The Darkness Within

by Cathy Glass

  ‘No, thank you dear. I’ve just had lunch.’ She looked at Elizabeth carefully. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? I can understand why. You don’t want to believe ill of your own.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Well, I think it must be someone from the village who knew where I kept my key. Perhaps one of those townies who moved in.’

  ‘Mary, you mustn’t say things like that. It’s dreadful to accuse someone of stealing. Let’s leave it to the police.’

  ‘Yes, good idea. I’m sure they’ll find him. It was obviously someone who needed money desperately. Pity he didn’t just ask. I would have lent it or even given it to him. He didn’t have to hit me; that was vicious. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

  ‘Mary’s convinced her cottage was broken into and the burglar took twenty thousand pounds!’ Elizabeth told Andrew as they ate dinner that evening. ‘She’s also saying she thinks it was someone in the village. When you think of everything we do for her, to then be accused of such an awful crime, it’s hurtful.’

  ‘She’s still confused and in shock by the sound of it. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.’

  ‘She’s told the police it was a young man, maybe one of the new arrivals from town. But at least she hasn’t mentioned Jacob being there on Saturday evening again.’

  ‘Even if she does it can be easily disproved. I know he and Eloise aren’t together any more but I’m sure she’d tell the police he was with her if necessary. I guess we’ll all be needing alibis at this rate!’ He smiled and then looked thoughtful. ‘What time did Jacob get in on Saturday night?’

  ‘I don’t know, I was asleep. Why?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ He shook his head and resumed eating.

  Elizabeth studied her plate, aware that if Eloise was contacted by the police then the allegations she’d made about Jacob were bound to come out. ‘I’m sure it won’t be necessary to speak to Eloise,’ she said. ‘I doubt the police will take Mary’s allegations seriously, will they? I mean, who keeps twenty thousand pounds under their mattress and lives as frugally as Mary does?’

  ‘Exactly. I’ll try to pop in and see her next week. I haven’t had a chance this week.’

  Once they’d finished, Andrew excused himself to go to his study. He’d been out all day and hadn’t had a chance to catch up on his voicemail messages or even open his mail, of which there was always plenty. Elizabeth cleared the table and began washing the dishes, uncomfortably aware that the list of things she hadn’t told Andrew was growing, and the longer the list grew and the more time elapsed, the more difficult it was going to be. Just as she’d finished washing the last pan Andrew came into the kitchen, face set and holding an opened letter in his hand.

  ‘I don’t believe this! I really don’t! It’s the last straw.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, immediately concerned. It was unlike him to be angry.

  ‘Our credit card statement! Nearly five hundred pounds on internet downloads.’

  Elizabeth went cold. She’d never told him about her internet search for Jacob’s donor. There never seemed to be a right time. But surely it hadn’t cost that much? None of the newspaper subscriptions had been more than £15, she was sure of it. But then she hadn’t kept a check on how much she’d spent, she’d been too involved in the search. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ready to explain.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he snapped. ‘I should have realized. Bad enough he watches that filth, but to use my credit card! Can you imagine if this came out – the reverend paying for his son to watch porn!’

  ‘Jacob?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Yes of course. Who else?’

  Only slightly relieved, she took the statement he now thrust towards her and began looking down the long list of transactions. ‘All those I’ve marked in red are his,’ he said as she read.

  It was impossible to tell from the company names what exactly the websites were – Holdings Ltd, Connections, but the amounts were similar: £45, £50, £49.99. In between these she saw the much smaller deductions for the newspapers she’d accessed plus their other credit card purchases.

  ‘Those are mine,’ she admitted, pointing.

  He nodded absently. ‘Every single one of those I’ve marked is a porn site,’ he said, his voice tight. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  Elizabeth shook her head and her thoughts flipped back to the time she’d entered Jacob’s room with his medication and had caught a glimpse of the porn he’d been watching on his laptop.

  ‘I gave him that card to use at university,’ Andrew reminded her, annoyed. ‘I’d forgotten he still had it. He used it sensibly for three years – all the time he was away. So what’s got into him now? I’ll put a stop on the card immediately and when he starts work he can repay me. He needs some form of sanction. And I’ll speak to him when I see him. He’s sick and needs professional help!’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ‘You must be desperate, man, calling me after the pasting boss man arranged for you,’ Chez said.

  ‘I am,’ Jacob admitted. ‘So don’t piss me around.’

  ‘Boss man would be angry with me if he found out I was supplying you again.’

  ‘So don’t tell him. I’ll make it worth your while. Come on, mate. I’ll pay you over the odds if you sell me the stuff tonight.’

  ‘It’s late, man.’

  ‘You’re never in bed at eleven on a Friday night! Meet me in half an hour and you’ll be tucked up again by midnight. I’ll give you an extra twenty quid.’

  ‘Make it forty and the deal’s done,’ Chez said.

  ‘I’m broke, man,’ Jacob said, not wanting to agree too readily and arouse Chez’s suspicion. ‘Thirty.’

  ‘Forty or there’s no deal. I’ve got better things to do than hang around old dumpsters.’

  Jacob sighed. ‘OK. Forty. You’re a hard man.’

  ‘I’ll be there!’ Jacob could hear the anticipation in his voice.

  ‘Thanks, man.’

  Jacob headed back into the block of flats. Payback time was fast approaching and it felt good. The little shit needed to be taught a lesson. Using the key Rosie had given him he let himself into the flat. She was still on the sofa watching television as she had been since they’d had dinner and sex earlier. Friday night was for relaxing, she had told him; he could dig that. But as he entered the room she cut the sound on the television and looked at him accusingly. What the fuck was the matter with her now? Jesus! Women were hard work.

  ‘Your mother just texted me,’ she said, raising her phone so he could see the screen. ‘She’s asking when you last visited Mary Hutchins. Who is Mary Hutchins?’

  ‘I didn’t know you had each other’s mobile numbers,’ he said, ignoring her question as he read the text.

  ‘You gave us each other’s numbers when I had to get your tablets.’

  ‘Oh, right. Yeah. I’d forgotten. Anyway, I have to go out now, and when I come back I expect to find you in bed. I’ll be in the mood for more sex.’ He found violence and the thought of it a great turn-on, violent sex even more so.

  ‘Jacob!’ Rosie said, rising to the bait and standing to face him. ‘Who is Mary Hutchins?’

  God. Women were so predictable. Nosy bitch. ‘Why? You jealous?’ Pity he didn’t have more time – he could have wound her up even more.

  ‘No. But we’re living together, I think I have the right to know.’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Mary is an old bird in her nineties who lives in the same village as my parents, you daft cow.’

  Rosie looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But don’t call me a cow, I don’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t like being called a cheat and a liar.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again. He picked up his jacket, ready to go out.

  ‘What shall I tell your mother?’ God, her voice was whiny.

  ‘I’ll deal with it. See you later and make sure you’re ready for me.’ He knew she
would be. She was in the wrong so she would be wanting to make it up to him. Friday night was promising to be very good indeed.

  Outside, Jacob got into his car and sped off in a screech of tyre rubber, very excited. He’d thought when he’d first met Taco that he might be the kind of guy with connections, and he’d been proven right. He’d arranged to supply the thugs for tonight and had told Jacob to set it up for a time when the pubs were emptying so it looked like a pub brawl. Taco had also said not to give Chez much notice so he didn’t have time to bring anyone with him, and to find himself a watertight alibi just in case. Rosie would vouch for him if necessary and he’d only be out for three-quarters of an hour – not much longer than it took to smoke a joint. Besides, he wanted to watch the fun. He was paying for it after all. He couldn’t wait. He’d get there early and park so he had a good view.

  Ten minutes later, Jacob slowed the car as he entered the disused depot, switched to sidelights only and crawled noiselessly across the yard, looking for a place to park. He found a spot that would be perfect and reversed in beside two large skips from where he would be able to see, but not be seen. Giving the wipers a flick to clear the windscreen he switched off the engine and turned off the sidelights. The interior light faded and went out. He was now in complete darkness. He pressed the interior locking system and looked through the windows. The only movement at present came from rubbish being blown across the yard. His black car blended in well with the shadows. Now all he had to do was watch and wait, and his excitement grew. Three hundred and fifty quid this had cost him – one hundred for each of the three guys who were going to do the job and fifty quid to Taco for arranging it, so it better be good.

  Ten minutes later three guys walked into the depot, heavily built, dressed in dark trousers and tops. They stood for a moment looking around and pointing, apparently debating where they should hide. Jacob glanced at the clock on the dashboard. There was still fifteen minutes before Chez was due to arrive, and he never arrived early as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by being seen hanging around. Not that there would be anyone here to see him but he was a creature of habit. After some discussion the guys produced black balaclava helmets and headed off in three different directions and secreted themselves in three separate locations. That was clever, Jacob thought. Chez would effectively be covered from all sides and cut off if he tried to escape. They clearly knew their stuff. Taco said they were professionals; that’s what he was paying for.

  His heart was racing now, going like the clappers as the adrenalin built. He could have done with a joint to calm him down but for obvious reasons that was out of the question – the smell, smoke and glow from the lighted tip would give him away. He’d just have to be patient, he told himself, and rubbed a small mark off the steering wheel, then gazed out of the windscreen. The rain had eased but his vision was blurred by the residual rain on the glass. He resisted the temptation to turn on the wipers. Later, once the action had started and it didn’t matter if he was seen, he would.

  The minutes ticked away and at 11.25 with five minutes to go his phone vibrated with an incoming text. Shielding the screen under his jacket so the light wasn’t visible from the outside, he opened the message. As he guessed, it was from Chez; he always texted ahead of his arrival. Five mins. Be ready. Oh yes he was ready all right, so too were the other guys. His heart threw in an extra few beats as if appreciating what lay in store. Nothing like the expectation of a good beating, followed by a good fuck, to get the juices going. He put his phone away and watched the clock on the dashboard as the countdown began in earnest. Five minutes, four, three, two, one, and then Chez appeared. The scraggy little runt was dressed in his usual jeans and blue hoodie. It didn’t really need three guys to take him down, but Taco had insisted. He said it was how the boys worked, in case the guy brought mates with him. It also meant they could get the job done faster, more easily and efficiently.

  Jacob’s breath was coming fast and shallow now as he sat motionless, watching Chez through the misted windscreen. He saw him glance around as he took up his usual position, expecting Jacob to immediately appear as he had before. His right hand was resting on the outside of his jeans pocket where he kept the packet of weed, ready to take out, so the deal could be done as quickly as possible. Jacob could see he was edgy at having to wait. But it was only a few seconds that he had to glance around, frustrated and doubtless annoyed that Jacob hadn’t immediately appeared. Then he saw the first figure come out from the shadows a little way in front of him and he craned his neck forward, staring into the darkness and trying to identify Jacob. His head flipped to the side as he caught sight of the second guy coming from the right. He remained where he was as it took another second for him to register what might be happening. Then it dawned on him and Jacob laughed as he turned, ready to run, but too late. The third guy was already behind him and punched him hard in the face. Ouch. He must have felt that. He was down and the beating really began.

  Jacob flipped on the wipers for a better view. Chez was on the floor, pathetically trying to cover his head with his hands as he was kicked around like a football. Three sets of large booted feet were laying into him, his face, head, body, legs, kicking him hard without pause. He was jerking all over the place, and then he was still. God, that was quick, Jacob thought. It had only taken a few minutes and it was all over. He would have liked a rerun in slow motion. But now what was happening? One of the guys had taken what looked like a miniature bottle of spirits from his jacket and was unscrewing the top. The other two turned Chez onto his back and forced his mouth open. The guy with the bottle tipped in the contents. ‘Very clever,’ Jacob said, impressed. Make it look like he’s been drinking, a pub brawl Taco had said. Then, dusting themselves off, they removed their balaclavas and strolled out of the yard. All over and done within five minutes. It was time for him to leave.

  Jacob started the car’s engine and, using the sidelights only, drove slowly towards Chez’s body. Stopping a little in front of him he left the engine running and got out. He took the few steps to his side. God, what a mess. His face was unrecognizable, barely human, with big lumps and splits that were oozing a crimson mixture of what looked like blood and tissue. His mouth had split wide open and some of his teeth were on the outside of his cheek. Yuk. Jacob looked away and then down to Chez’s pocket where he kept the weed. Moving his belt up, he took the packet. No point in wasting it. He was about to leave when another thought occurred to him. Chez still owed him for all the times he’d overcharged him or had sold him underweight.

  Keeping his gaze from the mangled face and ignoring the gurgling sound now coming from Chez’s throat he checked his other jeans pockets and then his hoodie. A used tissue, disgusting; Jacob threw it on the ground. Then he found what he was looking for, a roll of bank notes. It was a thin roll, only sixty quid. Clearly Chez hadn’t done much business tonight. Satisfied there was no more, that they were even now and his pride and dignity had been restored, Jacob returned to his car. He drove forward slowly, up and over Chez’s body, the resulting bump and squelch reminiscent of roadkill. The sweet taste of revenge made his heart lurch again, causing a sharp pain in his chest.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Elizabeth received two text messages on Saturday: one from Jacob replying to hers, and saying he hadn’t visited Mary in ages. He asked why she wanted to know and that she should text him, not Rosie, in future. Elizabeth didn’t respond. She had the answer she needed, and the reason she’d texted Rosie and not Jacob was because he hardly ever replied. The other one was from David asking her how she was getting on with her search, which was thoughtful of him. She answered straightaway saying she’d managed to trace the donor but was now working up the courage to visit his family. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know, she wrote.

  He texted back: I know it’s a difficult decision, and a very personal one. Good luck whatever you decide.

  Since Andrew’s suggestion that Jacob could be mentally ill and that t
hat could be the reason he was behaving so dreadfully, Elizabeth had harboured doubts about contacting the donor family. Andrew could be right, in which case her time would be better spent trying to find her son a good psychiatrist rather than visiting the donor’s family. But to pursue that she’d need Jacob to agree to see a psychiatrist, and that would be impossible with his present attitude, even if he came home long enough to discuss it, which he hardly ever did. She could imagine the scene if she or Andrew suggested a consultation. Perhaps she could enlist Rosie’s help? But she hardly knew the girl, and it was a difficult subject to bring up without the intimacy of a close relationship. ‘Is my son behaving oddly? Nastily? Different from how he used to? Could you help me persuade him to see a psychiatrist?’ And of course Rosie wouldn’t know he was behaving differently as she hadn’t known him before.

  In any case, she doubted Rosie would side with her against Jacob, even if it was for his own good. But she seemed a nice girl who would know right from wrong so she guessed Jacob was behaving reasonably well with her or she surely wouldn’t have continued their relationship and allowed him to stay there. This thought brought her back to the point that she and Andrew could be to blame. They’d brought him up. But then again, she was sure Jacob hadn’t been like this prior to his operation. And so her thoughts continued, round and round in a never-ending spiral of debate and indecision, which kept her awake at night and distracted her during the day, and could probably only be addressed by visiting the donor family.

  On Sunday morning Elizabeth went to church as she did most Sundays and prayed for guidance. Andrew’s sermon was about the power of prayer and she knew it wasn’t a random choice for she was aware that recently he’d been spending a lot more time praying than he usually did. His words resonated with her as personal and poignant although he looked at the whole congregation as he spoke. Prayer was our telephone line to God, he said, who provided a sympathetic, non-judgemental ear. If we listened He offered guidance to us to make the right decisions. It allowed us to forgive others and redeem ourselves. Prayer was a great healer and could show us the way forward. God was a good listener but we shouldn’t be selfish in our requests. ‘I doubt the Lord would divulge the winning lottery numbers to any of us, no matter how sincere our prayer,’ Andrew said with a smile, sending a titter of laughter through his small but loyal congregation. They appreciated the occasional jokes in his sermons.