Flee

by Caroline Gebbie

  Simon broke the silence. “She had cancer.”

  “Oh god, I am so sorry, you should have told us.”

  Simon breathed in and steadied himself. “Even after all these years, I still feel guilt. It was incurable, even with magic. We tried everything. It’s unfair when you think you have it all.” He slowed slightly, his eyes misting. “She didn’t want anyone to know.” He stopped the car at some traffic lights, tears slipping down his face. “She wanted everyone to remember her as happy and full of energy. Towards the end, the pain was so bad. She lost a lot of weight and constantly asked me to kill her to end it all.”

  A pip from behind informed them the lights had changed. Simon turned the car left and continued. “She made me promise I would not tell you. I know what I did was inexcusable, but she wanted to die, and she wanted me to have her life force.” His tears were running off his cheeks and dripping onto his jeans. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision.

  “It took her three weeks to persuade me to do it. The pain was horrendous for her. She said it was the only way her life would not be wasted. How do you say no to that?”

  Alex shrugged, unable to reply. He knew there was no comfort for his friend.

  “I made it quick and painless, and I’ve done my best to honor her, to live a good life. You know I love your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go save her.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Simon followed Alex’s directions through the small market town of Louth. The roads were quiet, the people all tucked up tight in their warm and comfortable beds, dreaming of work and overdrafts. For a moment, he envied them.

  It was a long time since he had visited the quaint buildings and winding streets, which were a maze to navigate. As he steered the car between the narrow streets, he thought about the busy market town that had thrived for centuries. It was named after the fast flowing river Lud and in magical circles it was famous for its Pagan cemetery that nestled on the edge of the Wolds. The town dated all the way back to Saxon times, with a long history and flourishing trade and it held an energy that pleased the gods. It made sacrifices easy and bountiful. They turned onto Eastgate. “Why do all the street names end with gate?” Simon asked.

  “It’s from the Danish gata, meaning a way. Here, turn left at the next junction.”

  They weaved their way back into the suburbs and arrived at Robert’s house. Simon pulled the car up before entering the drive. “Front entrance or something more cautious?”

  Alex closed his eyes, concentrating. “I can’t feel him, can you?”

  “No.”

  “Then he’s either not here, or he’s more powerful than us.” Alex shrugged his shoulders.

  The car waited engine ticking over so smoothly it was almost silent. Simon had the car in park. He laughed. “Just bloody great.” He slid the lever into drive and turned the car onto the drive.

  He pulled up beside the Volvo police car, then thought better of it and turned the Audi round. “Just in case we need a quick exit.”

  “Drama queen.” Alex laughed before climbing out of the car.

  “Well at least the police came. Let’s see if we can find them,” Simon said as he got out and walked around the front of the car.

  They walked together up to the house. All seemed quiet, all seemed normal. The garden was eerily still, the shrubs covered in dew. They did not notice the tracks leading across the grass.

  It was hard to believe anything could be wrong in such a beautiful setting.

  “Nice place,” Simon commented. “A bit modern for Robert and quite remote, but nice.”

  “Yeah, well, now I know why he moved out of his townhouse all those years ago. No nosy neighbors out here.” Alex added.

  Walking along the front, they checked the windows, but the house was dark, and appeared to be waiting for them, silent and moody.

  No one was in the kitchen. The room looked neat, with nothing out of order. They saw Rosie’s lead over the back of a chair. Continuing their inspection of the house, they passed Robert’s office. Peeking through the glass, they could see nothing amiss. Robert’s jacket was hung on the back of the door, the room neat and tidy. They walked further around the house, their shoes damp from the grass and from treading on the flower beds to peek into the windows. Alex shivered. The chill of the night seeped into his bones and into the wound at his neck. He rubbed it distractedly before continuing.

  Both men were concentrating, trying to pick up on any energy or to feel the life force of Jenny, Robert or even Doris. They caught each other’s eye for a second they were both hiding their fear. Alex shook his head they could not be afraid, that route led to Jenny’s death. He concentrated harder but no one seemed to be here. Fear slid down his back and settled like an icy hand in his bowels. Were they too late? Had Robert took Jenny somewhere else, somewhere they would never find her?

  He followed Simon across the flower beds to another window. They looked into the small reception room. Simon pointed, showing Alex the policeman’s hat on the sofa. The blue hat looked forlorn and out of place on the delicate yellow couch. “Damn, where are they?” he asked.

  “At least they came, maybe…” The sentence trailed off. They both knew something bad had happened to the cops. If they were still alive, they would be very lucky.

  Alex shrugged and turned back. They wound their way to the kitchen. “Now or never,” he said.

  He put his hand on the door knob and turned, surprised when the door swung inwards. He stepped across the threshold, Simon following. As his foot entered the room, he felt something touch his left leg. Looking down, he saw the tripwire, but it was too late. He jumped into the room and grabbed Simon’s arm to pull him with him. They fell forward, the momentum carrying them into the room. As they crossed the threshold, a jar lodged above the door was pulled by the wire and fell down.

  It seemed to take forever, tipping over and falling down towards Simon’s face. Just before it hit, the liquid spilled out, a colorless, viscous fluid that coated him with deadly sulfuric acid.

  The acid melted into his skin with frightening speed. Huge lumps formed boils and sluiced chunks of skin from his face. The jar hit his head microseconds later. It smashed and sent splinters of glass to shower his face. Luckily, a large piece just missed his left eye, but tiny splinters sliced into his face in a myriad of different places. A piece the size of a fifty pence piece sliced into his top lip. He screamed as the acid joined in the fun caused by the breaking jar and ran down across his face, some of it splashing onto his arms and chest.

  Simon screamed again, his agony dropping him to his knees as his hands rose automatically to his injured face.

  “No.” Alex concentrated and raised his hand. “Siste.”

  Simon’s hand stopped, inches from his face. The terror showed in his eyes as his face rapidly melted. Skin bubbled from his skull and dropped away to land with a plop on the floor. Clumps of platinum blond hair were attached to the bloody mess and stuck up like some furry creature.

  His eyelids were melting, smoke rising from them. He blinked desperate to save his eyes. Nothing worked and the liquid stripped through them and was rapidly working down his face, stripping his cheek to the bone, melting his lips and exposing his teeth. His face could not move, and under the spell the liquid ate into him. Only his eyes flicking backwards and forwards showed his agony.

  His shirt was burned in big patches on his chest and arms. The skin beneath it melted with unnerving haste. A plume of grey smoke rose from his head. His arms were also smoking as bones showed through the bloody melting mush.

  Alex watched, horrified as the acid ran into Simon’s mouth, burning through his tongue and melting his bottom lip into an unrecognizable purple hole. As the acid burned his face, blood poured from broken veins, only to be stopped seconds later as the acid cauterized them. He was covered in boils that appeared before Alex had time to even think.

  But think he must. He took a quick breath, ab
out to douse his friend in water, but he remembered that some acids produce heat when mixed with water. He needed foam. “Spuma,” he shouted and waved at his agonized friend, and then, “Sanare.” The first spell was to produce foam, and the second to send healing energy and to allow Simon to move. It was expensive of Alex’s power and he felt a moment of weakness.

  Simon was instantly covered in white foam, head to toe. He looked a little like a moving snowman. Alex tried not to giggle, but lost his battle as hysteria claimed him. He rocked forward, titters coming from him as he held his chest. “Are you okay?” He managed to get out between guffaws.

  “That’s bwoody gweat. Cover me in acid, and then coat me in snow and stand there bwoody waughing.” Simon wiped his hands across his face, throwing lumps of the foam at Alex. He reached for the glass stuck through his lip, and gripped it with trembling fingers. He pulled, hearing the suck as the glass came out, followed by a spurt of blood. The healing spell worked, stemming the blood, but had very little effect on the hideous burns.

  Alex laughed even louder at the slurred words and ravaged face covered in yellow boils. Simon’s teeth and jaw were showing through where the acid had burned away his flesh, “How do you feel?” Alex controlled himself with difficulty.

  “I’m surpwisingly wood. I guess Wobert was expecting us,” he stuttered, almost giggling himself as he stamped. The foam came off in big chunks, leaving him looking like he had been through a car wash. He ran a hand over his head. “Oh wugger, it melted my wair?”

  “Yeah, and your eyebrows, eyelids, lips, should I go on?”

  Simon sat on the sofa, concern spreading across his face. “Do you think Wenny could still fancy me?” He laughed.

  “Seriously, you will heal, but for now you’ll be weak, and that healing spell was a biggie, so I am also weaker. We have to find Jenny. God, I’m sorry man I think the shock just got to me.” Alex looked at his friend, mirth replaced with worry. They were short of time.

  “I need blood, the pain is unbearable. Robert must have a supply somewhere, and we have to presume he can’t always take people.”

  “He keeps sheep. I forgot they were Ryeland’s, some rare breed kept by King George III and given to Prince Charles as a gift a few years ago. He told me he was intrigued and started keeping a few as pets.”

  “Yeah, well we know why now, don’t we?” Simon still found it hard to speak, with his ravaged lips and tongue, and raised his hands in exasperation.

  “They are behind the garage, come on.”

  ***

  The two friends sacrificed one of Robert’s prize sheep, allowing the blood to run into Simon’s ravaged mouth. The warm fluid had an instant effect and the mage felt the pain ease as it flowed into him. The wounds would take longer, but for now, he had a little power and the pain was numbed.

  Alex helped him back inside and to the sofa. “You have to rest, let the blood heal you. How’s the pain?”

  “It’s not too bad, but I’m tired. Are you going to search the house?”

  “Yes, I’ll have a quick look around and see if I can find any clues. They can’t be far. He would want his place of sacrifice close to the sheep.”

  “Yeah, but not where Sophie might find it? Do you think she knows?”

  “I doubt it. I really hope not.” Alex stood a look of revulsion on his face.

  “Go, I’ll be ok.”

  Alex took one last look at his friend, and then strode from the room. He wore his worry like a heavy cloak. Where was Robert and where was Jenny. He couldn’t feel her so could she already be dead?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Robert paced in front of the altar, back and forth, back and forth. His breath caught in his throat and there was a dull ache in his chest. It was as if the pressure in the cellar was too much and he was slowly being crushed by all the crap he had to put up with. He knew Simon would be coming for Jenny and did not want to go back to the house and risk running into him, but the cellar provided little in the way of entertainment and he had a craving for a coffee that would not go away. Maybe that was why he was so jittery, he needed a java fix. He must remember to set up facilities next time, as well as a toilet. How many times had he needed to run back to the house mid-sacrifice? Damn inconvenient it was, but still soon his body would be young and trim again and hopefully his bladder control would improve.

  He picked up a magic text and dropped it back onto the altar, bored. It was only fun down here if he was practicing his magic or sacrificing something, and for now he could do neither. He should have brought a sheep down. It would replace his energy and give him something to do. As it was, he was both drained and wired. He needed something to do and did not think he could stay cooped up down here until the sacrifice.

  He sat down on the altar and crossed his legs. The sight of his live manikins brought a smile to his face, but he could feel them draining his power. This was really not how he expected things to go. He had expected Aldona to admire and help him, to make him feel... wanted. And why was Simon looking for Jenny? He swept a book from the altar and watched as it fell to the concrete. It opened to a representation of a first sacrifice; he smiled. He had started like everyone, with this sacrifice. A filthy, screaming goat had been his first visitor to this cellar.

  He chuckled; the goat had been terrible. Its skin was incredibly tough, and it had taken him four cuts to sever the jugular. All the while the animal had struggled, scratching his legs and shitting on his shoes. It had been so disgusting he nearly fled the cellar, leaving the injured animal to die alone.

  Luckily, as he jerked with revulsion at the shit on his suede loafers, his hand had sliced through the animal’s throat. At that point, excitement took over, and he grabbed for the horn, collecting only a small amount of blood as the animal thrashed uncontrollably in its death throes. He threw the disgusting animal to one side, blood all over his face, hands, and suit. He had laughed. “Note to self, overalls may be a better choice for sacrifices.”

  He stared at the blood for a long time before eventually drinking a tiny drop and had used his little finger to draw the mark of Aldona on his forehead. Surprisingly, he had enjoyed the flavor of the thick warm blood. It slid down his throat, coating it with a glutinous coppery taste. “Not a bad vintage.” He raised the horn in a mock toast and then drank the rest of the blood in one go. Some of it leaked around the side of the horn and left a trail down both sides of his mouth.

  The power surge hit him shortly afterwards. He was placing the dead goat in a black plastic bag, and bent over when wham. He was knocked to his knees, a feeling of euphoria causing him to scream in delight. The strength stayed with him for a week. As soon as it started to fade, he made his second sacrifice. This time it was the neighbor’s cat. Damn thing was always pooping in his borders.

  Eyeing the captives, he made a decision. He strolled across and grabbed Doris and guided her back to the post. She came with him, compliant, easy to handle. But he needed to secure her and some of the others. Holding four people was draining his strength.

  Leaning Doris against the post, her eyes flicking wildly in their sockets, he looked for the tie wraps. They had been left on a bench at the other side of the cellar. He crossed to them. “No rest for the wicked.” He laughed, kicking his feet as he crossed the cellar. Picking up the wraps, he heard a scraping to his left. Instantly alert, he froze, listening.

  Turning in the semi dark room, he searched for the sound. Simon could not have made it yet, could he? The silence stretched out. He relaxed. It must have been Fluffy. The hell bat was in the other direction, but sound carried strangely in the underground room.

  Feeling more relaxed; he grabbed the ties and returned to Doris. Taking her bloodied wrists behind her, he fastened two of the tie wraps together and slipped her cold hands into the loop. He fastened the loop around the post and pulled the end, hard. The unforgiving plastic cut deep into her skin. He moved her ankles close to the bottom of the post, causing her to lean forward, straining her arms and
balancing her weight on the damaged bleeding wrists.

  He repeated the procedure on her ankles, needing three tie wraps this time. He pulled hard on the end, harder than necessary. A smile lit up his face as he saw fresh blood weep from her damaged ankles. Standing eye to eye, he leaned forward, kissing her lips tenderly, his left hand sliding over her naked breast and squeezing the nipple till it hardened. He pulled back and looked at the angry swollen bud. He had always found pleasure in other people’s pain and this was no exception even though she could not show it he knew he hurt her. Knew he had power over her and that was hot. He flicked his tongue out at her and gave a sleazy wink before bending forward and taking the teat in his mouth. He sucked greedily for a moment, before biting down hard, severing the nipple between his teeth. With a smear of blood running down his bottom lip, he spat the skit at Doris, and watched as it landed on her stomach and fell to the floor. Doris’s breast was bleeding. A thin trail of blood ran down her side and dripped onto the floor. Her anguished eyes expressed her revulsion though her face remained impassive.

  Another noise from the far side of the cellar had Robert glancing over his shoulder. He could see or hear nothing; maybe he was just anxious knowing he was so close to success. Nothing must go wrong. He glanced behind him again, but all was quiet and the room looked still, nothing lurked in the shadows. Turning back to Doris, he released her from the spell. “Doris dimittan.”

  She collapsed forward, a scream of pain forced from her as her damaged wrists took even more weight. She struggled to get her balance and leant back towards the pole, taking the weight from her throbbing arms. As she watched her tormentor, her head spun with pain and exhaustion. She waited. Just as he relaxed, she hawked and fired a lump of sputum straight at his eyes. The gob, smaller than she hoped, due to her dehydration, fell on his left cheek. He pulled back disgusted, hands flapping at his face as he wiped the spit away. Rubbing his hands on his trousers, he kicked her hard in the stomach. She pulled forward and screamed, pain wracking her body as her wrists were sliced by the plastic.