Ritual

by Ryan Casey

  “Nothing wrong with a fiery redhead.”

  She lifted her chin. Peered at Brian with those piercing eyes.

  Brian cleared his throat. Waved a hand. “Sorry. You were saying.”

  Alison held onto her coffee cup so tightly Brian thought she might just crack the handle. “When we were kids. Teenagers. Seventeen, eighteen. We … we got involved. We got involved with something.”

  “Drugs?”

  She shook her head. “Guys. Except they weren’t normal guys. They were older. Charming. Not like the skinheads on their motorbikes. Not the usual guys girls our age went for. They were … they were different.”

  She twitched at the sound of a passing car. Suddenly, Alison didn’t seem quite so confident at all.

  “How were they different?”

  She laughed. “Oh in every way. In the way they dressed, in the way they spoke. But mostly in their interests. In the places they took us.”

  “You’re being awfully vague.”

  “I’m being careful,” she said.

  That glare again. That glare, piercing right through into Brian’s skull.

  “What was so different about these guys, and what did they have to do with Carly Mahone’s murder?”

  Alison rubbed her palms together. Brian realised then from the sound that they were dry and flaky. “They were … they were into things. Religious things. But not Bible-bashing Christian stuff. Nothing like that. New stuff. Fresh stuff. Stuff we hadn’t experienced before.” She blushed a little. “Sexy stuff.”

  Brian felt hairs creep up his arm. Again, inexplicable. But there was just something about the tone of Alison’s voice. Something about the quivering fear that embedded itself beneath her every word, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

  “In what way?”

  “They had … they had initiations. Levels to the religion. They called it Sex Incantation.”

  “Doesn’t sound like any church gathering I’ve been to.”

  “And that’s why it appealed. That’s why it was so amazing. Because it was fresh. Because it was different. Because it made us feel … unique. Hell, for a time it made us feel alive.”

  She smiled, as if remembering her past.

  Then the smile dropped, some untold sourness creeping into the tale.

  “What was this … this ‘religion’ called?”

  “It goes by many names.”

  “‘Goes’?”

  Alison nodded. “That’s just it. I thought it’d gone away. I thought—I thought I was safe. I thought we were all safe but …”

  She shook her head. Swallowed a lump in her throat. Looked back at the curtain.

  “What happened in this … this religion?” Brian asked. “What changed things?”

  Alison was still squeezing on that coffee cup. Holding it at the side now too. That had to be hot.

  “Alison?”

  “We—a few of us. We went away. Went away with the … with the religion. A few higher levels.”

  “You were higher level?”

  “I’d passed my sixth degree of Sex Incantation.”

  Brian shrugged.

  “Anal intercourse by four men. Simultaneously.”

  Brian almost spluttered up the tea that wasn’t even in his mouth.

  “I know how it sounds but it was all consensual. It was all just … just a part of the experience.”

  “I’ll bet. Carly was higher level too?”

  Alison nodded. Smirked. “Higher than me. Damn, she’d reached level nine. On the verge of level ten. And that’s what the trip was about. It was meant to be a celebration. Of her success. Of her rise through the ranks.”

  Again, that smile.

  That smile that turned sour.

  Like a dream morphing into a nightmare.

  “What did they make you do?”

  Alison put down the coffee cup. Scratched at her forearms. “They—they thought Carly was good for anything. They thought she’d do anything in the light of the sun.”

  “The light of the sun?”

  “That’s what they call it. What they call our … our deities. The sun and the moon.”

  “‘Our’?”

  She shook her head. “Try being in a … in a cult environment for five years. It’s not easy to shake out of it.”

  Brian nodded. Sipped at his tea. Hated the sweet taste of sugar but shit, he needed something to do to ward off his shivers.

  Alison stared intently at the curtain, which flopped in the breeze. “They … they took us up Pendle Hill.”

  Great. Pendle fucking Hill. Plenty of bad police related memories there as it was.

  “They … they took us up there and we began our rites.”

  “Your rites?”

  “Intercourse. Mass intercourse.”

  “Jesus,” Brian said, sitting back in the chair. “Any signup forms going for this religion?”

  Alison dismissed him again. “Then they got to Carly. They—they got to her levelling. To her qualification. And …”

  Alison stopped. Covered her face with her hands. Like the memories were strong. Like they were all too much.

  Brian stepped up. Walked over to her. He knew he was going to be late back to work, but shit. This was important. Wasn’t like he was slacking on his lunch break. “Alison? It’s okay. I’m here. Just … You need to tell me what you saw.”

  Alison took her hands away from her face. Sniffed up. Shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t—”

  “You have to tell me what you saw. There’s no other way of going about this. Not now. This is a police investigation.”

  “And you’re off duty,” she said, looking up at him.

  He scratched his head. Cleared his throat. “Please, Alison. Your friend was murdered. Her boyfriend was murdered. I need to know more about what happened that night. I need to know. Please.”

  She took a few deep breaths. A car engine revved past the house again. “Before I—I tell you more, I got a letter. From Carly. When she found out about her cancer.”

  “What’s the letter got to do with anything?”

  “She … She was worried. About—about the religion. The cult. She was worried about them coming back. That they were back for her. Because of what she’d seen. What they’d tried to make her do. And—and after what happened. What happened to her and Harry. She’s right. She has to be right.”

  “Slow down,” Brian said. “This … this letter. Can I see it?”

  Alison nodded. “It’s just in my bedroom drawer. I—I keep it locked in there. In case.”

  “In case what?”

  She started to speak then she closed her mouth. Shook her head. “I’ll get the letter. If you’d like. Maybe it’ll help you see things a little more clearly.”

  Brian stared Alison in her eyes a few seconds. Then he nodded. “Be quick. Late back for work as it is.”

  “I will be,” she said, standing and walking towards the opening between the hall and the lounge. “Just … just be careful. Please.”

  Brian sat in Alison’s lounge. He realised how quiet it was. Just how quiet the entire house was. How eerie it must be to live here all alone.

  He stepped up. Walked over to the curtains. Pulled them open. Nothing on the road. No one pulled up. No one watching in the windows of the houses opposite.

  He thought back to what Alison told him. About Carly and her being in some loopy cult. Something to do with worshipping the sun. One big orgy disguised as a religion.

  Then he remembered something else. The last thing Alison said to him. Just be careful.

  Said with such an air of finality.

  With such a …

  “Fuck.”

  He rushed through the lounge. Ran into the hall. Fuck, how could he have been so fucking stupid?

  He looked in the kitchen area. Looked in the dining room. Then he rushed up the stairs and checked the two bathrooms, one bedroom, then another bedroom.

  All of them were empty.

  Of course they
were fucking empty.

  Alison West had done a runner.

  Alison West was gone.

  Twenty-Seven

  “I don’t understand how you can just let this fucking go,” Brian said.

  He heard his voice echo against the solid walls of the inquiry room. No matter how high the air con was ramped up, he felt hot. So bloody hot.

  All because of Marlow.

  All because of this fucking case.

  Marlow tapped at the keys of his MacBook. In a way that people do when they aren’t really typing anything at all, just doing their damnedest to convince someone else.

  “Marlow, please,” Brian said. “I was in Alison West’s—”

  “And what took you to Alison West’s?”

  Brian’s mouth dangled open a few seconds. Truth or lie? “She ... she called up. Said she had information.”

  “And that’s where this cult story came in?”

  “Yes,” Brian said. “She said she was worried. Said Carly was worried too. That they were still after her.”

  He thought back to the way Alison had left the lounge. The way she’d slipped away. The way Brian had let her.

  “Then she just ... she just left.”

  Marlow sighed. He intertwined his beefy fingers, stretched them out and cracked them, eyes still firmly focused on the laptop screen. “I did some reading on your friend Alison. Just for you. ’Cause I happen to respect you. Brian, she wasn’t in any cult or religion. No one was after her.”

  “Marlow, the things she told me, they—”

  “She spent the bulk of her twenties in and out of mental institutions. Y’know, the sorta place Adrian West was cooped up in? No relation, but what is it with these bloody people called ‘West’ anyway?”

  Brian tried to breathe steadily to keep himself calm. He knew where this was going. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “It’s relevant ’cause you’re basing an entire theory on someone who’s three sheets to the wind,” Marlow shouted. Brian could see the blood vessels surfacing under his skin now. Sense his frustration. “Besides. Wanted to wait ’til you got here to share the news. Joe Kershaw’s DNA’s all over Harry and Carly’s house. And theirs all over his. Looks to me like they were involved in some sort of weird shit together and it cost them their lives.”

  “And the third body?”

  “Probably killed around the same time, too. We’re working on it.”

  Brian shook his head. He couldn’t buy that as a final answer.

  “Trust me, Brian. I’m as fucking disappointed as you are. More so. I thought I knew Harry. I thought ... I thought he was a better man than this. That Carly girl. She must’ve—”

  “I don’t believe Harry or Carly caused that scene in their bathroom.”

  “Again, you’re going off anecdote, I’m going off evidence.”

  “And yet I’ve cracked more cases in my lifetime than you’ve had glasses of whisky. Actually, maybe not.”

  Brian knew it was a mistake right after saying it. When he saw Marlow’s eyes narrow. He knew he was pushing his luck. Risking it.

  But fuck. Maybe it was worth risking it. Maybe sometimes you had to take a risk for the things you believe in.

  “I’d like you to repeat that,” Marlow said, face red with blood vessels, nose bulging. “But I assure you, you probably wanna have a good think before you say it again. About your future. About Hannah’s future. Your son’s future.”

  Brian went to say the words again.

  But then he thought of Hannah and Sam back home waiting for him.

  He thought of all the things he wanted to do with them in his retirement, all the places he wanted to take them, all the memories he wanted to create.

  “I ... I just don’t understand why you lied about the hair.”

  Marlow frowned. “You’re still going on about that bloody hair?”

  “When I was with Jeeves,” Brian said, raising his voice, “he said something about hair. About ... about the removal of hair being consistent in both the victims. Then down by Sharoe Green Lane, the third body. She had some hair missing too. Big chunk of it shaved away. Yet you’re still playing down the hair I received in the mail. You’re still acting like it never happened. Like it isn’t important.”

  Marlow observed Brian for a few seconds. A few seconds that dragged on and on, like he didn’t know what to do with Brian, like he was weighing him up, contemplating his fate.

  Then he stood. He stood and he walked around the desk, walked towards Brian, stopped right in front of him.

  It was at that point that he looked Brian right in his eyes. And Brian struggled looking back at him. Didn’t seem like Marlow to stare like this. Whisky on his breath. Sweat in the air.

  Then he lifted a hand and put it on Brian’s left shoulder.

  “We all want the same thing here,” he said, lowering his voice. “I promise you that. Now go home to Hannah and your kid.”

  Brian wanted to protest. He wanted to protest as Marlow stared at him. As that flat smile crept up at the corners of his withered old mouth; a reminder of the decent man he used to be. “I’m worried about Alison West,” Brian said.

  “And I’m not,” Marlow said. “Because she’s done shit like this before. Got it on record. Tonnes of prank calls, police time wasting.”

  “It didn’t seem like she was time wasting—”

  “Then we’ll just have to see who’s right, won’t we?”

  Brian swallowed a lump in his throat. Stared into Marlow’s eyes a little longer. Then he nodded.

  Marlow patted him on the shoulder. Stepped away. “You’re a good cop, Brian. Sometimes you’re too damned good for your own good.”

  Brian turned and walked towards the inquiry room door. “Maybe so,” he said.

  But as he walked away, against his gut instinct, the truth of his feelings bubbled inside.

  He wasn’t a good cop.

  He wasn’t a good cop because there was no such thing as a good cop.

  “She’ll be okay,” Marlow called. “Alison West. And if she hasn’t shown up tomorrow afternoon I promise you we’ll get someone out looking for her.”

  Brian nodded at Marlow.

  Then he walked out of the inquiry room door.

  Alison West would be okay.

  She was just being paranoid.

  Joe Kershaw was the killer.

  Harry Galbraith and Carly Mahone were just insane.

  Sometimes cases were just that simple.

  Right?

  Twenty-Eight

  Alison West had no clue where she was going to run away to, only that she had to get away from Preston.

  She’d waited around the back of her house a couple of hours when she’d first left. It was the last place Brian McDone would think she’d be, she knew that. Right in the garden. Just waiting for him to leave.

  She knew if he left, they would leave too.

  The ones after her.

  The ones she’d fooled.

  But not for much longer.

  She kept her head down as she walked through the busy city centre. She was covered in sweat. Panting. Throat dry and crying out for water. Today had turned into a scorcher, but there was still a mugginess about the air. Hard to breathe. Hard to keep cool.

  But she just had to blend in with everyone else.

  She just had to get to the train station.

  Get out of here.

  She didn’t like crowds. Not usually. Didn’t like the busy sounds of a thousand voices. Didn’t like the way old people dragged their feet as they stared at shop windows, oblivious to the rest of their surroundings. She didn’t like any of it—the weather, the empty materialism, the pungent smell of a whole range of cheap perfumes.

  But right now, it worked for Alison.

  Because she needed to be invisible.

  She needed to stay invisible if she wanted to get away from here.

  A group in front of her slowed down. Cars whooshed past on her right. No chan
ce of overtaking. Just had to slow down behind them. Keep her head down. Keep breathing. Focus.

  She thought back to the police officer who’d come to visit her. McDone. He seemed a good detective. A good man. Someone with good, honest interests.

  She wished she’d been able to tell him the truth. The entire truth.

  But she knew it was worthless anyway.

  If anything, she was protecting him by running away.

  Because what she knew got people killed.

  What she knew got Carly killed.

  Cars continued to hurtle past on her right. People ahead of her trudged along like zombies. They pressed into her back from behind. Forced her forward like she was trapped in a current. And in a way she was. She was trapped in the waves in the middle of an ocean. Chances of getting out were slim.

  She just had to wait for a gap in the road.

  A gap in the waves.

  She heard the sound of a busker playing his acoustic guitar as the sun burned down on her bare forearms. She heard the rattle of change, the applause of a crowd. In the distance, she heard trains screeching against the line. So close. Not far now. Not far to go.

  She thought about Joe Kershaw. The man who they were saying had something to do with Carly’s and Harry’s killing. Hell, maybe he did. Maybe he had everything to do with it.

  But there’d be a reason for it.

  There’d be a reason they picked him.

  There was always a reason.

  In the light of the sun, I give thee to the moon …

  The memory of those words made Alison’s skin crawl. The memory of being up there, freezing cold, on top of Pendle Hill.

  In the darkness.

  Completely naked.

  Ass raw from all the intercourse.

  And then the thing.

  The thing they dragged up.

  The sound of …

  No. She couldn’t revisit that memory. She’d spent the bulk of her twenties lost in that memory, trapped in the confines of mental institutions.

  No. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t let the past catch up to her.

  She had to run.

  She had to run and she could never look back.