by Jody Medland
‘Forgive me,’ started Christian, apologetically. ‘I am sorry about your friend. Come back to the house and we’ll sort something out,’ he agreed.
It took just twenty-seven minutes for Andy to return to the house – something that, if he had any sense, he would never have done. He was down a friend, but up a sizeable sum of money and for a job he had failed to complete. Christian would have let him keep it, too, had he not so greedily tried to push his luck.
As Andy pulled up outside of the gate, Christian saw the envelope of money lying on the dashboard. He told Andy to leave the keys in the truck, saying they wouldn’t be long, and then calmly led him up the damp hill.
‘Goddamn thing leapt on him from nowhere,’ recalled Andy, still visibly shaken. ‘And-and-and-and-and it bit down into his neck. I wanted to do something but I-I-I couldn’t. I just fucking… froze! You know? I fucking froze, and that’s never happened before!’
So involved was Andy in his tale that he remained oblivious to the fact he might be in danger, even when Christian led him somewhat conspicuously into the graveyard with his hands hidden in his pockets.
‘And those teeth,’ continued Andy. ‘They looked so sharp and jagged. He had blood…’ Andy became emotional once again. ‘And the smell…’
As Christian came to a halt, Andy finally looked up and realised where they were. He noticed a large hole dug into the ground at the end of a line of gravestones. His head whipped around, nervously.
‘What the hell is this?’ he asked, suddenly panicked.
‘You know, there’s not a single body in this yard that damn beast isn’t responsible for, including the young boy we have to bury tomorrow,’ said Christian.
‘You’re burying someone tomorrow?’ asked Andy, before breaking into a relieved chuckle and exhaling deeply. ‘Man! For a minute there, I thought—’
Christian’s movement was so swift and surprising that Andy didn’t feel the six-inch blade that was thrust into his stomach – initially, at least – but as the gravity of the situation dawned upon him, the pain became far greater than any broken nose he’d ever suffered.
‘I’m sorry to have got you involved,’ said Christian, softly, into Andy’s ear. ‘If there is a God, may he have mercy on your soul.’
Those were the last words Andy would hear as Christian pushed him backwards into the pit. Andy attempted to get up, but a sharp throbbing pain shot from his stomach and prevented him from doing so. As he looked disbelievingly down at his torso, large volumes of blood pumped out of his body. All he could do was apply pressure to the hole in his gut, but the wound was too severe and the blood continued to gush. Christian picked up a nearby shovel and started tossing soil on top of him. Andy screamed, which prompted Christian to lobby the earth towards his head and, with the limited movement Andy was capable of, he was unable to prevent large clumps of the moist mud landing in his mouth. Coughing, spluttering, bleeding, crying and bellowing silent screams, Andy knew it was the end.
Why did I come back here? Was the last thought that crossed his mind.
And then he thought no more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Goodbye, Dear Friend
Tuesday 15th February, 1972
Above the earth where Andy’s body secretly lay was a small coffin, inside which the remains of the sweet young Reuben had found its final resting place.
A vicar, who was an age old friend of Christian’s, gave a sermon as the residents grieved, with the exception of David and Ellie, who were still locked away in their rooms. Amanda would have disputed their absence had the day not been chosen for her getaway. As it was, the less attention she drew to herself, the better. Besides, that moment was about mourning the loss of one of the purest, most endearing little fellows Amanda ever had the pleasure to meet and she believed nothing should distract her from doing so.
Amanda absorbed the size of the coffin as Margaret, who stood by her side, wept uncontrollably. Amanda thought in great detail about what a tragedy it was to bury the young. Her child hadn’t even been born yet, but the thought of having to bury her offspring in her own lifetime was something she did not wish to entertain and so she fought her musings away.
The service soon passed and when it reached its end, Christian walked immediately towards the vicar and shook his hand, talking in the soft way people always did at funerals as he thanked the man for his words.
Walter and Karen dutifully ushered the children back towards the house. Karen wore a black veil that hid her emotions, that is if she portrayed any at all. As Amanda watched her, she wondered if Karen had ever shed a genuine tear.
‘Are you alright, love?’ asked Margaret, selflessly.
‘Would you believe me if I said yes?’ replied Amanda, somewhat curtly.
Margaret entered an awkward silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ Amanda quickly added. ‘It’s just… it’s been a crazy few days, huh?’ she said, knowing that Margaret would understand her heightened sensitivity.
‘You can say that again,’ she acknowledged, rubbing Amanda’s back as though she were one of the children.
Amanda looked towards the other residents as they exited the graveyard through the flowery archway.
‘I need the keys to the isolation room, Walter’s car and the gate at the bottom of the hill,’ stated Amanda under her breath and in determined fashion. ‘I need them within the next hour. Can you help me?’ she asked.
Amanda’s instant change of tone took Margaret by surprise, but she responded to the urgency by processing the requests as quickly as possible.
‘Christian keeps a spare key to the isolation room somewhere in his office, usually in his desk. I’m sure I can find that,’ said Margaret, thinking aloud. ‘As for the other things, they’re a bit more tricky. What are you planning, exactly?’
‘I’m going to persuade Christian to go hunting and when he’s gone, I’ll round up the kids and drive away,’ Amanda informed her.
‘You’re gonna take the children?’ asked Margaret, as though surprised.
‘Yes.’
Margaret looked deeply saddened by the thought.
‘Maggie, when I get word out about what this place is, everything will change. You do understand that, don’t you?’
Margaret absorbed the words, swallowed hard and eventually nodded her head.
‘I guess I just never really thought about it. You know… what comes next,’ she admitted, her face falling into a broken smile.
‘You want the children to be safe, don’t you?’ asked Amanda.
‘Of course!’ Margaret assured her. ‘More than anything.’
‘Well, if I can get them away from here, I believe they will be,’ encouraged Amanda. ‘It has to be Walter’s car for this to work, you understand?’ she said, to which Margaret nodded certainly.
‘Yes dear.’
‘Maggie, if anything should happen to me, I’ve left a few things in my room. They’re under a loose floorboard—’
Margaret shook her head, vehemently.
‘No. Nothing can happen to you,’ she said, as though she were wishing the very thought away.
‘Maggie. Listen to me. You have to focus, you understand?’ said Amanda, with strong intensity. ‘If anything should happen to me then you have to make sure you get my things to someone who will listen. I’ve written the name and address of somebody in London who will do the rest. His name is Tony King and he’s the head of my paper. Just get my stuff to him,’ she said, as she looked deep into Margaret’s eyes.
‘I’m not as strong as you,’ said Margaret.
The woman’s state of mind did not fill Amanda with confidence.
‘Maggie, you’re the strongest person I know,’ Amanda assured her.
‘I can’t go against my son,’ she said, tearfully. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘This is bigger than us, Maggie! Think of the poor children. They’ve done nothing wrong,’ Amanda reminded her, knowing that if there was a way to make Margaret see more clea
rly, it was by making her think of the lives that had been ruined. ‘Now promise me, promise me that if things go bad, you’ll do what I asked.’
Amanda knew that she could trust Margaret, if only she would give her word. She nodded her head weakly, but that wasn’t good enough for Amanda.
‘You have to promise,’ Amanda demanded of her.
‘I promise,’ Margaret finally uttered.
They looked at each other, both women knowing the journey was nearly over. The moment for change was fast approaching and they couldn’t do it without one another’s help. There was so much love and respect between them, but sadly, circumstances were destined to take them apart.
‘Good,’ Amanda proclaimed. ‘Go back to the house, Maggie. Try to get a hold of those keys. I’ll be there soon.’
Margaret nodded, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. She appeared to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. There was so much she wanted to say, but instead, she remained silent and waddled towards the archway with purpose.
Amanda turned her attention back to the grave. She didn’t flinch as Arthur entered the yard. In fact, she had anticipated it.
‘D-d-do you need more t-t-time?’ asked Arthur, who had a shovel in his hand ready to return the earth to where it belonged.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Go ahead.’
Arthur stepped towards the grave and started scooping the dirt back into the ground, oblivious to the fact that Amanda was studying him. She noticed the initials AA sewn onto the breast pocket of his overalls.
‘Do you know Elijah?’ she asked, brazenly.
The question made Arthur incredibly twitchy.
‘Don’t look at me,’ she instructed. ‘Someone could be watching. Just carry on what you’re doing.’
He did precisely that.
‘You see, I don’t know your story but the fact you live here must mean you know a lot about what goes on,’ she figured. ‘I want to help Elijah, and judging by the way the family treats you – keeping you at such a distance – I’m betting you’re not the greatest fan of how they do things.’
‘H-how do you know that n-n-name?’ asked Arthur.
‘The children told me,’ she informed him. ‘As did Margaret.’
Amanda studied the coffin with interest. By this time, it had almost been completely covered in soil. Another life washed away, erased from the world with only a headstone to show for it.
‘I bet you’ve seen inside all these coffins, haven’t you?’ she quizzed.
Arthur stumbled, his downtrodden expression revealing that Amanda’s statement was true but that he wished it wasn’t.
‘How did Reuben die?’ she asked.
Predictably, Arthur hesitated.
‘Don’t wanna t-tawk about it,’ he said.
‘Neither do I, Arthur, but the family are saying he was killed by Elijah. Are you happy with that?’ she posed.
Arthur frowned and shook his head.
‘Do you know who killed him?’ she pressed.
He took a moment before nodding his head.
‘Was it Karen?’ Amanda offered, to which he nodded again.
‘Is there any proof?’ she asked, desperate to know she would be able to make Karen pay for all the evil she had done.
Arthur thought for a moment before shaking his head, much to their mutual disappointment.
‘They’re good at h-hiding it,’ he admitted.
Arthur had become a much more useful source of information than Amanda had anticipated, so she tried hard to think of anything else he might be able to help with.
‘And Lydia died giving birth to Elijah, right?’
To this came the most surprising answer of all.
‘My sister’s not d-d-dead!’ he replied, scoffing at her foolish remark.
‘Your sister?’ she questioned, faintly.
She looked back at the initials on his overalls. AA. She recalled Margaret’s passion for knitting.
‘Arthur Ambrose!’ Amanda whispered.
Arthur smiled, mischievously.
‘They don’t know yet, but she’s gonna get out. She’ll be b-back any day now,’ he said, wearing an excited grin.
‘Who? Lydia?’ asked Amanda, who could scarcely believe what she was hearing.
Arthur nodded, happily.
‘Back from where?’ she pushed.
‘DCLA,’ he enlightened her.
Amanda had heard of DCLA. When she was plotting her undercover assignment, the place had come up during her research of the area.
Devon County Lunatic Asylum.
*
As Amanda learnt of the earth-shattering news, Christian had taken yet another call in his office. The person on the other end remained silent, which had been a frequent occurrence for a number of weeks.
‘Is it you?’ he asked, partly curious and partly hopeful. ‘Is it you?’
He closed his eyes and imagined his wife’s lips. She loved to wear cherry lipstick. It was a colour that so suited her. That is what he imagined brushing against the mouthpiece on the other end of the line.
After a short silence, the caller responded.
‘Everybody’s gonna see what you did,’ said a woman’s voice, somewhat casually.
Christian sat bolt-upright in his chair.
‘Lydia?’
‘They will, you know. They’re gonna get to see,’ she teased, like an adult describing something mystical to a young child. ‘They’re gonna see what you did,’ she said again, before giggling.
‘Lydia, wha—’
‘Everybody’s gonna see what you did!’ she shouted, again and then again, screeching rather manically down the phone, reaching such a volume that Christian had to pull the handset away from his ear.
Her laugh was haunting, and in a blurry state of mind Christian placed his free hand on the receiver, causing the line to go dead. The sound of her voice was enough to utterly take the wind from him. Where there was once so much love there was now crippling guilt and endless broken memories that reminded him of what could have been. When Christian lived in the fictitious world he had created – the place where Lydia never existed – he could fool himself into thinking he was okay, but after hearing her voice, he was no longer afforded the luxury of such ignorance.
She most emphatically did exist.
Deflated, Christian hunched over in his chair, everything he hated about himself and his God-forsaken life had reared its ugly head once again, and it wanted vengeance.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Closing In
Tuesday 15th February, 1972
Margaret rifled through her keys, removing the one she owned to Christian’s office and placing it on a spare key ring she had dug out from the back of a kitchen drawer. Welcome to Exmoor said a bold italic font over a picturesque piece of land that sloped down towards the water mouth on a clear summer’s day. The picture represented the place Margaret had fallen in love with, but that place had become just a distant memory.
She exited the house from the kitchen and walked around to the side garden, watching secretly through the shrubbery as, at the bottom of the hill, Walter let the Vicar out through the gate. She watched as he placed his keys securely back into his jacket pocket. If she could only get her hands on them for a matter of seconds she could remove the two she needed and return the others to his jacket. By the time he would realise they were gone, the same would be true of Amanda.
So wrapped up was Margaret in wondering how to obtain his jacket that she failed to notice Karen stepping out onto the lawn behind her, looking deeply committed to a focus of her own.
‘Oh!’ yelped Margaret as she turned around, startled to discover she was not alone. ‘I didn’t see you there,’ she chuckled, nervously.
Karen stood like a stone statue, watching, pondering. It wasn’t until Margaret looked down that she saw a short length of washing-line wire coiled in her hand. Margaret shifted anxiously on her feet as her helplessness slowly consumed her. Like a farm animal sensing the
arrival of a weapon intended for its demise, Margaret’s entire body slumped in defeat, sensing there was no escape.
‘Don’t you ever get tired of all this?’ she asked of Karen, in a self-loathing voice. ‘Don’t you ever feel guilty?’
Karen considered the question for only a moment.
‘Never,’ she said, proudly, like a patriotic soldier who’d been brainwashed into thinking their way was the only way.
‘And knowing that even if we only did good for the rest of our lives, we would always be judged for what we’ve done in the past,’ Margaret furthered. ‘That doesn’t make you worry?’
‘I take it you’re referring to your God?’ Karen sneered. ‘The one who abandoned us in our time of need? The one who left us to rot?’
‘He never abandoned us,’ Margaret retorted, softly but defiantly. ‘We abandoned him, and for that, we shall never be forgiven.’
‘Well, when you see the great Lord,’ Karen mocked as she took large, menacing steps towards Margaret. ‘Tell him I’m incredibly sorry.’
