Beneath the Blood Moon

by Darren Wills

* * *

  “Dom.”

  Hi, Jamie. Did they leave Costa?”

  “They left Costa.”

  ‘Where did they go?”

  “They separated, mate, briefly. I followed the car, obviously. She drove to a road full of massive houses and private medical establishments. She ended up parked in the car park of a residential home. Sunny Vale, it’s called. Caroline got out and has gone into the place while Leoni’s staying in the car.”

  “What the fuck is she doing there?”

  “I don’t know, Dom, and I’m realizing that I’m no detective. You need to get somebody more savvy to find out what’s going on.”

  “Just find out what you can.”

  Malevolence

  I have always been very independent. You cannot be otherwise if you are me and you can’t imagine me unless you have walked in my shoes.

  Like any predator, I am a survivor. I have this weird ability to sense danger and a similarly strong sense when someone unwelcome is close, which as a faculty sometimes comes in handy. I once sensed that I was being followed home from work by two likely characters and had to deal with them. They didn’t enjoy the meeting. I have always been good with a blade and I’m sure neither of those misguided cretins will ever pleasure a woman again this lifetime.

  Anyway, I’m just leaving this place, heading to my car when I learn that there is a threat to the plan, that a risk is emerging. It’s not a nice feeling. Nobody anywhere likes that feeling of being vulnerable, so why would I? The only difference is that I’m not just anybody.

  I see him, some distance away. It’s some bloke in an Audi, could be a private detective but more likely it’s that prick’s mate, that knobhead who thinks he’s hot with the ladies. I have to think. The best thing I can do is think.

  Naturally he follows. It is pretty clear that the arsehole has told him to watch and see.

  There is some driving done before he stops alongside the factory. Well, it used to be a factory but now it’s just an old building, a ghost of bricks and mortar.

  Of course, he is an idiot. I sense he’s a total buffoon, writing a book about his sexual doings and thinking he’s all that. Well, we will see about that, I say to myself.

  Pretending to be dumb, I have brought him to a part of town I am more than familiar with. I look the place up and down. I know this place well. You could call it the neighbourhood, and it has the two fabulous qualities of being convenient and risk-free. I have done plenty in and around here and don’t mind the dirt or the rats. He is stuck in the strands of a web, but he doesn’t know it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the Audi has stopped. My move. I walk. I push open a decaying door and am in what was once a warehouse. I am ready to strike again, out of sight from this dead fool.

  This is now a waiting game. I am waiting and I am alert. I am hoping to hear footsteps. I am believing that he is stupid enough to leave his car and come looking. This is the time. He is no James Bond, just some dumb ass doing his idiotic mate a favour. Well, that is going to cost him some.

  The footsteps come. I know he is going to at least try the door. He won’t come into the factory, I suppose, since even he will sense danger. But he will wish to check what the lovely Laura is up to. I hear the handle turn. Old, there is the squeak of rusty metal crying out.

  The door opens. I see his arm as he pushes the door.

  I strike. I bring the blade crashing down. I hear his squeal of pain and that is music to me. I bring the blade down repeatedly and his arm falls alongside him and he is kneeling on the floor when I move on top of him. My fingers find his eyeballs and I strike with four fingers and he is blinded, permanently. At this point he is mine. He has lost himself. He is just a massive scream.

  I make the most of possessions. Here is a new one.

  Malevolence

  Well, he is looking different now. Gone is the swagger, the Mr. full-of himself stuff. He now sits there in the seat of doom with all that blood. His woman-chasing days are over. That’s for sure. He’s going to die soon, and the sighing and swaying behind his gag tell me that time is coming soon. Even I have no say in that.

  Torture. Should I or shouldn’t I? I think I should. I think I should show this jerk what happens when you are unlucky and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got to show him that being too close to a fire brings a terrible burning. And the lovely man has written a book. Well, here is his final chapter.

  The Disappeared

  I was outside his front door, going through my key ring for the key to this flat. Jamie had given it to me six months ago, with the understanding that it would be there for him if he ever lost his and so that I could look after things during his times away. I had fed his goldfish, Herbie, while he had been away in Spain, but apart from that, I had never used the key.

  As I arrived there, the first thing I noticed was that his precious Audi wasn’t in his parking space. Had he left today, or had he never returned?

  Two days had passed since Jamie’s last contact with me, when I had tracked Laura to a road in Chesterfield, not far from the City Centre, the road where Leoni had lived, Wolstenholme Street.

  Now, the signal had stopped inexplicably, and there was no sign of him, which was pretty close to unbelievable.

  Two days had been too long. I let myself into Jamie’s, which was situated in close proximity to Sheffield City Hall and about fifty pubs. The room was in a dingy dusty darkness, with the curtains closed, so I rectified that and let the sunshine in, allowing an immediate invasion of light, although that wasn’t refreshing. With the light on, the flat was characterized by cluttered untidiness. There were a couple of empty cans of Carlsberg on his coffee table and an opened parcel revealing what must have been about ten copies of his book, ‘Absolute Too Much’, that he had been so enthusiastic about and so proud of. I picked a copy of the book, read the blurb then returned it. This was not time for this. I needed to find a clue for what had become of this man.

  There was no clue. There was nothing.

  * * *

  “When did you get this?” Looking across at me was one of those police officers who had seen everything and who had probably lost the edge that was needed to make him good at his job. Perhaps this desk sergeant, a greying man in his fifties, was counting down the days to a cosy retirement and was finding people like me irritating. Either that or he had just taken an instant dislike to me and was determined to disappoint. Either way, I was going to put up a fight. Jamie’s life was at stake.

  “Two days ago. Just before he disappeared.”

  ‘Do you have any idea where Sunny Vale Nursing Home is?”

  “Yes. I googled it. It’s near Chesterfield.”

  He paused for what must have been a full minute. “I’m not sure this helps us in any way. To be honest with you, it doesn’t really suggest anything. It’s not as if he’s going to be in that nursing home, is he?”

  “But this was one of the last places he was before he disappeared. Surely that suggests something. His disappearance is linked to that place in some way.” I couldn’t tell the police about Wostenholme Street, since that would give away the fact that I was tracking my wife. I was not going to be prosecuted for stalking, not while it was still possible that Jamie was OK and just keeping a low profile. After all, I wouldn’t put it past Jamie to be with a woman somewhere, holed up in a love nest. He’d done that before.

  “Well, I’ll put it in the report, sir, but I don’t think it gives us anything.”

  I wanted to hit this policeman. That would have been no good at all, as it would have just had me behind bars and powerless to act, but the frustration was overwhelming.

  Memories

  Reluctantly, I had arranged to meet Laura in Costa out at Meadowhall to talk about the divorce. I was already there, seated in the far corner, with a clear view of the car park and the doorway and today I want
ed an edge, since being given the run-around just wasn’t working for me. I needed some kind of advantage, because being a gullible fool, waiting for her latest outrage, was just becoming ridiculous. I need to make some developments of my own, and give her things to react to. I wanted to take control.

  When she walked in, she looked like a knockout, wearing a long black dress that she had worn several times before her vanishing act, but usually for restaurants or trips, not trips to the local coffee shop. She had a half-smile on her face as she approached the table. As usual, I sensed heads turning around me, which was Laura’s usual effect on a room full of strangers. Why was it that all I now saw was ugliness?

  I kissed her on the cheek and went to order her a drink. I wanted this meet away from home to go my way.

  “Do you remember Whitby?”

  “A little. The sea was nice.”

  “You had something on your mind there. What was it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You kept saying you had something to tell me, but you never said it. Don’t you remember that? I often wondered what you were on about while you were away. You had something big on your mind but were being quite evasive. Was it that you wanted a divorce?”

  She had opened her purse and was fiddling with the contents, as if counting her loose change and checking that her cards were still there. “Probably about that job, or how miserable I was.”

  “What? You said you were so happy because of the job, as well as being with me. The job was something you loved.”

  “I was living a lie. Now I don’t have to.”

  “I don’t believe you, but even if I did, you never had to. You know you could have made the same decision, but without the strange suddenness and over-reliance on me.”

  There was a pause between us. I knew I couldn’t continue going down this road without inciting a conflict, which would probably result in her storming out. I wanted to find out her thoughts, however. I wanted to learn something. Had the old Laura been totally destroyed by the assault?

  She broke the silence. “The other day. Was that anything to do with you?”

  “What?”

  “Some creep following me, like a stalker.”

  “Followed? Why would that be anything to do with me.”

  “Well, it was your mate.”

  “Nothing to do with me,” I said. “He said nothing to me. I think he was curious about Leoni more than you.”

  “Oh yes? Why would that be?”

  “Look there’s something I have to tell you about Leoni. Your lover.”

  “What can you possibly tell me about her?”

  “The thing is, she and I had a moment while you were away.”

  “A moment. You mean you shagged her.”

  “Yes. I think so. I was drunk, but I think so.”

  “When?”

  “Before you brought her into our lives, Probably, well more like possibly.”

  Laura got up to go. She was laughing. “Well, don’t worry about that. And I’m not going to worry about your friend Jamie.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Let’s just say we had strong words. I’ve cured that curiosity of his that was…irritating.”

  “You know he’s gone missing?”

  “Has he? He said he was fed up with it all when I spoke to him. Perhaps you pissed him off like you do everybody else. I did warn him off pretty strongly so perhaps he’s done a runner for a while. I’m sure you and he will be in touch soon. Don’t worry.”

  “But that’s not like him. He’s not the kind of bloke who runs away from stuff.”

  “Well I only spoke to him. I told him to fuck off and stop following me if he knew what was good for him.”

  “Is that all you did. All you said?”

  “What else? What exactly are you accusing me of?”

  “I don’t know. The truth is that I just don’t know you anymore. And then there’s what happened to George and Lillian.”

  “What the fuck! Why are you connecting that with me? That’s well out of order!” She got up abruptly, with the sound of scraping chair legs attracting further attention from other coffee drinkers. I hated Costa really. I don’t know why I had chosen to meet her here, since it was never going to end well.

  And we hadn’t even managed to talk about the divorce, anyway, so nothing had been achieved. So much for taking control.

  Sunny Vale

  This was leafy. I had been to Chesterfield on a number of occasions but had never been in this part of the town. It was a long tree-lined road, where signs were on display every fifteen yards or so. I had always thought that the place that people called ‘Chessie’ was a bit run-down, with that silly spire that needed fixing but which would probably cost too much, and all those dodgy nondescript areas where crime rates were high. I had always felt that its people were never sure whether they wanted to be in Yorkshire or in Derbyshire but were happy to reap whatever benefits were going from both counties. I didn’t blame them really.

  My body was trembling with anticipation, but of what? My brain was all over the place. Within those walls ahead of me was something that might provide the answer to everything that was confusing about my marriage. Then again, it might provide nothing, and I would just be making a total fool of myself. I had never been any good at handling embarrassment. I parked my car in a spacious car park lined with bushes and flowers and sat for a couple of minutes composing myself, preparing myself, so that, if there was anything to learn there, I would learn it.

  Ready to try my luck, I shook myself out of the car and surveyed the well-maintained flowerbeds as I locked the car door. I sauntered over to what was clearly the main entrance, trying to muster confidence, where a green sign with white lettering announced that all visitors were to report to the reception.

  I pushed open a glass door like I knew where I was and as if I had a sharp sense of purpose. Once inside, I did a quick three-sixty and took in plenty of white décor with well-placed photographs showing a range of elderly smiles, a large vase full of mixed flowers that looked like some petrol station had been raided last night and noticed plenty of comfortable seats next to the walls of this reception area. There were no people in this area, although I had no idea what that meant. Essentially, I was in an airy, light, not unpleasant area with a big desk straight ahead, a bit like something out of a budget hotel, woodwork lightly varnished, and, like in a cheap hotel, the whole thing was about attempting to be classy but not quite managing it.

  I noticed that a large woman in her mid-fifties was sitting at a computer side on to me as I approached the desk, looking at some kind of spreadsheet. She had black hair, probably dyed, that was swept back neatly under a nurse’s cap.

  The lady, whose tag said that she was called Michelle, turned to face me and smiled disarmingly. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

  I had already got it all worked out. “Hello. To be honest, I don’t know whether you’ll be able to help me. It’s just that I’m trying to trace my wife and I think she may have called here to see a friend.”

  “Sir, we have fifty-six residents in this home. Who’s your wife?”

  “Laura…Laura Walker.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t recognise the name. I’ll just check the visitor’s book in case she called here before my shift started…No. Nobody called Laura has visited. There’s a Mrs. L. Field. Could that be her?”

  I shook my head. I reached in my wallet and took out a passport photograph of the two of us and held it in front of her. “This is her. On the right, obviously.” I grinned.

  “Oh yes. It’s Caroline. Is Laura her middle name?”

  “Yes it is. She doesn’t use it often.” I had had to think quickly. Who in God’s name was Caroline?

  “Caroline Lawrence is your wife then?”

  I thought quickly. “Yes
. That’s her maiden name. Who does she visit here?”

  “Judy, her mother. She’s been here a number of years. A well-established member of our little community.” She stopped. “Hang on. Don’t you know that?”

  “Of course I do. I just didn’t know her name. I’m preparing a surprise for Caroline and I want to let her mother know so she can attend. Residents are allowed to attend parties, I hope?”

  “Of course. We do encourage family contact in all its forms.”

  “Can I see her? With you, of course.”

  A few minutes later, I was standing inside the room of a woman called Judy Lawrence, a woman who looked elderly but who apparently had developed early onset Alzheimer’s, which I had always thought to be the cruelest infliction that can ever happen. She had lived here for fifteen years. The room was neat, with a few ornaments, pictures, including two of Laura, and useful gadgets all neatly arranged, although whether that was due to her or the staff of this place, I couldn’t say.

  Michelle was with me. She had declared that it was more than her job was worth to let me talk to Judy alone, although two twenty-pound notes had somehow made things easier. “Hi Judy. This is Dominic. He’s Caroline’s husband.” She gestured to me to smile. I complied, although I hadn’t a clue what this was all about.

  “Hi, Judy. I’m planning a party for Caroline and want you to attend. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Caroline’s lovely. She looks after her mother. When she comes here she brings things for me and she’s a good daughter.”

  “That’s good. Every mother needs a good daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  “You must feel so good, having a good daughter.”

  “I do. Not like the other one.”

  My senses sharpened. “Which other one?”

  “The one who went.”

  “She went?”

  “The one who never comes here. She went. Went long ago.”

  “When did you last see her, the other one?” Here came the revelation.