Black Wood

by SJI Holliday

  It was when the man took off his trousers that he realised it was all wrong.

  Sharp, skinny erection pressing hard against baggy white pants.

  The boy sliced the man’s stomach open with the corner of a chisel before running away. He didn’t mean to be bad. But he’d had no choice.

  He was lucky in the next house. With the man and the woman and the boy.

  But it was already too late for him; his heart had shut down.

  His mind only focussed on survival.

  If only someone could want him. If only someone could love him.

  In the final house, after the woods – the last one before he was on his own – he had hoped to stay quiet, anonymous. Out of the way. But then he heard about the girl across the street, and everything changed.

  36

  Claire stared at me, her eyes glassy. Could she hear me? When she went like this it reminded me of when she was in hospital. The bleep bleep of that machine. I talked to her then, all the time. I told her about anything. I told her everything. But either she didn’t hear me or she chose to forget what I’d said. When she disappeared now, I sometimes wondered if she did it on purpose. To escape. There was nothing I could do except keep talking. I’d started now. I had to finish.

  ‘I put a pillow over her face,’ I said. ‘Barely had to put any pressure on it at all, she was so weak by then. She begged me to do it. Pleaded with me …’

  Please, Jo … kill me now …

  ‘She wasn’t in pain: the morphine was seeing to that, but it was also loosening her tongue. She couldn’t live with the guilt any more, and neither could I, Claire. In that bath in that dump of a flat in Leith, I just couldn’t see any way out of it. You were gone, off to your new life … Craig was losing interest in me … It wasn’t her fault … I don’t think she meant to do it …’

  Claire’s head bobbed slightly, and I was sure that despite her not being able to speak, she could hear me all right. So I continued to blurt it all out.

  ‘She killed someone, Claire. She killed a man who was poaching rabbits on her land. Rabbits, for fuck’s sake. As if they were in short supply …’

  Claire blinked. Swallowed. Licked her lips. She was back.

  ‘She was so ill, Jo. She was going to die anyway. You didn’t have to do that … You could’ve talked to me. I would’ve listened …’

  I glared at her. ‘We’re both murderers, Claire. Don’t you see? Other people in her situation – they would’ve called the police. Got someone to come and get him off her land. As for me … Well, what excuse do I have? She begged me, but I didn’t have to do it. I think on some level I wanted to …’

  ‘She was so ill, Jo,’ she repeated, as if that somehow made it all right. That was typical of Claire, standing up for me when I didn’t deserve it. ‘Who do you think she killed, Jo?’

  I sighed. I felt calmer now. After my confession, the rest didn’t seem so difficult. ‘His name was Michael Waters. He had a son. Or maybe it was two. The wife was distraught – thought he’d gone missing. Do you remember? It was big news back then … I remember hearing about it at the time. I don’t know what happened to the family. There’s no one around here with that name now, is there?’

  ‘I’m not sure … the surname does ring a bell …’

  ‘They never found a body, Claire. No one knows what happened to him. But I do. I know where he is.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous now, Jo—’

  ‘He’s buried in an unmarked grave at Black Wood … Well, I think it’s him anyway. I haven’t actually looked. I haven’t started digging the place up. I just remember my gran one night, covered in dirt. Her clothes were stuck to her with sweat. I heard her crying in the kitchen. I sat on the top stair and listened to her crying all night …’

  ‘Who’s Michael Waters, Jo?’

  I stood up, opened the door. Suddenly I felt like I was suffocating. ‘I don’t know, Claire. I’ve no idea. But I’m scared … What if I’m right? What if there’s a body buried at Black Wood?’

  37

  Claire’s mouth dropped open. ‘Jo …’ she started. I didn’t hear the rest. I had to get away from her now, away from everyone. I ran out of the shop and kept running. I passed through crowds gathered on the street like pigs hanging round a trough. I wanted to be like Richard Ashcroft in that music video where he just barges on. Bats people out of the way like swatting flies. Ignores the shouts of protest. The swearing.

  I wanted to do that, but I didn’t have the nerve. So I swerved round hand-clasped couples, past fat women with buggies, old men with sticks. I ran past the bakers where Katie Williams’mum worked. I wondered if Katie had already told her what I’d said. OK, maybe I’d been harsh. But those girls had to learn.

  Men are not worth it. What good had they ever done me? Barry … Craig … Scott … and all the others in between. They used me, and I used them. It was the only way.

  I ran through the alleyway between the hardware shop and the butchers. The sun was like an electric blanket strapped to my back. Sweat trickled down my forehead and into my eyes, the salt making them sting.

  I slowed down when I’d skirted past the pub at the end of the Back Street – the one we never went in because apparently it was too rough. I’d been in, though. On my own. Meeting … people.

  Slowing down was a grave mistake. I gulped in air and it felt like I was swallowing grit. My thighs were on fire.

  When was the last time I’d run? Done any exercise at all, in fact?

  I had no idea.

  Something had snapped inside me in the shop. Craig yelling at me – he had every right to – had tipped me over the edge.

  I should’ve called him. Said I needed some time off.

  But I didn’t. I just did my usual.

  I ran away.

  Finally, I slowed to a walk, and finally I stopped. I found myself standing outside the brand new glass-fronted library, staring in. A familiar figure sat hunched over a laptop at one of the workstations near the window. He had his back to me, but I knew it was him.

  The urge came to me then. Time to act. Time to set my plan into motion. What was I even waiting for? I had to find something I could use. Something I could give to Gray. Evidence. Proof. There had to be something … I was so sure Maloney was one of the boys from the woods. No, not just one of the boys – the ringleader. The one that hurt Claire. The other one had just hung around, half-heartedly trying to be menacing. Pathetic … Surely Maloney must’ve thought about it since. Was he tormenting those girls up at the Track too, trying to relive his youth? I wondered what else he’d done over the years. I found it hard to believe he hadn’t done anything else. He probably had the newspaper cuttings pinned up like some sort of sick trophy …

  I unzipped the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out the key I’d stolen on Sunday. The single rusty key that was going to find me what it was I needed to put an end to all the crap that was bobbing like a sewer rat in my mind.

  I hoped he wasn’t planning on leaving the library any time soon. Because I needed enough time to ransack his house.

  With the adrenalin buzz still feeding my muscles, I ran up the street onto the main road. I don’t know where the energy was coming from, but I knew that when I stopped and let it flood out of me that I’d ache. My jeans felt loose around my waist as my legs propelled me forwards and I realised I’d barely eaten for days. Snatches of things here and there. Caffeine and alcohol feeding my body with empty energy. I knew that when it was all over I would be a wreck.

  But I had to unleash the truth. I was sick of being the one that no one believed. The one no one trusted.

  I just needed something to prove it.

  By the time I reached Rose Cottage, after a twenty-minute run uphill in the baking afternoon heat, my T-shirt was stuck to my body, stretched and translucent over the flatness of my belly. I stopped, bent over with hands on knees, sucking in lungfuls of air.

  What I really needed was a drink. My tongue felt like it had been
sandpapered.

  As I walked round the side of the house I noted the absence of the car, which was good. If he came back early at least the sound of the engine would give me a bit of a warning, buy me a bit of time. I wasn’t really sure how I’d get out of the house, if that were to happen, but I’d work something out if I had to. Anyway, I didn’t expect to be in there very long.

  I was at the back door. The small hedgehog was where I’d left it. I stuck the key into the lock. Then I froze. Something stopped me. I felt a wave of nausea wash up through my stomach and into my throat. I swallowed, and tasted the bitter tang of bile. I pulled the key back out of the lock and ran into the corner of the garden to throw up. I was wiping my mouth on the back of my hand when I heard the crunch of tyres on gravel.

  Shit.

  I shrunk back against the wall, pulled my knees up to my chest and hoped that the bushes would be enough to keep me hidden. I closed my eyes when I heard the squeak of the gate, his footsteps on the path.

  They stopped.

  Silence for a moment. Then the footsteps continued. I heard the sounds of the key turning in the lock, then the door being closed behind him. I hugged my knees in tight, and waited.

  38

  Claire wiped tears from her eyes and tried to work out what to do about Jo.

  She’d been increasingly worried since the night in the pub, when Jo had told her about Maloney, saying he was one of the boys from the wood. Claire had felt her stomach lurch then as it did now. She didn’t want it all dredged up again.

  Her life was hell as it was, without having to relive the past. But no matter what she did, her mind flitted back to it all, now and again. To the people around her back then.

  When she’d come out of the coma, the first person she’d seen was Jake, sitting by her bedside.

  ‘Who are you?’ She wasn’t even sure she’d said it out loud, just in her head – like all the conversations she’d been having for, what, weeks? Months? She had no idea. She’d been able to hear them all talking about her, trying not to lift hopes and in the process killing hers.

  ‘I can hear you,’ she yelled, every single day. But the words were only inside.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me being here. I’m Jake. I just moved in across the road from you … I heard what had happened and, well, I thought I’d come and visit you. They said they needed as many people as possible to talk to you. Try to bring you round.’

  She’d tried to nod, but her head felt too heavy. ‘I heard you chatting …’ She paused, ran a dry tongue around her mouth. Her throat was on fire. He was pressing a paper cup to her mouth, and she let the warm, slightly chemical liquid leak into her mouth. It tasted like heaven. ‘I heard you chatting to Jo …’

  Jake put a hand on her arm, ran his fingers across the plastic tube that was buried in her hand. ‘She’s been so worried about you, Claire. She thought you might never wake up. We all did—’

  She cut him off with another raspy question. ‘Are my parents here?’

  He patted her hand. ‘They’ve just gone for a coffee. I told them I’d look after you. It’s been a long night. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for over a day now … Can you remember waking up? Do you … do you remember what happened to you?’

  She blinked. Once. Twice. Remembering the soothing voice from before she could open her eyes. One of the nurses, presumably.

  Once for yes, twice for no.

  She closed her eyes again after that. Enough for one day. She felt a soft hand stroke the side of her face, wiping away a tear that had tried its hardest not to escape.

  Claire blinked again now, back in the present. Back in the office.

  She picked up her phone and scrolled down. Her first thought was to call Jake, but after the way that Jo had flatly refused to join them for lunch, she decided against it.

  So she called Craig.

  ‘Hey, it’s me … Listen, I’ve just seen Jo. What’s going on with her – has she spoken to you?’

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Claire. I think she’s losing it … It’s like before, when she—’

  ‘Don’t talk about that,’ Claire interrupted. ‘There are things you need to know, Craig. I thought things were going OK at long last … but then … bloody Scott! I could kill him for this. She’s all over the place. She’s told me some weird stuff … Did she tell you anything about the bloke that came into the shop?’

  ‘I know, I know. Gareth Maloney. I even called Rob, tried to get him to talk to her … He came back from his weekend thing specially …’

  ‘That was brave of you.’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do. Anyway, she didn’t tell him anything.’

  ‘She ran out of here, Craig. I mean, properly ran … since when does Jo run anywhere …’

  ‘She left early today. Again. We had words. She’s a nightmare right now, Claire. I’m pissed off, but I’m worried about her too … Listen, have you tried calling her?’

  ‘Not yet. She just left. I’m worried about what she’s planning on doing …’

  ‘Right, well hang up. Call her, then call me back, OK? And try not to worry … we’ll sort this … I was thinking about calling Davie Gray. He’s managed to talk to her in the past …’

  ‘OK,’ Claire said, ‘I’ll call you back.’

  She ended the call, then scrolled through her recent call list to find Jo.

  ‘The mobile phone you have called may be switched off … please leave your message after the tone …’

  ‘Jo, it’s me … Can you call me when you get this? Please? I’m worried about you … Just let me know where you are and I’ll come to you. We need to talk about this …’

  39

  Gray was glad to have got the ad in the paper, and had a chance to catch up with Claire. People forgot sometimes, because she always came across as so strong and independent, that she was vulnerable too. It was a shame she’d ended up in a wheelchair. She had a fighting spirit. Gray would’ve loved to have had her as a sparring partner.

  The class had been scheduled for seven, but by half past six there were already a few excited and more than a few reluctant faces peering in through the glass door at the front of the building. Since the news of the second ‘attack’ had spread, the community was starting to fold in on itself; everyone had an opinion, but no one had any facts. He heard whispering, gossip – but nothing of any use.

  He picked up the white jacket of his gi and quickly wrapped it around his naked torso, circling the long black belt round his waist and knotting it in the way that newcomers always struggled with but that he didn’t even think about any more. He wiped fresh sweat from his brow with the sleeve.

  He’d gone there at six, needing some time to practise some calming katas on his own, the slow, fluid movements of kicks, punches and blocks soothing his mind.

  A mind that had been whirring non-stop since he’d spoken to Lydia at the station and thought again about the masks.

  He’d got Callum to test out his theory, which had caused mild hilarity despite the sordid nature of what he was re-enacting.

  The balaclava pulled over the sheep mask had led to an interesting effect. From a distance, there was nothing untoward. Two bright-blue eyes poking out from the small holes. The rest of the garment obscuring his face and the top of his neck.

  Close up, though, it was quite different. Instead of the usual smooth shape of a face, there was a bumpy contour made by the mask, giving the whole thing a slightly distorted look. The effect was unsettling.

  Gray had taken photos using Lorna’s fancy Nikon that she used when they checked a prisoner into the cells. Close-up headshots, face-on and profile view. He wanted the two girls to look at them, and the jogger, of course, but first he wanted to make sure that the girls of the town were prepared, should they encounter this bastard before he did. He could tell them to avoid the Track. Their parents could tell them too. But he knew there’d still be a fair few who ignored the warning and went up there anyway. Where else were th
ey going to go to drink their bottles of White Lightning or whatever it was that they drank these days? In some ways, the fear and the risk made the place even more attractive.

  He also hoped that the creepy bastard might see the advert and decide to give his sick little games a miss. Technically, he hadn’t committed a crime. Yet. Unfortunately, being a creepy bastard was not an actual crime. If Gray caught up with him, he’d be sure to let him know that he thought otherwise.

  All these thoughts about the Track reminded him of Jo. She had texted him on Tuesday night, just as he’d got home.

  I need to talk to you about Gareth Maloney. I know it was him. He’s staying at Rose Cottage. Please, Davie. No one else will listen to me. No one else even wants to talk about it.

  He hadn’t replied to her yet. He wasn’t sure about her theory about this Gareth Maloney and Rose Cottage. But there was no harm in having a word. He planned to speak to Jo again too – about the masks. There was still something niggling him about the whole thing.

  By the time he’d made it out to the front door, key in hand, the door had already been opened and a trail of scared-looking teenage girls (and, interestingly, one boy) were filing reluctantly through it.

  ‘Ah, Laura – sorry, I was just about to open it …’

  ‘S’OK,’ the girl said. She turned to the steadily flowing stream of ‘recruits’ and said, ‘Changing room’s in there. Trackies and T-shirt is fine. Bare feet, though, mind. Oh, and Keith – if you’re serious about joining in, that’s fine too. Boys’ changing is down the other end of the hall.’

  Gray stepped back and let the boy pass. He recognised him now. Keith Donaldson. A gangly-limbed, nervous lad. Not one of the sporty types. Gray imagined he had his fair share of being pushed around the playground and silently applauded him for his courage in coming to a self-defence night that Gray had – stupidly – aimed at girls only. Who was to say the creepy bastard might not like to frighten vulnerable boys too?