ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense)

by Faith Mortimer

  Susan paused, stubbing out one cigarette and immediately lighting another. Her hands shook, and she fiddled with her hair as she told Cassandra her story. Stacy Hodges had eventually come to the door; she couldn’t ignore the knocking for ever. She held her newborn in her arms and grudgingly let Susan in. She followed the woman into the living room and saw that her other two children, Darren and Natalie, were playing quietly on the floor with some plastic bricks. The older child was patiently showing her younger brother how to build the walls of a house. Both children were wearing clean clothes, their hair and faces looking as if they had been freshly scrubbed. Stacy appeared to be coping well with the latest addition to the family.

  The eldest, Natalie, looked at her mother and then gave Susan a shy smile.

  “I suppose you’d like some tea,” Stacy asked, after putting the baby down in a carrycot on the floor.

  “Let me get it for you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, and I’m sure you have plenty to do. I want to take a few more photographs of Natalie, if you don’t mind,” Susan replied.

  “There’s no need. The baby’s been fed and changed. I was going to make one anyway. Put my feet up while I read a story to them two. Go ahead with your pictures.” She nodded in the children’s direction before leaving the room. “Now, you kids, just behave while I’m in the kitchen, and don’t wake the baby with your noise.”

  Susan walked farther into the room and glanced around. It looked clean and tidy; the furniture was cheap but serviceable. After a few seconds, the boy followed his mother from the room while the older child carried on playing. She seemed perfectly content, as she had when Susan saw her last: well-cared for, unobtrusive but alert, placid, and obedient. Stacy was lucky; many children were noisy and wilful. Susan got out her camera and adjusted the lens. The child’s position on the floor was perfect for what she had in mind. She asked Natalie what she was making, and the girl replied she was making a house. She held up her bricks for Susan to see. Susan stared at where the sleeve of her cardigan slipped down her arm, revealing a large blue-black-and-yellow bruise.

  She mentioned it to Stacy, who said Natalie hit it against the metal bars when she was playing on the swing in the park.

  “Isn’t that right, Nat?”

  Natalie turned her pale-grey eyes to Susan and nodded, her ponytail flicking from side to side.

  Susan shrugged and let it pass; it wasn’t her business to interfere. What did she know about children, anyway? She glanced across to the baby, who looked as pink and healthy as she would have expected a bonny baby to be. The toddler, Darren, was cheeky and smiling as he leant relaxed against his mother’s knee. Apart from the niggle of Natalie’s bruising, everything appeared fine…

  Susan mentioned other occasions…other echoes. Natalie was off school during Susan’s next visit; there was a plaster on her temple covering stitches…a fall from the roundabout. This playground sounded lethal. When neither parent was in the room, Susan asked Natalie what had happened, and the girl gave a clear explanation of the accident, perfectly matching the versions of her father and mother.

  Cassandra had wondered about Wayne Hodges when Susan relayed all this to her. Susan said he was a rough-speaking, lager-swilling, cigarette-smoking lout. He always dressed in pale jeans and a sleeveless shirt, exposing his wiry muscled arms with entwined snake tattoos. Cassandra accompanied Susan on one occasion, when Susan wanted some close-ups of Natalie. She persuaded Cassandra to accompany her by saying her photographs were legendary. When Cassandra met the father, she disliked his shaven head and gold earrings, a chain hanging from his belt, and the air of violence which seemed to hang around him. He oozed aggression when his eyes met hers, and it took a great deal of willpower not to shudder with instant dislike. She vowed not to go with Susan again.

  Susan was suspicious and confessed as much to Cassandra. She admitted she made casual enquiries at the school and playground. “Wayne Hodges? He’s a great father. Loves playing with the kiddies and is always ready to play footie or help out with swimming practice. He’ll pick up from school if you’re stuck and never complains he’s being used. Everyone loves him.” Except Susan and Cassandra, who had their doubts.

  On Susan’s last visit, when she was dropping off a set of the photographs as a present, Natalie was off school again. The girl wandered into the hallway, a teddy-bear clutched tightly to her chest. Her face was pretty and pale, her mid-brown hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. She went to stand next to her mother, fiddling with the cloth of her nightie, her nails bitten down to the quick. She didn’t say a word, but stared at the television her brother was watching in the adjoining room, the sound down low.

  Susan asked her a question, and the child glanced at her mother before answering. Her father was banging around upstairs. Stacy nodded and smiled. Natalie turned back to Susan, her movement causing her nightdress to rise, and Susan saw with horror the pale blisters down her leg. Blisters caused from cigarette burns…

  Chapter 11 January2013, Inverdarroch

  Cassandra jerked awake with a start. Pushing aside her disturbing dreams, she sat up, and the plate slipped from her lap onto the floor. She needed to go out, get some air in her lungs. Rid herself of the memories. The inquest had come and gone, the verdict had been manslaughter. Wayne Hodges shouted his innocence as he was taken into custody. The post-mortem report was read slowly and quietly from the coroner. “It was a pitiless action from a callous man, who filled the last three years of Natalie Hodge’s life with suffering.”

  She thought back to his words when he carried on, and Cassandra felt stunned and lifeless as she listened from her seat in the gallery. “In the circumstances, social services could not have done any more than they did. The child could not have been removed from her home, for legal or justifiable reasons.”

  There was more, but Cassandra hardly took it all in. When she glanced across at Susan’s white face, she felt like weeping. Rosie took her hand and whispered. “See. There was nothing more anyone could have done. There’s nothing Susan or you could have done to prevent that little girl’s death.”

  Chapter 12 January 2013, Inverdarroch

  The view from the hill was wonderful. The air was crystal clear, rarefied, and felt soft against her cheek. Cassandra adjusted the lens of her camera and shot off another dozen photographs. Pleased with the day’s light, she was sure she had captured something special. She switched off the camera and slipped it back into its case. While she stood and breathed in deeply, Cassandra suddenly felt she was being watched. It was like the last time. She turned and looked all around her, but there was no one there. Her senses told her differently. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she looked towards an outcrop of rocks, and there he was. Unmoving and featureless, dressed in dark clothes: coat, hat, trousers. It was exactly like before; he stood as still as the stones lying around. As she stared, she saw he was holding something in his hand. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it looked like an animal—a rabbit, or hare.

  Cassandra paused. Was he real? Or a figment of her imagination? A ghost even? A gust of wind blew down from the mountains beyond, lifting the ends of his black scarf to fly against his face, threatening to loosen the hat from his head. She felt a pulsation in the wind, a gentle thrumming. Mind made up, Cassandra walked towards him, picking her way through the hummocks of dead heather and melting patches of snow. She stumbled as she missed her footing and fell sprawling between piles of rocks. When she sat upright, like before, he had disappeared.

  Cassandra stayed where she was, willing the stranger to reappear, hoping for a chance to call him back and discover his identity. After a few minutes and feeling foolish, she stood up, brushed the slush from her coat, and turned towards home. Moving down the hill, Cassandra sensed the same feeling as before. It was like something, someone, was reaching out and touching her back, a faint tapping tempo against her spine. Unwilling to look back and completely unnerved, she gave a frightened scream, broke
in to a run, and fled. This time, she took the shorter route through the woods. Except it seemed to go on and on, the path trailing round the trees, bushes slapping her in the face, tree roots threatening to trip her up and send her flying. She must have taken a wrong path, but Cassandra didn’t stop until she reached Inverdarroch, where she paused and leant sobbing and panting for breath against a stone wall.

  “Good God, are you all right?”

  Cassandra jumped, jerking her head up at his words and giving a squeak.

  “You flew out of those woods at a fair old pace, as if you were being chased by Black Donald himself.”

  Cassandra gulped, pushing her hair back from her hot face as she fought to get her breath under control. “Is it you, Angus? Black Donald?”

  He took her arm. “Of course it’s me, lassie. Look, my place is nearest, why not come inside and rest for a minute. Then you can tell me what all that was about.”

  Disorientated and her heart still thudding madly in her chest, Cassandra felt her legs go wobbly as the clean-shaven man led her down the lane and into his house. She heard the front door slam behind them, and fresh prickles of alarm leapt through her. She twisted round, eyes wide and nostrils flared.

  “Hey, steady. It’s okay. Calm down. Look, if you prefer, I’ll leave the front door open.” He stood back from her, arms held out in front of him, palms outwards. “Or we can sit by a very nice log fire. It’s up to you.” Angus gestured towards a door off the small hall. He stood back as she stepped forward and glanced inside the room.

  “Go and get comfortable while I put the kettle on,” he said, shrugging his dark-bottle-green coat off and hanging it on a hook behind the door. His boots soon followed, and he stood before her in thick socks. “Would you like tea, or do you city folk prefer coffee?” He smiled, and Cassandra remembered how his look would melt any woman’s heart.

  “Tea would be lovely, thank you,” she replied in a soft voice, at the same time wondering why he looked so different and should she remove her boots, too.

  Cassandra watched Angus cross the hall to another doorway, then took off her boots before walking into the sitting room. The smell of burning pine logs filled the area, and with legs shaking like jelly, she sank into an armchair. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to forget the feeling she experienced on the hill. Cassandra could hear Angus clattering around in his kitchen; it was a reassuring sound, and she wondered what he was thinking of his foolish new neighbour. Her actions must have appeared ridiculous. She made up her mind that as soon as she apologised for her erratic behaviour, she would go.

  Feeling calmer, Cassandra shuffled back in the chair and after crossing her ankles, looked round the room. The cottage was similar to Susan’s, but like the Blackmore sisters’ home, it was much larger. Angus had furnished the place with antique furniture, and whereas Cassandra placed rugs on the floor, he had wall-to-wall, thick, honey-coloured carpeting. It made a difference. She couldn’t feel any cold from the stone floor creeping into her socks, like in her draughty cottage. Apart from Angus’s obvious love of fine furniture, he possessed an eye for good paintings. On each wall there was a grouped collection of oils; many, judging from the costumes, seemed to depict scenes from operas. He had added splashes of bright colour here and there from the curtains, scatter cushions, and leaded-glass lamps. One lamp was in a locked glass case. She crossed the room and leaned forward to get a closer look at the nearest. She was certain the lamps were Tiffany style; she had always admired the beautiful and often intricate designs. Seeing Angus’s handsome furniture made Cassandra think of Sotheby’s. Her attention was caught by a photograph on a small table. It was of a young, red-haired woman, dressed in a long white dress with a tartan shawl draped around her shoulders. She bore no resemblance to Angus, and Cassandra assumed she was a friend—or worse—his wife! There was a definite Scottish feel to the room, and Cassandra guessed the crossed claymore swords on the wall above the fireplace had a lot to do with it.

  “Here we are. I hope a mug is okay with you? I’ve added a little milk.”

  Cassandra hadn’t heard his footsteps on the deep-pile carpet. Starting with surprise, she moved back into her chair. “Yes, thank you, it’s perfect. I was admiring your swords. They’re copies of the real thing, are they?”

  He followed her gaze towards the hearth and smiled. “No, they’re original basket-hilted claymores.” He paused as if he was going to add something else but changed his mind. “So, I hope you’re feeling better now?”

  Cassandra sipped her tea and nodded. “Yes, thank you. Outside you mentioned Black Donald. Who’s that?”

  “Black Donald? Old Clootie.” When Cassandra frowned he explained further. “The devil himself. Clootie means cloven hoof.”

  “Ah. I didn’t know. You gave me such a shock when you first spoke. I didn’t notice you in the road.”

  Angus didn’t answer. Instead, he took a mouthful of tea and got up to throw another log on the fire. Sparks flew up the chimney as he gave the log a poke.

  “So are you going to tell me what spooked you?” he asked, before settling down on the settee in front of her. He appeared relaxed, one ankle resting across his knee, an arm along the back of his seat.

  Cassandra felt a flush rise from her neck to her face and looked down at the mug in her hands. “You’ll think I’m stupid. The whole thing is absurd, nonsensical.”

  “Try me, mo guradh milis,” he said in a soft voice, shifting his weight and stretching his long legs towards the fire. “I’m a very good listener.”

  Forgetting her fright, Cassandra stared properly at her host, and various thoughts passed through her mind. Had she ever seen eyes so blue before? And his face. If he was twenty years younger, he would have been gracing the covers of a glossy magazine. But why did he—? Of course! He looked so different because when they met before, he sported stubble and almost a moustache. Cassandra saw a tiny intriguing crease appear between his dark eyebrows. She let her gaze travel down his face and body. His legs were slim and rangy, encased in black jeans, and before she realised it, she found herself staring at his feet. Cassandra wondered if he knew how very good-looking he was, and she found herself wishing she was dressed in something a lot more flattering.

  Angus changed position in the chair as he placed his mug onto a side table, causing Cassandra to suddenly come to her senses. She realised she had been blatantly appraising a man in his own house. She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and as her gaze returned to his face, felt her cheeks flame with heat. When he moved forward, one eyebrow slightly raised, she almost squirmed with embarrassment. For one awful moment she thought he could read her mind.

  “I…you’ll think me completely mad,” she said eventually, in a squeaky little voice. She cleared her throat. “That is, it really was nothing. I just gave myself a fright. Mother always said I had an over-imaginative mind.” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Okay. I was out walking near the top of the hill, and I…I thought I saw someone.”

  He let his gaze linger on her mouth, and she felt as if he was caressing her. “That’s not so very remarkable. We do get walkers in these parts, even in winter.” He stopped and gave her a strange look. “I presume this someone…scared you in some way. Can I ask what happened?”

  Cassandra bit her lip before looking away. She brushed her hair off her forehead and then faced him. “That’s the stupid part. This person didn’t do anything. Just stood there, watching me. I began to walk over and tripped. When I sat up, there was no one there.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t.” Her voice went up a note. “There was nowhere for the stranger to go. The rocks lying around were too small to hide behind.”

  “You didn’t knock yourself out by any chance when you fell over, and then when you came to, the stranger walked away…perhaps down the other side of the hill?”

  Cassandra shook her head, feeling thoroughly despondent. “No, I didn’t, and there wasn’t time. Besides, I haven�
�t told you everything.”

  Angus raised his eyebrows while he waited.

  “This isn’t the first time this has happened to me.”

  “No?”

  “No. The first time I stayed here, back in the autumn, the same thing happened. Not only that, I felt kind of strange. At first I had the feeling I was being watched, and then I saw him.”

  “Him?” His voice was sharp and he narrowed his eyes with his frown.

  “Yes. He was tall and slim, wearing dark clothes. I felt him watching me, and when I looked up, there he was. Only the first time, he was right on the top and could have gone over, except I don’t see how he could have got away so fast. The distance to cover was too far. There’s more.”

  “More? Tell me.”

  “The first time I heard a faint noise, like a…like a drumming. This time it was softer, just a vibration in the air, and when I started to go down the hills, I felt as if someone was beating a tattoo on my back,” she whispered and shuddered.

  Angus looked away and stared into the flames of the fire. “Did you sleep well last night? Have you anything on your mind? Look, I’m sorry, and I don’t mean to question your explanation, but it might be you’re over-tired or worrying about something.”

  Cassandra felt like screaming. Yes, she was damn worried about everything. A child had died, been murdered. She was afraid of being alone in her flat after seeing those ghastly letters sent to her sister. What madman would have sent them? Her sister, whom she never knew, had recently died, and… she was terrified she was going mad. Everything had got on top of her, and it was too much. If she were to be perfectly honest, she would have admitted to being ill and needing help.