Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  ‘Bert. Bert Peabody.’ He squirmed in the seat.

  ‘Great car you have here, Mr Peabody.’

  ‘Thank you. It belonged to my father.’

  ‘You don’t see many of these vintage models around these days.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Bert coughed. ‘Is that all Inspector? I need to get home.’

  Jack pretended not to hear him. ‘It’s a real shame about Miss Cassandra. She lives out by the old windmill, owns a little shop. Perhaps you’ve bought something from her before?’ He winked. ‘She’s a psychic apparently.’

  ‘A psychic? Oh yeah, I’ve heard about her.’ He rubbed his neck. ‘I don’t know her though, never met her. Sorry to hear she’s missing.’

  Sighing, Jack continued to admire the car. ‘Yeah. She’s probably left Deerleap, that’s what we’re thinking. But we have to follow up, especially after the murders.’

  ‘I understand. Any luck with catching the killer?’

  ‘No, sadly not. Ah well, I won’t bother you anymore. Thanks for your time. If you see her please get in touch. You live in town, right?’

  ‘Yeah. On Maple Road.’

  With one last appraising glance Jack strode away. Bert stuck his thick bottom lip out and watched the wing mirror. ‘He’s suspicious. Somebody saw the car outside Lila’s home. I told Alma. I told her it was too risky.’

  He drove on, thinking furiously. Finally he exhaled. The Inspector had his name and would find out where he lived. He might search Bert’s apartment, but there was nothing suspicious there. Everything would be all right. There was nothing to link him to Lila, or to the other girls. He chewed his lip. The problem was he couldn’t be sure whether the police thought Lila’s disappearance was linked to the murders.

  Lost in thought, Bert headed towards the outskirts of the town.

  ***

  Jack followed the Cadillac, careful to keep other cars in between them. A deadly calm had stolen over him. He had interacted with hundreds, maybe thousands, of criminals over the years and his instincts were honed to a fine point. Recalling those ambivalent deep-set eyes and that smiling flabby face, Jack’s jaw tightened. There was something about the man that Jack did not like—an appeasing, subservient manner that distracted from his bulk and the strength in his arms.

  Not to mention that Bert Peabody was nervous. Why? Jack was certain he was lying about never meeting Lila. After all how many people in Deerleap drove a car like that? Was it possible the dullard in pink and white was the murderer?

  Jack could have returned to the station, got reinforcements and searched Bert’s home but the clock was ticking and he doubted Lila was being kept in the town. By the time they did all that Lila could be dead.

  The Cadillac made a sharp turn right and Jack did the same, maintaining a distance between them. There were no cars between them now, just an empty stretch of road.

  ‘Where are you going Mr Peabody?’ he murmured.

  There was nothing around here apart from a set of dilapidated lock-ups and hundreds of miles of forest. The lock-ups had been searched when Bianca Hayle’s body was found and no car could enter the densely packed trees. Jack sat up in surprise. The Cadillac had disappeared. He drove into the forecourt, but there was no sign of Bert. Jack parked and walked down the isolated road, looking from side to side, a sinking feeling in his gut as he considered the possibility that he’d lost sight of the only lead he had.

  A flash of pink out of the corner of his eye made him pause. It was Bert up ahead, plodding down the road with his head down a black rucksack on one shoulder. Jack followed, the satisfaction of being right, spurring him on. Peabody was up to something—he had hidden his car somewhere and was heading into the forest.

  After about a mile or so Bert dropped to the ground and tied his shoelaces. This gave Jack the chance to close the distance between them and he willed the man not to look over his shoulder. Bert stood and rolled his shoulders a few times before veering sharply into the forest. Without hesitation Jack followed him into the mass of trees.

  ***

  Glancing at his watch Jack clutched the stitch in his side. Bert moved faster and quieter than Jack would have thought possible considering his size, maintaining a punishing pace. Jack was having serious trouble keeping the man in view. The air was close and the forest was mostly silent which made it harder. A series of scratches stung his cheeks and arms courtesy of groping, clawing branches and Jack had stumbled on treacherous roots too many times to count.

  Bert seemed to have no such issue and progressed ever deeper into the forest, never once slowing down. Jack was grateful Bert was wearing bright colours otherwise he would have lost sight of him ages ago. Once, Jack looked back at the sea of trees enveloping him and shivered, realising he had no idea how to get out of there.

  It doesn’t matter. Don’t think about it. Find Lila—nothing else matters. For Jack was certain he was on the trail of the man who had kidnapped Lila and murdered Bianca and Abigail. As he thought about Lila his concentration slipped and he tripped, biting his lip to prevent crying out, steadying himself just in time. But when he looked up Bert was gone.

  ‘Oh shit.’ He sucked the blood beading from the cut on his already swelling lip.

  Climbing over a fallen tree trunk Jack pushed away low hanging foliage and ran. He turned in a circle, hands on hips, panting. What now? Just as he gave in to despair Jack whipped his head in the direction of a sound. Nothing. Then it happened again and he smiled in relief.

  ‘Thank you. That’s a nasty cough you have there, Bert my man.’

  It wasn’t long before Jack caught sight of Bert’s striped tunic again. The sound of water was intoxicating and when he came close to a stream Jack gave in to temptation and scooped a handful of ice-cold water into his mouth.

  A flash of pink up ahead. Bert was closer than Jack thought and he hung back a little. Bert coughed again and Jack took thirty steps in his direction towards a scorched, withered tree that looked like it had been hit by lightning. Too late did he realise his foot had landed on an unstable surface camouflaged by leaves and soil.

  With a crash the ground gave way and Jack dropped twenty-foot smacking onto solid ground with a thump and a shriek as his fibula and ankle shattered. Stunned, he greyed out until he heard branches breaking above his head. Jack blinked up at the shaft of light as Bert’s smirking face came into view at the entrance of the hole.

  ‘Well, look at this. You’re in a mess now aren’t you?’

  Jack’s body felt like a giant, pulsating bruise but much worse were the shards of hot pain shooting up and down his leg.

  ‘Please,’ he gasped. ‘I’m badly hurt. Help me out of here.’

  Bert guffawed. ‘Help you? Why should I? You’re not as clever as you think you are, Inspector. I knew you were following me, I’ve known for hours.’ He coughed theatrically. ‘Sound familiar? I wanted to make sure you didn’t lose sight of me and you fell for it.’ He laughed. ‘Literally.’

  Gasping and buffeted by a tsunami of pain Jack couldn’t respond.

  ‘There’s loads of underground caves in this forest,’ Bert continued in a conversational tone. ‘Most of them join up. Really dangerous and scary when you think about it. Why do you think they warn people not to come here? You should have thought about that Inspector before you stuck your nose in my business and charged after me so unprepared. You see this?’ He lifted his rucksack. ‘I always carry rope, a torch, water, a first aid kit and cereal bars in here, just in case. Even a ball of string. I used to wind red yarn around the trees to guide me, but now I know how to get to my cabin even in the dark.’ He shook his head in mock disbelief. ‘How did you think you were going to find your way out of here even if you caught me?’ He waggled a finger at Jack like he was a naughty schoolboy. ‘By failing to prepare you’re preparing to fail. You heard that one? My mother used to tell me that.’ He squinted down the hole.

  ‘By the funny angle your foot and leg is in I would say you’ve broken both. You won’t be ab
le to put any weight on that. But even if you could you wouldn’t be able to climb out of there, not without a rope and somebody pulling you up.’

  There was an explosion of panic in Jack’s chest. ‘What...what are you going to do?’

  Bert pretended to think as he squatted down. ‘Hmm. I think I’m going to leave you in that dank hole to rot. Phew, it’ll be a nasty way to die. Drawn-out, stuck in there alone with your thoughts. You’re welcome to shout as much as you want. Nobody will hear you, nobody will find you. Reckon it’ll take you about three days to die, probably less seeing as you have no water and it gets really cold out here at night. I would toss you down a bottle and a torch, just because I’m a nice guy, but you shouldn’t have made fun of me.’ He shook his head in mock sorrow.

  Glassy pain juddered through Jack and he began to shiver. ‘Do you have Lila? Is she alive?’

  Bert sighed. ‘Uh-huh. We’ve got her. She’s still alive. She had a seizure, you know. An epileptic?’

  Jack nodded, sick at the thought of what Lila was going through.

  ‘My old man was an epileptic. Reckon he had one behind the wheel and that’s why my parents died. I don’t feel right about killing your friend, but—’ Bert shrugged, scratching his nose. ‘It’s your fault for getting her mixed up in all this.’

  Jack shut his eyes in relief—at least Lila was still alive. We? Did he say ‘we’ve got her’?

  ‘There’s more than one of you?’

  ‘Uh-huh. My wife, Alma.’ Bert’s face softened. ‘We live out here, in a cabin. And before you ask, yeah we took those girls.’

  Jack leaned over to the side and vomited. ‘Please. Don’t kill Lila, I’m begging you.’

  Bert chuckled and cracked his knuckles. ‘You can beg all you want, won’t make a difference.’

  ‘She’s more useful to you alive Mr Peabody, she’s psychic, she can speak to the dead, she—’

  ‘Save your energy. She’s gonna die, that’s just the way it is. It’s what Alma wants.’

  Jack’s fear gave way to anger and he glared up at Bert. ‘You won’t get away with this. They’ll come looking for me.’

  Bert smirked. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. You don’t know how afraid Deerleap people are of this forest, of the caves, of the cursed spirits, of getting lost. Even I have to be careful and I’ve lived here for years now, and let me tell you, I’ve had a few scares myself. Seen some nasty things.’ He gulped, before continuing. ‘And even if people come looking for you, you’ll be dead before they come close to finding you.’

  He stood placing his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. ‘Good day, Inspector. I’ll tell Lila you said hello.’ Bert whistled as he walked away.

  ‘No wait—’ Jack howled at the burst of agony in his leg.

  The whistling faded until only silence remained and Jack knew he was truly alone. Alternating between panting and gritting his teeth, Jack dragged his body several inches until he could lean against the cave’s cold stone wall. He stared at the circle of sunlight at his feet, trying to keep a leash on his trepidation, knowing that in a few hours he would be in complete darkness.

  Looking around he realised the cave he’d fallen into wasn’t small. In fact there was a narrow corridor tailing off into a malevolent darkness. Warren’s story came to mind and Jack swallowed.

  ‘A network of caves.’ Maybe he could drag himself through it and find an exit. Shudders wracked his body and he moaned banging his head against the rock in despair.

  ‘No.’

  It was all too easy to imagine pulling himself along the hard stones and earth, consumed by the pain in his broken leg and ankle into the unknown until he died underground. At least if he remained here he could see a patch of light.

  I’m going to die down here. Just like that hiker Warren told me about. They never found his body. Oh God. And Lila. Lila, I’m so sorry.

  Jack’s chin sunk to his chest. He wept.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lila was wide awake by the time Bert returned. She had stopped trying to loosen the bonds around her wrists long ago realising it was futile and wasting her diminishing energy. Instead, she whiled away the hours trying to ignore the greasy taste of the gag around her mouth and keeping her head above panic’s waterline.

  Savoury aromas permeated the air and her belly growled and griped in response. Alma had ignored her for most of the morning, and for that Lila was grateful because the woman’s emotions were charged with a malignancy her sensitive antennae had never experienced before.

  Once however Alma passed by and stopped a few feet away, studying her in a speculative manner, her one good eye full of hearty malice. The moment their eyes met was like an electric shock and in that instance Lila knew Alma was looking forward to making her suffer.

  Bert dumped his rucksack on the ground as Alma ran out of the cabin into his outstretched arms. He picked her up by the waist and swung her off the ground causing her pale yellow skirt to twirl prettily.

  ‘How was work?’

  He nuzzled the top of her head. ‘Alright. I thought about you all the time. Glad it was only a half-shift, hate being away from you.’

  Alma simpered. Bert glanced over at Lila, still securely fastened.

  ‘She given you any trouble? No more seizures or anything like that?’

  ‘No.’ Alma placed her hands on Bert’s chest, languidly stroking. ‘But I’ll be glad to be rid of her.’

  Bert lifted her hands and kissed the palms. ‘Whenever you’re ready...but I have something to tell you. Just don’t get upset. Promise?’

  She stiffened. ‘What is it? What’s happened? What have—‘

  ‘Just listen.’

  Bert described the encounter with Inspector Montague and how he’d followed him into the forest. Lila, within earshot, froze then sagged against the tree in relief. Jack was coming for her.

  Alma grunted in distress, tugging at her wig. ‘What? The Inspector is here? You let him follow you, are you mad?’ As her rage grew she pummelled Bert’s chest.

  He grabbed her wrists. ‘I haven’t finished silly-billy.’ He filled her in and when he was done Alma clapped her hands with glee.

  ‘Oh, you clever boy leading him into a trap like that. Let him die in there, he deserves it. And nobody will ever find him, will they? Are you sure you shouldn’t go back and finish the job?’

  Bert basked in her praise, rubbing his shoe in the dirt. ‘Trust me, there’s no need to go back. He’s in a bad way, he’ll be dead soon. We’re safe.’

  All of Lila’s hopes fragmented then. Jack had risked his life and now he was at the bottom of a cave somewhere, injured and suffering. She screwed her eyes shut as Bert called out to her.

  ‘I told the Inspector I’d say hello for him.’

  Laughing, Alma wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed for a long time until Alma broke away.

  ‘We’ll have time for that later.’ She gazed at Lila, who shrank back in dismay. ‘Let’s get rid of Miss-crazy-Cassandra.’

  Bert adjusted his trousers, waiting for the heat in his groin to ebb away. ‘How do you want me to kill her?’

  Alma, who had spent all morning toying with the idea, grinned. ‘Let’s hang her like the other girls. She’s certainly not up to their standards so I won’t waste my time planting her. Let’s string her up and leave her dangling for a couple of days. It’ll amuse me. You can bury her when I’m sick of the sight of her.’

  In eight long strides Bert was by Lila’s side dragging her to her feet. Lila’s shoulders burned and her legs buckled so Bert had to support her upright. He bound her wrists again but removed the cloth from her mouth, leading her around the cabin.

  There was a vegetable patch and numerous flower beds here overflowing with vibrant colour. Through a veil of exhaustion and depression Lila barely registered these symbols of gentle domesticity. On some level she noticed a sickly odour in the air that caught the back of her throat. Reality came crashing back to Lila when they passed one bed
with something large and long in the middle. Blinking against the sunlight, Lila’s vision veered in and out until the reality of what she was seeing hit home.

  A body, Pari’s she assumed, was laid out on top of a clump of geraniums. Her black hair was cropped short under the ears. A mass of delicate pink and white flowers bloomed out of her torso, her mouth, and her eyes. Drops of water glistened on the petals like dew and Lila bent over and dry-heaved.

  When Lila had found Bianca and Abigail they hadn’t had time to decompose. But Pari’s flesh had lost its beauty long ago, yellowed and swollen, as maggots and flies feasted on her, a sickening contrast to the fresh flowers. At that moment, as if disturbed by their presence, a cloud of flies rose from the corpse and hovered, before settling back down again.

  Lila dug her heels in and fought against Bert’s chest but he shoved her forward, grabbing her arm and tugging her along impatiently.

  Alma followed, enjoying Lila’s reaction. ‘I see you’re admiring my flower bed.’

  ‘Why? Why have you done all this? What’s wrong with you? You’re sick, twisted,’ spat Lila.

  Bert tensed worried Alma would lose her temper and clamped a meaty hand over Lila’s mouth. But Alma simply smiled. Her raspy voice was almost gentle as she grabbed Lila by the chin, forcing her to look into her ravaged face.

  ‘Because it makes me happy. And I deserve happiness don’t you think? Why shouldn’t I have nice things, pretty things?’ She sighed. ‘Besides, it reminds me of one of the fundamental truths in life, a lesson I had to learn the hard way.’

  Despite herself, Lila was fascinated by the spark in Alma’s good eye. ‘What do you mean?’

  Alma bared her teeth. ‘That in the end, even pretty things rot. Whenever I feel sad I look at that girl in the flower bed and I remember that.’ Flecks of spittle sprayed Lila’s face as Alma’s voice rose. ‘Why should they get to be beautiful and desired when I lost everything? I was beautiful. All the men wanted me, all the women wanted to be me. Isn’t that right, Bert?’