The Man Who Built the World

by Chris Ward

  He shook his head. He kept his eyes on the road, but his ears heard only the growl of the engine, the pattering of the rain outside, and the tap–tap–tapping of Red’s fingers on the gun barrel.

  The road rose up through the fog and soon the moors appeared ahead of them. They rumbled over the cattle grate and the road flattened out. Generally, under a full moon and a particularly starry night, it was possible to see as far as the old control tower, but the fog blanket had lowered visibility to no more than a few yards. They couldn’t even make out any lights in the distance. It was as though by leaving the village behind they had condemned themselves to a cloudy limbo, and Ian wondered bitterly if they would ever see anything around them besides the cracked road and the undulating waves of soggy moorland, all of it vanishing into nothing just twenty yards from their vehicle.

  ‘Switch off the headlights,’ Red said.

  ‘What?’ Ian glanced across in the darkness, but his friend still stared straight ahead.

  ‘Switch off the main lights and use your fog lights only. Then turn off the road.’ He pointed to the right. Head that way, swing round the tower and approach the house from the back. That way we’ll surprise them.’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? It’s been raining for days, the moor’ll be waterlogged. We’ll sink, not to mention the havoc it’ll cause to my suspension.’

  ‘This thing was built for off–road.’ Ian felt Red’s eyes turn on him in the darkness of the truck’s cab. ‘And we don’t want them to have a chance to get away. You do want to find my baby, don’t you?’

  Ian glanced across, but quickly looked back. The madness he saw in Red’s eyes, in this moment directed purely at him, terrified Ian more than he could put into words. The sound of the engine and the pouring rain seemed to fade into the background, and the tapping of Red’s fingers on the gun barrel seemed so desperately loud.

  ‘We’ll get him back, Red. If they’ve got him, we’ll get him back for you. For Bethany.’

  An uncomfortable silence followed before Red, apparently satisfied, turned back to face the road. Ian let his breath out slowly, a breath he had not realised had caught in his throat.

  Ian switched on the front fogs and did as Red instructed. Without his main beams he could only see clearly for about five yards, so he slipped the vehicle into first and they continued their journey at a crawl. Ian scowled as he wove the truck in and out of dips and between chunks of exposed rock, the vehicle jerking them around like a funhouse ride. Occasionally they came across a sheep or goat sleeping under the protective overhang of a rocky outcrop, and the animal would dart out and away at the sight of the car, causing Ian to brake sharply. In his mind he cursed his friend’s decision.

  ‘Head around the back of the house. I don’t ever remember seeing any windows looking out this way.’ Again Red pointed off to the right. ‘Stop about a hundred yards back from the house. They shouldn’t hear us over the wind, but we don’t want to take that chance. Surprise is our best chance against those fucking witches.’

  They drove on in silence for a few minutes before Ian brought the car to a stop behind a stand of short trees, their branches bent over like claws from years of relentless wind buffeting. During the day or even without the fog, the truck might be easily seen, but in this weather it was practically invisible.

  They climbed out and went around to the front of the truck. Ian flicked on a small flashlight and held its beam low to the ground, too difficult to be seen from a distance but enough to light their way. Although Red scowled, he said nothing; it would be dangerous to try to negotiate the bumps and dips of the moorland completely blind.

  A slope began ahead of them, a soggy green carpet that arced down towards the distant sound of rushing water. Though the ground disappeared into fog within a few metres, they could see a light glowing dimly not far ahead.

  ‘Let’s do this,’ Red muttered, and stepped out into the beam of the flashlight. After an unnoticeable moment of hesitation, Ian followed, an overwhelming sense of foreboding holding him heavy to the ground.

  ###

  Bethany’s Diary, November 25th, 1998

  Dad knows about us. Although we haven’t yet . . . done anything, we have been seeing each other for some time, sitting together as we always did, only now sometimes we touch, we kiss, we lie close to each other on my bed. And now Dad knows.

  He went mad at first, and with only Red to explain he didn’t want to understand. They had a fight, then Dad went out and he didn’t come back until late. When he did he was very drunk, and he came into my room and . . . and began to cry.

  He said he understood. He said he didn’t like it, but if it made me happy, he would try to accept it. I managed to smile but then he began to cry again, and so I cried with him. Then he begged me to speak, took my hands in his and implored me; I wanted so badly to speak to him, to comfort him, to tell him that, yes, at last I did feel happy, and I almost did, actually opening my mouth to speak only for Mother’s warnings to come rushing in along with the images of her last days, and my mouth clammed up tight. Dad cried for some minutes, but in the end he took my hands, kissed each of them and went off to bed.

  I haven’t seen much of him in the few days since. Red came over to see me yesterday and they spent a little time together. They resolved most of their issues I think. Dad still doesn’t like it, but I know he’ll come to accept it sooner or later. He must. He has no choice, because it will happen with his blessing or not, and I know he is desperate that I not be lost like Matthew and my mother.

  Talking of whom, she still keeps her distance from me, still has a condescending air about her. She is difficult to find, and rarely comes to the house anymore. I have to search for her, but she won’t talk to me, just turns her head away and refuses to respond to my questions. She is sad. She doesn’t like what is happening between myself and Red either, but she won’t tell me why. I think she has the same opinion as my father. He is too old. He is too close to our family. She doesn’t like it at all, and sometimes she threatens to leave me completely.

  Well, I don’t care. She can do what she wants. What I feel . . . love? I read about it, wonder about it all the time. I hope I do. I want to. Desperately.

  4

  He threw the last of the books aside. Sickness, hatred and revulsion pumped through his stomach like sparks from a broken electric cable shoved underneath his skin. His cheeks felt hot despite the cold and his fingers clenched and unclenched, his knuckles whitening as utter rage boiled in him and he felt a desperate need to explode, to smash, to destroy.

  He turned away from the books, unable to look at them any longer, back towards the light.

  Back towards them.

  He looked at them directly for the first time, ephemeral, translucent, but bathed in a white glow as though someone had whitewashed invisibility. His mother beautiful beyond words, memories of her deformed physical form during her last weeks pushed from his mind like water washing chalk off a blackboard, and his sister, younger – though much older than he remembered – and with a look of lost innocence about her, but still a close comparison. They stared at him from within the light, shimmering as though gusted by the wind.

  Ghosts.

  No, not that. Angels. Angels.

  Their lips did not move when they spoke, and the words had no physical form, they were just images projected into his head.

  Now you know the truth. Help us.

  We are trapped here until it is over. We are so sad, so lost. So lonely.

  He gritted his teeth, stared them down and reminded himself that he was actually here, facing these two magnificent beings, impossible, unbelievable storybook images of his own past.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘I’ll finish this.’

  Within their shimmering faces they seemed to smile.

  We both love you, Matthew.

  Anger held the tears back from his eyes.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ he said. ‘If I can. If I have the strength to do it.
’ The face appeared in his mind, the hated, depraved face of the man whose blood he wished already wet his fingers. He looked down at his hands and for a moment he imagined the water dripping from vines overhead to be dark red.

  We love you. Son.

  Brother.

  Tears came, a dam breached, a torrent unable to cease until the walls of the valley crashed in around it. ‘I miss you. I miss you so much!’

  Through the tears he saw his mother extend a hand forward, shimmering like an image behind a waterfall, reaching for him. It dropped on to his shoulder, and although he felt nothing physical, a warm glow surged through him, warming every part of him, from his face, chapped from the rain and the cold, right down to his toes, nestled in their damp shoes. And in through his bones, to his heart.

  ‘I’m so alone!’

  His mother’s head shook, lost focus. You have family. Children.

  ‘I have lost them.’

  They are beautiful.

  He smiled, unable to stop himself, a rainbow bursting through the rain of his face. ‘Yes, they are beautiful. More beautiful than . . .’ He looked up at his mother. ‘Than anything.’

  You love your wife.

  ‘Yes, more than life.’

  She comes for you. She follows you here. She loves you too. More than . . . his mother hesitated, then she too offered a flickering smile in return. Than life.

  But she is in danger. His sister’s voice in his head. You must hurry, there is not much time.

  Matt froze, stared at them, wishing for one second that they would solidify, stop blurring before his eyes, slipping in and out of focus. He felt drunk, desperately drunk.

  ‘What?’

  She comes for you. You must go for her. We are all . . . linked.

  Go, Matthew. His mother’s eyes implored him. Go, my beautiful son.

  The thought of Rachel in danger cajoled him into motion. He moved past them, dropping his gaze so as not to get too close, the radiance of their glow enough to hurt his eyes in short glances, too bright for him to look at for long.

  He reached the chapel’s doorway and slipped through the gap in the boards, out into the clearing where the rain now poured. He already knew where to go; the image had slipped into his mind and nestled there quietly, a map waiting to lead him. He started into a run, heedless of his own safely across the slippery ground. His faith would guide him.

  Matthew.

  The sharpness of the voice in his mind made him turn. From the edge of the clearing he couldn’t make them out, but their glow still radiated from the chapel, and he knew they were inside. They were staying behind. He was on his own now.

  ‘Yes?’

  Be careful. Danger exists in many forms. Take care, Matthew.

  ‘I will.’

  We love you, Matthew. Goodbye.

  He raised a brief hand, then started to turn away.

  And he loves you too.

  He stopped, halfway into a run.

  Don’t hate him. He doesn’t deserve your hate. He wanted to save you when I could only take you away.

  Matthew felt a cold shiver shudder through him and closed his eyes for a second, a tear dribbling out to mingle with the streams of rain that ran down his face like the fingers of a tiny Lilliputian estuary. A tear of anger, a tear of hatred, a tear of guilt. He began to run, into the blackness and the looming boughs of the forest. He didn’t turn back.

  5

  Elaina leaned out of the hedge and glanced up the road at the taillights of a truck disappearing into the fog, heading up to the moor. Although she had not got a clear look, she was quite sure the vehicle belonged to Ian Cassidy. He had been driving like a maniac: it was lucky she had heard the thing coming in time to leap into the hedge otherwise he would have pasted her across the road.

  ‘You fucking bastard,’ she muttered, lifting her middle finger to salute the truck as its engine faded into the distance. ‘You got my fucking clothes wet.’

  She wondered where he was going in this weather, and at such speed. It wasn’t like he had any family to visit, after all. She smirked wickedly. He only had that dopey friend and a son who hated his guts. All the rest were dead.

  What was it tonight? Attack of the psycho drivers? That stupid fucking woman up on the moor had almost run her down as well, but at least she had busted her car in the process. Served her right. Elaina didn’t feel the least bit guilty about leaving her up there. If the woman had been badly hurt, Elaina’s sour heart would have relented long enough to give the woman a hand, call an ambulance even. But there had not been a scratch on her. She was fine, the only problem she had was a nice long walk. Huh. It would do her good, give her a chance to think about her driving.

  Elaina continued down towards the village, hatching plots in her head for something fun to do in order to kill off her Sunday evening. Her sister was no fun anymore; she didn’t like to play around now the baby was in the house, and rarely even offered decent conversation. She was always ‘cooing’ and ‘ahhing’ over that damn child. Not that they had they ever got on particularly well, of course; in fact they could barely stand each other, but they couldn’t cope with being apart. The only time they really connected was at night, when two became one, as Liana called it, though to Elaina it was simply plain fucking. But the child had even put paid to that. Elaina understood now what most married couples felt like.

  Ah, a married couple, that would do it. She could use her charms and her magic to seduce someone, deprave someone who thought themselves free from infidelity, bring someone pure to their knees. A couple would be interesting, but the guilt would be shared, so that was no good. The aftereffects were less destructive. If a couple shared in something it wouldn’t tear them apart the way cheating would. No, she’d find someone on their own, seduce them, leave a few clues, cause a few shockwaves. So what if she used a little magic to do it, no doubt Liana would use hers to amuse the fucking baby as soon as Elaina was safely out of sight.

  Hmm. Choices. The village didn’t offer much, to be fair, but she hadn’t wanted to take the car and go further away. It was too much effort for something so rarely rewarding. No, the village would do. But who?

  She fancied a man tonight. Either would do, but sometimes she just liked a man, someone innocent, loving, faithful to his wife. She would weave a little spell, plant a few fantasies and then let him go, let him screw her like he could never screw his wife, let him live out the sort of things only the darkest of nights and a stolen flick through some internet pornography had ever let him think about behind his self-assumed veneer of morality. It was great that way. She felt a tingle of pleasure race up through her stomach at the thought.

  Of course, it wasn’t just the sex that made it so much fun. It was the consequences. Not for her of course, for a little magic made her vanish from their minds like water through a sieve. Only the deed remained, but sometimes guilt could be a wonderful thing. Elaina had lost count of the marriages she had broken over the years. She had even had a couple of suicide cases. Now that impressed her. She knew she was good, but just how good had come as a real surprise.

  The deceitfulness of her actions didn’t even concern her. Fuck it, why not? After all, hadn’t her mindless sister created love out of nothing for plenty of boring morons, kept countless hapless losers from jumping off bridges? It all evened out in the end.

  Love and war. Good and bad.

  Liana and Elaina.

  She headed down past the church, holding her clothes tight against her to ward off the rain. She was soaked. She needed to find a nice warm bed soon.

  She headed towards the pub, thinking to look in through the windows, see who was inside, and more importantly, who wasn’t. The village had a couple of possibilities. Sam Hagar was a fine looking young man. Dull as winter weather but well-muscled from hauling bales each summer. Mmm, she could really bite into a piece of that. And old Mrs. Carter’s son, Billy, he wasn’t too bad. A few years older than Sam, almost thirty, but still in his prime. Had a couple of k
ids, too. Well, that put him top of the list. What if they saw? What if they saw what their father was doing to the woman who had stopped by to shelter from the rain? What might they possibly see him doing to her in their own mother’s bed?

  Elaina chuckled. The thought was enough to make her lick her lips. Of course it depended if he were in. His wife played ladies darts, but what night was that? Elaina couldn’t do everything. She could influence people, but she couldn’t control a whole village. Christ, that sort of power would half kill her sister.

  Not that she cared about that, but if her sister got sick, so did she. She had to be careful.

  As though the thought had triggered some switch inside her, Elaina suddenly lurched forward, stumbling in the road, only avoiding hitting the ground by grabbing hold of the low wall at the front of Mrs. Peckham’s Local Craft Shop. She swallowed back the urge to vomit, rolling her head as her mind swam, turned over and over like a boat in rough waters. Her body felt like a pair of jeans turned inside out and hung out to dry, her skin felt taut and her legs shook, unsteady.

  Liana had used her magic. A lot of it.

  Elaina dropped to her knees, waiting a few minutes for the feeling to pass. Whatever Liana had done, she had done it in one sudden burst, and if she were still using it now it was as a residue, a background power current like a battery slowly wearing down. Elaina cursed her sister. If she were playing with that fucking baby there would be hell to pay.

  Her head cleared, the rain actually helping her. As normal, after her sister had used the magic Elaina felt an added strength inside her, a tenseness, a bow pulled taut to the point of breaking. She would have some fun tonight. She fucking deserved it.

  But she was seriously pissed now. When she got back, her sister would get a right talking to about that damn baby.

  The rain had got heavier. Elaina had to find shelter soon, or no amount of influencing would get a man into bed with a woman in her state. She looked half drowned.