by C. J. Waller
“Why did you bring them?” the Sergeant whispered. “Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
“I know.”
He heard the Sergeant sigh. “Come on, laddie, we have to go.”
“Go?” Decker raised his head from the protective cocoon of his body. “Go where?”
“I think you know.”
He nodded. He did know.
o0o
“Well, don’t just stand there and stare. Sit down.”
Decker couldn’t help himself. He fumbled for the chair and sat heavily in it, but he couldn’t stop staring.
“I knew you were still alive,” he said.
The old woman sat opposite him, her expression stony.
“Why did she lie? Mrs Kelly?”
“She lies because she doesn’t have much imagination,” Sadie Decker said. “I don’t think she fully appreciated what was going on. Plus, your friends were there. And we don’t talk about this stuff with outsiders. Outsiders ask questions they have no way of understanding.”
“And I do?”
Sadie nodded. “You do.”
She was a thin woman with an air about her that commanded respect. There was nothing soft about her; she seemed to be made of angles, all sharp edges and straight lines. Now she was sat in front of him, more memories of Sundays spent in her company came flooding back: the soggy, over boiled vegetables and cremated meat she served for lunch; the dirgy hymns she made them sing as she played the old piano; that horrible, sinking feeling that you were never quite good enough, despite only being seven years old. She’d been a hard woman to please, and Decker didn’t remember her smiling. Well, apart from-
He blinked rapidly as his mind shut down that particular line of thought.
“You know, those mental barriers you’ve constructed… you’re going to have to find a way of lowering them.” She picked up her mug and sipped her tea, watching Decker all the while. “You’re here for a reason. You know what that reason is. You just have to let yourself know it.”
Decker screwed up his face. “No, I don’t. I... I don’t know what is going on.”
For a fleeting moment, Sadie Decker looked impressed.“You’ve a strong mind,” she said. “Stronger than your father’s, I’d wager. Which is odd, given how weak your mother was.”
“Not too weak to escape this place,” he said.
“Yes, well, I’ll give you that one. Maybe I did underestimate her. Do you know why she took you away after your father died?” Sadie hesitated for only a fraction of a second before saying ‘died’, but it was enough for Decker to notice. He gave her a long, cool look. She might be his grandmother, but he didn’t like her very much.
“To get away from you.”
Sadie chuckled to herself and took another sip of her tea. “So that’s what she told you. Maybe she was also wiser than I gave her credit. I suppose she told you never to come back here?”
“She did.”
“But still you came.”
Decker faltered. “Yes. I did.”
“And I’m betting you don’t really know why. I’m betting you ask yourself that question every minute you’re in this town.”
He said nothing.
“I thought as much,” she said, and made to stand up.
“I... I have dreams,” Decker admitted. Sadie stopped, and sat back down. She steepled her fingers in front of her face and regarded him for a long, painful while.
“Dreams?”
“Yes. Some don’t make sense. Others… Others do. But one thing connects them. They all take place here.”
“I see,” Sadie said. “Tell me about them.”
Decker stared at the mug in front of him. It was filled to the brim with tea, a drink he didn’t really like. Wisps of steam wafted from its surface, curling about themselves, forming strange spirals before they disappeared as they climbed higher into the cooler air of the room. The weight of Sadie’s expectation lay heavily on him. Should he tell her? In a way, she probably was the best person to tell. She was family, after all. If anyone might understand the strange portents that bothered him so much, it would be her. But telling her was admitting to them, and admitting to them made them real. And Decker wasn’t sure he was ready for them to be real.
“Come on, Brandon. Tell me. I might be able to help you.”
That was certainly a seductive prospect. She could share his burden. He could ask her – ask her about the truth. The truth about his father. The truth about Dùisg a' Pheacaich. But every time he thought he’d found a way to ask her, a way to frame the questions in a way that didn’t make him sound like he was losing his grip, doubts set in, blasting them apart into incoherent fragments.
“I see.” Sadie did get up this time. She wandered to the window and spent a moment looking outside. Decker followed her line of sight; past the pristine net curtains, the clouds were thickening, darkening, growing impatient. A storm was brewing, mirroring the one growing inside him. “All right,” she said with her back turned to him. “I’m thinking you have been having dreams about water. About fire. About a black place. And about your father. About a wild night, with wind and lightning. But it’s all just snippets, a jumbled mess that makes no sense when you wake up.
Decker sat, stunned. How could she know that? He hadn’t told a soul, not even Paul. Unless…
“Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I’m right. I don’t have to look at you to know that. I have the same dreams, Brandon. We all do.” She turned away from the window. A sole shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, outlining her in white. For a moment, she didn’t look like a harsh old woman, but rather like an angel. Not the wishy-washy angels of modern times, but those true to the legends of the Old Testament, all swords and vengeance and cleansing fire. “The time is nearly here and you’re the only one who can stop it, Brandon, like your father and your grandfather before you. I sensed it first, the stirrings, the dreams it projects, and I knew you’d feel it too. For you are of my blood, of its blood.” She took a step closer to him, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation. “You feel it, and you’ve come. Deep down, you know what to do. You try to deny it, try to ignore it, but you know. Given your actions since you’ve been here, you know you now have no choice. The machinations of the Beast means things are now certain and we are on the path – there is no way of stopping it peacefully now.”
“What? How could I... no.” Decker tried to speak clearly but his words came out as a feeble whisper.
“Oh, but yes, Brandon. You know. You offered it sacrifice.” She raised a clawed hand and pointed it at him. “You brought them here and delivered that boy to it. Whether it was intentional or not, that sacrifice was accepted. So now you have no choice. You have to silence it and seal the gate that you opened, or everything we have sacrificed will be for nothing. And I, for one, am not willing that to be the case. Do you understand me?”
Decker took in a long, shaking breath. His mind bubbled as long-repressed memories burst and revealed themselves. Tears pricked at his eyes, and terror erupted in his belly. Part of him wanted to run, run far away from this mad woman and her equally mad followers, but he knew it was futile. Because she was right. His mother might have tried to protect him, to break the cycle that had claimed every male Decker for the last century, but she might as well have tried to bottle light to stop the night. There was no stopping this, only appeasement and blood and family.
“I do,” he said. “But please, let them go. They are innocents.”
“We're all innocents, Brandon. It is not up to me. Even if they were to walk out of here now, they wouldn't be able to leave. None of us can. No one ever has, apart from you and your mother. Due to her selfishness, the pain will be spread across all of you, not just borne by those who understand it.”
“At least let them go,” Decker whispered. He didn't know why it was important; it just was.
Sadie bowed her head. “All right. This one request, I will g
rant. But don't expect them to understand. They won't. It was wrong of you to bring them here.”
“I know,” was all he could say in reply.
Chapter Sixteen
Paul had expected at least a little bit of interrogation and was surprised when there was none. Instead, they had all been thrown into individual cells – Paul had been surprised the station had enough, given he couldn’t imagine the crime rates being that high – and left to their own devices.
Was this a tactic to catch them out? Well, they’d be waiting for a long time. He still didn’t know what was going on here, not really. The sight of… of… what? He didn’t even have a word for it. Appendage? Hump? Lump? Whatever it was, it played on his mind. His sensible side kept trying to change it into a wave, a reflection, or simply a mirage, but his imagination, forever the traitor, only allowed it to grow, grow until it was so huge that it filled his head until it threatened to burst. He’d been to enough tourist traps and investigated enough of their glorified puddles to know that this was the real deal – but instead of celebrating, they’d managed to get one of their crew killed and themselves arrested.
He felt a painful twinge in his throat at the thought of Piers. Instinctively, he tried to avoid the subject, but it was useless. He was here because of Piers. Piers, so full of life… now dead. Well, presumed dead. No – dead. How the hell could he be expected to survive that? But he hadn’t seen a body, so maybe there still was a chance…
Paul shook his head to dislodge the swirling morass of questions, hopes and suppositions. He wiped his eyes – he hadn’t realised he’d been crying again – and stared at the wall opposite.
Whatever was going on here, he was going to get to the bottom of it. His dear friend’s death would not be in vain. He was going to blow the lid off this place and make millions and dedicate the lot to Piers. He’d do everything Piers had vowed to do when they’d made it. The Bahamas. A super yacht that would put Qatar royalty to shame. Hell, he’d even hire a bunch of midgets to water ski around it for his own entertainment, sipping expensive champagne out of a diamond-cut glass-
The lock chinked and the door creaked open, shocking Paul out of his daydream.
“You’re free to go,” the police officer said.
“Pardon?”
“You’re free to go.”
Paul didn’t stand up, just squinted up at the constable in cynical disbelief.
“Just like that, eh? No reason, no explanation. Just ‘you’re free to go’.”
“Aye.” The constable’s expression was blank.
“No apology?”
“No.”
“I see. And my friends?”
“Already waiting for you in the lobby.”
“So, none of us are being charged?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet? What does that mean?”
“Means you’re not being charged with anything. Yet.”
“I could sue you for wrongful arrest.”
A glimmer of amusement touched the corners of the constable’s mouth. “I’d like to see you try, sir.” He turned away without waiting for Paul’s reply. Paul stared at his back through narrowed eyes before standing up and following the deputy along a darkened hallway. He wasn’t stupid. He knew something else was at play here. You didn’t get arrested for nothing then get released without charge a few hours later. They’d wanted them out of the way for a while. That was the only conclusion he could draw, and he was determined to find out why.
As promised, the others were waiting for him in the lobby, where they stood in sullen silence. The room was a joyless, government issue beige. In one corner a dying pot-plant squatted, and a poster tacked to a huge pin board was the only decoration.
Only you can help stop crime. If you see anything suspicious, call 8413.
8413?
Odd. Why not 999? Did the community think itself so cut off from regular society that they couldn’t rely on 999? And what a number to remember in an emergency. 999 was nice and easy. Even little kids could remember it. 8413? Nonsense.
“Hey,” Mags said as he approached. Yolanda offered him a weak smile.
“Where’s Decker?” Paul asked, his chest feeling tight.
“I don't know,” Mags said.
“You seen him?” Paul asked Yolanda. She shook her head.
“Hey – officer. Where’s our friend? Brandon Decker?”
The constable said nothing.
“I said-”
“Your friend is fine,” the Sergeant said. His sudden arrival made Paul jump. “He’s got a little business he needs to sort out. You know he has family from around here, don’t you?”
“I, er, yeah, of course I know that. I just would’ve expected him to want to make sure his friends are okay first.” Paul didn’t know why, but he wasn’t too keen on letting the Sergeant know exactly how much Decker meant to him; it was something that could be used against him, against them, and he didn’t want to hand it to him on a plate.
“Well, it turns out he needed to square some things with his family first. Don’t you worry. He’ll be back soon. In the meantime, you’re free to go.” The Sergeant leaned forward. “But I'm warning you – do not try to leave. Our investigations are ongoing, and you’re still caught up in this-”
“That's stupid. Why are you really releasing us?” Mags asked. “If there’s still an investigation going on, you can legally still hold us for another day or so. Why even bother with this charade? Unless, of course, you know we're innocent and don't want to lose face.”
The Sergeant sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Y’see, this is why I don’t like outsiders. We’re doing something nice for you people, ensuring you don’t have to spend the night in those cells, and yet you to question it. Always a conspiracy. Never that we’re just showing you some kindness.”
Mags looked a little sheepish, but Paul refused to be bought. Kindness? He seriously doubted that. This had nothing to do with ‘kindness’ and everything to do with… whatever.
“What about our stuff? Our equipment. Our Camper. Can we have those?”
“No. Not right now, anyway. Those things are evidence.” The Sergeant shook his head sadly. “If only you people had listened, eh? You wouldn’t be in this mess. Now a man’s dead. Such a shame.”
Paul's heart quickened. “So you’ve found a body?”
The Sergeant paused. “No… no we haven’t found a body. But it stand to reason. You said it yourself – he drowned.”
“No… I said he disappeared. Not that he drowned. There’s a difference.”
“There's no difference to me,” the Sergeant all but snapped. “Man disappears underwater, it’s pretty damn certain he drowned. Now, you people are going to go back to the guesthouse, and you’re going to stay there until further notice. I do not want to hear tales of you wandering around, upsetting people with your questions. If I hear one peep that you’re doing so, then I am locking you all up again. Do I make myself clear?”
“What about Brandon?” Paul asked.
“When he has finished reacquainting himself with his family, I am sure he will join you. But until then, it’s back to the guesthouse for you. Play some Monopoly, maybe. Read a book. Shag each other raw. I don’t care, as long as you stay in and you don’t upset anyone any more. Understand?”
Paul gave in. “Yes.”
“And you girls?”
Both of them nodded back.
“Good.” The Sergeant turned to the constable. “Take them back in the car. Audrey Kelly is expecting them, so you don’t need to stay. Okay?”
The constable offered a curt nod in reply and left the room without a further word. Paul, Mags and Yolanda trailed out after him like naughty school children after their headmaster. None of them looked back, so none of them caught the Sergeant sigh and smooth his moustache out of relief. Or maybe, just maybe, out of fear.
Chapter Seventeen
The atmosphere in the guest house was muted, as if something had laid
a blanket over it to smother any life that might exist there. Mrs Kelly’s demeanour was as brusque as ever and all questions were met with a stony glare. Realising asking her anything was futile, the three of them gave up and trudged to their rooms.
Even though they had only spent one night, the floor Paul had shared with Piers and Decker felt eerily empty. He paused by the door of Piers’ room and looked in; the bed had been made, but everything else was still a mess. Piers seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to create chaos wherever he went, no matter how little time he had spent there. Paul took in a deep breath and the lingering scent of that god-awful aftershave Piers insisted on wearing made tears scald the back of his eyes again. He would’ve done anything to have him here now, as infuriating as he was. But that would never happen. Because Piers was dead.
Paul turned away from the room and headed to the one he’d shared with Decker. Again, the beds had been made – Decker had pulled them apart after they’d slept, muttering something about small-town attitudes and how he didn’t feel like having to explain himself to people who’d known him as a child. That had annoyed Paul – why should they hide the love they shared? – but he’d allowed him to do it anyway. Decker could be funny like that, like he wasn’t truly comfortably in his own skin sometimes, and over the years he’d found it easier to indulge him. He sat down on the bed and stared at the wall opposite, fighting down wave after wave of despair.
They’d come here to find their fortune. Paul had even been annoyed that Decker had kept this place from him. Now he wished he’d kept it to himself. He glanced towards the door, willing Decker to slope into the room in that old, familiar, round-shouldered shamble of his, but it remained resolutely shut.
Where was he? The Sergeant had said he was visiting family, but Mrs Kelly had insisted she didn't know his grandmother, that she'd never heard of her. Why lie about that? Paul gnawed on a hangnail whilst the question gnawed at his mind. Why did she lie? And if she wasn’t lying, then why was the Sergeant? He let out a heavy sigh and flopped back, his mind full of thoughts of Decker, of where he might be and what he might be doing.
