another sip. "I've got everything totally under control."
Chapter Four
"There," Mayor Winters mutters as he squeezes his suitcase shut and pulls the zipper closed around the edges. With more than a hint of satisfaction, he drags the case off the bed and hauls it downstairs, and finally he steps out of his home and into the cold night of the town square. He takes a deep breath of Rippon's fine, unsullied air and realizes that after spending his entire life here, he's finally going to achieve the escape he always wanted.
"I don't mind admitting," he says quietly to himself, "I shall miss certain parts of this old place."
After a moment, he realizes that he's making a fool of himself, so he walks slowly across the town square. As he goes, he passes the cafe, where a few late-night drinkers are dozing in their seats. Having spent many nights in the cafe, Winters knows only too well how easy it can be to waste one's life in such an establishment. Sometimes, he used to think that he might spend all his days in this backward little town, and he used to look at the old drunks and wonder whether he might be doomed to meet a similar fate.
"You off somewhere?" asks a familiar voice.
Winters turns to find Jonathan Hale, the owner of the cafe, standing nearby.
"Just throwing a few things out," Winters says, keen to avoid any unpleasantness. "Bits and pieces here and there," he continues, trying to make the story sound more convincing. "Nothing of any great importance, though."
"Funny time to be doing something like that," Hale replies, eying the suitcase suspiciously. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were making a run for it."
"And why would I do something like that?" Winters replies, forcing himself to laugh. "Where would I go? Rippon is my home. I'm merely removing a few items from my home and placing them in storage. As you know, I have a garage on the other side of town, and from time to time I move items there." He pauses, hoping that the story has gone down well. "As for the timing," he continues, trying not to seem too desperate, "I merely wish to use my time in the most effective manner possible. I'm so busy during the day that I can only complete simple personal errands at night."
"Uh-huh," Hale says, staring at him.
"You know how it is," Winters continues, wiping sweat from his brow. "I put the town first at all times, even when my own life suffers. I barely have any time to get my affairs in order, so I must take the opportunities as and when they arise."
"So you're doing some spring-cleaning," Hale says, clearly finding it hard to believe the story.
Winters nods.
"Alright," Hale says with a shrug. "I guess it's not my place to ask too many damn questions. I'm not one of those busybodies who think they should be informed of everyone else's actions. If you want to do all this stuff in the middle of the goddamn night, that's up to you."
"I shall bid you goodnight," Winters says, turning and hurrying away.
"Goodbye," Hale replies.
Winters stops for a moment. It's clear that Hale knows what's happening, but as far as Winters is concerned, he has no duty to explain himself. He considers turning and telling Hale to mind his own business, but finally he decides to just keep walking. In a few minutes' time, Jonathan Hale will be part of his past. While they were friends once, when they were children, Winters knows he can't be nostalgic. The past is the past, and the future is of far more interest.
Leaving the cafe behind, he soon finds himself walking past the restaurant. He stops for a moment as he spots the most unlikely sight: Gabriel Fenroc is sitting near the window, holding a glass of wine while he talks to none other than Samantha Marker, the current gardener. Shocked at such a union, the mayor stares open-mouthed for a few seconds before deciding that such matters are no longer any of his concern. He keeps walking, heading along the dark street. As far as he's concerned, the actions of Gabriel Fenroc are no longer any of his concern. He's never liked Fenroc, always believing him to be a negative influence in the life of the town. Still, such things are Walter Simpkin's responsibility now. Just as Jonathan Hale is part of the past for Winters, so too is Gabriel Fenroc.
When he reaches the outskirts of town, he unlocks the door to a battered old garage and heads into the darkness. Rippon is a small town, which means that very few of its residents bother to own a car. Mayor Winters, on the other hand, could never contemplate being without one, since he always harbored a secret dream to one day get away from the place. Now, finally, he's able to load his meager belongings into the trunk and climb into the driver's seat. He can barely believe that this moment has finally arrived, but eventually he starts the engine and eases the car out of the garage.
Making his way through the dark streets, keeping his speed down in order to remain inconspicuous, he tries to decide where to go. After all, having spent his entire life in Rippon, he suddenly has the whole world opening up ahead of him. He wants to explore Britain, but at the same time he also wants to go abroad and see exotic locations. More than anything, he wants to hit the road and never look back, and he wants to feel the wind in his hair as he drives far away from this crumbling little town. Trembling slightly, he stares ahead and imagines the shock that everyone will feel in the morning when they realize that their dear, trusted mayor has abandoned them.
With a huge grin on his lips, he drives across the little bridge and out of Rippon for the very last time.
Chapter Five
As the restaurant door is pushed open, Sam spills out into the dark, empty street. Stumbling a little, she reminds herself at the last minute that she needs to act a little more sober, so she stops in her tracks and takes a deep breath, hoping that the air will help calm her down. It's been a long time since she allowed herself to drink, and although she's quite enjoying the fact that she's a little drunk, there's also a little voice at the back of her head that keeps telling her that she might be making a huge mistake.
"Hey, Nadia," she mutters, staring into the darkness. "Cheers, wherever you are. Have one on me." Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulls out the plastic water bottle that she managed to sneakily
fill with vodka before she came outside. She unscrews the lid and takes a swig, and she can't help feeling that Nadia, many miles away, is probably doing pretty much the same thing. Then again, she figures that Nadia has probably already moved on and found other friends by now.
Hearing the door open again, she turns just in time to see Fenroc emerging from the restaurant.
"Thanks again," Sam says, putting the top back on the bottle and slipping it back into her pocket.
"For what?"
"Dinner." She pauses for a moment. "This might be a sad thing to say, but I've never actually gone out to dinner before with someone who paid for everything. I mean, there was this guy who bought me chips once after we'd been out all night, but I guess that's not the same. This whole dinner thing is kind of weird."
"Really?" Fenroc pauses for a moment. "What kind of men do you know back home?"
"No kind of men," Sam replies with a smile. "Where I come from, guys don't pick up girls by taking them to dinner. They pick up girls by waiting until they're drunk and then..." She pauses for a moment, trying to work out whether she's saying a little too much. "Well, I think you can guess the rest."
"Sometimes," Fenroc says, "I think the modern world has passed me by. I'm afraid I feel more at home with the more old-fashioned customs. Speaking of which, it's getting late and I feel I should walk you home. Even in a quiet town like Rippon, one never knows what one might encounter if one takes a wrong turn."
"Sure," Sam says, taking a couple of steps before tripping on the cobbles and almost falling flat on her face. Managing to steady herself at the last moment, she feels Fenroc grab her arm. "I'm okay," she mutters. "I'm not drunk. I'm just kind of, you know, a little off my game."
"I understand completely," Fenroc replies. "Regardless, will you let me walk you home? I'd feel a lot better if I could see that you get through the gate safely. I know Rippon seems like a sleepy town, but I can assure you that there are still a few nasty things lurking in the shadows."
"Speaking of gates and shadows," Sam says as they start walking. "What's the deal with you and the cemetery gate?" Still feeling a little unsteady, she links her arm with Fenroc, using him for support. "I mean, don't get this wrong, but you kind of fried when you put your hand through the other night."
"An unfortunate side-effect of my past activities," Fenroc replies.
"Such as?"
"Such as the fact that I used to be a gardener." They walk on in silence for a moment. "It's not exactly the kind of job from which one simply retires. I'm afraid there are certain consequences that come with resignation, and one of them is the fact that I'm not banned from returning to hallowed ground. You've seen what happens if I try. Fortunately, the skin heals rather quickly. It was only a brief warning, although I'd hate to imagine what might happen if I pushed my luck. It's a shame, though. Sometimes, in a nostalgic moment, I find myself thinking back to the old days when Martello and I used to work together. Although I disliked my work in the cemetery, there were one or two good moments."
"Martello?" Sam asks. "You mean Sparky? The stone angel?"
"Every gardener has an angel," Fenroc replies. "We worked well together. He'd been a gardener himself, many years earlier, and he told me some of the most common mistakes. I hesitate to sound too twee, but I feel that Martello and I made a good team. Unfortunately, we eventually came to disagree on a few topics, and that was our downfall. I'm afraid Martello was lured in by Faraday's ideas. I tried to fight back, to persuade him to listen to me, but it was too late. That's the reason I had to abandon my post. Had Martello been a little more loyal, I might well still be the gardener today, and you'd have been spared all this trauma."
"Wow," Sam says, trying desperately not to seem drunk. "That angel's got some dark secrets, huh? And to think, I assumed he was just a lump of stone. Do you know, I actually chained him to the cottage?"
"You did?"
"I certainly did. The bastard kept moving, and he started creeping me out. I feel kind of bad now. I hope he doesn't hold it against me."
"I'm afraid he doesn't do anything these days unless it has been ordered by Faraday first. Poor Martello used to have such a fine mind, but lately he's allowed himself to become little more than a pawn. I used to think that he'd find the strength to overthrow his new master, but my hope has faded. He's chosen his side, and I fear that Faraday will soon ask you to choose your side before..."
Sam waits for him to finish. "Before what?" she asks eventually, as they turn the corner and head toward the cemetery gate.
"Before the beast wakes," Fenroc says after a moment. "That's what Faraday wants. I'm sure he's told you that he wants to keep the beast down there forever, but the truth is he's been searching desperately for a way to make the creature wake up. He wants to bring about the end of the world, and he believes that his reward for doing so will be eternal life. That's all he wants, really. To live forever and never have to face death."
As they reach the gate, Sam pulls her arm free from Fenroc. Realizing that she's a little more unsteady on her feet than she'd anticipated, she grabs hold of the gate and uses it to steady herself.
"He's a lucky man," Fenroc says suddenly.
"Who?" Sam asks, turning to him.
"The guy you left behind."
Sam stares at him for a moment. "He's really not," she says eventually.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Fenroc continues. "You love him, don't you?"
"With all my heart."
"And does he know that?"
"I hope so."
"And does he love you in return?"
Sam pauses. "I hope so."
"Then I'll say it again. He's a lucky man to have the heart of such a beautiful and intelligent young woman."
Sam stares at him for a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the cottage?" she asks eventually. Even though she knows she'd regret it in the morning, right now she feels as if she wants to slip back into her old skin a little. She's tired of spending every night alone in that little makeshift bed, and she longs for the days when she'd wake up with a warm body next to her. She doesn't even mind whose body, just so long as she's got company. She doesn't have any particularly strong feelings for Fenroc, and he's not really her type, but she just wants someone in her bed. Anyone.
"You know I can't," Fenroc replies. "The cemetery's out of bounds. Besides, isn't it a little crowded in there? Don't you have a dead girl, a stone angel and a dangerous ex-gardener as house-guests?"
"They can just fuck off for a bit," Sam says, slurring her words slightly. "It's not their cottage. It's mine, and I set the rules."
"I think we both know it wouldn't work. Not tonight."
Sam nods.
"Another time, perhaps," Fenroc says, stepping closer. "I just want you to know, Sam, that I had the most enjoyable time with you tonight. It's so rare to find intelligent conversation around these parts. In another life..." He pauses, as if he's not sure whether or not to complete the sentence.
"In another life what?" Sam asks, staring into his eyes.
Leaning closer, Fenroc plants a gentle kiss on her lips.
Needing no further invitation, Sam puts her arms around Fenroc and pulls him against her, until she's pressed against the cemetery gates. The kiss, although tentative at first, quickly becomes passionate, and Sam feels her old self come flooding back. She knows the alcohol is responsible, and she knows it'd be a mistake, be she can't help herself; she presses herself against Fenroc as she slips her tongue deeper into his mouth.
"This would be a mistake," Fenroc says suddenly, pulling away.
"So what?" Sam replies. "So, do you ever take girls home, or do you prefer to do everything against the cemetery gate? 'Cause I'm easy either way. Well, not easy, but..." She pauses, and then she bursts out laughing. "You know what I mean, right?" she says eventually, trying to pull herself together and seem a little more attractive. "Tell me you know what I mean. Tell me I didn't just make a complete ass of myself."
>
Fenroc pauses for a moment, and then he kisses her again before finally pulling free and stepping back. There's a look of shock in his eyes, as if some awful realization has just struck him.
"Come on," Sam says, almost pleading with him. "I haven't been with someone since..." She stops herself just in time, feeling a cold wave of sobriety wash through her mind. There are some lines she refuses to cross, even when she's drunk, and there are some parts of her past that she wants to keep hidden.
"Since what?" Fenroc asks.
"Since forever," she says after a moment, forcing herself to smile. "That's all. It's been a while, if you know what I mean."
"Good night, Sam," he replies, turning and walking away.
"Seriously?" Sam calls after him. "Are you serious? Aren't you even remotely interested?" She waits for a reply, but none is forthcoming. Walking slowly and steadily into the night, Fenroc doesn't even bother to look back. For a moment, she seriously considers running after him, but even in her drunken state, she still has enough dignity to hold back. "God damn it," she mutters, suddenly feeling humiliated. After staying strong for almost a year, she realizes she's managed to undo all her good work and slip back to her old ways.
For a moment, she considers finishing the rest of the vodka from the plastic bottle, but finally she decides against it.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the rusty old key and lets herself into the cemetery. In the distance, the lights of the cottage illuminate the night, but as she locks the gate behind her, Sam realizes she can't face anyone right now. Instead, she walks through the darkness, picking her way carefully between the gravestones. The old Sam, the real Sam, showed herself again tonight, and everything feels completely wrong. All Sam can think about right now is the fact that she can never change. She'd been clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she could become someone new, someone better, and that maybe one day she could eventually go back and find the one person in the outside world who might actually give a damn about her.
