by G H Mockford
Where Wolves
Fear to
Prey
G H Mockford
First published by Taralyn Books in October 2013.
3rd Edition published March 2015
© Gareth Baker 2015
Cover Art designed by SelfPubBookCovers.com/Shardel
The right of Gareth Baker to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted in UK copyright law no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored into a retrieval system, or translated, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1502855626
ISBN-10: 1502855623
Kindle ASIN - B00GEZ3JDA
For Nicki – This would have stayed on a hard drive if not for you!
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey
– Lord Byron
One
Despite the madness that was to come, I can still remember how the first day started. I trudged to the car that morning in late October, resigned to the long day before me, and carrying my large plastic Wilko’s box filled with the tools of the trade – planning, pens and paracetamol.
One thought occupied my mind: who on the Senior Leadership Team thought a Friday night would be a good night for a Parents’ Evening? Anyone with half a brain would know that parents would rather be watching TV, thanking God it was the weekend, or out drinking. It was, after all, what I’d rather be doing. When the choice of night was announced, it hadn’t gone down well with the staff at Byron Comprehensive School. Neither did I realize how that one unpopular decision was going to change my life, forever.
At the end of a long day of teaching, followed by the meetings, I was glad when my final parent left. I packed up my personal belongings but decided to leave the pile of marking behind on my desk. It was nine o’clock on a Friday night, and I’d done my duty for one week.
As I left my classroom to go home, I saw Sarah Alec, our newest member of the English faculty, still had a number of parents waiting to see her. I sat back down.
The next thing I knew, Sarah was turning off the lights. A quick glance at a clock told me I must have nodded off. It was 9:37
‘Thanks for waiting, Freeman,’ she smiled. Sarah was exhausted; I could tell by the way she held her body. Somehow she still managed to look amazing. ‘Fancy a drink down The Trip?’ she asked. I knew lots of the others had arranged to meet there, and I could tell the stress of her first ever Parents’ Evening had taken a lot out of her.
‘You bet,’ I said with a smile, even though, to be honest, I wanted to go home.
We walked out into the damp night air. The lighting in the car park was usually poor, but during the winter nights, and at gone 9:30 on a thickly clouded night, it was shrouded in darkness. We dodged the large puddles left by the earlier rain as we made our way through the practically deserted car park. A floodlight, which the caretaker had put in so we could see properly, came on as we approached our vehicles. I opened the boot and put my box inside. It stared back at me, devoid of books, and I felt guilty.
‘I’m going to pop back inside,’ I said, slamming the boot. ‘Go on ahead and order me a pint of cider - the real stuff, not that Irish crap.’ Sarah laughed, brightening up the darkness, and shook her head at me, her blonde hair swaying as she got into her Merc.
I watched her leave, returned to my classroom and scooped up the books, cursing myself for not bringing my box. Connor, our assistant caretaker, was waiting to lock up the main entrance. Despite impatiently looking at his watch, I knew if I stopped for a second he would have me chatting for at least half an hour. With a quick ‘Good night’ I slipped past him and headed for the car park, thankful that I had agreed to go to the pub, after all. I deserved to unwind, and spending time with Sarah wouldn’t be a hardship.
By the time I got back to my car everyone else had left the school, and I was alone in the empty car park. I zapped my car with the key, and while the lights flashed, there wasn’t the familiar thunk of the locking mechanism. It was already unlocked. I must have forgotten to relock it when I went back inside. This time the floodlight didn’t come on when I opened the boot, and I glanced up, giving it the briefest attention. I put the books in the box and shut the boot.
I flopped into the driver’s seat; my mouth already beginning to salivate at the thought of the dry liquid flowing down my throat. Fishing my iPod from my pocket, I plugged it in and made my choice.
I turned the key in the ignition and was reaching for the gear stick when I felt the car move. A warm sensation on the back of my neck caused me to look over my shoulder. Then my head exploded with pain. Bright lights lanced through my eyes, and I slipped into darkness as Harold Melvin and The Bluenotes began singing Wake up Everybody.
Two
Across town, Sarah worked her way through The Trip to Jerusalem. She was glad of her petite size as she made her way through the teeming pub. She was not so glad of the men who stopped drinking to casually, and more often than not, not so casually, eye her up.
‘Smarts, we’re up ‘ere,’ shouted a voice from upstairs. Sarah was relieved to see a familiar face and smiled at him even though he made her skin crawl. It was Richard Rollins from the Drama Department. She made a drinking action with her hand, but Rollin’s mouthed back, ‘We’re all ok. Next round?’
Turning back, Sarah waited only a few moments before a gallant gentleman stepped aside and allowed her to get to the bar. ‘Large Châteaux Neuf De Pape and a pint of cider, please,’ she said to the barman.
‘Magners?’
‘God, no,’ she laughed, ‘that foul smelling, cloudy stuff you have on tap.’
Retrieving her iPhone from her pocket, Sarah was halfway through typing a quick message when she felt someone press up against her. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence in a busy pub, and at first she thought that Freeman had caught up with her, but he was unlikely to intrude into her personal space. Especially that personally.
The barman arrived with the drinks.
‘Cheers,’ Sarah said to him, picked up the glasses and turned round to look at the individual invading her space. It was the gallant man. What a surprise.
‘Next time you lean up against a woman, try not to do it with a triple A battery in your pocket.’ She flashed a smile and lingered long enough to enjoy his confused expression before she disappeared upstairs.
‘Nice of you to join us,’ Rollins said.
Sarah put the glasses down on the table and quickly wiped her hand over the stool to check if it was sticky. ‘Sorry I’m late, the parents went on a bit, and so did I, I’m afraid,’ she said as she sat down. Sarah waited for further sarcastic comments but, to her surprise, none came.
‘Have you met Rachael yet? She’s one of the few mathematicians I’ve met who knows how to drink and not analyse everything,’ Richard said.
‘Up yours, Rollins,’ Rachael said, as she reached over to shake Sarah’s hand.
Richard stood and stuck his fingers up at Sarah before he moved to the other end of the table to talk to James Harrington, but the young teacher stood as soon as Rollins sat down.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ he said to everyone.
‘Off to meet someone speci
al?’ Rachael asked.
‘No one you know.’ He grabbed his coat, a little too quickly Sarah thought and wished everyone goodnight before disappearing into the still growing crowd.
Sarah watched him leave hoping that Freeman would come the other way and save her from having to sit next to Rollins all night. ‘Excuse me a moment, Rachael,’ Sarah said as she pulled out her phone. There wasn’t a reply to the message she’d sent at the bar.
She sent another.
Three
I wasn’t sure if I was awake at first. There was nothing but darkness. I blinked a few times to make sure my eyes were open, but I was still none the wiser. My head throbbed, and it felt like someone was driving a thick knitting needle into the back of my skull and out through my left eye.
I could feel I was in a chair, and I was about to stand when I noticed a tiny crack of light high up on my left-hand side. Discovering that I wasn’t in complete darkness helped to calm me a little, but didn’t change the fact that I didn’t have a clue where I was, or how I got there.
I turned my head towards the welcome light. It was a big mistake. My head swam, and before I knew it I was decorating my jacket and lap with the stuffed crust pizza my colleagues and I had ordered in before Parents’ Evening began. The reek that assaulted my nostrils only added to my discomfort. I tried to stand so I could clean myself off but found I couldn’t move. I was tied down.
The swell of panic was rising by the second. I thought back to the car, to retrace my steps. I had stupidly left my car unlocked. Obviously someone had got into the back and waited for my return. Was that why the floodlight wasn’t working? Had he or she, disabled it to hide their location? I cursed the lack of light and the books. If I hadn’t gone back for them, and told Sarah to go on without me, I wouldn’t be in this frightening and, I assumed, life-threatening position.
I tried to recall more facts, but the blinding headache wasn’t making it easy. Just before the blow to the head I had felt the car move and warmth on the back of my neck. My kidnapper’s breath?
I tried to remember if there had been a smell in the hope that it would give me some clue as to who it was. There was, but it wasn’t breath. It was a masculine fragrance. Just a deodorant, not an aftershave.
I shivered.
I told myself it was the vomit, which had begun to seep through my clothes and was cooling down against my skin, but actually I was just plain terrified.
I breathed through my mouth, afraid that the smell would make me vomit again. The memory of retching on an empty stomach all those times as a student was not one I wanted to remember, let alone repeat. With no other information or ideas coming to mind, I began to worry about my headache and sickness. I knew, despite my dazed and confused state, that they were bad signs after a blow to the head. I could have a concussion, maybe even a fractured skull.
Trapped in the dark and trying to stay calm, I began to wonder what I could do. I figured I had to either hope the psycho that had me would keep away or I could try to escape. It was all too clear that my attacker was never going to stay away forever unless he intended me to starve to death, of course. Equally, I had no chance of escape.
I looked around again to see if I could find any clues as to where I was, and more importantly, if there were a way out or anything I could use to aid my escape.
I moved my head as slowly as I could so I wouldn’t be sick again. The room was no lighter than before, and I couldn’t see anything, just indistinguishable shapes.
I tried to stand. The chair scraped against the floor as I lifted it. Bending forward, I moved by using a shuffling motion and I accomplished three tiny steps before I lost my balance and toppled backwards.
The chair balanced precariously on its back legs for a few moments, and then it tipped over. The back of the chair slammed onto the floor, followed by my head. The darkness of the room swallowed me, and I passed into unconsciousness again.
Four
Bright light burst through the darkness above me, and I turned my swimming head aside and closed my eyes. I tentatively reopened them and, at last; I could see my surroundings; I was in an empty cellar, which was painted white, and I was indeed tied to a chair. I was facing a staircase.
I looked up to where I had seen the sliver of light earlier, and I heard a door at the top of the stairs unlock. It was followed by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.
Within moments, I would confront him; or rather he would confront me. There was nothing I could do except wait and fight the rising sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm me.
A pair of heavy, brown leather boots and jeans began to appear as whoever had kidnapped me descended the stairs. When he stopped at the bottom, I could see that a Harold’s Gym, Manor Park t-shirt completed his clothing.
As the t-shirt design suggested, he was huge and solidly built. It was stretched tight over each bulge and contour of his well-defined muscles while his upper arms looked about as wide as my thighs. His eyes burned with a fierce, angry fire, and his face muscles looked tight as if they were straining to hold his aggression in check.
I tried to shrink back as he came for me, but, thanks to my bindings, I was going nowhere.
He put his foot on the cross beam between the legs of the chair and grabbed, in one enormous hand the size of a joint of meat, the front of my vomit covered suit. He pulled me back up into a sitting position and then crouched before me putting his hands on my shaking knees. I’d like to pretend that I was unafraid, but I was praying I wouldn’t piss myself.
‘We need to have a little chat, sir, man-to-man.’ I nodded my head thinking, do we? It didn’t take me long to realize why he was calling me “sir”. It was obvious really. ‘You took my little girl from me,’ he said.
I shook my head, desperate to show him I’d done nothing wrong, but the sudden movement brought the knitting needle plunging back into my skull. ‘I’ve taken no one,’ I said, before adding, ‘You’ve taken me.’
He pushed on my knees, and I crashed backwards helpless in the chair. When I was brave enough to open my eyes again, he moved closer to me and placed his boot onto my heaving chest, and pressed down.
‘Please, please,’ I said, finding it hard to breathe. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You didn’t take her anywhere. What you did… changed her,’ he whispered, the menace growing despite the lowering in volume. ‘By changing her, you took her away. You took away her innocence when you raped her, you sick bastard!’
‘Wh…what?’ I cried in panic, shaking my head from side to side. I could feel bits of grit from the floor, and I winced as one caught in the cut I must have received when he hit me on the back of the head.
‘You heard me, you fucking bastard.’ His massive arm shot out and he shouted, ‘You raped my daughter!’ He grabbed me with one hand and lifted the chair back up.
He stepped away and the room was engulfed in silence again. I left it that way for a while and then said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ My fear and utter confusion must have showed on my face, and I was wondering why on earth he couldn’t see it.
‘Don’t fucking lie to me you fucking…fucking…paedophile,’ he bellowed. He turned round and grabbed the banister rail of the cellar stairs as if he needed something to steady himself. His large hands gripped it, and he looked so angry I thought for a moment he was going to crush it in his bare hands.
‘I’m not a paedophile. I’ve been DBS checked; I can show you.’
He looked at me as if to say, what the fuck are you on about? and I realized it was a ridiculous thing to say, but I didn’t know what else to say. How was I going to prove to this bruiser that I was innocent, that he had the wrong man?
I shut up and watched as he paced backwards and forwards at the bottom of the stairs. His fists clenched and unclenched. His face was bright red. He was deciding what to do, I could tell. I decided it was best for me to shut up until I could think of something that would prove my inno
cence.
Maybe he got bored because I was silent, or more likely he didn’t know what to do, so he went back upstairs. I heard a key turn in the lock, and I was alone once more. Realizing that I was holding my breath, I took several deep, calming inhales and felt the hammering in my chest gradually return to normal.
He left the light on, either accidentally or on purpose, so I took advantage of it. I looked at my arms. They were tied to the chair with garden string. It seemed like an odd choice of binding for someone you had kidnapped. Was it all he had, perhaps? Was this a spur of the moment decision? I strained against the bonds, but despite the seemingly simple twine they were made from, they weren’t going anywhere.
I heard the key turn in the lock, and my heart instantly beat faster, getting ready for fight or flight. Clearly I couldn’t do either and, let’s face it, fight was hardly an option. I’m a tall man, six foot two, probably a little taller than my captor in fact, but I’m a thirty-eight years old, slightly over-weight English teacher. He looked older than me, maybe by ten years, but he looked like he would have no problem, physically, or morally, hurting me.
He came downstairs holding a pink book in his hand. He stopped and sat at the bottom of the stairs looking at it. It had a heart shaped padlock holding the covers together. He sat silently for quite some time and when he spoke again I jumped, even though he was talking gently.
‘It’s hard being a single parent. Especially being a single dad. It’s lonely, you know? Mums chat in the playground, stuff like that.
‘Charlie was nine when her mum died. I remember taking her to school and standing on the playground, Charlie clinging to me, afraid I’d leave her too. We were both alone and ignored. When she would go off with other children to play, people, usually the mums, would look at me weirdly like I was some kind of...’ He looked over at me. ‘Paedo.’
